Gardening Advice at Dunkirk

A Postal Worker with the BEF in 1940

In my hand I hold a small pocket diary for the year 1940, printed for gardeners by the Royal Horticultural Society.

Its pages offer advice on pruning fruit trees, planting seedlings, and preparing the soil for spring.

Yet in the blank spaces between that advice the diary records something very different: the collapse of France, the retreat of the BEF, and what would later be called the “miracle” of Dunkirk.

This diary tells one man’s story.

That man was my father.

What follows is the story of that diary – and of the first five months of 1940, a journey that took him from Waterloo Station to Southampton to Swindon by way of France and Belgium, via the beaches of Dunkirk.

At the back of the diary he noted a recently published translation – C. Day Lewis’s new version of Virgil’s Georgics, the ancient poem about farming, labour, and the life of the land. At the front of his translation Day Lewis chose lines that capture a timeless tension between war and the land.

But first, a digression.

The Postal Sorter

My father joined the Post Office – the General Post Office, or GPO – in 1922. He was sixteen years old, two years out of school, the youngest of four children raised in a farmhouse on the Sussex coast, so close to the English Channel that the cliff beneath it eventually gave way and the house slipped into the sea in the 1930s.

His father was a tenant farmer who grew what was then called “green meat” for the dray horses of a Brighton brewery – clover, alfalfa, and other fodder crops for working horses.

With the GPO my father worked as a postal sorter in Sutton, Nottingham, and later in London at Mount Pleasant, the great hub of the London postal system. At times he worked aboard the traveling post office trains, sorting letters while the trains steamed through the night – work immortalised in the celebrated 1936 GPO documentary Night Mail, with music by Benjamin Britten and words by W. H. Auden. If you have never seen that film, you should.

In 1936 he also did short term service with the army in Palestine during the Arab Revolt. His certificate of service records that he enlisted in the Royal Engineers as a sapper, serving as a Postal Sorter Class III in the Army Postal Service.

When that emergency ended he returned to the GPO, but remained in the Supplementary Reserve – meaning that in the event of war he would be among the first to be called up.

And so it proved. When war was declared on Sunday 3 September 1939 he was immediately back in uniform.

The Army Postal Service of the Royal Engineers was largely staffed by experienced GPO men. They sailed with the first contingents of the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) from Southampton to Cherbourg on 9 September.

I do not have his diary for 1939, so I cannot say with certainty that he was on those first ships. But the circumstances suggest it is highly likely. The date written in a poetry anthology he gave to the teacher (E.) who would soon become his wife suggests that he left on the 9th. Adding that date would have been exactly the kind of careful, factual thing he would do.

Just inside the front cover is what I assume to be a telephone number: Farnham Common 434. That was where my mother was, with children evacuated from St.Michael’s School in Pimlico.

On the first memo page there is the name Henri Beautrais and an address in Nantes. My guess is that this was where he was billeted.

As I said, I do not have the diary for 1939. The trail begins instead in January 1940, when the war –  the “Phoney War” – in France was still quiet.

He had been home on leave for Christmas and the New Year.

January: Return from Home Leave

The entries are brief and factual.

Jan 7 — Waterloo 12.20 pm; Soton 2.20 am; SS Bruges

Waterloo station to Southampton, for an overnight Channel crossing to Cherbourg on the SS Bruges

Jan 8 –  Cherbourg 9.15 am; Nantes 10 pm
Jan 9 – Left Nantes 6 pm; Arr Le Mans 10 pm
Jan 10 – Left Le Mans 7 pm; Arras 12.30 pm
Jan 11 – Arras 12.30 pm; Gouy-sous-Bellonne 7 pm
Jan 12 – Genech 12.30 pm

Once in France, the diary traces the mail route, long journeys by train or lorry, sorting of mail, places where  field post offices (FPOs) were set up to keep the mail flowing back and forth from the front lines established to repel any German invasion. AI-assisted reconstruction shows how far the postal team traveled each day, carrying mail that connected soldiers to home – crucial for troop morale.

The diary reflects the meticulous precision of a postal sorter: times, locations, and codes mark each movement. The winter in northern France that year was exceptionally bitter. But there are no entries about the weather, the working conditions, the living arrangements, or the food, or the psychological strain – details we can now reconstruct using mapping and historical records.

Routines

By February, entries include more coded references, likely postal consignment or field post office identifiers:

Jan 26 –  K 29 A 011903; K 29 A 011904
Jan 27 –  Regt → FC
Feb 2 – E 35 A 242894; H98A 930157 to FC
Feb 12 – K22A 662037; K22A 662038; D 93A 509218
Feb 15 – 30 cwt 9.30; minimillion 11.30

These cryptic strings of alphanumeric codes record mailbag consignments, routing numbers, and transfers between regimental posts and Forward Command (“Regt → FC”). 

The note “30 cwt 9.30; minimillion 11.30” likely refers to transport loads and times – possibly trucks carrying 30 hundredweight of mail.

The codes hint at the unglamorous but essential work of moving letters and parcels between field post offices, regiments, and sorting sections. “FC” probably refers to Forward Command – the hub responsible for distributing mail at the front lines. Archival reconstruction allows us to visualise the work of loading mailbags into lorries, coordinating with railway timetables, and navigating the strict accountability of military postal work.

The Postal Corridor to the Front 

By March 1940 the diary reflects the growing movement of the BEF across northern France. It’s a record of journeys between railway hubs, postal depots, and field post offices.

The entries remain characteristically brief – often nothing more than a place name, a time, or a coded reference. Yet behind these fragments lies the work of the Royal Engineers postal units, responsible for moving thousands of letters and parcels through a network that stretched from Britain to the front lines. Each coded entry represents a link in that chain.

As the month progresses, places such as Genech, Orchies, and Amiens begin to appear repeatedly, revealing the route of a mobile postal detachment operating along the BEF’s northern communication corridor.

By March, the diary tracks the BEF’s postal units moving steadily toward Belgium:

• Mar 2 –  J35A 352805; K22A 662036; 83Z 510368
• Mar 20 – Left Genech 1200 hrs; Orchies; Genu 1900 hrs
• Mar 21 – Amiens S.7 18.30 hrs; left S7 21 hrs; FP07 22.35; 45 bags
• Mar 24–28 – Amiens
• Mar 31 – Left Henu; arrived Genech
  

Looking at the earlier bag codes it looks like  K22A 662036 indicates a mailbag that had gone astray. 

The March 21 entry is especially revealing. “S.7” likely refers to Sorting Section 7, a railway-based sorting van. Forty-five bags of mail were processed in one night – thousands of letters and parcels connecting soldiers to home. AI-assisted mapping shows the effort, distances, and tempo behind these terse lines.

Amiens was a postal hub one of the principal railway junctions used by the British Expeditionary Force. Its stations handled troop movements, supply trains, and large volumes of military mail moving between the Channel ports and the front.

The repeated Amiens entries suggest long hours at the sorting hub, processing, recording, and preparing mail for dispatch. The diary is calm and factual. There’s no hint of the rumours and reality of the impending German offensive that would soon sweep through Belgium and France.

The notation “S.7” most likely refers to Sorting Section 7 –  possibly a railway sorting van or mobile postal section attached to a train. This system resembled Britain’s mail trains on which postal workers sorted letters while trains were in motion. 

The entry appears to record a precise sequence of events:

• 18:30 – Arrival at Sorting Section 7 in Amiens
• 21:00 – Departure after sorting operations
• 22:35 –-Mail delivered to Field Post Office 07
• 45 mailbags processed
  

Even in this brief note the scale of the operation becomes clear. Forty-five bags of mail moved through the system in a single evening. Each bag contained hundreds of letters and parcels, meaning thousands of personal messages were being processed and redirected toward soldiers stationed across northern France and Belgium.

For the men serving in the BEF these letters were often the most important event of the day – news from home,  parcels, and reminders of the life they had left behind. For the postal engineers responsible for moving them, they were part of a continuous logistical chain that had to function with accuracy and discipline.

It was meticulous, methodical work and hard labour – essential to maintaining morale across an army deployed away from home.

Return to Genech

The final entry for the month records another short movement:

Mar 31 – Left Henu; arrived Genech

Hénu is a small village in the Pas-de-Calais department, situated between Amiens and Arras near the Arras headquarters.. It served as a mail staging post on the route between the major hub of Amiens and the front lines at Genech near the Belgian border. Hénu was near the Arras headquarters. The Royal Engineers (Postal Section) maintained a network of “links” between the Base in Nantes and the forward units. Hénu would have served as a “staging post” where mail bags were transferred from heavy lorries coming from the south to smaller units heading further north to the front lines. Many small villages like Hénu were used by the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) as secondary Field Post Office (FPO) sites or rest areas for transport columns.

The Invisible Network

Taken together, these sparse entries reveal the invisible infrastructure behind wartime communication.

Letters travelled by train, by lorry, and through temporary sorting depots scattered across northern France. Postal sappers tracked each bag carefully, noting times, destinations, and quantities. The precision of entries such as the timings on March 21 reflects the strict accountability required: mailbags often contained not only letters but registered parcels, money orders, and official dispatches, all of which had to be logged and transferred accurately.

What appears to be a handful of cryptic notes is actually a trace of a complex logistical system.

Genech, Orchies, and Amiens formed part of the BEF’s northern postal corridor, linking the forward areas of Belgium and northern France with the main rail routes back to the Channel ports and ultimately to Britain.

The diary therefore records more than the movements of one man. It documents the functioning of the army’s lifeline to home.

Behind every short entry – a time, a place, a number of mailbags – lies the steady effort of keeping soldiers connected to their families.

The Calm Before the Storm

In March 1940 the work recorded in these pages still followed a steady rhythm. Trains arrived, mailbags were unloaded and sorted, and postal detachments moved methodically between railway hubs across northern France. Mail from Britain travelled through ports and depots to the front lines. 

Behind the scenes, the military situation was shifting rapidly. German forces were preparing the offensive that would soon sweep through Belgium and northern France. When it came, the carefully organised network of depots, railways, and postal centres would be forced into sudden movement and improvisation.

The March entries capture one of the final moments when the machinery of the BEF operated in relative order. Mail moved predictably through hubs such as Amiens and Genech. 

This stability is not going to last. 

Mystery Entries and Home Leave 

• Apr 4 –  Cardiff; 2 Chrylldd Pol; 3 Chesterfield
• Apr 7 – Left Genech 6 pm; Bersee 6.30 pm; 7.30; Cantin 8.30 pm; 11.30 pm
• Apr 8–22 – Boulogne, Maid d’Orleans, Dover; Paddington; Victoria; Westminster Hospital; Princess Maud

The April 4 entry remains a mystery. AI initially suggested a trip to Cardiff, but no times, no ships, no towns, or logistical markers appear. It may reflect an address, a misread envelope, or a note meant only for himself.

This period also introduces a personal note. The E. he meets at Paddington is Edith whom he will marry later in the year. This diary is also a track record of their romance. Not mentioned in it are the postcards he mailed to her daily. 

The hour at Bersee probably records the time needed to drop off the mailbags for delivery to the frontlines and to pick up the mail headed for home. Just as during WW1 the mail service to the front lines normally remained remarkably fast and efficient.

The Retreat – Dunkirk 

In May the calm recorded in the earlier pages dramatically  collapses. After months of orderly movement through railway depots and postal hubs, the German offensive begins – and all hell breaks loose.

• May 10 –  Left Genech for Gouey (T.1)
  
• May 13–30 – Retreat through Thollembeek, Brussels, Wambrechies, Bray Dune, Dunkirk; final evacuation on H.M.S. Hebe

May 10 was the day the German Army invaded Belgium and the Low Countries and smashed through the Ardennes forest in a pincer movement that would drive the British and French armies toward the Channel coast.

Each place name represents retreat under German pressure. Historical sources and  maps show roads clogged with refugees, advancing Luftwaffe aircraft, and abandoned vehicles.

The towns recorded in the diary – Genech, Arras, Amiens – had been part of the BEF’s communications network. Once the German breakthrough reached the Channel, those same routes became the narrow corridor through which the British army retreated toward Dunkirk.

As the retreat accelerated, postal units were sometimes forced to burn sacks of undelivered letters rather than allow them to fall into German hands –  a bitter duty for men whose work had been to keep the mail moving.

His orders would have been to protect the cash boxes, destroy the equipment, burn the mailbags. Leave nothing of value for the German Army. 

The terse lines “Bray Dune” or “Dunkerque” compress days of exhaustion, fear, and improvisation. When he finally records, “Left Dunkerque; H.M.S. Hebe; Dover,” it is understated but signifies survival amid chaos.

The East Mole and HMS Hebe

We know from the diary that he was evacuated on the minesweeper HMS Hebe which on that day picked up men from the beaches and also from the East Mole. The diary shows no water damage indicates that he was evacuated from the Mole and not from the beaches.

The East Mole, one of Dunkirk’s two mile-long breakwaters, was the lifeline of the evacuation, allowing deep-water ships to dock. Its narrow, 8-foot-wide wooden walkway rested on latticed concrete piles, never designed for heavy traffic. Soldiers stood in tight columns, exposed to weather and enemy fire.

The waters on either side of the Mole were littered with wreckage and debris, the remains of ships previously hit, and men could see destruction stretching both left and right  –  a grim landscape beyond the Mole’s walkway.

Ships like HMS Hebe moored directly alongside the tip of the Mole while smaller boats ferried troops from the beaches to larger vessels.

The diary’s calm brevity hides the immense pressure, terror, and physical exhaustion: men waited for hours, some days without sleep or proper rations, while bombs and shells fell nearby. Captain James Campbell Clouston, the pier-master, heroically regulated the flow, ensuring lines kept moving. If a ship caught fire or was hit, it had to be moved immediately –  even if it meant leaving men behind temporarily  –  to avoid blocking the only deep-water embarkation point.

The Diary and the Reality of War

The diary is striking for what it omits. It has pages on pests – onion maggots, bean weevils, millipedes, and queen wasps – and even notes the Chelsea Flower Show on May 22.

Yet it records nothing of resisting panzers, dive-bombing Stukas, civilians machine-gunned in the streets, the massacre of prisoners, or the burning of mailbags and equipment. The mundane horticultural advice sits in stark contrast with the existential terror just outside the page margins.

This contrast is the diary’s power: it preserves both the ordinary and extraordinary, the internal life of a man who dreams of land and cultivation while living through one of history’s most dramatic evacuations.

Virgil and the Wicked War-God

At the back of the diary, my father noted C. Day Lewis’s translation of Virgil’s Georgics. Published in 1940, it may have been discovered through a review rather than directly read in that year, but its presence reflects a scholarly yearning. As Lewis’s translation reads:

“…there’s so much war in the world, Evil has so many faces, the plough so little Honour, the labourers are taken, the fields untended,
There the East is in arms, here Germany marches: Neighbour cities, breaking their treaties, attack each other: The wicked War-god runs amok through all the world.”

Here is the man behind the codes and timetables: a postal sorter who left school at fourteen, yet found significance in poetry and agrarian ideals, dreaming of smallholding independence even as the world burned around him.

Conclusion

Across these five months, the diary moves from quiet logistics to extreme survival. Each cryptic entry, each coded reference, becomes immersive history when paired with AI-assisted maps, research, and historical context. It shows how ordinary men – postal sorters, sappers, and clerks – became part of extraordinary events.

The contrast between horticultural advice and wartime terror, between the dream of tending land and the reality of moving mail through chaos, gives the diary its compelling humanity. It records the life of a man who kept the mail moving even as he longed for a life rooted in the soil.