A Train Journey

A TRAIN JOURNEY

Today, you can travel from Lille in northern France to Newcastle-on-Tyne in a matter of hours — in 1940 it took me seven days. Interested? Read on.

When Neville Chamberlain returned from Munich in 1938 after his meeting with Adolph Hitler, waving his piece of paper, announcing it would be “Peace in our time”, I promptly joined the Territorial Army as I did not believe this over-optimistic statement — my instinct was right and on Sunday 3rd September , war with Germany was declared and so begins my story.

My division, the 42nd East Lancashire was mobilised. This consisted of the 125, 126 and 127 Brigades and was part of the 3rd Corps, which was ordered to France at the end of March 1940 as part of the British Expeditionary Force (B.E.F.) I was in the Royal Army Service Corps and was stationed in BETHUNE on La Basse Canal until the Germans invaded Holland and Belgium on 10th May. We moved forward beyond LILLE, up the Menin Road towards BRUSSELS but never arrived due to the rapidity of the German advance. By the evening of 18th May, the 42nd had been pushed back to the south of Lille and was fighting outside ROUBAIX.

That night, whilst delivering supplies to a far from static front line, I was involved in a motorbike accident with one my own lorries. The injuries to my right leg, although not known at the time, included a double fracture of the femur and fractures of the tibia and fibula. Loaded with my bike into the back of the lorry that hit me, I was taken to the Casualty Clearing Station in Lille, and on the morning of Sunday 19th May, I was put on an Ambulance Train bound for the British based hospital in DIEPPE. We didn’t make it. The Germans were there before us and so began an epic five day journey through northern France.

At this pont I should remind you that the Germans had completely surrounded the B.E.F. and their intention was to move up the coast to meet their army moving down the coast from Belgium, thereby cutting off any means of escape. So — what to do with a train full of wounded men? Well, obviously it was to try to unload them at a port, but if the port was under constant attack it was not a good idea to hang around too long unless it was possible to rendezvous with a Hospital Ship. First, we tried BOULOGNE then CALAIS then DUNKIRK. In between times we were either in a railway siding or just moving on, not knowing where we were.

Eventually, food, water and medical supplies began to dwindle and, at some point on our journey the Queen Alexandra Nurses were taken off the train; because of the bombing and shelling it was deemed too dangerous to keep them on board. Thankfully, the only thing which did not seem in short supply was morphine.

Boulogne was isolated on 22nd and fell to the Germans on 24th after the garrison had been evacuated by sea. At the same time, the port at Calais was put out of action and I remember at night, it was possible to read the newspaper by the light of the fires. Completely surrounded by 25th May, the garrison at Calais held out until 28th. This was as a result of a decision not to evacuate as had been the case in Boulogne and that, together with the flooding of the Gravelines area and the blowing up of the bridges, proved to be vital for the successful evacuation of the troops from Dunkirk. By 26th, the Docks had been put out of action by bombing and the water supply had been destroyed. The B.E.F. Mechanical Transport had been captured by 22nd but Ambulance trains were running as late as 26th. By 27th, Dunkirk was on fire but the harbour was still being used.

By this time, food and water were in seriously short supply and by 23rd the Army was on half rations. Casualty Clearing Stations were turned into hospitals and after 26th no further stretcher cases were considered for evacuation due to lack of space on board ships.

Full scale evacuation eventually began on 28th May and by 4th June 98,671 troops had been rescued from the beaches and 239,555 from the harbour at Dunkirk. Of these 13,053 were casualties, of which I was one.

The Ambulance Train I was on arrived in the railway sidings in the harbour area on 24th. I seem to recall that it was afternoon when we were taken on board a Hospital Ship but, sadly, I have no recollection of its name. We sailed during the night and arrived at NEWHAVEN about breakfast time on Saturday 25th. I remember the W.V.S. ladies who were wonderfully kind, handing out cups of tea, packets of cigarettes, postcards and stamps. I can still see myself touching the stone of the quay and being reassured by its solidity. I was back in my own country and so thankful to those who so bravely stayed behind to tend the wounded who were less fortunate than myself.

Shortly after our arrival, we were put on board yet another Ambulance Train, this time bound for MORPETH in Northumberland. What a strange coincidence as I had been stationed there from October 1939 to January 1940. And so we made our way north through England’s green and pleasant land on a beautiful May day, arriving in Morpeth early evening. It felt like going home, particularly as one of the volunteers carrying my stretcher from the train to the waiting ambulances was a man I knew. He did not recognise me until I told him who I was and mentioned the names of friends I had made. He promised to let them know I was back in town and, true to his word, he did and it was not long before I had my first visitor.

We were taken to a new Emergency Hospital at Stannington, just outside Morpeth. It had been built at the top of rising ground next to the first Children’s Sanatorium to be built in this country, so I guess it was a healthy spot. Imagine, though, an empty hospital and newly recruited staff, having to cope with a train load of wounded men. Fortunately, help was forthcoming from Newcastle General Hospital, but what was achieved in the first few days was truly remarkable.

So, a few hours short of 7 days, I was able to exchange my stretcher for a bed, but it would be yet another 24 hours before I went to the operating theatre. All this time my right leg had been in a Thomas’ splint and this, together with a good pair of lungs, undoubtedly had much to do with my survival. Little did I know then how much I was to owe to the skills of the surgeons and the dedicated care of the nursing staff that would enable me to walk out of Stannington 10 months later, on my own two legs — but that’s another story.

(The facts and figures are extracted from Churchill’s Memoirs of the Second World War Volume II)

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