91热爆

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War Website by a volunteer from Derby CSV Action Desk on behalf of John Smith and has been added with his permission. He fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

I was with aircraft support squadron 139 and had been in France since December 1939 doing not a lot but always ready for action. As spring merged into summer it felt as though this could go on for ever with the Allied and German armies dead-locked between the Maginot and Seigfried lines. It was on April 9th 1940 that the Germans broke the deadlock by simultaneously invading both Denmark and Norway. Resistance was minimal against the might of the army and air force of the Third Riech, and occupation was complete in a few days. The major reaction in Britain was that Neville Chamberlain resigned as Prime Minister, and Winston Churchill took over.

On May 10th, in the wake of intense bombing, the German army swept through Belgium and Holland. There was no need for them to force their way through the 'impregnable' Maginot line. They simply went round the end of it and left it isolated, to be taken later from the soft rear.

Our orders came quickly, to take off and bomb the advancing tanks. We had planes out on the airfield, ground crews swarming over them, loading racks of 250lb bombs and arming the Bren guns, while fitters warmed the engines and carried out last minute checks, and the pilots were briefed in the Operations tent.

Nine of our Blenheims took off and headed in smart formation for the German lines a few minutes flying time away. Almost before the ground crews had grouped to prepare for their return, the CO and another plane returned badly shot up. During the next 2 or 3 hours five of the other pilots found their way back to camp, having hitch-hiked from where they had been shot down. A couple of planes from 114 squadron, which had previuosly been bombed, were flyable and these were hurriedly joined to the few we had left. Loaded and armed, this small force bravely took off for the front line, and as far as I can remember that was the last we saw of them, though I believe one or two of the crew did manage to get back.

With no more planes, the squadrons were disbanded and the aircrews immediately returned to England by whatever means available. The ground crews were formed into salvage units. With our tool kits and a handful of men in 30cwt. lorries we were to search out all the planes we could, of any sort, make them serviceable if possible, and get them flown back to England.

The roads by now were choked with refugees. It was a pitiful sight, mostly old men and children struggling along the roadsides, those who could walk pushing prams and handcarts bearing those unable to walk. A few carried what small but precious possessions they had been able to salvage from their homes. Mostly they had nothing but what was on their backs. All were headed south and west away from the war front which was to advance and engulf them within a few days. Had they but known it would have been far better for them to have stayed in their homes and let the front pass them by. The Germans had the freedom of the skies, and their planes often flew low over the refugees. Whether the pilots were under orders to shoot at anything suspicious, or whether they did it for sheer devilment, I don鈥檛 know, but the refugees often had to dive into the ditches to escape the bullets as the Germans strafed them. One had a feeling of helpless fury at these wanton acts.

The Belgians put up a tremendous resistance but by May 27th they had to capitulate. The Germans swept through and in a great pincer movement trapped the bulk of the British Army at Dunkirk. It seems incredible now that the fight there lasted a week before evacuation was completed, but by June 4th it was over and the German army could turn its attention to the advance across France.

Meanwhile we continued our salvage operations around the Epernay area, in our ignorance probably expecting that the Allied armies would at any time stop the German advance and re-fight the First World War over the same area. The few hundred yards over which the armies had fought for four years, however, were over-run by the Germans in a few days this time round. It was a different sort of war altogether, and we were just beginning to realize it.

As the Germans advanced so we kept ahead of them. There were hectic days, we lived rough and were continually moving south-west. Soon there were no pilots left to take the odd plane home and sometimes a more daring member of the ground crew managed to get the plane off the ground and fly back to England.

Gradually as we got nearer the west coast a number of lorries, cars and motorbikes joined us and we arrived at a field near a village somewhere near Fontenay. A young army officer assumed charge and told everyone to pitch tents in the field where we were to stay for the night. We tried, but everywhere we trod the ground moved under our feet. The whole area was a seething mass of ants, and we were expected to lie down among them. Some NCOs went to explain to the officer, who only made a show of rage in reply and ordered everyone to do as he said. We looked helplessly at each other kicking the swarming ants off our feet, when we were saved by a dispatch rider arriving and presenting the officer with a piece of paper.

鈥淧ack your kits鈥�, came the order, 鈥淓veryone in the lorries 鈥� we have 24 hours to get out of the country at Brest.鈥� Apparently the Germans had taken Paris and the front line ran north south through Paris, giving us a corridor up the west coast by which to escape. With no lights showing, we travelled as fast as we could through the night and all the next day with the occasional short break to stretch our legs and make a cup of tea. There was little or no food and even tea was limited but our worry was getting to our destination.

The convoy stopped at last on a hilltop overlooking the harbour late that evening. Looking down, we could see a lot of activity round the two ships in port and we were told we had to wait our turn. Eventually it came and as we trudged up the gangplank I was aware of the blackness of the water below.

That was the last I remembered until full daylight. I was lying in a heap on the deck along with hundreds of others and a Heinkel was flying low overhead, the roar of its engines had brought everyone back to life. It was so low we could see the crew and it was obviously taking pictures. Luckily for us that was all it was doing. As it went away our ship鈥檚 anchor was raised and we moved towards the harbour entrance. Later we found out that the captain had said he could not take any more troops and if the plane was taking pictures it would not be long before others followed dropping bombs. How right he was. The other boat, the Lancastria, set sail too late. They barely got past the harbour walls when the bombers arrived and she was sunk with more than 10,000 men on board. Some survived, but not many. I think the port was actually St Nazaire, not Brest, but whichever it was, ours was the last official boat to leave.

Still there was no food to be had, but that did not worry us overmuch. We were simply relieved to have got away and be going home, though with many anxious looks skywards. I saw one chap with what looked like a mug of tea and I asked him where he got it. 鈥淗ere are some used tea-leaves鈥� he said, 鈥渢ake them to the boiler house and make some tea!鈥� Gratefully I put the few damp leaves in my enamel mug and found my way through the mass of bodies trying to get comfortable in the sardine-like conditions on board. No milk or sugar, just a few leaves swirling in hot water, it was nectar!

Our ship must have taken a devious course to avoid German planes and U-boats as it was late evening when we docked at Plymouth. Quickly we disembarked and there at the bottom of the gangway was the Salvation Army, bless them. Free piping hot cups of tea and free telegrams so we could let our folks know we were home safely. Joy at being on English soil again was unbounded.

The organisation was terrific. The RAF were directed to coaches at once and whisked off into the darkness. We arrived about 2.30 at a very smart RAF camp (Colerne, I think) somewhere in the Salisbury area. Shown into big barrack blocks, we found beds made up for us 鈥� barrack beds it is true, but real beds with crisp white sheets such as we had not seen for months. Exhausted, we flopped gratefully into them about 3.00am and could have slept the clock round, but, before 7.00am we were roused, given a hasty breakfast and piled onto the coaches to go to Henlow, just north of Hitchen. We arrived on a brilliant sunny afternoon to find rows of six-man tents laid out as smartly as could be. Everywhere and everybody were so smart it was incredible to our war-weary eyes. Everyone marched around as if wound up by clockwork, and we, scruffy, unshaven and starved, landed in their midst. It was basically a training camp so traditionally it all had to be spick and span.

We were allocated tents and spent the remainder of the day eating and resting, knowing that the next day we were to be kitted out with new uniforms, paid up to date, and given 48-hour passes so we could go and see our families before being allocated to new units.

We were up early next morning to be greeted with a terrible shock. One of our men had gone across to the ablutions for a shave and found one of our corporals hanging from a beam. Apparently, whilst in France, he had gone with a prostitute and contracted a bad dose of syphilis. Unable to go home and face his wife, he had hanged himself. He had been well liked by the men and we all felt a deep sense of sorrow.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.