Mayo eye-witness account of evacuation from Dunkirk

By Tom Gillespie

A READER of The Connaught Telegraph gave the newspaper a graphic description of the battle of Flanders and the flight from Dunkirk in the north of France in May 1940.

In the edition of June 22, 1940, the reader wrote:

It was a very interesting experience getting a close up of the tatters of European civilisation. The whole thing has convinced me more than ever that there is no justification for the continued existence of human beings.

Victory for either side, however decisive and complete, cannot alter the fact that the seeds of hate for a future war are now being well and truly sown, and that a fresh harvest will eventually be reaped.

When the storm broke I was at a little village, Pacet-sur-Eure, about 50 miles west of Paris.

The invasion of Holland and Belgium started on the Friday. The following Sunday I was in Belgium, and on the Monday our Brigade passed through Brussels in triumph, going N.E. to find the enemy.

The people of Brussels were very pleased indeed to see the tanks go through and showed this by decorating the vehicles with flowers and giving the troops fruit.

Already, at this stage of the opening gambit, I was a bit uneasy because I had seen many squadrons of German aircraft pass overhead without taking any notice of our column.

The Brigade was occupying five miles of road, and we must have been discernible to the German aircraft.

When we got clear of Brussels we saw the first real signs of conflict. This was the escaping stream of refugees and the occasional bomb crater in the road.

That night the big guns were clearly audible. My sleep was undisturbed, however, as I got hold of some good French wine.

The morning of Tuesday, May 14, was beautiful, as was every other morning of the period May 10 to 26. When I awoke on this morning it was to the sound of anti-aircraft fire, the noise of bombers, and the sound of bombs exploding in the direction of Brussels.

I watched the shells bursting around the planes for a while; no planes were hit, and I got a pain in the neck. During breakfast I noticed that the sound of the general battle had got closer, and that the sound appeared to be coming from two sides if not three.

We were told that the enemy was 14 miles away. We moved off early in the direction of Hals, and now for the first time I began to see the real meaning of the word War.

The road was perfectly straight for several miles, the country flat and uninteresting, except that some of our farmers could learn a few lessons from the way in which it was cultivated; and there was no protection against enemy aircraft except a small ditch along either side of the road.

This road was worse than any of the stages of the passage in the ‘Inferno’ by Dante. We were not the belligerents here: it was the German air force versus the refugees.

We advanced down one side, and the other side was occupied by such a stream of humanity as I hope never to see again.

To every five miles of road there were at least 100,000 refugees, huge ungainly parcels, blankets, canaries, babies, pots and pans, and in some cases articles which could be of no use to anyone in this world or the next.

They all had this much in common: they were hungry and thirsty, and they were getting closer to the combat instead of away from it. They were in fact being surrounded, as were we. Many of these refugees had formed themselves into groups and dumped all their goods into a communal farm-cart, hopelessly overloaded.

These farm-carts appeared to be favourite targets for the German aircraft. Often we would see them run into the ditch with the horses lying dead with gaping holes in their sides, and the old carts still dripping blood from its human cargo, usually the very aged.

All day long in the blazing sun these people were alternately diving into the ditch from the ‘blessings from Heaven’ or trudging along at a rate of about one mile per hour.

The confusion was appalling, and many of them just lay themselves on the grass and died from sheer hopelessness. There were rich and poor amongst them and a really astonishing number of priests and nuns.

We left this phase in our wake as we got closer to the front, and, although we now received more attention from the German aircraft, I was really relieved.

We had only two battalions of tanks (about 200) with us, and from now on the idea was to find the spot where we could deliver an attack and to do the most damage to the enemy with the least loss to ourselves.

It took us three days to find out that there was no opening on that front, and in fact on the third day we had to make a quick get-away or be surrounded by overwhelming forces of the enemy.

This we did, and 24 hours later we were passing through Lens on the way to Vimy Ridge. We were bombed all the way; it was quite exhilarating. Most of the towns we passed through were already in the process of being bombed to bits. In particular, the once beautiful town of Tournai (approximately population 60,000) was just a furnace. I should imagine at least 2,000 were killed in their beds.

The town could never be described as a garrison town nor, from what I could see of it, had it ever been so. I was in it two days before it was destroyed. The raid was just a rotten piece of barbarism, and sooner or later a terrible revenge will be exacted upon the Germans for it.

The sight of this place would make the strongest heart ache. As we got away from this spot it was possible to see and hear the bombers still at their job on the outskirts.

We now heard that Lens had been destroyed a few hours after we got through. From now on until I finally got away from Dunkirk, the Germans seemed to have bombed every town and village just before or after I left. Their consistency was amazing, and only once or twice did a bomb or two drop on our column when we were in a town.

BATTLE ALL AROUND US

In the open country the German aircraft enjoyed diving and machine-gunning us. I prefer bombs. If you can get into a hole in the ground bombs are quite harmless. On the other hand, the machine-gunners are often quite painstaking about singling out individuals in holes.

We eventually got to Vimy - 400 yards from the ridge of that famous name. We established our H.Q. in a few buildings in the village.

On the other side of the ridge the Germans were about to invade the town of Arras. It was decided that our brigade should attack. I believe the date was May 20th.

It was, as usual, a beautiful day, and orders were given to advance at 2 p.m. The tanks went forward and gained every objective assigned to them.

They advanced from six to eight miles, and I am pleased to say that casualties were small amongst the brigade. We lost the commanding officers of two battalions, and the second in command and adjutant of one battalion.

I think there were only about 10 of the other ranks killed, and there were not many injuries. The whole attack was, however, a failure, for the Germans had the air to themselves and no infantry or artillery could follow the tanks on account of the rain of bombs.

Next day the tanks retired to position on the ridge. Thus ended the only engagement in which our brigade had with the enemy.

May 21 was quite a thrilling day for me. I was guard commander the previous night, and incidentally, while I was on duty about 2 a.m., several hundred German prisoners passed my post.

These were the fruits of other tank battles, and the first prisoners I had seen.

I sang a few lines from the Horst Wessel Lied as they passed by, thereby making them shuffle about and change step. About 4.30 a.m. (another lovely morning) a German reconnaissance plane appeared over HQ. The sentry was about to fire a Bren gun at it when I told him to desist.

By this time I was annoyed with the Germans and I was anxious to have a go myself. I got hold of the gun and watched him carefully. He circled round quite slowly at about 2,000 feet and was dropping steadily.

When he was about 1,000 feet up I opened fire, and immediately about 40 guns of every calibre from 3.7 to .45 pistols let go at the plane. It was badly rocked and I’m sure it must have been well perforated, but it steered a miraculous course through the many thousands of tracker shells and bullets and got away.

Events were to prove that I was right in believing they were Belgian planes with German crews, and they had come to get us. They dived down on the village and each one (there were four of them) released one bomb. In about 20 seconds the place was a shambles.

A French soldier who was standing at the gate of the Brigade office first lay down on the ground; five minutes later he was covered with a ground sheet. The roof of the office started to blow away and then stopped; only half of it remained. The windows disappeared like magic and a typewriter suddenly appeared from nowhere.

Through a haze of dust and smoke I saw our staff captain get lifted about six yards across the lawn in front of the office.

My two brick walls rendered good service; I was entire.

Three of our clerks were wounded, and the next day the staff captain had to go off to hospital. No one on the Bridge HQ was killed.

When I went out to have a look at the village I was amazed to see that my bedroom had received a direct hit and my bed was under 10 feet of bricks and mortar.

My dispatch case, camera and watch are still there, and some of my army equipment.

Looking at the ruins, I must say I had a curious empty feeling in the stomach.

Later in the day I saw a large Heinkel bomber several thousand feet up hit by a single shell which blew it to pieces. What a life!

By May 24 it was obvious that the British Expeditionary Force (B.E.F.) was completely surrounded, and that the French armies in France were not strong enough to relieve the situation.

However, in spite of further losses through bombing and as a result of breakdowns, our Brigade was still trying to find weak spots.

On the night of May 24/25 we were at La Bassee. This part of the country is still dotted with pill-boxes from the last war. Some of our lads settled down in these places for the night.

The battle was going on all round us as varying distances from eight to 18 miles. We had one small opening in the circle of fire. We were settling down for a well-earned rest, time 11.30 p.m., when two very large shells burst about 100 yards from the camp.

I was awake at the time, and I heard them coming when they were a long way off; in fact I was just shouting to another fellow to tell him what they were when they burst.

Bits of branches and leaves from the trees trickled down upon us out of the dark sky.

FINALLY EVACUATED

We got an order to move, and for the rest of the night we were feeling our way towards Dunkirk.

It seemed a long way off. The roads were congested with troops, convoys of lorries, and burnt-out vehicles of all kinds.

The enemy was everywhere, and, if he wasn’t it paid to assume that he was.

Our purpose was always very orderly in spite of the constant efforts of bombers and fighters. We always took cover when things got too hot, and as a result we had no further casualties, although several of the vehicles were holed.

All day long on May 25 we proceeded towards our harbour, speed about five mph, bombing almost continuous. Things got easier when we got within 10 miles of Dunkirk, and we started to congratulate ourselves on a fine piece of work.

We finally arrived in the town and parked close to the gas works, much to my concern.

Part of the town was on fire, including the oil tanks, and the rest of it was littered with broken glass and other debris. No bombs were dropped during the night, and it was uneventful. We could not sleep, however, as the oil blaze was too fascinating a sight.

Although we were about four miles from the tanks it was just like daylight in our vicinity, and in fact it was possible at times to see for several miles back towards Belgium. It was very uncanny.

The last four miles were the worst, although there was only one raid while we were walking it.

We had dumped our vehicle: later they would make a good bonfire, but we had no time to attend to that job.

The town was covered by a huge pall of smoke. Somewhere above that smoke we could hear the bombers. The anti-aircraft guns were going all the time.

Suddenly we heard the familiar whistle of the bombs. Everybody dropped flat on the road. The bombs, about eight of them, dropped on a parallel street. Not a single injury amongst 3,000 men.

This was the last raid I saw by bombers. It should be remembered that the date was May 26 and that we were about the first of the B.E.F. (British Expeditionary Force) to be evacuated. Two hours later I was on the boat and away from the pier.

One hour out from Dunkirk, about two hours from Dover, and all was going well. I was watching the disappearing coast of France wondering how many days leave I would get.

There was a vicious crack above the boat, and a shower of shrapnel descended upon the water all round us. Jerry had started to shell us from Calais. He kept it up for about 10 minutes without doing any damage.

It was not very pleasant, particularly as I had no lifebelt. We got out of range. There was peace once more and I decided to have a sleep.

I awoke to the sound of a faint cheer. The troops thought they had recognised some RAF planes, but as soon as I saw the planes I knew there was a terrible mistake. They were Messerschmidts, and they had got into line and were circling round the ship.

They opened fire on the crowded decks, and six minutes later they departed, having killed 32 and wounded 116.

Thus did Providence desert us with the white cliffs of Dover shining at us 10 miles away.

One of the planes appeared to be firing a cannon. At all events I got a dose of very small shrapnel in the right arm in the first few seconds. It was a shock to me, but I was still able to take an interest in what was going on.

I saw some of the troops make for the gangway to get below, but it was hopeless: They were mown down the minute they moved. The gangway was blocked. It was better to remain still. I did so.

Fascinated, I watched the path of the bullets along the decks as each plane passed.

It was a thrilling experience, and I was certain that I was about to be killed. I was in fact quite resigned to my fate.

Some day I will tell you about my thoughts during those six minutes.

Well, the last burst of gunfire put me out of action. I just had time for a drop of brandy, and then I faded out of the picture.

I woke up in Dover Casualty Hospital about six hours later to renew acquaintances with a very painful world.

The name of the boat was ‘Mona’s Isle’, and she was sunk within 48 hours of the voyage described.

In this story I have tried to tell you what war is like and how it affects men in a unit like ours.

There is, however, another side to all this business: I refer to the good times we have had together. We were not always fighting and running, and even when things were really desperate we could always find an amusing side to it.

In this connection you will be amazed to learn that my friends in the Brigade have been mourning for me for the past 10 days.

This sympathy is going to cost them a drink or two when I get back. My hand is tired, so I leave you for the moment, and hope that some day we will have a chance to discuss these events.