Dunkirk: The Men They Left Behind

by Sean Longden

  As they lined up along the quays, Raybould was struck by the feeling that it would soon be a case of ‘every man for himself’. With discipline at best strained, and with soldiers from all manner of units – in particular, the Pioneer Corps, Royal Army Ordnance Corps and Royal Engineers – packing the port, it seemed that chaos was waiting to sweep the area. When one corporal tried to get Bren gunners to set up their guns in anticipation of an attack from the air, the men ignored his orders and openly threatened to dump him into the harbour. Despite such open insolence, every time enemy aircraft appeared above the town all manner of weapons opened up at them. Ack-ack guns fired rapid bursts into the skies, with the explosions of their shells accompanied by the steady thudding of Bren guns and the rattle of rifle fire. Exhausted infantrymen frantically filled magazines with their remaining rounds, passing them to the hard-pressed Bren gunners.

  The scenes were watched by Fred Goddard:

  It was like a miniature Dunkirk – all hell was let loose. The Stukas had got it to themselves – there were no English planes anywhere. We made for this ship but the Stukas were dive bombing and they got it just before we got to it. A Stuka dived down. I thought he was going to crash on to the ship but he pulled up and dropped his bombs. One of those I saw go straight down the funnel. There was a terrible explosion. I’d never seen anything like it – the ship went straight down so quick. But as we came back from where the ship sunk we spotted a ‘coaler’. The skipper had a loudhailer and he said he was coming in but he wasn’t going to tie up. But if anyone wanted to they could jump on board as he went past! So Bill and me jumped – it was quite a long way down. There were about forty men on the deck of this boat. The captain couldn’t take any more. Some men that jumped from the harbour missed the deck. One or two we managed to pull on board, but the rest just sank straight down. The skipper told us, ‘I can’t take any more men. Don’t pull anybody else out.’ These days people forget anything else had happened after Dunkirk.

  Goddard was one of the lucky ones; he had made it safely to the port and found a boat that had avoided the attentions of the Luftwaffe. Others were not so fortunate. At St Nazaire the hopeful troops soon became embroiled in one of the greatest maritime disasters of the entire war. Despite the bombing, the queues at St Nazaire gradually moved forward, the men making their way slowly towards the boats waiting to ferry them to safety. Joe Sweeney was one of the servicemen who, along with 200 other men, arrived at the HMT Lancastria by tug. Upon boarding he was pleasantly surprised by the orderly nature of the arrangements that had been made for the soldiers. He gave his name, rank and number to a waiting seaman and in return received a card allocating him to sleeping quarters and telling him when to go for meals. In total, the sailors handed out almost 6,000 of these cards. The Lancastria had once been a liner with the prestigious Cunard company. As a result, the comfort offered in the saloons and restaurants was in stark contrast to the conditions the troops had experienced in the weeks retreating across France. The luckier ones found themselves in the First Class dining rooms, at tables laid with crisp white linen and gleaming glasses and water jugs, as they sat down to a meal of sausages, mashed potatoes and coffee. Yet it was little more than an illusion of civilization and they were soon reminded of the reality of their situation.

  In the mid-afternoon the Lancastria was subjected to a vicious aerial assault. German planes machine-gunned the decks, sending troops running for cover while bombers aimed their deadly cargo on the easy target of the large liner. Some of the soldiers were ordered on to the decks, armed with their rifles, to fire on the attacking planes. Their brave efforts were wasted as the bombers soon gained the upper hand.

  RAF Sergeant Wally Hewitt had just made his way on to the decks when the planes began to target the Lancastria. He took cover as a bomber appeared above them:

  The gunners on board turned their fire on it. While they were firing another bomber dived down from the rear. There was a rush of men for cover. I was knocked on to my knees in the doorway I was near. I did not see the plane but knew it had dived low as the bomb’s whistle lasted only about three seconds. It was followed by a terrific crash and then a series of roars from down below. A sheet of flame seemed to strike me in the face. I was lifted up then crashed down again. I was stunned for a minute. I then forced my way clear of a number of bodies that were on me.9

  Having bandaged his wounded brow and aided a soldier with a broken shoulder – whom he lowered into the sea – Hewitt found a lifebelt and swam off from the already submerged deck.

  Also on board the Lancastria was Charles Raybould, whose own luck had sufficed during the Luftwaffe’s attacks on the port. He and his mates were given tickets allocating them space in a saloon at the front of the ship. The relief they felt as they settled down in expectation of returning home did not last long. Raybould was standing in a queue to get a drink of lemonade when a bomb struck: ‘A lightning infra-red blast skittled us like ninepins. I felt as if a very large blow lamp had been held at my head. Half-conscious I forced my trembling legs over inert bodies, groaing bodies . . . my tortured lungs were shrivelling fast in the oxygenless air . . .’10

  The searing blast left Raybould in no doubt that the situation was desperate and he immediately began to look for a way out: ‘men were babbling snatches of prayer like frightened children in the dark. Dying voices called the names of their loved ones. Men became animals, fighting and snarling towards the small aperture of light which would feed and cool their dying but burning lungs . . . Screams came up from a large crater which could be seen in the light.’11

  Those on the decks were stunned by the bombs. One dazed soldier recalled how he could feel debris crashing down on to his steel helmet. As the noise subsided he raised his head but could see little but a red-hot glow that pierced through the clouds of smoke and dust. Within seconds he moved backwards, away from the heat, and noticed crowds of soldiers jumping overboard. The soldier, though badly burned, realized there was no time to waste and joined the jumping men.

  At the stern the situation was very different from these chaotic scenes at the epicentre of the blast. As the bomb struck, Joe Sweeney didn’t even realize what had happened. To him it seemed like another close shave. Then suddenly the ship lurched to port. This was an obvious signal that something was wrong and he decided to leave the saloon where he had previously bedded down. The corridors were packed with soldiers, all attempting to reach the decks with rifles still slung over their shoulders and packs firmly on their backs. As the crowds attempted to find their way through the narrow corridors, the lights went out and the air was filled with the shouts of frightened men. Again the ship lurched, this time to starboard. Water began to flow into the corridors, sending the men charging towards the port escape routes. Sweeney, spotting an opening in the crowds, dashed up the starboard stairs but was soon followed by others who had also sensed an opportunity to escape.

  Charles Raybould was lucky; there was no hesitation from the men at the front of the boat who had so narrowly escaped the bomb’s ferocious blast. Nor was there any delay as they made their way to the decks. Realizing the ship was doomed, soldiers began stripping off their uniforms and diving overboard. Elsewhere he noticed a young padre descending into the depths of the ship, telling those who tried to stop him that he had to do God’s work. Men watched in disbelief, realizing it was suicide to go down into the chaos below. While the padre was gripped by faith, others abandoned all hope. Knowing the ship was sinking, one non-swimmer shot himself rather than facing a slow death by drowning.

  Raybould joined the crowds who had decided to risk the waters in hope of swimming away before the Lancastria slipped beneath the waves. Diving overboard, he hit the water and screamed in pain. The bomb blast had torn his hair from his scalp, blistering the skin. Now the salt water seared his wounds, leaving him in agony. Accompanied by a sailor, he swam for safety, urged on by his companion telling him they needed to get as far from the ship as possible or else they would be dragge
d down as the ship went under. Reaching a safe distance, he watched as crowds of soldiers continued to leave the stricken ship. As he bobbed in the waves, he could see small figures still clinging to the immense steel sides of the ship. Other survivors watched in admiration as a Bren gunner continued firing at the attacking aircraft in the final moments before the Lancastria disappeared below the surface.

  One of those who found himself clinging on to the Lancastria was Joe Sweeney. Along with hundreds of others, Sweeney had reached the relative safety of the deck. No longer trapped below decks, Sweeney faced another terrifying dilemma – he did not know how to swim. Initially he was not unduly concerned, believing that the ship’s demise would be a lengthy process. However, it was sinking rapidly by the prow, with the stern beginning to rise from the water. He had to act quickly or be trapped as the rising stern made jumping increasingly dangerous. Around him he noticed men throwing anything that could float into the water, in hope that there would be something to hold on to once they had dived overboard.

  Looking down into the water, Sweeney could see hundreds of heads bobbing up and down, some being struck by the chairs and tables being hurled through the air, ostensibly to save them. Men were seen sinking under the surface, never to appear again. It seemed that the chaos of the situation had engulfed Sweeney. The air was filled by the hissing of steam escaping through pipes, the banging of the anti-aircraft guns and the screams of the soldiers. For Sweeney this was a pivotal moment in his war:

  There are times in one’s life, when stock must be taken; when one weighs up what has been accomplished; when one dreams of future achievements. One searches for the meaning of life. For me, this was one of those moments. I pondered; I wondered. I wondered why innocent women, children and old folk had to endure the privations and sufferings of total war . . . My whole life seemed to scuttle by in a flash. I asked myself whether this was my last day on earth. Alas! I arrived at no solutions at all.12

  All he knew was that he needed to get into the water to escape the sinking liner. Watching as men jumped, some sinking into the depths and others bobbing back to the surface, he realized he was not alone. Others were hesitating, each man wrapped up in his own personal whirl of emotions. Around him some men began singing – mainly popular military songs – that were soon taken up by the mass of soldiers still on board the stricken ship. It was now or never. Sweeney removed his jacket and boots, hiding his jacket in the desperate hope that the boat might not sink and that he might be able to retrieve it later. Than came the moment of truth.

  Unable to wait any longer, he ran towards the rails and jumped, hoping to get as far away as possible from the ship’s side. His efforts were wasted and instead he slid down the steel sheets of the ship’s side plating towards the water. As he slid he could feel the rough, rusty metal scratching at his naked back. He came to a halt on the casing of the propeller shaft, where he soon realized he was not alone. Around him were a number of soldiers – some fully clothed, arguing that their uniforms would keep them warm in the water, others naked, fearing that the heavy serge uniforms would drag them under. Still some forty feet above the waves, the men solved their dilemma in the soldier’s favourite way – they lit cigarettes. The group sat there smoking and contemplating their dilemma until the ship suddenly lurched. Abandoning their cigarettes, the men began throwing themselves into the water. Sweeney, forgetting his modesty, tore off his trousers and jumped: ‘When I hit the water, I seemed to go down and down for an eternity . . . I extended my arms upwards. I held my breath till the lungs seemed near to bursting. And I finally, when I popped out of the water, I seemed to keep on rising. Then I plopped. I jerked my arms like paddles. I tried floating on my back . . . a voice close by screeched in terror, “I can’t swim!” “Neither can I!” I screamed back in equal terror.’13

  One man tried to hold on to him, pulling him under. All he could do was to fight the man off, battling with him until the petrified soldier slid beneath the water. It was a frantic time; survival was all that mattered. This was the perfect time to learn to swim and Sweeney kicked and swung his arms, desperate to reach a plank to which four men were already clinging.

  Watching these scenes was Charles Raybould. He saw the final men leaping to safety just moments before the Lancastria sank beneath the waters. Beneath him he could feel the ominous dragging current of the water pulling him towards the sinking ship, threatening to drag him under with it. As they watched their comrades dragged beneath the waters, Raybould and the survivors around him wept openly, realizing just how close they had been to sharing their fate.

  Kicking away from the wreck, Joe Sweeney reached the dubious safety of the floating plank, which was his only hope of salvation. One man was already lying across it, making it harder for the others to hold on. For a full seven hours he refused to move. Another soldier was holding on with one arm, his free arm supporting a third man who was in obvious pain. The fourth soldier remained until he spotted a destroyer and, telling the others he was a strong swimmer, he struck off towards it. The naked men were all covered in oil from the now sunken ship. Around them were live men without lifejackets who were desperately trying to stay afloat. Elsewhere were dead men wearing lifejackets, whose lifeless corpses bobbed along on the waves. Later it was discovered that many of these had jumped from the decks wearing their lifejackets and broken their necks upon hitting the water.

  Charles Raybould watched as a fellow survivor began swimming for the shore, then, realizing his strength had deserted him, the man waved goodbye and dived beneath the waves, never to be seen again. With an officer by his side, Raybould managed to get hold of a floating board, only to lose sight of the officer after a German fighter strafed the waters around them. Despite the thousands of men in the sea, most of the survivors were struck by how few men seemed to be around them. In reality there were lifeboats, rafts, rescue boats and other ships in the waters – some of which were prevented from assisting the survivors since they were too busy attempting to fight off enemy aircraft. Yet the men in the water seemed hardly aware of their presence.

  Alone in the water, Charles Raybould’s thoughts turned to his comrades who had been lost in the sinking. There was the mate he had seen jump from the decks in full marching order, surely knowing that, encumbered by so much kit, he would sink straight beneath the waves. In his loneliness he began to think of giving up, accepting his fate, and drifting off into a damning sleep. He was saved by a voice coming across the water as a soldier swam to his side to join him holding on to the life-saving plank of wood. Another man tried to join them, before he too disappeared beneath the waves.

  Eventually salvation came. At first Raybould and his comrade watched as a ship approached, only to see it blown up by bombs from the German aircraft. Eventually, just as it seemed they would never be saved, another ship approached: ‘Soon a grey sleek destroyer came into view . . . HMS Havelock; bold and British mistress of the waves; Rule Britannia. An insignia of safety and protection.’14

  Charles Raybould was safe. However, there were plenty more for whom rescue seemed almost unthinkable. Still hanging on to his own plank, Joe Sweeney saw the plight of the man who was supporting the injured soldier. The strain was obviously weakening him and so Sweeney offered to help. For the next few hours they took turns to keep him afloat. As night approached they realized the chances of surviving through the hours of darkness were small. With the light fading and the waves beginning to rise, it was clear that rescue – if it were to come at all – must come soon: ‘In the creeping darkness, we could only see one tiny boat. By then we had given up all hope of being spotted. It took time before we realized that this insignificant craft was getting nearer and nearer. Salvation seemed to be coming closer.’15 Soon the boat came alongside them and ropes were lowered to pull the injured man on board. Using his last ounce of strength, Sweeney eventually slithered over the side on to the lifeboat.

  For several hours the crew of what was one of only two of the Lancastria’s own lifeboa
ts to escape from the stricken ship had searched the waters for survivors. Time after time they had filled up, taken the survivors to a larger craft, then rowed off to look for more of the desperate men as they swam or trod water. Yet, by the time they rescued Sweeney, their energy had sapped away. No longer able to row, and with the pitiful naked survivors unable to offer any assistance, the boat was left to ride the waves in the hope that they might soon meet another craft. They were lucky; eventually they were picked up by a French fishing boat and taken back to St Nazaire. The four soldiers who walked ashore were just a handful of the 2,000 survivors – out of around 6,000 who had been ready to set sail earlier that day. It was a sobering end to a day that had seen the French government request an armistice.

  The situation in St Nazaire was now even more confusing. With the loss of the Lancastria many of the remaining troops were convinced the end was near and that no more ships would be coming for them. Some accepted the inevitable and settled down to drink themselves into oblivion and wait until they were taken prisoner. Others decided to leave the port in the hope of finding a boat elsewhere. Some even acquired transport, took to the roads and began the journey towards neutral Spain.

  One group who left St Nazaire reached a nearby harbour, whose name none was later able to remember. The situation was far removed from that they had left behind them. There were no German planes in the skies above them, there were smartly dressed British officers organizing the loading of troops into an old steamer. There were even military policemen checking the identification of every man boarding the ship. There were also refugees attempting to secure a passage, including a group of Jewish families. A British officer stood firm, refusing to allow anyone except Britons or Allied military personnel on to the boat. One of the Jewish families made an offer to the British officers. They were willing to pay a soldier £1,000 to marry their daughter and take her to safety. They even had a rabbi on hand to carry out the ceremony. A British officer soon put a stop to the plan. He explained that no British soldier could legally marry without his CO’s permission.