Dunkirk Spirit Part 14

'f.u.c.kin' Army,' muttered the ape quietly behind Archie's shoulder.

07:30 Wednesday 29 May 1940.

Bergues-Hondschoote Ca.n.a.l, France 'Officers' conference! Officers' conference!' bellowed Colour Sergeant Collingswood from outside the barn. 'Gentlemen, please!'

'Right, this is it,' thought Sandy, pulling himself to his feet. Lucas stretched out both hands to steady him and then stood back.

'How's that feel, sir?' he asked.

'Good,' replied Sandy. 'It feels good. Those tablets are working.' He took a tentative step forward. Lucas stretched out again to catch him but Sandy raised his hand to hold him back. 'It really is fine.' He shook his head and smiled. 'I just need to get the momentum.' With that, Lieutenant Alexander Mackenzie-Knox hobbled up the road. He turned and called back to Sergeant Harris. 'Tell the men, fifteen minutes, no more.'

Eleven Platoon had arrived at the rendezvous thirty minutes earlier and had been happy to find the remainder of the battalion stretched out in a narrow dirt road, surrounded either side by fields of tall green corn. Since then, Sandy had been examined by the medical officer and told, in no uncertain terms, to mark himself down hors de combat and catch the next ambulance going north.

'What, and miss the party?' Sandy had looked momentarily startled. 'Are you joking, Duncan?'

'I'm deadly serious. You may have remarkable powers of healing, but it won't stop your feet turning black with gangrene. You need proper hospital treatment.'

'That's nonsense,' Sandy scoffed. 'I'm not going to be running around. I'll be able to take it easy. Just give me a nice damp trench and a Lewis gun and I'll be fine.'

Duncan tilted his head to one side and gave Sandy a long, hard stare. He looked down briefly to finish the last knot, and then lifted himself upright.

'Take these,' he said, pulling a small dark bottle from his bag. 'Take two now. And then two more every six hours. Do not swallow them! These have to be placed beneath the tongue, and left to dissolve slowly.'

'What happens if I swallow them?'

'You're probably have a heart attack.'

Sandy's heart was pounding now, as he struggled towards the barn. But with each step, walking became a little easier.

'Ah, Sandy, old boy! Good of you to join us.' Peter placed an arm in a fatherly fas.h.i.+on around Sandy's shoulders, considerably adding to the pressure on his feet. He steered him into the barn.

'How are the old feet then? Better now?'

'Much, sir. Thank you.'

'That's good, because I'm giving you Number Three Company.'

'Sir?'

'We are a bit short-handed as you know and now with your lot, the company can only scratch together thirty-seven men.'

'Just thirty-seven, sir? That's around one-third...'

'Yes, I know. A heavy butcher's bill. Look, plonk yourself down here. I have to take the cla.s.s.'

'Gentlemen! A very good morning to you,' announced Peter walking to the centre of the barn and hopping onto a raised platform at the back.

'Boo! Hiss!'

'Get him off!'

'Yes, and I'm glad to see you, too! But I am glad to see that you made it. Our task now, as many of you know, is to provide rearguard support.' He craned his head towards the open barn door. 'Bergues, as you no doubt can hear, is getting a pounding as we speak and can probably expect a ground a.s.sault any time. When that happens, gentlemen, we can expect pressure on our sector here.'

'Just how wide is our sector?'

'Wide enough! Just over a thousand yards. Nigel!'

'Yes, sir!'

'Number One Company will be responsible for blowing the bridge.' Peter smiled.

'Thank you very much, sir.'

'Think nothing of it. There are two engineer chaps down there now. They will show you what they have done, and what you will need to do.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Sandy!'

'Yes, sir!'

'You will take Number Three Company and man the next slot in the line to the left. Your area of responsibility comes complete with its own detached and desirable cottage.'

'Really? Thank you, sir.'

'No mod-cons, I'm afraid, but it does come with a very capacious attic and three s.p.a.cious downstairs rooms, offering superb views over the fields, both towards the sea and inland. Ideal for conversion to a holiday home. Get your bids in quick! Simon!'

'Yes, sir.'

'You're next with Number Two Company to the left of Sandy. Headquarters will be based about four hundred yards back from the cottage. Angus!'

'Sir!'

'Your Number Four Company is with me there in reserve.'

'Sir.'

'I'm sorry to say that there are a couple of Northern regiments to either side of us. No one you have ever heard of. We will obviously have to provide the backbone of the defence here. Intelligence tells us that the Jerries are a.s.sembling pontoon-bridging kit in this area. Nigel!'

'Sir?'

'You will probably have to decide when to blow the bridge. There are considerable numbers of troops our lot and French still making their way across. The aim is to let as many of them in as possible, with a view to embarking them off to England via Dunkirk. As to refugees, there's not a lot we can do. Please try and discourage them as best you can. But, otherwise, keep your eyes peeled for fifth column infiltrators. Oh, yes, another thing. For those of you who don't know, Ypres, Ostend, and Lille are now in German hands, and it looks like you can probably add Calais to that list, too.'

'Bang goes my reservation for dinner,' called Simon.

'Yes, as to supplies,' Peter raised his hands to quell the noise. 'We won't be getting any deliveries, I'm afraid. So you will have to live off the land. But you will find rich pickings. On the other side of the ca.n.a.l are more dumped lorries than you can point a stick at. I suggest that each company organises its own foraging party. As to food and water, good luck. Under no circ.u.mstances should anyone attempt to drink the water in the ca.n.a.l. In some places it is starting to resemble dead German soup. And do not try boiling it. There will be no fires, of course. And, if your men must smoke, please ensure that they do it out of direct sight - mine and the Germans.'

Peter coughed for attention. 'Now,' he said. 'They are flooding all the fields between here and the coast. Big sea d.y.k.es, apparently. That will, of course, raise the water table somewhat, so your feet are likely to get a bit wet.'

Peter placed his hands on his hips and set his jaw. 'Make no mistake, gentlemen. This is a last round, last man scenario. Make sure the men are au fait with the situation. You might like to tell them that the Navy got off around seventeen thousand men yesterday. You can explain the arithmetic to them. There will be a full inspection at ten-hundred-hours, and I want to see everybody clean-shaven. I think that is all for now. Any questions?'

'Who's going to win the war, sir?'

'We are! Right! Let's take this opportunity to synchronise watches. In fifteen seconds, I will make it oh-seven-hundred-fifty-hours-precisely...'

07:50 Wednesday 29 May 1940.

Charing Cross Station, London 'Is this seat taken?'

'No, it's all yours, dear.'

'Thanks,' said Kitty, pulling herself into the tiny compartment and sliding shut the corridor door.

A plump man sitting next to the one remaining seat in the carriage looked up - momentarily annoyed - but when he saw Kitty he smiled and stood up quickly.

'Here you are, miss. Let me help you with that.' He lifted Kitty's case up onto the rack and indicated the seat.

Kitty smiled her thanks and handed the man her raincoat, which he placed carefully on top of the case. The carriage was stiflingly hot already.

'Got far to go?' asked the man, middle-aged with a s.h.i.+ny face, as they both sat down. Kitty was squeezed in between the two largest people in the carriage. As a general rule, she preferred to travel facing the engine. She wiggled to make s.p.a.ce.

'Dover,' announced Kitty.

'Business or pleasure?'

'Family business,' said Kitty. 'I'm trying to locate my sister,' she lied.

The man nodded, unsure whether to continue the conversation or stretch it out over the journey.

'It's very stuffy in here,' said Kitty, indicating the blinds.

'Birds must be kept down,' stated the man, as if signifying something obvious.

'I beg your pardon.' Kitty shook her head.

'The blinds, miss. See what some wag has written.' He pointed to the sign pasted above the carriage door. Kitty turned her head to look.

'Birds-must-be-kept-down,' she read aloud. Someone had erased the word blinds and subst.i.tuted birds. It was not funny at all.

'Very funny,' she said, straining a smile.

'Yes, you see some good ones today,' chuckled the man. 'I wish I'd thought of that.'

Kitty looked bemused beneath the smile.

'Wot? No bananas?' the man chuckled again. 'Very amusing, some chaps!'

Kitty continued to look bemused.

'Wot?' said the man. 'You've not seen Mr Chad?'

'Yes, I think I have,' said Kitty. 'With the big nose. Chalked on walls and places?'

'Yes, that's it,' said the man. 'If you don't mind my saying so, miss, you have rather an unusual accent. I can't seem to place it.'

'Well, my family were originally from Scotland, but I was born and brought up in Malaya.'

'Malaya?' said the man, impressed. 'Very exotic. Nice and hot, I suppose.'

'Yes, very hot, sometimes,' laughed Kitty.

'And lots of nig-nogs, I suppose,' said the women sitting directly in front of her. She was knitting a scarf. On her lap sat b.a.l.l.s of wool in burnt orange, chocolate brown and yellow.

'Well, Malays, actually,' said Kitty. 'And Indians and Chinese, too. It's a very mixed society.'

'How'd you get on with all that foreign food, then?' asked the woman.

'Well, I don't suppose it seems foreign to me.'

'What sort of things d'you eat, then?'

'All sorts of things. Roast beef, pork chops, chicken soup. The usual sort of things.'

'Wot nothing exotic?' asked the man, chuckling.

'Well, yes.' Kitty was now feeling peeved at all the attention. 'There's fish head curry. That's one of my favourites.'

'Ergh! Fish heads! We give fish heads to cats here, dear. And curry? That's that hot stuff, ain't it?'

'Yes. It's lovely,' said Kitty. 'It covers the taste of the rotting meat.' The carriage grew quiet suddenly and Kitty, unable to look out of the window, reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out her pencil and pad. She surrept.i.tiously looked at each pa.s.senger in turn and attempted to sum them up in M-O terms.

The man who had helped her with the case was around fifty years old and middle cla.s.s. That would make him an M50B. The woman with the knitting was working cla.s.s and a good fifteen years younger, so could be described as F35C. Sitting next to Kitty, to the right, sat a large woman who smelt faintly of Spam. Kitty leant forward and looked up towards her case, catching a quick glance at the woman's face as she did so: F50B.

Opposite her, another woman, elderly with an expensive fur-trimmed coat and reading The Greek Myths by Robert Graves: F75A. To left of the woman with the knitting, sat an M30B, a Civil Service type engrossed in the Daily Telegraph. The remaining two seats by the window were occupied by an M55A working on papers from a briefcase and an M30C in dull brown battledress and reading the Daily Mirror. Kitty crossed her legs and began working on character sketches.

In time came the sound of a whistle outside on the platform. A few remaining doors slammed and then the train jerked briefly as they began to pull out of the station. Kitty felt her heart stir again as the train picked up momentum. She was annoyed about the blinds and mourned the view outside the window.

The door slid open suddenly, making Kitty jump. 'Tickets, please.'

'Is it strictly necessary to keep the blinds down?' asked Kitty of the inspector after a moment.

'It's for your own protection, ma'am.'

'But, surely, it's for the blackout. It won't make any difference in the daylight.'

'Madam, I don't make the rules. I just obey them.'

'It's to protect us from splinters of gla.s.s,' said the M55A by the window. 'In air-raids.'