“In total, 1,297 French sailors were killed in the attacks – men who, only days earlier, had stood as Britain’s allies.”
By Edward Abel Smith
THE amber dawn broke fiercely over the bay of Mers el-Kébir on Wednesday 3 July 1940, the sun catching on the elegant steel hulls of the 11 French ships of the Force de Raid moored in the harbour’s still waters.
As the crew of the 214-metre flagship Dunkerque began their day, Vice Admiral Marcel-Bruno Gensoul stood on the bridge, surveying the sunlit harbour. Everything on the coast of Algeria seemed normal. He was completely oblivious to the fact that just beyond the horizon, a powerful British fleet was closing in at speed, its guns loaded and crews at action stations. This was Force H, sent with a single, uncompromising purpose: to confront their closest ally and, if necessary, destroy its navy.
Despite its failing military, by 1940 France possessed the fourth largest fleet in the world. At Mers el-Kébir, Dunkerque and her sister battleship Strasbourg were the jewels in France’s floating crown. Winston Churchill was gripped by the fear that since France’s surrender to the Germans, their fleet might fall into Hitler’s hands. To prevent that outcome, he dispatched Force H.
Captain Cedric ‘Hookie’ Holland – a committed Francophile and fluent French speaker – was sent ahead to negotiate. His ultimatum was stark: the French must either join the British, sail to neutral ports, or scuttle their ships. Failing that, they would be destroyed.
From the outset, his mission was fraught. Vice Admiral Gensoul took immediate umbrage at negotiating with an officer several ranks his junior, and refused Holland even a direct meeting at first. Gensoul deliberately prolonged the talks, buying time to manoeuvre his ships or prepare for the fight he now believed was inevitable.
By late afternoon, no agreement had been reached. At 17:54 hours, British Vice Admiral James Somerville signalled the codeword “ANVIL”. The guns of Force H opened fire.
The effect was immediate and devastating. Heavy shells from HMS Hood, Valiant and Resolution tore into their targets. The French responded as best they could, but their return fire was brief and increasingly ineffective.
Devastation was unimaginable. French battleship Bretagne was struck with shattering precision. An almighty explosion sent a towering flash of fire high into the sky, obliterating the ship almost instantly, leaving only burning oil, scattered wreckage, and a handful of survivors struggling in the water.
At 18:10 hours, just 16 minutes after the first shells had been fired, Gensoul sent Somerville a message: ‘All my ships are out of action. I request you cease fire.’
It appeared a grim success for the British – until, at 18:20, an urgent signal arrived from a spotter aircraft: “One French battleship has left harbour and is going east.” Strasbourg had slipped through the smoke, threaded the minefield, and was already steaming at speed for France.
Somerville gave chase, and launched six Fairey Swordfish from HMS Ark Royal. Flying low under heavy anti-aircraft fire, they dropped their torpedoes in sequence. One clipped Strasbourg‘s stern, but Captain Collinet turned the ship hard to port at the last moment, throwing off the spread in a superb piece of seamanship. By 20:55, Somerville abandoned the chase. Strasbourg slipped away into the Mediterranean, arriving at Toulon battered but unbroken to a hero’s reception.
As the sun rose the following morning, small tugs moved slowly through the wreckage, men using grappling hooks and cargo nets to recover the dead. A severed hand with a watch still ticking. A decapitated head. Indistinguishable remains scooped into buckets. Those identified were laid out in makeshift chapels of rest; those who could not be were wrapped in sailcloth and driven to the cemetery at Mers el-Kébir, where long trenches were hacked from the hard ground. Above each, a rough wooden cross bore a single word: “INCONNU.”
Vice Admiral Gensoul stood over the graves of his men.
“You had promised to obey your superiors,” he said, “in whatever they might command you to do for the honour of the flag and the greatness of the arms of France. If there is a stain on a flag today, it is certainly not on yours.”
In total, 1,297 French sailors were killed in the attacks – men who, only days earlier, had stood as Britain’s allies.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Edward Abel Smith is the author of A Hateful Decision: Churchill’s Darkest Hour and the British Attack on the French Navyfrom Penguin Books. A writer, documentary filmmaker and podcaster, he is the author of several books about the Second World War. His writing has appeared in numerous publications including The Telegraph, The Mail on Sunday, The Times, The Guardian and The Washington Times. He has also been a guest on BBC Radio 4 and BBC World Service, as well as many history podcasts. Edward lives near the South Coast of England with his wife, two daughters and their dog, Vesper. Visit his website: www.edwardabelsmith.com.
