by Sean Longden
Praise for Dunkirk: The Men They Left Behind
‘Longden uncovers some remarkable and poignant individual stories in what is a moving and fascinating antidote to the Dunkirk legend. First class history.’
Tim Newark, author of The Mafia at War and Camouflage
‘Meticulously researched and engagingly recounted, this new work adds considerably to our understanding of a largely forgotten episode in the epic of Dunkirk.’
Jamie Holland, author of Italy’s Sorrow
‘Sean Longden is a rising name in military history, and is able to uncover the missing stories of the Second World War.’
Guardian Unlimited
‘As interesting as Saving Private Ryan.’
Irish Independent
‘Gritty, emotional and shocking … It has changed my understanding of life for British POWs in the Second World War.’
The Soldier
‘His book cannot fail to elicit sympathy for their suffering and admiration for their sacrifice.’
The Scotsman
‘A moving account . . . telling a part of history that time has forgotten.’
The Big Issue
‘The grim story of what happened to the soldiers who fought on so valiantly.’
Paul Callan, Daily Express
‘A compelling account … a fitting monument to these men who were left behind.’
Book of the month, warbooksoutnow.co.uk
Praise for Hitler’s British Slaves
‘A powerful indictment of the crimes perpetrated against men who had surrendered in good faith . . . Never again, after Mr Longden’s excellent work, shall we see the plight of the POWs as anything other than unremittingly monstrous.’
Andrew Roberts, Daily Mail
‘Forget “The Great Escape”. Forget “The Colditz Story”. This is the real thing.’
Les Allan, founder of the National Ex-Prisoner of War Association
Praise for To the Victor the Spoils
‘A meticulously-researched, utterly absorbing account of the human story behind the battle to crush Hider’s forces.’
Yorkshire Post
‘The sex’n’drugs’n’rock’n’roll of soldiering.’
The Times
‘Not the usual war book and is all the more interesting to the general reader.’
Glasgow Evening Times
‘A fascinating and surprising insight into what it was really like for the ordinary men of Montgomery’s 21st Army.’
Western Morning News
Also by Sean Longden
To the Victor the Spoils
Hitler’s British Slaves
Available in September 2009
T-Force: The Race for Nazi War Secrets, 1945
Constable & Robinson Ltd
3 The Lanchesters
162 Fulham Palace Road
London W6 9ER
www.constablerobinson.com
First published in the UK by Constable,
an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd, 2008
This paperback edition published by Constable,
an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd, 2009
Copyright © Sean Longden, 2009
The right of Sean Longden to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978 1 84529 977 4
Printed and bound in the EU
Dedicated to all those who were left behind for ever.
Contents
List of Illustrations
Acknowledgements
Maps
Prologue
Introduction: Victory or Defeat?
1 Missing the Boat
2 The Round Up
3 The Fight Goes On
4 The Death of a Division: The 51st Highland Division at St Valery
5 The Wounded
6 The First Men Home
7 The Long Way Home
8 The Journey East
9 The Journey Continues
10 The First Year
11 Five Years
12 Going Home
Epilogue
Appendix
Notes
Bibliography
Index
Illustrations
A pre-war soldier of the Territorial Army displaying his kit, 1939. Courtesy of Norman Barnett.
The retreat through Belgium and France. Imperial War Museum F4495.
A British medical officer attending a wounded soldier at St Maxent, May 1940. Imperial War Museum 4640.
Solider destroying petrol store. Imperial War Museum F4756.
Soldiers of the 51st Highland Division defending the line of the River Bresle, 7 June 1940. Imperial War Museum F4745.
Burning houses on the waterfront at St-Valery-en-Caux. Imperial War Museum RML 358.
British and French prisoners of war being marched from the cliff tops to the west of St-Valery-en-Caux. Imperial War Museum RML 399.
A mixed group of British and French prisoners of war are marched into captivity by the victorious Germans. Imperial War Museum RML 141.
British POWs near Calais, June 1940. Imperial War Museum AP 7271.
Letter in French to Jim Charters’ parents. Courtesy of Jim Charters.
Official letter to Jim Charters’ parents. Courtesy of Jim Charters.
Forged identification card. Imperial War Museum SJO/ DOC2.
British evaders are picked up off the coast of North Africa by HMS Kelvin. Imperial War Museum 2430.
Repatriation of wounded soldiers. Imperial War Museum PL.13867.D.
Group shot at Stalag 21D, 1941. Courtesy of Eric Reeves.
British POWs photographed following their liberation by American troops, May 1945. Imperial War Museum AP 10772.F.
Acknowledgements
The idea for Dunkirk: The Men They Left Behind emerged during the research for my previous book, Hitler’s British Slaves. In conversation with former POWs, I realized that so much of the story about what had happened in 1940 had never been revealed to the public. Les Allan, one of the interviewees for my earlier book, stressed that he thought the story should be told and offered much help and advice with this project. He supplied me with the names of numerous other veterans who agreed to be interviewed for this book. My thanks go to the following: Eric Reeves, Bill Holmes, Fred Coster, Fred Goddard, Fred Gilbert, David Mowatt, Jim Reed, Jim Pearce, Dick Taylor, Jim Charters, Ernie Grainger, Graham King, Bob Davies, Cyril Holness, Norman Barnett and Major Peter Wagstaff Sadly Fred Gilbert, Cyril Holness and Bob Davies passed away between their interviews and the publication of this book.
Two other veteran POWs, Gordon ‘Nobby’ Barber and Ken Willats, whom I interviewed for my previous book, again helped by revealing the details of their experiences of capture in France in 1940.
Other veterans helped out with background on the situation in 1940, including Ken Dampier, Ron Burch, Sid Seal, Tony Hibbert and Noel Matthews. My thanks also go to Sylvie Norman, who telephoned from Canada to talk about the experiences of her husband Frank. Kerry McQueeney of the Croydon Guardian put me in touch with Cyril Holness and Norman Barnett – my thanks to her. I must also thank Fred Kennington, who kindly sent me a copy of his book No Cheese After Dinner and helped me make contacts among veterans of the
51st Highland Division, including Mrs Arnott who kindly sent me a copy of her late husband Tommy’s memoirs A Long Walk to the Garden.
In addition, my thanks go to staff at the National Archives who have constantly provided the files I need, when I need them. My thanks also go to the staff and trustees of the Imperial War Museum, in particular those in the Department of Documents whose help was, as ever, invaluable. I must thank the copyright holders for the following collections held at the Imperial War Museum for allowing me to reproduce quotations from their memoirs. Thanks to Jean Bolton for permission to quote from the papers of her brother, Walter Kite. Also to Margaret Foster for allowing me to quote her late husband Fred’s poem in the introduction to this book. To Michael Watt for granting permission to quote his father Hugh Watt. To David Evans for allowing me to quote from the memoirs of his late father R. P. Evans. To Richard Wilson for permission to quote his late father. To Lorraine and Jeannette for granting permission to quote from the memoirs of their late father, William Simpson. To Betty Barclay for permission to quote her late husband, R. L. Barclay. To Frank Sweeney for permission to include his father’s memoris of the sinking of the Lancastria. To Carolyn Christie for granting permission to quote from the memoirs of her late grandfather, John Christie. To Peter Trew for permission to quote from the memoirs of his late uncle, Harold Houthakker. To Cynthia Jones for permission to quote from the memoirs of her late father, E. Vernon Mathias. To the family of Bill Bampton for permission to quote from his memoirs. To Mrs Shorrock for granting permission for me to quote from the memoirs of her late husband Leslie. To Joan, who granted permission to quote from the papers of her late uncle, W. Hewitt. In the case of the papers of C. Raybould, V. Tattan and Major G. S. Lowden, I was unable to trace the copyright holders. Anyone having information should contact the Department of Documents at the Imperial War Museum.
I must also give thanks to my agent Andrew Lownie, my editor Leo Hollis, Geoff and Victoria at Arris for giving me my first break as a writer and to Beth and Bethan at MGA for their hard work on my earlier books. Finally, I must thank my wife Claire for all the advice she has offered and – in particular – her proofreading skills.
Prologue
‘Is anyone there? Is anyone there?’1 With these words General Harold Alexander signalled the end of the drama of Dunkirk. Searching along the quayside within the port and patrolling the waters beside the beach, the general held firmly on to his megaphone, calling out for any stragglers still waiting for evacuation. It was 2 a.m. on the morning of 3 June 1940. For six long, arduous days the beleaguered British Expeditionary Force (BEF) had been slowly but surely evacuated from the harbour and beaches of Dunkirk. For some, the story had seemed miraculous – somehow, with the enemy just miles away and their planes dominating the skies above the beaches, 338,226 soldiers had been embarked on ships and sent home to Britain. With their evacuation completed it was time for Operation Dynamo to end. As the last of the Royal Navy destroyers slipped safely away into the waters of the English Channel, there was nothing to do but draw the proceedings to a close.
When Alexander had allowed himself a final search of the perimeter, calling out to any who might yet remain on shore and receiving no reply, he returned to the harbour and boarded a waiting destroyer. Satisfied that the evacuation was complete, the order to set sail was given and the ship cast off, zig-zagging its way across the night waters towards Dover. As his ship tied up alongside the quay next morning, and the general disembarked to make his way to the War Office, the story of Dunkirk came to an end. Now it was time for the legend to grow.
However despite the ominous silence that had greeted Alexander as he scoured Dunkirk and its beaches for waiting troops, some men were still out there. Somewhere in the darkness were over 68,000 British soldiers who had never reached safety. On the beaches and sand dunes of Dunkirk, in the fields of Flanders, beside the roads and amid the ruins, lay the corpses of hundreds who had not reached the boats. They had paid the ultimate price during the fighting retreat. They were not alone in their defeat. Elsewhere were hospitals full of the sick and wounded who had been left behind to receive treatment from the enemy’s doctors. And further afield – still fighting hard alongside its French allies – was the entire 51st Highland Division, and a myriad of other units, some large and some small, whose war had not finished as the last boats slipped away from the port of Dunkirk.
Also scattered across the countryside were hundreds of lost and lonely soldiers. These were the ‘evaders’ who had missed the boats and evaded capture and were now desperately trying to make their own circuitous ways home independently, whether by walking across France or rowing across the Channel. All that mattered was that they were heading home, no matter how long it took or how far their journey would take them.
But for the majority left behind, now prisoners of war, the journey was not to freedom. Hour upon hour, mile upon mile, day after day, they walked. The feet of the dejected and defeated men shuffled over the cobblestones of the seemingly endless roads. Shoulders hunched, staring at the ground in front of them, they moved ever onward. Beneath the searing summer sun the starving rabble continued their journey into the unknown. Like the remnants of some pitiful ancient tribe sold into slavery, they shuffled forwards. Stomachs shrunken and throats parched, they hardly dared think of the food and water that might bring salvation.
Some were half-carrying, half-dragging their sick and exhausted friends. Others, too weak to help the sick, were forced to abandon their mates at the roadside. Yet most simply trudged on in silence – men like twenty-one-year-old Ken Willats who just five months earlier had been a chef in a London restaurant. Now, not having seen food for days, he was too weak even to raise a hand to wipe a squashed fly from his forehead.
Desperate men summoned up their last vestiges of energy and fought for scraps of food. They dropped to their knees in ditches just to drink from the dirty brown water. At night they collapsed by the roadside, often deep in sleep before their heads touched the bare earth. Then, just a few short hours later, they dragged themselves to their feet again to continue their journey.
As they walked they listened to the shouts of their guards – screaming at them to hurry up – and to the cries of their comrades as blows rained down on those who hesitated. Whips, sticks, truncheons and rifle-butts beat the offenders back into line. For some the end to their misery came quickly, as the marching men listened for the tell-tale rifle crack that meant someone had finally given up and been executed by the roadside.
At last, after two weeks of painful marching across the countryside and through the villages of France, Belgium and Germany, the column of starving men arrived in the once great city of Trier, once the northern capital of the Roman Empire, one of the foremost cities in the ancient world. Yet the marching men, their empty bellies aching and bodies weakened, had not reached civilization. Instead they were paraded through the streets to the taunts and jeers of the inhabitants. Under a hail of spittle, the desperate men kept their heads down and marched onwards. Where once slaves had left Germany destined for Rome, now a vast new slave army was heading eastwards into the heart of Europe’s newest empire, the Third Reich.
These forgotten men had fought the rearguard in northern France and paid the price of enabling their comrades to escape. These were not the legendary men who crossed the English Channel in the ‘little ships’ ready to fight again. Destined for captivity, they would not see freedom for five long years.
These dreadful days were never forgotten by those who endured them. Yet somehow their sufferings never became part of the folklore of Second World War. They had fought the battles to ensure the successful evacuation of over 300,000 fellow soldiers at Dunkirk. Their sacrifice had brought the salvation of the British nation. Yet they had been forgotten while those who escaped to safety and made their way back home were hailed as heroes. It was an indignity that long remained in the minds of that defeated army.
Who could forget that ordeal? Certainly not Le
s Allan. Sixty years on he surveyed the rows of veterans parading through the streets of Dunkirk. Heads held high, chests swollen with pride and festooned with medals, the ageing veterans had gathered once more to commemorate the anniversary of the miraculous rescue of a defeated army from the beaches of Dunkirk. These were the men whose escape from under the noses of the advancing Germans had become so famous. None among them doubted the achievement of rescuing the forlorn force from the beaches of France, nor would any underestimate their sacrifices in the years that followed. Yet some among them, Les Allan included, had their own, very different, memories of the aftermath of Dunkirk – memories that were once more stirred up at the sight of the parading men.
Though many years had passed since 1940, the gallant veterans still marched in step as they approached the grandstand. Amid the dignitaries Allan – former stretcher-bearer, BEF veteran, and prisoner of war – who had been granted his place as the founder of the National Ex-Prisoner of War Association, found his thoughts were immediately consumed by his own memories of suffering and sacrifice. As the parade came to a halt he leaned forward and called out to one of the men standing near him.
‘Hey, mate, which POW camp were you in?’
‘Twenty A,’ came the reply. ‘What about you?’
‘Twenty B at Marienburg.’
After a brief conversation, the parade moved on. Perplexed, a veteran officer seated beside him turned to ask how he knew this man, among all the assembled ranks, was a fellow POW. Allan allowed himself a smile and replied.
‘It’s simple. Look at his chest. The blokes with the least medals are always the old POWs.’
He was right. There hadn’t even been a campaign medal for those who fought in France in 1940. The Dunkirk POWs – the soldiers that were left behind – were men who had shared all the horrors of war but none of the glory.
INTRODUCTION
Victory or Defeat?
