Gunboat Command: The Biography of Lieutenant Commander Robert Hichens

Chapter Four

Dunkirk May – June 1940

It is clear from Robert’s diary entries in late May 1940 that the Royal Navy was, by then, fully aware that it was about to face one of the most hazardous and complex operations that it had ever been called upon to perform. The defeat of the French Army in May 1940 created the need for the evacuation of the British Expeditionary Force, most of which had fallen back to the coast of Northern France. This force was accompanied by many thousands of French troops cut off from the main body of their army by the blitzkrieg tactics of the German Army driving for the Channel. The evacuation of armies by sea in the face of the enemy is an extraordinarily difficult thing to accomplish without very heavy losses. The British Expeditionary Force in France numbered over 500,000 men of whom some 300,000 were falling back on Dunkirk, and it is hard to think of an operation on a comparable scale that any navy has ever tackled.

The operation was organized by Admiral Sir Bertram Ramsey, supported by Rear-Admiral W. F. Wake-Walker and Captain W. G. Tennant, from underground quarters in the cliffs above Dover. In the end the plan for Operation Dynamo, as it was officially called, boiled down to nothing much more than sending everything that would float across the Channel to pick men up from the beaches and carry them away, under what was expected to be both bombing and shell fire, while committing in support lighter units of the Royal Navy capable of carrying larger bodies of men from Dunkirk harbour. The famous ‘little ships’ of Dunkirk, although making a sterling contribution to the lifting of the troops from the shore, actually carried very few troops all the way back to Britain. The great majority of the 338,226 troops which were evacuated returned by warship or the many other ships and craft which were manned by the Royal Navy. The Navy quite rightly decided that it could not risk serious losses amongst larger ships so nothing larger than a destroyer took part in the evacuation, other than some AA covering fire from a small number of cruisers. Given the already all too obvious fact that the Navy was desperately short of escort vessels, it could hardly regard the risk of losing a significant number of destroyers with anything other than horror. Because of the imperative need to keep swept channels open round the coast there must have been some hesitation in sending the fleet minesweepers, but they were available, not far distant, and they went.

Robert’s own account of his experiences at Dunkirk must have been written in snatched moments between action and sleep in the immediate aftermath of the evacuation, which makes it an exceptionally fresh record of what he saw and felt. I think it is sufficiently important that I have not edited it at all after the entry on 29 May.

Friday, 10th May. ‘7.30am. Sir, it’s a fine morning, Sir, Germany has invaded Holland and Belgium, Sir.’ I was awakened with these words by my servant. Momentous words I consider! I said ‘Christ’ and leaped from my trap.

And so the ‘blitzkrieg’ has started in spite of Stephen King-Hall,¹and the Government have been justified in their action over Norway in spite of Lloyd-George. What an incredible moment in history this is. Upon the outcome of the next few weeks’ fighting, the future history of the world for generations will depend.

There is a thrill of excitement in the ship. We started out on our routine sweep. At 10.30 we were north of the Outer Dowsing with the Captain below listening to the news and myself in sole charge of the bridge. An order from the Captain’s cabin. ‘In sweeps.’ That meant some special operations. In the circumstances one could not help being thrilled and excited. I hoped and felt sure that it meant we were going down to Dover.

Presently another cipher message came through to say that we were to proceed to sweep a fifteen mile channel for our submarines well offshore in the North Sea opposite Harwich. It will be a two day sweep, anchoring out for a couple of nights. I had so hoped we were bound for Dover and now it looks as though we may go back to Grimsby when the sweep is over. However we may see some aircraft on this line and have a pot at them.

I heard the news this evening. Mr Chamberlain’s resignation came as a shock to me. I believe in him. I am glad he will be in the Government. He was much moved and most moving. His final indictment of Hitler was strangely stirring coming from someone who is so calm and restrained.

It is now midnight and we shall be anchoring shortly. It is eerie on deck. Black shapes occasionally going by, quiet and dark. An occasional lamp flashing out. I hope no tube will find us tonight. I had a last look around the 0.5 and its crew. I must get there as soon as I can if there is an air attack.

Germany has once again thrown Europe into misery. I hope Hitler will soon suffer the hell he has let loose on the Low Countries.

Saturday, 11th May. We had quite an exciting night. Planes continually droning by and once a submarine slipped past some distance off in the dark. We did not challenge him as being at anchor we could do nothing. Was he friend or foe?

A lovely day. Bright sun and a fresh north easterly breeze. We swept all day. Several times during the forenoon and early afternoon we had single German planes flying high overhead. Action gongs went and twice I had to jump from my lunch and leap up the 0.5 ladder, which somewhat interfered with my digestion.

Then in the evening just as we were getting the sweeps in and were hampered hopelessly by having both still over the side we suddenly saw ten dark spots in the eastern sky flying fairly low straight towards us. I nipped to the 0.5 at once and for the first time put on my tin hat in earnest. The crew were all there ready and silent. The squadron split into three flights slowly spreading out and coming straight at us at high speed. It was an extraordinary moment this waiting. It seemed an eternity. I suppose in fact it was only about three minutes. I felt certain they were German planes. They looked black with a wide wing span, they were coming from the east, and why should any British planes come straight for us opening into battle formation and without giving the recognition signal. Besides had not German reconnaissance planes spotted us sweeping that afternoon?

With our inefficient A/A weapons ten planes making any serious attempt would finish us for certain. We were fifty miles off shore, out of range of our fighters and with no air escort. One could not help feeling that anyway we would try to sell our lives dearly. It is impossible to describe that period of waiting as the ten black sinister specks grew steadily larger. When they were only about a mile and a half away I wondered when the Captain would open fire with the 4 inch guns. I think he should have done so sooner for a ranging shot. The crew on the 0.5 were very good and steady. Silent. I thought the layer, who I am not sure of, showed slight signs of panic. I made him start laying the gun although they were still far out of our range.

Then suddenly out shot two lights from the leading aircraft. A white and green. They were British. The relief was a curious and interesting sensation. I made the layer go on laying the gun and I could see by looking through the other sight that he was being pretty inaccurate, probably through the nervous tension. I shall have to watch him and take his place if I have any reason to doubt his ability to lay the gun in action.

Monday, 13th May. I am on the whole glad that Churchill is Premier. It seems somehow fated that he should lead the nation at this supremely critical moment, after having failed to be Premier through all his long and brilliant career. It seems as though he has been held back from the position purposely to come there now. Much depends on his drive and energy and ruthlessness. We must be prepared to sacrifice our fighting forces if these barbarians are to be beaten. To give them their due they are prepared to sacrifice themselves and their High Command is utterly ruthless in doing so. Until we are prepared to counter this by equal sacrifice I do not believe we can hold them. I think most of us who think seriously about the issues involved in this war are prepared to die if thereby a useful contribution can be made to the ultimate crushing of Hitlerism. I know I have made up my mind to that effect, hence my application for MTBs.

Tuesday, 14th May. A truly glorious day again. We went out to the Aldeburgh light vessel, and as it was fairly thick and it was very necessary for us to have an accurate position to be sure we swept the area where mines had been seen, we used taut wire gear from the light float to our position. Then we proceeded to sweep. The first line up in unswept water was the most dangerous moment for us as leading vessel, more especially as the mines, if still there, were known to be laid shallow, as they had been seen from the air just below the water. So I offered to go aloft and keep watch from the crow’s nest at the top of the mast. I climbed up with my glasses. It was most tiring as the ladder was a loose and wobbly wire one and the mast inclined backwards. However I got there and rather enjoyed the view of everything from my eyrie. I did not see any mines though we swept all day.

We had other excitements than mines however. A fog came down for a few hours. While we were in it we just caught sight of two MTBs slipping past. Were they German or British? We were a sitting target for them. We had our usual quota of aircraft alarms but nothing very threatening luckily so far. I hope our luck holds as we are God’s gift to the German aircraft just off the Dutch coast with our sweeps out. Then in the late afternoon we beheld a pillar of smoke in the east; taking a bearing we made out that it must be the Hook of Holland on fire. The smoke hung about in the form of a cloud all the evening. Very gloomy and forbidding it was.

Once to our astonishment a large shell splashed into the sea about a mile ahead of us. I wonder where it came from and at what it was aimed?

If anyone had suggested that I should be sitting at anchor twentyfive miles off the Dutch coast all night in war time I should have laughed, but here I am. There is something very impudent and comic about it, but what else can we do. We have the job to do out here and we cannot waste our time sojourning to and from a safe spot. We should never get it done.

Wednesday, 15th May. I had finished breakfast and was sitting talking at the table when the alarm gong went. I dashed up to the 0.5 and as I arrived I saw a German plane dive out of the clouds and drop a salvo of four bombs on Hussar, one of the ships in our flotilla. It appeared as though two fell close one side of her and two the other. It was very good shooting anyway.

Then there was pandemonium. We all steamed about at full speed, circling around, and banging off our 4 inch guns whenever we saw an aeroplane. There were three I think, though there may have been more, and I gather they dropped about twenty bombs, none very near us. We had one zooming fairly low and near to us and we gave it a short burst from the 0.5. He turned away and a number of people said that they saw smoke coming from one of his engines. It was most exciting while it lasted, circling around, firing. The noise was terrific. I think we did quite well to drive them away without suffering serious damage as they caught us nicely in line with our sweeps out, just the most dangerous time.

Well when the firing had died down we discovered that Hussar had been holed by a direct hit on her starboard quarter, but luckily the hole in her side only extended to about a foot above the waterline and, as the sea was fairly smooth, she was in no danger of sinking and could steam and steer alright, which was very lucky. Apparently about ten bombs had burst all round her in addition to the hit aft and the flying fragments had torn her about badly, killing two men and the First Lieutenant, badly injuring two and injuring about eight others to a lesser degree. We lowered our boat and sent Quacky²over to Hussar to tend to the wounded. Then we formed up and started home. We had swept the required area and had to see Hussar home before the weather deteriorated as the glass was falling fast. We also escorted a little Dutch minesweeper home. We had come across her earlier, about 6.30 and she had said ‘Can you tell me the way to England’. We could see that her decks were crowded with refugees, women and children mostly. I had suggested that they put me on board to navigate her home, but the Captain wanted me to go aloft and so decided to tell her to wait until we had finished. We had heard the news that Holland had capitulated that morning. The little huddle of pathetic refugees brought home to us very vividly what that meant. I remembered the cloud of smoke over the Hook of Holland the day before. The refugees must have had a fine view of our aerial battle and they must have been well pleased to have some British warships to escort them home.

We got home to Harwich without further incident, in glorious and almost oppressive sunshine. I had a bath and feeling desperately sleepy turned in about 9.30. At 10 o’clock just as I was about to go to sleep I heard the sound of gunfire all down the river. I hopped out of bed as the alarm gong went and put on my dressing gown. As I went up the aft gangway to the 0.5 the air was alive with tracer bullets, looking like a firework display. Someone was firing low over us and several tracers just seemed to flip over my back as I climbed the ladder. Luckily I got to the gun first and trained on the only aircraft in sight, which had navigation lights on and was flashing the identification, and was obviously British. However nearly everyone else in the river seemed to have lost their heads and were loosing off like hell at it. The next door ship loosed off the entire four belts of the 0.5 and several rounds of 4 inch, the latter strictly against local rules, and the former in spite of the fact that the plane was well out of range. Luckily I had our gun, as otherwise I am sure the enthusiastic gunner would have loosed it off. So when the excitement had died down, I went to bed and soundly to sleep.

Friday, 17th May. The news is very bad this evening. Three German mechanised divisions have penetrated the Maginot line and have formed a bulge in it. I suppose our parents had to withstand such news and such days as these. I often remember hearing my mother talk of them. Now we must stand up to them, but our parents were never fighting such devils as the Nazi gangsters. A defeat would be far worse now than in 1870 or 1918. It is inconceivable that the Lord should be on their side.

Saturday, 18th May. The news was worse this morning. The ‘bulge’ has increased, Gamelin has ordered the French Army to die at their posts now rather than retire and the British have had to fall back west of Brussels in order to conform with the dented French line. This news gives one a terrible feeling of gloom. If the Germans were to break through, turn the Maginot line and give the French a crushing defeat, everything that we hold worthwhile would be gone. That is why I think we are going through the darkest days that any Englishmen ever have.

We are standing by again today. It is glorious weather. It would also be for the bloody German airforce. We had a naval funeral for the three men killed in the bombing the other day. We had a long walk of two and a half miles through the lovely country along the banks of the Orwell. The funeral was very striking in a beautiful little cemetery overlooking the river. In the little naval cemetery I happened to stand next to a tombstone in memory of Lt. Richard Boase, RN, aged 25, who was drowned when the submarine C16 was lost on the 17th April 1916. He came from Penzance. These bloody Germans creating these needless wars.

Tuesday, 21st May. The news this evening is very bad. The Germans are in Amiens and Arras. Will anything stop them? At least they can’t drive tanks across La Manche, the blessed Channel. If France is knocked about badly we shall just have to hang on until we have got such an air fleet that the Germans will be unable to get in the air at all. I think we shall be able to do that. We always work up and scrap best when we have our backs to the wall and the British pilots can do it alright if we and America can produce the planes in time.

In the meanwhile it is La Manche again, and those distant storm tossed ships. etc. It is difficult not to be gloomy at times like these. I manage not to be when I’m with other people but when alone it is well nigh impossible. That I suppose is what is meant by morale, and we have got to keep it up.

Surprisingly, on the 25 May Niger received orders for a boiler clean and Robert spent the 26th to the 28th on a quick leave in Cornwall, Catherine returning with him on the night train to London.

Wednesday, 29th May. We had a good journey up and had breakfast at Browns Hotel. Then we wandered around and bought the children some incredibly cheap toys at a little shop behind Leicester Square. Then we saw ‘Gone with the Wind’. We only had time for some sandwiches after that before leaving to catch my train. On the platform we met the Captain who at once informed us that the B.E.F. were being evacuated by Dunkirk and that we were off at once to help. The news of the position of the B.E.F. had been so terrible to me that I was only too glad to hear that a real effort was being made to help them, and that I should have a chance of doing my share. On the other hand the prospects of a sticky end were strong and so our leave taking, although we said nothing to indicate it, was I think a special one for us both.

I left Catherine at the end of the platform. While I was waiting for a minute or two before the train started I could see her standing there. I think we both wondered whether we should ever see each other again. These times require courage, mercifully we have our fair share of that, as have most of the British people.

Thursday, 30th May. We steamed steadily down all day. I spent a hectic day getting the charts up-to-date specially in the Dover/Dunkirk area. I had the first watch to myself. It was rather fascinating plunging along lost in the darkness. It gave one a great feeling of aloneness. The only snag was that if we weren’t alone we were as like as not to collide suddenly with another ship using the War Channel.

I turned in at midnight when I was relieved. One’s state of tense excitement was increasing as we got south. We had shortly before received orders to proceed from the North Goodwin light vessel direct to the beaches at La Panne, about eight miles east of Dunkirk and just across the Belgian frontier.

Friday, 31st May. I awoke about 5am and dressed and went on deck. Or rather I was awoken to go to action stations as we were already in the danger area. When I got on deck I found that we were already proceeding eastward along the Dunkirk channel, which is narrow and close to the shore. The coastline was about a mile off, looking forlorn in the dull morning light. The sky was overcast and rather misty and a fresh north-west wind had got up. There was an indescribable air of desolation about the scene. Here there were numerous fires ablaze, thick smoke pouring from many places and houses all along the sea front, gutted and knocked about.

But I think it was the wreckage in the sea that struck one most. At about every quarter or half mile one would come across some large wreck in the channel or stranded in the shallower water nearer the shore. Every conceivable kind of flotsam was in the water from upturned ship’s boats, to life belts, tins or stores or bodies. There was the continual thud of gunfire from ashore. Altogether a dismal scene. I went up on the 0.5 and could see that the hands were a bit nervous, and so tried to cheer them up with a bit of chat.

We passed Dunkirk, already a mass of flames to the westward, and began to see and pass along the now famous beaches. There were batches of troops dotted along these long low beaches and all sorts of small to moderately large craft along the shore side of the channel at anchor. Some seemed to be sending boats ashore. Others did not seem to be doing much about it.

We came to our position about seven o’clock and dropped anchor as near in as we could. We naturally expected that boats would be plying from the shore to bring the troops out to us. We also expected that they would come pretty quickly as at anchor we were exceptionally vulnerable to aerial attack. But nothing happened. There seemed to be no organisation ashore for bringing troops off. So we lowered our motor boat and two whalers and sent them in for troops. The troops were queuing out along a rough pier built of army lorries placed side by side evidently at low tide.

We waited. Periodically a German plane came over and we loosed off at him with the 4 inch guns. One of the most extraordinary and striking things of the whole situation, to my mind, was the lack of aeroplanes over us, both our own and German. I expected it to be a continual aerial battle, but it was nothing of the sort. It struck me that our chaps must be doing good work elsewhere in holding the German Luftwaffe down.

As time went on and we got no boats back we got more impatient. With the fresh north-east wind blowing there was a decent bit of surf beginning to run on the beach making things difficult. We could see that one of our whalers had already been capsized by the soldiers trying to get into it. So we signalled the motor boat to come back to the ship and I said I would try and get things going better. I got ashore with one whaler and two other ship’s boats that I had picked up on the way. I got the motor boat to lay off while I went on to the improvised pier and began to organise the boat parties.

Never have I seen such chaos. There was a very nasty surf running in by now and the lorry jetty was a very tricky thing to get boats to and from without damage. The unfortunate soldiers were the most awkward ham handed stiffs I have ever seen near a boat, poor things. I was so sorry for them. They were so tired and so pathetically helpless with the sea, with all their equipment, but here and now I will take my hat off to their discipline.

Not once but time and again I had the greatest of difficulty in getting the men out along to the end of the jetty and into the boats because they said that it was not their unit that was embarking at the moment. As the others could not get past them to the boats along the rickety little pier I had to make them get in. But I admired them very much for it. These boats and the waiting ships meant England, life and their families as opposed to Heinkel bullets or bomb casings in their guts if they stayed much longer on the beach, and they were so tired which must have made it harder. But there was no rush, not a single man did I see panic the whole of my time on the beach, and as I say time and again they were trying to make way for each other.

I got on the jetty and spent the next three hours jumping about like a monkey getting boats alongside, getting them filled, getting them off, shouting to the soldiers to pull here, or shove there, or to sit still or get in, until I was hoarse. But I did succeed in getting things going and I must have got off twenty or so boats where none were getting off before. For the first time in my life I had found my ability to act quickly and surely in small boats, a quality I have developed in myself since I was six years old, of great value in saving the lives of others. It was a most satisfactory and exhilarating feeling. The fact that we were occasionally machine gunned or shelled I didn’t notice. I was so busy. I was the only seaman on that part of the beach and it was wonderful being there and knowing one’s job when all these men needed one so. It cannot be often that a man is given such a lucky break for feeling himself useful to others.

I expect Catherine will remember the sort of picnics we used to have which involved landing from the dinghy in a praam and perhaps from a motor boat, with children and baskets galore in a swell. And she will perhaps remember that somehow or other I used to manage it all, or perhaps rather she will have noticed that it was a bit tricky and disorganised if I wasn’t there to row, and hold on and hand things. Well it was that sort of ability in small boats that I was able to exercise to the full in these far more exacting circumstances and I think it was the most exhilarating moment of my life.

As the tide began to go down and the wind to get up, the surf became more and more difficult to deal with. Rowing out from the jetty became a matter beyond the skill of the soldiers and few sailors in the heavily laden boats. I saw that the only thing to do was to get some of the smaller motor yachts cruising around to anchor as near in off the end of the jetty as possible and to try and get a rope ashore from them to the pier. Then the boats could be hauled out to the yachts along the ropes, a thing that even soldiers could do quite easily. So as each boat came alongside and I got them filled and away I told the men to get their captains to organise this rope idea. I fear my earnest exhortations fell mostly on stony ground, but in one case a boat was manned by two RNVR ratings who were obviously gents. I besought them and they seemed good chaps and, as you shall hear, on this occasion the seed fell on good ground and bore fruit.

In the meanwhile conditions were getting worse. It was becoming more and more difficult to get boats off under oars. No signs were showing that anyone was making any effort to adopt my suggestion which was the only hope for the continued evacuation of troops from the beach. I began to realise what was, I am afraid, the truth all too often, that these smaller craft were not going to take any chances or make too much effort if it involved them in loss or danger and that I must rely on myself if I was to get anything done.

A whaler had been waiting alongside full of soldiers for some time, tossing up and down trying to get away but unable to because there were no sailors on board and none of the soldiers knew how to take control. So I decided to take her off to Niger and see what I could do about organising the rope party. So I hopped in the whaler, told the officer on the jetty that I was going to try to organise my idea which I had explained to him, and that I would be back. I got the whaler out to the waiting yachts and got towed off to Niger. When I got aboard I was horrified to find that I was just being recalled as we had been ordered to take what we had back to Dover and then come out again for the final evacuation that night.

The Captain congratulated me on my work, but that was no help. I explained my plan, said I thought I could get lots more off if I could work it and pointed out that anyway I had said I would be back and that they were relying on me ashore. I said ‘couldn’t you leave me behind to do it, if you really can’t stay until I have organised the rope?’ So Skippy said he would leave me and that I must try to find my own way home. It was a grim thought, being left on the beach in the same position as the soldiers, especially as we understood then that the final evacuation was to be that night from Dunkirk, (though this proved to be wrong) which appeared to mean that the Germans were close. But I had promised the soldiers I would be back and they so pathetically needed a seaman ashore there. I’m glad I stuck to it. I thought of Catherine and the children and then remembered that we had agreed it was no use being afraid of death. It will come to me when it’s my turn and I have never avoided risks before and I knew Catherine would not wish me to in these circumstances. So I rushed round the ship and seized all the rope available, cast it onto the yacht that had towed me off and cleared off. It was a rather great moment. I think the chaps on my ship thought well of me for it.

I found the skipper of this yacht quite hopeless and totally unwilling to take any chances in co-operating. So I yelled at a passing motor yacht, also RNVR, and they seemed more helpful. So we came up alongside and transferred me, all my rope, and a bloody awful old dinghy that I had acquired in the course of the morning. There was so much sea running by now that the two yachts crashed against each other tremendously in the process. The skipper of my first yacht was very agitated. I didn’t care a damn and could only think of the soldiers waiting hopefully and patiently ashore.

My general impression of this period is of the intense effort and blasphemy required to get anybody else to see my point of view and make any effort towards my plans. But I slowly succeeded. At last I got this second yacht anchored reasonably near in and then I began to go ashore in my boat with the rope. A nice young RNVR sub said he would come with me and was most enthusiastic and helpful. We only had paddles in the boat so we could do no more than direct her as well as we could towards the pier. When we had got as near as possible I told him to hang onto the rope and pay it out to me and I hopped over the side and swam to the end of the pier with the rope. I had a hell of a struggle to clamber along the broken jetty all crashing about with the impact of the waves but I succeeded in getting to where a soldier could clamber out to meet me and pass it on. Again it was a very exhilarating moment, this fierce fight to get along the jetty with the rope, with all the soldiers watching hopefully. I find I take to these rather desperate ventures well. I suppose I get my blood up with action.

Well, we got the rope fixed and cleared and the boat in and then troops began to haul themselves out. It was a good moment for me when I saw some of these chaps getting off by my method as it was by this time quite impossible to get soldiers off by rowing, the surf being much too much.

Presently I saw some other sailors rowing like hell and I saw that they had a rope in tow. They had a hell of a job. I recognised them as the RNVR ratings whom I had impressed with my plan. They were trying to put it into execution from their yacht. Presently I saw one of them just tin hat and large cheerful face beaming above the water trying to tow the rope in. So I went in again up to my face and tin hat, and went out to join him and together we got the rope ashore. It was good and heartening to have these cheerful chaps there too to give a hand. We began to get boats off by this rope too. We got a good many off but not as many as I had hoped before the tide beat us.

With the dropping tide various lorries dotted about began to be disclosed. Alas our ropes both got caught under a lorry. Before I could get out to clear one the rope had parted. The other one was caught some way out and the position of the yacht to which it was attached was such that it would cause it to catch repeatedly unless the yacht was moved a little further east. I decided to try to row or swim out to the yacht and get her position altered and then to come back and clear the rope from under the lorry. I realised that, as it was then nearly three o’clock, low tide would be along soon so it was really our last hope for keeping the embarkation going. So I collected the only little boat available that we might be able to row, straightened one of the rowlocks which had been crushed, and collected the sailors to make a crew. Four of us. We took six soldiers with us while we were about it and I told the officer on the jetty that if I didn’t succeed in my project the only thing for them to do was to go to Dunkirk for the night evacuation. Actually the Germans were held for longer than expected and the evacuation from the beach lasted for another twenty-four hours, though we could not know that then.

We started to row. The boat simply broached to in the sea. So two of us got over the side and pushed her out until we were up to our necks. Then we hopped in and rowed like hell. I took one oar and after pulling for ten minutes I thought my arms were going to drop off. It was then for the first time that I realised how much I had been taking out of myself during the last nine hours on the beach. The excitement keeps one going until physical exhaustion is just around the corner. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, we pulled out of the surf, getting tremendous set backs with some extra big waves and then slowly going ahead. Finally we were out of the surf. With another ten minutes pulling we were near the motor yacht that had the line from the shore. As I got near enough to hail I looked round and to my horror I saw that the captain had let go the rope, having attached a grey life buoy to it. I yelled at him and he smugly replied ‘I had to let go as we were near to grounding, but I buoyed it’. Of all the fat headed asinine remarks for a seaman to make I think that takes the cake. What the bloody hell good it did to buoy it when the whole flaming lot would drift ashore in a few minutes the lord only knew. I knew I could do nothing more on that tide and that if we went ashore again we should not have the strength to row off again. So I went along to the other yacht, Chico, which the ratings with the other rope had come off.

We got aboard and found them in a poor way as they had mucked up their engines by getting ropes foul of the screws. They had to try and get back to Dover where they were operating from and as I had to rejoin Niger I thought that it was the best thing I could do, as there was nothing further I could do on the beach as you could not row soldiers off and I had no more rope to attempt to renew my scheme.

I had realised when I was on the beach that we were being machine gunned from time to time and hadn’t taken much notice, being too busy, but I had entirely failed to notice that we were being shelled from Nieuport, further east. It appears that the weather having cleared about noon, a German battery at Nieuport had opened up. Anyway shells began to drop all around the Chico. They have that unpleasant ‘wheeze’ and then bang. They straddled us in every direction but luckily never hit us, as a shell would have finished the little Chico. Meanwhile I was helping hoist the anchor and finally by being lowered over the stern managed to clear the rope off the propeller fairly well, so that she was able to proceed at a slow speed, about five or six knots.

I felt pretty bad about leaving those soldiers on the beach, but I had done my best and could do nothing further and I had at least told them what to do. I think I must have got about five hundred to seven hundred troops off that day through my exertions, who might never have embarked otherwise. It seemed really a worthwhile effort, but as I lay on the deck of the Chico resting it was not the thought of the shells falling around that worried me, but the haunting spectacle of those soldiers quietly waiting for help. It is nice to know now that those that were not killed on the beaches were ultimately taken off.

We slowly proceeded west and had got about half a mile when suddenly the worst bombing attack of the day took place. About twenty German bombers came over and dropped about forty or more bombs, I should judge. They were evidently aimed chiefly at the beaches but fell short in to the edge of the water, causing a terrific noise and clouds of smoke along the fringe of the beach.

Some British fighters appeared almost immediately and a dog fight ensued. Presently two planes crashed, one with terrific violence into the sea and the other over the land. Two parachutists dropped, one into the sea and another behind the sand dunes. I could not be sure whether they were both German planes but at any rate the Germans left us again promptly. It was exciting while it lasted.

The next little excitement was that a fat and cheerful member of the crew leaning against the guard rails suddenly caused a part of it to give way and in he went with a splash. We picked him up alright. After that we made our slow way back without further incident, arriving in the submarine basin at Dover about midnight. It was quite like being back in the old yachting days on Chico, everything was so informal and small again. They were a nice lot of chaps too. I got a bath at the Grand Hotel and slept on a sofa, as the whole of Dover was full.

Saturday, 1st June. The next morning I kept an eye out for Niger and she came in and tied up at the Admiralty Pier about 10am. I got a naval car along and came aboard. They were all very glad to see me back, as they were by no means expecting to. They had run another trip that night after resting in Dover during the Friday afternoon, and apparently they had been lucky in getting away before the main aerial attack had taken place.

A destroyer, the Keith, had been sunk and machine-gunned and also another ship, with considerable loss. But worst of all the Skipjack, one of our lot, and a sister ship to Niger, had been hit by a dropping magnetic mine and had simply disappeared in the explosion. No survivors. So they were all rather prostrated and shattered. We were told that we were off again at 6pm that evening for another final evacuation from the beaches. So we all rested up and got what sleep we could. A post arrived which brought me letters from before my leave, including one from little Antsie, and a nice one from Bob. One of Antsie’s remarks I loved ‘The horse is outside and the rocking is inside the attic’. It is a wonderful relief and pleasure to turn one’s mind to one’s family at times like these.

>We were off to work again at six o’clock. We had an uneventful passage over and began to arrive off the coast as it was getting dark. It was an awe inspiring sight. Dunkirk was burning fiercely. Some oil tanks had been caught afire and there was a great pall of smoke spreading away down the coast. The flames looked livid and evil against it. There was much heavier gunfire now both from the forts of Dunkirk still holding out, and from the enemy artillery a little further inland. The noise was tremendous at times.

I said, ‘Mussolini³ought to take a good look at this. It might have done him some good.’ How anybody can be such a swine as to plunge people deliberately into this sort of thing, I cannot understand. There were occasional shells falling around but we got safely past Dunkirk and anchored as ordered about one and a half miles beyond, close to the beach at Malo-les-Bains.

We were informed that everything would be organised tonight. That there would be plenty of boats operating from the shore. However, as usual nothing seemed to be happening. No boats were about. So we lowered our motor boat and whaler, and another ship’s boat that I had borrowed from the SS Urere in Dover thinking that this might happen. The Captain had nearly stopped me, saying that everything would be organised, but I didn’t trust it and I was right. Knowing the lack of initiative of seamen on their own and fearing that there was no organisation ashore, I suggested that I should go in in charge of the boats and see what I could do. The Captain agreed and I slid down the boat falls into the motor boat just before she cast off.

It was a dark night luckily, though one got a certain amount of light from the flames in Dunkirk. We went ashore and I could see nothing. No troops, no shore organisation, only a lot of large derelict boats. So I told our boats to wait for me and hopped over the side. It was a chilly shock and I found the water up to my chest, but I soon got over that.

I waded ashore and started along the beach towards Dunkirk. About a quarter of a mile along I found a large number of French troops drawn up in platoons. I tried to get them to understand that I had boats ready for them, but they didn’t seem at all inclined to move. I kept on having a bayonet pressed into my belly and told not to go by. Finally I found an officer who spoke a little English. I explained to him that we could take off a large number if they would wade into the water. He said they could not move until the commanding officer had given the order. By this time I was getting very fed up with all the delay and trouble, but I agreed to go and see him. So I was taken up into the town and there met the commanding officer. He agreed to start embarkation. So after interminable delays, efforts and coaxing and pushing I got some poilus⁴ to wade out and get into the boats. I think they were slightly put off by the fact that I had persuaded them to pull out and relaunch another boat that was lying on the edge of the water. I filled this boat up, and tried to get them off but I found that I couldn’t, the further out we got it made no difference, she still seemed aground. I discovered then that she was holed badly and the soldiers were gradually beginning to sit in the water. However, finally, after much blaspheming I got our three boats off full and got them safely onto the ship.

I had a bad moment when I came back from the town as I could not find the boats anywhere and it took me ages, or what seemed like ages, of shouting before I got in contact. That happened on several occasions that night. As we were again informed that it was the final evacuation it gave one an unpleasant sensation to feel that the Germans were at your back and no boats in front, a sort of nightmare sensation in the dark.

Meanwhile one load of British soldiers had been brought off by a lifeboat, the only boat apparently there, apart from a paddle minesweeper which was running its rowing boats in now. From this lifeboat we were informed that there were some British troops farther to the east. So off we went rather more in that direction. It was terribly difficult to get in contact in the dark with the shallow beach, because the boats could not come close in at all for fear of grounding in the slow surf. So I went ashore and found more French troops perched like brooding birds along an improvised jetty. But they were quite unwilling to go. They had orders not to. One admires their discipline in the circumstances with the German guns sounding ever nearer.

I found three British sentries who said that the remaining British troops, the rear guard, were not through yet and they could not say when they would arrive. As I had three boats of my own waiting and there were two other larger ones waiting from the paddler, I asked a sentry to take me to the commanding officer to see if I could hurry things up. So off we went. One kept on falling down in the dark, as the beach was covered in debris and pitted with shell holes or holes dug for taking cover.

I found a Colonel up among the houses. I asked him if he had more to come off. He said he did not know when the rearguard would arrive, or whether it would arrive at all. I asked him if there were any other British troops to take off. He said ‘Oh yes, there is a street full here’, and there sure enough were a large number of troops waiting among the houses, several hundred of them. So much for organised evacuation from the beaches! I told him we were waiting, so he ordered them to start embarking. Off I trooped again with the soldiers following, falling flat on my nose every now and then and knocking my tin hat over my eyes. Bob would have laughed.

Then we really began to get the embarkation going. We got off about three hundred troops before dawn when we had orders to leave for fear of aerial attack. I had to get them to wade out to their waists to get them into the motor boat and it was a hell of an effort pulling these heavy men in over the side with all their equipment on. One trip we got a dog, the regimental dog. He was heaved aboard, and then later I saw him over the side again. I thought he had fallen over and said ‘Hey’, and someone said but we can’t take him into England from France. But the poor dog, scrabbling round the boat trying to get in, was so pathetic that I heaved him in. I hope he is alright. I saw him safely into Niger.

One incident of the night illustrated how near comedy is to tragedy in this sort of work. On one of the trips the boat from the Urere had been overfilled. I could not chuck the chaps out, so I tried to take up the tow gently from the motor boat, but the soldiers were clumsy and when she began to heel a little as the tow came on before she finally straightened, they failed to balance her and over she went. I had the motor boat full and so could not pick them up. I went back and saw that they were all holding on to the boat. I told them to hang on while I emptied the motor boat and that I would come back for them. I did so as quickly as possible and picked them up. Just as we were about to leave the overturned boat one of my hands heard a sound from under the boat. We came back alongside and I leant over and shouted into the bottom of the boat and the following unique conversation ensued:

Me (very loud and clear). Is there anyone there?

Muffled Voice (from under boat). Yes. Help.

Me.Well swim out from under the boat and we’ll pick you up.

(I had already tried to see if I could tip the boat back, but could not.)

M.V. How can I?

Me.Get to the side of the boat and duck under the edge.

M.V. Which side?

Me. It doesn’t matter, either side.

There then ensued a pause and then a sudden spluttering and gurgle on the other side of the boat.

Voice (no longer muffled but very spluttering). Oh my God, what a bloody awful nightmare!

Whereupon we got hold of him and heaved him in, where he lay prostrate and belching. He was nearly all in. It was extremely comic in a way, but very near to tragedy for that poor sod.

As dawn came I was ordered to hoist the boats. I had told the poor chaps anxiously waiting up to their waists in water that, if we could not take them all in time, they must go to Dunkirk where the final evacuation was bound to take place. But again one had that horrid experience of leaving people behind.

It does seem to me incredible that the organisation of the beach work should have been so bad. We were told that there would be lots of boats and that the embarkation of the troops would all be organised. All we should have to do would be stand by to take the chaps aboard. That was what all the little shore boats were being brought over from England for. But to our knowledge only one boatload was brought off that night to us apart from our own efforts, and that lifeboat did nothing more. I yelled and yelled at it on several occasions to come in with us and load up, but it just sheared off and did nothing. One can only come to the conclusion that the civilians and small boats packed up and went home with a few chaps instead of staying there to ferry to the big ships which was their proper job. As for the shore organisation, it simply did not exist. I never once saw any sailors ashore organising and I am certain that, if I had not made the efforts I did to get in contact with the troops, our night would have been wasted. It makes one a bit sick when one hears the organisers of the beach show being cracked up to the skies on the wireless and having DSOs showered on them, because a more disgraceful muddle and lack of organisation I have never seen and could not have contemplated. Of course it may have been good during the first few days, but at the end it was as I have written. If a few officers had been put ashore with a couple of hundred sailors and the boats that I know were over there from time to time, the beach evacuation would have been a different thing. Thousands of troops would have been got off quickly and methodically. However the improvisation of the ferrying boats on the spot seems to have done fairly well in the end, combined with the fact that the defence of Dunkirk was more effective than anticipated which enabled thousands of troops to be taken off during the last few nights from the eastern mole in a way that had not been imagined.

Sunday, 2nd June. When the boats were finally hoisted I found that I was very tired and very hoarse as well as soaking wet. So I had a drink and then changed. I had an artillery officer in my cabin who was very interesting. They all seem to have been very impressed by the dive bombers and the vast number of them, and by the general efficiency of the German forces. The soldiers are not very encouraging, but they were very tired which always makes one pessimistic, and they had been out of touch for a long time. This officer did not even know that Churchill had replaced Chamberlain as Premier.

When I got in touch with the ship’s company again I found that they had been shelled a certain amount, some shrapnel falling aboard. I must say I had been so busy all night that I did not know that any shells had fallen near, though I do seem to remember hearing some of the well known ‘wheems’. Apparently one of the pieces of shrapnel had hit our old O.A.⁵ in the behind,

inflicting a slight wound. Now the O.A. is a very frightened man at the best of times, and he was seen running along the decks with his hand clasped to his bottom, whereupon the Captain, so the story goes, to cheer him up, clapped his tin hat over his bum and said ‘There. That’ll make you safe’.

An RNVR Lieutenant called Mead⁶ who was in the lifeboat to which I have referred got a bad shrapnel wound from one of the shells and was brought aboard in a bad condition. He died soon after. Apparently the buzz got round the ship that an RNVR Lieutenant had been brought aboard badly wounded and they all thought it was me. Luckily they were wrong!

We got back to Dover without further incident. Dover made a stirring background somehow to these extraordinary days. Coming back from that low mutilated shoreline to the towering white cliffs that seem almost to enclose you in Dover harbour, gave me a great sense of security and power. The strength of this seafaring race of ours and its will and power to defy attack seemed typified by those lovely sheer cliffs. They always looked their best too when we were leaving in the evening. With the sun sinking behind them they were outlined stark and majestic, with deep shadows at the base. I shall never forget them.

Well we all went to sleep and woke up to find that our instructions were to arrive at Dunkirk at one o’clock that night and go alongside the eastern mole and embark troops. I wrote a note to Catherine, had a bath and a good dinner and then we started about 8.30pm. Waiting to go on one of these trips was rather like waiting for the start of a motor race, once you are off you feel alright. Pilot was a bit touchy on the way over and would be rude to Skippy, but I endeavoured to keep the peace and succeeded pretty well.

Monday, 3rd June. As we got towards Dunkirk we saw the most incredible pall of smoke that I have ever seen. It was like a vast cliff of blackness. Luckily it extended along the southern edge of the approach channel and not across it, or we should have seen nothing. As we steamed south straight in to it, it looked, in the dark, just as though we were going slap into the foot of an overpoweringly high black cliff. It was most awe inspiring, like the wrath of God, or like Tweedledum and Tweedledee’s crow, ‘as black as a tar-barrel’. I couldn’t help thinking of Lewis Carroll’s famous verse. Then, as we came to the channel, we turned east and went along the edge of our black cliff, which was useful in that it most effectively screened us from the shore. In the dark we had some narrow escapes from collision as there were numerous ships coming from the other direction.

Dunkirk was, of course, still well alight. I had no idea a town could burn for so long. We arrived at our appointed time and entered and after some to-ing and fro-ing came alongside the eastern arm. I was looking after the wires aft and we were told to run the wire along forward. In the process the ass who was paying the wire out let a number of coils slip over the stern and it got under the ship and jammed. I thought it had been caught in the starboard propeller. I got another wire out at once, and heaved the ship in with that, and let go the first wire and started to try to clear it. It would not heave in and so I brought it to the winch and began to heave. At first it would not budge and then at last to my intense relief it began to come slowly and finally cleared itself. I think it was the most awful moment I had on the party, because if one screw had been jammed we could never have turned and got out, and might easily therefore have lost the ship. We were assured that tugs would be there for us as this class of ship needs them badly for turning. But there was no tug there, another good example of the organisation!

As soon as I had cleared the wire I dashed up forward to where the gangplanks were already out and French soldiers trooping in. We were one of the later boats as dawn comes about 3am and all the British troops had already been taken off. So we got a mass of poilus. The trouble was they would all follow each other up the first gangplank. We had two others out that were not being used. One or two of our sailors were on the mole trying to induce them to use the other planks as well. So I went on the mole and tried likewise, but they couldn’t understand and no amount of pulling or pushing would do it. They struggled on the gangplank to follow their comrades. Finally I hit on the only way to do it. I jumped on the gangplank they were using and stood with my arms out. So that they either had to knock me off or stop. Then once they had stopped they saw we were indicating the other planks and passed on. I had to keep on jumping off and on like a monkey as the traffic required.

It was a fascinating scene, all lit up by the flames of Dunkirk. The graceful hulls of the ships, the mole outlined against the sea and the steady line of steel helmets pouring along the mole and across our little planks to safety. All to the accompaniment of bursting shells, though these were fairly few, almost continuous gunfire and antiaircraft fire, the tracer bullets looking like a firework display. The sort of scene that is impressed on one forever.

Finally Niger seemed to be seething with bodies and the Chief Gunner’s Mate came to me at the gangplank and said that the mess deck and all below were full up and the decks getting crowded. I tried to find the Captain but could not in the mêlée. But I found Pilot and together we decided to remove the gangplanks. We did this with some difficulty and then slipped our wires.

We backed out and then came the anxious moment of turning. It seemed as though she would never go and we were getting nearer and nearer to the shallow water. A French smack banged into our bows and bent the stern a little. Then she came back and banged us again, whether in anger or to apologise we don’t know because she proceeded to sink. The crew were picked up by another small craft. By this time the anxiety was over and we were pointing outwards and proceeding slowly. The rest of the journey was uneventful and consisted in dodging other vessels and leaving that appalling line of smoke astern.

We went into Folkestone, which looked very peaceful and English in the morning sun. The French soldiers, about seven hundred of them, seemed quite cheerful in spite of the bloody time they must have had. I had a long talk with one large headed giant who was much interested in the depth charges and the gear ‘pour enlever les mines’.

Then we went back to Dover and anchored outside and got our heads down ready for the evening’s show, which we understood was really to be the final party. I was woken suddenly about 1pm thinking I was in an air raid at Dunkirk. What had happened was that they had been sweeping for a magnetic mine dropped the night before and they had exploded one quite near to us. They make a tremendous detonation.

We got off this time at 10pm. We were one of the last ships to enter Dunkirk waters. All went well until eleven o’clock when suddenly, when I was on watch alone, a thick fog came down. We had to reduce speed and crawl along as we were going into the returning line of traffic down the swept channel from Dunkirk. The fog persisted and we nearly had one crash. By twelve thirty we were still two hours steaming at full speed from Dunkirk and no signs of the fog lifting and so we had to abandon the trip as we could not go there after daylight.