"There was Dunkirk, in front of us, all of it's old glory ready for total destruction. Some bombs had fallen here and there and people of all races were still roaming around the streets and sitting about looking at the passing refugees waiting for their ships to leave. The first B.E.F. troops were beginning to arrive.
My Dad was always struggling and queuing for provisions to keep us on the go and all of us couldn't have agreed more than to get out of this trap as quickly as possible - even if that meant before the evening. With our load still growing lighter we hurried off to the countryside on the back, that would be the front facing the Germans...
By night fall we reached an old village called Chappele-Saint-Pierrre and found shelter in an open school, looked after by French soldiers. They were keeping order and were accepting money bribes for inside boarding in the classrooms, so we slept outside. A Jewish family choosing and being given the inside. It would have been better if those soldiers had been at the front, maybe they were stragglers!
The battle of Dunkirk now started to unfold in front of our eyes. We were like spectators in an amphi-theatre, sitting on our blankets. At night, Goering was now sending his planes non-stop. We saw them swooping and diving in the searchlights. The continuous pounding of bombs and explosions from anti-aircraft guns all turning continuously up in the sky as well as over the city.
The city had become a blazing inferno of fires and lightning flashes, with short outbursts of gunfire and thick, bellowing engulfing smoke. Sometimes, we wondered about the planes coming too close for our comfort but all glad we weren't there now and that we had followed our hunch.
The rumbling went on still further into the night but so tired had we become that we just fell asleep where we were. In haste, after our uneasy sleep and a quick bite we were packing up once again. The further away we could get, in the shortest possible time, from this doomed city the better.
Looking back in the morning sun we saw nothing but huge columns of smoke rising up in the sky. "Think it all over"; I told myself, "they might as well have given us all guns and rifles to fight back, we could be just as good as the soldiers".
Paris was becoming more and more remote for us now but we relentlessly struggled towards it. Of course, in this phony war we didn't know anything about Rommel busy cutting us off. Mind you it wouldn't take long before the phony war would be on us again - it looked like we were the only army trying to get somewhere.
Eventually, reaching for what I believed to be the old Pachendaele Canal we found an empty barge which was able to take us, at a price, further. It had no motor but a horse was ready to pull - at least we were going to save our poor feet. Those plumb barges looked and moved like a long black dragon at a snail's pace. They passed through the still flat and cultivated countryside be speckled with well kept and bigger farms than ours.
Our farms had never kept pace with the increasing population and loss of space. Everything was in luster and bloom smelling of a good harvest. Sometimes we walked alongside the horse who came to know us very well. Keeping the same pace between the coast by day we could distantly see the long smoke funnels from Dunkirk...
In previous years this very same countryside had been frequented by our pickers. Once upon a time these Small holders had come to harvest beets. They were a special breed of hardy country people, not without humour and their swagbags. Working hard from early morning until late in the evening fulfilling their sweethearts desires to set a home up.
They smoked their own tobacco, grown by themselves, bringing also a bit of life to the villages here. The beer was cheap, girls plentiful and all of the old music of Breughel's feasting embodied in their dances and merrymaking with a gorging of the best farmer's food. Our mouths were watering thinking of it. We were still not short of food and water in as much as they were supplying it.
When we called at the farms they asked jokingly if we had come to bring in the harvest. As before, the general atmosphere was still friendly and the theatre of war somewhat removed from us - cordiality and innocence of the same events was shared between us.
The different characters who had taken the barge as their temporary floating home consisted of a variety of people. One of these was a lonely monk who didn't seem to belong to any particular group. The monk was, of course, suspected of being a fifth columnist. This time they could have been right!
He had a military contenance and could hardly converse with any of us. He looked tall, thin and pale and almost embodied the spirit fo the epidemic which had overtaken Europe in the Dark Ages. Even his attire took the shape of it. One night, he suddenly disappeared - the German vanguards were now be much nearer than we had thought. It looked like the ghost-figure had preceded them and forewarned us.
It was now very calm - the quiet before the storm. It seemed all too much like a bad omen. Indeed, people were dying en mass all around us now - at least that was the prevailing feeling we had. In St. Omair, the crossroads were heavily bombed and bombarded - with reluctance, that was the place to which we were headed. Dunkirk was in flames and the drama on the beaches was unfolding itself behind us.
Boulogne and up to Calais were just the same - Rommel was busy hacking his way through and closing the gap, with the main body proceeding in France, advancing relentlessly. Rumors were filtering through to us, that later proved to be true, of a Scottish regiment that had been hacked to pieces by S.S. troopers near a little place called Paradis.
Right now, just over the tree tops, we were in the process of watching an agile German spotter plane and it's pilot trying to dodge a British fighter by playing the fallen leaf and getting away with it - that was more than a sign and omen. They were all around us, now for sure!
The horse driver stopped, got paid off and packed up there and then to return as quickly as he could. Thus we were stuck and now most people were leaving the barge and going in all directions. The horse gave us a last farewell look in a despairing kind of way, that only a horse can do, and disappeared with it's driver - soon out of sight, to become just a small dot in the distance..."
To be continued ...
My Dad was always struggling and queuing for provisions to keep us on the go and all of us couldn't have agreed more than to get out of this trap as quickly as possible - even if that meant before the evening. With our load still growing lighter we hurried off to the countryside on the back, that would be the front facing the Germans...
By night fall we reached an old village called Chappele-Saint-Pierrre and found shelter in an open school, looked after by French soldiers. They were keeping order and were accepting money bribes for inside boarding in the classrooms, so we slept outside. A Jewish family choosing and being given the inside. It would have been better if those soldiers had been at the front, maybe they were stragglers!
The battle of Dunkirk now started to unfold in front of our eyes. We were like spectators in an amphi-theatre, sitting on our blankets. At night, Goering was now sending his planes non-stop. We saw them swooping and diving in the searchlights. The continuous pounding of bombs and explosions from anti-aircraft guns all turning continuously up in the sky as well as over the city.
The city had become a blazing inferno of fires and lightning flashes, with short outbursts of gunfire and thick, bellowing engulfing smoke. Sometimes, we wondered about the planes coming too close for our comfort but all glad we weren't there now and that we had followed our hunch.
The rumbling went on still further into the night but so tired had we become that we just fell asleep where we were. In haste, after our uneasy sleep and a quick bite we were packing up once again. The further away we could get, in the shortest possible time, from this doomed city the better.
Looking back in the morning sun we saw nothing but huge columns of smoke rising up in the sky. "Think it all over"; I told myself, "they might as well have given us all guns and rifles to fight back, we could be just as good as the soldiers".
Paris was becoming more and more remote for us now but we relentlessly struggled towards it. Of course, in this phony war we didn't know anything about Rommel busy cutting us off. Mind you it wouldn't take long before the phony war would be on us again - it looked like we were the only army trying to get somewhere.
Eventually, reaching for what I believed to be the old Pachendaele Canal we found an empty barge which was able to take us, at a price, further. It had no motor but a horse was ready to pull - at least we were going to save our poor feet. Those plumb barges looked and moved like a long black dragon at a snail's pace. They passed through the still flat and cultivated countryside be speckled with well kept and bigger farms than ours.
Our farms had never kept pace with the increasing population and loss of space. Everything was in luster and bloom smelling of a good harvest. Sometimes we walked alongside the horse who came to know us very well. Keeping the same pace between the coast by day we could distantly see the long smoke funnels from Dunkirk...
In previous years this very same countryside had been frequented by our pickers. Once upon a time these Small holders had come to harvest beets. They were a special breed of hardy country people, not without humour and their swagbags. Working hard from early morning until late in the evening fulfilling their sweethearts desires to set a home up.
They smoked their own tobacco, grown by themselves, bringing also a bit of life to the villages here. The beer was cheap, girls plentiful and all of the old music of Breughel's feasting embodied in their dances and merrymaking with a gorging of the best farmer's food. Our mouths were watering thinking of it. We were still not short of food and water in as much as they were supplying it.
When we called at the farms they asked jokingly if we had come to bring in the harvest. As before, the general atmosphere was still friendly and the theatre of war somewhat removed from us - cordiality and innocence of the same events was shared between us.
The different characters who had taken the barge as their temporary floating home consisted of a variety of people. One of these was a lonely monk who didn't seem to belong to any particular group. The monk was, of course, suspected of being a fifth columnist. This time they could have been right!
He had a military contenance and could hardly converse with any of us. He looked tall, thin and pale and almost embodied the spirit fo the epidemic which had overtaken Europe in the Dark Ages. Even his attire took the shape of it. One night, he suddenly disappeared - the German vanguards were now be much nearer than we had thought. It looked like the ghost-figure had preceded them and forewarned us.
It was now very calm - the quiet before the storm. It seemed all too much like a bad omen. Indeed, people were dying en mass all around us now - at least that was the prevailing feeling we had. In St. Omair, the crossroads were heavily bombed and bombarded - with reluctance, that was the place to which we were headed. Dunkirk was in flames and the drama on the beaches was unfolding itself behind us.
Boulogne and up to Calais were just the same - Rommel was busy hacking his way through and closing the gap, with the main body proceeding in France, advancing relentlessly. Rumors were filtering through to us, that later proved to be true, of a Scottish regiment that had been hacked to pieces by S.S. troopers near a little place called Paradis.
Right now, just over the tree tops, we were in the process of watching an agile German spotter plane and it's pilot trying to dodge a British fighter by playing the fallen leaf and getting away with it - that was more than a sign and omen. They were all around us, now for sure!
The horse driver stopped, got paid off and packed up there and then to return as quickly as he could. Thus we were stuck and now most people were leaving the barge and going in all directions. The horse gave us a last farewell look in a despairing kind of way, that only a horse can do, and disappeared with it's driver - soon out of sight, to become just a small dot in the distance..."
To be continued ...
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