Few ports of France have had as stormy a past as Dunkirk which, before becoming definitely French in 1662, belonged successively to the Counts of Flanders, to Spain, and to England. Its strategic importance, so splendidly illustrated by the cruises of Jean Bart, the famous corsair and later admiral under Louis XIV, was such that English historians all recognize its transfer to Louis XIV as the greatest error of the reign of Charles II. This explains the persistence with which England demanded its dismantlement at the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713. Dunkirk maintained that status under the rigorous control of her commissioners until the time of the War of American Independence. The city was on the frontlines during the Wars of the French Revolution, then again in 1870, and again in 1914 at the time of the battle of the Yser. Its heroic conduct twice gained for it a declaration from the French assembly that “Dunkirk deserves well of the Republic.’'
In 1940, Dunkirk was the command post of the Commander in Chief of the French Naval Forces of the North—short title: Admiral, North—whose command extended from the Belgian frontier to and including the Cotentin Peninsula in the west. From December 21, 1939, the chief of this command was Admiral Jean Abrial.
The importance of his command stemmed less from the normally small forces under his orders than from its geographical location. Dunkirk constituted at the same time the southern support of the Allied Pas-de-Calais sea barrier and the joint between our naval and land frontiers. Admiral Abrial had two essential liaisons to maintain: the naval one with his British opposite number, Vice Admiral Sir Bertram H. Ramsay, Flag Officer Commanding, Dover; the other, on land, with General Henri Giraud, commanding the French Seventh Army.
In France, at that time, the Navy was responsible for the defense of the coasts against an enemy attacking from the sea, including amphibious landings. But it had never been foreseen that an admiral might be called upon to take command of important ground forces to fight facing inland and not toward the sea. Nevertheless, it was Admiral Abrial who received the order in May, 1940, to defend the entrenched Dunkirkcamp against the German forces which had just invaded northern France.
When he invaded Poland, Hitler did not believe that France and England would fight in earnest and had therefore lightly manned his western frontier. If we had attacked immediately in Lorraine, events might have taken a different turn. But firmly convinced of the inviolability of the fortified lines—the Maginot and Siegfried lines—we did not wish to take the initiative and had decided to let the enemy attack first in order to follow with a counterattack—victoriously we hoped— once he had worn himself out in the first assault. This attack we awaited in Belgium and in Holland and had concentrated the bulk of our forces facing Belgium in order to be able to enter immediately once word of the attack was received and to establish ourselves defensively on a line covering Brussels and Antwerp, from Namur to the Dutch Islands of the Scheldt. From the name of the river Dyle, which ran along a part of this front, the move had been christened “Hypothesis Dyle” or Plan D.
Plan D directly concerned Admiral, North, in that it increased the length of the coastline he had to defend and called for the transportation of a small French expeditionary corps to Flushing by sea.
On May 10, 1940, Belgium and Holland were invaded by the Germans and called on us for help, and the move of the Allied forces into Belgium was carried out as planned. It was this move that the Germans awaited, for their main thrust was directed not against Holland and northern Belgium but against France, through the densely wooded Ardennes which were reputedly impassable to armor. Contrary to all Allied forecasts, seven German armored divisions succeeded in slipping through over the poor roads. Two days later they reached the Meuse, which they crossed May 13, ahead of second-line French divisions which had been on guard there. One more week and they reached the Channel at the lower end of the Bay of Somme.
The best French divisions and all those of the British Expeditionary Force, save one, were encircled to the north by the German breakthrough and were so heavily engaged in Belgium that they did not have the necessary time to turn around, head south, and cut off the German Panzers while the latter were still in a hazardous situation. Six days later (May 26), the British Expeditionary Force began to re-embark at Dunkirk. Allied defense plans had proved completely inadequate.
In subsequent years we have reproached the British with having disengaged themselves from this difficult situation with little concern for the effort of the French command to break out of the encirclement. From a strictly military viewpoint their maneuver was logical, but the fact remains that the French command was not given early notice of the intentions of the British command.
At this point it is important to consider the exact position of the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) in the midst of the French Army. Although they were placed between the Seventh and First French Armies, in the sector of operations of General Gaston Billotte, commanding the First Army Group, the British forces were not under his orders. In spite of the lessons of World War I, an over-all command did not exist—at least not at Billotte’s level. The Commander of the BEF, General Viscount Gort, came under the orders of General Alphonse Georges, Commander in Chief of the Northeast Front, with this reservation, expressly written in Gort’s instructions, that: “ ... If any order given by him [Georges] appears to you to imperil the British Field Force, it is agreed between the British and French governments that you should be at liberty to appeal to the British Government before executing that order.” It was only on May 12 that General Billotte was personally delegated the authority to coordinate Allied operations. But Billotte was killed in an automobile accident ten days later, and this delegated authority was not passed on to his successor.
The functioning of an Interallied Command, at best somewhat difficult even when victorious, becomes more so in time of defeat. If the French command complained that Lord Gort went his own way, the latter did not fail to remark that no directions were sent him, or that they were impossible to carry out. Under these conditions, on May 18, Lord Gort informed the British War Office that a withdrawal to the coast would shortly become the only chance for survival, and on the next day, the 19th, they were examining in London the problems of Operation Dynamo—“the hazardous evacuation of very large forces”— evacuation considered “to be unlikely.” On May 26 Admiral Ramsay “was informed by the Admiralty that it was imperative for Dynamo to be implemented with the greatest vigor, with a view to lifting up to 45,000 of the BEF within two days, at the end of which it was probable that evacuation would be terminated by enemy action.”
On that same May 19 while preparations for Operation Dynamo were being discussed in London, General Maurice Gamelin was sending Admiral of the Fleet Francois Darlan, Commander in Chief of the French Navy, a telegram which stated, in part:
“ . . . Although the situation does not justify the immediate taking of this step, it would be prudent to provide for it from this moment by assembling transports to evacuate certain units, without it being possible to establish in advance the number of ships necessary and the ports of embarkation.”
Thus, the question had been raised at the same time on both sides of the Channel. It raised the same apprehensions. “Hazardous*” said the British sailors. “Disastrous,” thought Admiral Darlan, who would prefer trying to supply the isolated forces and defending the northern ports.[1] While the Royal Navy wasassembling its means for a re-embarkation, Admiral Darlan set in motion an extensive supply operation. There were at Brest, Cherbourg, and Rouen stocks accumulated for the Norwegian campaign, as well as ships to carry them. It was hoped that the first ships would be able to leave Rouen on the very next day.
Unfortunately, when the estuary of the Seine was mined by the Luftwaffe on May 19, shipping was interrupted for several days. Ships were assembled at Cherbourg where, in view of the constant bombing of Dunkirk by the Germans since the 18th, every effort was made to equip them with antiaircraft weapons as rapidly as possible.
In all, 37 cargo ships were requisitioned. Eleven convoys left Cherbourg between May 24 and June 2. Of that number only thirteen ships arrived at Dunkirk, where five were destroyed in the harbor by enemy air.
The story of the first convoy shows well the difficulty of this resupply undertaking. Four cargo ships had left Cherbourg on May 24, escorted by three patrol craft. After having successfully run through the fire of German artillery installed on the coast to the east of Calais, all four were destroyed at Dunkirk- one by a single magnetic mine, the remaining three by bombs. Manifestly the resupply operation was headed for disaster. However, the Admiralty was unwilling to discontinue. It was decided to send the ships to Dover where their cargoes could be transferred to small fishing boats for transportation to Dunkirk. Groups of French sailors under young officers were sent out from Brest, Lorient, and Cherbourg with the mission to requisition everything that floated along the coast, including the small Belgian trawlers, which had fled before the German invasion. If the crews volunteered, they were reinforced by two or three naval ratings armed with automatic rifles—if these were obtainable; otherwise the only arms were a simple musket or a revolver. If the crews of the requisitioned ships did not volunteer, they were disembarked and their boats seized. The great majority volunteered, as the fear of losing their boats—that is to say, their means of livelihood —was greater with the owners than their fear of enemy shells or bombs. In this manner more than two hundred craft displacing between ten and 150 tons were sent on their way.
On May 19, the French Government decided to replace General Gamelin as Chief of the French Armies, and they designated General Maxime Weygand to succeed him. He had barely taken over the command when he left Paris by plane to inspect the front. He had a stirring and hazardous trip. While crossing the frontlines his plane was heartily greeted by the German antiaircraft batteries. On landing at Norrent-Fontes, the closest runway to Bethune, where General Billotte’s headquarters were located, he found the airfield abandoned. The Royal Air Force (RAF) had just pulled out. There a soldier, a private, not the least abashed by the presence of the Generalissimo, asked him if in his opinion he should set fire to the gasoline tanks. The General replied, “My son, do what you think best, but just let me know where I can find a telephone.” Finally, Weygand took off in his plane for Calais, where he landed shortly after a violent German bombardment of the field. There he learned that the King of Belgium would be awaiting him at the burgomaster’s office at Ypres at 1530. Here he met General Billotte, Admiral Abrial, and Admiral of the Fleet Sir Roger Keyes, Chief of the British Mission to the King of the Belgians. Unfortunately Lord Gort was not there. He had waited, it was reported later, all of that day for word of the hour and place of the meeting. Admiral Keyes left the party to get him, but it was 8 o’clock that evening before he returned with him. Prior to that hour General Weygand had had to leave to return to his headquarters. Thus, at this critical period of the campaign no meeting took place between the French Commander in Chief and the British Commander—a meeting at which Weygand’s plan would have been presented, with the possibility of reconciling on the spot any differences between the British and the French points of view.
General Weygand’s plan called for three things: (1) to counterattack from the north and south in order to cut the enemy forces; (2) to withdraw the Belgian Army back of the Yser in order to maintain contact with British-French forces; and (3) to hold on to the northern ports at all costs because, if evacuation became necessary, they would be needed to salvage the heavy equipment. And, at any rate, the longer the German forces were held in Flanders, the longer they would be delayed in starting the offensive against the Somme front, which it was now evident they were preparing to launch.
At this time, moreover, two English divisions as well as elements of a French cavalry corps[2] were engaged below Arras. The battle had started off well and the enemy was giving ground, but the day ended without obtaining a decisive victory. The following day the English no longer were available. The French took off alone, made some progress, but were soon stopped in their tracks by the Luftwaffe. No other attempt was to succeed after that.
On the Belgian side, General Weygand obtained, not without difficulty, the adherence of the King to a withdrawal on the Yser. There remained the defense of the ports, which was now becoming of first importance. Three days before, the Luftwaffe had carried out attacks on a large scale. The night before, at Dunkirk, we had lost two cargo ships and one tanker. The destroyer L'Adroit had to beach itself in sinking condition. Six minesweepers and one tug completed the day’s list of losses. Most alarming information also came from Boulogne, and Calais had just been bombed so severely that Admiral Abrial, uncertain whether the Commander in Chief would be able to return by plane, placed a torpedo boat from Dunkirk, the Flore, at his disposal.
In going there with Admiral Abrial, General Weygand had a dramatic talk with the Admiral. He informed Abrial that he counted on him to defend the ports. He concluded by saying, “I have complete confidence in you!” When the Admiral replied that he had very feeble means to carry out such a task, the General countered, “Means? I am going to do everything possible to give them to you! Two divisions will be recalled from Belgium and placed under your orders. General Marie Fagalde, commanding the 16th Corps, will be assigned to you. But what is needed above all is a stout heart. I am counting on you to save everything that can be saved—and particularly our honor.”
When General Weygand arrived at the docks, Dunkirk was already being bombed, but the little Flore, of only 600 tons, dodged the bombs and steamed at thirty knots for Cherbourg, where a rail-car awaited the General. Weygand was confident. On the trip back, his conversation was encouraging, and he had no sooner returned to his headquarters than he began to draw up the operating orders that would carry out his intentions.
But the enemy was proceeding too rapidly. German General Ludwig von Kleist’s armored group was advancing in a northerly direction. It was possible for five Panzer and one SS division to be in position on May 23 to break through the insignificant defenses on the Aa, a small river which emptied into the sea at Gravelines, only seventeen kilometers to the west of Dunkirk. Nothing could stop them; no troops, no artillery. It represented the triumph of the indirect approach. Cut off from the rest of France, our armies could equally have been cut off from the sea. Already Admiral Abrial was telephoning that he considered the situation very serious. He was planning to blow up all bridges over the canals surrounding the city, in order to transform Dunkirk into an island, and then attempt to hold on with the assistance of the Army and of the Royal Navy. All hands were at their battle stations and on the alert. The enemy was expected to attack at any moment.[3]
But it so happened that General Heinz Guderian, whose German armored corps was operating along the coast, divided his forces to send one division against Calais, the other to Boulogne, and the third to the River Aa. If he had sent all three to Gravelines without paying any attention to the other ports, he would have been at Dunkirk in 24 hours and no evacuation of Allied troops would have been possible at all. But let us see first of all what took place at Boulogne and Calais.
At Boulogne, on May 21, the news of the approach of the enemy had created great confusion. At the moment when the French naval commander was giving his last instructions for the defense of the city, which provided for a house to house defense if necessary, there arrived at his command post a general in flight from a nearby sector. He had just come from Hesdin, some 30 kilometers from Boulogne, where he had witnessed the complete defeat of our tanks and had himself suffered the loss of all his field artillery. His alarming reports and his pronounced state of depression created grave doubts in the mind of the naval officer as to what course he should take. From all sides he was receiving nothing but alarming information. From the post office of a nearby village came a message over the telephone: “We are closing up. They are entering.” The naval commander attempted to obtain instructions from Admiral Abrial; unfortunately the telephone did not answer. Finally, he ordered that Boulogne be evacuated.
It so happened that a coast artillery officer refused to leave, and, more fortunate than his commanding officer, succeeded in getting Dunkirk on the telephone. Rear Admiral Charles Platon (Abrial’s deputy) categorically informed him, “From now on you will take your orders from me and from me only. You will resist the enemy as long as it is necessary, even if you have to fire on him with open sights.” The following day the situation was back in hand, thanks to the arrival of Commander Henri Nomy,[4] commander of a neighboring naval air base. Shortly thereafter Captain Audouin de Lestrange arrived from Cherbourg in a motor torpedo boat. Finally General Pierre Lanquetot, commanding the 21st Infantry Division, finding that his road to Beauvais was cut off at the Somme, withdrew to Boulogne with a small fraction of his command. Even these additions did not provide many men, but Admiral Abrial did his best to insure them the support of his ships’ guns, and on May 23 he concentrated off Boulogne two large destroyers, eight light ones, two subchasers, and two motor torpedo boats, all under the command of Captain Yves Urvoy de Porzamparc, embarked on the destroyer Cyclone.
On their side the English had evinced an interest in Boulogne at the last minute, hoping to utilize the port for the evacuation of the British Expeditionary Force rear troops. On the 22nd they landed one Guards’ brigade as well as antitank and antiaircraft guns. A part of these units were engaged the first evening on the southern outskirts of the city, but re-embarked the following morning during the course of the battle. Their evacuation under fire, carried out by the destroyers from Dover, constitutes a brilliant page in the history of the Royal Navy, but we must agree that it was of no assistance to those concerned with the defense of Boulogne.
During the entire day of the 23rd, the German 2nd Panzer Division attacked in turn the several defended points of the city. Captain de Lestrange, together with Commander Nomy, had located his command post in an old building on the cliffs known as “La Tour d’Odre.” The original building, a sort of immense fortified lighthouse, had been erected at that place, it was said, by the Roman Emperor Caligula. During the course of centuries the pounding seas had carried away part of the supporting cliff; finally in the 17th century, the building had crumbled and fallen into the sea. Its modern replacement, though of considerably more modest proportions, constituted nevertheless an excellent observation post. It was from here that Captain de Lestrange transmitted by searchlight to the Cyclone the fire support requests which General Lanquetot telephoned down from his command post in the citadel. The Tour d’Odre was repeatedly attacked by the Germans. Enemy tanks finally succeeded in battering down the courtyard doors. To prevent their entering, Commander Nomy, with the assistance of a few men, attempted to establish a barricade across the entrance, utilizing for that purpose automobiles which were in the courtyard and which he himself pushed —“my head sunk in between my shoulders— to avoid the bullets,” to quote his own words. “The barricade was set afire. A petty officer with me shot and killed a German who was placing a swastika flag on the door, then was killed himself a few moments later.” Finally the Tour d’Odre was taken by the Germans in midafternoon after a bitter fight. Deprived of his liaison with the sea via the Tour d’Odre, General Lanquetot radioed his messages to Dunkirk, and, through Admiral, North’s communication network, continued to maintain his liaison with the Cyclone and the 2nd Flotilla.
There was no longer any chance of holding Boulogne, but the efficacy of the French naval gunfire was recorded by General Guderian, who, becoming impatient at the prolonged resistance, called on the Luftwaffe for help. At 6 p.m., some thirty German bombers hurled themselves at the French destroyers, seriously damaging the Frondeur and setting fire to the Orage, which had to be evacuated under the worst of conditions by two subchasers. Lieutenant Commander Roger Viennot de Vaublanc, stretched out on the Orage's bridge with a badly mutilated leg, refused to leave his ship. Two sailors from subchaser 42, carrying out the orders of Chief Signalman Jule, carried him off by force. The following day German aircraft subjected the Chacal to the same treatment as the Frondeur and the Orage. The Fougueux was holed through and through. The evacuation of personnel from the Chacal was carried out under conditions even worse than those experienced by the Orage. A German battery installed on the cliffs mercilessly bombarded the large destroyer, which was out of control and with all guns silenced. One salvo of 77-mm. shells had wrecked the bridge, but the chief signalman, with his right arm blown off, continued to transmit messages by searchlight with his left hand. Commander Jean Estienne, the destroyer’s captain, was lying unconscious on the bridge of his ship. In order to save him, the officers and men threw him overboard so that he could be picked up by a small boat. Some thirty sailors floated around for hours, hanging on to life rafts, wreckage, and anything else that would float, looking for a landing place free of enemy troops. Finally they landed at Cape Gris Nez, several of their exhausted shipmates having drowned en route. The following day these survivors, under the command of Lieutenant Commander Gabriel Ducuing, were again in battle, engaged against Panzer units attacking a fortified position. On May 25 the position fell, with the commanding officer among the heroic dead.
In those days our ships had poor antiaircraft defense. This was one of the greatest shortcomings of our 1939 Navy. In order not to lose all his forces, Admiral Abrial recalled his ships, which withdrew at the end of the morning. The defenders of Boulogne were not discouraged, however, and it was only on the morning of the 25th that the handful of soldiers and sailors with General Lanquetot surrendered, after having vainly attempted a sortie the night before.
Meanwhile at Calais, where the French defenses were improvised with dissimilar elements brought together by the retreat and supported by the coastal artillery, the British supplied an infantry brigade, as well as a battalion of tanks, which were landed on May 22 and 23. Unfortunately these tanks were frittered away in fruitless, disorderly engagements, and those that remained intact were destroyed without having served any useful purpose. Moreover, as at Boulogne, the English at Calais were preparing to leave when their government, at the request of the French High Command which had been alerted by General Fagalde, ordered them to hold on—an order which was carried out without faltering. Soldiers and sailors, French and English resisted until May 26, then were smashed under a violent air and artillery bombardment, and finally were overwhelmed in the citadel, the last stronghold in Calais.
Several kilometers from there the German 1st Panzer Division reached the Aa River on the 23rd. It was, however, held at bay before Gravelines all day on the 24th. Three British tanks and a 6-inch fieldpiece manned by naval gunners defended the Aa crossing, assisted by a battalion of second line French troops and a small group of Air Force troops. They had to make the difficult decision of firing on German tanks which appeared in the midst of a crowd of refugees. The first five enemy tanks were destroyed; the remainder were forced to take shelter. But the little river already had been crossed by other German elements several kilometers upstream.
Nothing could have stopped the enemy from bypassing this resistance and dashing to Dunkirk, when there came a most extraordinary order from Hitler, to which the men who escaped from Dunkirk owe their liberty. “That same day,” writes General Guderian, “there took place an interference on the part of the German High Command which was to have a disastrous influence on the rest of the war. Hitler ordered the left wing of the army to halt on the Aa.” The profound reasons for this German decision, which forced their Panzers to abandon a target they were almost touching, are still being discussed. At a single blow Von Kleist and Guderian could have eliminated the entire British Expeditionary Force and the best French divisions. Three- fourths of the English leaders who later confronted Rommel in Africa—Alexander, Montgomery, and many others—would have found themselves, instead, behind barbed wire.
The respite was not wasted. General Gort completed his defensive positions on what he called the “Canal Line.” Admiral Abrial and General Fagalde organized the western defenses of Dunkirk. The enemy resumed his attacks on May 27, but the Panzer divisions almost immediately left the field, to be sent, in view of coming operations, to rest areas.
On the Allied side, Operation Dynamo had been under way since May 26. The French had not been notified officially of the English preparations for the evacuation, but the indications were unmistakable, and General Georges Blanchard sent one of his staff officers to Paris on the 25th to inform General Weygand. At the latter’s request, Admiral Darlan decided immediately to send Captain Paul Auphan, the chief of his operations division, to England for information.
On arrival at Dover the morning of the 27th, Auphan could not fail to note that the operation was in full swing and thus all that remained to be done was to reach an agreement with Admiral Ramsay as to the best way to join forces. It was fortunate that the French Admiralty, forty-eight hours earlier, had ordered the requisitioning of all small ships in the Channel and in Brittany. These would be ready for service that much sooner. Orders were now issued to speed up their sailings to the utmost. Rear Admiral Marcel Landriau was designated to take command of the flotilla of the Pas-de-Calais and received orders to proceed to Dover on board the sloop Savorgnan de Brazza.
It was still necessary that the French Army be able to reach the sea, under the shield of a good part of it which continued to fight, facing south, 110 kilometers from the coast. Six divisions sacrificed themselves in defending Lille, an action delaying the general attack on Dunkirk. For the other divisions it became a hard retreat.
Finally, on the morning of May 29, General Weygand ordered an over-all disengagement. The order, which was sent via Admiral Abrial to General Blanchard, who had succeeded Billotte, read: “Fight your way through to the coast.”[5]
What was needed above all was to hold on to Dunkirk for as long as would be required. It would serve no useful purpose to send shipping there if on their arrival they found that the Germans were already on the docks and on the beaches. For the defense of Dunkirk all French ground forces, as they arrived within the entrenched camp, came under the orders of Admiral, North. Many of these units were suffering from battle fatigue. The freshest troops among them were sent to man the lines. All coastal battery guns had been turned around and would fire inland until the end, notwithstanding the counterbattery fire of the enemy air and artillery units. Two 155- mm. mobile batteries and one 90-mm. AA battery, manned by the Navy, were assigned to defend the western sector of the entrenched camp, and later were shifted to the south, on the road to Bergues, where Lieutenant Henri Jabet, on June 3, would meet his death in a manner worthy of the best traditions of the French Navy. As for aircraft, Admiral Abrial no longer had any at Dunkirk. His squadrons had fought in Holland and then on the Oise front, where they had lost half of their effectiveness trying to stop the German columns. The remainder had to fall back on Cherbourg as airfield after airfield fell into the hands of the Germans. It was now up to the Royal Air Force.
In this situation no command difficulties confronted Admiral Abrial as far as the French generals were concerned, for they had received definite instructions from Weygand. On the British side, however, the situation was more delicate. Acting independently, they had taken dispositions which often superimposed themselves on ours. Incidents occurred in certain areas where the orders were contradictory. To conclude, the British under took the defense of the eastern sector and the French that of the western sector. In reality, however, by the first of June the British rear guard had already been reduced to 4,000 men and Major General Sir Harold Alexander, to whom Lord Gort had passed on the command of the rear guard, made it known that day that he had orders to withdraw the following night. Actually, he remained 24 hours longer; but, nevertheless, during the last 48 hours—the most critical period of all—the French found themselves alone in carrying out the defense of the entrenched camp of Dunkirk.
At sea, collaboration was infinitely easier. I l\. will not rewrite the historical account of the British operation. It is universally and justly famous. France is not prepared to forget that the Royal Navy, notwithstanding the exhausted state of its crews, continued its efforts for two days after departure of the British Expeditionary Force—all for the exclusive benefit of the soldiers of France. So I will continue with the story of the French evacuation.
The first to be evacuated were the wounded. This was natural, as the longer they were denied the necessary care and treatment which hospitalization only could provide, the worse their condition became. At Dunkirk the French Navy medical field units were bombed out of one first aid station to another and finally had to establish themselves some ten kilometers to the east of the city, close by an Army field hospital which had installed itself in the sanatorium of Zuydecote. Here conditions were really tragic. Some 600 to 800 wounded waited day after day for necessary treatment by the first aid surgical teams, which were working 24 hours a day, with hardly a break. Many of the wounded died without even having been examined by a doctor. Others were killed by bombs. In the midst of an operation, one surgeon had to take his anesthesized patient in his arms and quickly dump him under the operating table in order to protect him from German 77-mm. shellbursts which were riddling the operating room. Since May 20, Admiral Abrial had been making a determined effort to evacuate the wounded at every opportunity. On the 26th, the mail steamer Rouen took 420 patients to Cherbourg. The following day two minesweepers disembarked 175 in England. Then we attempted, without success, to bring in hospital ships. One evening a large convoy of ambulances, waiting at the waterfront for the arrival of a hospital ship, came under heavy enemy fire directed at the quays. They were forced to leave and return to the hospital at Zuydecote; only a few ambulances and a few men survived to reach their destination. The British had experienced considerable difficulty in employing their own hospital ships, and so finally we had to resign ourselves to assigning evacuation priority to combat-fit soldiers.
Next were certain categories of specialists whose return the Army asked for prior to the general evacuation order being issued. For their sake Admiral, North assembled a convoy on May 28 in which 2,500 men were embarked. It had barely cleared the harbor when the cargo ship Douaisien, with 1,000 men on board, hit a magnetic mine. The majority of its passengers were rescued by a convoy of small trawlers en route to Dunkirk.
On the following day, the 29th, general evacuation began. The English generously offered us 5,000 places on their ships. On our side, three light destroyers of the Cyclone-class and five dispatch boats were sent from Dover to Dunkirk. The destroyers arrived in midafternoon, under a violent German bombardment. The Cyclone got out without damage and returned to Dover that evening with 733 passengers, including 158 survivors of an English sloop picked up on the return trip. The Siroco, also undamaged, brought back 509 men. But the Mistral, her superstructure smashed by a bomb exploding alongside on the quay, and with her commanding officer mortally wounded, had to back clear at full speed without having been able to take any troops whatsoever on board. As a matter of fact, there were no longer any evacuees on the quay, everyone having taken shelter wherever he could find it. The port was now completely untenable. When the Mistral cleared the harbor, there was no longer a single ship left afloat there. The English had not been spared, either, and as Admiral Ramsay wrote in his report, “The day closed with a formidable list of ships lost or damaged.”
The dispatch boats arrived after nightfall and waited until dawn to enter the harbor. Their operations were hindered only by enemy artillery fire, but they were able to bring back safely a full load of passengers, notwithstanding the interference of a German battery which saluted them while passing Nieuport. In all, embarkation figures for the 29th amounted to 5,178.[6]
May 30 was a disastrous day. It brought us the loss of the Bourrasque, sunk before Nieuport; the Siroco hit by two torpedoes fired by a schnell-boote (German MTB) and finished off by two bombs; and the Cyclone, hors de combat, with her bow blown off by a torpedo. This glorious ship of Captain Porzamparc had participated in all engagements from the very beginning. She had fought before Flushing. Before Ijmuiden, she was at Boulogne. Her chances of survival seemed unbeatable. But this time she got it. She did manage under her own power to reach Dover and later Brest, where unfortunately she had to be scuttled while in drydock on the 18th of June, the day the Germans arrived.
Notwithstanding all these losses, 6,363 French soldiers were embarked on the 30th and safely landed, thanks to the fact it had been decided to risk at Dunkirk five supply ships anchored in the Downs roadstead. These ships were able to embark a total of 3,000 men at the cost of only a few losses and minor damage. In addition, two small torpedo boats of 600 tons each—the Branlebas and the Bouclier -—brought back survivors—the former 520 men, including a great number from the Bourrasque; the latter 767 men, a number so prodigious for one who knows that type of ship that I never would have credited it if I had not read it in a British document.
The following day, we had in action four of these small torpedo boats and five 600-ton dispatch boat sweepers (avisos) of the Elan- class . All handled extremely well and were skillful at evading bombs. They yielded remarkable returns.[7] Unfortunately the French Admiralty recalled these ships to escort transports which were returning the Dunkirk evacuees to France, in compliance with the Army’s urgent demand. They were therefore released before the end of the Dunkirk operation and returned to the command of Admiral, West. Finally, attention should be called to the services rendered by the three mail steamers, Cote d'Argent, Newhaven, and Rouen, which between them transported almost 12,000 men during the evacuation.
At last, on May 31, there arrived the multitude of small fishing craft which had been requisitioned. Admiral Landriau had established control stations in the Dover roadstead and was sending to Dunkirk everything that arrived. Needless to say, the trips were made under the least orthodox methods of navigation. There were insufficient charts—compasses were wanting—courses were set by following the ships ahead. It was easy enough proceeding to Dunkirk, for the immense columns of flame and smoke were visible from miles away. But the return trip was less easy, and many boats missed the entrance to the Thames. There were also motor failures. Thus, the engines of the little Jacqueline positively refused to function after arrival at Dover. Never mind—its crew of three sailors from the destroyer Triomphant set off bravely under sail for Dunkirk, and returned the same way, bringing back 33 men.
In all, 48 ships of all kinds brought back 9,984 men on May 31. On June 1, 38 craft brought back 7,483, 43 ships had started out but five were sunk off Dunkirk (including the Foudroyant, the last survivor of Porzamparc’s flotilla,[8] and three sweepers sunk by the Luftwaffe). On June 2, 43 ships embarked 6,474 men, and on the 3rd, in a last go, with both navies vying with each other, 63 ships brought back 10,120.
Thus, the French Navy, its merchant and fishing fleets, evacuated 48,474 men after the armies of the north were isolated. Of these evacuees, 44,538 were disembarked in the United Kingdom, and 3,936 were taken directly to Le Havre or to Cherbourg.
In the beginning, the Germans no more believed in the success of an evacuation by sea than did the Allies. “The chances for a successful large-scale evacuation taking off from the Franco-Belgian coast are not deemed favorable ...” one can read in the war diary of the German Navy, under the May 28 dateline. The German Navy entered the fray only with its schnell-boote. Marshal Hermann Goering took upon himself the task of interdicting the operation, employing only his Luftwaffe, whose numerical superiority was further enhanced by possession of all the airfields in northern France, of which a number were located less than ten minutes flight from Dunkirk. As a matter of fact, German aircraft created considerable havoc with the evacuation. The worst day was that of May 27, during the course of which enemy squadrons hurled themselves on the port in groups of thirty to forty planes at ten minute intervals, without a break, from seven in the morning until nine at night. Never before in history had one seen the equal of it. Dunkirk was left nothing but a roaring furnace and a smoking heap of rubbish. Not including the small units, we had lost in the harbor that day three cargo ships and one mail-steamer. We already know that the day of the 29th was hardly any better. Finally, the losses suffered at sea on the first day of June induced Admiral Ramsay to suspend daytime operations at Dunkirk.
The French Navy owes to the Luftwaffe the loss of 39 ships of the 59 which succumbed in the battle of the north—and even more, if one counted those which blew up on mines laid by aircraft. But, after all, this aerial offensive, victoriously countered by the Royal Air Force, did not succeed in stopping the operation, and the personnel losses sustained did not reach two per cent of the number embarked.
The enemy field artillery showed itself to be very dangerous, not only when shelling the harbor, but also by its harrassment of ships steaming in the inshore channels. It became necessary at an early date to abandon the route which passed by Calais and to take the much longer one which went through the eastern channels and around the sandbanks and minefields. It was here that the schnell-boote did their damage. They made known their presence in the west on the night of May 22-23, by sinking the Jaguar, and in the east they inflicted serious losses on the English during the night of May 28-29 and on the French the following night. It therefore became necessary to establish a third escape route across the sandbanks. Here German aircraft put its blows in—without, however, following the ships beyond ten miles at sea. One scarcely saw the German planes over Dover which would have been, nevertheless, one of the surest ways of countering Operation Dynamo.
It was scarcely hoped to continue the evacuation as late as the night of June 3-4. The enemy was already nearing the inner defenses of Dunkirk. Admiral Abrial was burning his codes. But from Dover the English and French were preparing to descend in force. When the Admiral left Bastion 32, which had served as his headquarters, a tremendous activity was taking place in the harbor of Dunkirk. The sky was for the moment clear of enemy aircraft, but the noise of the land battle was increasing minute by minute. In an uproar of sirens the torpedo boats maneuvered at full speed—went alongside without making fast, took on their loads in a few minutes, and backed away full—crossed each other and sheered off in a whirlpool. The final miracle of Dunkirk is that there were not more collisions that night. Only one very serious collision occurred, and even then, thanks to the fog, the ship succeeded in putting to sea. The last loss of Operation Dynamo was that of the French sweeper Emile Deschamps, which blew up on a magnetic mine, the morning of the 4th, in sight of the North Foreland. Of 500 men on board, only a hundred or so were rescued.
Plans had been made to save everybody, but the dispositions taken to embark the defenders of Dunkirk were defeated by the sudden appearance of thousands upon thousands of men, coming from no one knows where. Out of all the caves, out of all the shell and bomb holes, came disarmed men, forming small human streams converging toward the jetty and joining together to form a huge, impressive river almost congealed on the spot. With all approaches to the jetty blocked, the real defenders of Dunkirk looked on in silence from a distance and saw the last embarkation leave the dock and the last ships clear the harbor. The night paled, and the early dawn rose over an empty sea from which no further help could be expected.
“Shall we try again tonight?” said Admiral Ramsay on greeting Admiral Abrial at Dover on the morning of the 4th of June. Unfortunately it was no longer possible. In all, 35,000 to 40,000 French soldiers and sailors—- the bravest, for the most part—were taken prisoners, but there had been evacuated, besides the 215,000 men of the British Expeditionary Force, over 123,000 French soldiers.
At 8 o’clock on June 4, the French Admiralty announced the end of the operations .... “The evacuation was carried out with precision, having begun with the Germans in the outskirts of Rosendael and having ended under the fire of German machine guns. Nothing more remains to be attempted .... Admiral Abrial regards as magnificent the work of the English last night.”
Although the British Navy published Admiral Ramsay’s report in 1947, there has not appeared up to this day a single official report by the French Admiralty. The literature published in France has quoted English statistics, which it was impossible to compare with French figures so long as the archives, dispersed by the turn of events, had not been assembled. The first valid indications of the importance of the French effort appeared in Admiral Raymond de Belot’s book, The Navy in the Campaign of 1939-1940, published in 1954. Admiral Auphan’s article, “The French Navy Enters World War II” published in the June, 1956 Proceedings, provoked some surprise in England, where if one is to believe the Evening Standard of July 17, 1956, it was generally believed that the rescue of the armies encircled at Dunkirk was solely the work of the Royal Navy.
The Royal Navy had done enough at Dunkirk for it not to take umbrage at this narrative, written with the sole aim of showing how the problem was handled by each ally, and how the French Navy carried out its task, notwithstanding the handicap of a later start and of inferior means. This inferiority of means stemmed in part from the fact that the greater part of the French Navy by reason of the Italian threat and in full agreement with the British Admiralty was fully occupied in the Mediterranean. Finally, our Atlantic escort forces were employed for the protection of convoys, particularly British convoys proceeding to and from Gibraltar. From September, 1939, to the Armistice, we escorted half of these convoys. The escort forces were not recalled at the time Dunkirk was being evacuated. These tasks did not leave us with many available ships, but all that remained available were contributed. Moreover, our harbors were at a greater distance from Dunkirk than those of Kent, of the Thames, or of the Humber. Some of our ships arrived too late.
Even if the results of this effort had been only half as great, the incalculable importance of the defensive measures taken by the Commander in Chief of the Naval Forces, North, should be remembered. Thanks to Admiral Abrial—and thanks to Admiral Platon, designated Governor of Dunkirk on May 21, at the request of the Army—order was maintained and forces were brought under control, sufficiently at least to provide safe routes through the burning city.
Admiral Platon, already known as a brilliant destroyer leader, showed himself to be without a peer when it came to energy and physical courage—I heard him, without a quaver, give an order over the telephone to execute without trial a petty officer who had failed to carry out his orders in the face of the enemy. He constantly exposed himself to danger, striding along the streets of the city during the most severe bombardments, because he had filled his car with the wounded met en route.
Bastion 32, headquarters of Admiral, North, functioned effectively until the end. The communication system never faltered. Every possible means of defense was exploited. All the Army commanders worn out by the fighting retreat rushed to Bastion 32 in search of a little hope and cheer, then returned to their men to ask of them one more effort.
What good would it do, after all, to separate the actors in this adventure without precedent? Pilots of the Royal Air Force, ships’ gunners, firemen, infantrymen on the Canal of Mardyck,—masters of fishing boats or captains of destroyers—all these share with Admiral Abrial and Admiral Ramsay the credit for this operation which robbed Germany of a great part of her victory in the west. And who knows if it did not influence Germany’s later decision to forego the invasion of England?
1. “ . . . Summing up, such an operation carried out in that area against enemy opposition from ground and air forces appears to me doomed to disaster. On the contrary it seems to me less of a risk to supply the units resisting enemy pressure.” 2210/19/5. French Admiralty.
2. This French cavalry corps consisted of two motorized divisions equipped with light tanks.
3. Your author, on arriving at the French naval barracks that day, after having been rescued at sea the preceding night, saw a naval officer shaving and putting on a fresh uniform before leaving to take command of a detachment of sailors posted on the western outskirts of Dunkirk. “It is the stand to arms preceding the big show!” said he.
4. Today an Admiral and Chief of Naval Operations of the French Navy.
5. Ever since the fall of Abbeville, all messages between General Headquarters and the First Army Group had been handled by the Navy.
6. Counted from 0800 the 29th to 0800 the 30th. In principle, evacuees embarked on a ship that was sunk are not counted; instead they are credited to the rescuing ship.
7. The record for these ships belongs to the Impetueuse (Lieutenant Commander Franfois Bachy), which disembarked 649 men at Dover on the 31st of May. In times of peace, no commanding officer would have agreed to embark half that number on ships of that class.
8. Captain Yves Urvoy de Porzamparc, well known and very popular in the Navy, commanded the 2nd Flotilla, based at Brest, which consisted of twelve ships of the Cyclone-class destroyer (1,500 tons). Of the nine placed under the orders of Admiral, North five were sunk and four were damaged. Only the Ouragan, undergoing repairs at Brest, and the Boulonnais and Brestois, sent to Norway and then to the Mediterranean, were absent from this action.