by Alan Pearce
Commander Babbington’s mouth hung open. No thoughts passed 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 passed 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 shell that had landed in the sea killing most of his remaining shore 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 grass, 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 shells to more rewarding targets than the wheat fields to his rear.
There came another change in air pressure and this time a large shell plunged overhead. Binky hunched his shoulders and braced himself. He anticipated 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 mass, 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 masses, 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 wristwatch only to discover that the glass was cracked and the red second hand rendered immobile. Binky wondered if he should go home.
‘Here he is,’ shouted Lieutenant Dibbens.
Mr Midshipman Hockley waved and then ran at a trot up the beach, splashing in the puddles and swerving to avoid the craters. ‘Hello, 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 God’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 assume 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 midshipman 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 basement jazz club. He nodded to himself and smiled. The man returned, clutching four beer bottles. He passed 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 bloody 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.
‘Bloody Germans!’
Archie grinned back. He had forgotten the shelling, 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. ‘Hello!’ 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 shine 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 pricked 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 Cokey 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 Cokey
Whoa-o the Hokey Cokey
Whoa-o the Hokey Cokey
Knees bent, arms out, ra, ra, rah
‘You remind me of Dorothy’s dog in The Wizard of Oz,’ Archie told him. He was an avid reader of Film Fun. ‘Toto. Toto.’
The dog was suddenly filled with excitement, his little head bobbed up and down. A thought passed through Archie’s mind. He could take the dog back for Grace. He could say it was Bill’s dog. That would make things easier. ‘No,’ thought Archie, aloud. ‘That wouldn’t be right.’
Toto now dropped back on all fours. He tilted his head to one side and stared at Archie.
‘Grace would love you,’ he told Toto. It would give her something to stroke and cuddle while she cried. The Hokey Cokey put him in mind of their farewell party. Sweet sixteen and now she had been kissed. They had stepped outside into the frosty yard for a breath of fresh air. Grace had shivered with the cold but she had refused Archie’s jacket. Instead, she had cuddled up to him, resting her head on his shoulder. Archie had felt his stomach muscles tighten at the time, worrying that Bill might come looking for him.
‘I’m going to miss you, Archie.’ Grace kept her head on his shoulder.
‘I’ll miss you, too, Grace.’
‘Will you?’ she asked.
‘Of course I will.’
‘What? Really miss me?’
Archie lifted her chin with the tip of his finger and there had been a sudden emotional charge as their eyes met. He could feel it now. And he could see her, too. Archie sighed. Bill’s family had been more like his real family, or how his real family should have been. There had never been a single conversation with his own father that did not involve shouting. His dad was a pisshead and his mum was just plain scatty. Bill’s dad, on the other hand, had talked to him at length about the Great War and about football and fishing and all sorts of things. Bill’s mum was a wonderful cook. He rarely ever ate at home. Archie thought again of that moment on the step with Grace. He had lifted her chin and she had turned her head to look into his eyes. Grace had lovely hazel eyes. Then they had kissed. Their lips touched tentatively at first. Archie closed his eyes again and felt the warmth of her lips. Her lips had parted and, before he could stop himself, his tongue was caressing hers and his heart was beating fit to burst.
‘Will you really miss me, Archie?’ she had asked again.
He had smiled back, lost for words.
‘I love you Archie Marley,’ Grace whispered, but so quietly only she could hear.
09:30 Friday 31 May 1940.
Off Dunkirk, France
‘What?’ exclaimed Charlie Lavender, spitting out his tea. He stared open mouthed. ‘What about our blokes? That’s why we’re ‘ere, ain’t it?’
Burnell spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. ‘That’s what the captain just told me, and that’s what the captain gets.’
‘Look, I ain’t got nothing against the French,’ explained Charlie. ‘Not much, anyway. And good luck to ‘em, I say. But I came here to get our blokes off and that’s want I’m gonna do.’ He jerked his head as if to say ‘so there!’
‘This is the Royal Navy,’ insisted Burnell. ‘Not the pick ‘n’ mix counter at Woolworth’s. Anyway, this one comes straight from Churchill…’
‘Churchill? Who does he think he is?’
‘He thinks he’s Prime Minister, that’s who.’
‘Well, I didn’t vote for him. He didn’t exactly cover himself in glory during the last show. Gallipoli! What a cock up!’
‘Whatever!’ sighed Burnell. ‘We’re off to La Panne now.’
‘Where’s that then?’
‘The next beach up the coast. It’s a Belgian resort.’
‘What? We’re not lifting bloody Belgians off too?’
‘Just the French.’ Burnell turned to Tom and the young Sea Cadet fired up the engine. ‘That-a-way!’ He pointed off into the distance. ‘And don’t spare the horses.’
Phoebe reared up out of the water as Tom applied full power.
A French trawler had been beached some distance from the shore and Charlie edged Phoebe up against her side. ‘Secure that bowline!’ he shouted to Ted, who fumbled just as a wave lifted the cruiser’s bow.
‘All secure, Charlie!’
The French troops were already wading out into the surf. They clambered up the sides of the trawler and began to drop down onto Phoebe’s foredeck.
‘Blow me!’ exclaimed Charlie from the bridge. ‘I thought our blokes looked in a bad way. Look at ‘em! Dirty, unshaven, verminous…’
‘Exhausted,’ put in Burnell. ‘And worried that they’re leaving France, and their loved ones.’
‘They look like they’ve been living rough for a year!’
‘Fighting the Germans, more likely.’
‘Yeah, right!’ exclaimed Charlie. ‘Hang on a mo’.’ He turned and dropped from the bridge, making his way quickly through the growing crowd down to the saloon. Phoebe was well found in the matter of supplies. The British taxpayer had footed the bill. Charlie pushed his way into the long cabin and reached down to the nearest locker. He used his key and then peered inside before slamming back the lid and moving on to the next. Eventually, he found what he was looking for and began to cram cartons of cigarettes into his arms. He looked at the men filling the saloon. He could smell them, too.
‘Lovely cigarettes!’ called Charlie. ‘Get your lovely cigarettes here!’
‘Merci!’
‘Two-and-six please, chum,’ said Charlie.
The soldier looked confused.
‘Naw! Just kiddin’.’ Charlie tossed the rest of the cigarettes into the air and pushed his way back to the bridge.
‘That was an artillery shell,’ said Burnell. Water and bits of wood continued to fall all around them. The shell had landed on the other side of the French trawler, and that had cushioned the blast.
‘Ted!’ shouted Burnell. ‘Let slip!’ He turned to Charlie and jerked his thumb towards the horizon. Phoebe pulled back, rapidly increasing the distance from the remains of the trawler. Her funnel had completed disappeared and her hull, broken in two, smouldered and steamed.
‘How can that be artillery?’ asked Charlie. ‘How could they have seen us?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps it was a lucky shot. Perhaps they’ve got a spotter plane somewhere.’
They both looked up into the sky. Tom turned his head away from the men still in the water and looked up, too.
‘Bloody good shooting, then.’ Charlie was impressed. He had seen plenty of good shooting in the line at Ypres. ‘And not even a ranging shot!’ He nudged Tom in the back and handed over the wheel. ‘And zigzag! Don’t go in a bloomin’ straight line. Not if they can see us.’
‘Right, Charlie.’
Phoebe heeled first one way and
then the other. The men up front also began scanning the sky.
‘Here we go,’ called Burnell. He dropped the binoculars to his chest and tapped Tom on the shoulder. ‘That destroyer will do nicely, if we can catch her up.’
‘No problem,’ said Tom. The sea was much calmer away from the shore and Phoebe tore across the waves at a cracking pace, throwing a snow-white bow-wave along her sides to soak the men lining the rails.
A vast fountain of water lifted out of the sea some five hundred yards away from the destroyer.
‘These blokes are good!’ said Charlie. Phoebe heeled violently to port and it seemed for the briefest of instants that she might not recover, but Tom had a good feel for the cruiser and he brought her quickly back. Another shell landed much closer to the destroyer.
‘What shall I do now?’ asked Tom of Burnell.
He thought for a moment. ‘Keep our distance, but stick to her like glue.’ The destroyer had also been zigzagging, now she was making for the horizon and out of range, but she was no match for Phoebe.
‘Where’s Ted?’ asked Tom.
‘Ain’t he up front?’ answered Charlie.
‘No, he ain’t.’
‘Have you looked below?’
‘Yes. Yes. Course I bloody have. I can’t find him anywhere.’
Burnell pulled himself up to the bridge. ‘Ruddy cheek!’ he called out as he reached the top step. ‘That captain said we shouldn’t worry about the artillery. We’re just not a tempting enough target. Can you believe that?’ He looked at Charlie and then at Tom.