something more varied, the officers put up 400 francs, and two of them went to buy oranges, potatoes and carrots.
Most of the men on the quays concentrated on getting on to a ship, abandoning their equipment. Noticing cases loaded on lorries left on the docks, the commander of a unit of the 6th Royal Sussex regiment ordered them to be opened. Inside were Bren guns in mint condition, along with ammunition. The officer told his men to grab as many as they could, and they used them subsequently to fire from their rescue ship at attacking German planes.
The weather was balmy. ‘The sea is calm and blue, singing on her way to break on the golden shore,’ wrote a local newspaper, the
Courrier de St-Nazaire et de laRégion
. 4 ‘The summer’s gentle wind carries with it the perfume of the flowers.’
But the mass of soldiers on the boulevard by the sea actedas an unwelcome reminder of the reality of war. ‘Why this deployment of British forces here?’ the newspaper asked. ‘It is said that our allies are going back to England. We don’t want to believe it and yet, it is true.’ It went on:
On the open sea, big boats are at anchor, waiting for the order to enter the harbour. The presence of these soldiers and boats, which already has brought upon us the nocturnal visits of the German planes, is again going to attract them, day and night in our skies.
A little before midday, we perceive the distant noise of an airplane, and immediately afterwards, the tragic screeching of the sirens pierces the quiet air. Everybody rushes towards the nearest shelter.
The sounding of the all clear meant that people could go home safely through the streets to lunch. But, at about 4 p.m., a lone German aircraft flew over slowly at low altitude. British soldiers strolling on the boulevard threw themselves to the ground as a small round white cloud rose from the ground where the plane’s bombs had landed.
‘The British are boarding!’ a local woman noted in a memoir for her sister, who was in England.
They fill the whole boulevard, assembled by companies and regiments. It is hot, the weather is close and stormy; they are thirsty. The German planes are above us.
During mass, the air-raid sirens ring out. I am coming back via the boulevard but, to avoid the projectiles, I have to rush under a big porch near the rue Fernand Gasnier. Many British soldiers have also taken refuge there.
This day has been most painful and harrowing. Youcan guess our feelings of helplessness and abandonment; it was terrible, and these rumours of a separate armistice which were causing the departure of the English, what a disgrace!
A British doctor who had taken a bedroom in her house came to say farewell on the Sunday evening. ‘Mummy and I were crying. We were so sad. But the doctor tried to cheer us up. “We will be back,” he said. “All is not lost.” Yet I had a foreboding of all the sufferings we would have to endure, of how long and hard the struggle was going to be and of the numerous pitfalls and stumbling blocks that would face us. Would we eversee happier times again?’ 5
In Nantes, the British manager of a wood factory which had made panelling for Atlantic liners was driving back from his plant when German planes flew in to bomb the city. Alfred Edwin Duggan, a First World War veteran, had lived in Nantes since 1920, though he kept up his English habits down to porridge at breakfast. Now, he drove to the British club to see if there was any information there about what was happening. The building was virtually empty; a padre told him British troops had been instructed to evacuate.
Duggan went on to the British consulate where he barged into a meeting between the Consul and the Port Admiral. He insisted on being told what was going on. A British naval attaché advised him to head immediately for St-Nazaire and the rescue fleet waiting there.
Going to his home in the rue de Rennes in the north of the city, Duggan told his wife, his
Most of the men on the quays concentrated on getting on to a ship, abandoning their equipment. Noticing cases loaded on lorries left on the docks, the commander of a unit of the 6th Royal Sussex regiment ordered them to be opened. Inside were Bren guns in mint condition, along with ammunition. The officer told his men to grab as many as they could, and they used them subsequently to fire from their rescue ship at attacking German planes.
The weather was balmy. ‘The sea is calm and blue, singing on her way to break on the golden shore,’ wrote a local newspaper, the
Courrier de St-Nazaire et de laRégion
. 4 ‘The summer’s gentle wind carries with it the perfume of the flowers.’
But the mass of soldiers on the boulevard by the sea actedas an unwelcome reminder of the reality of war. ‘Why this deployment of British forces here?’ the newspaper asked. ‘It is said that our allies are going back to England. We don’t want to believe it and yet, it is true.’ It went on:
On the open sea, big boats are at anchor, waiting for the order to enter the harbour. The presence of these soldiers and boats, which already has brought upon us the nocturnal visits of the German planes, is again going to attract them, day and night in our skies.
A little before midday, we perceive the distant noise of an airplane, and immediately afterwards, the tragic screeching of the sirens pierces the quiet air. Everybody rushes towards the nearest shelter.
The sounding of the all clear meant that people could go home safely through the streets to lunch. But, at about 4 p.m., a lone German aircraft flew over slowly at low altitude. British soldiers strolling on the boulevard threw themselves to the ground as a small round white cloud rose from the ground where the plane’s bombs had landed.
‘The British are boarding!’ a local woman noted in a memoir for her sister, who was in England.
They fill the whole boulevard, assembled by companies and regiments. It is hot, the weather is close and stormy; they are thirsty. The German planes are above us.
During mass, the air-raid sirens ring out. I am coming back via the boulevard but, to avoid the projectiles, I have to rush under a big porch near the rue Fernand Gasnier. Many British soldiers have also taken refuge there.
This day has been most painful and harrowing. Youcan guess our feelings of helplessness and abandonment; it was terrible, and these rumours of a separate armistice which were causing the departure of the English, what a disgrace!
A British doctor who had taken a bedroom in her house came to say farewell on the Sunday evening. ‘Mummy and I were crying. We were so sad. But the doctor tried to cheer us up. “We will be back,” he said. “All is not lost.” Yet I had a foreboding of all the sufferings we would have to endure, of how long and hard the struggle was going to be and of the numerous pitfalls and stumbling blocks that would face us. Would we eversee happier times again?’ 5
In Nantes, the British manager of a wood factory which had made panelling for Atlantic liners was driving back from his plant when German planes flew in to bomb the city. Alfred Edwin Duggan, a First World War veteran, had lived in Nantes since 1920, though he kept up his English habits down to porridge at breakfast. Now, he drove to the British club to see if there was any information there about what was happening. The building was virtually empty; a padre told him British troops had been instructed to evacuate.
Duggan went on to the British consulate where he barged into a meeting between the Consul and the Port Admiral. He insisted on being told what was going on. A British naval attaché advised him to head immediately for St-Nazaire and the rescue fleet waiting there.
Going to his home in the rue de Rennes in the north of the city, Duggan told his wife, his
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