Dunkirk: The Men They Left Behind

by Sean Longden

  Casualties continued to mount in the days that followed. Lieutenant Peter Royle later wrote of his memories of enemy artillery fire: ‘This was the first time I had experienced shellfire at fairly close range and I soon began to know by the whining each shell made as it came towards me exactly where it would land – in front or behind. On this, my first night under fire, my fear was tinged with a certain amount of excitement because it was something new. The more I was shelled during the war the more frightening it became and the less exciting.8 The long-term effects of this eventually led Peter Royle to experience battle-fatigue during the campaign at Monte Cassino in Italy in 1944. He was evacuated back to the UK and spent the rest of the war in an artillery training regiment.

  The division took ninety casualties in three days, with doctors performing fifty operations. On 13 May the Seaforths lost one man killed and two wounded when a fighting patrol ran into a German patrol. The same day the Black Watch suffered the deaths of three men with a further six wounded. As the Germans continued with their ‘aggressive patrolling’ the men of the 4th Black Watch reported enemy troops using flamethrowers in attacks on forward positions. David Mowatt recalled how the deaths of comrades initially had a major effect on the newly blooded infantrymen: ‘My friend Murdo MacRae was the first to be killed in the battalion. We were mates, we’d been called up together and used to share our cigarettes. We were in the line and the Sergeant Major sent me on a stupid errand. I went to the Sergeant at Company HQ and said, “You wanted to see me.” He told me he hadn’t called for me. While I was gone they were burying my mate.’ It was a sensitivity that was soon washed away in the tide of violence that followed.

  The tanks of the Lothian and Borders Yeomanry were also soon back in battle as they were sent to support the troops in the forward posts. Once more, they came within range of determined enemy gunners:

  No. 1 tank came into the view of the enemy and we were fired at by an anti-tank gun, one shot hitting the track and wounding Cpl Akers, the gunner, in the leg. We tried to turn right and get under cover, but probably the track came off and the turret was out of control. Cpl Akers made a gallant effort to turn the turret so that I could get the gun into action, but at that moment we were hit by HE coming through the turret, killing Cpl Akers instantaneously and jamming the guns.9

  Then the number-two tank was hit, killing the commander and disabling the guns. The remaining crewmen got out and valiantly engaged an enemy patrol with their revolvers before wandering in the Grossenwald Forest and both getting wounded by shrapnel, until they were finally located by stretcher-bearers.

  Although the men in the forward positions did not know it, the war was not going well for the British and French. Though they were standing firm against probing enemy attacks and aggressive patrols, it was a far cry from the vicious blitzkrieg inflicted elsewhere. With the entire front in danger of collapsing, Highland Division were told they were to pull out from their positions in the ligne de contact and join the French reserve – ready to be sent wherever they would be needed to stem the Nazi advance.

  On 15 May the withdrawal commenced, although it would be some days before all the British units were fully disengaged. As the 7th Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders pulled back towards the ligne de recueil they found the enemy in hot pursuit. Two men were killed and six wounded as the final platoons pulled back. It was not until the 23rd that the French 33rd Infantry arrived to take over positions from 2nd Seaforths.

  At first the division withdrew to positions just in front of the Maginot Line and then moved back safely to the rear. As the division pulled back, many among the troops were astonished by what they witnessed. France was under attack but behind the front life seemed to continue as normal. John Christie, a twenty-year-old artillery signaller, who a year before had been a bus driver in Aberdeen, found his regiment passing through a town whose population was making the most of the warm, early summer weather: ‘People were gathered at what was obviously a type of Lido, bathing and basking in the warm sunshine of the afternoon. I remember thinking at the time, how can they be so calm and relaxed as if the war was a thousand miles away instead of just up the road.’10

  The calm was deceptive. Christie and his colleagues were heading into the unknown – retreating towards an unknown destination, oblivious to the chaos and confusion that was engulfing the rest of the British Army. Stranger still, considering the desperate situation being experienced by the BEF in Flanders, on 24 May the 51st Division became part of the French reserve. The sanctuary of these rear positions did not last long. The war caught up with the men of the Middlesex Regiment – a machine-gun battalion attached to the division – on a break during the withdrawal, as machine-gunner Jim Pearce remembered:

  We didn’t stop long anywhere. We were pulling back all the time, we’d had no contact with the Germans yet. I was wondering what was going to happen, but we just accepted it. Then the Germans dive bombed us one time. I was having a shower. I ran downstairs, got dressed and got my rifle. I ran out and people were firing rifles at them – I don’t know why, it never did any good, we never got any of them. They bombed all around us. It was the first time we’d been under fire. It made me think the war was catching up with us.

  It was soon clear to all that the German advance was too fast and the situation too fluid for units to remain out of action for long. They were needed at the front and orders soon came for the division to relocate, joining the French 2nd Army in northern France. The move was confusing for the troops – they had been informed they were heading towards the front but everywhere they went there seemed to be French troops heading in the opposite direction. Yet, day by day the Highlanders continued to move, passing through Gisors and Sézanne, crossing the River Bresle, until on 1 June they reached the line of the River Somme near Abbeville. It was just miles from where men like Eric Reeves and Ken Willats had ‘gone into the bag’ almost two weeks earlier.

  With the rest of the British Army reeling back towards Dunkirk and the French seemingly on the verge of collapse, it was little wonder the Highlanders found their movements misted by chaos and confusion. The officers of the 6th Battalion Royal Scots Fusiliers searched desperately for information about the division so they could link up with them. Adrift in a fog of conflicting orders and instructions, their commanding officer later described how he felt the 51st Division had neglected them: ‘They do not seem the least bit interested in us or our affairs.’11 When they finally reached Neufchâtel he again looked back and contemplated the extraordinary situation they were in: ‘Still no word from 51 Div, nor is it possible to get in touch with them . . . So ends the most extraordinary move. 400 miles across France without one intelligible order from anyone. Whole division practically lost during this time.’12

  This sense of confusion was shared throughout the division. It was normal for the other ranks to be ignorant of the situation but their officers expected to be kept abreast of their orders. The Lothian and Borders Yeomanry travelled in three separate groups as they moved north ready to join the French. The party taking their tanks by rail were told they were being moved to an unknown destination, but should be prepared to be attacked by both air and ground forces during the journey. On the 25th the advance party arrived at Vitry. Here they discovered they were less than welcome. It had been badly damaged by enemy bombers and the officer in charge of the town was found to be inefficient and excitable, seemingly desperate to force the troops away as quickly as possible. Moving swiftly on to Gisors, they soon discovered the road party was lost and the rail party was fifteen hours late.

  Finally arriving at St Léger, the exhausted men bedded down for the night in an empty house. They were soon rudely awakened. In the middle of the night Major-General Fortune arrived, also looking for a bed. He was heard opening doors, then moving on once he realized all the rooms were occupied. Heading to the top floor, he was heard to say: ‘Come on David, we’ll get fixed up in here anyway.’ Instead, upon reaching the top floor he discovered two office
rs in the only bed and another one sprawled across the landing. The next morning the general told the astonished officers: ‘As a matter of interest this is Divisional HQ.’13 The officers were in for a further surprise when they asked an intelligence officer on the HQ staff if he knew where the rest of their unit were. He was unable to answer, but Major-General Fortune later kindly informed the advance party they were in completely the wrong location.

  Such gentlemanly encounters masked the reality of the desperate situation faced by the 51st Division. They were attached to a foreign army, were part of a collapsing coalition and were growing increasingly isolated by the withdrawal of the rest of the BEF from Dunkirk. But such details meant little to the men in the front lines. All knew they were members of regiments with proud traditions – ones that were shared by their divisional commander. It seemed clear they would soon be making a stand.

  Arriving near the line of the River Somme, the division began to ready itself for the inevitable action. Initially the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders advanced in the wake of French troops attempting to retake Abbeville, taking over positions previously occupied by a French cavalry unit. Once in position, they were shelled by the enemy. This was not a barrage intended to harm them but something more ominous. They were registration shells, aimed at ensuring the enemy had their range ready for when they would bombard the positions in advance of their inevitable assault. It was a taste of what was to come. The message was reinforced when two men in civilian clothes entered their lines. They were anti-aircraft gunners who had become separated from their unit, dressed in civilian clothes, then swam the Somme in an attempt to rejoin their unit. They reported to the Argylls that significant enemy forces were concentrating on the opposite bank of the river.

  Outside Abbeville, a platoon of Seaforth Highlanders took up position in a graveyard. They had a wonderful view across the gently rolling country – for two or three miles they had a clear view of anyone who approached towards the British line. It was from this location that Jim Reed spotted the enemy advancing in their direction. At first they were nothing but dots on the horizon. Soon it was clear that men and vehicles were coming towards them. The tense infantrymen kept low in their slit trenches, not wanting to reveal their position, not wanting to fire until their bullets would have maximum effect. It was simply a matter of holding fire until the enemy were caught in a trap – except that one soldier had other ideas:

  This reservist couldn’t wait. They were still a couple of hundred yards away. He stood up and started firing. He was pleased with himself. I said, ‘You’ll bring some shit down on us now.’ He said, ‘No, they won’t have seen that.’ But a couple of minutes later they got our range with mortars and they were dropping all around us. Fortunately we got a recall. But he never learned his lesson, he got killed two or three days later doing the same thing. If he’d kept still – keep quiet till you can kill them without them seeing you – he’d have been OK. It was foolish, that’s how most of them got killed. Some learn, others don’t. Luckily I was learning by then.

  The story was the same across the divisional area. It was clear the vast enemy forces ranged against them would soon close in for the kill. One artillery unit reported the chilling sight of enemy bombers passing just fifty feet (fifteen metres) above their heads. Others reported bombers and fighters circling their positions as if just waiting for the order to attack. Furthermore, every battalion commander in the division found his men stretched out over a front that seemed far too large to defend. The tanks of A Troop of the Lothian and Borders Yeomanry were assigned a 2,000-yard front, with just sixty-five men and three carriers. To bolster their defences they positioned an abandoned French tank in the line, hoping its puny 2-pound gun might help to ward off any enemy advance.

  On 30 May a reconnaissance patrol of the Lothian and Borders Yeomanry set out to recce the area between the towns of Eu and St-Valery-sur-Somme. They were informed the enemy had a bridgehead over the Somme but were given no further information as to how far their advance units had penetrated. It was an eerie experience for the crews as they drove across a landscape where signs of war were predominantly the graveyards and memorials to the victims of the Great War. Even when they found bridges prepared for demolition there were no Allied troops anywhere to be seen. But they did locate telephone wires that had seemingly been cut by enemy troops. Furthermore they met civilians who informed them the Germans were so confident of victory they had borrowed bathing suits and gone swimming in the sea. Chillingly, the civilians also reported approximately 1,000 German soldiers in St-Valery-sur-Somme. The only signs of Allied activity were a few French marines, armed with nothing heavier than rifles, who were occupying a lighthouse, while at Le Tréport they discovered a handful of British troops hanging around in the town square. Their only contribution had been to open all the swing bridges to hold up the German advance.

  Here it was intended they would make a stand and attempt to counterattack the enemy forces to their north. On 4 June, as the final survivors of the Dunkirk perimeter were being rounded up, the men of 152 and 153 Brigades went on the offensive. With the support of French tanks, they advanced upon the enemy bridgehead over the River Somme. Like so many attacks launched in the weeks before, it was a failure, despite the furious efforts of the artillery to support them with the gunners of the 17th Field Regiment firing nearly 650 rounds in just three hours. Nearly 600 fighting men were lost from 152 Brigade, with the 4th Seaforths and 4th Cameron Highlanders taking the bulk of the casualties, as the French tanks were picked off one by one by determined German anti-tank gunners.

  It was the first serious action the Seaforths had seen. For Jim Reed the story of the battle had begun the previous evening when his sergeant had informed them they would be going into action the next morning. They would be advancing with fixed bayonets – a sure sign they could expect close contact with the enemy:

  We had tea in the early morning, were given picks and shovels and then we advanced. We reached the edge of this wood quite easily. Then the trouble started. We’d thrown away the shovels – we couldn’t carry these big things and carry a rifle with fixed bayonet. We came under a bit of fire then we got halfway through the wood and it started to get a bit heavy. We could hear tanks battling away at the other side of the wood. Then we got some really heavy stuff coming down on us, but having thrown our picks and shovels away we had to try to dig in using our bayonets. The shelling lasted for about two hours. We lost about half a dozen men killed from our platoon and quite a few were wounded. That’s a lot for one platoon. I remember at the end I went looking for my mates because we’d all scattered. I found one of my friends who’d had his throat torn out. But you soon forget it because after that we got in quite a few skirmishes.

  The attack was the first time the Highlanders were thrown into a major action. It was a day that had a profound effect on each man, as David Mowatt remembered:

  I shot a couple of Jerries. I was going along the riverbank and there was a platoon of them on the other side – so I had a couple of bangs at them. Then they scarpered – but I’m bloody sure I hit them because I was ‘dead-eye dick’. I thought ‘I’ve got to get you first mate!’ We were taught ‘shoot first, ask questions later’. You were a soldier and your rifle was your best friend – that man over the other side isn’t! But that was the only time I fired my rifle. As the company runner I had other work to do. At another point I saved my mate’s life – Eckie MacPherson. I’d just come back from an errand and I bumped into him in an orchard. I heard a shell coming over – I shouted, ‘Down Eckie!’ I threw myself down. The shell landed and blew Eckie high up into the air. God knows how high he went. He landed – bang – exactly where he’d been standing. He was out cold – I got underneath him and lifted him. I carried him down to the aid post. I said to the orderly, ‘Careful with him, he’ll fall to pieces.’ I couldn’t look at him. I told the medic what had happened and he said, ‘By God! He’s lucky to be alive.’ Every year until he died Eckie’d be
at the regimental reunion with a glass of whisky waiting for me and say, ‘Here’s to the man who saved my life.’

  The following day the Germans made a determined effort to push the Highlanders back from the Somme. The 7th Battalion Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders were particularly hard hit at Franleu. It was later described as the ‘blackest day in the history of the regiment.’14 The Germans launched their attack in the early hours of the morning. When the news reached battalion HQ they at first believed it to be patrol activity, but the men who were sent to investigate found large numbers of enemy troops surrounding the village. Communication for the Argylls became difficult as the enemy cut telephone wires around the village.

  It soon became clear the entire position was under threat and the Bren gun carriers were positioned around the HQ as a final line of defence. With enemy snipers infiltrating into the village, anti-sniper patrols were sent out. The situation deteriorated as the artillery HQ in the village of Ochancourt was captured, leaving the Argylls without effective support.

  In the confusion the reserve company was sent forward but didn’t know the way and was soon lost. When one officer got out of his truck to check a signpost he was shot in the back by a sniper and severely wounded. With its last hope lost on the way to the village, the battalion HQ came under fire from heavy mortars. Some relief was felt when the heavy machine-guns of the Royal Northumberland Fusiliers were heard engaging the enemy. The respite was short lived and at 4.15 a.m. they saw the green-white-green-white flare that signalled someone’s position was surrounded. From the C Company positions the troops could see around 1,000 enemy forming up on three sides of them. Elsewhere D Company were attacked first by enemy cavalry, then by light tanks backed up by cavalry and motorcyclists. The company’s Bren gunners did sterling work, ensuring that short, accurate bursts were enough to prevent the enemy from crossing open areas, but it was not enough to turn the tide of battle. From the observation post in a church tower enemy mortars were spotted being brought up on horse-drawn wagons, accompanied by more troops arriving by truck. The newly arrived mortars took a serious toll, concentrating their fire on the battalion HQ and on the hedgerows concealing the Bren gun positions. Their deadly fire soon destroyed the wireless truck and one of the ammunition lorries. As the high explosive rained down, the wounded were sent into the HQ cellar. Here they received little assistance since there was no one to treat them, the medical staff having earlier been evacuated as the result of a confused signal. The bearers attempted to stem the bleeding and make them comfortable, helped by the valiant padre, Captain MacInnes. When enemy snipers were picking off men collecting water, he had insisted on being the only one allowed outside. As the day progressed, the men in forward positions were issued with chocolate and water as their only sustenance.