by Sean Longden
Like a mini-Dunkirk, small boats from the larger boat offshore ferried men to safety. As they waited they were bombed by the Luftwaffe and shelled from the direction of St Valery. A few French soldiers comforted themselves by firing rifles at the enemy aircraft. There was little hope of doing any damage but it made them feel safer to know that at least someone was fighting back. When the evacuation was completed, and the small British group had returned to their regiment, they were counted. A total of three officers and seventeen other ranks were all that remained of the entire regiment. The rest had either perished in the battles around Abbeville and St Valery or were already making their way into captivity. In total, more than 2,000 British and 1,000 French soldiers made their escape from Veules-les-Roses.
As some men attempted to escape across the Channel, others tried to escape southwards through France. Most were soon captured but others were successful, reaching the south coast after weeks or months of travelling. Taking to heart his officer’s order of ‘every man for himself’, Gordon Barber and his mate Paddy headed off on their motorcycle.
We’d gone about twenty miles and I told Paddy I was thirsty. So we stopped in the next farm. As we pulled up he said, ‘Jesus Nobby – it’s full of Germans!’ These bastards were all 6ft 4 tall – stormtroopers, covered in guns, with grenades stuffed down their boots! They had bloody great motorbikes with machine-guns mounted on them. Paddy said, ‘Let’s get out of here, quick!’ As we turned around I said to him, ‘Stay where you are!’ They had guns pointed at us and I was going to get shot in the back at any moment. I said, ‘Let’s give up.’ These Germans said, ‘For you the war is ended’ and they meant it.
While Barber and his mate began the march into captivity, others fared better. When the Germans had struck at Abbeville, cutting off men like Eric Reeves and Ken Willats, the rest of the 2/5th Queen’s Regiment had escaped across the River Somme. Those who could swim stripped off and swam across, pulling their rifles behind them. The non-swimmers were forced to make the crossing as best they could, using an improvised guide rope made from rifle slings – many perished during the crossing. Eventually the survivors reached Cherbourg and returned to England on the SS Vienna on 7 June.
The rail network was soon crowded with slow-moving trains, filled to capacity with soldiers, that snaked their way across northern France. So busy were the railway lines, that most trains moved at little more than walking pace. Soldiers who wanted to urinate were able to jump down, relieve themselves, then run alongside to rejoin their mates.
The problem for the trains was the inevitable attention of the Luftwaffe who roamed, often unchallenged, through the skies above France. Every so often, the men within the trains would hear the roar of engines and the rattle of machine-gun fire as those men stationed on the train roofs to provide anti-aircraft fire opened up. Each time the fighters swooped down, the soldiers would jump from the trains and scatter across the fields in search of cover. The biggest targets for the roaming fighters and bombers were the railway yards where trains carrying both men and supplies inevitably halted. Gunners seldom had time to get their weapons into position to offer covering fire, leaving the trains open to attack, and the soldiers running for cover.
Inevitably, such attacks led to men getting separated from their mates and losing their units. Some would not find them again until they returned home. Men recalled being given orders to do no more than head for Channel ports or to head west until they met someone else who could give them instructions as to where their unit would be re-forming. One man recalled being told to drive by the position of the sun and that if he reached a river crossing that was blown he should simply abandon his truck and swim the river. The same man later found himself directed into Dieppe, riding into the port on the running board of a civilian car. Instead of finding an active military garrison, with a fully functioning port, he discovered a dead town.
Included among the units retreating across France were some that had only recently arrived there. The 2nd Royal Tank Regiment had only sailed to France on 23 May – days after men like Eric Reeves and Ken Willats had already been captured. By the time they arrived in Cherbourg it already seemed to many that the battle for France was lost. Boulogne and Calais were under siege, the army was reeling back towards Dunkirk and the alliance with France was faltering. Yet for Fred Goddard, his crewmates ‘Dusty’ Millar and Bill Meadows, and their commander Lieutenant York – or ‘Yorkie’ as they called him – there was no indication of the chaotic situation they were heading into.
Goddard was a regular soldier, who had been born and raised in Haywards Heath. His home life had been miserable, with his family seemingly unconcerned for his welfare. Although his father no longer beat him regularly, by the time Goddard left school he continued to interfere with his life by preventing him getting the apprenticeship he wanted and instead sending him to work in a shop. In late 1938 he had been forced to sell his beloved motorcycle to pay for the dental work that had seen seventeen of his teeth extracted. Then, to make matters worse, he was told to attend his old school to be issued with a gas mask. Goddard’s memories of his schooldays had been less than positive and it was to be a pivotal moment for the twenty-one-year-old: ‘I got up there and looked at the gate. I thought “I’m not going in there” and I just decided to walk on down to the recruiting office. It was a Saturday morning – and I never went home again. I enlisted in the Royal Tank Regiment.’
The decision to elect for service in the tanks was a simple one. He was told his lack of education would keep him out of the RAF but that he would have plenty of opportunity for technical training in tanks. Furthermore, the recruiting sergeant – whom Goddard knew from the local pub – thought that at just five feet four inches tall he was the ideal size to fit inside a tank. In many ways he was representative of so many of the army’s recruits during peacetime. He just wanted to get away from home and make something of himself. For the first time Fred Goddard felt his life was beginning to settle down. Discipline was strict but it was preferable to the life he had left: ‘The training was hard going, you had to parade at 5 a.m. for breakfast. You had to wash and shave. I joined in November and you had to break the ice on the water tubs.’ It toughened him up but quickly he got to like it, even the discipline, although he wasn’t the ‘King and Country’ type: ‘It wasn’t patriotism that drove me into the army. It was my home life that made me join. It was somewhere to go to get away from home.’
By May 1940 Goddard felt he was ready for war. The regiment was well trained and had expected to go to France months earlier. Although they had missed the start of the battle they were determined to play their part in whatever came. For Fred Goddard it would not be his first time fighting Fascism – back in the mid-1930s he had taken part in street fights to prevent Oswald Moseley and his Black-shirts from holding rallies in Haywards Heath. Then he and his mates had been successful, forcing Moseley to drive away as local gangs attacked his car. This time the enemy was somewhat more formidable and, as the 2nd Royal Tank Regiment (RTR) approached the front lines, Goddard could only hope for such a success.
The tanks moved north towards the front, first by train and latterly by road. On 25 May they got their first glimpse of the destructive power of modern warfare, passing through the already bombed town of Neufchâtel. As they detrained they were relieved to see the operation was being covered by RAF fighters, circling in the skies above them. Later the same day orders had come for them to move north towards the River Bresle to support the French 5th Army. In an ominous warning of what was to come, they moved forward with severe thunderstorms breaking above them, soaking the roads and rendering their wireless sets virtually useless. Two days later the regiment saw its first action, losing nine men and five tanks, with a further four tanks lost to mechanical failure.
With the Germans still pressing, Fred Goddard and his fellow ‘tankies’ soon found themselves falling back from the front. On 2 June they were moved by rail to Louviers, then put into harbour under the c
over of woods near Rouen. Having witnessed German air raids on Rouen, the 2nd RTR were given the order to move, advancing to Beauvais before falling back again in face of the advancing Germans. On 8 June Lieutenant York’s tank, with Fred Goddard driving, was accompanied by one other tank and a scout car to guard a bridge over the Seine at Gaillon. The next day they rejoined the battalion, having knocked out four enemy tanks, two mortar teams and an artillery battery. It had been a heroic stand but there was no point in remaining to hold the position – both the tanks had used up all their ammunition.
The Germans were pressing hard, and the regiment was forced to retreat in hope of escaping. Fred Goddard recalled the scenes as they withdrew: ‘Nobody knew what was happening. We didn’t know where we were going, but we got held up by the French cavalry, they were retreating. And they were shooting their horses. We were held up,we couldn’t get through. We were given a bearing by our commanding officer and we just went off on our own.’ Their tank – call sign ‘Bolton’ – became separated from the rest of the regiment and Yorkie decided they should pull over into the cover of a wooded area. The crew were absolutely exhausted and he knew they needed to get some rest and have something to eat. Each man would do a one-hour shift of guard duty, manning the radio to listen for any further orders. Goddard took the second shift, sitting on top of the turret listening to the chattering of other tank commanders over the wireless. They knew that the others were not far away, since they remained in contact by radio: ‘The louder they were, the closer they were.’ However, in the darkness there was no way of finding their comrades, even if they could hear them engaging the enemy about a mile away. It was while listening that he heard the news of the death of one of his closest friends – as he talked to the man’s tank commander. As Goddard sat there he could hear the enemy guns getting closer and closer.
With one of his colleagues taking over the wireless, Goddard was able to rest. It was not long before he was awoken and told to climb silently into the tank: ‘By this time the Germans had come into the wood. I was lying in this ditch – it was raining hard, soaking me – and I could hear the Germans talking. One of the crew woke me up and I could hear them. It was pitch dark, you could just hear their voices, you couldn’t see them – and they couldn’t see us.’
Safely inside the tank, Lieutenant York gave him the order to contact the commander and inform him of their position. The reply that came through was a shock to the waiting crew: ‘They told us to destroy the tank and make our way to the coast on foot.’ It was the first indication of the dire situation they had found themselves in. With orders that they should escape any way possible, the four men packed their personal belongings. The job of blowing up the tank was left to Lieutenant York: ‘The cruiser tanks had been designed so you could flood them with petrol. We had 200 gallons in the back, so Bill opened the taps and filled it with petrol. Then Yorkie fired a flare down into the tank. That set it on fire. All hell was let loose – the ammo started blowing up. But we were on our way out of the woods. We were actually passing Germans but it was pouring with rain and it was so dark they didn’t know who we were. So we walked from there, all the way to the coast.’*
Le Havre, the evacuation point of choice after Dunkirk, was chaotic and fraught with danger. Arriving at the port on 11 June, the drivers of the 7th Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders rammed their trucks into each other to disable them. They were given specific orders that the trucks should not be destroyed by fire so as not to alert the enemy. Frustrated by the seemingly pointless destruction of so many serviceable vehicles, some officers drove trucks westwards in the mistaken belief that they might be able to save the vehicles by embarking them elsewhere.
On 12 June the orders came for those waiting at Le Havre to be evacuated. Orders were clear, the troops were to keep good order – there was to be no talking and no smoking. With the seemingly incongruous codename of ‘Whoopee’, the evacuation commenced. At the Quai d’Escalles the 4th Black Watch boarded SS Amsterdam, while at 2 a.m. the 7th Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders were loaded on to SS Viking and SS Tynewald. As the Black Watch waited at the quayside, they watched RAF Hurricane fighters engage a group of Heinkel bombers. To their relief the fighters shot down three of the menacing bombers. By the morning of the 13th more than 2,000 soldiers had been transported to England. At the same time over 41,000 tons of stores had been transported out of the town by rail, destined for St Nazaire.
Although the relieved remnants of the 51st Highland Division’s Ark Force boarded ships at Le Havre, they were not sent directly home. To their dismay, a decision had been taken that a new BEF was to be formed further west. As a result, 8,000 soldiers were shipped to Cherbourg. With France still fighting, the British government had reached the conclusion that the BEF should be reconstituted at Cherbourg and continue the fight alongside their French allies. To form the core of this new force the 52nd Lowland Division and the 1st Canadian Division were hastily shipped to Cherbourg. A commander for the re-formed BEF was appointed, Sir Alan Brooke, who had shown himself to be a capable corps commander during the retreat to Dunkirk and was one of the rising stars of the British Army. Arriving at Cherbourg on the evening of the 12th, Brooke soon found himself having to come to terms with the reality of his position. Though he was not convinced of the wisdom of the re-formation of the BEF and of further French plans, the hope was for the British to stall the Nazi advance and retain a foothold in France. Initially expecting to concentrate his forces around Cherbourg, Brooke soon discovered the French planned to form a redoubt in Brittany, using the Atlantic ports to resupply the force. In their minds this would ensure the Allies retained a foothold in continental Europe.
Though short lived, the plan to fight on interrupted the passage of the units from Ark Force. Arriving in Cherbourg on the 13th, they were sent to the town of Tourlaville where they were expecting to go back into action. Changing circumstances would, however, see them returning to Cherbourg the following day. One retreating soldier recalled seeing Canadian gunners advancing rapidly into France, as if eager to reach the front line. They shouted at the retreating troops, asking why they were heading in the wrong direction. Later the same day he saw the same Canadians heading back to Cherbourg, travelling even faster than before.
On Saturday 15 June the British took a decision that would shape Anglo-French relations in the years ahead. Brooke received the order that he and his re-formed BEF were no longer under French command. Thus the planned ‘Breton Redoubt’ was abandoned even before it had begun, being revealed to be nothing more than a fantasy conceived by commanders who were no longer in effective control of their armies. Instead of concentrating in Brittany, the remaining British forces were to continue to fight alongside any French units in their area but their main task was to ensure the escape of as many British troops as possible. It was an order the allowed those troops remaining in France to breathe a collective sigh of relief. It was clear to so many of those in charge on the ground that there was little hope of fighting on. Even before the final evacuation order had been issued, Brooke was convinced any further resistance would be futile. French generals had informed him that organized resistance by French forces had already come to an end. It was clear the available forces were insufficient to resist the Germans any longer.
It was an emotion shared by many others. While in Cherbourg, Lt-Colonel The Lord Rowallan, commanding officer of the 6th Royal Scots Fusiliers, heard of the capitulation of the 51st Highland Division. He wrote that it was an ‘inevitable end to attempts for six weeks to hold corps front with a depleted division’. He went on to criticize the failure of organization during the retreat across France: ‘Morale of most men in Brigade almost nonexistent. Many first-class men sacrificed to indecisive orders or none at all. Staff work throughout incredibly bad.’3 As Brooke knew, if the British attempted any further resistance, the remaining units would share the same awful fate as the Highlanders.
This final evacuation of troops from France was given the codena
me ‘Operation Aerial’. The Royal Navy, under Admiral James, the Commander in Chief Portsmouth, were given command of an operation that saw the British merchant fleet, escaping French naval craft and all manner of commandeered boats, converging on the west coast of France hoping to bring off as many men as possible. Unable to supply sufficient protection craft, James was unable to organize a system of convoys; instead he sent whatever was available – troopships, storeships, coasters and Dutch barges – to rescue whomever they could.
For those units concentrated around Cherbourg, escape was relatively simple. In just two days, a total of over 30,000 troops were evacuated from the port, with the final ships leaving as the Germans entered the outskirts of the town. For those elsewhere it was a task that would involve much exhaustion and heartbreak. As the German Army rolled across France, Allied soldiers found themselves desperately travelling from port to port in search of escape. Some units started off attempting to reach Le Havre, only to find it already occupied, then headed for Cherbourg only to discover that too had fallen. One group from a petrol company in the 44th Division, who had been on the beaches at Dunkirk before, realizing they were unlikely to get away, moved south. Somehow they slipped through the thinly held German lines and were eventually evacuated via St Nazaire. For many such small groups, it became a desperate game of cat and mouse as they tried to keep one step ahead of the enemy.
Despite the lucky escape of Ark Force from Cherbourg, not all among its ranks were evacuated from the northern ports. At midnight on 11 June, the 17th Field Regiment, Royal Artillery, whose gunners had fought so hard, and suffered so much, alongside the Highlanders during the battles between the Rivers Somme and Bresle, were ordered to move south-west towards Nantes. The order was a great relief; just twelve hours earlier they had been ordered to fight to the last man and the last round. But with the fate of the Highlanders sealed it seemed pointless to sacrifice anyone else. Travelling via Caen and Avranches, the remnants of the regiment arrived in Nantes four days later. On the 15th they were told that since France had capitulated they had ‘48 hrs to clear out!’4 In fact, there would be two more days before the French requested an armistice, but to the men on the ground the message was clear – the front had crumbled and escape remained the only viable option. Receiving such blunt orders, there was nothing they could do but head, along with thousands of others, towards St Nazaire.
