1200 words from
Signalman Leonard Forde
2571607
Royal Corps of Signals.
As a 21-year-old wireless operator in the Royal Corps of Signals I was stationed in France when the Germans circumnavigated the much-vaunted Maginot Line and with the liberal use of tanks and dive bombers successfully advanced well into France. At our headquarters we were told to pack up in a hurry, and in a long convoy retired towards Paris. Several times our convoy was shot up by Stukas, and each time I dived unceremoniously under my wireless truck to avoid the bullets that hosed down from these most terrifying of fighter planes. For the next few days all was confusion. We were ordered to go south, to go to the west, but never to the north where the enemy had made great inroads after crossing the Belgium frontier, and all the time we lost more and more trucks as they broke down or were shot up by the dive bombers. Some idiot in Army HQ insisted that we maintain convoy discipline along the main roads, although they were full of refugees fleeing from the enemy advance, and by shooting them up, the Germans successfully caused the maximum confusion and disorganisation. After too much of this I became separated from the convoy and as far as possible drove my wireless vehicle (known as a ‘gin palace’) down minor roads to avoid the dive bombers which would appear suddenly in the sky above and scream down on us firing their multiple machine guns at anything that moved.
Life became a terrifying game of hide and seek. Somehow we got through Paris, and on to Chartres and Le Mans, where we set up shop again and tried to stem the rush of victorious German troops. My radio set chattered away in high speed morse, but I couldn’t help noticing with increasing fear that the signals coming strong over the air had German call signs.
We stayed in Le Mans a few days and then retreated again, this time towards Angers and then Nantes. It was useless trying to join up with our troops in the north as the enemy were reported to be in Argentan, meaning we were cut off from them. Personally I didn’t see how we could get out of this alive, for when enemy troops confront you face to face their fingers are so trigger-happy it’s touch and go whether they take you prisoner or just shoot you. Eventually however we reached the coast at San Nazaire and in common with everyone else I abandoned my vehicle after shooting holes in my radio set and ran down to the beach to join up with the hundreds of other men waiting there for ships to take them off.
Not having had any chance whatsoever to eat except the meagre rations that had appeared from time to time, I was ravenously hungry, and longed for a cigarette. Not far away from my queue on the beach was a huge pile of NAAFI goods, including crates and crates of cigarettes, and in desperation I joined several other men in trying to get at them,. But there were guarded by Military Policemen who waved us away. We insisted and the Red Caps drew their revolvers, so — very disgruntled — we got back to our places in the queue. Luckily for us that queue was several hundred yards from the NAAFI dump, which must have been mistaken just then by the Germans for a petrol dump. We saw the dive bombers coming in, (they were coming every few minutes), and we saw them wheel and dive down, releasing their rockets or whatever at the dump. We all threw ourselves flat on the ground and there was a terrific explosion as hundreds and thousands of cigarettes were blown sky-high. Some of us managed to grab a handful ….
I spent all night on the beach, absolutely convinced that I would not see the dawn because the Stukas came over again and again, firing indiscriminatingly at the queues on the beach and any vehicles they could see still on the roads. The next morning hope returned when the queues started to move forward, oh so slowly, toward the liner Lancastria, berthed at the end of the pier. Soldiers swarmed on it like flies. They moved up the gangplanks in a never-ending stream to disappear somewhere inside, and I saw with a sinking heart that my place in the queue was so far back that I would have no chance of getting aboard. there was a general groan from all of us watching as she cast off the ropes holding her to the quayside and slowly moved off.
Suddenly the Stukas returned. One of them dived down and released two bombs. One fell among the soldiers crowded onto the stern, and the other dropped right down the funnel, blowing the ship apart. Hundreds and hundreds of men must have been killed or seriously wounded in that moment and nameless bits of debris were hurled into the air to drop down all around us.
It was nightfall before I myself was able to get away. I waded out to a rowing boat with a couple of dozen others and we rowed out to clamber aboard another ship anchored further out. I was too tired to enquire its name but I give its crew full marks for braving the rain of death **** showered down on them from field guns on shore and dive bombers above in order to rescue us. That May day in 1940 was filled with a mixture of hope and fear as we gradually drew away from the beach and took to the open sea. It was a long way to England and apart from bombers there was the additional hazard of submarines.
All night we were at sea but eventually we drew in to Weymouth harbour. It was a sorry lot that lined up on the quayside once we had disembarked. We were all of us dog tired, very few had kept their rifles or revolvers — I certainly hadn’t. Volunteers from a church organisation dished out hot food, and I could have kissed every one of them in sheer joy because I was still alive and safe.
By nightfall we were billeted in a girls school, the girls having had to get out in a hurry to make room for us, and I well remember the mixed feelings we all had in spite of our tiredness when we spotted an electric bell push upon which hung a notice:
“IF IN NEED OF A MISTRESS RING THIS BELL!”
Being young it didn’t take too long for me to recover my normal high sprits which came to the fore when we heard the news that the Germans had gobbled up France and Belgium and were advancing in Crete and North Africa. In a spirit of mischief while on night duty I wrote in Gothic characters on the company notice board:
NEXT WEEK’S WAGES WILL BE PAID IN REICHMARKS!
War or no war, this cost me fourteen days CB!!
Leonard Forde
