by Douglas Boyd
France’s second most senior serving soldier Major-General Doumenc hastily signalled the armies and military regions from GHQ as follows:
No armistice has been signed. The enemy has used the white flag to approach defended positions. I remind you that the white flag covers only (unarmed) parleys and not armed troops. We must continue to defend our territory everywhere with our last reserves of energy.1
Cleaving a path through the panic and terror, on 18 June the Germans reached the great naval port of Brest in Brittany, its magazines and fuel storage tanks blazing beneath a pall of smoke just after the French Atlantic battle fleet put to sea, leaving behind one torpedo boat and four submarines undergoing repairs, which had been reduced to scrap metal. The largest and most heavily armed submarine in the world, the 3,300-ton Le Surcouf had also been in dry dock, its diesel engines removed for overhaul. Unable to dive, it was heading slowly on its two 1,700hp electric motors towards the English coast.
Admiral Darlan, the short, balding, pipe-smoking Minister of the Navy in Pétain’s cabinet, had graduated first in his promotion from the naval gunnery school but, like Gilbert and Sullivan’s ‘admiral in the Queen’s Navee’, had spent little time at sea. With the army and air force beaten, he was the only commander whose forces were intact. On his orders, a total of seventy-four warships and seventy-six merchant vessels were now steaming away from Brest, some heading for French North African ports and others to a nearer haven in England.2 What else could Darlan do, when ordering his warships to bombard the incoming Germans would have destroyed not only the port, but the town with its thousands of inhabitants and homeless refugees? From Fécamp, St Nazaire and Bordeaux too every naval vessel remotely seaworthy steamed away from the enemy at its best speed, some under fire from German field artillery until safely out of range.
On the morning of 18 June Darlan received from President Roosevelt a cable suggesting that the French Mediterranean fleet should similarly put to sea … and head for American ports. Coming from the head of a state that refused to become engaged in the conflict, this understandably enraged Darlan, whose proper office on the Place de la Concorde in Paris was now the Kommandantur von Gross-Paris, from the windows of which the new occupants had a grandstand view of the daily parade down the Champs Elysées of a Wehrmacht band and goose-stepping storm-troopers. On an even shorter fuse than usual, Darlan dictated a barely diplomatic reply to Roosevelt’s démarche: ‘The head of the French navy has no need of advice from other people as to the decisions he should take to defend the honour of the flag which has been entrusted to him alone.’3
To his deputy Admiral Auphan, Darlan confessed that it was ‘not only the Americans who are pissing me off’. Anglophobic since Britain signed a naval pact in 1935 sanctioning the rearmament and expansion of the German fleet without consulting France,4 Darlan had received that afternoon First Lord of the Admiralty A.V. Alexander and the First Sea Lord, Admiral of the Fleet Sir Dudley Pound, who had flown by seaplane to the naval air base on Biscarosse Lake to ask for similar assurances. In a signal to the fleet dated 28 May Darlan had already given instructions that no return to French or other German-controlled ports should be made unless over his signature and counter-signed ‘from Xavier-François’. A letter from Darlan to his wife next day likened the British envoys to ‘heirs come to the deathbed in order to be sure the will has been made in their favour’.5
Thanks to Darlan’s foresight, the bulk of the world-class navy he had created was out of Hitler’s reach in ports of North Africa, the Far East or Britain – with the exception of Admiral Duplat’s Mediterranean fleet, moored 400km away from the Demarcation Line in Toulon harbour after its latest raid on the Italian port of Genoa. Should the Germans or Italians try to take over Duplat’s vessels, there would be plenty of time to see them coming.
On that same confusing day in Bordeaux Charles de Gaulle, the 49-year-old acting brigadier who had paid two visits to London pleading for help, made several appointments for the afternoon to give himself an alibi for accompanying his friend General E.L. Spears to the military side of Bordeaux-Mérignac airport. As head of the now redundant British military mission to Reynaud’s government, Spears was on his way home in an RAF aircraft. With his agreement, de Gaulle had had several heavy cases of confidential files secretly placed on board, but the pilot would not take off until they had been secured, in case he had to take evading action during the flight. Lieutenant Geoffrey de Courcel, the tall, gangling cavalry officer serving as de Gaulle’s aide-de-camp, departed to hunt for a ball of twine, leaving his master and Spears increasingly tense as the minutes ticked by. Had de Gaulle’s plan become known, or the contents of his cases been suspected, he would have been arrested on the spot and the course of the war and the shape of post-war Europe changed, all for want of a piece of string. Spears recalled later:
At last Courcel appeared, his stilt-like legs carrying him fast although he appeared to be moving in slow motion. In his hand, a ball of string. I hope that never again will this commonplace article be so important to me. Our troubles were over. We had begun to move when, with hooked hands, I joisted de Gaulle on board. Courcel, more nimble, was in in a trice. The door slammed. I had just time to see the gaping face of my chauffeur and one or two more beside him.6
Their flight path lay directly over the French liner Champlain, sinking with 2,000 British troops aboard after hitting a mine. The plane refuelled at Jersey and landed at Heston before noon, at which moment one of the main actors in the Second World War placed himself on the board with immaculate timing. Although Madame de Gaulle arrived in Britain aboard a trawler the following day, among those of his family who paid a price for this was his brother Pierre, deported to Germany in 1943. His sister and her husband were imprisoned and sent to Buchenwald and a niece was deported to Ravensbrück.
Welcomed by Churchill, who was grasping at any straw, de Gaulle immediately went to the BBC Overseas Service in Bush House to broadcast to his fellow countrymen. So little importance was attached by BBC staff to this broadcast by the tall, arrogant, aloof French officer that no recording was made of this historic event. To listeners in France, de Gaulle promised that ‘the flame of French resistance must not and will not go out’.7 To the many thousands of French servicemen evacuated from Norway and Dunkirk, and those elsewhere who could make their way to Britain with or without their weapons, and to French civilians trapped by the German attack in Britain, he offered the possibility of continuing the war by enlisting in his personal army. This was at the time devoid of any legal status and consisted of himself and Lieutenant de Courcel with their secretary, 24-year-old shorthand typist Elisabeth de Miribel, working in a private house put at de Gaulle’s disposal by its owner in London’s West End, from where the voice of Free France was a lone cry in the wilderness.
François Mauriac, later a supporter, remarked at the time: ‘Purely symbolic, his obstinacy. Very fine, but ineffective.’8 The reaction of most of his audience to the radioed call to arms, or its clandestinely printed copies, was bafflement. They reasoned that France’s two most famous soldiers Philippe Pétain and Maurice Weygand must know the situation better than this unknown in London. There was also the worrying thought that, should de Gaulle lose his solitary gamble – which seemed only too likely at the time – his supporters could legally be shot for high treason by the French government.
In his elegant chateau above the sleepy Dordogne village of Le Breuilh, gentleman farmer Louis de La Bardonnie agreed with every word. He had been a member of the right-wing Action Française, whose members were pro-Pétain, but regarded the defeat as wholly due to poor leadership and a matter of national shame. Perhaps there was an element of bloody-mindedness in his decision to rally to de Gaulle, for the Bardonnie family was Catholic whereas most of their neighbours were Protestant. Whatever his reasoning, his actions followed swiftly and resulted in a handful of friends he trusted getting together to assemble intelligence for London. With two of them working as pilots for the port of
Bordeaux, they had much useful information. The problem was how to transmit it but, when that was solved, it was never acted upon because London thought it too good to be true.
De Gaulle’s appeal to the French people of 18 June 1940.
Translation: To all the French people, France has lost a battle, but France has not lost the war! Unworthy leaders have capitulated through panic and delivered the country into servitude. However, nothing is lost! Nothing is lost because this war is a world war. The immense forces of the free world have not yet come into play. One day, they will crush the enemy. On that day, France must share in the victory to recover her liberty and her prestige. That is my sole aim, and the reason why I invite all Frenchmen, wherever they may be, to join me in action, in sacrifice and hope. Our fatherland is in danger of dying. Let us all fight to save it. Vive la France!
North of the Channel, the rally de Gaulle expected was no flood, but a mere trickle. Coming ashore from one of the French warships moored in Portsmouth harbour, reservist Marcel Verliat was undecided whether to stay or go home until confronted with his first meal on English soil. In civilian life a garage mechanic from the Dordogne, he warily tasted the sausage and chips served up by Royal Navy cooks before deciding with most of his shipmates ‘to go home, where at least the grub was better’.9 In addition, most of the married servicemen marooned by the tide of war in Britain wanted to get back to France and make sure their wives and families were alive and well. Typically, from the 8,000 men of Division Béthouart, only 1,500 chose to remain in Britain.
In France, newspapers in those parts of the country not already occupied by German forces reprinted de Gaulle’s radio speech in whole or in part, inspiring a small number of patriots to hitch a lift to England on aircraft, ships and even small boats – only to find on tracking down de Gaulle in London that he had no headquarters, no staff, and no uniforms, weapons or work for them. They were told to keep in touch with de Courcel and await orders. Shortly after those newspapers reports had appeared, a government announcement from Bordeaux was relayed over the radio stations still under French control that de Gaulle was:
no longer a member of the government and has no authority to make public announcements. He has been recalled from London and ordered to place himself at the disposal of his superiors. His statements must be regarded as null and void.10
The weather that night was stormy on land and a tempest at sea. The requisitioned 16,000-ton three-funnelled SS Massilia that had been transporting troops from North Africa was anchored 90km north of Bordeaux, at Le Verdon on the tip of the Médoc peninsula, because the captain regarded docking in the port of Bordeaux as impossible due to magnetic mines dropped by the Luftwaffe in the Gironde estuary.
The Massilia was the best transport Admiral Darlan could arrange to convey to French North Africa those senators and députés who wished to continue the war from there, of whom Édouard Daladier was the doyen. Jewish parliamentarians who had good reason not to await the German arrival included Pierre Mendès-France, Georges Lévy-Alphandéry, Saloman Grumbach and Georges Mandel, who had found time to marry his blonde lady friend in Bordeaux. Even the captain had no idea how many passengers to anticipate. Estimates varied from forty to 600. In the event, at about 9 p.m. in the teeth of the gale, the car ferry from Royan drew alongside Massilia with twenty-six députés and one senator aboard, plus their families and personal vehicles, which they fully expected to take with them. The captain of Massilia refusing to load cars as deck cargo in such weather conditions, they were abandoned on the quayside, whence they disappeared without trace.
That night the Luftwaffe bombed the military/civilian airfield at Bordeaux-Mérignac. From a hayloft on the opposite bank of the Garonne the future Duchess of St Albans, then an adolescent, watched what her younger sisters were told by their mother was a firework display. Ordered by the mayor of Royan to leave next morning, because he did not want the incoming Germans to find any British citizens on his commune, the family was given enough petrol to reach Bordeaux and set out crammed into their car, soon to suffer heat exhaustion. On their mother’s instructions, all the children were wearing several layers of clothing, in case they should not find any more shops open. When the car broke down on the road, they stripped off the unnecessary layers and joined the stream of refugees on foot heading for Bordeaux, where there was a British Consulate.11
At Le Verdon, the crew of Massilia mutinied, refusing to sail to Morocco and leave behind their families, many of whom lived in Bordeaux and could have died in the air raid. Disbelieving the stated intention of their VIP passengers, especially the five Jewish députés, to set up an emergency government in North Africa and continue the war from there, they yelled at them, ‘Why should we risk our lives to save you runaways?’ The mutiny swiftly suppressed by a detachment of armed marines, the captain was handed sealed orders from Admiral Darlan commanding him to set sail for Morocco. Rapidly filled with army and navy personnel and their families, Massilia slipped her moorings at 2.30 p.m., negotiated the tip of Médoc and set course westwards across the Bay of Biscay. Unfortunately for Mendès-France and the others, they were interned on arrival in Morocco, those with military rank being treated as traitors.
Admitting later in his memoirs that he felt like a solitary swimmer setting out to cross an ocean, de Gaulle wrote to Gen Weygand via the French military attaché in London on 20 June that his sole wish was to serve his country. He diplomatically pleaded an inability to return due to lack of any aircraft in which to travel. The letter was returned to him in September bearing a typewritten note: ‘If Colonel (retired) de Gaulle wishes to contact General Weygand, he should use the proper channels.’
Also on 20 June, the German Military Governor in France issued a proclamation which included a ruling that all businesses must open as normal or risk being placed under an administrator appointed by the Germans. The best news for the general population was that no prices might be increased above the levels on the day of the invasion – not that there was much to buy in the shops. All firearms were to be handed in. Any acts of sabotage would be severely punished, as would any insult to the German army or its leaders. Hoarding was a punishable offence. All public employees were to continue at their posts and would be paid as usual.
Sounding like a blessed restoration of law and order, the proclamation was welcomed by most civilians, who were relieved to hear on 22 June that Hitler had signed the Armistice agreement in Rethondes near Compiègne. In despair, Admiral Darlan dined that night in Bordeaux’s gourmet restaurant Le Chapon Fin, drowning and deadening his sorrows with the best of its cellar and cuisine.12
Hitler had insisted that the ceremony should take place in the Compagnie Internationale des Wagon-Lits dining-car No. 2419. This had been used by General Foch as his mobile office in the First War and was where the defeated Germans had signed the surrender in November 1918. Arriving at Rethondes at 3.30 p.m. that day, the French team under General Huntziger asked for an immediate cessation of hostilities. Across the table, neither Hitler nor Goering uttered a word. General Keitel, as German spokesman, refused Huntziger’s request because Hitler had laid down that no concession was to be made to the defeated French before they had signed. Afterwards, why bother? After three hours of attempted clarification of the Diktat with which he was confronted, Huntziger signed at 6.50 p.m. – forty minutes before Keitel’s ultimatum ran out.
The Führer had written in Mein Kampf as long ago as 1925, ‘The mortal enemy of the German people is and remains France’, so the terms could have been worse. However, destroying what remained of the French state and replacing Pétain’s fragile government by a puppet government, as in Poland and Czechoslovakia, risked provoking France’s extensive overseas territories – in North Africa alone there were 250,000 men under arms – into siding with Germany’s enemies on the grounds that their once-proud Fatherland had been reduced to the status of a Nazi-controlled province. Secondly, there was the wild card of the French navy, out of German reach thanks to Darlan
’s foresight, but still under his personal command.
To preserve the appearance of French independence, conditions were therefore considerably softened from Hitler’s original intentions. To relieve him of the burden of garrisoning the entire country, Pétain was to remain the legal ruler of the whole of France after certain border adjustments. Most of the three départements making up the provinces of Alsace and Lorraine were to be annexed into the Reich under their ancient titles of Elsass und Lotharingen. West of them was a Zone Réservée. The départements of Nord and Pas-de-Calais were for strategic reasons to be governed by the German military administration of Belgium. South of this lay la Zone Interdite, or forbidden zone.
The northern and western three-fifths of the country, including its financial centres, most of its industry, oil and mineral reserves and the strategically vital Channel and Atlantic littoral, would be occupied by German forces for the duration of the continuing war against Britain. There, the French government would wield authority subject to the Wehrmacht and other German organisations. In the Free Zone, comprising the south-eastern two-fifths, it was to have sovereign powers. Should Pétain’s government wish to re-install itself in Paris, that would be considered later. Fifty-two départements were thus occupied in whole or in part with Vichy’s theoretically unfettered writ to run in thirty-four départements and parts of seventeen others.
