St. Nazaire Raid, March 28, 1942

2012-02-13T11:42:00.001Z

Programme for the 70th

Specific timings for all events are still not quite finalised; however these details will give readers an idea of what to expect.

On March 24th, the annual St. Nazaire Society lunch will be held at the Union Jack Club, opposite Waterloo Station, in London. Given that our patron, HRH The Duke of Edinburgh will be present I would expect the limited number of places to be booked up pretty fast. Another noted guest will be Dan Snow, whose history programmes on TV should be familiar to most.

As for events in France, there will be a short service on the afternoon of Tuesday 27th, at the La Baule/Escoublac War Cemetery. As ever, this is a solemn occasion, when crosses are placed on the graves of the CHARIOT fallen.

On the morning of the 28th, usually beginning around 10.00 hrs, will be the main ceremony of commemoration at the Monument du Commando on the seafront. This is expected to be a crowded venue, what with French representatives, veterans and their families, St. Nazaire Society members, Commandos - both Army and Marines - and members of both the British Legion and the Commando Veterans' Association. Also in attendance will be Ian Alexander's tour-group, a camera team from the BBC and also, very probably, a team from Battlefield History TV who are making a new documentary about the raid. Rather than recounting just a slice of the action, as was the case with Jeremy Clarkson, this documentary will be factual and all-enveloping so as to bequeath to history a complete account of the raid.

Hopefully the whole event will be filmed by Tim Reynard, the young director who made last year's film based on the Wheeler and Sims evasions (The Only One Who Knows You're Afraid). His proposal is that a DVD be produced which could then be made available for sale at a modest, emphasise modest, cost - perhaps of particular interest to the many who will not be able to make the trip to France. By the way, DVD copies of The Only One..... should be available for purchase or order at the Society lunch. The film reminds us of the substantial risks undertaken by the French men and women who assisted in the various evasions.

Following the ceremony on the seafront, there will be the usual Vin d'Honneur at the Mairie.

I'll post further details as they become available.

2011-10-05T10:30:00.000+01:00

70th Anniversary of 'CHARIOT'

Looks like late March 2012 will something of a bonanza for hoteliers in and around Saint-Nazaire, as hundreds of visitors arrive for the 70th anniversary of the raid. Details are sketchy as yet, however, in addition to a significant French contribution, there will be various Naval and Military contingents present, including Army Commando Engineers (wearing the 'dagger flash'), members of the Commando Veterans Association, a party from 3 Div. at Bulford and, of course, numerous members of the St. Nazaire Society.

The main ceremony will be at the Monument du Commando, most likely on the 28th, but as I say, I will update as arrangements are confirmed.

2011-09-20T15:10:00.000+01:00

NEW FILM REMEMBERS THOSE WHO EVADED CAPTURE AFTER THE RAID

Where does all the time go? Hard to believe I'm so late in passing on news of a premiere I attended, in Harrogate, back on September 6th. On show, for the first time and to a black-tie gathering, was a new film by talented young director Tim Reynard (www.decantillonfilms.com/theonlyone.html). Entitled 'The Only One Who Knows You're Afraid', the film tells the story of two Commandos taken under the protection of French civilians during the first phase of an escape odyssey that would eventually see them returned to the UK via Gibraltar. The film excels in exploring the all-too-easily forgotten risks ordinary - well, perhaps not so ordinary - people took in concealing and aiding Allied combatants whose discovery would lead to a concentration camp, or even execution.

The film was introduced by a prologue written by myself, and voiced wonderfully by Richard Briers - text below. There was also a rather insipid speech by some old guy.....no - hold on, that was me too. Just goes to show that if you know you have to give a speech DO NOT attend a full-on wedding in Ireland immediately before and then travel back to the UK by Stenna Lineski (well, to us it felt like crossing the Baltic on a Soviet ferry back in the '50s).

Tim and his writing partner Olly were present in Saint-Nazaire during the March commemoration, and got to tour poor old Campbeltown. They attended the cross-laying at the cemetery in La Baule/Escoublac and were able to meet the veterans Bill 'Tiger' Watson, and General Corran Purdon, who every year without fail presage the main ceremony at the Chariot memorial with a private period of contemplation by the beautifully-tended gravesides of their fallen comrades.

Full details of the film, its cast and crew plus a 'teaser' video can be seen at the above De Cantillon Films web address. The evasion portrayed was based on the successful 'home-runs' of Corporal George Wheeler, MM, and Lance-Corporal Robert Sims, also MM. The total number to make it home without first having been captured was five, the others being Lance-Corporal Arnie Howarth (sheltered in his German-occupied school by Principal, M. Etienne Baratte), Lance-Corporal Douglas, and Private Harding.

A huge amount of effort went into this film: and for me it was both refreshing and inspiring to work with people so young and yet so intent on paying due tribute to events now almost lost in the mists of time.

PROLOGUE

It’s just after one o’clock on the morningof the 28^th. It’s cold. It’s pitch black. You’re crouched on thedeck of a boat, almost within sight of the coast of Occupied France. You can’tsee it yet; but for the first time in days you can smell the smells of land: ofseaweed on the unseen shore; of fields and trees and human habitation –odoursalmost alien after two long days sailing through the Channel and the Bay ofBiscay.

The proximity of land has brought the firststabs of real fear, and you wonder if the other Commandos in your small partyare feeling it too. Not so much fear of the enemy you know lies waiting, but ofletting yourself down, or still worse the mates you’ve been living and trainingwith forever – or so it sometimes seemed.

They’re all around you, your mates, theirbattledress damp from the ever-present drizzle, their faces dark beneath thedull steel of their helmets. Everyone’s weapons are at the ready, with packsfull of explosive charges and pouches stuffed with ammo and grenades. Asidefrom muffled orders to the sailors at the forward and after Oerlikon cannons,the only noise to be heard is of the boat’s own powerful engines, a roar soloud they must surely hear it in Paris.

Just before you’d left Falmouth, they’d finally mentioned all the guns that were going to be waiting for you in theestuary of the River Loire. You’d never heard of Saint-Nazaire in your lifebefore: now you can’t divorce its name from thoughts of the mighty defences putin place to defend it. A lot of U-Boats lived there, just like the one yourescorting destroyers had put under yesterday. Silly bugger to show himselfanyway: must’ve imagined no British ships would dare be seen where we were.

Hard to tear your eyes away from the landand all those unseen guns. How many of them are even now pointed directly at you? How will you react the second theyopen up? You twist around, and search the darkness for the rest of the fleet.Up ahead, that darker patch, that must be Campbeltown, with tons of high explosive packed in her bow. Somebody’s going to get a nasty surprise. Trailing on either side of the olddestroyer, feathers of phosphorescence breaking from their bows, are theremaining 17 ships – built of wood, just like your own. To aid inidentification each bears a number painted in white – just like pleasure boatson a Blackpool pond. Maybe there won’t be any firing. Maybe the enemy’ll justget megaphones and call out from the shore, “Come in number so and so: yourtime is up…”. Bloody tinderboxes. Even after 400 miles of sailing, each of themstill had 2,000 gallons of petrol in its tanks. Whose bloody stupid idea wasthat! Some Royal Navy if that’s all they can afford to give a person. At least Campbeltown, rusting relic though she might be, was built from good old steel.

It’s suddenly harder to breathe; harder totake your mind off the fuses, detonators and plastic explosives filling thepack you’re going to be lugging ashore – a pack which, now it’s a target, seemsto have grown to twice its former size. Another stab of fear, this time almostcrippling as the brilliant, ice-cold pencil of a searchlight sweeps across thewaves, only just missing the last boats’ wakes. As it goes out, there’s a loudmetallic clicking next to you as one of your Protection Party cocks his Tommygun. Nerves stretched so tight you could probably play a tune on them. A drinkwould be good, just about now…..

Your officer appears out of the gloom. It’sthe Navy’s job to defend the boat, but with nothing but those tiny Oerlikonsagainst the whole might of the enemy, they’ll need all the help you ‘brownJobs’ can give them. Orders are to be ready at a second’s notice – butabsolutely not to fire until the klaxon sounds.

There’s something going on up ahead. Youdon’t know it, but the Navy are exchanging stolen signals with the Germans,hoping they’ll accept the fleet of strange ships as their own. Can the Jerries really be that stupid? You’ve been told they believethe port to be impregnable. Complacency on their part was to be the fleet’strump card. The British would never dare come here – ergo the British can’t behere – ergo the ships must be German: simple.

A half-seen shadow passes by on your portquarter. It’s the buoy that marks the entrance to the narrowest part of theestuary. Any closer to the shore and the German guns crews’ll be able to tosstheir bloody shells at you.

Flashes up ahead now; coming from theshore. Flashes first, then the thud of heavy guns heard only microsecondsbefore first Campbeltown’s klaxon, then all theklaxons on the following boats, shriek out the signal to return fire. Thesudden hammering of an Oerlikon cannon only feet away from your ears stuns yoursenses momentarily; then the Commandos’ Tommy guns and Brens join in. Sopretty, and yet so deadly, all those streams of coloured tracer reaching outfrom boat and shore. Then you wonder what a time it is for somebody to be downbelow, banging on the hull with a hammer - until the sickening realizationdawns that these are the sounds of enemy fire tearing through the boat’s thinmahogany skin.

You feel helpless. As a demolition expert,all you can afford to carry in addition to yourweighty pack, is an American Colt pistol. May as well chuck it at the shore forall the good it’ll do. So you make yourself small, very small, and you pray.And maybe you think how long it seems now since you and your mates wereswanning round Scotland, taking full advantage of the effect your Commandoflash had on all the girls. And not just the girls –sometimes their motherstoo….

A muffled choke, and the Oerlikon gunner ishit, slumping dead in his sling. A flurry of activity as he is quickly replaced- and the dreadful racket of the gun begins all over again.

A wall looms on the port beam: alighthouse, then an enemy gun on top of some building, firing over your head atthe starboard column. It’s the outer harbour already. Only few hundred yards togo and you’ll be ashore on the soil of France. No passport control on this trip…!

Your officer gets the various partiessorted out – Protection in front, Demolition behind, while the crew begin topull down the side stanchions. Stand up – at least as high as you dare: packon: my God it’s like slinging a bag of cement. Ahead are the silhouettes of thetwin pill-boxes that defend the Old Mole, the landing point for all the boatsin your column. You wonder if anybody’s made it: then you find your answer inthe gush of flame that suddenly engulfs the boat just in front of yours. Poorbastards. What a way to go.

Your own boats heels sharply to port as itbreasts the lighthouse at the end of the Mole. For a brief moment you catch aglimpse of Campbeltown, the old girl lit up likea Christmas tree, shell after shell crashing into her sides. She must be almostthere. Going fast as hell, from the size of her bow wave. It’s a sight you’llremember as long as you live – as long as you live! Bloody Germans won’t know what hit them.

Amidst the dreadful racket and the roar offlames, you can still make out the tinkling of broken glass falling from theshattered lantern room, now directly above the boat. The streams of tracer fromthe Mole guns can no longer depress enough to hold you as a target, so yourboat slides easily beneath them, engines revving, and comes to a stop alongsidethe slipway on the structure’s eastern face. More thuds; this time from grenadestossed down from its upper surface and landing on the deck where you’d just been. Lucky, that. A bark of orders and you’re off, stumblingover the bodies of the forward gun crew. There’s seaweed on the slipway: youstumble. Can’t fall over or you’ll be helpless as an upturned turtle. A rattleof Tommy gun fire up ahead and then you’re off the Mole, heading for theshelter of the dockside buildings and the deepest, darkest shadow you can find.

Ahead of you, empty as a Scotsman’s walletafter a night out in Glasgow, lies the broad square that separates the Old Towntenements opposite, from the sprawl of silent dockyard buildings to your rear.You can still see the estuary – but you might have wished you couldn’t: for arippling horizon of flame and smoke seems to be all that now remains of allyour comfy, floating billets.

A staccato metallic clatter and a longspray of bullets shreds a metal waste can at the edge of the square. TheGermans must’ve put machine-guns in the tenements’ upper windows. Beneath theshattered can, your Protection party officer lies sprawled, like he was stillon a firing range, his Tommy gun kicking as he seeks them out. Fat chance. Heonly looks about eighteen. They say he wants to be a doctor: maybe should’vestuck to that – instead of this.

It’s all going pear-shaped. The square youhave to cross to get to your target looks about as inviting as a shark’s smile.Your own officer tries to pick his way across – but soon collapses to theground, dead, like as not. Nobody’s getting across there now. No way ahead. Noway back - not now all the boats have gone. Outnumbered twenty to one. But arewe downhearted? No, we’re bloody not. We’re Commandos chum – and we’ll do thejob and get back home one way or another. Just like we always do……

A total of 264 Commandos sailed toSaint-Nazaire to knock out that port’s giant dry dock. Their aim was to keepthe German battleship Tirpitz away from thelumbering convoys by destroying the only bolt-hole on the Atlantic seabordlarge enough to house her should she ever be damaged in battle. A faint hopeindeed: but then, these were desperate times.

The Commandos were split into three groups,each with its complement of heavily laden demolition experts. 78 men were tostorm ashore from HMS Campbeltown, once the old girl had buried herexplosive-filled bow in the dock’s outer gate. 84 Men, plus a smallheadquarters party were to land from small boats, right behind her in the OldEntrance. A similar number were to come ashore at the Old Mole.

It had all looked so good on paper. Butlike all plans it had fallen apart the second the first shot was fired. Campbeltown, strongest ship in the fleet, did all that was asked of her: butthe small boats were cut to pieces - and the men aboard them. Of six boatsmeant to land Commandos at the Old Entrance, only one succeeded – a storyrepeated exactly at the Old Mole. Handfuls of Commandos were left to fightwhere whole teams should have engaged the enemy. They could have surrendered –nobody would have thought ill of them. But these were exceptional individuals,trained to win out where others could not. Gibraltar lay 1,000 miles away. Inthe way was Occupied France and half the German Army.

Ah well: better get a move on then….

(Copyright, J Dorrian, 2011)

2011-08-27T17:14:00.000+01:00

Rest in Peace, Eric and Tom

It is with great sadness that we have to record the passing of two of the Chariot Commandos - Eric de la Torre, MBE, and Colonel Tom Sherman, OBE, VRD, DL, lost to us within days of one another.

Eric, a Lance-Corporal from 3 Commando and RAOC, was carried to Saint-Nazaire on board ML262, which vessel was destroyed by enemy fire forcing Eric and many others to swim to the shore, where they were taken prisoner. Tom, then a Troop Sergeant-Major, King's Regiment and 4/2 Commando, was on board ML446 when she was hit and damaged to the point where she had to make a run for the open sea. I was fortunate enough to have interviewed both men, and feel it a privilege to have have known such generous and self-effacing individuals.

Defecit omne quod nasciture......

2011-08-09T15:04:00.002+01:00

Watch 'GREAT ESCAPES' on TV

Sir David Jason has made a series of programmes for television one episode of which, on 29th August, will cover Major-General Corran Purdon's attempted escape from Spangenberg Castle, Oflag 1X A/H. Corran, then a Lieutenant in 12 Commando, captured at Saint-Nazaire, March, 1942, decided, in conjunction with fellow Charioteer Lieutenant Dick Morgan that the hospitality of the Reich, while offered at no charge, was not sufficiently attractive to warrant staying on. Having thus 'upset' their kind hosts, their next port of call - almost inevitably - was to be the supposedly escape-proof Colditz.

ITV, August 28th, 2000hrs. Be there.

2011-05-31T16:12:00.000+01:00

Forget me? Absolutely not!

The above 'anyone for tennis' image is of Micky Burn at Cranmer Hall, Norfolk, back in the gilded '30s, snapped during a visit to his dear friend Dinah Jones. How simple it must all have seemed back then. The image forms part of an archive whose importance we are only just beginning to take on board, as, piece by piece we unravel the story of his personal almost-century.

Another piece to come to light is the very short speech I gave at his funeral service, one of several aired by family and friends. I think it's worth recalling - in royal purple, of course - if only to illustrate the mischievous side of Micky that we all found so endearing. It relates initially to our ongoing work to document his life on film.

"Over the last few years our work with Micky on what he increasingly came to think of as 'his' film, offered him a new lease on life, and us a window into the sometimes crazy, sometimes sad, but more often than not magical world of Micky Burn.

Increasingly Micky took this as an opportunity to critique every last detail of his life, especially as our frequent trips to Beudy Gwyn, and expeditions to France, Germany and to Chatsworth to be reunited with Deborah Devonshire, brought him into immediate contact with many of the most important elements of his past.

Rarely was there a single day when he was not on the phone re-editing his story, expressing some new twist that MUST NOT BE IGNORED. My last call came on the day before he died, when he insisted that Professor Dawkins and the Resurrection become the film's newest focus: one wonders if this was prompted by private knowledge of some inner clockwork already straining to draw on the last of the energy remaining in its spring.

These last years with Micky have opened door after door to places, people and emotions we now could not imagine having missed. Micky at Saint-Nazaire, struggling to explain how he, wounded and alone, managed to circumnavigate a dockyard whose multiple dangers proved lethal to so many others. Micky arriving at Colditz and engaging the staff in perfect German. Micky tossing Camelias from Mary's tree into the stream below Tan-y-Clogwyn. Micky and 'Debo', geriatric Kathy and Heathcliff that they were, scattering scraps for her many hens. Micky in a crowded Munich restaurant tugging out a small denomination banknote and proclaiming 'champagne for everyone!'. Micky standing on a crowded platform at Birmingham New Street station, insisting I fix the broken zipper on his pants - him up here, and me down there, and Micky entirely oblivious to all the curious stares. Micky flooding the basement bedrooms of a friend with whom we were staying, having left the bathroom taps running into a tightly plugged sink all night.

In future years I should perhaps retain a vision of him in Commando uniform, or dancing at the Ritz, or perhaps in Colditz announcing to stunned silence the death of President Roosevelt. But for me the image that will most remain in my mind, is of our Michael, on the morning of said flood, standing amidst a chaos of towels, mops and buckets, wearing nothing but droopy and very, very aged long-johns, his face a picture of innocence, inquiring in a little-boy voice - 'Was it me?'"

Forget - how dare we even think of it!

2011-04-04T14:45:00.002+01:00

'Local Hero'

Sergeant Thomas Frank Durrant, VC

A total of five Victoria Crosses were won during the raid on Saint-Nazaire - the largest number of VCs awarded for any single action during World War Two. Of these, none was more nobly earned than that awarded to Sergeant Tommy Durrant, of 1 Commando. A member of a demolition team on board Motor Launch 306, Tommy, firing twin Lewis-guns on an anti-aircraft mounting, took on the German destroyer Jaguar, many times the size of his wooden launch, was mortally wounded, and yet continued to fire until the very last of his strength was gone. He was recommended for his country's highest award by the captain of the German ship, and today lies in the beautifully tended war cemetery of Escoublac La Baule (I.D.II).

On Friday April 1st, the teachers and pupils of his old school at Green Street Green in Kent, along with members of the Commando Veterans' Association, honoured Tommy's memory with a special World War Two event. Children and teachers dressed up in 'wartime' clothes, songs of the period were sung, and Commando veterans were interviewed by pupils agog at coming face-to-face with real 'Green Berets'. The kindness of the CVA and the enthusiasm of both staff and children contributed to a truly memorable event - the kind of special experience that makes all involved feel that something rather wonderful has taken place.

2011-02-20T18:29:00.002Z

HMS Campbeltown - 'last pipe'

March 28th, 2011, marked the 69th anniversary of the raid on Saint-Nazaire. Sadly, it also saw the last visit of the present HMS Campbeltown to the port so long associated with her name. A Type 22 Frigate of the 'Broadsword' Class, she is shortly to be decommissioned as part of the present government's contentious defence cuts. Launched on October 7th, 1987, and displacing 4,900 tons at full load, she is yet a young ship, and it is enormously sad to see her life cut short as part of a package of measures that can only accelerate our country's military decline.

The above image, taken on Campbeltown's after deck at the stroke of sunset on the evening of Monday 28th, shows the guard firing a salute as the White Ensign was hauled down. She was moored at the Quai du Commerce, with the huge bulk of the U-Boat pens in the background, and became the centre of attention in the port throughout her short stay. Earlier in the day, her crew, and her Commando complement, had together formed up next to the Monument du Commando where wreaths were laid by veterans and invited guests. Commander Keri Harris and his crew could not have been more courteous or hospitable during her stay - all in the very best traditions of the Senior Service.

Sad times for F86 - and for all those associated, both with the ship, and with the potent memories so closely bound to her name.

2011-02-06T15:00:00.000Z

'CROSSING THE BAR'

The sad passing of HMS Campbeltown's last surviving crew-member

I received the very sad news this weekend that Frank Edgar Pritchard had passed away, in Derriford Hospital, Plymouth, on January 29th.

Frank, at the time of the raid had been a Leading Stoker, and a mere 22 years old. He survived the assault on the ship, and returned to the UK on board Motor Gunboat 314.

Frank was a primary source for me when writing my first book on the raid. It is fair to say that without his contribution to the text the story of those who struggled, first to keep the old ship's engines running, and then to assist in her scuttling, might have been lost to history. I last met him in Falmouth at the time of the rededication of the Chariot memorial. He is shown below, with his wife Irene, outside the Falmouth Town Hall. (Image copyright Scott VanOsdol)

Details of the funeral are given below. All are welcome.

St James Church, St James Road, Torpoint Cornwall. PL11 2BH at 14:00Hrs

Then to Glynn Valley Crematorium, Turfdown Road, Bodmin. PL30 4AU at 15:30hrs

Comrades & United Services Club Torpoint Cornwall, PL11 2LH for
refreshments, all Welcome 17:00 hrs.

2010-12-10T15:36:00.004Z

NEVER BELIEVE EVERYTHING YOU READ!

Ever had that dream where you're in a difficult position and you're shouting as loud as you can - only nobody seems to be listening? Well, I am only one amongst many who have been labouring for years to correct past errors and misconceptions relating to Operation Chariot, with a view to making a clear and accurate picture of the raid available to anyone with a mouse and the will to spend five minutes on the Internet in an effort to get things right.

Imagine the frustration then, to read in a book by Sir Max Hastings ('Finest Years: Churchill as Warlord 1940-45') that, instead of a combined Naval and Commando force raiding the Forme Ecluse Joubert, in Saint-Nazaire (an enormous, very much non-floating dry dock still in use today), this was actually a 'Royal Navy' attack on a 'floating dock', which resulted in a 'generous issue of decorations...designed to make the survivors feel better about losses'. He goes on to mention that four Victoria Crosses were awarded, when in fact the number was five, and couches these awards in a tone which diminishes the heroism displayed by so many on that night. The text then goes on to talk of Tirpitz, but does not relate the fear of that ship to the attack on Saint-Nazaire, whose fictional 'floating dock' might have had some difficulty accommodating a vessel of her great size, but whose actual Forme Ecluse would have made a very suitable bolt-hole indeed.

Bearing in mind the number of people likely either to use such text as source material, or simply to form corrupt opinions because of it, such inaccuracy on the part of so eminent an historian, is puzzling to say the least.

Jeremy Clarkson's programme 'The Greatest Raid of all Time' was repeated on the BBC last Sunday. Who could ever have imagined that Jeremy Clarkson would make a greater effort to get things right than such a noted military historian!

2010-10-20T11:09:00.000+01:00

Colditz Memories

Shortly before his death, Micky was interviewed for a programme on Colditz, whose purpose was to preface a repeat showing of the eponymous TV series from the '70s, starring David McCallum and Robert Wagner. The main series begins on the 'YESTERDAY' channel, at 10pm on Tuesday October 26th. The introductory programme - 'COLDITZ: THE LEGEND', shows on the same channel, on Monday October 25th, also at 10pm.

Micky, who had no intention of escaping from Colditz in other than an intellectual sense, was interviewed at his home in North Wales: it was his appearance in front of a camera.

2010-09-20T16:42:00.011+01:00

Micky, our light for so long, now gone into light itself

The funeral service for Micky Burn, to whom we had all become so very close, was held on Thursday last, the 16th, at Llanfihangel Church, on a hill above the southern shore of the Glaslyn Estuary, North Wales. Micky had organised every detail of the service, including, so it would appear, the weather, with a bright sun shining down on the hundred or so relatives and friends who came to pay their respects.

The service included six of us who remembered him in speeches. Of course it was impossible to speak of Micky without recalling his many plumbing, culinary and other assorted mishaps, with the result that the church was filled with laughter. The service was followed by an equally good-humoured wake at Castel Duedraeth.

In the days before the funeral, enquiries arrived thick and fast from those preparing obituaries, these including the Associated Press, the New York Times, the Washington Post and The Week magazine, in Australia. We will try to combine these in a form that can be made generally available.

Meanwhile work on our film about Micky's life continues apace, our filming with Micky himself having been completed prior to his passing. A final shoot is pencilled in for early November, following the London Film Festival.

A pdf of the Order of Service will be added to the page below, which contains a moving video tribute paid to Micky by French TV- Channel 3.

www.michaelburnmc.co.uk

2010-09-05T11:48:00.000+01:00

Michael Burn: 1912 - 2010

74087: KRRC and 6/2 Commando

Micky passed away, at home in North Wales, on Friday evening, September 3rd. I spite of his 97 years, I guess we had all come to believe in his indestructibility. Right to the end, he was making notes for our film about his life - lest we lose our way and fail to note that he, as ever, was in charge. We now take on the task of recording and collating his very extensive archive, the record of a life lived to the full. As Micky so ably demonstrated, ageing does not have to mean 'getting old'. Discovery and achievement remain for us all as stepping-stones to ongoing accomplishment.

His example will not be forgotten by those of us he continued to test with theories born of an interrogative intellect. Rest in Peace, Micky.

2010-05-12T10:36:00.002+01:00

CHATSWORTH RENDEZVOUS

During April, we completed our final major shoot for the Michael Burn documentary. Highlight of the trip was lunching with, and interviewing, an old friend of his, the Dowager Duchess of Devonshire, who he had first met when visiting the Cotswold home of the Mitford family, of whose six famous daughters Deborah ('Debo') was the youngest. At the Old Vicarage, Chatsworth, where she lives now, an elderly guest-book was produced which contained Micky's signature dating from the early '30s, the turbulent decade in which they were each destined to meet with Hitler in Munich - in Micky's case the introduction being made by Deborah's sister Unity ('Bobo') Mitford, in one of Hitler's favorite restaurants, the Osteria Bavaria. The Duchess, who, by the way, is an avid Elvis fan, could not have been more welcoming, nor more open in recalling a time of great stress for the Mitford family, as they, as with so many others from that 'Lost Generation', vacillated between the equally unpalatable extremes of Communism and Fascism. A glimpse, not easily forgotten, into another, perhaps grander, era.

Sadly, towards the end of our stay, Micky suffered a slight stroke, from which he is now recovering in Alltwen Hospital, Tremadog. There remains some physical impairment; however, his legendary wit and acuity remain undiminished - as does the desire to see 'his' century, with all its turmoils - social, political, sexual - recalled on screen.

'WAR GAMES' in SAINT-NAZAIRE, MARCH 2010

2010-03-30T11:07:00.026+01:00

(Click on images below to enlarge)

40 feet down, in the bowels of the Pumping Station, Lieutenant-Colonel Ian Chant-Sempill recounts the story of his father, Lieutenant Stuart Chant, who in March 1942, although wounded, led his demolition team into the blackness to destroy the Station's four vital impeller pumps.

Remarkably, the battlefield at Saint-Nazaire remains today virtually as it was in March, 1942. Almost all of the original Commando and naval targets can be seen and experienced in their original form - their sheer size demonstrating the scale of the tasks assigned to such small and vulnerable Commando parties. For this reason the port has now become a destination for army groups seeking to study and critique both the planning and the execution of an operation considered by so many to be impossible.

The most recent army party, of 34 mixed ranks led by Lieutenant-Colonel Ian Chant-Sempill, arrived in port on March 24th for what was an almost forensic examination of Operation Chariot. Although the Normandie Dock is still in use and normally closed to the public, special permission was given for the men to visit the interior of the Pumping Station, South Winding House - and even the floor of the giant dock itself (above). The members of the party had been tasked with researching particular aspects of the raid, their individual presentations being given on-site as we moved around.

Unlike many battlefields, the one at Saint-Nazaire is compact and easily toured - the proximity of hotels, restaurants - even loos - only adding to its accessibility. On Thursday evening we had dinner in a bistro constructed within the huge Submarine-pen complex. itself only 100 metres from our hotel. Great company, great food and wine, and all the beauty of the Breton coast - can't wait for the next one!

Following the departure of the army and prior to the ceremony planned for Sunday the 28th, we took the opportunity to film additional scenes for our documentary about the remarkable (Captain) Micky Burn, whose Motor launch was destroyed with the loss of so many of his men.

Closing on the Old Mole, filming the approach to 'Micky's Steps' where ML192 crashed in flames in 1942. The steep, narrow steps lead up to the lighthouse, where Sub-Lieutenant Collinson and others of the crew, sought shelter from the rain of fire. In spite of wounds and shock, Micky, alone of his party, made it to his target at the northern extremity of the dockyard.

On the Old Mole itself, where one of the German blockhouses once stood, with Breton musicians Jean-Paul le Strat and George le Corre playing for us in the biting wind (photo courtesy of Hubert Chemereau).

The Old Mole was also the landing point of Second-Lieutenant (Now Dr.) Bill 'Tiger' Watson, who with his small Protection Party came ashore from Motor Launch 457. Here he is, complete with unnecessarily large bodyguard, during the commemorative ceremony held in Saint-Nazaire on March 28th. If only he had had back-up like this 68 years ago! (The photo was taken by David Tait, nephew of Lieutenant Morgan Jenkins, one of Micky Burn's Subalterns, who sadly died when Motor Launch 268 was destroyed close to the Old Entrance).

The approach to the dockyard as HMS Campbeltown would have seen it. We are only a few hundred metres from the 'Normandie' dock caisson, yet it is hidden from view behind the Old Mole. Imagine the view from her armoured wheelhouse all those years ago, blinded by searchlights, assailed by fire from every quarter, plunging ahead at eighteen and a half knots, all the time aware that the tiniest error in navigation would cause the collapse of the whole operation......

2009-11-09T11:41:00.029Z

The Lady meets the Old Master

An article of mine was published in 'The Lady', Tuesday November 10th. The subject, of course, was the extraordinary life of Micky Burn, and the piece was beautifully illustrated by Scott van Osdol's photos. Amongst a host of other adventures the text describes how Micky became involved in the operation of the Colditz Castle secret radio (www.colditzcastle.net). Here he is, seated at the radio in its new - rather easier to get at - position in the castle's museum: it used to be hidden high up in the roof. (Image copyright Scott Van Osdol)

Speaking of Scott's photographic expertise, we are proposing that his vibrant, detailed images of surviving Charioteers, including Micky of course, be contained in a commemorative volume whose working title is 'THE LAST OF OUR LADS'. Constructed around a series of photo-essays, its purpose is to bring past and present together in such a way as to pay due tribute to an extraordinary group of men. An abridged version of the book is currently being considered by publishers. We think it's a work of art. Fingers crossed!

If you're wondering where the term 'Old Master' comes in, just look at this image captured by Scott in the Osteria Italiana - erstwhile Osteria Bavaria - in Munich, where Unity Mitford used to spend endless hours waiting to be noticed by Hitler, and where all those years ago her rash young friend Micky, decided that waiting was unacceptable and presented himself to the Führer and his entourage in the courtyard where they were dining. Plus ça change....!

(Caravaggio, anyone?)

See www.vanosdol.com

FALMOUTH HOSTS THE CHARIOTEERS: OCTOBER 2009

2009-10-05T10:37:00.000+01:00

Saturday October 3rd was something of a banner day for the Charioteers and their families, as they were hosted by the port of Falmouth for a day-long series of events organised - expertly - by Eric Dawkins. Following a comfortable evening in the Royal Duchy Hotel, who had offered a very reasonable package to all those taking part, we assembled at the Chariot memorial on Prince of Wales pier for a Service of Memorial attended by numerous dignitaries, British and French, and representatives of several of HM ships. As you can see from the very inexpert snap above, the event attracted quite a crowd and will no doubt be described in detail for the next newsletter of the St Nazaire Society. A short service was conducted by the Reverend Barrington Bennetts, with General Corran Purdon giving a reading which ended with the Kohima Epigram - "When you go home tell them of us and say, for your tomorrows we gave our today".

The Service on the pier was followed by a reception on board the type 22 frigate HMS Chatham, sister ship of HMS Campbeltown, whose captain, Commander Huntington, and crew made everyone welcome on the afterdeck. A photo of the 'sting in her tail' is shown above.

That evening, prior to dinner in the Royal Duchy, there was a presentation to his niece, Elizabeth Ungly, of a book about Micky Burn and the boys of his No 6 Troop, written by the Australian author and historian Peter Stanley. The book recounts the extraordinary efforts of Micky's parents in the months and years following the raid, to determine the fate of 'the boys' and maintain contact with and between their all-too-often grieving families. The presence of M. Charles Nicol's son with his Breton pipes added a wonderful Celtic flavour to the event, this including his accompaniment of Siobhan Blake's moving rendition of 'Amazing Grace'. Indeed the presence of the representatives from St-Nazaire gave a particular context to the whole affair, with the Mayor, M. Joel Batteux, MBE, making a speech in unfamiliar English. In addition to M. Batteux there were, Mme Tesseyre, Deputy Mayor, Madam Boeff, Corporal Nicol, mentioned above, and M. and Mme Charles Nicol (Charles is Director of Communication for the port and a long-time friend of the Charioteers).

The whole event took us back to a time when the engine of civilization was not almost exclusively corporate and when concepts such as duty and honour were not so speedily dismissed at they are perhaps today. To illustrate this is the return journey, by train, from Falmouth to Shrewsbury, of Dr and Mrs Bill 'Tiger' Watson who were a little slow in making the transition between platforms in order to catch a connecting train. A request was made that the train be held for just a minute so that they could make it - needless to say this was not granted. Welcome to the world of frantic, impersonal 2009!

S

2009-07-16T14:19:00.003+01:00

Memories etched in time

The above image, by photographer Scott van Osdol, of Austin Texas, shows Micky Burn - Captain in charge of 6 Troop 2 Commando at the time of the Saint-Nazaire raid - at the base of the Old Mole, close to the point where the Motor Launch on which he and his men were traveling - ML192 - was destroyed by fire with great loss of life. The image was taken earlier this year during Micky's expedition to Saint-Nazaire, Munich and Colditz Castle, this being part of our ongoing project to document fully his extraordinary life.

From the substantial footage already shot, we have assembled a 'teaser', which can now be viewed at - www.youtube.com/michaelburnmc This should, we hope, give a preliminary 'feel' for just how much more there is to come.

Shooting continued at Micky's home in North Wales over the last five days, with an expert camera crew from New York: as per usual, and despite his 96 years, we wore out before Micky did. 'Commando spirit', it would seem, does not decline with the passing of the years.

2008-07-16T09:43:00.001+01:00

One of the dedication plaques making up the new Chariot memorial
(Image copyright Scott Van Osdol, 2008)

REDEDICATION OF THE FALMOUTH MEMORIAL

On Friday 11th July the Duke and Duchess of Cornwall visited Prince of Wales Pier, in Falmouth, to unveil an augmented Chariot memorial. Now located in a portion of the pier specifically set aside to commemorate the raid, the original granite 'rock' is surrounded by inscriptions recalling the observations of some of the veterans. The only downside to an otherwise moving ceremony was the Media Information pack distributed to journalists, which was, in places, wildly inaccurate. It gave the journey from Falmouth to Saint-Nazaire as 250 miles, when it was in fact closer to 420, and claimed as fallen far more than the actual total of Commandos and sailors present. Specifically, 624 men left Falmouth, not 322: and as regards casualties, the Royal Navy lost 102 men killed (with 90 POW), not '31 Officers and 751 ratings', while the Commandos lost 66 killed (and 124 POW), as opposed to the claimed '34 Officers and 178 other ranks'. I should also point out that many of the captured Commando officers were held in Spangenberg Castle (Oflag 1X A/H). not 'Spannenburg Castle'.

In spite of this, the visit could hardly have gone better, and sincere thanks are due to the town of Falmouth for hosting such a memorable event. Prior to the unveiling a number of raid veterans were presented to their Royal Highnesses - Leading Seaman Fred Catton, ML270; Leading Stoker Frank Pritchard, HMS Campbeltown; Sub-Lieutenant Hugh Arnold, DSC, ML446: Lieutenant Corran Purdon, MC, 12 Cdo; Captain Bob Montgomery MC, RE, attached 2 Cdo; Second Lieutenant Bill 'Tiger' Watson, MC, 1/2 Cdo; and Lance-Corporal Eric de la Torre, MBE, 3 Cdo, long time Hon Sec of the St-Nazaire Society. (Ranks given are those in force at the time of the raid)

2008-02-21T10:13:00.002Z

Operation CHARIOT: March, 1942

OK, so it's the early days of World War Two, and you're a soldier. You're young, you're fit, and you're bloody invincible. You're ready to grab the world by the balls and give it a shaking - but all the Army can find for you to do is march up and down all day guarding a fuel dump, an arms dump, an anything sodding dump: and, being England, it's probably raining - or worse. You're bloody miserable; maybe fantasizing about shooting the very next NCO to order you to do something patently stupid. And then, one miraculous day, a notice goes up on the Company board: 'VOLUNTEERS WANTED FOR SPECIAL SERVICE'. And all of a sudden your fires are burning bright again, for here is a God-given chance to escape the many absurdities of regular Army life and maybe, just possibly, join that already mythic body of young Gods known as the Army Commandos.

So you persuade your unit to let you go. Maybe they already consider you a trouble-maker - a 'THINKER' - too opinionated, too big for your boots; well let the damned Commandos try to sort you out, sonny boy, for you're not a fit for us!

So you find yourself on a train en-route to western Scotland. And it's a long, long journey and when you do eventually arrive at some isolated Highland halt, you're dog-weary, hungry and longing for a cup of 'char' and a kip. But there's no transport to take you to the distant camp: this is the Commandos, chum: you can run all the way there - with your rifle and all your kit. So you eventually arrive, jelly-legged at the camp gate, to be met by a deeply unimpressed NCO, who wags his finger at you and bars the way to a heaven of food and warm beds. 'Not so fast,' he says. 'See that little hill over there...' And you cast your eyes around a landscape of towering mountains, their tops shrouded in damp, clinging mist. 'Well, up the top of that one...' Your heart skips a beat as you realize he really is pointing to the highest and craggiest of them all. '...is a chum of mine who'll give you a little chit when you get to the top. Oh, and if you don't happen to reach the top, don't bother coming back here. You already know the way to the station and I'm sure there'll be a train right back to your unit tomorrow!'

Welcome to the new, crazy, wonderful world of the Commandos.

So you make it back; you make it through probation; you're accepted OK and you join a group of men who'll become closer to you than your own skin. And you train: and you train: and then you train some more - but of a hot war in which to prove your new self there is nary a sign. But then at last, just when all hope seems to be gone, you and the best and brightest of your pals board a troopship for the long voyage to the port of Falmouth, on England's south west coast. Now you're talking! This time something really is up: something big; and you're off to war at last. You don't know where, or why, or for what - but all around you morale is sky high. 'Jerry' is in for a pasting, and you and your fellow buccaneers are going to dole it out in spades.

And then you learn you're going to attack one of Germany's biggest and most important U-boat bases. It's somewhere you've never heard of, on the French Atlantic coast. And when you get there you're going to blow up everything in sight - including some gigantic - apparently - dry dock. But here's a wrinkle. You're offered a chance to back out! But do you even think of it - not bloody likely. You've moved heaven and earth to get here and you're not going to back out now. But the fact they even offered it - must be a bit dangerous, this, whatever it is. But hey, you and your pals are invincible, right: everybody, except maybe Jerry knows that; and Jerry'll find out to his cost soon enough!

So you set sail in a convoy of destroyers and wooden boats. You're the lucky one, being on a destroyer: pity the poor sods in the boats, what with three thousand gallons of petrol on board and no protection except a few planks of firewood. Mind you, your ancient destroyer isn't much to write home about. Got anti-shrapnel padding all round the bridge, and funny metal screens laid out along the deck amidships. Somebody said you were going to have to lie behind one of these when the shit hit the fan: had to be a joke, that....there's always one leg-puller around, ready to put the wind up a person.

And so, after a couple of days 'ocean cruising' you arrive off the coast of France - and all hell breaks loose. All around is noise, flash, smoke, blood, explosions, the stink of cordite, the cries of the wounded and the smell of your own fear. Your old destroyer - the scene of a party only the day before - seems to be at the very heart of a nightmare. And then it crashes into the dock, and you're up, and then you're ashore, and people everywhere seem to be hell-bent on killing you. And you run, and you try to kill them back. No time to think. Adrenalin surges through your body and the training takes over. Explosions everywhere. All around are bodies - yours, theirs, everywhere you look. Time stands still. You cross an iron bridge, with bullets pinging and slapping at your feet. Railway trucks: good shelter there. You and a few mates. Careful of the ammo: not much left. Careful with the grenades - choose your targets for they're worth their weight in gold right now. You look round. Your mates are up and running. You run too - alleys, fences, sheds, everywhere seems to be under fire. No shelter now. Men around you are half-seen to fall. It should mean something - but there's no time to complete the thought. Another iron bridge, this time much, much bigger. You are part of a human tide surging towards it. Grenades explode in another world, where other people fall - not you. Machine-gun bullets flash and slap everywhere. Then you are over - part of a smaller group now, in streets, then gardens, then houses; then a cellar, and the world comes to a halt. You begin to shake. The adrenalin is gone and you collapse onto a mattress lying on the floor. But you have to stay alert: the Germans will surely come. Fuck the Germans! Nothing is more important right now than sleep. Of course they do come - but fail to kill you. If the roles had been reversed you wouldn't have been so accommodating. So now you're a POW. A sodding POW, with the rest of the war to look forward to in a flea-infested camp. And it's time to count the cost.

Of the more than six hundred soldiers and sailors who left English shores, almost 30% were killed. Of the remainder, most became POWs, and wounded POWs at that. Number 2 Commando, provider of the fighting troops, was decimated and had to be rebuilt.

But a major blow had been struck - or so the men were told. And the flood of medals seemed to reflect a nation's gratitude. Five Victoria Crosses, for Christ's sake. Five VCs, against the one VC awarded for the Dambusters' Raid. Five VCs - the largest number awarded for any single action during the war. Surely that same grateful nation would/could never forget such a signal achievement.

Yet here we are, almost 66 years into the future; and for most of those 66 years this huge achievement HAS been forgotten. Somehow or other it has managed, consistently, to fall through the cracks. In March, 2007, I worked with Jeremy Clarkson on a documentary about it entitled 'The Greatest Raid of All Time'. When it aired, the BBC log was flooded with plaudits, the majority of which also registered surprise at never having heard of this before. There have been two attempts at movies, but both were botched. A few documentaries have also appeared over the years, reviewed in my website - www.jamesgdorrian.com - but even these only managed to scratch the surface.

Back in March of 1942 something very special happened to an equally very special group of young men, most of whom are now gone. Only a handful of the original veterans remain. Outside military circles almost no one knows of them - yet here are real heroes: the original Commandos: the best. So what can be done to elevate their memory to its proper status? I have already written two books about the raid, but here again these circulate mostly within knowledgeable military circles. To a world obsessed with shallow celebrity, these real celebrities do not exist, never have existed; and I for one believe the world is a poorer place for having neglected them.

Re the images above: The B/W photo is of the Bridge of Memories, the iron bridge across which passed the unstoppable tide of surviving Commandos (copyright James Dorrian): the colour card is copyright Terry Gaylor, www.terencegaylor.com. It shows HMS Campbeltown striking home and is one of several of Terry's excellent illustrations to be found on the storyboards page at www.jamesgdorrian.com