Memoirs of Dunkirk

My father joined the RASC at the beginning of WW2 although at 32 yrs old he was regarded as rather old. He was trained in no time at all and became a member of the British expeditionary Force. He began to realise that the army had problems when he was told there was no army issue underwear and they had to continue wearing the civvy underwear he had on at enlistment. They were not issued with greatcoats as there were not enough to go around and he spent his first winter in France without winter clothing. He was a lorry driver so was given a 3 tonner to drive. Little happened at first but when the army collapsed he had to escape with as many troops as the truck would carry. The greatest problem, as he saw it, was the fact that the roads were choked with refugees who were constantly being strafed by the German air force. Eventually, after living off the land stealing chickens from gardens and milking cows into their tin hats, something that was totally new for a town boy, they were forced to abandon the truck and make their way on foot towards Dunkirk. While travelling in single file they were bombed by a german plane. The bomb landed near the back of the column and killed the man in front of my father and wounded my father ih the legs. He fell forward into the shell hole and passed out. When he woke up he found everyone had gone, believing him to be dead. He also found he could not climb out of the crater. He shouted but nothing happened. Eventually a French farmer arrived and peering into the hole , saw him and pulled him out. He was put across an old bike and the farmer pushed him for miles until he met some British soldiers who took him to Dunkirk where he was stretchered onto a boat that brought him home. Eventually he arrived at military hospital where he could be treated. Nobody had looked at his wounds since they were inflicted and now they were badly infected. He said one of the volunteer nurses fainted at the smell when they cut his boots off. His leg had been saved however by his metal cigarette case which had taken a large piece of shrapnel in his thigh pocket. I stiil have this case which still has a few crushed woodbines in it from that day. The surgeon wanted to remove his leg but he begged them to take the minimum, which was his toes. He walked with a limp but soon was able to drive again with the help of special boots. Of interest is the fact that after his discharge, he was sent a Bill from the War Office for equipment lost in the campaign such as items of uniform. He never paid for these but my mother always kept the bill to prove it. He always dreamt of returning to France to thank the Frenchman who saved his life but he could never afford to, and died shortly after the end of the war.

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.