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  Finally they reached Seclin, only to be sent on to the mining village of Estevilles. Due to the refugee-congested road, it took the exhausted yeomen a further seven hours to cover just ten miles. Here they took over the French gun positions and found the village deserted except for cows and pigs that roamed aimlessly about. It was here that Charles’s battery fired its first shots in anger in a brief exchange with the Germans, before being ordered to pull back once more; another night retreat through a landscape littered with the detritus of war and panic. The worst part of this constant relocating was not knowing what was going on with the rest of the front. They did not know that the French had caved in at Sedan and that they were in full retreat to the south. The Germans were swiftly advancing west and outflanking the Allies in Belgium. The collapse and surrender of the Belgians exposed the British left flank in the north. Confusion and alarm gripped the Allies, as the Germans appeared to be everywhere, even in the rear. The Panzer divisions had outstripped their infantry and punched holes in the Allies’ lines. If the Allied commanders had but known that the German armour was overextended and the German commander was on the point of ordering a halt, a concerted stand and attack may have changed the course of the battle. Instead, an irreversible momentum had been set in motion, which would not stop until Dunkirk was reached.

  The Germans were close on the heels of the Allies as they fell back and, after another skirmish, they were ordered to fall back on Verlingham. Starting at dusk, the 97th retreated through burning and deserted villages and the roads and fields were littered with the debris of a routed population. At Verlingham, they found that the inhabitants who had cheered them on their way just a few days before, were now sullen and resigned to join the swelling tide of refugees. One point in favour of occupying deserted villages was that the ration-starved soldiers could rely on finding plenty to eat and drink.

  During this confused and frightening time, the Germans had mastery of the skies. The choked roads made easy targets, which the Luftwaffe was not slow to exploit. During a typically slow march, a plane swooped low over a gridlocked area and every available gun opened fire for a couple of miles radius, including those of the 97th. Such concentrated fire succeeded in downing the plane, which crashed into Plugstreet Wood, another famous name from the First World War. To everyone’s dismay, the wreckage was found to be that of a RAF plane and the two British crew were dead. It was the first British plane Charles had seen since the Germans began their invasion.

  On 28 May, there began the retreat towards the last Channel port left in Allied hands; Dunkirk. Charles and his comrades joined a vast throng of lorries, guns, soldiers and civilians that were slowly moving down the poplar-lined roads towards the sea. It was truly a demoralized and apprehensive rabble that was seeking refuge in the last Allied held enclave. The already fraught emotions were exacerbated by the contempt the British had for the French for capitulating so easily and the distrust

  the French felt for the British, who were making haste to cross the Channel. Charles saw this breakdown in Allied relationships brutally illustrated. Colonel Lushington graphically recollected that it was the last and worst night of the retreat.

  All semblance of order and discipline seemed to have disappeared. There was no panic but the men were just too tired to care and lorries and cars double-banked and crawled and halted and moved on again, then halted once more whilst their tired drivers fell asleep at their wheels. Units were mixed up in inextricable confusion and to make matters worse large numbers of French soldiers on horseback and on foot kept crowding in among us and pushing their way past, making anything like continuous movement impossible. At one point, a lorry had fallen sideways into a large bomb crater in the middle of the road thereby completely blocking it. (Major) David Warner had collected a party of men and was trying to lift it back on to its wheels. The panic-stricken French soldiers, however, refused to stop and, in their eagerness to get on, kept pushing the working party to one side. At last, exasperated, Warner drew his revolver and in his best French threatened to shoot the next man who failed to stop when ordered. His French, however, was evidently not good enough, or perhaps they were too frightened to listen, for it was not until he shot one that the lorry was eventually lifted, the crater filled up and the road cleared.

  The 97th was now passing through the old Ypres battlefield, which still bore scars after twenty-five years. They slowly passed through Poperinghe as it was being shelled but, mercifully, the Luftwaffe did not appear and take advantage of their helpless position. Here the 5th Division held the line of the Ypres-Comines canal and repulsed a concerted German assault. A heavy downpour of rain in late afternoon dampened the fierceness of the attacks, and the exhausted men were able to continue their retreat along the narrow Flanders roads.

  When the 97th crossed the Yser River at Eikhoek, they received orders to destroy all their equipment. Driving into a field, Charles and his comrades set about their vehicles with axes and sledgehammers. The gun barrels were wrecked with guncotton and their breechblocks buried. The 97th was now truly a regiment without a purpose. The footsore and hungry men then turned to cover the final twelve miles to the coast at De Panne. From there they were directed south, crossing into France until they collapsed, exhausted on the dunes at Bray. Here they spent a miserable night huddled together in their greatcoats. In the morning they were ordered to march back to De Penne, which was in total chaos. Colonel Lushington learned that boats were waiting at Bray and that they should immediately return to the dunes. Unable to face yet another march, the 97th got hold of whatever vehicles were to be had and the regiment headed back down the coast in a motley convoy of a large bus, bikes and horses. When they reached Bray, there was no sign of any of the promised boats. The beach-master ordered the Territorials to return again to De Panne but Lushington decided to go on to Dunkirk to the south. The sight that greeted them was one of organized chaos. Thousands of men were lined up along the promenade and the beaches were crowded with soldiers trudging slowly towards the quays about two miles to the south. Huge fires were burning out of control around the dock area, while out to sea was a flotilla of assorted vessels ranging from naval destroyers to tugs and ferryboats. Small craft were inshore, picking up men who waded into the shallows and delivering them to the parent ships. In the confusion, the yeoman became separated from each other. Lushington and a group of about forty waded out and were picked up by a boat that put them on board HMS Winchelsea.

  Charles and most of his companions had joined the throng making their way to the East Mole, a rather flimsy wooden structure, which was only eight feet wide and jutted 1,400 yards out into the harbour. These were anxious and dangerous hours, for the Germans were constantly bombing and firing on the crowded beaches and the rescue ships. The skies above were filled with the diminuendo and crescendo sounds of diving and weaving aircraft as the RAF sought to shield the helpless masses below from the Luftwaffe. After the heavy criticism the RAF received for their poor showing during the Battle for France, they answered their detractors with a better performance at Dunkirk. At the beginning of the evacuation, their frequent and outnumbered patrols had little effect in protecting the helpless soldiers, who reviled the invisible ‘Brylcream Boys’. Quickly learning from this, Fighter Command flew fewer sorties but in greater strength. This change of tactics produced a dramatic change of fortune for, on 30 May, RAF fighters downed seventy-six enemy for the loss of just five of their own. Black smoke from the fuel depot on the west side of the harbour darkened the sky and filled the nostrils. These fires sent a dense black plume over the port which did much to conceal the harbour from the Luftwaffe. The distant sounds of gunfire could be heard from inland as the unlucky and doomed members of the rearguard held back the German army until their comrades could be evacuated.

  Like a huge football crowd, the silent soldiers shuffled slowly forward to the bottleneck of the narrow mole. Several vessels at a time were alongside and being steadily filled with men. Naval and army harbour master
s were managing to keep good order as overfull ships pulled off to make way for the next vessel, which had to negotiate a passage between the wrecks visible above the waves. Charles spent the whole of 31 May patiently queuing until finally he was able to board the last destroyer that evening. He wrote;

  HMS Express was on her seventh and last trip to Dunkirk. She made a magnificent sight as, with her guns blazing and German aircraft attacking her, she backed against the broken mole to allow us to jump aboard. On our way back across, she was engaged by coastal guns and further waves of aircraft.

  HMS Express left Dunkirk at 4 p.m., evacuating the naval pier party and 611 troops. Two months later, Express and two other destroyers sailed into a German minefield off Texel. Express had her bows blown off, but managed to be towed back to England. After repairs, she served with the Canadian navy as RCN Gatineau.

  It was not until much later that Charles and his comrades realized just how remarkable was their escape. Out of a British Expeditionary Force total of 350,000, approximately 30,000 had been killed, wounded, were missing or made prisoner. The bulk of the British army had been saved and it was this aspect that was emphasized and not the fact they had all but been overwhelmed by a superior enemy and forced to leave nearly all their arms and equipment behind.

  All the evacuees who were landed at Dover had time for a meal and a short rest before they were sent by train to camps, mostly away from southern England. For Charles, his destination was Lichfield in Staffordshire. As the dust settled and the mixed-up units were sorted out, Charles was sent to Okehampton, the scene of the infamous flooded camp of 1939, where the remnants of his unit were concentrated. In June, Charles was granted leave to be reunited with the family and Louise.

  Chapter 3

  Changes

  Instead of returning to Okehampton, Charles was ordered to Abergele in Wales. During July, he was detailed to travel to a Leeds company called Cement Ltd. Here, he and his colleagues collected a small column of emergency mobile pillboxes called ‘The Bison’. This heavy concrete structure, mounted on a chassis, was then driven from Leeds to Pembroke on a journey that Charles dryly described as ‘an exciting experience’.

  The period in Wales was spent mounting and manning naval guns on the docks at Swansea and along the neighbouring coast. Quite suddenly, Charles received a transfer out of the 97th and into the 336 Field Battery, 135 (North Herts Yeomanry) Field Regiment. With this transfer came an overdue promotion to Troop Sergeant. Any approach to parity of rank with his fiancée was short-lived, however, for Louise shortly gained her commission in the ATS.

  135th were at that time stationed in Norfolk, were an inexperienced regiment and, in the words of one of its officers,… ‘more distinguished socially than militarily’. There was a generous sprinkling of minor titled landowners, professionals and academics and the mess was filled with dialogue and accents that would have inspired P.G.Wodehouse.

  For the next year the 135th were stationed at places as far apart as Lockerbie and Plymouth. This seemingly easy time was interrupted with fire-watching duty in Liverpool during the blitz, when Charles wrote this piece of doggerel;

  If you can keep yourself from going crackers

  At all the things that you’re advised to do

  When Hitler sends his horrid Air Attackers

  With squibs and bombs to try to frighten you,

  If you can hear that hellish banshee warning

  Without that sinking feeling in your breast,

  If you can sleep in dug-outs till the morning

  And never feel you ought to have more rest,

  If you can laugh at every black-out stumble,

  Nor murmur when you cannot find a pub,

  If you can eat your rations and not grumble

  About the wicked price you pay for grub,

  If you can keep depression down to zero

  And view it all as just a bit of fun,

  Then, Sir, you’ll be a bloody hero,

  And what is more, you’ll be the only one.

  Granted compassionate leave, Charles and Louise were married on 18 January 1941 at St James’s Church, North Cray. A few days’ honeymoon at Llandudno was all they could grab before they both had to return to their units.

  During the next six months, Charles took part in half a dozen training courses and according to the reports, he was regarded as ‘quick, alert, intelligent and takes command’. The carrot of a commission was dangled and Charles began to see life through the eyes of an officer. Alas, fate interrupted his undoubted step from non-commissioned to commissioned officer and it was to remain a bone of contention with him for the rest of his life.

  In June, the 135th were stationed at Alderley Edge, described as England’s wealthiest village. It was here that the command of the regiment passed to one of the war’s most remarkable soldiers. Lieutenant Colonel Philip Toosey had served as a major in the 359 (West Lancashire) Medium Regiment during the Fall of France and its experiences had mirrored those of the 97th. Toosey was a TA officer with ten years’ experience and had trained his battery to the point where they had won the coveted King’s Cup; a competition to find the best artillery battery in both the regular and territorial army.

  When he took command of the 135th, he found an enthusiastic but largely untrained unit. This became all too apparent the first time they attended an artillery range in North Wales and managed to land shots on two villages outside the range. Weeding out a few of the more amateur-minded amongst his officers, Toosey’s quiet leadership caused the regiment to undergo a great change. He organized an extensive period of training, which rapidly improved the regiment’s gunnery skills and instilled a more professional attitude from his officers.

  The 135th was part of the 18th Division, which was ordered to prepare for overseas duty. The general consensus was that it was destined for the Middle East, as the equipment had been ordered to be painted a sandy colour. There was a brief embarkation leave to spend with his new wife before Charles travelled to Greenock and boarded the MV Sobieski, which set sail on 28 October 1941.

  The Sobieski was a small liner belonging to the Gdynia-America Line. With a limited number of cabins, most of the men had to get used to sleeping in hammocks in the confined spaces below decks. The Polish ship was one of eight ships making the perilous voyage across the North Atlantic and they were escorted by two destroyers and a flak ship. Halfway across, their Royal Navy escort was exchanged for an American one. In any event, the crossing was uneventful and the convoy made landfall at Halifax, Nova Scotia, on 9 November.

  The following day, the 135th were trans-shipped to the larger and better appointed American liner Washington now renamed Mount Vernon. They were joined by the rest of the 18th Division, who were spread amongst three vessels, the other two being the Wakefield and the West Point, all former liners of the US Line.

  Joined by three smaller troopships and accompanied by a huge US escort of an aircraft carrier, two heavy cruisers and eight destroyers, they left Halifax on 12 November and steamed south to the Caribbean as far as Trinidad, where they refuelled overnight. This massive support from the ‘neutral’ Americans came as a result of the meeting between Churchill and Roosevelt on board the Prince of Wales off Newfoundland in August, when the President acceded to Britain’s request for help in shipping troops to the Middle East. Setting course south-east across the South Atlantic, the troops endured a long meandering trip. To fight off the tedium and frustration felt by all, Colonel Toosey organized special courses and physical exercises to keep his men up to the mark. The accommodation below decks was cramped, crowded, hot and smelly, so anything to get away from this foetid atmosphere was enthusiastically welcomed.

  Cape Town was reached on 9 December and everyone enjoyed a welcome two-day leave in a city untouched by war. Just before they docked, the American crew informed their British guests that Japan had attacked the US Naval Base at Pearl Harbor and that they were now officially allies. The other sobering news came from south east Asia, wh
ere Japan had invaded Malaya and had sunk the pride of the Royal Navy, HMS Prince of Wales and the Repulse.

  Parting from their American escort, the convoy left on 14 December and headed up the east coast of Africa to Mombasa, accompanied by the cruiser, HMS Dorsetshire.

  Another few days were spent sampling the sleepy delights of Mombasa before they set sail once more. Charles and his companions still believed they were bound for Basra on the Persian Gulf but, within a short-time, the vessels were halted and a message came from Dorsetshire for the Mount Vernon to immediately change course and sail for Singapore via the Maldives. The other two vessels were ordered to Bombay, taking with them the regiment’s guns and new ‘quad’ towing vehicles. Mount Vernon was chosen because of her greater speed, which stood a better chance against the enemy submarines that were known to be in Malayan waters, and also because she was carrying a complete brigade. She was joined by four merchant ships and escorted by HMS Exeter and Ajax of River Plate fame.

  Chapter 4

  Another Military Defeat

  The first two years of the war found Britain and her allies unprepared for the double assault from Germany and Japan. Like an under-prepared and ageing heavyweight boxer, she found herself pinned against the ropes and subjected to two devastating combination punches that all but felled her. First was the right-hook of the German blitzkrieg, which resulted in the Fall of France. Before she could recover, Japan delivered a crippling uppercut with the overrunning of Malaya and the Singapore capitulation.

  The Fall of France and the Netherlands and the seemingly imminent collapse of Britain during the summer of 1940 emboldened Japan enough to advance into the Europeans’ colonies in south-east Asia. Under the anti-colonist banner of a ‘Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere’, a new order under an enlightened and industrialized Japan would lead her backward neighbours to prosperity without the shackles of their European masters. The reality was brutally different, with a regime that was far more racist, vicious and exploitative than anything that white colonializm had ever inflicted.