Dunkirk Secrets

Like many men who experienced the horrors of the war my father very rarely referred to his time in the army. I knew that he was at one time in North Africa were he encountered a soldier from his own home town, the meeting came about because the soldier was carrying a copy of the towns’ local paper under his arm. I knew that, in Italy, he was billeted at a lakeside chateau belonging to some nobleman and I know that, in France, he was caught up in the retreat from Dunkirk.

Whilst on the beach at Dunkirk he was forced to dodge fire from German aircraft, a friend of his was shot dead as he and my father relieved themselves against the wall of a part demolished building and he witnessed another colleague summarily shot dead by his own officer for ‘questioning’ an order.

That, for a long time, was all I knew about the intense, frightening and emotion charged six years of my fathers wartime in the army.

I did not get to find out any more until the day of his funeral and what I was told, that day made me angrier than I have ever been in my life. I was angry for him and for the secret he had lived with for sixty years.

On the beach at Dunkirk my father was with a group of about half a dozen (exact numbers not known) who were in the charge of an officer (again, no exact details). As if the reality of the situation was not, in itself, hell this officer did his level best to make their situation even worse.

He treated them with utter contempt, had no interest in their situation and was only concerned with his own well being. He would send the men out on futile errands whilst under fire with a sort of smug satisfaction knowing that he had control over their lives. He was responsible for the shooting mentioned above. After giving an order to the men one of them questioned the reasoning. He did not refuse the order; he merely questioned whether it was wise. The officer shot the soldier without a moment’s hesitation.

One day the officer spotted a rowing boat down by the water side. He ordered the men to secure it. At this time they were under attack from enemy aircraft. The men obeyed the order and ran into the water to grab the boat. Once this had been done the officer ran to join them. He then pushed them out of the way and attempted to take the boat himself.

That, as far as the men were concerned, was the final straw. They dragged the officer from the boat and one of them shot him. It is not clear who actually pulled the trigger but they were happy to take collective responsibility for their actions.

They then got into the boat and proceeded to do all they could to get away from the beach. This was not an easy task as the boat was holed. The men managed to row out three miles from the coast, taking it in turns to row and bale out water.

On reaching England they ‘lived’ on trains for three weeks not daring to show themselves in case they were arrested for what they had done. They were eventually picked up at Bristol. Frightened for their lives they wondered what was to become of them but to their amazement they were each returned to their units and nothing was ever said about the events at Dunkirk.

Hearing of this nearly sixty years later I was very angry and desperately sorry that my father had had to live with the knowledge of what he had done for all that time. He felt unable to tell anyone what had happened there, he didn’t even tell my mother — his wife. He did, however, relate the incident to my brother under strict instructions not to tell anyone until after his death.

Although I have no proof for any of the aforementioned details, I have absolutely no doubt that every word is true. I had never known my father tell a lie, no matter how trivial and why would he now? He obviously needed the story to be told but couldn’t face talking about it.

He was a very gentle man, a very quiet man, a very peaceful man and I had never known him physically or verbally abuse anyone. He was married to my mother for 53 years and I never heard them argue. For him to have been involved in these events he must have been in a state of extreme mental anguish. By the same token, I have no ill feeling towards the officer. He was probably in a similar mental state and would rather have been at home living his life a bank manager or teacher or whatever.

I loved my father for what he was but I can’t help feeling that I only got to know part of the man. He was a caring family man, he worked all hours to see that we were fed and allowed to keep up with the ever increasing improvements in the standard of living. In the early years we might not have had a lot of luxuries but we never went without essentials. He was not a loving man in the physical sense, I only have recollections of him once putting his arms around me for example, but he would always defend his family to the hilt.

To me my father was unique but in terms of his wartime experiences I don’t suppose for a minute that he was. There were thousands of soldiers who have had to live with experiences they would rather forget and thousands who would probably have been better off by being able to talk about them, but were afraid to. Lots may have felt that they would have been ashamed to, but in most cases they shouldn’t have. Most of us of mine and later generations have not had to experience the horrors of that time and we should all be thankful for that.

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