them in 1941.
In addition the French Navy completed the Pas-de-Calais minefields. Between the 6th and 12th of June the Pollux and three other French minelayers from Cherbourg finished blocking the channel along the French coast there in an operation that was full of danger.
On the 4th of June the following Navy communique was published to an anxious France:
During the night of June 3, the last Army and Navy units which, under the orders of Admiral Abrial, had been defending Dunkirk to permit the withdrawal and embarkation of the allied Armies of the North, were, in their turn, evacuated in good order after having rendered the port unusable. The British and French Navies, by their close collaboration, successfully concluded an operation unique in history which permitted them to rescue over 300,000 men of the Allied Armies. . . .
This was followed by the names of the ships lost. At that time only part of the French losses were given out. Moreover, on June 4 the actual losses were not even known to the Navy. The casualties, as finally tabulated, amounted to 2 super-destroyers, 5 fleet-destroyers, 30 auxiliary mine-sweepers (armed trawlers), 5 tugs, 3 oil tankers, 12 cargo ships, 1 passenger liner, and several other small vessels of which no trace has ever been found. Numerically these losses amounted to approximately one-fifth of the 300 ships of all sizes which the French Navy had committed to this operation.
Thus ends the story of the miracle at Dunkirk. It was successful beyond all expectations. Even if the results had only been half so great, the incalculable importance of the defensive measures taken by the Commander in Chief of the Naval Forces, North, should always be remembered. There were countless others who contributed their share to that triumph, but it would be impossible to do justice to them all. Pilots of the Royal Air Force—ships’ gunners—firemen—infantrymen on the Mardyck Canal—masters of fishing boats or captains of destroyers—all of these, and others, share with Admiral Abrial and Admiral Ramsay in the glory of the feat which robbed Germany of a great part of her victory in the West. And who knows if it did not later influence Germany’s decision to forego the invasion of England?
1 It is known today that this success on the part of the German motor torpedo boats based on the Dutch coast was due in part to their deciphering the message which the Jaguar sent to Dunkirk giving the time of her arrival.
2 Ever since the fall of Abbeville, when the last remaining land wire was cut, all messages between Supreme General Headquarters and the First Group of Armies were handled by the Navy.
3 Extract from Admiral Abrial’s official report.
4 Counted from 0800 on May 29 to 0800 on May 30. In principle, evacuees embarked on a ship that was sunk are not counted; instead, they are credited to the rescuing ship.
5 Fast, small German craft, similar to the U.S. PT-boat.
6 The record for these ships belongs to the Impétueuse (Lieutenant Commander François Bachy), which disembarked 649 men at Dover on May 31. In time of peace no commanding officer would dream of embarking half that number on a ship of that class.
7 Captain Urvoy de Porzamparc, well known and very popular in the Navy, commanded the 2nd Flotilla, based on Brest, which consisted of 12 destroyers of the Cyclone class (1,500 tons). Of the 9 placed under the orders of Admiral, North, 5 were sunk and 4 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 battle.
8 Note by Jacques Mordal: Among them I was fortunate to find myself with Lieutenant Jacquelin de la Porte de Vaux, one of my shipmates in the Jaguar, sunk 15 days before. The Emile Deschamps went down in a few seconds, taking with her a great many of our sailors, as well as a number of the survivors of the Jaguar. But, as in all tragedies, this event had its lighter side. After I had surfaced and recovered my breath, I heard myself being hailed by de la Porte de Vaux with, “Hello, Hello! Let’s sing!” And he began singing “The Song of Departure (“Le Chant du Départ”), one of our most famous military marches.
I was picked up by the British sloop Albury; I do not remember the ship which picked up de la Porte de Vaux. But it so happened that the same ambulance carried us both to the first aid station at Margate. En route I was strongly reproached by him for not having sung while in the water, “as all sailors with their hearts in the right place must do in such circumstances.”
I had been in no more of a mood to sing patriotic songs than my clothing could be said to give me a martial appearance. In fact, I was covered by a single blanket, which I felt sliding off me while I was being carried by a big devil of an Englishman toward a group of nurses who were attending the wounded. An indignant “Shocking!” coming from the lips of a blushing young nurse finally conveyed to me the fact that the said blanket and I had parted company.
It so happened that I was repatriated to France shortly afterward, while de la Porte de Vaux was still in a hospital in England at the time of the armistice between France and Germany. I continued to serve in what became known as the “Vichy Navy,” while he joined the Free French Naval Forces. The reverse could just as well have happened; and astute is he who will tell me what my feelings would have been if I had been in my comrade’s place. Meeting unexpectedly one evening in Paris after the liberation, we fell into each other’s arms, calling each other “You dirty Vichyite!” and “You dirty De Gaulliste!” Then we ran together to the nearest bar to swap reminiscences. We almost left our whole month’s pay there!
Fall of the French Atlantic Ports
Day after day the inspiring message had gone out over the radio to a breathless France: “The entrenched camp of Dunkirk still holds fast.” Now it was over. Dunkirk had fallen.
But thanks to the Navies, all had not been lost. And remembering 1914, when a new line of defense had been created, even after days and weeks of suspense, the French wanted to believe that a new front could again be established—this time on the Somme.
But the French Navy could think only of its immediate job—keeping open the seaways, the only means by which France could continue to live. The northern ports had fallen, but the Atlantic and Channel ports still remained.
And the Navy’s prestige had never stood so high. Admiral Abrial’s name was on every lip. The survivors of Dunkirk, returning from England, were loud in their gratitude.
One of the immediate results was that on June 8, 1940, a Government decree placed all the Channel and Atlantic ports under the authority of the Commander in Chief of the Naval Forces in the same manner as the cities on the land front came under the authority of the Army.
The majority of those ports were in desperate situation. Their harbors choked by refugee ships, their roadsteads blocked by enemy magnetic mines, they were in danger of quick strangulation. The French Admiralty immediately sent to each port a qualified senior officer, with the title of “Delegate of the Admiralty,” to coordinate and direct the action of all services, civil or military, concerned with the operation of the port. It was hoped that these Missi dominici11 would clear the waterways and speed up traffic. But they arrived only in time to preside over the evacuation of the operable ships, the scuttling of those not able to get under way, the burning of petroleum stocks, etc.
Messengers
