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  The same afternoon I drove back to Le Havre with some of the requisite information in my possession and a general idea of the geographical distribution of the tasks ahead. It will be remembered that Keeble had sailed from England via Cherbourg, a few hours ahead of the main party on the same errand, but, as he was not aware of the urgency when he left, I was doubtful as to when he would arrive back at Le Havre. Much detailed information was needed quickly if a successful plan was to be made. This could only be done locally at each place, hence my anxiety to get the parties out to the appropriate areas, based upon the information we had obtained so far. To our great joy Peter Keeble was found when we arrived back at the port. He had had the shock of his life when he reported to HQ and was told we were already here and in the transit camp! Naturally he imagined that the unit was still at our base at home waiting for his report. By a lucky chance his data very largely completed the gaps in the information already available, uncannily so in fact, with the result that during the same afternoon I sent about half the party off to Rouen in trucks that they had acquired. Military Operations at the War Office had sent a request ahead asking all units to give every assistance to our unit as it would be arriving in France without transport. As a result we managed to beg, borrow or steal one 15cwt truck for each section.

  From a plan of Rouen we had bought in the town that morning, a rendezvous was arranged in the centre of the town, at the approach to a bridge over the river. This seemed fairly straightforward. It was my intention to leave Le Havre later as, apart from the fact that my car was a good deal faster than the trucks, I had a number of administrative details to be settled before I could get away. I left during the late evening with the adjutant and, taking advantage of the remaining daylight, put in some good bursts of speed between the road blocks. With the approach of dusk, however, a shot from one of the many posts caused us to approach them with more caution.

  Earlier in the day some German motorized patrols had allegedly broken through and approached to a point about twenty miles from Rouen, shooting up everything, in the now familiar technique of the German thrusts. The people of the surrounding countryside took fright, resulting in the town being congested with refugees struggling westwards. Convoys of ambulances were removing wounded from the railway station adding to the already chaotic traffic situation. Towards midnight a thunderstorm, with a deluge of rain, brought everything to a standstill, but eventually we arrived at the agreed rendezvous. This was in a small open space facing the road approach to the bridge over the Seine; one of two large masonry bridges which connect the north and south portions of the town.

  I sat in the car and viewed the feverish preparation for demolition proceeding on the bridge. Gangs of men were cutting out about half a dozen chambers with the aid of compressors, both in the haunches and arches of the several large spans. Within a few minutes of my arrival, up came a French tank and planted itself near the car so that it commanded the approaches. This was hastily followed by wiring and sandbagging to convert the site into a permanently defended locality.

  Meanwhile the adjutant had gone to explore the approaches to the other bridge as there were no signs of the convoy. Just then a squad of French infantry came upon the scene and installed themselves as defenders of the strong point. They took one look at me and my batman driver, Corporal Holland, and decided forthwith that we were fifth columnists waiting to aid the Germans over the river. I was arrested and conducted to a police post in a depressing little street nearby. The head man was out, so they said, and so I could not be examined yet. This looked like becoming a stalemate but eventually I managed to get away and back to the car with an escort who was instructed to accompany the adjutant and myself out of the town. On arrival at the car the batman driver reported that when the adjutant had returned, having seen nothing of the party, he too had been ‘taken off’. At this point I succeeded in persuading the escort and the troops manning the post that if they were really anxious to get rid of us they must assist in returning the other missing British Officer. As they were in a hurry to get rid of the doubtful strangers, quite apart from who or what we were, this worked wonders and it was not long before Hawes was returned but without his revolver. By this time it was dawn and by a stroke of good luck, the trucks came lumbering over the bridge and we all moved off together to a destination just outside the town

  We all arrived at a British petrol filling station, which I had decided to make our temporary headquarters, at about five a.m. and having established our credentials we were admitted, fed and bedded down in some stables at the rear of the Royal Army Service Corps Petrol Filling Depot. The OC was a cheery old Scot who, in addition to his flair for highland hospitality, knew of all the local plants and petrol installations. This proved invaluable in completing the information upon which plans were eventually based. The following day I conferred with the French liaison officer and visited a large number of plants in the vicinity. By the afternoon small sections of sappers were, by arrangements with the civilian management, posted in each installation. The experiences of these small detachments and their life for the next couple of weeks in their widely varying surroundings, cut off from all English speaking contacts except for the daily visit of their officer and an occasional dispatch rider, would make amusing reading. One lad occupied his off duty time by proposing to the daughter of the local estaminet, and could be seen any evening serving behind the bar, or entertaining the local patrons with song and dance in the true Lambeth manner.

  When all preliminary work at the Rouen end of the Seine basin was complete, I returned to Le Havre to carry out the same work at the seaward end of the river. I found the other officers in the party had done much useful preliminary work, but it transpired that Le Havre, and some miles inland, was under the command of an admiral, and was in no way connected with the French Army HQ. This meant that all preliminary groundwork, starting from the top and working downwards, had to be done again. I found the admiral to be a pleasant little man, who spoke English quite well and was not as sceptical of our mission as the general. At one of the many interviews, he asked my opinion as to the best dispositions for barrage balloons of which, it should be noted, they had but six. Having discussed the matter at length the admiral terminated the discussion by saying ‘If I put ballon up – the Boche, he come over and shoot him down – if I no put ballon up – what use ballon?’ However he was most helpful and in a few days the troops were spread along the river towards Rouen in small sections so that all industrial plants were covered. At this point I moved my headquarters to a larger installation, just south of Rouen. This was conveniently situated for road and telephone communication with the twenty-nine objectives which our unit was to guard for the time being, and to destroy in the event of the close approach of the enemy in force.

  The Seine basin from Le Havre to Rouen was divided up into six areas. The distribution of officers and their men was as follows:

  Area No. 1 Le Havre Second Lieutenant D. Terry

  Area No. 2 Gonfreville Second Lieutenant R. Meyler

  Area No. 3 Port Jerome Captain P. Keeble

  Area No. 4 Mailleraye Captain T. Goodwin

  Area No. 5 Rouen Second Lieutenant P. Baker

  Area No. 6 Petit Couronne Second Lieutenant Whitehead

  By far the largest installations were at Port Jerome and Mailleraye as they also included the only two oil refineries. All the other sites were purely tank farms.

  The new headquarters, which overlooked a refinery, were in a large villa on a hill and had previously been occupied by its director. The place showed signs of hurried evacuation; pictures remained on the walls, some furniture had been left and the cupboards contained all the odds and ends of ordinary life. Three officers and about a dozen other ranks, mainly dispatch riders, installed themselves together with half a dozen of the Gardes Républicaines. The latter ostensibly to augment the guard, but actually to watch the movements of the sappers and to report each day to one of their officers, who invariably dropped in
and exchanged backchat on the flesh and the Devil. This Frenchman had served in their colonial army and had a fine repertoire of yarns which served as a stimulus to conversation; however very little happened which escaped his attention. The explosives were stored in the basement of the house to which the sappers would retire during air raids. This seemed fair enough for, being below ground, nothing but a direct hit was likely to harm them, and in that case the stocks of explosives would not matter anyhow.

  During the next two weeks all arrangements throughout the sixty mile belt were completed and day and night a dispatch rider shuttle service was run between all detachments and headquarters, as by this time, it was unsafe in the interests of secrecy, to use the telephone. Each day one of the officers in Rouen would collect intelligence reports from British sources and I obtained similar information from the French Army via the liaison officer, who was evidently charged with controlling the party’s actions. The comparison of these two reports, relating to the same incidents, invariably provided an interesting study of what can be done by emphasis. As any woman will tell you, it is not what you say, but the way you say it! It must be appreciated that the area was flooded with fifth columnists, spies and other enemy agents. Parachutists were captured and shot, and rumour was rife sedulously fostered no doubt by the Boche. Hence it was not really surprising that everyone was suspicious of the rest of humanity.

  As far as the British sappers were concerned this atmosphere of distrust eventually culminated in my being sent for by the local French District HQ and presented with an agreement which I was ordered to sign. The only alternative was evacuation of the party which would have set at zero all efforts up to date and, in the light of subsequent experience, would undoubtedly have resulted in the plants and stocks of fuel falling into enemy hands. The document was written on four pages of foolscap in both French and English; the principal features of the document were as follows:

  Duties to guard all plants in the Seine basin Le Havre-Rouen, severally mentioned, against the enemies of France. That the British should stay on their stations until the last.

  That they should be under French command and act only upon the French GHQ (both Army and Navy) orders as transmitted through the liaison officer.

  That absolute secrecy be maintained.

  That the French would provide food.

  Systems of intercommunications.

  That if any independent action were taken on our own initiative by any member of the British party, they would be regarded as saboteurs and dealt with according to French military custom.

  A space was provided for the signatures of both parties. The situation brooked no delay and as the sappers had by now got so near their objectives, I signed on the dotted line. As I left the building my only misgiving was that when the end came, would they procrastinate? I consoled myself with the thought that in any case I would have the liaison officer with me at the end and it was hardly likely that he would quarrel over procedure in the face of the enemy.

  As we were under command of the French Army they had already provided us with rations which were not of a very high order and also the obligatory issue of red wine each day. The latter came in considerable quantities but sadly was very rough and tasted like vinegar.

  During the waiting time all ranks perfected their local knowledge of the objectives and the surrounding country. The enemy was getting nearer all the time and air raids, unopposed except by a few widely spaced batteries of ack-ack guns of varying calibre, became fairly regular. Towards the end of this time countless refugees streamed along the roads leading west and south; surely a more pathetic sight never existed. There were men, women, children, at times with their livestock and even domestic animals. Young and old, rich and poor, these wretched people surged along those straight roads in a never ending stream, away from la guerre toward what they hoped would be a happier land.

  What disillusionment was in store for those weary travellers. One would see the large four wheeled farm carts of the country packed with their belongings; the family, ranging from grandparents to little children and babies perched high on top, dogs trotting along underneath. Pots and pans suspended below carts rattled a dirge with every forward movement. In front the team of struggling horses, usually steaming from their heavy pull, were urged along by the farmer tugging at their heads, the remaining male members of the family either whipping up the horses or pushing behind the wagon according to their strength. Next in procession would come a large, showy saloon car packed with the more important or valued possessions of the owners, a mattress tied on the top of the vehicle and well dressed folk inside. The driver, as is customary in France, operating his hooter most of the time in his impatience to get on. One would also see young men trudging along pushing bicycles loaded high with bundles of gargantuan proportions; how they ever got their load poised was a mystery. To swell this sorrowful trail were less fortunate members of society just plodding along carrying bags, suitcases or even small bundles; their sole possessions. Unlike their usual custom, there was little conversation among these people. All were sad and weary, for some of the older ones this was the second time they had left their homes to escape the savagery of the Hun. Some had come from as far off as Belgium to join in this great trek to safety. When the cars broke down or ran out of fuel, they were abandoned by the roadside or in some field; similarly those walking when too weary, just dropped down by the roadside to forget their misery in sleep. Periodically the German planes came over, flying low above those long straight roads. They either fired their machine guns while ammunition lasted or spread havoc and confusion with an occasional bomb. The injured dragged themselves aside, the dead were laid aside with the broken vehicles and the procession of human suffering moved on once again. I find it difficult to eradicate from my memory the look on the faces of those unhappy people.

  During the last few day, as things grew worse, this civilian migration to the south and west was at first diluted with remnants from the French army and then gradually the roads became thronged with marching troops and the civilian element grew scarcer. At times when they halted, we would ask them where they were going, to which the same reply always came ‘à Toulouse’! The whole outlook of the French seemed to be one of mere physical contact without regard to the factors of time and space; hence the German thrusts were never effectively met by any planned counterattack. It seemed as if the entire French army was going towards the Pyrenees to regroup. They looked happy enough and apparently glad to be out of the struggle. A strange feature of this progressive movement was that no wounded were noticeable and must have been left behind or taken by another route. Sometimes long convoys of vehicles replaced troops in the never ending stream and lastly came the guns, battery after battery; we knew then that the end was near.

  Every day, either the adjutant, Joe Hawes, or I went round the circuit calling at the principal posts dealing with the administrative problems that cropped up during the attachment to the French army. Early in June I arrived in Le Havre on such a journey to find that one of the plants had been hit during an enemy air raid early the same morning. A fair amount of damage had been done near the docks and, at the oil installation in question, two large tanks of petrol had been destroyed. One had been blown bodily about fifty yards away and the other flattened; both were utterly wrecked. Fortunately most of the blazing spirit had run into an empty dock. Four sappers together with the night watchman fought the flames and saved the fire from spreading to the rest of the plant so justifying their official status as guards. The room normally used as their barrack room, which they left when the alert sounded, was completely wrecked. In another part of the harbour two benzine tanks blazed steadily for some hours. This was the first real raid of any severity that Le Havre had experienced and it produced a very salutary effect upon the population in the matter of taking alerts more seriously. While in the town I was told that the admiral wished to see me. He was very friendly and expressed himself as satisfied with what was being done in his a
rea. In discussing the war he said little but, in emphasizing the necessity for constant vigilance, gave me the impression that he was not so certain about the trend of events as were the French Army and the liaison officer. Looking back upon those highly placed elderly French officers commanding areas and towns in depth behind the front, one is forced to the conclusion that they had regarded their posts as administrative sinecures. They never really expected to be faced with German armoured fighting vehicles or, for that matter, streams of suffering refugees passing through their towns. One can only think that their confidence in their defences was based upon the mistaken belief that they would never be put to the stern test of war.

  At one of the bigger usines in a country district under our protection, a large workers’ canteen and living accommodation was temporarily used as a hostel for young female refugees from northern France and Belgium. As our party was in occupation prior to this influx and doing the cooking, our detachment took on the entirely new role of organizer, comforter and general welfare adviser upon those matters which young women seek advice and guidance.

  Another strange episode was an order from French HQ that we were to scour the Forêt Londe for paratroops, said to have landed early one morning. I eventually found myself in command of a small mixed command of French and English troops combing the forest; as this was about fifteen miles long and three or four miles wide, it was a fair task. The total bag was a grounded RAF fighter and one Belgian spy; a very beautiful blonde complete with caravan. I interviewed the lady, who gave me coffee and after a few minutes of French broke into English. She told an interesting story of escaping from the wicked Germans and coming with her caravan to these peaceful surroundings near the crossroads in the heart of the forest. The French liaison officer when he came upon the scene took a different view of the lady’s dilemma, with the net result that she left the sylvan glades the same day sans caravan. The incident, however, taught us the geography of the forest, with its intersecting roads. This information was to prove our salvation later on, although we did not appreciate it at the time.