Dunkirk Spirit Part 35

'You'll be lucky, chum.' The man straightened up and looked back inside the house. 'They've got more important cases than yours to worry about.' He laughed, somewhat bitterly, and then asked, 'What's your problem then?'

Archie huffed again as the orderly dropped to his knees and looked first at the brown stain on his shoulder. 'What happened here?' he asked.

'Bullet,' stated Archie. 'Went right through, never touched a bone, clean as a whistle.'

The orderly leant forward further still and sniffed at the wound. 'Yeah, it's all right,' he p.r.o.nounced. 'Smells fine. And what's all this?' he pointed now to the bandages that ran down Archie's entire left side and disappeared beneath the tattered trousers.

'Shrapnel from a Jerry potato masher.'

'Well, you're lucky then.' The orderly placed a hand on the stone steps to ease his weight. He seemed cheerful. 'If it had been one of our Mills bombs it would have blown you to smithereens. Those Jerry grenades, they're all blast and no shrapnel.'

'Well, it don't b.l.o.o.d.y feel like it,' announced Archie, looking up and narrowing his eyes.

'They've only got tiny little splinters!' the orderly laughed. 'Although they're still a b.u.g.g.e.r to pull out.'

'Can you change the dressings?' asked Archie hopefully.

'I could,' agreed the orderly. 'But those bandages look like they've been on there quite a while. They're gonna need soaking off, and that's the problem. We can't spare the water. Tough luck, chum.'

The orderly stood upright. 'Your best bet is to get yourself down to the harbour. There was talk of a hospital s.h.i.+p some time ago.' He rubbed his eyes, taking time to wipe the sleep from the corners. 'And wounded blokes, they've got priority, so long as they can walk. You should count your blessings.'

'How's that?' asked Archie. He noticed then that the orderly had brought with him a spade and a large galvanised pail.

'Because you can walk, chum. There's plenty here who can't, and won't even come Judgement Day.'

The orderly picked up the pail. Two amputated feet showed their soles to the sky, giving the curious impression that someone had dived inside. He winked at Archie Marley and skipped off down the steps swinging the spade.

06:35 Friday 31 May 1940.

Bray Dunes, France 'Are you all set now?'

'Yes, all set, sir.' The young mids.h.i.+pman looked very grim as he nodded his head.

'Come on then,' said Binky, steering the youngster back to the breaking surf. The whaler now bobbed out to sea some distance from the truck jetty, and the armed members of the remaining sh.o.r.e party stood waste deep in murky water holding her as steady as possible in the continuing breakers. The tide was on the ebb and it was hoped that the drag might help pull the whaler away from the sh.o.r.e.

'Wish us luck, sir,' said the mids.h.i.+pman, offering his hand.

'I wish you more than that,' smiled Binky. 'In you get.'

The young mids.h.i.+pman gritted his teeth and stepped into the water. Thick brown sc.u.m rolled up the damp sand, pulling with it odd items of floating kit and the occasional dead man. He edged his way through the water and hauled himself with difficulty over the stern. The whaler rose with the next wave and the men struggled to hold her steady.

More men were making their way past Commander Babbington and towards the whaler. A trickle turned into a torrent and soon the sh.o.r.e party were overwhelmed. Binky watched as one of his seamen shoved a soldier hard, knocking him backwards into the water. Now a scuffle began and fists flew. The whaler, without the help of the sailors to steady her, began to wash back towards the beach, cresting on a giant wave that appeared to run the length of the strand. Binky watched its' effect as it travelled along the sh.o.r.e, was.h.i.+ng against the wrecks, rolling further on, and then pulling back to reveal more dead men high and dry on the sand.

The young mids.h.i.+pman was standing in the stern and swinging his oar, catching a soldier high on the head and knocking him back below the waves. Other men, both sailors and soldiers, were now tumbling and falling back beneath the surface as the waves continued their march towards the beach. Binky had not been aware of the artillery sh.e.l.ls that had now begun to fall in the wheat fields far behind the dunes. Their hollow screams and detonations were lost in the general hubbub of the noisy beach. Stukas had been pounding the seafront to the west since first light and there was the constant rattle of anti-aircraft defences both from the distant destroyers and the gun emplacements around the port.

The sh.e.l.l that landed in the water, therefore, took him by complete surprise. He failed to see the explosion or the vast conical spout of water that rose into the sky. Binky first felt a huge shockwave lift him off his feet and carry him back away from the water's edge to deposit him in a heap on the sand. He lost his colour vision and the scene before his eyes juddered like the film on a cranky projector. There was no soundtrack. He watched the water fall in silence, sending dark black objects with it, and all cras.h.i.+ng around him. The sea itself, where once jet-black, was now a bubbling grey caldron. A thick mist hung in the air.

Commander Babbington's mouth hung open. No thoughts pa.s.sed through his mind. The scene around him barely registered. He sat there for some time, just staring and waiting for the curtain of mist to fall. Some time pa.s.sed before the Commander regained sufficient presence of mind to make his first move. He brought his thumb and forefinger up to his nose, squeezed and blew hard. Nothing happened. The dull ringing tone continued to reverberate through his skull.

Binky wondered if he would ever be able to stand up again. Perhaps he would still be sitting in the dunes watching the snails when the German infantry tramped through. The artillery sh.e.l.l that had landed in the sea killing most of his remaining sh.o.r.e party had dealt him a horrible body blow. He had checked for bleeding and had found no signs but his insides ached, his head throbbed, and there was a terrible ringing in his ears. By some mysterious means he had found himself sitting up in the dunes.

When not studying the tiny black and white snails in the marram gra.s.s, Binky looked out across the vast expanse of beach. Several thoughts were running through his mind and none lasting much more than thirty seconds. He was finding it difficult to pull himself back together again. His mind wanted to push aside the immediate and focus on the past. The German artillery was for the moment sporadic and wildly placed but somewhere high above came the drone of a spotter plane. Soon it would be directing the sh.e.l.ls to more rewarding targets than the wheat fields to his rear.

There came another change in air pressure and this time a large sh.e.l.l plunged overhead. Binky hunched his shoulders and braced himself. He antic.i.p.ated the bang and then watched the sea erupt near the water's edge. The shockwave even at this distance was powerful enough to register on the Commander's bruised insides. Binky's mind turned back to his failing farm. It had been a mistake to give all the pigs names.

'Have you seen Teasel this morning?' his wife, Babs, had asked. 'Her ears have gone all crispy.'

'Crispy?'

'Perhaps we should get Mr Cartwright to come out and have another look.'

Binky had been reluctant to spend more than he could afford on vet's bills and they had waited to see how things turned out. That, too, had been a mistake. When a pig gets sick and, therefore, miserable it seeks out the company of other pigs. Binky's pigs had next begun to huddle in a ma.s.s, their eyes dull and unresponsive, with little interest in food or life. Then they had started to cough. Mr Cartwright, when finally tracked down by telephone, had blamed the weather, suggesting a cold or flu. The first litter to arrive had not just been stillborn but mummified. Mr Cartwright and the man from the Ministry had ordered the entire herd put down.

Commander Babbington looked at the men lying in the dunes. They, too, huddled in their own ma.s.ses, seeking the company of their mates. Binky had not gone deaf as such. He could still register sound but the details were lost in the hum inside his head. A number of soldiers wandered around on their own, calling out for their units and friends.

'Royal Ulster Rifles!'

'C Company, First West Kents!'

'Harry! Anyone here seen Harry O'Neil?'

Other thoughts floated into his mind. He had made many mistakes. He should have taken the first desk job he had been offered. He would now be drawing a captain's pay and he might have a different view of himself. It was pride that had made him hold out for an active command and now he was suffering the fall. He had been fooling himself. He did not have the stamina any more. Binky squeezed his eyes tightly shut and swallowed painfully. He looked down at his wrist.w.a.tch only to discover that the gla.s.s was cracked and the red second hand rendered immobile. Binky wondered if he should go home.

'Here he is,' shouted Lieutenant Dibbens.

Mr Mids.h.i.+pman Hockley waved and then ran at a trot up the beach, splas.h.i.+ng in the puddles and swerving to avoid the craters. 'h.e.l.lo, sir,' he called. He paused as Commander Babbington drew closer. There was blood around the Commander's nose and his helmet was missing, leaving his grey hair to stand on end. There were also dark rings around his eyes and the whites were heavily bloodshot.

'Are you all right, sir?' Hockley asked, taking him by the arm and steering him back to the Bren gun carrier.

'Oh, for G.o.d's sake!' exclaimed Binky. 'Stop fussing.' He landed heavily on the fender and wiped a hand across his face. He needed a shave, and a hot bath, a hot meal, a good night's sleep, and many stiff drinks. 'I thought I packed you off earlier...'

Hockley laughed. 'We didn't get too far, sir.' He studied the Commander. 'Perhaps you should get back, sir. I can a.s.sume command here. The chief's still in one piece and we've got four ratings fit for duty.'

He shook the Commander by the shoulder. 'Sir?'

Commander Babbington appeared to see the young mids.h.i.+pman for the first time. 'Mr Hockley, please pipe down! And put the kettle on.'

08:15 Friday 31 May 1940.

Dunkirk, France When Father papered the parlour You couldn't see him for paste Dabbing it here! Dabbing it there!

Paste and paper everywhere Mother was stuck to the ceiling The children stuck to the floor I never knew a blooming family so stuck up before 'Stone the crows!' exclaimed Archie Marley.

'Come on, lad. What yer havin'?'

'Got any beer?' he asked.

'Coming right up!'

Archie looked around the broad cellar. The flickering candles and the thick fug of cigarettes had helped recreate the aura of a seedy bas.e.m.e.nt jazz club. He nodded to himself and smiled. The man returned, clutching four beer bottles. He pa.s.sed one to Archie. 'Cheers!' he said.

'Cheers!' Archie placed the bottle to his lips and lifted his arm. The cool amber beer had a sharp, pleasant tang. 'Phew! That's better.' He smiled.

'I bet you needed that,' said the man, a private in the Signal Corp. He smiled back at Archie. 'Cigarette?'

'Ta,' said Archie, accepting. 'Anywhere to sit down?'

The private led him to a corner and they dropped down onto a large sack of grain. Archie drank some more and watched as the carousers collapsed about the room in a heap of giggles.

'What a place!' he exclaimed. 'Just about the last thing I expected to find here.'

'Well, if you've got to wait, you might as well do it in style.' He tapped his bottle against Archie's.

'Reminds me of Christmas,' offered Archie. 'Or a b.l.o.o.d.y good wake!'

'Yeah, we got a great bunch in here. We're all from the same mob. Good lads who like a bit of fun.'

'And a free bar,' put in Archie.

'Yeah, I just wish the neighbours weren't so bloomin' noisy!'

'How's that?' called Archie above the rising din.

'b.l.o.o.d.y Germans!'

Archie grinned back. He had forgotten the sh.e.l.ling, the reason he had sought shelter in the first place.

'Is that your dog?' asked the private.

'Dog? What dog?' Archie then noticed the grey Cairn terrier. He sat up on his hind legs, his paws stretched out as if holding a tray. 'h.e.l.lo!' said Archie. 'You're a funny little chap, aren't you?'

The dog seemed to be smiling at him. 'No, it ain't my dog,' said Archie, turning back. 'Cute, though.'

'Well, he's taken a right s.h.i.+ne to you,' explained the signaller. 'You should take him home. He'd make a good souvenir of France. A gift for your sweetheart.'

'Right!' said Archie. 'Just about the last thing I need right now is a mutt.'

The dog's ears drooped down and he no longer seemed to be smiling.

'Oh, now look what you've gone and done,' said the private. 'You've upset him.'

Archie lent forward and rubbed the dog's head. 'You don't want to come back to England, do you?' he asked.

The dog's ears p.r.i.c.ked up and he smiled again, showing a pink tongue.

'Dog's like beer, don't they?' he asked the private.

'Love it,' he replied.

Archie slipped off his helmet. He took a well-worn photograph from behind the straps and placed it carefully in his bag. He put the helmet down on the ground in front of the dog and emptied his bottle into it. It foamed for a moment and then the dog, cautious at first, sniffed and then began lapping away with his tongue.

'Told you they love it,' said the private. He stopped suddenly and looked at his mates. They were climbing again to their feet.

'Oooooh,' called out one of the signallers.

'Oh, no!' The private turned quickly to Archie. 'I can't sit this one out.' He rose to his feet and staggered forward.

You put your left arm in, your left arm out

In out, in out, you shake it all about

You do the Hokey c.o.key and you turn around

That's what it's all about

The private motioned for Archie to come and join the circle, but he shook his head. The dog had finished the beer and was now back on his hind legs, smiling at Archie.

Whoa-o the Hokey c.o.key

Whoa-o the Hokey c.o.key

Whoa-o the Hokey c.o.key