Dunkirk Spirit Part 31

'Come on!' bellowed Burnell, holding out his hand. 'You know the rules. You were told on the beach, no b.l.o.o.d.y animals or kit. Now chuck it over the side!'

'Oh, sir, sir! Please! You can't. He's our lucky mascot.' The soldier was panic-stricken. 'He's been looking after us all the way from Belgium. Have a heart, sir. Please!' Other soldiers pressed forward and began to make their views known.

'That dog is taking up s.p.a.ce...' Burnell wondered why he was wasting valuable time. There were probably more than two-dozen dogs aboard, hidden amongst the four hundred or so soldiers.

'Keep him! I hope he p.i.s.ses himself!' Burnell pulled himself out of the throng and struggled towards the rail. Thick black clouds from the refineries at Dunkirk lay heavy above the beaches. Beneath, a long line of men stretched out towards him. The tide was already on the ebb and Phoebe had floated free. Now she was in danger of grounding again under the sheer weight of men and dogs. Burnell turned his head and shouted above the din to the bridge.

'Charlie! Charlie! Get us out of here. We can't take any more.'

Charlie responded by clanging the bell and putting Phoebe into a slow but determined reverse. She began to pull away from the ragged line in the water. Burnell looked at their faces and had to turn away. So many were now standing on the beach that, in places, the dark patches of people seemed to writhe like a single living ent.i.ty. Other lines of men ran out into the water but few boats were lying in the offing to take them away. He looked over to the truck jetty and saw Dibbens waving a farewell. Burnell turned and shoved his way through the crowd towards the bridge.

'I was thinking, Charlie. On your way back, why don't you try and catch hold of some of these boats that are drifting about and put them ash.o.r.e.'

'Yeah, all right. Ain't you coming back with us then?'

'I really shouldn't, you know.' Burnell watched the bow wave and breathed deeply, clearing his lungs of smoke and death. 'My duty is to get back to my s.h.i.+p as soon as possible. I don't really have a valid excuse any more.' He continued to look out to sea.

'Well, I'm sorry about that. I am.'

'You never know,' offered Burnell. 'You might even meet up with Mr Elliot again. That would be nice for you.'

Charlie huffed. 'You would think a young bloke like that would have a better sense of balance.'

'These things happen, Charlie. Especially in time of war.'

'How about that one then?' asked Charlie.

'Yeah, good choice,' said Burnell. 'Corvette. Kingfisher, probably. Now I don't have any excuse.' He nodded and Charlie turned the wheel on a course to intercept the bulky grey silhouette. Burnell turned to the young pilot. His face had not regained any colour since the upset on the beach. As Phoebe tore through the water, the wind pulled back his hair exposing more adolescent spots on the broad forehead. Burnell placed a hand on his shoulder and pointed off towards the corvette.

'Here's a good one for you,' called Burnell. 'Nice and dependable,'

The pilot turned his head and nodded. He smiled. 'Look,' he said into Burnell's ear. 'Look, I didn't get a chance to say thank you for what happened earlier...'

'Think nothing of it,' called back Burnell over the noise of the wind and roaring engine. Phoebe glided with power and grace across the grey sea, setting his pulse racing. 'All in a day's work for the Royal Navy.' He smiled broadly and felt the skin crack down the side of his face. His eyes began to water.

'Well, thanks anyway.' The pilot was studying the corvette as she drew nearer.

'What will you do when you get back?' asked Burnell.

'Call the squadron. I don't suppose they will send a car down for me. So I shall have to make my own way back to Biggin Hill. If I can get a train, I'm told the taxis don't charge us from the station any more.'

'That's handy.'

'It is if you get shot down a lot and manage to make your way home.'

'Yes,' agreed Burnell. 'Anyway, I'm coming with you. I'm needed at the Admiralty, you know.'

'Excuse me, sir. Sorry to b.u.t.t in.'

'What is it?'

'My name is Burnell, sir. Of Cameron. I got separated yesterday and wondered if you could give me a lift back to Dover, please.'

'Sorry to disappoint you, sub. But we're off to Southampton. Nothing to stop you getting a train, though.'

'Thank you, sir.'

The first officer looked away and stepped quickly to the starboard wing of the bridge. A cargo net bursting with five-gallon water kegs was aiming for a point on Phoebe's foredeck. Charlie was bellowing orders in a voice that carried clear to the busy bridge. The officer turned back to Burnell.

'Cameron, did you say?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And you were separated yesterday?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Then I have some bad news for you, I'm afraid. I'd say sit down but, as you can see, there isn't enough s.p.a.ce to swing a cat up here.' He smiled apologetically and then chewed his lip briefly before resuming. 'Cameron was last reported on fire off Gravelines this morning. She was caught in the crossfire from the sh.o.r.e batteries. I'm very sorry.'

Burnell felt the blood rush from his head. Somewhere beneath the burnt skin an engorged vein beat in alarm. He knees began to buckle. The first lieutenant stepped quickly forward and held Burnell in his arms.

'I'm all right, sir. Sorry about that.' Burnell stepped back and balanced successfully. He took another deep breath. 'Bit of a shock, as you can imagine.' He breathed out and continued. 'Well, in that case, there's not a lot of point my rus.h.i.+ng back really.'

He looked over the side to see Charlie shaking a fist at the hapless derrick crew. He held onto the rail for support as he turned around to look at the other officer.

'If it's all the same to you, sir. I might just as well rejoin my new crew. There's still a lot of unfinished business.'

17:30 Thursday 30 May 1940.

Snowdown Station, Southern Railways, Kent "Having seen the tragic events unfold in Holland, I can only stress the importance of continued precautions in this country against the Fifth Column. The main danger is the German or Austrian man or woman who is too clever to be found out. I hate to have to say it, but I find it my duty: you must be careful how, at this moment, you put complete trust in any person of German or Austrian connections. People noticing anything sinister should communicate with the police direct, giving the facts from personal observation."

That was Sir Nevile Bland, the British Minister just returned from Holland. And one final announcement: householders who received Anderson Air Raid Shelters, but who have not erected them and covered them properly with earth, are required to do so before next Tuesday week, June the eleventh. Failure to obey this order may lead to substantial penalties and also to the loss of the shelter.

'I say, they've set up a buffet here! I'm gasping. How about you?'

'Do you think we have time?'

'Time to grab a bottle of lemonade, I'd say. You keep the door open, I shall be back in a flash.'

The man almost flew out of the carriage door and sped across the platform to the trestle table. He drove a hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out a s.h.i.+lling. 'I'll have a bottle of Ben Shaw's dandelion and burdock, please.' He held out the coin.

'What?' exclaimed Rose.

'A bottle of dandelion and burdock, please.' He smiled hopefully and yet felt as if he were hovering on the edge of disappointment. 'I tried to get a cup of tea at Dover Priory,' he explained. 'But the buffet had sold out. Imagine!' He showed his teeth as he grinned.

'We ain't selling the drinks. They're for the soldiers.'

'Soldiers?'

'Yes, the soldiers coming back from France...'

'Really?'

'I'm sorry, but can I help you?' asked Margaret, her arms full with a tray of gla.s.ses from the pub.

The man sucked in air and looked nervously back towards the train and then to Margaret. 'I was just trying to buy something to drink. But this...this woman here said they are reserved for the soldiers coming back from France.' He smiled hopefully again. 'You can keep the change. I don't mind at all.'

Margaret gave Rose a hard stare and turned back to the man. 'I am going to have to ask you to keep what you have seen here a secret,' said Margaret sternly. 'You must not mention this to anyone. Now you had better hurry or you will miss your train.'

The stationmaster was stepping briskly up the platform towards the open door. 'Shut that door now! Stand away please.'

The man tottered hesitantly, torn between pleading for a drink on the basis that he had served in the last war, or running back empty-handed and dry-mouthed to the train. He chose the later and turned sharply. He raised his arm into the air and called out as he ran: 'Hold that train.' He jumped aboard, the door slammed and the stationmaster blew his whistle. The 17:15 Dover to London Victoria pulled out of the station.

'Really, Rose!' scalded Margaret. 'You know better than that.'

'Well, what am I supposed to tell 'em, then?'

'Tell them it's a private party...' began Margaret.

'What, at a railway station? That don't make no sense.'

'Well, don't tell them anything. Tell them to mind their own business.'

'Ten minutes everyone!' called the stationmaster, his rosy cheeks glowing with the effort. 'The next troop transport has just pulled into Shepherd's Well.'

'Here,' said Kitty. 'You look like you could do with a cuppa yourself.' She held the tea towards Margaret, who smiled wearily and gripped the enamel mug carefully to avoid burning her fingers.

'Thank you,' said Margaret. 'You've been a G.o.d-send, I must say.'

'No,' laughed Kitty. 'Thank you. Thank you for the opportunity to help out. I wish I could put my feet up though. They're killing me.'

Margaret steered Kitty out to the station's small car park and they both sat on a low wall.

'I am sorry but I don't even know your name,' said Margaret.

Kitty smiled and slipped the shoes from her feet, twisting the toes in delicious agony. 'Just call me Kitty,' she said. 'Everybody does.'

'Well, my name is Mrs Carmichael. I would say that everybody calls me Margaret but they don't seem to. We are all rather formal here, I'm afraid.'

'Well, I shall call you Margaret, if I may.'

Margaret smiled and turned to sip her tea. She stopped and lifted her head. 'I think I can hear the buses now,' she announced.

'With the wounded boys?' asked Kitty.

Margaret nodded and raised a hand to adjust her brimmed hat. 'I hope you are not squeamish, Kitty.'

'Oh, no.'

'Some of these boys are not a pretty sight. But it's their spirit that amazes me,' marvelled Margaret. 'You never hear them complain.'

'It's a wonder, when you think what must be going on over there.' Kitty slipped out a Black Cat.

'Yes, it is a worry but things have a way of working out.' Margaret shook her head at the proffered packet.

'I wonder sometimes.' Kitty sat poised with the cigarette inches from her lips. 'I also wonder how much of what we hear on the wireless and in the papers is actually true.'

She flicked the lighter and inhaled, blowing the smoke up into the air. 'I just hope we can get everyone back safe and sound. The future will be bleak if we don't.'

Margaret pulled herself upright and looked across at Kitty. 'But not all of them, surely?' She laughed a little nervously. 'Surely you mean just the wounded boys and those that need a rest? The Army has to stay in France and beat back the Germans.'

'Do you think that's likely?' asked Kitty, flicking ash.

'Yes, of course. Don't you?' Margaret felt the hackles rise at the nape of her neck. She resisted the urge to pat her hair.

'I wonder,' said Kitty. 'I wonder if it isn't more serious than that. Perhaps the best move now is to get our boys all back home, to defend these islands when the invasion comes.'

'Invasion? I think you are being a little premature there...'

'It's got to come,' said Kitty with emphasis. 'And if we don't have our Army back here in one piece then I don't see how we can carry on.'

'Well, I must say that is one view,' said Margaret. 'But not one that is commonly held. You sound as if you do not have any faith or confidence.'

She looked Kitty directly in the eye. 'When you look at any atlas and you see how much of the world is pink, the sheer size of our Empire, how could you or anyone possibly imagine that the Germans could defeat our Army over in France?' The tone came out perhaps a little too indignant but Margaret was not feeling comfortable with the conversation.

'It's just something worth thinking about,' said Kitty. 'That's all.'

Margaret was shaking her head as she stood up. 'Here come the buses now. Let's leave the men with the stretchers to their job, shall we?'

The stretcher-bearers at Snowdown Station were all volunteers. News had spread fast around the villages of Aylesham and Adisham, and many of the local shops and businesses were closed for much of the day. The local Saint John's Ambulance Brigade were also on hand to help with the stretchers and to administer tea and soft drinks to those lying prostrate. In addition to the growing number of village women, several nurses were busy along the length of the platform. First aiders from the local Civil Defence posts in the area, in turn, a.s.sisted them. It was fortunate that the hospital train was expected to arrive within the next fifteen minutes or else there would be scant room on the tiny platform.

'Stand back there,' called a stretcher-bearer to Kitty. She stepped back and allowed the men s.p.a.ce to lower their patient. Kitty knelt down and looked into the man's eyes, an M30C. The lids appeared to flutter. In addition to the bandages that covered the top half of his head, the man wore an anxious expression. He tried to sit up and look around. His eyes blinked feverishly.

'You just stay nice and still,' purred Kitty. 'What do you want? What can I get you?'

'I'd love a f.a.g, miss.' The man licked his lips.

Kitty dipped into her shoulder bag and pulled out one of the tins. She inserted a fingernail and flipped open the lid, placing a cigarette tenderly in the man's mouth. Kitty caressed the lighter in her hand while she watched the man exhale.

'What else can I get you?' she asked.

'How about a nice cup of tea?'

Kitty turned her head and called towards the table. 'Mrs Arnold! Can we have a cup of tea down here please, for this young man?'

'Coming right up!'

She looked back down at the man. He wore no uniform. His chest was bare beneath the course Army blanket. 'Anything else?'