Dunkirk Spirit Part 23

'Yeah, grub'll be up any minute now. Taffy went down a while ago.'

Some time pa.s.sed and eventually Taffy entered the room.

'What d'you bring us, you Welsh b.a.s.t.a.r.d?' The private pulled himself upright and stretched his aching legs. 'Let's have a butchers.' He grabbed the sack from the Welshman's hands and peered inside. 'Not more b.l.o.o.d.y Singe!'

'Give it a rest, Chambers! That's all there b.l.o.o.d.y is.' The Welshman looked disheartened.

'Have you had this stuff?' Private Chambers demanded of Archie. He thrust the tin under his nose and Archie shook his head. 'It's French Army rations, made from Moroccan monkeys,' continued Chambers. 'Lovely, eh? And look at this. It says here that this stuff was tinned in nineteen-nineteen! And this Taffy Druid b.a.s.t.a.r.d calls it delicious.'

'Got us a stiffener, too,' said Taffy, reaching into his small pack.

'Now you're talking,' said Chambers, s.n.a.t.c.hing it from Taffy's hand and pulled out the cork. He sniffed suspiciously and then up-ended the canteen. He turned back to Archie. 'Want some?'

'I might try that Singe first,' suggested Archie. 'I don't think I could handle that stuff on an empty stomach.'

'Your funeral,' stated Chambers.

'Better grab some while you can,' offered the Welshman, working at a tin with his bayonet. 'Chambers here will finish it all before you can say Jack...'

A sergeant-major entered the room. He brought one boot down with a crash, and shouted: 'Officer present!'

The men in the room jumped to attention. Chambers held the canteen to his side.

'All right, stand at ease,' said Captain Medcalf. He looked around the room at the six soldiers. He stopped when he noticed Archie, giving him an askance look. 'Who here,' he asked. 'Fancies themselves a marksman? Come on,' he snapped impatiently. 'Any budding Annie Oaklies?'

Archie thought about it for a while and then stepped forward. The captain eyed him with distrust and then turned to the window. 'What can you hit down there?' he asked. Archie stood to one side and peered through the window frame.

'How about that car, sir?' asked Archie.

'Hit one of the headlamps,' said the captain. 'Hit the right one.'

'Yes, sir!' snapped Archie. He lifted his rifle to his right shoulder, pulled back the bolt, and felt the b.u.t.t press painfully against his wound. He winced. Archie hesitated a moment and then switched the rifle to his other shoulder. He closed one eye and squinted along the barrel, lining up the sights with the headlamp. He took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger. The headlamp shattered.

'My word!' declared Captain Medcalf. 'I think I should call you Dead-Eye d.i.c.k! Give that man a coconut!' He turned to the sergeant-major and nodded. The man grabbed at Archie's collar and pulled him out into the corridor.

08:30 Thursday 30 May 1940.

Mick's Cafe, Castle Street, Dover, Kent 'Can I have a cup of tea and two current buns, please?' asked Kitty. She had already eaten breakfast at the hotel but was still hungry.

'It's counter service, miss. I ain't a waitress. And there ain't no buns, neither, just bread 'n' sc.r.a.pe, or toast now.'

'Bread 'n' sc.r.a.pe?' queried Kitty.

The F60C wiped the table with a cloth and gave Kitty a quizzical look. She took a deep breath and explained: 'You take a nice slice of bread, dear, you smear b.u.t.ter all over it, nice and thick, and then you sc.r.a.p it all off again. That's bread 'n' sc.r.a.pe.'

'Perhaps toast, then,' thought Kitty. She turned to the woman across the table. 'Can you mind my bag, please?' The F35C nodded in reply and Kitty got up and made her way to the counter. No more than a half a dozen people filled the small cafe. Most were elderly and most were lingering over their milk and a dash or tea and toast. The windows dripped condensation, forming tiny puddles on the windowsill. Kitty stood at the counter and waited.

'Yeah?' asked Mick.

'A cup of tea and two slices of toast, please.'

'You want dripping or marg?'

'Wot! Not b.u.t.ter?' exclaimed Kitty, smirking.

'It's dripping or marg. Take your pick.'

'I'll try the dripping,' suggested Kitty. She stood watching as Mick, an M55C with tattoos up both arms, pulled a leaver. Steam exploded into the teapot, sending clouds of vapour towards the ceiling. He poured it straight into the teacup, spilling a little into the saucer, and slid it across. 'Toast'll be two minutes.'

'Thank you very much indeed,' said Kitty, smiling. She returned to her seat.

The F35C looked up at Kitty and tutted. 'They'll be running out of bread next.'

'Let's hope not,' said Kitty, sliding into the seat. 'But we all have to make do.'

'Easier said than done,' huffed the F35C. 'What with rationing and rising prices, we're probably be eating gra.s.s soon.'

'I suppose everyone is finding it hard these days,' offered Kitty. She poured her personal sugar onto her spoon and let it drop into the dark fluid. She stirred briskly.

'Tell me about it,' said the F35C. Her hair had been dyed an unusual shade of red. 'I don't know about you, but my old man's in the Army now. He used to bring home over seven quid a week with overtime before. Now all I get is twenty-five bob a week. How can you support a family on that? I mean, the rent alone is ten-and-six.'

Kitty shook her head. She wanted to know more but could not appear too keen. She sipped the hot tea and placed the cup back on the saucer. 'I really don't know how people manage.' She shook her head again.

'It's the women that suffer the most,' said the F35C. 'It's one thing to have your husband taken away to G.o.d knows where, worrying about him day and night, and it's quite another to lose your job.'

'I'm sure he will be all right.' Kitty gave a tight smile.

'It's not that I'm worried about, luv. He's got a roving eye. I wouldn't trust him further than I could throw him.'

Kitty swallowed and continued: 'And you lost your job, you say?'

' I lost my job two months into this war,' confirmed the F35C, sipping the last of her tea. 'Robinson's Gla.s.s. Fancy goods. But who wants fancy goods with a war on?'

Kitty shook her head again.

'Loads of women are being laid off without so much as a bye your leave,' she explained. She fingered her teacup. 'You work for a place four years and then, suddenly, come four-o-clock on a Friday, they tell you to grab your cards and don't come back.'

'Is that what happened to you?'

'Yes, luvvie, that's what happened to me. And my sister was laid off, too. And she's got four little ones. I've only got this little bleeder.' She tilted her head to the side, smiling, and indicating a little girl of three or so years. The girl was busy wiping dripping from her plate with the remaining crust. 'She's a happy little soul, mind you. Good as gold. Never complains. I'm in two minds about what to do.'

'How do you mean?'

'Should I have her evacuated, like my sister's kids?'

'She's a bit young, surely,' said Kitty, looking at the child. 'They are only taking children of school age. If you want to send her, I think you will have to go too.'

'Oh, I don't know about that.' She tutted and huffed. 'Mind you, it is a worry what with the constant gunfire. It's bad for the children's nerves, and then there's all our planes flying low and making an awful noise. My sis says hers are awake most of the night and then they can't work at school.'

Kitty leaned forward and lowered her voice. 'Take my advice,' she said. 'Sign the both of you up for evacuation. It can only be safer.'

'Bread 'n' dripping!' declared the F60C. She slid the plate before Kitty and lingered.

The red-haired F35C looked across at the woman who had earlier claimed not to be a waitress. 'I was just saying, I'm in two minds about evacuating our Betty.'

'I'd go, if I had the chance,' the F60C declared. 'There's hardly anyone here anymore and there ain't going to be any summer trade.' She looked down at young Betty and smiled. 'She's a good kid, ain't she? She ain't never any trouble. She'd be happy wherever she was, not like some of 'em.'

She turned to Kitty. 'Some of the women who come in here, they make me laugh,' she said scornfully, and pulled a long face. 'They say "my Willie doesn't want to go, do you ducks?" They look at the child with great looks of worry on their faces.' She ill.u.s.trated her point by knitting her eyebrows. 'It stands to reason the child starts to cry. But the very next morning they come in and say he's going. You see, dear, it only needs one woman to make up her mind and all the rest do the same.'

'But I still can't decide,' said the redhead. 'If we're evacuated, what about the house? Okay, it's only rented but there's all the furniture to think about and most of it's paid for. What am I going to do with it all?'

'Can't you put it in store?' asked Kitty.

'What! And let the n.a.z.is get it all? No thank you very much. We've worked blooming hard for all that furniture.'

Kitty examined the slices of under-cooked toast. Two strange and separate layers coated the surface. She identified one layer as animal fat. 'What is this brown stuff?' she asked both women. 'This jelly stuff?'

'What, in the dripping, you mean, dear?' asked the waitress.

'Yes.'

'Well, it's all the goodness, ain't it?'

Kitty lifted a slice and sniffed experimentally. 'Goodness?'

'You want to put some salt and pepper on it first,' explained the young mother. 'It's too bland otherwise.' She pushed over the two shakers and Kitty helped herself. Both women looked at each other.

'Mmmm!' said Kitty, placing the slice back on the plate. 'It has a curious way of coating the tongue.' She took another bite and moved the damp bread around inside her mouth. She wanted to spit it out but swallowed quickly. 'Perhaps Betty would like some.'

Betty looked up from the pile of crumbs that she had a.s.sembled on the table and grinned.

'Here you are, poppet,' smiled Kitty, sliding the plate across.

'Say thank you,' prompted the F35C. But Betty's mouth was already full. She smiled with her blue eyes.

'Ain't you never had dripping before?' asked the mother.

'Um!' said Kitty. 'No, my parents were both vegetarians,' she found herself lying. 'We never had it at home.'

'Vegetarians!' exclaimed the F60C. 'What is the point in that? And how could you deprive a child of all that goodness? Anyway,' she said studying Kitty. 'You seem to have done well out of it.'

'Oh, I'm not a vegetarian now,' put in Kitty hastily. 'I'll eat almost anything.'

'Well, dear,' said the woman. 'You come back at lunchtime. It's pie and mash today; and liquor.'

Along the quay, there are troops everywhere building concrete pillboxes, piling up sandbags and erecting searchlights and miles of barbed wire. There is no chance any more to walk along the beach. The gunfire from France can be heard distinctly. Boards advertising cheap day-trips to Calais line the front. There is an att.i.tude of suspicion towards strangers. I was immediately questioned by a policeman but he concluded I was harmless although unwise.

Kitty ran the words of her draft report through her mind as she stepped briskly along. The incident with the policeman had left her feeling irritated. It was obvious now why she had been stopped. Everybody else on the street walks with a sure purpose, while I stroll along like a day-tripper.

Kitty paused to lean against the remains of the railings to adjust her shoe, turning her head surrept.i.tiously to either side on the look out for policemen. She halted about half way along the front, an equal distance between the town's Eastern and Western Docks. Now she looked out to sea and into the mist. A s.h.i.+p's siren called out of the fog. Bells clanged their warnings. Kitty turned around. An elderly woman in a rain shelter was struggling with a newspaper, holding the broad pages at arm's length. Kitty walked up.

'Do you mind if I sit here?' she asked pleasantly.

The elderly woman, a probable F80A, continued to shuffle her newspaper. She turned to Kitty, as if surprised, and then shook her head. Kitty smiled and sat down. She crossed her legs and began to rummage through her large shoulder bag. At last she pulled out a packet of Black Cat cigarettes and a bra.s.s lighter. She slid open the packet.

'Cigarette?' she asked, leaning over.

The woman dropped the newspaper to her lap and shook her head. 'I would not want to stunt my growth.' She laughed quietly and looked up at Kitty. Even seated, her head, hat included, only came up to Kitty's shoulder.

'Well, I don't want to grow any more,' said Kitty, with a little laugh. 'It's hard to get a chap to dance with you when you're tall.'

'That is not a problem I am familiar with,' said the F80A. 'When you get to my age, you worry about your rheumatism and your eyes.'

Kitty smiled as she lit her cigarette. She lifted her head and blew the smoke out to sea. 'What are they saying in the paper today?' she asked.

'Well, that's the problem, my dear.' She tapped the newspaper on her lap. 'I have sat here every morning since...' she paused, bringing her hand to her chin. 'Since the Great War, anyway. And I read my newspaper. Today, would you believe it; I have left my reading gla.s.ses at home.'

'Would you like me to read you the headlines?'

'The headlines I can manage, my dear. It's the small print that bothers me. And it is smaller now than it ever was.'

Kitty took the newspaper and shuffled it into shape, turning finally to the front page. 'Shall I read you what it says?'

'Just a precise will be good enough, my dear.'

Kitty scanned through the first few paragraphs and then said: 'There's a story here from Dover about the soldiers coming home.'

'Yes, read me some of that, dear.'

'Well,' explained Kitty. 'The reporter has been interviewing soldiers as they return from France and it seems we are really giving it to the Germans.' They both smiled at each other. 'One soldier says he estimates the German losses to be at least six or seven times as great as our own. "The German dead in places were five feet deep." Imagine that?' exclaimed Kitty. The woman was shaking her head.

'This is interesting,' Kitty said, continuing. 'An officer here says: "The brutality of the Hun in this war is amazing. He has been more like a wild animal in some of his actions. There has been very bitter fighting indeed, but I can tell you that the Germans have got all they asked for. Our men have been wonderful. In bayonet fighting they have been ferocious, for the disgust they have for the swinish conduct of the enemy is undoubted."' Kitty tilted her head towards the F80A. 'That is some quote,' she declared, and whistled.

'What else does it say?'

'Well,' said Kitty. 'There's a lot about fifth column activity over there. Another man, a solder from Scotland, said he helped to catch two parachutists. "They were miserable specimens,"' Kitty lowered her tone and a.s.sumed the accent. 'Wearing civilian clothes, och, and they begged for ma mercy. There was such a curious look in their eyes that I am convinced they were doped, aye."'

'Well, I dare say somebody was, my dear.' She laughed a little too. 'And what do you think will happen, my dear?' She looked into Kitty's eyes.

'The invasion, do you mean?'

The F80A nodded.

'Well, if it comes, I am sure we will defend ourselves. I can't very well see the Germans taking over here the way they have in some of those other countries, like Czechoslovakia and Poland. We will certainly stand and fight.'

'And will you fight, my dear? You are not in uniform.'

'There's a waiting list to get in,' explained Kitty. 'And, yes, I would fight.'