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  The Naval Commander and the two demolition parties arrived safely on the north bank of the river and here they remained for five days. The Naval Commander was quite unable to negotiate permission for even a reconnaissance to be carried out. During this time the city and port were subject to endless air raids causing confusion and rumour about the extent of the German advance. Although both parties were virtually confined to their tugs, some were, for lack of space, allowed to sleep ashore in a bombed out building near to where the tugs were berthed.

  The few Belgium civilians with whom our chaps had dealings were invariably friendly, but they had a much more realistic view of the impending disaster of invasion than the Dutch had shown. This is not surprising when one recalls that, in 1914, the Dutch had preserved their neutrality while Belgium had suffered invasion with all its attendant horrors and cruelties. She had seen her cities laid waste, churches desecrated, countryside pillaged and the population tortured during the long weary years of the First World War, and now, weakened with internal dissension, Belgium was facing the same grim ordeal again. Her leaders had broken away from what they thought to be entanglements with former Allies, and had emphasized their neutrality, in the vain hope of avoiding exactly what was now taking place again. The defensive role played by her army, while brave enough, was insufficiently prepared. Such help as her former Allies could give in those critical days was too late and almost entirely ineffective. One after another of her cities fell to the mechanized might of a highly organized and premeditated attack.

  The German blitzkrieg tactics of puncturing the enemy with a deep and concentrated thrust or spearhead (scherpunkt) and then the widening of the gap (aufrollen) into a dangerous bulge and finally a corridor, made invasion an easy task against the unprepared Belgians. They fought stubbornly in places and held ground long enough to delay the advance here and there, but the reports which came through all told the same ominous story – Belgium was being overrun.

  It was not long before the tide reached Antwerp. Constant air attack, with all its confusion and suffering, wrought havoc upon the morale of the fleeing civilians, hordes of refugees and withdrawing Belgium troops. The invasion had acquired a momentum and weight, which only equal weight and an organized defence could halt.

  The Belgians were conscious of the fact that they were even less well situated than they had been in 1914 and that their national policy towards Germany had let them down; but now it was too late. After a couple of days of air raids, with all manner of alarms and rumours, it became fairly obvious that the end was not far off. Large numbers of civilians had left the city, all ordinary life had come to a standstill and the heavy gunfire from the advancing Germans was already raining down on the suburbs. Shopkeepers had either sold out of food or their stocks had been looted. During this time the more adventurous helped themselves to any cars that were left in the town and set out towards France.

  After several false starts through orders being countermanded by the Belgians, the sappers were at last reluctantly given permission for the demolition to be carried out. Some thousands of tons of fuel and lubricating oil were run out on the flat ground around the plants and subsequently into the river. While this operation was at its height, oil was flowing several feet deep and swept all before it on its way to the river. Some thousands of steel drums were also emptied before the task was completed. By this time the Germans were already occupying part of the town. However, the sappers then joined up with the Navy in their secondary role of destroying the port facilities. This they did to the best of their ability given the time available and the resources at their disposal.

  Four French army lorries had been held, also under guard, on the west bank at a little place called Burght. Just as the Royal Engineer party were making their final withdrawal to that side, the naval contingent from Antwerp turned up. In spite of the Huns and the general racket from an air raid in progress at the time, this meeting raised a cheer that must have been heard in Brussels.

  In a short space of time, the whole lot packed themselves into those four lorries, all too tired to stand or even sit. They just slumped onto the floor, squeezed together like sardines and set off towards the coast. They planned to go through Ghent and Bruges to Ostend where they might find a vessel. Failing that, they thought they could work their way down the coast towards one of the French channel ports. As it was getting dark when they left and the French drivers were not sure of the way, it was doubtful if they would succeed. To get an idea of the journey, one must picture all roads, large and small, packed with escaping civilians trudging along on foot, or cycling, with others riding in vehicles of every description. These poor, desperate and hungry folk were moving towards France, or the coast, to escape the vengeance of the enemy. Many had been on the move for several days, and as food could not be bought from the empty or looted shops, their plight was pitiful. Periodically, planes would dive low over the columns and machine-gun them at crossroads, jamming the route with dead and dying. After 9 p.m. the refugees were forbidden to remain on the roads and were compelled to take to the neighbouring fields until daylight. During the night the roads were equally packed, but with troop movements; infantry, horse-drawn wagons and guns, mechanized units and ambulance convoys, all jostled in that hectic withdrawal. The refugees at the side of the roads would cry out to the passing troops to throw them food. At intervals, a plane would fly over and drop a flare to be followed a few seconds later by bombers seeking out troop concentrations. They did not have to look far, more or less any stretch of road gave them a tempting target.

  Their four trucks rumbled on through the night making slow progress. They were stopped frequently for identity checks. This gave rise to painful negotiations at times, as the French drivers wisely refused to be implicated in the madness of the passengers and disclaimed all knowledge of the party or their destination. The suspicions of the police were, under the circumstances, justifiable, since to be quite fair, it must be admitted that the sleeping men inside the wagons did not respond to enquiries when roughly roused to semi-consciousness. When asked ‘Where are you going?’ they usually shouted something like ‘Blighty’. This happened repeatedly as they struggled on through the night. At times the leading driver would stop and ask the way; then suspicions would be aroused and the same wretched business would start all over again. At other times a German air-attack would bring the column to an abrupt halt.

  It remained at a standstill until the maimed men or stricken vehicles were dragged off the road and then they would go on again until the next stop. Inside the lorry the exhausted men slept as if drugged, packed on the floor, man to man; as one of the men said, ‘Like ruddy carcasses from Smithfield’. Just before daybreak they arrived at Ostend only to find the port abandoned and not a ship in sight. They had no alternative but to carry on down the coast to Dunkirk before they could hope to get a passage to England. The expedition eventually managed to board a train ferry at Dunkirk just before the vessel put to sea. On board they were given food, and after a wash, began to find their feet again. Their tongues began to wag, the sailors and sappers swapping the experiences of the last few days on their respective jobs. All recalled how, in the first few days a sapper had kept them supplied with pigeons, when food was difficult to obtain. He climbed on to a roof overlooking a tower where the birds roosted and with the skilful use of his catapult and much patience kept the pot full. By common consent, this was an outstanding performance and would have been even better but for the air raids which scared off the pigeons.

  They arrived in Dover the same afternoon and made their way back to the unit at Gravesend. The moment they had ‘fallen out’ on the parade ground, they asked ‘are the Dutch crowd back? We saw their destroyers bombed just before we split up!’

  But they had all come back, so it was a happy day in barracks.

  Chapter Five

  THE SEINE

  In the early days of May 1940 the position in France was not too encouraging for the Allies and the possibili
ty of the Germans overrunning the channel ports was a serious consideration. What has now become known as the Maginot complex was not working out too well against a flanking attack through the Low Countries, and the new form of blitzkrieg as practised by the Panzer divisions of the German Army. In the light of events, it was not surprising that we were ordered to carry out a reconnaissance in great haste of the many large petrol refineries and oil installations mainly on the north bank of the River Seine between Le Havre and Rouen; easily the largest refineries and oil stocks in Europe.

  In the early evening of 23 May Peter Keeble, who commanded the Amsterdam operation, was sent to Portsmouth where he boarded a destroyer that took him to Cherbourg. From there he was to motor to Rouen armed with the necessary credentials and all available information and work his way westwards from Rouen to Le Havre, at which point fresh instructions would be issued. Just before going to bed, I confirmed with the naval authorities at Portsmouth that he had joined the ship and sailed, expecting that the matter would rest there for a time at least. But I was wrong, for events over on the other side of the channel were moving quickly. The size and speed with which this operation had to be set up indicates how badly the war was going. In the original plan for XD operations it had never been envisaged that they would take place so far south.

  About 11.30 p.m. on the same night, I was called from my bed by the adjutant to receive secret instructions which had just come in by dispatch rider from the Director of Military Operations. In view of the situation it did not cause much surprise when our depot was roused from its sleep and transport lorries were loaded with the type of stores which are normally kept in the magazine. A parade of sections was held in the utter blackness, details checked up, and in the small hours of the morning the convoy drew out of the barrack yard and headed successively for Chatham, Canterbury and Dover. Passing through Chatham one saw a few riotous folk still making merry in the streets, which called forth words of encouragement and advice from the troops. This banter reached its zenith when we passed a policeman urging a solitary sailor to go home; naturally all were on the side of Jolly Jack. Apart from these incidents it was a quiet, sleepy countryside through which we rumbled on one of those marvellous nights of early summer, pulling in at Dover at 6 a.m. and going straight to the harbour. The, by now familiar, stores were rapidly unloaded on to the quay and were then stowed aboard a tender, and the vehicles were sent back to the depot at Gravesend. Two destroyers were waiting out in the harbour; one for a naval demolition party and one for us. It was not long before we steamed out to our destroyer, transferred onto her decks and made all snug. This time it was not necessary to advise the men what a destroyer deck can be like when at speed in choppy weather. They now knew.

  To the ordinary landsman, a voyage in these little ships under active service conditions is one to remember; the way they plough through at high speed throbbing from stem to stern is thrilling. The vibration up on the bridge when first experienced is quite uncanny. If anything of a sea is running the vessel shudders from each bump, as she plunges through succeeding waves and is swept from end to end with green sea, this swirls along the limited deck space with violence and carries anything loose overboard. The wind keeps up a steady whine in the rigging and at times it seems to take one’s breath away. Now add the effect of an enemy plane raking one with machine-gun fire, bombs ‘plomping’ uncomfortably near and throwing up tons of water, plus the ships own ack-ack crew giving back all they can at the same time, and you have the picture. It may seem nothing to those grand fellows who man the destroyers, but to a soldier it is an experience not easily forgotten. During our passages in these hard worked little vessels, the sapper parties began to make friends. When they boarded a vessel in which they had travelled before, the ship’s company would greet them as old friends with some such remark as ‘you here again – what is it in aid of this time?’ One only hopes that the marvellous work and exploits of these hard worked destroyers during the difficult days of 1940 will be told some day. It should be an inspiration to all Englishmen.

  It transpired that our ship had just come off an evacuation job during the night; hence her decks were littered with arms, equipment, old clips of rifle ammunition and so forth. The wardroom had been used as a dressing station and for surgery, so we officers munched our breakfast sandwiches amongst traces of the surgeon’s busy night’s work. The all pervading smell of medicaments and various odds and ends strewn about helped to remind one of the grim reality but, having been in the keen early morning air, we were hungry so the surroundings did not matter. With the usual kind hospitality of the Navy we were all given a steaming hot mug of tea to wash down our sandwiches.

  The two ships awaited the signal to sail until just after 9 a.m. when we steamed out of the harbour, took station line ahead and set a south-westerly course for Le Havre. The sea was smoother than we had ever seen it before which, coupled with the brilliant sun and almost cloudless sky, gave the party a chance to sit up and take notice. Only two minor incidents occurred during the crossing, one a floating mine and later, out in mid-channel, a speck appeared in the sky. With the clear visibility obtaining at the time, all eyes turned to the aircraft. However she turned out to be one of ours and after coming down and circling round us apparently satisfied herself that we were British and flew off down the Channel. So it was that, unlike some former experiences, we ran into the harbour at Le Havre without hindrance soon after 3 p.m. and berthed along side the quay. Immediately our party manhandled their gear ashore onto the adjacent covered wharf and the destroyer put to sea again. Our little force of twelve officers and 120 other ranks, together with warlike stores, was again on foreign soil thanks to the Royal Navy. I went up to the British HQ in the town, while the party moved off to that most cheerless of all human institutions – the transit camp. Unlike in Holland and Belgium the Seine lay on the lines of communication of the British Expeditionary Force.

  At Area HQ a General Intelligence Report was obtained together with the name and location of the General Officer Commanding at Rouen, to whom I was referred for more detailed information and authority. This resulted in my setting off in a staff car, together with our adjutant, Captain Joe Hawes, to Rouen about sixty miles inland. Progress was difficult as the French, by this time alarmed by the German advance, were improvising every possible form of roadblock at vulnerable points along the fine stretch of road connecting the two cities. Looking back on those farm wagons drawn across the road, derelict cars and similar junk, manned solely by riflemen, French sailors and, at places, the Gardes Républicaines, as their only answer to Hitler’s mechanized divisions, one could not help feeling the futility of it all. All the same, we had to get out of the car about twenty times and, in execrable French, argue our way through; this resulted in our arriving in Rouen at about midnight. It did not take long to find the Railway Transport Officer, always a safe bet in a strange place, and a telephone conversation fixed an appointment with the General Officer Commanding at British HQ for 8 a.m. the following morning. The adjutant and I parked the car up a side street, immobilized it and, while wandering through the deserted and blacked out streets, found our way to the premier hotel of the place. This was our last link with a civilized mode of life for some time to come.

  We met the Commander at British HQ the following morning but the information that was needed was elsewhere; similarly the authority for our demolitions was vested in the general of the local French District HQ, who was responsible for the area we had in view. The General Officer Commanding kindly fixed up an appointment with the French general and took us over to his HQ later in the morning. It was quartered, as in peacetime, in an imposing building in the centre of the town, with an atmosphere of importance. Staff officers in impeccable uniforms, the majority with rows of medal ribbons, which for colour would have competed with an herbaceous border, moved about the corridors from room to room. After the requisite introductions, the adjutant and I were shown into the presence of Mon General. He was an elderly
man with fine features, penetrating eyes and, like his various aides, immaculately dapper in appearance. For one moment my gaze lighted on the adjutant and then on my own uniform and I realized that battle dress was not designed to compete with these sort of surroundings. The general listened to our story, asked many questions about our mission, obviously dismissed the idea that the Germans could ever get to Rouen, and said so with emphasis and obvious amusement. ‘How could it be otherwise, with the French armies between the enemy and this area?’ he asked. Another polite conversation regarding the location of the installations and the suggestion that we could, at least, guard the plants from sabotage and he eventually agreed to our moving into the plants, providing we came directly under his command which he, in turn, would delegate to his technical officer responsible for the supply of essence!

  Once outside the Headquarters, I thanked the British Commander for his kind offices in giving me the introduction that resulted in a satisfactory solution and said goodbye to him. Thus our party came under command of the French Army HQ and the adjutant and I found ourselves accompanying the technical officer, a captain of artillery, to his office in another part of the town.

  Then the fun began. The French officer spoke about as much English as I spoke French and, if not hostile, was at least suspicious of both us and our mission. Furthermore, all arrangements were in his hands to protect les usines (the works). Moreover his arrangements were complete down to the last detail, so what more could these British soldiers do? And so on. After hours of reiteration – to the English ear it seems to take the French so long to say so little – and by using all the diplomacy we could muster, we eventually got him to agree that our party could place a few troops at each installation, subject to further negotiation with the directors at each place! We subsequently found these to be twenty-nine in number. The French officer insisted on conducting these deliberations at which we could be present, so altogether it looked like a job for life. All this, with the Germans battering their way through the Allied Armies, made us feel rather dejected.