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Our pleasant stay in Pommier came to an end when Germany entered the Netherlands and we moved up into Belgium. We had not been there long before we had out first taste of enemy activity. One of our trucks was spotted by a German plane as the driver tried to reach the farm where we were billeted. A bomb was dropped. It missed the barn in which we were billeted and landed in the next field, killing the farmer and injuring his horse which had to be shot.
We left that area hurriedly and made for the coast, where we ran into another air-raid at a busy cross-roads. This time we were strafed with machine-gun fire. None of our men was even injured, though we saw damage to roofs of houses caused by the bullets. We then took refuge until dark in a bunker by an artillery position, where our officer shared out with us a tin of potatoes, the last and only meal of the day.
It was so hot during the day that I left my greatcoat in the bunker, something that I later regretted. After dark, we were led down to the beach where we joined a long column of men waiting to board a boat, though there were no boats in sight. We just waited, and I fell asleep on my feet. Suddenly I was awakened by the whine of shells overhead and, with all those around me, fell to the ground. The Germans were firing tracer shells which fell harmlessly into the sea beyond us. As soon as the shelling stopped, we all fled into the sandhills, where we took refuge until the morning.
We were safer in the sanddunes, especially when German planes were overhead. We watched them bombing the ships out at sea, and saw a French warship set on fire. I chummed up with a Welsh fellow and we went along the beach away from Dunkirk to the village of Bray Dunes, where an 'estaminet' was still open, serving drinks but no food. We dug ourselves a bolthole in the dunes when German planes appeared, and were scared when we heard a continuous thudding, until we learned that it was a Bofors gun on the other side of the hill, firing at the planes.
The Germans then struck at the oil tanks in Dunkirk, and the smoke from the fires spread mercifully over the dunes, protecting us from any further attention from the Luftwaffe. At night my Welsh friend and I got down into our slit-trench and wrapped ourselves together in our groundsheets to try and keep warm. It was bitterly cold, and we both wished we had kept our greatcoats.
The next day we learned that there was fresh water from a well in the grounds of a convent back along the coast. There we went and filled our water bottles. We opened our tins of emergency rations and ate the hard tack, but were so very grateful for it. When casualties from a first-aid station had been evacuated, we were able to help ourselves to the tins of food. All that was left, however, were tins of pears and tins of evaporated milk. My friend and I had one of each betwen us, and found it most refreshing. I also shared with him some woollen comforts which I had managed to keep, from a parcel sent by friends at my home church in Croydon.
We kept looking for signs of rescue and almost gave up hope. I prayed that Mother would not be aware of my situation and would not be worried. We had no idea what was really happening, nor just what the folk at home knew. That prayer was truly answered, I learned later. Then we were aware of a number of small boats off-shore, and we wondered whether our prayers for deliverance were being answered. We had been four nights on the beach.
On 31st May a rowing boat came close inshore and I was able to jump in from the beach without even getting my feet wet. But in order to keep the boat afloat, it had to be pushed out a bit, so the other fellows who followed me had to paddle out to it. When full, we were rowed out to a naval vessel and helped aboard. It was a submarine chaser and we sat on deck on depth charges! We learned it was H.M.S. Scimitar. Soon there were also some high ranking officers among us, and we guessed the Royal Navy would be taking good care of us. When a German plane circled overhead and dropped a stick of bombs, the craft was quickly manoeuvred to avoid them. Then it was all speed to the white cliffs of Dover. I had never seen them before, but they were so recognizable and so welcoming.
As we disembarked, those of us who still had rifles were told to dump them on the quayside, and we were all ushered straight on to a train. As soon as the train was full, it pulled out of Dover and into the lovely English countryside. How grand it all looked. But it seemed almost to be a dream. We did not know, or care, where we were going. It was just good to be out of that nightmare.
The train slowed down and pulled up in a quiet country station. We could hardly believe our eyes. On the platform were members of the Women's Voluntary Services with food and drink for us. They treated us like heroes, but we certainly did not feel like heroes, nor look like them, for we were all unwashed and unshaven.
Our train went on to Reading, from where we were taken to Tilehurst to relax and recuperate. It was glorious hot weather, and I was able to forget all about those cold nights on the dunes. I had there been so glad of the companion with whom we kept one another warm, but somewhere en route we had lost one another. We never met again.

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