by Sean Longden
Despite the rapid organization and deployment of Ark Force – travelling overnight to avoid the unwanted attentions of the Luftwaffe – they were doomed to failure. Through no fault of their own, there was no available unit capable of holding off the enemy and holding open the escape route. For on 10 June, as Major-General Fortune made the decision to withdraw to Le Havre ready for evacuation, they received the worst possible news. Sweeping northwards from Rouen, the enemy had reached the Channel coast at Fécamp, cutting off the beleaguered Highlanders from their only possible place of evacuation. Within sight of the German Panzers which had reached the cliff tops, were British ships embarking troops. With the divisional artillery in support, the tanks engaged the ships at Fécamp, hitting a destroyer and ensuring the harbour could be used for no further evacuations. From these cliff tops the Germans could also look northwards across the Channel towards their next target – England. All they had to do was finish off the armies left behind in France and their victory would be sealed.
It was clear there was no way the already weakened Highlanders, short of ammunition, food and men, could break through the line of Panzers that stood between them and escape. Fortune had already warned the War Office that he had just two days’ worth of rations left and requested that, since they could not come to the navy at Le Havre, the navy should come to them when they managed to reach the coast. With little choice in the course of action, the decision was taken to save all who could be saved and, rather than sacrifice the men in a pointless attempt to drive back the enemy, Ark Force were ordered to pull back into Le Havre to await evacuation. While some of those deployed to form Ark Force were little more than battalions formed from scratch, others performed their duty to the highest degree. One company of the Border Regiment, along with a company of Sherwood Foresters, failed to receive orders for withdrawal. Instead they fought on, defending positions at crossings on the River Bresle, denying their use to the enemy. They held on until 13 June when they were finally beaten by the Germans’ employment of heavy mortars.
Attached to Ark Force were the remnants of the 7th Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, who had suffered so much in the previous days. By now they were reduced to little more than a skeleton formation – not really a battalion, rather a few survivors of the front-line companies attached to the untried troops of the B Echelon. Bombed by Stukas on the night of the retreat, the shrieking bombs had a great effect on the nerves of the men, especially since so many of the troops had not previously been bombed. It was clear to all that they could do little to hold off the enemy. To all intents and purposes, Major-General Fortune and his Highlanders were alone.
Cut off from the base at Rouen, blocked from reaching Le Havre and with their backs to the Channel, there was nowhere for the division to go, apart from the fishing port of St-Valery-en-Caux. It was no more than a small harbour, unable to offer moorings to the larger ships that had made the Dunkirk evacuation so successful. Nestling in the shade of wooded hillsides that led down from the cliffs around, the quaysides were lined with houses and cafes. And so, late on 10 June, Fortune ordered his division to withdraw into St Valery to await evacuation. The move was to be made carrying only essential equipment. In order to make space for as many men as possible, all non-essential kit was jettisoned. Greatcoats, large packs and blankets were left behind and even the division’s artillery was rationed to just 100 rounds per gun.
Despite these efforts, which ensured lorries of the divisional RASC could carry the necessary fighting men, the move did not go entirely smoothly. In the dark many units found themselves on routes that had not been allotted to them, choking the roads. The situation was also complicated by the arrival of French transport, much of which was horse-drawn, which strayed on to roads and slowed down the withdrawal.
Arriving in the port on the morning of the 11th, Fortune ordered the infantry battalions to form a box perimeter around the town. His battalion commanders were informed they would hold the line during the day and then be withdrawn to the port under cover of darkness. The 4th Seaforths, 5th Gordons and 1st Black Watch held the perimeter from the nearby seaside village of Veules-les-Roses to Fontaine-le-Dun. To the west, the line was held by the 1st Gordons, 4th Gordons and 2nd Seaforths. With everybody convinced, wishing, or simply praying, that the Royal Navy would soon be coming to rescue them, the troops began to follow the orders to destroy their vehicles. As at Dunkirk, the town became surrounded with the wrecks of cars and trucks as drivers drained radiators and oil tanks, smashed open batteries and slashed tyres. Following the orders of Major-General Fortune, only the Bren carriers were to be retained for the final rearguard.
However, the Highlanders were not the only ones who had reached the area. That morning General Rommel and his tanks also arrived to the west of St Valery, seizing the high ground that commanded a view of the area. They did not waste the advantage they had gained. As the divisional HQ arrived at 11 a.m., the Germans opened up with a ferocious artillery barrage and aerial bombing that served to underline the desperate situation the Highlanders were in. Fred Coster and his column of anti-aircraft guns arrived just in time to witness the bombardment: ‘When we got to town there were loads of lorries there, there were no tanks and we didn’t see any heavy guns – just our ack-ack guns. There were British and French infantry everywhere. The gun tractor pulled up and another army wagon pulled up behind us. He couldn’t have seen our gun barrel, it went straight through his windscreen and smashed his face in – he was screaming in pain.’
The driver’s screams were in direct contrast to the peaceful scenes in the town ahead. It was a location so far untouched by war, but this situation did not last long:
St Valery was an ordinary seaside town, with rows of lovely, colourful, painted houses in the distance. It was undisturbed. Then the Germans saturated it. We were in an open square. We could do nothing except take shelter. As they were bombing these lovely coloured houses were being lifted up complete then collapsing to the ground in ruins. Then they started machine-gunning us. There was a bit of a lull. I looked up and saw this old Frenchman. It looked like he was out for his morning constitutional walk – he couldn’t care less! Then they started bombing again and I kept my head down until it was all over. When I looked again the town was an absolute wreck. All within minutes.
As the divisional headquarters moved into the town they found the town hall in flames and the post office, originally chosen for division HQ, was also untenable. The bombing was the cue for the Germans to close in on the town from the dominating western heights. Despite the odds being stacked heavily against the surrounded Highlanders, they were in no mood to capitulate, as Fred Coster remembered:
I was watching from behind as my mate, who was number 2 on a gun, prepared for action. Just as they got the gun ready three tanks came into view. These were damn great tanks, like nothing we had seen before – not like our army’s little ones. They engaged the first tank – shot at it, killing the crew and putting it out of action. Then the second tank slewed round, so they fired at it and put that one out of action. The third tank turned round and drove off. All the time the tanks had been machine-gunning our guns, their bullets were splattering off the front of the gun. My mate was thrown back from the gun on to the ground. Several of us ran forward to man the gun, but he got up, jumped back on the gun and started firing again. He was covered in blood and shouting ‘You bastards!’ at them. I think a bloke like that deserves a medal – but of course he didn’t get one.
Although those tanks had withdrawn, the Germans were not disheartened and soon advanced again, this time with infantry. Again Coster and his comrades were ready: ‘We were really in amongst it. The Germans started to arrive in lorries. They began to fan out in the field. We used the gun to destroy them. We fired at them – we could see arms and legs flying everywhere. They retreated. That’s how we were holding the town.’ He later tried to explain his emotions at being embroiled in such intense action. His explanation showed why men like his friend coul
d continue to fight against the odds: ‘The only thing that goes through your head is “I’ve got to get that man!” You’ve got to fight. This is it – you have no time for anything else – no time to be nervous. You’ve got to survive!’
In the close-quarter fighting around the town there were terrible scenes. In the St Sylvain and Le Tot positions, infantrymen fought from house to house to prevent infiltration by the enemy. Some groups, including the ‘Kensingtons’ and the Northumberland Fusiliers even managed to drive the enemy back to the woods outside the town. The fighting became intense, taking its toll on both attackers and defenders. Positions came under fire from tanks, mortars and artillery as the Germans chose to probe their defences rather than risk all-out attacks. One soldier later wrote of watching a Bren gunner emptying an entire magazine into an unsuspecting German. As the man lay dead upon the ground a British officer approached and fired into the back of the man’s head – just to make sure. These were vivid images for men who had already seen plenty of fighting in the previous weeks. In another incident, a British soldier was hit by machine-gun fire that stitched up his spine, causing his body to arc upwards and then collapse in an obscene heap. Every man fighting witnessed such scenes of death and destruction. Everyone experienced the terror, horror and exhaustion so typical of the modern battlefield.
The story was the same all around the town. With the entire perimeter under threat there was no time to worry about troops and weapons being deployed in their correct roles. Anyone who could hold a rifle held one – whether cooks, gunners, mechanics or drivers. There was no way the proud Highland regiments, with their long, prestigious histories, would surrender without a fight.
In the course of 11 June, around 1,000 prisoners were taken by the advancing Germans, but still they had not broken the defenders’ spirits. As long as they had arms, ammunition and hope, they would continue to defend the town. From their positions above St Valery the Germans watched as the British constructed barricades in the harbour and moved up guns ready to defend the area. It was clear Fortune and his men would not accept the offered terms of surrender made by Rommel on the evening of the 11th. Instead General Fortune focused his efforts on ensuring the navy came to their rescue that evening. As he told the War Office, the shortages of food, petrol and above all ammunition meant that the night of the 11th would mark the final chance to get them home.
That evening, the Germans assaulted the town with an unprecedented fury, their artillery raining down shells upon the harbour, in the hope of demoralizing the defenders and hampering any attempted evacuation. Over 2,500 shells struck the town and were followed by further tank attacks aimed at penetrating the defences. Under these sustained attacks there was little chance of the division holding out much longer. With ammunition running low, numbers of dead rising ever higher and little hope for the wounded if they did not get rapid treatment, it was clear the end was approaching.
With swathes of the town in flames or in ruins, the division began to withdraw to await evacuation. As the infantry held their front-line positions, the division’s support troops moved towards the beaches and harbour in hope of finding ships waiting for them. Though few of the troops realized it, the Royal Navy made genuine efforts to ensure they were rescued. Many of them would not discover the truth until many years later and, instead, they believed they had been abandoned to their fate. Fred Coster only discovered the navy had tried to rescue the division more than sixty years later, when he read an obituary of one of the ship’s captains. Prior to that he never believed the navy had attempted a rescue.
For the tank crews of the Lothian and Borders Horse the withdrawal into St Valery was a fraught affair. German artillery spotter planes were seen above the village of Cailleville, resulting in violent shelling that caused several casualties. At midnight the regiment mustered in the village, destroyed all vehicles, then were marched to St Valery to await embarkation planned for 4 a.m. From two miles out they could see St Valery, where two pillars of red smoke were spiralling into the night. As they tried to find a route to the harbour they found themselves getting lost in the twisting lanes of burning buildings. Columns became separated, with groups coming face to face with each other after going the wrong way up alleys. But like so many disillusioned men that night, they soon realized there were no ships waiting. Illuminated by the glow of blazing buildings, under star shell bombardment from enemy artillery on the cliffs above and standing in an area that kept being swept by machine-gun fire, the troops were in a hopelessly exposed position.
When it was time for the 101st Anti-Aircraft Regiment to head to the harbour for evacuation, Fred Coster was told to pass the news to the various batteries: ‘I saw this motorcycle sitting there and thought that would make it quicker. I started it up and the officer jumped on the back. As we went down the road he was shouting out to the gunners telling them where to muster. It was night-time by then and the place was in flames.’ The flames may have illuminated the roads but they also helped to silhouette Coster, making him an obvious target: ‘As we passed a blazing van I heard a shot whizz past in front of me. I realized they were shooting at me. I revved up and sped away and as I did a shot went past behind us. The officer said “Take it easy!” I didn’t answer him but I thought “We’re going to get our heads shot off here!” ’
Having received the message, the men began to muster on the beach to await evacuation. It was not to be. Milling around at the water’s edge, Coster and his mates looked out across the misty waters, eagerly anticipating the appearance of ships out of the gloom. But nothing came. Out in the Channel 207 ships of all sizes were waiting for the order to sail to St Valery. Most had spent the day in the waters near the coast but had been driven further out into the Channel by German gunfire. By the night of the 11th they were still waiting to rescue the Highlanders but there was little they could do when fog closed in around the approaches to the port. With just sixteen of the 207 vessels equipped with wireless, they were forced to rely on communicating by signal lamps, and with limited visibility there was quite simply no way of communicating between the craft and organizing the evacuation. Around 3 a.m. General Fortune ordered that the men should leave the harbour area and head back to their positions above the town. Disappointed, the gunners of Fred Coster’s regiment made their way back inland, where they were to return to their guns and take up new positions to defend the town.
With ammunition running low, the situation began to get increasingly desperate. Major-General Fortune wanted the infantry to attack at dawn, to push the enemy back far enough so that the harbour area could be held for one more day to allow for another attempted evacuation. Yet there was precious little they could do. As Major-General Fortune was requesting the navy to use their guns to suppress the enemy, many of the division’s gunners were destroying their weapons so they couldn’t fall into enemy hands. As Gordon Barber made his way into St Valery from his gun positions he couldn’t help but be astounded by the wreckage that seemed to surround him, either dumped in roadside ditches or smouldering on the verges:
It was the biggest cock up I’ve seen in my life. Blokes were getting killed everywhere. They wanted volunteers to go into town to find small arms, so we went. The idea was, we were going to fight our way to the beaches. The outskirts of the town were a mess. We found these four French officers in their car, like they were asleep. But they were stone dead! They had all their medals on. All I remember was going into a broken shop and finding this big box of stockings. I thought ‘When I get home with these I’ll be rich!’ Then I found a bag full of fruitcake and tins of Ovaltine. So I kept them as well.
There was little chance of the division making good its escape. The town, with parts of it flattened and in flames, seemed deserted. There were no boats in the harbour and few civilians in the streets. Instead there was just the detritus of war – corpses, wrecked vehicles, scattered boxes of food and ammunition and, above all else, the lost and bewildered soldiers of all nations. Middlesex Regiment machine-gunner
Jim Pearce was surprised to find himself approaching the front lines only to see Frenchmen going in the opposite direction loaded down with tins of British rations. The situation was not helped by the knowledge that their own stores of food and cigarettes were being blown up to prevent their capture by the enemy. Given the circumstances, no one could blame the Frenchmen for taking the food. Such was the chaos that food had to be found wherever it was available. There was no time for scruples. Gordon Barber returned to his gun position, still clutching the stockings, fruitcake and Ovaltine he had ‘acquired’ in the town.
Upon arrival, Barber handed over the weapons he had found, just one box of hand grenades. His officer, Captain Wright, then asked him to try to pick up any information from the wireless set, and that was when Barber, working his way through the dials, heard the self-congratulatory BBC announcement of the successful evacuation of Dunkirk.
It was clear to both Barber and Captain Wright that their war was coming to an end. A gun battery without shells, small arms or ammunition could not fight on. Not only that, but the single box of grenades Barber had found were useless. As an infantry sergeant told him: ‘It would have been a good idea to bring the detonators.’ Barber’s admitted ignorance was a reflection of how poorly prepared the army was: ‘That was another balls up! I wasn’t to know. I’d never used a bleedin’ hand grenade in my life.’
In the circumstances there was but one choice, as the captain soon explained: ‘I can’t give you any more information. We are now going to be taken prisoner of war. You can do as you like.’ This was all the information he needed. It was ‘every man for himself’. Not wanting to be taken prisoner, Barber and his mate Paddy mounted a motorcycle: ‘It was all “pie in the sky”. We hadn’t got a clue where we were or where the Germans were or where we were going to go. It was all a big mess. We were all young kids – eighteen or nineteen. We didn’t know what we were doing.’ Despite their ignorance, they made the conscious decision to escape and roared off into the unknown.