XD Operations

by C Brazier

  When they arrived at Devonport they were shown onto HMS Cutty Sark. This ship had originally been built as a destroyer at the end of the Great War but had been acquired by the Duke of Westminster as a yacht. The cabins were fragrantly scented and luxuriously furnished. She had been requisitioned by the Navy in 1939. Remarkably for one of HM’s ships and to the sappers’ horror there was not a drop of drink on board!

  They sailed from Devonport at midnight on the night of the 17 – 18 June and arrived off Ushant at about 9.00 a.m. They proceeded into the Anse de Berthaume, just inside the entrance of the long channel up to Brest. They tied up alongside HM destroyer Broke. Here two of the sections under Buxton were transferred to Broke to move on into Brest.

  Meanwhile Terry with his section headed off to Lorient in Cutty Sark. Terry had just sat down to lunch when she was bombed and hit. Don Terry got no lunch as the galley aft was hit and more importantly the steering gear was irreparably damaged. During the remaining period of daylight they were drifting helplessly and feeling extremely vulnerable. The next morning a British destroyer took her in tow and they arrived back at Devonport that evening.

  Thirty-six hours later they put to sea again in HM destroyer Vanquisher and twelve hours later they arrived off Le Palais. They and the naval demolition party were under the command of Commander Sherbrook. Here they went ashore and found there were no suitable demolition targets so they then re-embarked. Vanquisher joined another destroyer and they carried out anti U-boat sweeps in the Bay of Biscay during rough weather which was quite an experience for the sappers. As the destroyers were getting short of fuel they returned to Devonport.

  Meanwhile Bernard Buxton and the two sections on Broke who, with the naval demolition party, were under the command of Commander Sir G. Congrieve, moved off to Brest. Congrieve was a formidable character with a large black beard who insisted on wearing army battledress.

  Steaming into Brest they passed the French Atlantic Fleet and docked near the Admiralty Quay. The naval and military officers spent the afternoon in conference with the French admiral and his staff, a delicate, difficult and tedious undertaking. They were told that the Germans were not expected to reach Brest before noon on the following day at the earliest. After all, one can fully appreciate the misgivings of the French authorities and their desire to put off the final demolitions until the last possible moment, for once the job was done it was irrevocable. Furthermore, any demolition of this nature needs careful consideration and planning to avoid hampering offensive action or the withdrawal of the defenders. Moreover, these elderly officers of high rank, often recalled from retirement, had a sublime optimism. One could detect their disbelief in the probability of the enemy actually arriving at the gates and battering their way through. I suppose this false sense of security is infectious for more often than not their staff seemed to reflect the same outlook.

  While this long drawn out session was in progress the party unloaded stores. One officer with a small party did a hasty reconnaissance in the area to locate the targets. Astonishingly people were still shopping; a large department store was crowded; cafes were full and girls were riding about on bicycles.

  The French admiral, who was preoccupied with getting the French Fleet to sea before the Germans arrived, did agree to the sappers preparing the oil installations for demolition but on the firm understanding that they would only be fired on his authority. There were four oil storage sites at Brest. Five of the sappers were sent off with a naval demolition party some way from the main dockyard. These men were not seen again until the main body had returned to Gravesend. The main storage sight had a high fence round it with a guard at the gate who refused to let them in. So they had to go back to the admiral’s office which was some way away in the town. To reach this they had to cross the harbour by motorboat, all of which was time consuming. At this point the admiral attached a French naval liaison officer to Buxton to assist them. On the way back Buxton met Commander McKye RN, who was the British liaison officer with the French Atlantic Fleet. McKye stressed the importance of not firing the oil tanks until authorized by the French admiral. He felt that the relationship with our French Allies was in such a delicate state that destroying the oil without orders would irreparably damage the situation.

  The tanks at the main site were of the usual size of 120 feet across and 50 feet high but unusually they were sunk into the ground so that the tops were below ground level. There was the usual bund which in this case was rather like a dry moat around the tanks. Access to the tanks was down a spiral steel staircase. There were two further problems. The admiral had insisted that no explosives were to be used prior to the general order for destruction: the implication of this was that spanners had to be found and the sappers had the laborious business of undoing pipe flanges to let some fuel out instead of blowing off the valves which had become their normal practice. In addition, as it was a dockyard, nearly all the fuel was bunker oil that was time consuming to fire using blankets soaked in kerosene. About this time, the French Navy brought no less than eight tons of cheddite to one of the sites thinking it might help. In fact this explosive was of no use to the sappers anyhow. Cheddite had a very poor reputation for stability.

  Congrieve found Buxton and brought him and the men some food. Buxton told Congrieve of his conversation with Commander McKye and his deep reservations about firing the fuel without the admiral’s consent. Congrieve’s reply was decisive. As far as he was concerned, the job was going up, French or no French, and he had come to France for a party and was damn well going to have one! He said that the destroyer could not wait in Brest because the risk was too great but she would withdraw seawards to the Anse de Bethaume. He also attached a naval rating to them, complete with a motorboat he had got hold of, to enable the sapper party to make their way out of the port to RV with the destroyer waiting ten to fifteen miles out.

  A French naval officer who spoke a little broken English, came up and said, very excitedly ‘Light de fire – Et is most urgent’. Fortunately this was just before Buxton and his chaps were going to start anyway. The task went fairly well. The flaming blankets were gently dropped onto the oil and after a period of suspense the fire gradually got away but once started, the flames went well over the top of the tanks. As each group got their number of tanks away the sappers were sent off down to the motorboat. Inevitably some tanks took longer than others. One was particularly difficult and by the time it was alight, the ones on their exit route were well and truly away and Buxton and two others had a hot and singeing sprint to get clear!

  When they had all arrived on the quay they set out in the motorboat with the naval rating to find the destroyer Broke. Just as they thought they were clear of the harbour entrance, the engine spluttered to a halt. They were left drifting helplessly until they managed to attract the attention of two French sailors also in a motorboat by firing revolver shots into the air. In hesitant French the situation was explained and the two sailors agreed to take them out to the destroyer which was lying some miles out to seawards. Shortly after they were underway they got caught up in the harbour boom defences. It took them a little while to disentangle themselves and find the exit. The flames from the fires were reflected in the harbour and far out to sea, colouring the whole bay with a dull orange hue. As they were making their way seawards and gazing back in silence at the fires there was a sudden terrific detonation. As one man everyone murmured, ‘Cheddite’.

  The motorboat was now over five miles out from Brest and would shortly be entering the Anse de Bethaume. At this stage the smoke had become thinner and visibility was improving. When they got into the bay they found it deserted. They circled right round to be certain but there was no sign of Broke or any other ship. Clearly a decision had to be made quickly. They were about 160 miles from the nearest point in England – the Lizard. The naval rating, now part of their group, reckoned that the motorboat was making ten knots. The time was currently 2.30 a.m. Their dilemma was whether to wait for the destroyer whic
h might, of course, already be on its way to England or to head for England on their own and hope that a destroyer would either catch them up or come back and look for them. What was surprising was that there was no sign of either the naval demolition party or Commander Congrieve, who were also meant to be at the RV.

  Buxton decided to head for England. They headed due west to give them sea room before turning due north for England. Strangely the two French sailors, one of whom was still on the helm, never so much as questioned the order to head out to sea!

  All went well for some hours, relatively speaking of course, as it was blowing hard with a fairly heavy sea running. They were seasick with the continuous heavy rolling of the boat and a not very effective crew to cope with the difficult situation. Daybreak found them out of sight of land still plugging along northwards with the sea increasing and the great majority of them lying in the bilge too sick to care what happened. At 5.30 a.m. the engine started to splutter and then failed altogether. They drifted along before the wind broadside on and wallowing in the rough sea. At this time they thought they were half way to England. After some time the cause of the engine failure was traced to a blocked fuel pipe, probably due to the heavy rolling of the boat disturbing detritus at the bottom of the fuel tank. As one of the party said afterwards, he could not understand how a gravity feed could work at all when ‘most of the time the ruddy boat was on its beam ends’. Having cleared the offending fuel feed pipe they tried to start up again, but after a few minutes the starting gear gave up the ghost. They now realized that they were up against fate for the wind was approaching gale force and with seas running high, it looked as if the end was not far off. Only three of the crew were capable of any exertion, the remainder being completely down and out with sickness and exposure. Everybody was soaked to the skin. Those still able to take any interest in life at all realized that with the increasing sea the launch must inevitably turn over, or at least, be swamped, unless they could keep her head up. They rigged up a small jib with a groundsheet and this proved just sufficient to do this. To this they probably owe their lives. So it was that from early morning on Wednesday until Thursday afternoon, they were at the mercy of the elements and feeling very sorry for themselves. During this time they had traversed a wide circle, first into mid channel and then back to France.

  On Thursday afternoon they sighted the rocky cliffs of the Brittany Coast. A white house on the top of a prominent headland had been visible for sometime before they actually saw land. There was little to be done in the way of navigation as they dared not alter course for fear of capsizing, so they ran before the wind which fortunately seemed to be taking them straight for the coast. As the boat got nearer to the coast they saw many large rocks between them and what appeared to be a sandy bay at the foot of the cliffs. The heavy seas were breaking over these isolated rocks with considerable violence, sending clouds of white foam and spray high into the air with each succeeding wave.

  The three members of the party who were still on their feet looked out upon what they were convinced would be their end. They could not rouse the remainder of the occupants sufficiently to get them to take any interest in the prospect of being shipwrecked on a lee shore. Furthermore as the sandy bay, then clearly discernible, was the best part of a mile beyond the first rocks, their physical condition put any ideas of swimming out of the question.

  They went scudding along towards the shore quite powerless to prevent the inevitable disaster. However fate had the whole thing planned and all they could do was wait. They could now see fishing boats drawn up on the beach, an occasional cottage or two and fishing nets spread out on the beach. It seemed a perverse state of affairs to have got so near to land again after the recurring dangers of the previous few days, and to have their hopes banished by the rocks just ahead. As they approached the shore they found that an increasing swirl of the flowing tide drew them, as if in a maelstrom away from the rocks, and they shot past in a channel between two rocky islets. On they went towards the shore swirling first one way then another, completely out of control and more often than not, broadside on to the larger rocks in the bay. Then a fisherman, who had seen their predicament, put out to their rescue. Sailing his little craft with great skill near to the derelict launch, he got a line across and towed them into quiet water and, taking a number of the party into his boat, sailed inshore. It took several trips, but in time all were taken off and laid out on the beach by the Breton fisher folk who by then had gathered around. In spite of their physical condition, in some cases bordering on collapse, after an hour or so stretched out in the warm sun, and after the village women had brought them hot coffee, they regained sufficient interest in life to sit up and ask where they were. They had in fact landed at the small Breton fishing village of Kervenny. They had had no food for nearly three days, but at this stage, they were too far gone to eat.

  After they had been on land about two hours the village curé appeared on the scene and took matters in hand. He was a kindly old soul, with white hair, ascetic features and a demeanour which simply radiated goodwill upon these weary British soldiers. He spoke little English, but strangely enough wrote it well, so with pencil and paper this old priest explained the position to the leader of the party. It appeared that the Germans were only a few miles away and were approaching the village. He offered to help them if they would throw all their uniforms and warlike equipment into the sea, put on clothes he would provide and proceed immediately to a hiding place. These conditions were accepted and in a short time the good fisher folk raked up enough spare clothing to rig out the whole party as Bretons. One of the fishermen took their uniforms and equipment out to sea and dumped them, so scared were they that the Germans might find it during the inevitable search when they entered the village. These simple people were under no illusion as to the fate of all concerned if they were caught harbouring our men.

  The British put on their newly acquired miscellaneous garments, in the main bell bottomed fishermen’s trousers, with highly coloured shirts and scarves to complete their disguise. Women’s jumpers sometimes replaced the shirts and one lad, in lieu of trousers was handed a pair of women’s extra, outsize bloomers which hung down round his ankles in the most whimsical manner. His quaint appearance clearly indicated that the Breton woman must have been very large in proportions. When rigged out, the whole party would have graced any theatrical performance as stage bandits. The hospitable fishing folk gave them two or three loaves and a bottle of wine and promised more, should it be possible after the enemy had arrived.

  Without delay they moved off with the padre who led them along the shore and after turning up his trousers waded through the ebbing tide towards an island out in the bay. They went in single file, following the guide, who picked his way with care, for it appeared to be a natural causeway never completely uncovered by the sea, but safe to those who knew its direction. Some thousand yards out from the beach they came to the shore of the island; their guide said goodbye and returned to the mainland leaving the weary shipwrecked young men to clamber up the cliff and survey the setting of the next phase of their adventures.

  Having scrambled to the top, they looked upon an undulating field about 100 yards wide and possibly 400 yards long. Some attempt at cultivation was in evidence for in one corner of the area the remains of a carrot crop was noticed. Over at the end facing the mainland was a small cottage with the conventional water butt under the eaves. A lean-to shed completed the minute homestead. A few decrepit hens clustered under the lee side to escape the wind that, while abating, was still blowing half a gale.

  Making their way to the cottage, they knocked on the door but there was no reply. They thought perhaps the occupants were at the back of the building although, in view of its smallness, it seemed odd that they had not been heard. Perhaps the wind had prevented the occupants hearing? The explorers went round to the other side but again drew a blank; an aged and scraggy cow was seen through the open door of the shed; this at least reassured them of
human occupation. After a further wait, a shower of rain prompted them to push open the door of the little cottage, and one by one they crowded inside to seek sanctuary from the bleak weather outside. The place was deserted. There were two little rooms in the cottage, one a living room and one about the size of a large packing case, was obviously the bedroom as it contained two wooden bunks covered with mattresses. In the living room were two chairs, a table and a fireplace in which were ashes. On the rough mantel shelf were a few tin canisters, a crucifix and a broken fragment of mirror. That completed the picture except for an absurdly small window which overlooked the bay and through which could be seen the lighthouse and cottages just above the beach.

  When the rain abated sufficiently, Buxton surveyed the shore with his field glasses which, with a prismatic compass, were all they had salvaged of war equipment. ‘Come here Owens’ he called to the subaltern, ‘see if you can see what I can see’. Sure enough, the Germans were entering the village. All eyes strained to get a glimpse through the restricted opening. Yes, there was no doubt about those grey-green uniforms and, if further proof had been needed, soon afterwards the swastika was hoisted on the signal staff on the cliff.

  They held a council of war, and plans were made to avoid detection or other complications. The cottage had obviously been lived in fairly recently, as witness a little ground coffee in one of the tins, the chicken and the cow who was in milk but without calf. The conclusion they came to was that their good friend the priest had arranged for the former occupants to leave the island and that their good fortune was part of his plan for succour.

  After these deliberations, which seemed to provide a satisfactory explanation for their newly found surroundings, consideration was given to an appreciation of the situation from a military point of view. They argued that the Germans being an unimaginative people would probably not put off in a boat to the island providing their suspicions were not aroused. All were agreed that the villagers would not incur the displeasure of ‘his reverence’ by giving the fugitives away. The last decision of this strange conference was that if the army of the Greater Reich did land on the island, there was nothing for it, as they were unarmed, but to surrender. In point of fact this last decision was subsequently amended, for after a night’s sleep and a meal of carrots, they felt full of fight; an interesting point to be noted by the medical profession. The first standing order was to the effect that during daylight, never more than two would go outside the cottage at the same time and also that when in view of the beach, they should be going through the motions of hoeing carrots. This part of their plan was put into effect straight away by two of the men going out and gathering some sticks and lighting the fire on which they boiled freshly dug carrots giving them all a hot meal accompanied by a slice of bread apiece.