Dunkirk Spirit Part 33

They both sat in silence through the headlines and then the announcer hesitated momentarily as if he had been obliged to adlib. They turned to look at one another.

I have just been handed this statement from the Ministry of Information: In view of the increased German pressure on their northern and southern flanks, the B.E.F. and the French forces in the north have been forced to fall back towards the coast where a battle is now raging. This operation has been carried out with great skill and daring. The troops not immediately engaged have been evacuated with the a.s.sistance of the Royal Navy. This operation has proceeded with success and numbers of troops have already reached this country.

'Oh, my G.o.d!' exclaimed Vicky. 'It's happening!'

The withdrawal and evacuations have been screened by the R.A.F. who have been constantly engaged with the enemy. Over seventy enemy aircraft were destroyed and many others damaged yesterday on this front. One squadron of the new Defiant fighter planes destroyed in two sorties thirty-seven of the enemy without loss to themselves.

They both exhaled simultaneously and sipped their tea while the announcer resumed his prepared script, telling of the loss of the destroyers Grafton, Grenade and Wakeful, and the arrest of the Borough Surveyor of Guildford.

By the bulletin's end, the toast was cold and untouched. They both turned to look at one another again. Margaret spoke first.

'They have fallen back to the coast.' She held her hand to her chin in amazement. 'No talk of counter-attacks this time.'

'I think it's getting serious, ma'am.'

'Well,' said Margaret, thinking to herself. 'At least we won't have to operate under a cloak of secrecy any more, and we can ask all sorts of other people for supplies now.'

'It means the Germans are even closer, ma'am.'

'We will have to bake more scones,' added Margaret. 'I could try to find a recipe for cake that doesn't require eggs or b.u.t.ter...'

'If there's a battle raging at the French coast, then that's less than thirty miles away. They could be here in no time.'

'Vicky! Now that's just defeatist talk.' Margaret flushed with anger. 'You heard what they said - carried out with great skill and daring.' Margaret's mind was elsewhere, back on the platform at Snowdown Station. 'Defeatist!' she spoke aloud. 'Or Fifth Column?'

'What?' exclaimed Vicky. 'I was born here. What do you mean?'

'No, no,' stuttered Margaret. 'Not you. Somebody else.' She drifted away again into her thoughts, remembering. 'If we don't have our Army back here in one piece then I don't see how we can carry on.'

'My thoughts entirely, ma'am.'

'Oh, Vicky! That's just the sort of talk the Fifth Column are spreading about. There is no possible way our Army...' she paused again, uncertain herself. 'I knew there was something not quite right about her.'

'Who?'

'She was too tall for starters, and a figure that would put those German women with their hoops and ribbons to shame.'

'Who?'

'Those German women you keep seeing on the newsreels,' Margaret explained curtly. 'All physical fitness and short skirts. And that's a made-up name. It's not a proper Christian name. Just like those n.a.z.i's with their make-believe Nordic G.o.ds.'

'Who?'

'Kitty!' exclaimed Margaret. 'Who else?'

Day Six.

00:17 Friday 31 May 1940.

Bray Dunes, France.

I have been asked to give a brief talk today to help quell one of the most monstrous accusations made by the German propaganda machine and to lay to rest certain rumours that may have been circulating. In the first instance, there is absolutely no truth in the fantastic libel that the British Army is fleeing the battlefield in France in disorder. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. As an old soldier, it falls upon me to explain why. In all the various manoeuvres expected of an army, none is more complicated than a fighting retreat, especially so when a re-embarkation is required at the end of it. Such operations require tremendous skill, courage and discipline. In the case of the B.E.F., this problem has been compounded by the fact that many of the troops are for the most part awaiting re-embarkation from open beaches where there is no ready opportunity for concealment. It is, however, a tribute to all four of our Services Navy, Army, Air Force and Merchant Navy and to the unparallel cooperation between them that the operation is preceding in such a professional manner. In addition, the cooperation with our French allies has, simply put, been astounding. With that in mind, there can certainly be no question of the British Expeditionary Force running away from its enemies.

That was Brigadier-General P.J.K. Osmont-Petremol, V.C., ending our programmes for today.

'Which would you like first, the good news or the bad news?'

'Is there any good news?'

'No, not a lot,' admitted Captain Howson.

'Then best save it 'till last,' suggested Commander Babbington.

Binky had been catching forty winks in the back of the Bren gun carrier. Now his eyes refused to focus. He struggled to pull open the lids while Captain Howson continued. But what the captain had to say awoke Binky with a start.

'...so the general consensus is that it would be undesirable for all the naval personnel to embark in the final rush. That said, you had better pack off half your team for an early bath.'

'You mean today, sir?'

'I mean this morning, Commander. As soon as you can sort it out. High tide's what? Oh-five-thirty?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Well, get them off then. That youngster of yours...'

'Mids.h.i.+pman Hockley.'

'Yes, get him off.' The captain paused. 'Obviously, you are more than welcome to come off yourself. I shall be moving offsh.o.r.e to the Ankh to direct things from there...but I would prefer it if you could hang on a bit longer.'

'Nice cup of tea, sir?' Two steaming mugs appeared out of the darkness.

'Oh, thank you, chief.' Binky pa.s.sed one over to the captain. 'Mind your fingers, sir. It's hot.'

Both officers blew into their mugs, antic.i.p.ating the welcome brew. The captain took an experimental sip and then continued. 'The noose is closing by the minute. The troops are in such a state that prolonged resistance is out of the question. As it is, I'm told German artillery is likely to start hitting the beaches pretty soon.'

'Wonderful.'

'The beach at La Panne is now being wound down. That means you can expect the troops there to begin pa.s.sing through your sector any time.' He sipped again at the tea. 'Move as many of 'em on to Dunkirk as you can, to the Mole. We really are going to have to pull out all the stops in what little time is left. The bulk must be lifted before midnight and then the rearguard in the early hours.'

'Do you want me to stay 'till then?'

'No. As soon as the sh.e.l.ls start landing, I want you and the rest of your party out of here. Is that understood?'

'Perfectly. And the good news?'

'Yes, I was building up to that. First, there is some good news...for the French, that is.'

'For the French?' Binky watched the captain over the steaming brim of his mug. He sipped cautiously 'Yes. From now on they must be lifted off in equal numbers. One of theirs for every one of ours.'

'What?' The urge to spit out the tea was overwhelming.

The captain shook his head. 'This one comes straight from the top. Winnie wants to keep Paris sweet and not give them cause to complain later. So there you have it.'

Years of service life had conditioned Commander Babbington never to question orders. He kept his mouth shut.

'I know what you are thinking,' said the captain. 'A bit of a spanner in the works, eh? How are you going to lift off twice as many men now?'

'In a nutsh.e.l.l, sir,' agreed Binky.

The captain sucked in air and exposed his teeth. 'Ours is not to reason why, old boy.'

'So they will be lending a hand then?'

'Who? The French?' The captain huffed and continued straight on. 'I wish I could say yes. Very good tea, by the way. To be honest, we have had no firm information from the French at all. We don't know the nature or the extent of the seaborne transport they will be offering. We don't even know what plans they have for the defence of the perimeter or when to expect their final troops or even how many.'

'And any good news for us?'

'Well, the met forecast is actually looking good. Apparently, they feared that a storm brewing in the Atlantic might come this way. Mercifully, it's turned northwards up the west coast of Ireland, with only the rough edges touching the Straits. Now it seems there's a big band of high pressure moving in and that should settle down this wind and make embarkation easier.'

'How about cloud cover?'

'Not looking good.' He sucked in more air. 'Clear skies possibly.'

'And that's the good news, sir?'

'There's more. There's an armada of small vessels heading our way sometime this morning.'

'Thank heavens for that!'

'How's the jetty now?' asked Captain Howson.

'All done, sir.'

'Well, thank you for the tea.' He drained off the mug and held it out to Binky. He smiled, his teeth catching the reflected glow from the refineries up the coast. 'I'll see you back in England. At the club, perhaps.'

'Yes, at the club. Perhaps,' said Binky.

'Thanks for the tea, chief,' said Binky handing back the mugs. 'No sign of any rum yet?' he asked.

'I'm sorry, sir. Not a trace.' The chief lifted his head, indicating the dunes far behind. 'If there'd been any, that lot would have got to it first, sir.'

'Well, I have some good news for you,' announced Binky. 'You can have a drink at home this evening.'

'Sir?'

'And you can have one for me.'

'I don't understand, sir.'

'Captain Howson has our marching orders. I have to get half our party away at high tide.'

'And the rest, sir?'

'That decision is down to me.'

'Well, if it's all the same, sir, I'd rather stay.'

'You're married aren't you, chief?'

'Twenty-two years, sir.'

'Children?'

'Three daughters and one grand-daughter.'

'And you get on well with them?' Binky had not spoken with his own daughter for nearly two years and it troubled him deeply.

'Yes, sir, of course. I love 'em dearly, sir.'

'Then you go home to them.'

'Who shall I take with me, sir?'

'Just leave me the pick of the litter, you take the rest.'

'And Mr Hockley, sir?'

'Especially, Mr Hockley. I want you to carry him out if necessary. Where is he now?'

'Last I saw, he was playing with the soldiers up on the front. D'you want me to go get him, sir?'

'No,' said Binky. 'I could do with the exercise.'

'Ah, lieutenant!' called Binky as he made his way up the beach. Dibbens sat propped against his Bofers gun, a cigarette in one hand, a mug of tea in the other. He made to stand up.

'Stay put,' said the commander stepping up. He paused and placed his hands on his hips, drawing lengthy breaths. 'Don't suppose you managed to locate any rum or brandy or whatnot?'

'Sorry, sir. I can offer you a cuppa?'

'Not just now.' Binky sat down beside Lieutenant Dibbens. 'I have some good news for you.' He accepted a cigarette. 'You can have a drink at home this evening.'