Dunkirk Spirit Part 17

'We treat them like they are pillboxes. We put one in this field here, another in the next field. And while we do this, the Bosche are using the phalanx tactics of the ancient Spartans. They drive all their tanks in one giant phalanx, and how can we stop them? Last year France manufactured many thousands of anti-tank weapons. But where are they? Are they with my men in the field? No, they all go for export. It is like a bad joke.'

'I'm very sorry to hear it, sir,' said Nigel, trying to look apropriately sympthatic. 'But we are all in the same boat. And talking of boats, what are your plans, sir?'

'Plans, yes. If we have any!' He shook his head in exasperation. 'We must make our way to the coast. From there were can all join together and form a bridgehead. We can continue the fight from there.' He drained off the last of his beer and stood up.

'Well, I wouldn't let your men throw their rifles away in that case,' offered Sandy. 'You might need them later.'

'They are not my men, lieutenant. Look at them! They are old men reservists. My men are dead.' He pointed back to the road and a small group of stationery soldiers in tan greatcoats and grey helmets. They looked despondent but still retained their weapons, including a Chatellerault light-machine gun.

'That is all that is left of my men. Just twenty men to show for an entire regiment. Good day, gentlemen.'

'Well, he was a jolly chap?' huffed Nigel as soon as the French officer was out of earshot.

'He's going to be even jollier when he gets to the coast,' confirmed Sandy. 'I don't suppose he has any idea we're evacuating the BEF.'

'No,' agreed Nigel. 'I dare say not.' He stopped suddenly and looked along the bridge. In the middle of the French troops chugged a Renault tracked vehicle.

'Oh, what now? What are those b.l.o.o.d.y provosts up to?' demanded Nigel. 'They know not to allow any vehicles across. What is that? Some kind of armoured tractor?'

'Rather looks like it,' confirmed Sandy. 'Hang on a moment,' he exclaimed. 'I think I know that driver.'

The Renault Type UE had room for just two seated pa.s.sengers. Their heads poked out of two half-domes on the top of the hull.

'Hey!' called Sandy, flagging the vehicle down. 'What on earth have you got there, man?'

'What haven't I got, sir?' called Lucas, his face beaming. 'That's the question, sir.'

15:45 Wednesday 29 May 1940.

Bray Dunes, France 'I was thinking,' pondered Lieutenant Harold Dibbens, a former Scotland Yard detective. 'What they need here is a pier or jetty.'

He sat with the rest of his men, far back in the dunes, taking in the view. Over to the west, Dunkirk lay shrouded in thick smoke. The wind coming off the Channel pushed the heavy black clouds inland, exposing the seaward side of town to the full attention of the Luftwaffe. Dozens of vessels, from destroyers to paddle steamers, cruised off the sh.o.r.e, two miles or more from the beach. It was a vision of h.e.l.l and the lieutenant's group were duly impressed.

'I'm sure the Navy have already thought of that, sir,' said Sergeant Norris, drawing circles in the sand with the tip of his finger.

'No, but I'm thinking of a very different kind of jetty.'

'Begging your pardon, sir, but it would take ages to build a jetty. You've got to drive piles into the sand. Where's all the materials going to come from?'

'No, not that kind of jetty.'

'What then, sir? String boats together, you mean?'

'No. If they had the boats I dare say they would be using them already to ferry those men out to the s.h.i.+ps.'

'Well, what then, sir?' The sergeant was in desperate need of sleep and had a tendency to sound irritable. The lieutenant ignored it.

'I was thinking a jetty of trucks?' he explained.

'Trucks? How would that work, then?' Sergeant Norris looked up.

'Well for starters, there are more trucks around here than any other single commodity. Correct?'

'Correct, sir.'

'There is your material, man.' He paused and thought for a moment. 'We need to find out what time's low tide,' he announced. 'Then we drive the trucks out as far as they will go and lash them together. We'll probably have to weigh them down with sand or something. That way, the men could clamber out to the boats as they tie up to the jetty.'

'Go on, sir.'

'If you look,' said the officer, pointing out to sea. 'Almost all the larger vessels are standing off about a mile or more from the sh.o.r.e. It must be a very small gradient here. That's why they can't come nearer.' He dipped his arm and pointed closer in. 'Look at those chaps down in the water there. They must be about two hundred yards out and yet the water's only up to their chests. We could push a truck jetty further out than that. The small boats could come in and the men could just hop on board.'

'Well, yeah, sir. It sounds like a very good idea to me. But don't you think someone already thought of it, and had to drop it for some reason?'

'Probably not. The best ideas are almost always the simple ones, and the least obvious. It's elementary, my dear sergeant.'

'You see that Bren gun carrier down there, sir?'

'What of it?'

'There's a bloke down there in a gabardine mac, standing in the middle of all those sailors. Look at the way he's waving his arms around. I bet he's in charge. Why don't you go and have a chat to him about it, sir?'

'I think I will. I'll do just that.'

'Lieutenant Dibbens, hundred-and-second Provost Company, sir.'

'Yes, what is it?' asked Binky, returning the salute and eying the military policeman up and down.

'I've had an idea how to build a jetty here. It will take just three minutes to explain it to you, sir.' The lieutenant looked hopefully into Binky's face.

'Do you have a cigarette?' asked Binky.

'Yes, sir.' He reached into his pocket and slid open a packet of s.h.i.+ps' Woodbines.

'Then fire away.'

'Yes, I like it,' announced Binky some minutes later, dropping his b.u.t.t to the sand and squas.h.i.+ng it with the toe of his shoe. 'I'm only worried that your chaps in their enthusiasm haven't destroyed all the lorries for miles around.'

'Leave that one to me, sir. What time is low tide?'

'Twenty-one-thirty,' said Binky. 'That gives you five hours to make a start.'

'Plenty of time, sir.'

'I shall have to leave it to you to organise things. Gather up the necessary men and such. I can't possibly spare a soul.'

'No problem, sir.' He turned around and indicated the almost countless thousands of troops gathered along the beach and up into the dunes. 'There must be some sappers or navvies amongst this lot somewhere. I'll find them.'

Binky grinned. 'Do you know lieutenant; this may just be the answer. Just look at that d.a.m.n surf. Every boat we try to bring in just broaches.'

'I really think it will work, sir. There's just one condition.'

'What's that?'

'That when it's finished, my men and all those who helped build it can get off first.'

'Well, that seems fair to me.'

'It's a deal then, sir.' The lieutenant shook Binky's hand.

'Just one more thing, lieutenant,' said Binky. 'Could you possibly spare another cigarette?'

'Take a couple of packets, sir. My men liberated about ten-thousand from the NAAFI yesterday.'

16:00 Wednesday 29 May 1940.

Dover Priory Station, Kent 'This is the Priory now, love,' said the F35C. She had been jabbering solidly since Ashford and the donation of her knitting.

Kitty thanked her and waited for the train to slow down. Then she stood to retrieve her case and raincoat. The M50B was already on his feet.

'There you go, miss,' he said. 'I hope you find your sister.' He pulled Kitty's case from the rack and placed it on the floor between their feet. He looked back up and glanced quickly into Kitty's eyes as he handed her the raincoat. He had a sincere look when he said, 'You be careful, my dear. There's something in the air.' He nodded conspiratorially and shuffled to take his place behind the other pa.s.sengers alighting.

'This train terminates here!' called a stark voice from the platform. 'All change!'

'What?' exclaimed the F35C. 'Five ruddy hours late! And now we ain't going all the way. My ol' man's probably got the right hump with me now!'

Kitty followed the M50B out on to the platform. She walked a few steps and then placed her case down. She could sense an uneasy atmosphere immediately. Two military policemen standing beside the chocolate machine were staring at her. They started at her legs, paused at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and then drilled suspicious looks into her eyes, before returning to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s again, and then turning their heads hastily away. Kitty paused for thought and reached inside her shoulder bag for the compact. She flipped open the lid and lightly dusted the face powder over her cheeks. The same sensation that she had felt on arrival in London returned now. But this time there was no pleasurable antic.i.p.ation. That had dissolved back at Ashford. Kitty replaced the compact, lifted up her bag, and walked slowly towards the two redcaps.

'h.e.l.lo,' said Kitty, looking the one with the stripes directly in the eyes. He pulled himself erect and struggled to keep his eyes on hers. He gave up after a moment and focused somewhere around her mouth. 'I wonder if you can help me?' she asked, smiling and showing two neat rows of white teeth.

'I'll try, miss.'

'Can you recommend an hotel, or a guest house, perhaps?'

'Hotel? You're be lucky!'

'All the hotels are booked solid, miss,' announced the other redcap. 'But you might just get a B'n'B if you're lucky.'

'A B'n'B?' queried Kitty. She p.r.o.nounced it slowly.

'Bed and breakfast, miss,' he said, turning his eyes towards the corporal quizzically.

'Can I ask the purpose of your journey, miss?' asked the corporal.

Kitty hesitated but only briefly. She preferred to keep things simple. 'I'm trying to locate my sister,' she lied again.

'What? You've lost your sister?' asked the corporal, s.p.a.cing out each word.

'No,' said Kitty, feeling the sudden strain. 'She was evacuated. She's going to be evacuated again. I want to find her first. Is there a problem?'

'That depends, miss. Can I see your Ident.i.ty Card, please.'

Kitty dropped her case to the ground and tilted her head to one side as she looked again directly into the corporal's eyes. She pulled her purse from the shoulder bag and produced the buff coloured card.

'All right, miss. Move along,' said the corporal, handing the card back.

'And can you recommend an hotel?' asked Kitty innocently.

'No, miss. We ain't tour guides! Now move along!'

'I am very sorry,' said an elderly man a few seconds later. 'But did I hear you ask for a B'n'B?'

'That's right,' replied Kitty. 'Nothing expensive, but clean, and pleasant.'

'There used to be loads.' He removed his cap and scratched his head. 'Especially down along Marine Parade and Waterloo Crescent. But most of them have shut up now. Don't matter that there's people crying out for accommodation. They're more worried about their own skins. Packed up and gone away, most of them.' He made a small huffing sound as he looked at Kitty. 'But you might try the Central Hotel. It's more for the travelling gentlemen, but it clean and pleasant, as you put it.'

Even in the peak of summer, Dover would have to be a depressing town, thought Kitty as she negotiated her way down the hill along the rows of grey Victorian terraces and their empty streets. It has just started to spit and the patchy clouds above promised more to follow. The air was warm and heavy with damp but it was a pleasant relief after the claustrophobic stuffiness of the train. She thought of the soldiers at Ashford. Her first thought was how bashful they had appeared. It was as if they had been overwhelmed by the reaction of the people on the platform. What was going on over there, she wondered? It was as if they had expected chastis.e.m.e.nt and not the surge of warmth and pride they had actually received.

It seemed as if the entire London to Dover train had disgorged its pa.s.sengers on to the platform. The kiosk had been swamped. Then people were searching through their pockets and bags, offering anything that came to hand: cigarettes, sweets, even a few pound notes. It was unbelievably touching.

An odd sensation washed through her body as she walked. During her life she had catalogued lots of odd sensations. Each one unique to its own peculiar happening. There was the odd sensation of first arriving in London. There had been a similar and yet distinctly different sensation on her first day at the Tanglin school. But it was more than a sensation. It was a collection of smells, sights, sounds and feelings, each unique to each special event in life, and woven into a single emotional charge. There had been the odd sensation the first time she realised the houseboys were watching her when she bathed. And yet, despite the repet.i.tion of the event, it was an odd sensation never to be fully experienced again, only remembered. There had been another odd sensation that had cloaked the house when Kitty's eldest brother, Douglas, had been thrown from his horse and the doctors had said he might never walk again. The sensation of Ashford left Kitty with a similar feeling; hollowness deep inside, tinged with an unknown sadness, and even fear. That was a new twist.

She reached a crossroads and paused, trying to remember the directions. A fishmonger's shop with blue awnings stood on the corner and Kitty stepped up to the display. Four dabs, nice but small. Two unidentifiable white fish, a puny crab, and a sack of muscles. She stepped inside the shop.

'What can I do for you, miss?' asked an M60C.

Kitty looked again at the display. The wonder at the paucity of it all reflected in her face.

'I've got some nice roe out the back, if you're interested.' The fishmonger stood poised, as if ready to jump if Kitty so commanded.

'I am so sorry,' she said, smiling. 'But I'm actually looking for the Central Hotel.'

He was obviously disappointed. 'The Central? Yes, miss. Out the shop. Turn left. Go straight, all the way to the next crossroads, and then it's on your right. Big, tall, white building. The sign out front.'

'Thank you,' replied Kitty, turning.

'But you're be lucky to get a room,' he called. 'The whole town's in uproar. People coming. Even more going. Now,' he said, leaning forward and smiling. 'If you wanted to rent a house, I could help you.'

Kitty laughed. 'No. I don't want to rent a house. Thank you very much. I only want a room for the night.'

'Just visiting are you, miss?'

'Just for a couple of days, yes.'

'Makes a change,' said the fishmonger. He picked up a cloth and began to wipe the slab in decreasing circles. 'Everybody's getting out while they can.' He tutted and raised his eyes upward. 'You can't blame them. It's not safe here.'

'How do you mean?' Kitty became alert.

'You can't sleep properly. You stay in your clothes. I'd go myself, I don't mind telling you. If only I had the money. You don't know what's going to happen. We don't live day to day, but minute by minute.'