CHAPTER FIVE
EARLY WAR YEARS
1939 - 1940
I was woken by the high-pitched voice of Grandma
shouting, Wakey Wakey, cant have the bridegroom late
for the bride, can we? Grandma was well known for being an
early riser, and thankfully this morning was no exception. I
replied; What about my best man, he is notorious for
arriving at the station after the train has left - have you woken
Sam?
Yes Alan, he should be down any time now. I had been
given the sofa in the front room as my bed, which I found very
comfortable. Mr Hitler had no desire to spoil our wedding, for no
sirens sounded during the night. It was always feared by the
public that at the start of war with Germany, we would be subject
to mass air raids from the first day of war.
Grandma had prepared a light breakfast of cereals and toast,
which I hurriedly devoured, after I had a cat-lick in the kitchen
sink, my toilet gear was at home. Sam gradually came alive and
asked, Alan, hope you have not forgotten the wedding ring,
if you have we would have to stop the war until we get one.
I made doubly certain that this gold ring which Gladys had fitted
on last Saturday, 2nd September, was secure in my top tunic
pocket. I looked at the clock in the kitchen, which gave the time
of 8.10 am, leaving me less than two hours before the wedding
ceremony to get home, change and return by taxi.
I had also arranged to pick Grandma and Sam on the way to the
registrar at the Wolverhampton Civic Centre. Again, Sam had to be
pushed, to get his motorbike started to take me to Old Fallings
Lane, and for him to pick up the buttonhole carnations from the
bride at Leason Lane. When Sam came to start his motorbike there
was no response, further attempts were of no avail! Sam,
look, I cannot wait any longer, I shall have to walk home.
I said to him. He replied, You have no need to walk, you
can borrow my newly-acquired cycle. Without further delay,
I left, thanking Grandma for her hospitality, reminding her that
I shall be picking them up by taxi at 9.15 am to take them to the
registrar, and See that you are wearing your
ostrich-feathered broad brimmed hat.
I had just reached home as my father was leaving by car to his
business. He waved and wished me good luck. Now I had to shave
and sort out my best clothes, consisting of a dark blue suit,
shiny black shoes, white shirt and cuff links and my white
striped blue tie. I had a job in locating my cream gloves. Time
was moving fast, only 15 minutes before the taxi will arrive at
9.15 am. Every now and then I gave a thought to Gladys and her
family - did they arrive back from Wallasey? Would she remember
to bring the buttonhole carnations for me, Sam and Grandma? We
would soon know!
It was a relief to see the taxi arrive on time and before
departing, I made my last check that the wedding ring was in my
jacket pocket. Grandma, complete with her wide brimmed feather
hat and shoulder fur with Sam in his light grey suit, greeted the
taxi with a buttonhole carnation for me. I noticed they were both
wearing carnations, so Sam had made it to Gladys after all.
We finally arrived at the Civic Office, in St Peters
Square, Wolverhampton, where we made our way to the
registars room. When entering, around 9.40 am, only the
registrar was present, sitting at his desk. I began to have some
horrible thoughts that Gladys and party would not make it. Just
then, there were giggling noises outside the door, then I knew
all was well.
There was an age difference between Gladys and her youngest
sister, Brenda, of 20 years, Gladys being of the same age as
myself, 23 years old. Edna, the next eldest sister, was having
difficulty wearing a pancake hat with a bunch of flowers on top.
The other sister, Joan and Gladys Mum and Dad with Brenda,
all had their carnations displayed.
The registrar then explained the format of the wedding after he
had finalised the register details. It was noticeable that the
children sitting on the first row of chairs were quiet and would
appear to be curious as to what was to take place.
The wedding was short and after the kissing of the bride, to seal
the marriage, we were asked to complete the register with
witnesses from those present. Hardly before I could say thank you
to all the guests taking part in this important event, I was
whisked away to keep a wedding portrait appointment. The time had
passed 10.40 am and I was due back in the drill hall by noon.
We must have looked like a couple of shop thieves as we ran
through the centre of Wolverhampton, past Manders, the paint firm
and down Worcester Street to reach the photographers.
The taxi we ordered at 11 am arrived promptly and took us back to
my address at Old Fallings Lane. The taxi was asked to take me
back to the drill hall after I had completed my assignment. This
was, of course, to put on my army uniform after I had done what a
man has to do to consummate a marriage. We kissed goodbye, not
knowing what the morrow had in store for us. As I was leaving I
felt proud to have Gladys as my wife and to know she would be
waiting for my return.
On returning to the drill hall just before noon, I was greeted by
Sergeant Mills and a small group. As I alighted from the taxi,
Sergeant Mills called for three cheers. He shouted, Did you
make it?
Yes. I replied, I made it and confirmed
it.
We knew on Sunday 3rd September, when war had been declared, that
our departure was set for midday Monday 4th September. The
location was not declared. I was to learn that the final
departure time was now planned for 1 pm and that we were to
return to our former gun site at Coventry, when called up during
the Munich crisis. On arrival, we were held up for some time in
Coventry High Street, While waiting in the army vehicle we saw
coffins being carried into the public baths. My thoughts were
that there were some pessimistic people about, in turning the
civic baths into a mortuary. Later, unfortunately, on the 14th
November 1940, a massive German air raid was launched against
this city, dropping 400 tons of bombs, causing 1419 casualties
and thousands to be homeless.
The bombers were guided to Coventry on radar beams from
strategically positioned radar stations on the continent. All
this was in contrast to our inactive ack ack duties,
apart from practice drills, during the whole of our tour of duty
here. There were no sirens or alarms during this period of this
so called phoney war.
By mid-October the 209HAA battery was notified that it was being
posted overseas and that all personnel would be given 48 hours
embarkation leave. At the end of this leave, all personnel would
be required to report to the barracks at Newport by midday. While
at Newport, each gunner would be fully fitted out with new
clothing, including the new battle dress uniform.
These embarkation leaves are not occasions to go wild about.
There is sadness at the parting and no-one knows when the next
meeting will be. Cest la guerre.
There were very mixed scenes at Newport Barracks as members
reported to the duty sergeant on arrival. It was a major surprise
that out TA unit would be required so early in the war to join
the BEF in France. Most of us were squatting around the
barracks court yard, awaiting our turn to be kitted out.
When I completed this exercise, I was aware that I had retained
my original boots, which I put in my haversack. I was to pay
dearly for this pilfering later that day.
Now, to the surprise of the 209HAA men, a squad of young
conscripts marched into the main court centre. They were highly
drilled and very smartly turned out with boots boned to
guards standard. They were addressed by their officer and
told they were to reinforce the 209 TA unit.
On standing down, these young soldiers were keen to tell us they
were from Lancashire and felt proud to have been chosen to join
us. They seemed to have brought fresh air and colour to our
battery, whose ages ranged between teenaged and 30 plus.
One of the militia men became well known for singing Gracie
Fields songs, such as Sally, Sally, Pride of Our
Alley etc, he was know as Greg. Later that day, we were
addressed by General Sir Fred Pile, C of C of ack ack defences.
He wished all a safe and successful mission and we were to guard
against putting all our eggs in one basket.
That night, we marched from the barracks to the Newport Harbour.
It was the most painful march of the whole war, I had this extra
weight of the spare boots in the pack, which caused the shoulder
strap to cut off the blood supply to my arms, making them quite
numb. It was dark when we embarked on the Benmy McCree, 2,600
tons, an Isle of Man passenger ferry steamer with a speed of 22
knots, assigned to take us across the English Channel.
Darkness did not prevent the commanding officer from holding gas
drill on board open deck, where we were issued with gas capes.
The moon came out and while our ship was moored, the moons
reflection on the water gave a romantic setting. This false
illusion was soon to be put right when we were shepherded down
into the passengers saloon and told to kip down for the
night. I seized an unoccupied bench as my bed for the night. It
reminded me of the homeless finding a pitch to doss. I was
feeling the effects of the overweight haversack and was anxious
to get some sleep. I remember, as I felt the ships throb
from the engine, that whilst on open deck, I did not seen any
escort naval vessels; someone said that the captain relied on the
ships fast speed to keep out of trouble. I prayed that this
would be so.
We were awakened by a duty sergeant bellowing forth, Come
and get it, come and get it. Breakfast is now being served - take
your mug and billy can. At the ships restaurant
serving hatch, where our breakfast was being served, the duty
officer was asking individuals if they had any complaints. From
time to time, remarks were made like, My eggs too
hard. He then announced that there would be an inspection
parade on top deck at 9.30 am. On this parade we were addressed
by Colonel Wood on a very draughty deck.
His main point was that we were to join the RAF Advanced Air
Strike Force (AASF) to defend their airfields. Our base in France
would be St Nazaire, the port we were now sailing to. My
predictor partner, Laurie Green, who was always practising his
French said, My wife and I go regularly to Bordeaux. I know
this part of France well. I could be a tourist guide for the
troops. I reminded him, We are not on a holiday
jaunt.
Looking out to sea, I felt we were very exposed to enemy action,
for there were not naval escort ships and no light bofor guns on
board deck. The ships captain announced that we were
entering the Bay of Biscay and the coast outline we could see was
that of Brittany. Now all the troops were standing on deck
eagerly awaiting the sight of St. Nazaire. As we approached our
destination, the green coast line gave no clue to the havoc to
come. We at last arrived at this impressive port with its large
berthing facilities. The first French person that I saw was a
Madame, wearing a dark dress, white apron and a white lace
headdress, draping a high comb, a sort of mantilla.
Soon after the Ben McCree docked, the troops disembarked along
the quayside. The weather was warmer than when we left Newport.
Now, Colonel Wood gave us another address. This time he stressed
the need to keep the vehicles in top condition, we were a mobile
battery. To this end, he would introduce weekly MT inspections,
he then added, these vehicles could be the saving of your lives.
Our final destination was Epernay, in the Champagne Country and
we were to travel from Nantes by train to Chalon on the Marne.
We arrived at Nantes. At the railway goods yard, our vehicles and
guns were loaded onto low wagons labelled in large letters, 20
CHEVAUX (horses) 40 LES HOMMES (men). That night, the men were
let loose to sample Nantes.
A small group of us found our way to the Garden of Eden
establishments. There was much joking and daring about who would
be first to enter one of the brothels. Being newly married, I
must confess that I was the last to enter. There was talk that
women sat at a desk, collected the money and paired you off. I am
not ashamed to state that I was not impressed when I saw what was
on offer and turned tail.
Outside this den of pleasure, the stench from the
drains turned my stomach upside down. Our nights abode was
in a large warehouse, having a concrete floor to sleep on. Apart
from a ground sheet, we had no palliases or other medium to
soften the floor surface.
Later, one of our group, who had sampled the delights of Nantes,
developed VD. He was of a religious nature and felt guilty,
particularly as he was on the sick parade for several months.
On the second day, following our arrival in France at St Nazaire,
we boarded the goods train containing our units weapons and
control equipment, which were loaded on the wagons the previous
day. Most travelled in the covered wagons, apart from those who
travelled with the equipment, for which they had a
responsibility.
I travelled in the passenger seat of the lorry loaded with
control equipment, including the predictor. The driver of this
vehicle I knew as Rusty, a nickname he had acquired
because of his copper coloured hair. There was no ceremony at our
departure from Nantes, no ticket collector to check our tickets.
Again, the weather was fine and mild and, as this special goods
train slowly moved forward, we had a sense that we were leaving a
part of France untouched by this phoney war. I said to Rusty,
This train is moving so slowly that one of us could jump
off up forward by the engine and help ourselves to any fruit not
yet picked in the fruit fields, for which the Loire country is
famous and re-join the tail end of the train.
There was no response from Rusty, he was nodding off to sleep -
effects of the night out in Nantes, no doubt. The train could
very well have been called the slow train to China.
It was certainly the best way of seeing the beauty of the Loire
Valley with its many castles and vineyards.
We had been issued with hard rations - bully beef and dog
biscuits - so that we could not complain about not stopping for
meals. By the time we had our first stop, it was nightfall on the
outskirts of Paris. There was much toing and froing
by the railway staff, who were working in the full glare of the
goods yards over head lights. It seemed our steam engine was
being changed, more important, we were able to make ourselves
comfortable and that a cup of coffee had been organised for our
arrival.
We were reminded by our troop officer that our final rail
destination was Chalon on the Marne, capital of the Marne
district. It is here we would detrain to complete our journey by
road to Plivot, an outer district of Epernay. Once again, we took
up our former stations, be it a wagon, gun or lorry, hopefully to
sleep off the rest of the journey. I could not come to terms with
the highly lit goods yard we were about to leave. What about the
air raids. Did the French not believe in them? There was a belief
at the highest level of army command in France that provided we
did not bomb their cities, they would not bomb ours. Our RAF in
France was strictly controlled by the French as to what targets
in Germany they were allowed to bomb, to avoid retaliatory action
by the Germans.
Hard rations were again issued to sustain us on our way to
Chalon, which was reached mid-afternoon. We were shunted into the
goods yard to enable our weapons to be unloaded by overhead
lifting gear. During this process, an RAF officer arrived and
contacted the commanding officer. Troops were instructed to get
their weapons ready for the road journey. The RAF officer had
arrived to act as our escort for our convoy to lead us to the
future gunsite at Plivot. Our three-inch guns required the most
attention, since the gun platforms had to be raised to allow the
gun wheels to be attached.
Again, travelling in the lorry with the driver, Rusty, we also
had Laurie Green squeezed in the drivers cabin. All the
control equipment was stacked in this lorry. The troops had been
instructed to travel with the equipment they were responsible for
manning.
Once the convoy was on the move, I said to Laurie, Keep
your eyes open for any road signs, you never know, we may have to
make our own getaway at some future date!
True, replied Laurie, Did you just notice that
one we have just passed, it had Epernay on it.
Sounds to me we are going in the same direction, I
retorted.
This was the first time that I had travelled on French roads,
which I had understood were straight and tree-lined. This was one
such road, the trees were very upright, similar to our poplar
tree. The road ran parallel to the river Marne, and as we
approached a large town, I assumed it to be Epernay, the convoy
took a sharp turning left along a narrow country road.
Laurie spotted the road sign and shouted, This is it, the
signpost read Plivot, Athis and
Avis. So, travelling along this very narrow
road through undulating plains, where women could be seen working
in the fields, we sensed our destination was at hand.
Very soon, we spotted planes parked in the distance, giving the
clue as to why we had come this distance. On arriving at the
allocated gunsite position, we were instructed to site the guns
parallel to the road and position the command post and control
equipment in the centre of the gunsite.
This was followed by carrying out check procedure ready for
action. Those lucky enough not to be detailed for gunsite duty
for the night were paraded on the road and marched off to Paul
Rogers Chateau, about a mile further down this country
road. We were told that this would be our future billets until
such time as Nissen huts were erected on site. When we arrived at
Rogers shooting lodge, all were very tired and in my case,
very weak for we had not had a substantial meal since we left the
ship.
We were detailed to get bedded down in any of the ground floor
rooms, apart from those who were ordered for the dreaded night
guard patrol. In doing night guard, no allowance was made the
following day for loss of sleep. I personally, could only just
keep awake when I unfortunately had to do this stint. It was
again, find your place to doss for the night, on the
floor, using the issued ground sheet between you and the wooden
planks.
Next morning, the cooks had set up a field kitchen and served tea
and porridge. We were promised French sticks and stew for dinner.
On returning to the gunsite, there was major physical work ahead.
Slit trenches had to be dug alongside each equipment to cater for
the manning team. The next task to be carried out was the digging
of gunpits to a depth which would allow gun barrels to be visible
above ground.
This was to give maximum protection to the gun crew and still
allow the battery to defend itself against tank attacks. Likewise
the command post team were required to dig the depth of the
command post, which would allow control equipment team and
gunsite officer to see above ground.
These tasks took several weeks to complete and I know there were
many who felt weak through the lack of wholesome food. Our troop
officer, Colin Elwell called for volunteers to form a Christmas
tree raiding party. His aim was to camouflage the gunsite into
what might look from the air a pine tree plantation. I was an
army volunteer, You! You!, to join his raiding party.
Our mission was carried out several times finding different
plantations on each trip until we had covered the whole site with
Christmas trees. I think Colin Elwell was quite proud of his
gunsite conversion into a plantation, for all to see, be it in
the air, on the road, or just on the gunsite.
On the day after the completion of this project, a couple of
gendarmes arrived by car and stood by the gunsite, pointing in
all directions across the site. They then asked to see the site
officer. They were directed into the command post. We were now
approaching December, when Christmas trees were becoming a much
sought after commodity. Raised voices could be heard coming from
the command post. As the gendarmes were leaving the command post,
they were waving their arms and it looked like severe warnings
were being given out. After their departure I asked if Colin
Elwell would be issuing medals to those taking part in his
raiding party. Sadly, there was no response to this request. I
think he had just avoided an international incident.
Plivot airport was destined to be the forward base for strategic
reconnaissance for planes of the Advanced Air Strike Force, AASF.
Planes on this type of mission landed on the nearby airfield,
refuelled and camera equipment was fitted. Most planes were of
the Fairey Battle type, which had a high casualty rate. Of five
battles of 150 Squadron AASF, when on reconnaissance on the 30th
November, four were shot down in five minutes and the fifth was
damaged and caught fire on landing. We were always conscious when
planes failed to return, but could not be sure whether this was
because they had returned to another base.
There was no direct communication between Plivot airfield command
and ourselves, at least there did not appear to be any to those
on the gunsite.
The meat for the stew promised us was - guess what! - bully beef!
A liberty outing, once a week, was organised for the troops to
visit the baths at Epernay. This half day visit provided an
opportunity to have a change of food and to buy personal needs. I
found on these visits, that the froggies kept
themselves aloof. I hardly remember receiving a smile other than
from a shop assistant in a Bon Marche type of shop. There were a
few young people about; certainly there was no evidence of
fraternising between the local girls and the troops. I was told
that the French government had issued warnings to their young
girls to avoid mixing with Allied troops. I think they did not
want a repeat of unwanted babies, as happened after the First
World War.
I think most of the older men, who in the main wore black berets
and stood at street corners or sat at tables outside estanets,
had no interest in the war. This impression I also gained at
Nantes. On the 7th December, we were honoured to have King George
VI and Air Vice-Marshall Playfair, Commander of the AASF to
inspect our gunsite. They were accompanied by Colonel Wood, Major
Slater, both of the 73rd Reg., 209HAA Battery. When they arrived
at the predictor instrument, the King said to Major Slater,
I suppose you know all about this piece of equipment?
The Major hesitated when replying, Well, not exactly.
With this answer, the King remonstrated the Major, You
should know. I did not give the Major many marks if he was
seeking early promotion. Later, on the 18th December, we had the
Australian Air Minister, Fairfax, with a French Staff Officer
visit us - perhaps they were impressed with the Christmas Tree
plantation. Because I had caught a chill on Christmas eve guard
duty, I was left alone at the Chateau, while the lads enjoyed the
Red Cross Christmas parcels on the gunsite.
Laurie brought back a cracker and balloon to cheer me up. We had
several opportunities to visit Entertainment National Service
Association, ENSA, concerts in Epernay, where many famous
artistes in the entertainment world could be seen entertaining
the local troops. On the 27th December at such a concert, Gracie
Fields, Jack Payne and Peggy Cochrane took part. I felt a little
homesick.
This was one of the coldest winters on record in this part of
France. Some of the regions had 50 degrees of frost. The MT
drivers had a hard job starting their engines and were lighting
fires to defreeze the engine oil and preheating firing plugs to
get their engines started. Plane crews were also having
difficulty in starting their aircraft engines. Everyone was
required to take a turn to hand start the engines.
Our daily routine comprised marching to the gunsite to arrive
half an hour before sunrise and depart half an hour after sunset.
Our blankets and personal gear, left in the Chateau, were always
in a haphazard state, causing a lot of time in sorting out
ones own gear when returning from the gunsite. Our
sanitation had become lax; soldiers could not be bothered to go
to the latrines if it was more convenient to use the woods close
by.
Sergeant Major Smith had us on parade half an hour earlier than
normal for the time to be marching to the gunsite. He bellowed
forth, You are playing at being soldiers; from now on you
are going to be soldiers. The day will start with a kit
inspection, anyone not using the latrines will receive a
weeks latrine orderly duty. It seems you have been allowed
too much rope and now you have to be brought back to your
military training standards. Any questions? There was not a
murmur from the troops. All were guilty of the disarray in the
rooms. This dressing down transformed our domestic routine,
making it straight to bed down for the night on our return from
the gunsite.
An advantage of being billeted at the Chateau was that when
off-duty, one could go walks through the woods in the shooting
lodge estate. There were many wild flowers, such as primroses,
out. The gamekeepers son, Paul, in his early teens, was
keen on body building and every now and then would try to impress
us with his arm muscles. He was hoping to join the French army as
soon as age would allow. They lived in a cottage close to the
Chateau. Early Spring, 1940, Nissen huts were erected on the
gunsite. We then said our goodbyes to the shooting lodge. Greg,
from the militia had been put in charge of the hot water solid
fuel boilers and each morning he would give us a rendering of a
Gracie Fields song, to the accompaniment of drum noises made by
banging on the metal lids of hot water boilers. I believe this to
be true, that we always had hot water to shave and this applied
after we made our hurried retreat in May.
All our mail was vetted, both in and out. In one letter, I
received from Gladys, was a photo of herself taken in her bathing
costume. Colin Elwell, who was vetting our letters, sent for me
and said that I was lucky to have married such a beauty.
Nice of you to say so, and nice of you to have given me
permission to wed her. I smiled.
We had the opportunity to visit Paul Rogers champagne
factory, where we were shown round the cellars by a guide.
Hundreds and hundreds of champagne bottles were stacked on racks
sloping with the corks at the lowest point. Each day a person
rotated the bottles in a new position. After the final rotational
position had been completed, the cork was replaced, having
extracted from the bottle all the impurities on the cork which
had been replaced. This was visible to the eye for those
impurities formed a cone shaped lump under the cork.
In the cellar, Paul Rogers was alleged to have the largest barrel
in the world. This, it was claimed, could be read in many
encyclopaedias. I wrote a letter home, stating that we were near
where the largest barrel in the world was kept. It got past the
censor, for I was to learn later that they had discovered I was
near Epernay.
Many troops, like ourselves, were getting blasé to the danger
from air strikes. Army command issued a circular to all troops in
the BEF calling for volunteers to go the aid of Norway. Germany
had captured Oslo on the 9th April and was pressing on to control
the whole of the country, with its vital Atlantic harbours. This
was a reminder that, although it was a phoney war here, at the
moment Germany could strike out in any direction whenever it
suited her.
One of our pastimes was playing football against a French 155MM
artillery battery billeted close by. I became friendly with one
of their officers who spoke good English. He told me that the
majority of their troops came from Alsace Lorraine, which was
formerly part of Germany before the 1919 Treaty of Versailles.
He doubted whether they would ever fire against Germany because
of their background. When they passed our gunsite on the way to
the front, they looked a bedraggled mob. Apart from guns being
towed by lorries, the rest used hand carts to transport their
equipment.
The troops just ambled along, no marching with the column
stretching over a great distance. The officers were best
equipped, they rode on horseback rounding up stragglers.
On the 10th May, I was one of the first to be on the gunsite just
before sunrise. In the distance, on the horizon, as day broke,
there appeared hordes of planes flying parallel to our site. It
could have been a huge cloud of locusts filling the skyline.
Unfortunately, this was war for real, these planes were part of
1,500 assigned by the Germans, including many Junkers 87 dive
bombers, to blast away any obstacles in the way of the Panzer
armour divisions. This morning, they were engaged in breaking
through at Sedan, in the Ardennes mountain region.
While maintaining their weapons, the soldiers were anxiously
awaiting news from the front. By mid-morning, a signal was
received from the AASF that all advanced airfields, including
Plivot, were to be immediately evacuated. Squadrons of the AASF
were to occupy pre-prepared airfields behind the Marne around
Troyes, approximately 60 miles further back.
Orders were given for our instant evacuation. We assembled on the
road, there was insufficient transport to ferry us with the
control equipment and guns breach blocks. There was no time to
dig the guns out of their pits. Those without transport started
marching towards Troyes. When the transport reached our new
gunsite, it returned to collect the rest of the unit. Later in
the day, it was learned that the German thrust at the Sedan was
directed towards the Channel Ports and not Paris.
A decision was made to retrieve our guns and volunteers were
called for to return with lorries to tow back these weapons. I do
not remember answering the call, nevertheless, I found myself
returning with those whom, I presume, did answer the call.
Personally, I had not forgotten when I last said I could ride a
bike and got landed on fatigues in the cook house. Never
volunteer was the message after this and yet, here I was going
back to recover these guns. We achieved our object without
interference from the enemy and towed the guns to the gunsite at
Troyes. When we arrived alongside the field near an airfield
where several RAF Blenheims were parked, we were required
immediately to get out the guns and control equipment ready for
action.
Control had been made with the local squadrons of the AASF 114
and 139. for us, it became a routine, site the guns and control
equipment, dig slit trenches, construct bivouacs using tarpaulin
sheets off the ammunition lorries and chop sticks off trees to
raise the tarpaulin sheets to resemble tents.
The cooks were required to prepare field kitchens, and Greg was
to ensure his solid fuel boilers had hot water always on tap,
which he did. I still claim we never had to shave in cold water.
The food used by the cooks had generally been scrounged locally.
From now on, until our departure from France, we were a nomad
tribe.
Before leaving Plivot on the 17th April, I had been promoted to
Lance Bombardier. I had always queried Sergeant Mills
orders suggesting another way of doing the task, I was trying to
be a smart Alec. I came to realise I was getting all the rotten
jobs, a change of attitude was needed. It was now to be,
Yes sergeant, certainly sergeant in future. I was
soon rewarded with this promotion in the field.
Now it was my turn to give orders. I was to find there were other
smart Alecs around and I was also to learn that being a lance
bombardier was the hardest rank in the artillery to command
respect. Unlike the sergeant, who after giving the men a
roasting, could disappear into the sergeants mess, the
bombardier grade had to eat, sleep and use the same quarters as
the men. It is a case of familiarity breeds contempt. Apart from
taking charge of a working party to dig slit trenches when the
men complained that they had not got the right spades to do the
job, I seemed to have fulfilled my role reasonably
satisfactorily.
Although we were free from aircraft attacks on the local
airfields at Troyes, the AASF planes - particularly the Fairy
Battles, now christened flying coffins - were
experiencing heavy losses. Four squadrons had been decimated in
their attack on the German spearhead. The surviving squadron and
their flying crew had been absorbed into the remaining
operational squadrons of the AASF.
The ground staff of the decimated squadrons were evacuated to
Nantes. With the Germans breakthrough over the Meuse, the
momentum of their thrust now endangered the airfields around
Troyes. Like the airfield ground crew, our movement from one site
to another became very frequent between Troyes and Le Mans. Our
penultimate move was the site at Le Mans, overlooking the Le Mans
racecourse. In the centre of the course, many planes, both of the
French and the RAF were parked on the airfield.
Most of the ward information we gleaned from the AASF Padre. He
somehow managed to keep in touch with our unit, giving us all the
latest from the AASF HQ. Within a few days at this site, Italy
had declared war on France and ourselves. There was increased
plane activity in preparation to bomb Italian targets. This was
early June with its longest day approaching. This meant we were
to experience the longest period for standby duty, being
pre-sunrise to post- sunset.
Our outdoor life had caused our skins to be tanned and we had a
toughened look about us, yes, I think we were turning into
gypsies. Our makeshift tents had no closed flaps at either end
and it was fortunate that all the time we had been living in the
open, the weather had been both fine and warm. Each manning team
had their own tenting arrangement. I slept in the command post
team tent. In this sort of opened bivouac were also Laurie, David
our spotter and Thomas and Eric, the height finders. This was our
war council. We discussed daily the war situation and today was
no exception. Eric uttered, Each time we hit the road,
intermingled with the refugees pushing their worldly goods
southwards, there were masses of French soldiers fleeing with
them. There does not seem to be any fight in them. If you
remember, when we first arrived, there were not many cars on the
road. It seemed strange that, although the French troops seemed
poorly kitted out, it was always the French officers driving
Citroens whenever you did see them. Going home on leave I
suppose.
I joined in and said, The sooner we get out of France the
better, I am sure that our high command do not see eye to eye
with their French opposite numbers. We had been told that
the AASF was prevented from bombing the German column on the 10th
May before they reached the Sedan and it was only when the
Germans established their bridge heads, supported by masses of
ack ack weapons, that the French gave permission to
attack these targets, causing the planes to receive heavy
punishment.
Well, here we were, all we wanted were a few camels around the
tent and we would pass as a Bedouin tribe. At this moment we
heard the sound of a motorbike. Someone sitting nearest to the
opening said it was an army messenger. There was an instant
reaction after the site commander read the message. He sent for
the sergeant major, who immediately ordered the unit to prepare
to move. Our final encampment was two miles to the west of St
Nazaire, arriving late afternoon on the 16th June. Unknown to us,
crews of the AASF were in full flight. Those who could fly their
planes would soon be on their way back to the UK. Ground crews
and flying crews of damaged planes after destroying them were
making their way by road to Brest or St Nazaire. From 8 am on the
17th June, 1940 there were long queues of both military,
including members of our Regiment, HQ and RAF personnel being
ferried to the Lancastria troop ship until 4 pm, when it was
bombed and Sam with over 4,000 being drowned.
It was after this disaster that we received orders to evacuate,
taking only the control equipment and gun breach blocks. On
arriving at the quayside, the troop officer received a hostile
reception. It was only when he returned to his unit we learned of
this loss. The embarkation officer claimed we should have
defended St Nazaire against this disaster. We were ordered back
to our gunsite.
The next day, the 18th, the unit was anxious to make a getaway.
Whilst at the docks, the previous day, the harbour was completely
devoid of ships. Before our arrival at the quayside, ships
involved in the evacuation immediately sailed for home waters
after the sinking of the troop ship. This called for another
war council in the command post quarters. Well,
what do you think, Thomas? Here we are, back again in our igloo.
Do you think its going to be every gunner for
himself?
If it is, Alan, we have prepared our route to Spain, we
have got a change of clothes - we will dump our uniforms. While
waiting to embark yesterday at St Nazaire docks, did you hear the
froggies shouting out France kaput, France kaput? This was
the 17th June, when Marshall Petain had made his famous radio
broadcast, telling the French forces to lay down their arms and
cease hostilities. Eric then joined in the war council and said,
I have not journeyed all this way from Epernay since the
10th of May, living like a nomad, to be captured here. I shall
make it with you both - I have good road map of this part of
France.
This I agree said Thomas, Our battery of 40 men
have lived off the land with only tarpaulin sheets from the
lorries and tree branches to form our shelter. A number of nights
slept in the open on ground sheets. We should have no problem
roughing it. The trouble here is that no-one appears to know what
to do. Look, yesterday, there was a hell of a row between our
officer and some base commander. He said, if we had been manning
our guns, the Lancastria troop ship wouldnt have been
sunk. Then David, a resident of this makeshift tent joined
in and said I am feeling hungry, it will be bully beef and
dog biscuits again, I suppose. I shall soon be barking like a
dog. A voice outside the bivouac shouted, Bombardier
Rayment report to the Sergeants tent. I recognised
the voice of Sergeant Mills and immediately put on my jacket and
cap as I made my way to his tent. I was ordered immediately to
assemble the predictor team with the predictor and join the rest
of the unit to embark at St Nazaire.
Gun crews were already dismantling the breach blocks. The whole
troop were now repeating the evacuation process of the previous
day. The unit had benefited from the address that Colonel Wood
had given the regiment on arrival in France. He told his men that
a weekly inspection would be carried out. It was possible that
your transport could be the saving of your lives. No single
vehicle had broken down and now it was waiting to assist in our
final exit from France.
On arrival at the docks, there was only one vessel moored - a
pitch trawler. This vessel, we were to learn, had made its way
down the coast from Dunkirk. Around 50 British troops and a
handful of French officers embarked on the deck of this trawler.
There was no space below, only the engine room. I managed to
squat on some coiled rope - very much like a bird on a nest. What
was going through most of our minds was how soon would we be
sailing, for now we were sitting ducks.
The last person to embark was Lieutenant Thompson, who was
looking for some clear deck space to jump on to. He was hailed by
a voice from the bridge, If you want to come with us, you
had better jump quickly. Just before the trawler sailed, 2
Junkers 88 passed low over our heads. Those with rifles took aim,
bullets were flying everywhere. This was more frightening to the
fleeing troops than the bombers, since they must have been on a
recky or had dropped their bombs elsewhere. Among the soldiers on
board were members of the BEFHQ staff responsible for steering
the remnants of British troops to the evacuation ports along the
Bay of Biscay. On the day of our departure, St Nazaire was
already occupied by the Germans. None of us were aware how close
our escape had been.
We all had plenty of time to reflect on our good fortune in
having this trawler to take us home. It took several days in the
process. Was the air intelligence so good that we always moved to
another airfield further back because of an impending evening air
raid by the Germans? During the whole time we were in France, not
a single attack was experienced, so not a single shot was fired
in anger. Still, reflecting on the unseen hand that was guiding
us, was it pure luck that we were not only a few hours earlier
queuing to board the Lancastria?
We finally sighted the balloon barrage off Plymouth and knew then
that we were home. The harbour was full of French naval vessels
which had already escaped. In reality, our journey home started
at Epernay, in the Champagne country on the 10th May 1940. It
finally ended at Plymouth, where each serviceman was handed a hot
cup of tea from the WRVS ladies.
Forward | ||
Introduction | ||
1/1 | 1915-1929 | |
1/2 | 1930-1932 | |
1/3 | 1932-1935 | |
1/4 | 1935-1939 | |
1/5 | 1939-1940 | this page |
1/6 | 1940-1943 | |
1/7 | 1943-1945 | |
1946-1997 | to follow | |
Home Page | ||
© 1998 Alan Rayment
Last revised: February 28, 1998.