It was early June 1940, and the British Army was carrying out orders to withdraw from France. Our artillery unit had got to within a couple of miles of the coast, but we could drive no further as the roads were impassable because of the hundreds of abandoned vehicles blocking the roads. There was no alternative for us - we had to destroy the guns and vehicles. This we did and then, with rifles slung round our necks and the breechblocks of our anti-aircraft guns in our haversacks, we began the long march to the beaches.

The German air force incessantly dived upon soldiers and civilians alike, bombing and machine-gunning at ease. Casualties amongst our ranks were amazingly relatively slight and eventually the majority of our regiment collapsed with fatigue on the beaches of Bray Dunes, close to Dunkirk. The straffing from the air was then supplemented by shelling, and the enemy artillery gradually closed in behind us, so there was little sleep or rest for any of us. Food and water, too, was in short supply.

For about 48 hours we lay there patently awaiting the arrival of the fleet of boats of every conceivable shape and size which had left England charged with the seemingly hopeless task of saving as many as possible of the British Expeditionary Force.

At last an order was passed down the ranks: "Prepare to embark". Our major requested myself and two others to assist in getting our troops into the small craft that came from the numerous ships waiting offshore. We four were six-footers and so were able to go well out into the sea until the water was up to our necks.

With typical British courage and calmness, our colleagues very orderly waded into the sea and one by one we helped them into the boats. It took more than two hours to complete the operation and then as we helped the last of our regiment aboard, we ourselves were able to clamber into the little boat. In the darkness we rowed out to a small ferry boat built to carry about thirty passengers, but there must have been at least a hundred aboard as the ship turned and headed for British shores.

The crew consisted of three men and their captain. What marvels they were. Mugs of hot steaming cocoa and huge cheese sandwiches were eagerly accepted by the dirty, unkempt and most grateful 'evacuees'. Thankfully we were able to remove our army boots - the first time for more than a week - and then we just 'blacked out' from sheer exhaustion. For the next few hours we knew nothing of the aerial and sea battle that raged around our vessel, as we were so tired. Fortunately, our little ship ploughed through the rough seas without suffering any damage.

Suddenly, we were awakened by cries of "Wakey, wakey. Rise and shine." We were safely back home. What a wonderful feeling as we profusely thanked the crew for their outstanding bravery - and their 'hospitality' - and then stepped ashore to be greeted by the cheerful smiling ladies of the W.V.S. with cigarettes and mugs of tea before boarding a special train which took us on to Cardiff, from where we were later able to rendezvous with the other lucky members of our regiment who, with us, had survived the greatest rescue mission ever undertaken by this great little country of ours - dear old England!

- Arthur Cope