The usher of Dunkirk

I was a driver for the 508 Petrol Company RASC, 44th Division. My regiment was on its way back from the Belgium frontier and we had been told to get to Dunkirk - 'every man for himself!' I can still remember some of my comrades' names, in particular, Tommy Adams and Georgey Smith.

On the way to Dunkirk, we came across a NAAFI van, which had been abandoned with plenty of goodies still on board - we were going home, so we helped ourselves, filling our kit bags for the journey.

On arriving on the beach at Dunkirk, we found it packed with troops. Being only 21 years old, I walked up and down, calling out 'Ices, chocolates, cigarettes' - just like an usher at the cinema. The blokes on the beach hadn't eaten for days so there was a bit of a stampede - I slung the remains of the kit bag down and scarpered. But I managed to keep some fags for myself, hidden on my head, under my tin helmet!

We were told to destroy our vehicles, which were 3 ton Bedfords, so we wedged the accelorator down, aimed the lorry towards the quayside, and jumped off before they plunged over the edge.

Whilst this was going on we were being bombed from the air by Stukas and shelled by the enemy from Dunkirk town; at the same time our battleships in the bay were firing shells over our heads at Dunkirk itself. These sounded just like an underground train - the noise was both deafening and frightening!

Eventually, after being on the beach for 3 days, we filed, snake-like into the sea onto the waiting boats, as instructed by the Beach Marshall. I waded towards a small boat, which was manned by the Ramsgate Lifeguards, with my fags still under my helmet.

Being a big-hearted kind of fellow, I held the boat steady while my mates climbed in - only to be told when it was my turn - 'that's enough.' That would have left me standing alone in the dark, so I said 'Get rowing' and clung to the back of the boat while it made its way to the rescue boat.

The rescue boat was a coal barge and it was standing room only! When we finally landed at Ramsgate, I kissed the flagstone on the quayside - it felt so good to be home on good old Blighty.

We were greeted on the quayside by the WVS, who had several tea trolleys lined up. We were served with mugs of tea and Lyons individual fruit pies. I offered to pay - though I only had francs - but was told 'help yourself - no money needed,luv'.

Eventually we were ushered onto waiting trains, by MPs. We were locked into the compartments - no chance of going AWOL - and taken to the Freshfield Militia Camp, in Formby, Lancashire.

We waited here until they contacted our respective units. A few days later, transport arrived and I was taken back to Crewekerne in Somerset where I was reunited with my comrades from my unit. We certainly had some stories to tell!

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