Dunkirk: The Men They Left Behind Part 3

His comrade Jim Charters also remembered his first experience of coming under fire: 'It was a shock the first time we got mortared. But what can you do? You just got down as far as possible in your hole. The survival instinct just takes over.'

On the day following the German a.s.sault into the Low Countries the 1st Black Watch came under heavy artillery fire and encountered an enemy patrol during the night, as they attempted to sneak through the lines. The men in the forward posts waited until the enemy were moving between their positions then opened fire, hitting the leading Germans, who were walking openly, obviously not expecting to meet any resistance. The patrol scattered and ran off under the cover of smoke: 'Two men were obviously hit and lying exposed in the open . . . they were considered dead but three bursts were fired at them with obvious effect but producing no movement. One man who had taken refuge in what appeared to be a sh.e.l.l-hole, attempted to crawl out, was obviously hit by a rifle bullet and fell backwards.'5 The division's gunners were soon embroiled in battle as well. The two forward troops of the 17th Field Regiment Royal Artillery fired 1,289 rounds of high explosive in the course of a single day. Previously, the regiment had laid claim to being the first British gunners to fire sh.e.l.ls into German territory when they had gone into action on 6 May. Yet this activity came at a price and they lost one man killed, three wounded and one man with sh.e.l.l shock as a result of bombing and enemy counter battery fire. Peter Royle, a lieutenant serving with the regiment, recalled the incident: 'I well remember seeing my first dead man as one of E troops' trucks came back through our positions with a dead gunner on board. He was covered by an army blanket but his boots stuck out and the sight of these haunted me for days.'6 During this period the light tanks of the Lothian and Borders Yeomanry also had their first taste of action. At 6.30 p.m. on 11 May they took part in a reconnaissance patrol through woodland in front of the division's positions. They were soon spotted by the enemy. As one tank commander later recorded, they advanced along a road before veering off cross-country: This meant crashing through some barbed wire. We skirted round the left-hand corner of the wood about thirty yards out, and eighty yards between tanks. There was a considerable amount of sh.e.l.ling and gun fire . . . Made a quick inspection of the tank. I found that the camouflage net had been set alight by the exhaust and was burning . . . Sh.e.l.ls were bursting very close and my spotlight was blown off. At this point my tank got bogged and I found the crew of number 3 tank hanging on to the outside. Whilst getting into position the number 2 tank got bogged, endeavouring to tow us out.

Still under fire, the crew worked quickly to put wood under tracks to grip in the mud, but just minutes later they got bogged down again. Realizing the dangers of remaining in the open, they left the tanks, first removing the firing mechanism from the guns. The next day they returned to fetch the tank, only to discover the towrope was caught in its tracks. As they attempted to free the tangled ropes they were again sh.e.l.led by the enemy. This time it was with deadly results, leaving one man dead and one wounded. Efforts were also made to locate the other tank that had been lost the previous day: 'No. 2 tank was found in the morning to be well out in no man's land. It was visited. Both tracks were off, one could not be found. The tank had been hit by a sh.e.l.l, the turret was twisted, and no doors could be opened.'7 Casualties continued to mount in the days that followed. Lieutenant Peter Royle later wrote of his memories of enemy artillery fire: 'This was the first time I had experienced sh.e.l.lfire at fairly close range and I soon began to know by the whining each sh.e.l.l made as it came towards me exactly where it would land in front or behind. On this, my first night under fire, my fear was tinged with a certain amount of excitement because it was something new. The more I was sh.e.l.led during the war the more frightening it became and the less exciting.8 The long-term effects of this eventually led Peter Royle to experience battle-fatigue during the campaign at Monte Ca.s.sino in Italy in 1944. He was evacuated back to the UK and spent the rest of the war in an artillery training regiment.

The division took ninety casualties in three days, with doctors performing fifty operations. On 13 May the Seaforths lost one man killed and two wounded when a fighting patrol ran into a German patrol. The same day the Black Watch suffered the deaths of three men with a further six wounded. As the Germans continued with their 'aggressive patrolling' the men of the 4th Black Watch reported enemy troops using flamethrowers in attacks on forward positions. David Mowatt recalled how the deaths of comrades initially had a major effect on the newly blooded infantrymen: 'My friend Murdo MacRae was the first to be killed in the battalion. We were mates, we'd been called up together and used to share our cigarettes. We were in the line and the Sergeant Major sent me on a stupid errand. I went to the Sergeant at Company HQ and said, "You wanted to see me." He told me he hadn't called for me. While I was gone they were burying my mate.' It was a sensitivity that was soon washed away in the tide of violence that followed.

The tanks of the Lothian and Borders Yeomanry were also soon back in battle as they were sent to support the troops in the forward posts. Once more, they came within range of determined enemy gunners: No. 1 tank came into the view of the enemy and we were fired at by an anti-tank gun, one shot hitting the track and wounding Cpl Akers, the gunner, in the leg. We tried to turn right and get under cover, but probably the track came off and the turret was out of control. Cpl Akers made a gallant effort to turn the turret so that I could get the gun into action, but at that moment we were hit by HE coming through the turret, killing Cpl Akers instantaneously and jamming the guns.9 Then the number-two tank was. .h.i.t, killing the commander and disabling the guns. The remaining crewmen got out and valiantly engaged an enemy patrol with their revolvers before wandering in the Grossenwald Forest and both getting wounded by shrapnel, until they were finally located by stretcher-bearers.

Although the men in the forward positions did not know it, the war was not going well for the British and French. Though they were standing firm against probing enemy attacks and aggressive patrols, it was a far cry from the vicious blitzkrieg inflicted elsewhere. With the entire front in danger of collapsing, Highland Division were told they were to pull out from their positions in the ligne de contact and join the French reserve ready to be sent wherever they would be needed to stem the n.a.z.i advance.

On 15 May the withdrawal commenced, although it would be some days before all the British units were fully disengaged. As the 7th Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders pulled back towards the ligne de recueil they found the enemy in hot pursuit. Two men were killed and six wounded as the final platoons pulled back. It was not until the 23rd that the French 33rd Infantry arrived to take over positions from 2nd Seaforths.

At first the division withdrew to positions just in front of the Maginot Line and then moved back safely to the rear. As the division pulled back, many among the troops were astonished by what they witnessed. France was under attack but behind the front life seemed to continue as normal. John Christie, a twenty-year-old artillery signaller, who a year before had been a bus driver in Aberdeen, found his regiment pa.s.sing through a town whose population was making the most of the warm, early summer weather: 'People were gathered at what was obviously a type of Lido, bathing and basking in the warm sunshine of the afternoon. I remember thinking at the time, how can they be so calm and relaxed as if the war was a thousand miles away instead of just up the road.'10 The calm was deceptive. Christie and his colleagues were heading into the unknown retreating towards an unknown destination, oblivious to the chaos and confusion that was engulfing the rest of the British Army. Stranger still, considering the desperate situation being experienced by the BEF in Flanders, on 24 May the 51st Division became part of the French reserve. The sanctuary of these rear positions did not last long. The war caught up with the men of the Middles.e.x Regiment a machine-gun battalion attached to the division on a break during the withdrawal, as machine-gunner Jim Pearce remembered: We didn't stop long anywhere. We were pulling back all the time, we'd had no contact with the Germans yet. I was wondering what was going to happen, but we just accepted it. Then the Germans dive bombed us one time. I was having a shower. I ran downstairs, got dressed and got my rifle. I ran out and people were firing rifles at them I don't know why, it never did any good, we never got any of them. They bombed all around us. It was the first time we'd been under fire. It made me think the war was catching up with us.

It was soon clear to all that the German advance was too fast and the situation too fluid for units to remain out of action for long. They were needed at the front and orders soon came for the division to relocate, joining the French 2nd Army in northern France. The move was confusing for the troops they had been informed they were heading towards the front but everywhere they went there seemed to be French troops heading in the opposite direction. Yet, day by day the Highlanders continued to move, pa.s.sing through Gisors and Sezanne, crossing the River Bresle, until on 1 June they reached the line of the River Somme near Abbeville. It was just miles from where men like Eric Reeves and Ken Willats had 'gone into the bag' almost two weeks earlier.

With the rest of the British Army reeling back towards Dunkirk and the French seemingly on the verge of collapse, it was little wonder the Highlanders found their movements misted by chaos and confusion. The officers of the 6th Battalion Royal Scots Fusiliers searched desperately for information about the division so they could link up with them. Adrift in a fog of conflicting orders and instructions, their commanding officer later described how he felt the 51st Division had neglected them: 'They do not seem the least bit interested in us or our affairs.'11 When they finally reached Neufchtel he again looked back and contemplated the extraordinary situation they were in: 'Still no word from 51 Div, nor is it possible to get in touch with them . . . So ends the most extraordinary move. 400 miles across France without one intelligible order from anyone. Whole division practically lost during this time.'12 This sense of confusion was shared throughout the division. It was normal for the other ranks to be ignorant of the situation but their officers expected to be kept abreast of their orders. The Lothian and Borders Yeomanry travelled in three separate groups as they moved north ready to join the French. The party taking their tanks by rail were told they were being moved to an unknown destination, but should be prepared to be attacked by both air and ground forces during the journey. On the 25th the advance party arrived at Vitry. Here they discovered they were less than welcome. It had been badly damaged by enemy bombers and the officer in charge of the town was found to be inefficient and excitable, seemingly desperate to force the troops away as quickly as possible. Moving swiftly on to Gisors, they soon discovered the road party was lost and the rail party was fifteen hours late.

Finally arriving at St Leger, the exhausted men bedded down for the night in an empty house. They were soon rudely awakened. In the middle of the night Major-General Fortune arrived, also looking for a bed. He was heard opening doors, then moving on once he realized all the rooms were occupied. Heading to the top floor, he was heard to say: 'Come on David, we'll get fixed up in here anyway.' Instead, upon reaching the top floor he discovered two officers in the only bed and another one sprawled across the landing. The next morning the general told the astonished officers: 'As a matter of interest this is Divisional HQ.'13 The officers were in for a further surprise when they asked an intelligence officer on the HQ staff if he knew where the rest of their unit were. He was unable to answer, but Major-General Fortune later kindly informed the advance party they were in completely the wrong location.

Such gentlemanly encounters masked the reality of the desperate situation faced by the 51st Division. They were attached to a foreign army, were part of a collapsing coalition and were growing increasingly isolated by the withdrawal of the rest of the BEF from Dunkirk. But such details meant little to the men in the front lines. All knew they were members of regiments with proud traditions ones that were shared by their divisional commander. It seemed clear they would soon be making a stand.

Arriving near the line of the River Somme, the division began to ready itself for the inevitable action. Initially the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders advanced in the wake of French troops attempting to retake Abbeville, taking over positions previously occupied by a French cavalry unit. Once in position, they were sh.e.l.led by the enemy. This was not a barrage intended to harm them but something more ominous. They were registration sh.e.l.ls, aimed at ensuring the enemy had their range ready for when they would bombard the positions in advance of their inevitable a.s.sault. It was a taste of what was to come. The message was reinforced when two men in civilian clothes entered their lines. They were anti-aircraft gunners who had become separated from their unit, dressed in civilian clothes, then swam the Somme in an attempt to rejoin their unit. They reported to the Argylls that significant enemy forces were concentrating on the opposite bank of the river.

Outside Abbeville, a platoon of Seaforth Highlanders took up position in a graveyard. They had a wonderful view across the gently rolling country for two or three miles they had a clear view of anyone who approached towards the British line. It was from this location that Jim Reed spotted the enemy advancing in their direction. At first they were nothing but dots on the horizon. Soon it was clear that men and vehicles were coming towards them. The tense infantrymen kept low in their slit trenches, not wanting to reveal their position, not wanting to fire until their bullets would have maximum effect. It was simply a matter of holding fire until the enemy were caught in a trap except that one soldier had other ideas: This reservist couldn't wait. They were still a couple of hundred yards away. He stood up and started firing. He was pleased with himself. I said, 'You'll bring some s.h.i.t down on us now.' He said, 'No, they won't have seen that.' But a couple of minutes later they got our range with mortars and they were dropping all around us. Fortunately we got a recall. But he never learned his lesson, he got killed two or three days later doing the same thing. If he'd kept still keep quiet till you can kill them without them seeing you he'd have been OK. It was foolish, that's how most of them got killed. Some learn, others don't. Luckily I was learning by then.

The story was the same across the divisional area. It was clear the vast enemy forces ranged against them would soon close in for the kill. One artillery unit reported the chilling sight of enemy bombers pa.s.sing just fifty feet (fifteen metres) above their heads. Others reported bombers and fighters circling their positions as if just waiting for the order to attack. Furthermore, every battalion commander in the division found his men stretched out over a front that seemed far too large to defend. The tanks of A Troop of the Lothian and Borders Yeomanry were a.s.signed a 2,000-yard front, with just sixty-five men and three carriers. To bolster their defences they positioned an abandoned French tank in the line, hoping its puny 2-pound gun might help to ward off any enemy advance.

On 30 May a reconnaissance patrol of the Lothian and Borders Yeomanry set out to recce the area between the towns of Eu and St-Valery-sur-Somme. They were informed the enemy had a bridgehead over the Somme but were given no further information as to how far their advance units had penetrated. It was an eerie experience for the crews as they drove across a landscape where signs of war were predominantly the graveyards and memorials to the victims of the Great War. Even when they found bridges prepared for demolition there were no Allied troops anywhere to be seen. But they did locate telephone wires that had seemingly been cut by enemy troops. Furthermore they met civilians who informed them the Germans were so confident of victory they had borrowed bathing suits and gone swimming in the sea. Chillingly, the civilians also reported approximately 1,000 German soldiers in St-Valery-sur-Somme. The only signs of Allied activity were a few French marines, armed with nothing heavier than rifles, who were occupying a lighthouse, while at Le Treport they discovered a handful of British troops hanging around in the town square. Their only contribution had been to open all the swing bridges to hold up the German advance.

Here it was intended they would make a stand and attempt to counterattack the enemy forces to their north. On 4 June, as the final survivors of the Dunkirk perimeter were being rounded up, the men of 152 and 153 Brigades went on the offensive. With the support of French tanks, they advanced upon the enemy bridgehead over the River Somme. Like so many attacks launched in the weeks before, it was a failure, despite the furious efforts of the artillery to support them with the gunners of the 17th Field Regiment firing nearly 650 rounds in just three hours. Nearly 600 fighting men were lost from 152 Brigade, with the 4th Seaforths and 4th Cameron Highlanders taking the bulk of the casualties, as the French tanks were picked off one by one by determined German anti-tank gunners.

It was the first serious action the Seaforths had seen. For Jim Reed the story of the battle had begun the previous evening when his sergeant had informed them they would be going into action the next morning. They would be advancing with fixed bayonets a sure sign they could expect close contact with the enemy: We had tea in the early morning, were given picks and shovels and then we advanced. We reached the edge of this wood quite easily. Then the trouble started. We'd thrown away the shovels we couldn't carry these big things and carry a rifle with fixed bayonet. We came under a bit of fire then we got halfway through the wood and it started to get a bit heavy. We could hear tanks battling away at the other side of the wood. Then we got some really heavy stuff coming down on us, but having thrown our picks and shovels away we had to try to dig in using our bayonets. The sh.e.l.ling lasted for about two hours. We lost about half a dozen men killed from our platoon and quite a few were wounded. That's a lot for one platoon. I remember at the end I went looking for my mates because we'd all scattered. I found one of my friends who'd had his throat torn out. But you soon forget it because after that we got in quite a few skirmishes.

The attack was the first time the Highlanders were thrown into a major action. It was a day that had a profound effect on each man, as David Mowatt remembered: I shot a couple of Jerries. I was going along the riverbank and there was a platoon of them on the other side so I had a couple of bangs at them. Then they scarpered but I'm b.l.o.o.d.y sure I hit them because I was 'dead-eye d.i.c.k'. I thought 'I've got to get you first mate!' We were taught 'shoot first, ask questions later'. You were a soldier and your rifle was your best friend that man over the other side isn't! But that was the only time I fired my rifle. As the company runner I had other work to do. At another point I saved my mate's life Eckie MacPherson. I'd just come back from an errand and I b.u.mped into him in an orchard. I heard a sh.e.l.l coming over I shouted, 'Down Eckie!' I threw myself down. The sh.e.l.l landed and blew Eckie high up into the air. G.o.d knows how high he went. He landed bang exactly where he'd been standing. He was out cold I got underneath him and lifted him. I carried him down to the aid post. I said to the orderly, 'Careful with him, he'll fall to pieces.' I couldn't look at him. I told the medic what had happened and he said, 'By G.o.d! He's lucky to be alive.' Every year until he died Eckie'd be at the regimental reunion with a gla.s.s of whisky waiting for me and say, 'Here's to the man who saved my life.'

The following day the Germans made a determined effort to push the Highlanders back from the Somme. The 7th Battalion Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders were particularly hard hit at Franleu. It was later described as the 'blackest day in the history of the regiment.'14 The Germans launched their attack in the early hours of the morning. When the news reached battalion HQ they at first believed it to be patrol activity, but the men who were sent to investigate found large numbers of enemy troops surrounding the village. Communication for the Argylls became difficult as the enemy cut telephone wires around the village.

It soon became clear the entire position was under threat and the Bren gun carriers were positioned around the HQ as a final line of defence. With enemy snipers infiltrating into the village, anti-sniper patrols were sent out. The situation deteriorated as the artillery HQ in the village of Ochancourt was captured, leaving the Argylls without effective support.

In the confusion the reserve company was sent forward but didn't know the way and was soon lost. When one officer got out of his truck to check a signpost he was shot in the back by a sniper and severely wounded. With its last hope lost on the way to the village, the battalion HQ came under fire from heavy mortars. Some relief was felt when the heavy machine-guns of the Royal Northumberland Fusiliers were heard engaging the enemy. The respite was short lived and at 4.15 a.m. they saw the green-white-green-white flare that signalled someone's position was surrounded. From the C Company positions the troops could see around 1,000 enemy forming up on three sides of them. Elsewhere D Company were attacked first by enemy cavalry, then by light tanks backed up by cavalry and motorcyclists. The company's Bren gunners did sterling work, ensuring that short, accurate bursts were enough to prevent the enemy from crossing open areas, but it was not enough to turn the tide of battle. From the observation post in a church tower enemy mortars were spotted being brought up on horse-drawn wagons, accompanied by more troops arriving by truck. The newly arrived mortars took a serious toll, concentrating their fire on the battalion HQ and on the hedgerows concealing the Bren gun positions. Their deadly fire soon destroyed the wireless truck and one of the ammunition lorries. As the high explosive rained down, the wounded were sent into the HQ cellar. Here they received little a.s.sistance since there was no one to treat them, the medical staff having earlier been evacuated as the result of a confused signal. The bearers attempted to stem the bleeding and make them comfortable, helped by the valiant padre, Captain MacInnes. When enemy snipers were picking off men collecting water, he had insisted on being the only one allowed outside. As the day progressed, the men in forward positions were issued with chocolate and water as their only sustenance.

At 2 p.m., with the sounds of the neighbouring battalions under heavy attack, the Argylls could see a large formation of troops ma.s.sing nearby. At first it was hoped the 1,200 soldiers were the expected relief from the Black Watch. They soon discovered these were enemy forces preparing for a final a.s.sault upon the village. For the rest of the afternoon A Company and the HQ were able to continue to defend their position in Franleu. Enemy advances on the village were repulsed thanks to a section of Royal Northumberland Fusiliers machine-gunners and the sterling work of a single mortar crew.

Relief was attempted by French tanks and a detachment of Black Watch but these were unable to advance due to enemy resistance. At 5 p.m., with all hope of relief extinguished, a mortar bomb struck the last remaining ammo truck, blowing up and flattening the area around the HQ. Major Younger, who had organized the defence, was. .h.i.t in the head and eye. Captain Robertson was. .h.i.t in the leg, and forced to bandage his own legs. Lieutenant Mackay, who had organized the observation post and arranged the feeding of the men, was peppered with shrapnel. RSM Lockie, who had led the earlier anti-sniper patrols, was also hit and CSM Dyer was severely wounded in the arms and legs.

With their situation desperate, the Argylls were ordered to withdraw to the village of Bouvaincourt. The difficulty was that the forward companies were unable to disengage and retreat indeed they could not even be contacted. The surrounded B Company were unable to withdraw and nothing more was heard from them.

At 6 p.m. Colonel Buchanan, realizing the situation was hopeless, gave permission for any men who wished to attempt to break out. Two carriers were able to get away, as did some trucks crammed with men, many of whom were wounded. Some platoons never received the message since they were cut off in the village. All of C Company, whose position faced the main thrust of the a.s.sault, were posted as missing. Only the colonel and the padre were left unwounded. Having spent all day offering comfort to the wounded, MacInnes refused to leave them to their fate. At the end of the day he remained inside, along with thirty wounded, the colonel, the French liaison officer and other officers. Mortar bombs continued to land around the HQ and soon all the trucks around it were ablaze.

In the days that followed it became clear the battalion had been mauled beyond belief. Only D Company, minus the platoon that had earlier fired the surrounded signal, and some from the battalion HQ had been able to extract themselves and withdraw. By the end of that one day's fighting the battalion had lost twenty-three officers and 500 other ranks killed, wounded or missing.

That same day the Lothian and Borders Yeomanry also found themselves under attack. At first it was just patrols who advanced on their positions. Their initial approach took them towards the abandoned French tank. Realizing the British troops were waiting, the first German soldier raised his hands in surrender until one of his comrades shot him for being cowardly. The second German soldier was then shot by waiting men and the patrol scattered. With the Germans safely behind a ridge, the French gun was used to fire over the ridge where they believed the enemy to be. So far so good or so it seemed. A patrol was sent to make contact with the forward posts, but it never returned.

With the enemy far from beaten, heavy artillery fire struck their positions, as one of the officers later recorded: 'After each burst I heard groans. Finally it stopped. At least three men had been killed and about fifteen wounded. Two carriers were loaded and sent off . . . whilst the last carrier was being loaded and the wounded attended to, the Germans appeared at very close range running and firing tommy guns . . . somehow all the wounded and all the guns were got away, there were nine on the last carrier.'15 The intense fire took its toll on both the physical and mental resources of the regiment. Cohesive activity and coherent thought were impossible as the troops struggled to stay alive. In the haste to withdraw, some men, positioned in relative safety within a house, did not hear the order to retreat and were left behind. By the time the mistake had been noticed it was too late to go back and the men were abandoned to their fate.

Soon enemy dive bombers joined in the fray, their bombs screaming down on to the tanks and crews a.s.sembled in the village of Ballilleul: 'Result little left.'16 One of the regiment's squadrons lost forty men out of a total of just sixty-five. As one officer of the regiment later noted: 'All ranks discovered the use of a hole in the ground, the deeper and narrower the better.'17 Despite the losses suffered by the division that day, the Highlanders' ordeal was far from over; 4 June may have seen the end of the Dunkirk evacuation but in Normandy the Highlanders were only at the beginning of their ordeal. Whether infantrymen, tank crews, pioneers, drivers or gunners officers, NCOs or riflemen every man of the division was in the firing line. The gunners of the 17th Field Regiment had initially been firing at targets over 8,000 yards away. The range had fallen to 6,000 yards, then fallen again to find themselves firing at targets to their left and right. Eventually the targets they were given were to their rear. At Escarbotin one battery of the regiment found themselves virtually surrounded and firing incessantly at a rapid rate. Unable to fight on, they took the firing mechanism from the guns and withdrew on the gun tractors. Elsewhere C Troop were sent with rifles and Bren guns to help protect A Troop, who were firing at the enemy at point-blank range. Despite the help, they were soon surrounded and captured. Another battery reported coming under mortar fire at a range of 1,000 yards while enemy machine-gunners fired at them from the rear. With further resistance pointless, one battery gave a surprisingly cheery final message over the wireless: 'Cheerio, coming to join you.'18 As the gunners pulled back they came under attack from the air. Peter Royle later wrote of the experience: 'I lay on my back in the open field and watched the JU87s screaming down vertically before loosing off their bombs and zooming away. I watched the bombs leave each plane sometimes two, sometimes four, at a time and they always seemed to be aimed at me personally. Of course they never were, and I always breathed a sigh of relief when they went on and hit somebody else.'19 With units throughout the division coming under increased pressure, it was little wonder that some found themselves split off from the main force isolated and seemingly abandoned in the chaos. Two companies of the 8th Battalion Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders found themselves holding a lighthouse and school buildings at Ault, near St-Valery-sur-Somme. They were soon engaged by German tanks which were able to remain under cover while still being able to bombard their positions. Initially it seemed the a.s.sault was 'frightening but not dangerous',20 but as the fire increased it soon became clear their position was untenable. Quick-firing cannon peppered the school and lighthouse, causing casualties from sh.e.l.l splinters and causing French sailors within to surrender en ma.s.se. Despite this surrender, the enemy did not press home the attack, one officer considering this to be because it was merely 'an exhibition of frightfulness to give us a sleepless night and a foretaste for the next day'.21 Fortunately for the Highlanders, they did not await the final a.s.sault. Instead they withdrew overnight towards Le Treport in hope of rejoining the division. The orders for the night march were that if attacked they should fight to the last round, then try to escape. Any wounded, if they were unable to be moved, were to be left behind. Luckily they met no enemy resistance during the night and the next day they laid up in open countryside. With little shelter, they were forced to lie in the oppressive sunshine, unable to move for fear of revealing their positions.

At nightfall they headed west, coming under fire from German sentries who soon scattered into the night when the Highlanders returned their fire. Alerted to their presence, the Germans sent spotter planes firing parachute flares across the countryside to illuminate the area. Avoiding the light of the flares, the two companies were able to continue their journey and eventually reached positions held by the Black Watch.

With any hope of driving the enemy back over the Somme at Abbeville extinguished, the division withdrew to attempt to hold the River Bresle. The Highlanders were reinforced by A Brigade, consisting of the 4th Border Regiment, 5th Battalion Sherwood Foresters and the 4th Buffs, who had been sent north from Rouen to help hold the line, along with 900 reinforcements for the infantry battalions. But they continued to come under intense pressure. Again David Mowatt found himself in the thick of the action: It was b.l.o.o.d.y terrible, it was difficult for me as the company runner. I had to be in contact with the three platoons we'd be pulling back and re-forming and my first job was to find where they were. The River Bresle was my worst time, but I'd got to get to the platoons. My old platoon, No. 16, were holding the bridge. Word came through that Jerry were on the other bank of the river and the artillery were going to sh.e.l.l them. So our company had to pull back behind the railway embankment for safety. I had to go to tell them to pull back.

He reached the bridge and gave the message to the defenders, then was forced to dash to reach another platoon in an exposed position: I went out but I was under heavy machine-gun fire there were b.l.o.o.d.y bullets everywhere. I got behind the iron wheels of an old railway engine. Bullets were coming at me and pinging off the wheels, landing just in front of me. So I crept out. I did the old trick of putting my tin hat out on the end of my rifle. Nothing came they were still firing at the other end of the train. I was safe! So I got up and ran across this level ground. Suddenly I saw this ditch and dived into it. It was full of old engine oil from the trains! But I was safe. So I crawled down and reached the next platoon. I gave the message to the officer but he warned me it would be difficult to reach the next platoon since they were covered by machine-guns but I had no choice.

Continuing to crawl along the oil-filled ditch, Mowatt eventually reached the next platoon, where he asked for the officer. The reply shocked him: 'He's dead.'

What came next was even less comforting: 'I asked "Where's the sergeant?" They said "Killed." So I said "Where's the corporal?" and again they said "Killed." So I said "Who's in charge?" They pointed to Lance-Corporal Rose, who was in command of the whole platoon. I told him they'd got to get back over the embankment. So we all crawled back so the machine-guns couldn't see us.' Reaching the embankment, the lance-corporal uncertain of his new-found role as a platoon commander asked Mowatt what he thought they should do: 'I told him no one had spotted us so far, cause we were in the long gra.s.s. I said we should get all the boys over together, if we went in ones and twos we'd be spotted. So we rushed over the top and all of us reached safety.'

If David Mowatt thought he had indulged in enough heroics for one day, he was wrong. With the tide of battle turning against the 51st, every man was required to go beyond the call of duty. Arriving back at the company HQ, he was informed he would have to return to the bridge to collect the Bren guns left behind during the withdrawal. The company commander sent him and a mate, Jock Swanson, to join an officer in a carrier. They were to rush to the bridge and return with the guns to complete the mission: It was a straight road, down an incline, to the bridge. We went about twenty yards and the carrier stopped. I could see paint chipping off from the inside of the carrier it was armour-piercing bullets coming through. The driver was killed, so was the officer and the sergeant, Kenny Ross, was screaming his head off. He couldn't get out, his legs had been shot to pieces. I said to Jock, 'Try to get the sergeant out, I'll nip down and get the guns.' So I ducked down over the bank, fetched the Bren guns and ran back to the carrier. When I returned Jock was still struggling to pull Kenny Ross clear. But between us we managed to pull him out. Jock carried him on his shoulders and I carried the guns, and we managed to get back to the company HQ.

With the tide of battle turning against the Highlanders there was no choice but to retreat. Or as Jim Pearce, a loader on a Vickers machine-gun put it, in the words of a song popular at the time, it soon became a case of 'Run rabbit run'. During the phoney war, when they had sung that song the troops had envisaged Hitler and his forces running away. Now they realized that was not going to happen. As Pearce soon discovered, the only running the Germans were doing was directly towards their positions: 'I was feeding the gun we kept firing but they kept coming in waves they didn't seem to give in. I felt horrible think about it, we were killing all these people but they wouldn't stop coming. We were just firing and firing. Oh dear. But you do it automatically. Looking back, it doesn't seem possible but you've been trained to do it. Your nerves take over. You have to defend yourself you want to save yourself.'

It was clear if the Highlanders continued to take casualties at such a high rate they would soon be but a shadow of a division. By 7 June the 7th Battalion of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders reported their depleted force consisted of just five officers and 130 other ranks. Only the remains of D Company and the men from the rear echelon were still fighting. With their situation reported, they lost two more men killed and eleven wounded before the day was over.

Through the valiant sacrifice of the Highlanders, the division held the line of the River Bresle until 8 June. Then, with the news that enemy formations had broken through in the south, cutting them off from their supply base at Rouen, it became clear their position was no longer tenable. The following morning, the arrival of Royal Navy representatives to discuss the evacuation of the division from Le Havre marked the end of the uncertainty. It was now no longer a matter of how long could they keep fighting, rather how soon could they make their escape.

As the division fell back from the Somme valley, the Highlanders conducted a fighting retreat. Their world was absorbed by the battles they fought. There was no time for thoughts about the rest of the BEF. To them, Dunkirk was just the name of a Channel port just another French town the growing legend of the evacuation was unknown and meaningless. Unlike their comrades who had sailed home, they were not yet safe. Their war continued to take a heavy toll. Hour by hour, day by day, the division established new positions, engaged the enemy and then withdrew, always uncertain where they might be heading.

For the soldiers it was a harrowing time. Lack of food, lack of sleep, sheer physical and mental exhaustion, meant few could ever build up a clear picture of all they experienced in those final days of battle. Even if they could summon up the strength to keep marching walking mile after mile in a virtual daze all realized they could not continue to fight unless a.s.sistance was forthcoming. One battalion reported the daily ration was just two sugar lumps and two tablespoons of mixed carrot and potatoes per man hardly enough to keep them awake, let alone keep them fighting. Food and cigarettes would have cheered them but without replenishing their ammunition supplies the battle would be a foregone conclusion. So it was with despair that officers of the battalion admitted they had been unable to find the trainload of ammunition that had been destined to supply the Highlanders for their retreat to the coast.

As they marched, fully exposed, along the straight roads with nowhere to shelter but beneath the flanking poplar trees the Highlanders faced the same hazards their comrades to the north had faced during their retreat to Dunkirk. 'We got quite a few German planes coming over,' recalled Seaforth Highlander Jim Reed, 'and they dive bombed us. I began to take things seriously when one or two of the lads got killed. Someone would tell you "So and so got shot this morning." So you'd think, I've got to be a bit careful here.'

Like their comrades who had fought in Flanders, the Highlanders were affected by these aerial attacks. As Jim Charters, a machine-gunner in the Royal Northumberland Fusiliers recalled: 'Seeing refugees being machine-gunned and bombed was the worst moment of my whole war. The Germans did it to impede our retreat. It was a shock to see it, but after the first few days we got used to seeing people getting hurt. Mortars and Stukas were the things we feared the most. The bombs had their sirens on and howled when they were coming down at us. But during the retreat I think we were in a stupor most of the time.'

For many it was the terrible sense of helplessness that had the greatest impact upon them. Seaforth Highlander Jim Reed also watched as dive bombers destroyed columns of refugees, machine-gunning the women and children as they scattered to reach safety. When the attacks were over there were civilians old men, women and children all crying for help. There were upturned prams scattered amid the corpses and wounded people pleading for a.s.sistance from the British soldiers. But there was nothing they could do, there were no medical supplies to be given away and no time could be lost on the retreat. Jim Reed's words expressed the sense of regret felt by the troops as they left the civilians to fend for themselves: 'They were helpless. You want to help them but there's nothing you can do. It was the saddest day of my war.'

As most soon realized, there was little point concerning themselves with the casualties they saw; there were more pressing issues for them as they retreated. d.i.c.k Taylor, whose first experiences of enemy fire had been treated lightly, noticed a change in att.i.tudes as the retreat progressed: 'It wasn't serious until the retreat started. We were being hara.s.sed, we were chased all the way. It was all pretty quick we were taking up positions trying to help anybody who was in trouble. But I wasn't particularly nervous, it was just one of those things you accepted. It was just when sh.e.l.ls dropped close by you'd get quite a fright.'

For the exhausted but undeterred men of the 51st Division, any light-hearted moment, however brief, was something to be savoured. As the Seaforth Highlanders fell back towards the coast David Mowatt did his utmost to provide some relief for his comrades: There were times when I could see the humorous side of what was happening. I was getting up to all sorts of tricks. I would go into a house and pinch a bottle of rum. I'd always get something for the lads. They'd be waiting for me 'What you got us this time?' I'd get loaves of bread, I'd search wagons that had been blown up. I'd find tins of bully beef and fill my jacket up. But by this time we were on our b.l.o.o.d.y knees. Marching pulling back holding the line. One night I went to this big house, went up to the attic and found three brand-new bikes. I thought 'I'll take those back to the company.' Let the boys cycle rather than march. I showed them to the company commander and he said, 'Mowatt, do as you b.l.o.o.d.y like!' So by the time we got back to St Valery every man in the company had a bike.

As Mowatt and his mates cycled towards the coast all they could think of was reaching safety. It may not have been perceived as in the finest traditions of such proud regiments to be withdrawing from the battlefield but it was the only way of surviving. To fight on was tantamount to suicide. Escape was their only option. Yet even the hope of escape was diminishing by the second. They did not know it, but Major-General Fortune had already made a fateful decision. When he had been told to withdraw to Le Havre he made the conscious decision to do so side by side with his French allies. He was part of a French Corps and believed that if they could fight and die together they could withdraw together. As a result, with the French relying on horses in place of mechanized transport, it would take longer to reach their destination. With their trucks, carriers and artillery tractors, the Highlanders could have made a lightning retreat to the port; however, this was not a time to be sacrificing their French comrades. It was a n.o.ble gesture that would cost the Highlanders dear in the days that followed.

CHAPTER FOUR.

The Death of a Division The 51st Highland Division at St Valery Our officer, Captain Wright, said, 'Barber, you were a signaller. See if you can get a frequency on that set.' I still remember it. 'This is the BBC' you know, the old toffee-nosed way of talking 'The BEF have been successfully evacuated from Dunkirk.' I thought what a load of b.o.l.l.o.c.ks.

Gordon Barber, Royal Horse Artillery,

51st Highland Division

And so the 51st Highland Division fell back towards Le Havre, expecting an evacuation. Some had been told what had happened at Dunkirk. Others were unaware of the scale of the defeat inflicted upon the Allies but, as most would later realize, ignorance was bliss. Had they known the punishment inflicted on their comrades in the north, they might have felt even less certain about their own ability to resist the surging enemy advance.

By the time of the retreat, the so-called Highland Division was far from the h.o.m.ogeneous organization that name suggested. The infantry battalions in the division may all have been from the Highlands, but many of its other units reflected the diversity of the modern army. The Sherwood Foresters, the East Kents and others had joined the division during the retreat. Other incomers included the 101st Light Anti-Aircraft Regiment, who were attached to the Highlanders near Abbeville. They joined other non-Scottish formations like the pioneers of the Norfolk Regiment, the machine-gunners of the Middles.e.x Regiment and the 1st Royal Horse Artillery, whose prestigious gunners had been among the first units to arrive in France back in September 1939.

Within these regiments were a wide selection of men whose role alongside the Highlanders would be largely forgotten first when the defeat of the 51st Division was widely ignored to concentrate on the 'victory' at Dunkirk, then secondly when those highlighting the sacrifice of the 51st focused upon the events of June 1940 as a tragedy for Scotland. While the greatest burden of the slaughter was borne by the Scottish infantry, thousands of those who fought in the retreat to St Valery owed no allegiance to the Highlands. Indeed many were from backgrounds as far removed as imaginable from the wild northern lands from which men like David Mowatt had come.

As the 1st Armoured Division moved into position at Abbeville they were accompanied by the 44th Battery of the 101st Light Anti-Aircraft Regiment, formerly the Finsbury Rifles, a Territorial unit from the heart of London. With them was an ambitious young bombardier who had already been 'at war' for eighteen months. Fred Coster had joined the Territorial Army in early 1938, a patriotic reaction to the German annexation of Austria. In October that year, in the midst of the Munich crisis, he was called from his bed in Stepney, east London, and told his unit had been mobilized. For nearly a year they found themselves, armed just with First World War Lewis guns, defending the skies above Kent. They were still there on the morning of 3 September 1939 when the very first air-raid sirens sounded marking the start of the Second World War.

Fred Coster was a typical c.o.c.kney he was from a poor but respectable family and had an indefatigable spirit that saw him through the hard years of the 1930s and into the harsh realities of wartime life. His naturally cheery confidence or cheek as some might have called it was amply demonstrated while working as a junior lift operator in a City of London office. Hearing there was a job on offer in a firm of stockbrokers, he walked out of the lift, still clad in his work uniform, and presented himself in the office asking for a job: 'I think the manager gave it to me because of my cheek. So I became a stockbroker's clerk.' However, by June 1940 the streets of London were behind him, as he prepared himself for his first battle outside Abbeville.

Not far away was another young gunner, also preparing for his first battle. Like Fred Coster, Gordon 'n.o.bby' Barber was from a poor London background, having been brought up in two rooms in Anerley with his parents and five siblings. Fired from his job as a laundry delivery boy, he could not accept the enforced poverty of his parents' existence, so made a difficult but rational decision when his father questioned his plans for the future: He asked me 'When are you going to get a job?' I didn't know. I was eighteen, I was fed up being an errand boy, I was getting older and I hadn't got the brains to get a better job. I said I wanted to see the world. He told me to buck me ideas up. He started to give me a lot of mouth and I was getting fed up with it. I said, 'It's no good you talking you've never had a job. You've been unemployed for a b.l.o.o.d.y hundred years!' He lost his temper with me and said, 'Do you a bit of good to get in the b.l.o.o.d.y army! That'll make a man of you.' That was when it clicked.

With the idea planted in his head, Barber went to visit a friend on leave from the army. The man warned him that the training was hard at first but once that was over there were great opportunities to travel: 'I thought "Oh, sod it. I'll join the army." So I went up to Woolwich to join the artillery. They signed me in and I went home, told Mum and she burst into tears. It was the 3rd of January 1938. It was a month before my nineteenth birthday.'

Just as so many other young men would discover in the years that followed, Barber found life in the army was far removed from the glamour of recruitment posters: It was b.l.o.o.d.y hard in the army. It was a rough life. 'Cause we were Horse Artillery we had to march holding a whip. We were supposed to keep it straight but mine never was. There were three of us, all the same right idiots. That was the type went in the army in them days. I wasn't the best at pickin' things up. I was worried about my pa.s.sing-out parade. I thought I might get chucked out. How they punished you was by getting all of the squad to do everything again, so me and my two mates weren't popular. But the other blokes taught us how to do it. We had to practise in the barrack room all the time. You'd be going to the loo and someone would shout, 'Take that b.l.o.o.d.y whip with you and when you're having a p.i.s.s make sure you're holding it straight!' I took a couple of good hidings from that lot and I gave a few out an' all. It was rough in those barracks!

Despite the initial difficulties, Barber began to settle into life in the army. He prided himself on his appearance and made sure his kit was laid out perfectly for inspections. The new recruits learned to polish their boots till they gleamed. Their bra.s.s b.u.t.tons and buckles shone like gold and the creases of their trousers were razor-sharp. It didn't matter that he had to spend hour upon hour scrubbing and polishing. It seemed he was coming up in the world and the hardships of home life were far behind him. There was a shower block for the recruits no more filling up a tin bath in front of the fire. Plus he had three sets of clothing, one on, one in the wash and one pressed and ready in his kitbag: 'And it was all my own, nothing second-hand and no sending your only suit to the p.a.w.nshop.'

Unlike the volunteers and Territorials, many of the regular soldiers were far less enthused by the thought of war. During the 1930s patriotism had played less of a role than poverty in deciding who joined the army. Men like Barber had joined to get off the dole queue, to feed their families and, most importantly, to restore their personal pride. Army life may have been hard but it certainly offered them a future. However, with the army retreating through France, that future seemed less than certain.

One thing was certain. Death was not choosy and war soon stripped away the old divisions between Territorials, regulars, conscripts and reservists. Whereas, just months before, many regulars had laughed at the TA's 'weekend warriors', and TA men had scoffed at the poorly educated and cynical old regulars, now they were all in it together. What mattered was not where a man had come from but what he could offer. The parade-ground creases of the regulars or the inept drilling of the newly conscripted militiamen meant little to men fighting for their lives.

Fred Coster's first time under fire showed him how survival was a lottery. He had just arrived at his gun position when Stuka dive bombers appeared above and released their deadly cargo: 'We were firing like mad at them. But we couldn't keep up with the Stukas. We could see our sh.e.l.ls bursting around them but we just couldn't hit them. We tried to follow them down. It was absolutely frustrating, we'd trained hard then found we hadn't got a weapon that could engage their planes.'

Unable to drive away the enemy dive bombers, Coster and his fellow gunners soon realized their position was hopeless: This one plane came down at us and we had to take cover. I ran and dived on to the ground. One poor chap took cover in the worst possible place beneath the gun. A Stuka came down and machine-gunned his legs off. Then a bomb took his arm off. This poor chap was mangled, we rushed him to the aid post but he died on the way. He was a very religious fellow and he was the first one to die. I don't know if you can read anything into it! To see his death was a big shock. That's when I realized it was a d.a.m.n serious business.

These were experiences shared throughout the division. Gordon Barber and the gunners of the Royal Horse Artillery were also getting used to the reality of war. The phoney war may have been an enjoyable period for Barber but the first weeks in action soon removed any remaining glamour. The very first time the regiment deployed their guns one man was killed when a gun rolled back over him. Part of the problem was the guns were too heavy for their mountings since they were 25-pounder guns mounted on the carriages for obsolete 18-pounders. In their first action one of the guns exploded. It was not what Barber had joined the army for: 'I didn't go out there for a war I went into the army for a good time. I thought it had been a good time, we'd been there eight months without firing a shot!' It was clear the good times were too good to last. Barber spent his first night of battle in an orchard near Abbeville, sheltering from incoming sh.e.l.ls: I thought we wouldn't need a deep trench, the trees will protect us. I spent all night listening to s.h.i.t falling all around us. Trees and branches were coming down everywhere. I nearly dug meself down into the ground. This bloke Roberts was praying 'I want to go home!' he'd lost it. He was beneath me crying about getting home to see his wife and all that b.o.l.l.o.c.ks. I thought 'What's going to happen here?' In the morning there were sh.e.l.l splinters everywhere.

The following day was no better: We went into action. We were sending it up pretty heavy. I'd been on the gun for so long I was firing it that when I came off I was deafened. I was sent down to fetch some ammunition. As we walked down I heard a crash right in front of our gun. One of our blokes Coppin, who used to be a groom when the regiment still had horses, shouted out, 'I've been hit!' We rushed to him, picked him up to take him to the medics. I picked him up by the shoulders and my mate got his legs. As we lifted him I noticed one of his arms was just hanging off. I can still remember all the blood running down over my uniform and all the tendons hanging out from his arm. Do you know what he said to me? 'When they take me arm off, tell them to keep my ring and give it to me.' I thought 'Oh my G.o.d!' Then he said, 'Have you got a f.a.g n.o.bby?' So I shoved one in his gob. There was nothing left of his arm, it was just hanging on by a bit of flesh. As they took him away I told the medics about his ring and said, 'I'll see you later.' But I never saw him again, I found out later he'd died a bit of shrapnel had hit him in the side.

As the division retreated from the Somme, the enemy never seemed far behind. Gunners recalled stopping, dismounting, getting the guns into action, then hitching up again almost as soon as a few rounds had been fired. In the haze of exhaustion, they did their best to keep firing hoping the guns would hold off the enemy just long enough for everybody to reach safety. The frenetic nature of the retreat was soon revealed to Fred Coster when one of the gunners in his regiment engaged the enemy with his Bofors gun while it was still being towed. This was not something they had been taught on the training grounds of England it was just pure reflex action by men who were desperate to escape.

Despite the situation, the troops had all begun to learn, battle itself was not the worst thing they experienced. Once battle started they had something to do riflemen had to keep firing, machine-gunners concentrated on firing, loading and rapidly changing barrels, gunners kept raining down high-explosive on the enemy, even the officers were so engrossed in giving orders there was little chance their minds could dwell on what fate had in store for them.

It was only before battle that their thoughts wandered, filling their minds with the horrors of what might happen. This tension was unavoidable, gripping at their souls. During the retreat, Fred Coster spotted one group of soldiers he would never forget: I went into no man's land on a motorbike. I had to get one of our guns back it had been left behind. So I went to look for it. As I was going through the line I saw a group of Northumberland Fusiliers. They were digging in and just standing in the trenches with rifles. I said, 'You know what you're up against, don't you?' They nodded tanks would soon be advancing in their direction. As I went back past these poor guys in the trench, I said, 'Good luck!' But I knew they wouldn't have any luck. They didn't survive.

The sacrifice of the Fusiliers, who awaited the inevitable a.s.sault without weapons that could harm the advancing tanks, reflected so much of the quiet heroism demonstrated that summer. What thoughts must have gone through their minds as they awaited the attack? All hopes for the future were submerged beneath the knowledge of what awaited them. And yet, like so many of their comrades had done during the retreat to Dunkirk, they stood firm, ready to do their duty. The sense of hopelessness was not lost on Fred Coster as he rode onwards, towards the hoped-for sanctuary and salvation supposedly awaiting in St Valery.

While the division's infantrymen and gunners continued in their desperate attempts to hold back the enemy each playing out his own personal drama elsewhere important decisions were being made. These were decisions that would seal the fate of so many under Major-General Fortune's command. Realizing they needed to fall back to Le Havre ready for evacuation, Fortune made an important decision. Unless their route to the port could be secured there would be no chance of evacuation. If the Germans arrived at Le Havre first all hope of escape would be lost and if the division had to fight all the way to the town he knew they would be decimated. On 9 June, with the nearby city of Rouen captured by the enemy, General Fortune despatched a collection of units to secure the line of retreat to Le Havre. This force was based around the fresh A Brigade that had been attached to his command just days before. Ark Force, as it was to be known, would hold the line between Fecamp and Bolbec, receiving its name by virtue of having first been formed in the town of Arques le Bataille. It was an appropriate choice of name just like Noah's Ark, this was to rescue them from the flood of enemy forces rushing towards the Channel, and ensure they could all sail to safety. Consisting of the 4th Black Watch, 7th and 8th Argylls, 4th Buffs, 4th Border Regiment, 7th Sherwood Foresters and 6th Royal Scots Fusiliers, the unit established its headquarters in Le Havre's Rue Felix Faure, under the command of Brigadier Stanley Clarke DSO.

Despite the rapid organization and deployment of Ark Force travelling overnight to avoid the unwanted attentions of the Luftwaffe they were doomed to failure. Through no fault of their own, there was no available unit capable of holding off the enemy and holding open the escape route. For on 10 June, as Major-General Fortune made the decision to withdraw to Le Havre ready for evacuation, they received the worst possible news. Sweeping northwards from Rouen, the enemy had reached the Channel coast at Fecamp, cutting off the beleaguered Highlanders from their only possible place of evacuation. Within sight of the German Panzers which had reached the cliff tops, were British ships embarking troops. With the divisional artillery in support, the tanks engaged the ships at Fecamp, hitting a destroyer and ensuring the harbour could be used for no further evacuations. From these cliff tops the Germans could also look northwards across the Channel towards their next target England. All they had to do was finish off the armies left behind in France and their victory would be sealed.

It was clear there was no way the already weakened Highlanders, short of ammunition, food and men, could break through the line of Panzers that stood between them and escape. Fortune had already warned the War Office that he had just two days' worth of rations left and requested that, since they could not come to the navy at Le Havre, the navy should come to them when they managed to reach the coast. With little choice in the course of action, the decision was taken to save all who could be saved and, rather than sacrifice the men in a pointless attempt to drive back the enemy, Ark Force were ordered to pull back into Le Havre to await evacuation. While some of those deployed to form Ark Force were little more than battalions formed from scratch, others performed their duty to the highest degree. One company of the Border Regiment, along with a company of Sherwood Foresters, failed to receive orders for withdrawal. Instead they fought on, defending positions at crossings on the River Bresle, denying their use to the enemy. They held on until 13 June when they were finally beaten by the Germans' employment of heavy mortars.

Attached to Ark Force were the remnants of the 7th Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, who had suffered so much in the previous days. By now they were reduced to little more than a skeleton formation not really a battalion, rather a few survivors of the front-line companies attached to the untried troops of the B Echelon. Bombed by Stukas on the night of the retreat, the shrieking bombs had a great effect on the nerves of the men, especially since so many of the troops had not previously been bombed. It was clear to all that they could do little to hold off the enemy. To all intents and purposes, Major-General Fortune and his Highlanders were alone.

Cut off from the base at Rouen, blocked from reaching Le Havre and with their backs to the Channel, there was nowhere for the division to go, apart from the fishing port of St-Valery-en-Caux. It was no more than a small harbour, unable to offer moorings to the larger ships that had made the Dunkirk evacuation so successful. Nestling in the shade of wooded hillsides that led down from the cliffs around, the quaysides were lined with houses and cafes. And so, late on 10 June, Fortune ordered his division to withdraw into St Valery to await evacuation. The move was to be made carrying only essential equipment. In order to make s.p.a.ce for as many men as possible, all non-essential kit was jettisoned. Greatcoats, large packs and blankets were left behind and even the division's artillery was rationed to just 100 rounds per gun.

Despite these efforts, which ensured lorries of the divisional RASC could carry the necessary fighting men, the move did not go entirely smoothly. In the dark many units found themselves on routes that had not been allotted to them, choking the roads. The situation was also complicated by the arrival of French transport, much of which was horse-drawn, which strayed on to roads and slowed down the withdrawal.

Arriving in the port on the morning of