When it was quiet again, Bob picked himself up from the ditch and looked round for his mates. Tom was all right, but Sergeant Williams clutched his arm, blood dripping down from his sleeve.
The others escaped injury but several of the civilians who had been trudging along the road ahead of them were dead. Most of them had made it into the cover of the ditch and were now crawling out, looking dazed but resigned. ‘They’ll be back,’ one old man muttered.
Bob tore a strip off his shirt tail and bound it round the sergeant’s arm. ‘That’ll do for the moment, Sarge.’
‘Thanks, lad. Let’s get on, shall we?’
They trudged along – you couldn’t call it marching - their steps slower now, shoulders hunched. Now and then a lorry or van would pass them, all crowded to overflowing with soldiers from other units. No chance of being picked up but they all shouted encouraging words which did little to revive their flagging spirits.
Several times they were forced to dive for cover as more Stukas screamed overhead, raking the crowded roads with machine gun fire. The third time it happened, Tom leapt to his feet, waving his arms and shouting obscenities. Bob tried to calm him down and they plodded on, Tom still muttering what he’d like to do with the buggers if only he hadn’t run out of ammunition.
It was boiling hot and they were all desperate for a drink. Just as Bob was beginning to think he could walk no further, Sergeant Williams called a halt. He pointed to a small wood on the other side of the field which ran alongside the road. ‘We’ll take a breather,’ he said.
‘Thank God,’ Tom muttered.
The others threw themselves down in the shade of the trees while Bob filled his water bottle from a nearby pond.
‘Don’t drink that,’ Sergeant Williams snapped. ‘Boil it first.’
They lit a small fire and propped a billycan over it. They had little food, but Bob produced a few tea leaves and they drank the weak liquid thirstily.
Bob leaned back against a tree trunk and sighed. He fished in his pocket for the photo he always carried. Daisy’s cheeky smile looked out at him. She was perched on a railing on Sheerness seafront, her head thrown back, her curls flying in the wind. He tried to picture what she would be doing now – serving some handsome sailor with his Senior Service he supposed, giving him that sexy smile, being cheeky, like as not. He shouldn’t be jealous, given the way his thoughts leaned these past weeks. He made a conscious effort to dismiss Francoise from his mind. It was Daisy he loved. And he knew that, despite her flirty ways, it was all just a front. She had promised to stay to true to him and he believed her. Would he ever see either of them again? He put the photo back in his battledress pocket as Sarge gave the order to pack up and resume their march.
Chapter Nine
Stan Bishop listened to the wireless, leaning close to the set, his expression grim. They had moved it into the kitchen as they spent more time in there these days and Stan spent every spare moment listening to the news.
When Daisy came home from work on the evening of May 30th she crept in quietly. It had been a boiling hot day and her only thought was to get out of her uncomfortable uniform, have a cooling wash and put on a light summer dress.
She had just put one foot on the bottom stair when her father called, ‘Here, Daisy, listen to this.’
With a sigh she entered the kitchen. She was in no mood to listen to Dad ranting about the incompetence of those running the war, but it didn’t do to ignore him. She knew from the gossip in the NAAFI that things weren’t going well and she was worried enough about Bob without Dad going on about it. She had stopped being angry with Bob for not writing, realising that she was being selfish putting her own feelings first. Not only that, she was worried about Lofty too. He’d told her that he might soon be posted, along with several others she’d got to know over the past months.
The measured tones of newsreader, Alvar Liddell, filled the little kitchen as Stan turned the volume up. ‘The little ships are gathering at Dover to bring our brave lads home – so far several thousand have been rescued. Many more crowd the beaches of Dunkirk, waiting their turn.’
‘Does that mean Bob might be coming home?’ Daisy asked.
‘How do I know? Shut up and listen will you.’
Daisy bit her lip. It wasn’t like Dad to snap but she knew he hated interruptions when he was listening to the wireless. Poor Jimmy had often been sent to his room for chattering when the news was on.
She kept quiet until the announcer finished, going on to read out more information about rations and other restrictions. Stan turned the wireless off and sighed.
‘Well, looks like this is it. We’ve been run out of France; they’ll have to fend for themselves now.’
‘Does this mean we’ve lost the war, Dad?’
‘What do you think? Old Hitler will be here any day now. We’ll fight on, of course but...’ He sighed again. ‘I’ve been thinking about this LDV I’ve joined. I can’t see we’ll do much good – no guns or equipment.’
Daisy felt a churning in her stomach. Would there really be an invasion? But we’ve still got the air force and the navy, she thought, and if the Germans do invade, there’s still lots of soldiers here to defend us. They wouldn’t have to rely on volunteers like her dad.
Before she could reply, the back door banged open and Jimmy came in, his face red with excitement. ‘Just been up on the seafront. Lots of ships out there, little boats too. Someone said they’re full of troops.’
‘It was just on the wireless,’ Daisy said.
Jimmy started to badger their father with questions and Daisy couldn’t bear listening to his chatter. She went upstairs and sat on the edge of her bed, wondering what it all meant, her brain awhirl with conflicting emotions. She hardly dared hope that Bob would be among those rescued; he could have been taken prisoner – or worse. And if it was true that the army had given in and accepted defeat what did that mean? Would German paratroopers be descending on them any day?
She heard her mother come home and knew she should go down and help prepare the evening meal. Slowly, she changed out of her uniform, putting off the moment when she would have to re-join her family. Their talk would all be about the war and what was happening over in France. There would be another news bulletin later in the evening and they would have to listen to it all over again. Things were probably a lot worse than they said. Everyone knew that the BBC was not allowed to report everything for fear of spreading ‘alarm and despondency’ as they called it.
Daisy sat at her dressing table and covered her face with her hands. ‘Please, God, let Bob be all right,’ she sobbed.
She sat up straight when she heard Jimmy thundering up the stairs. He barged in without knocking but she didn’t have the heart to tell him off.
‘Mum said tea’s ready,’ he said, peering at her. ‘You’ve been crying. Nothing to cry about. Dad says they’re bringing our troops home.’
Daisy wiped her eyes and stood up. ‘I’m all right now. Tell Mum I’ll be down in a minute.’ She straightened her dress, patted her hair into place and followed her brother downstairs.
Dora still had her WVS uniform on and was dishing up the shepherds pie she had left in the oven earlier. ‘Come and eat, love,’ she said.
Daisy and Jimmy sat at the table but Stan hadn’t moved from his place by the wireless where he fiddled with the knobs.
‘Leave that,’ Dora said. ‘Let’s eat our meal in peace. And no war talk, please. There’s nothing we can do about it, so let’s just enjoy this pie.’
‘All right, all right,’ Stan grumbled, pulling his chair up to the table.
Soon they were all tucking into the pie, which was more potato than meat. But Dora had added some vegetables and plenty of seasoning and Stan nodded appreciatively. ‘Don’t know how you do it, love. I’ll have some more if there’s any left.’
Daisy smiled. She had better food when she was on duty in the NAAFI but she wouldn’t say anything. It was just so good to be sitting here wi
th her family, especially as, for once, Dad heeded his wife’s words and wasn’t going on about the war and the possibility of invasion. But she couldn’t ignore the news for long and she found herself trying to imagine what was happening to Bob at this moment. Was he on one of those ships Jimmy saw out in the estuary, or was he still fighting his way through France to escape the German advance?
***
It took three days for Bob and the meagre remnants of his unit to reach the coast. Stumbling along bomb pitted roads, hiding in woods and barns, diving into ditches as yet another wave of Stukas came over leaving death and devastation in their wake, the sergeant, with Bob, Tom and two privates had managed to escape further injury. A few days earlier, Sergeant Williams’s arm had begun to fester and he was in great pain. Bob and his mates had taken turns helping the wounded man along, despite repeated pleas to leave him behind.
At last they caught a glimpse of the sea between smoke blackened buildings and they pushed their way through the crowds thronging the little harbour.
Bob gasped as they reached the harbour wall and looked out to sea. He could hardly believe what he was seeing – lines of men wading out waist high into the sea, stretching hands out to the boats that waited to take them on board. They queued silently, patiently, except for a few who tried to push their way to the front.
Tom helped the sergeant to sit with his back against the wall and straightened, running a hand through his hair. ‘Strewth, mate. What a sight.’
Bob nodded. He bent to speak to Sergeant Williams. ‘We can’t stay here, must get you into one of those queues. The sooner you’re on board a ship the better.’
‘Don’t worry about me. Get yourselves down on the beach. I’ll be OK.’ The sergeant’s voice was faint and he closed his eyes.
‘Come on, Bob. You heard him.’
‘No Tom. You and the others go. I’ll try and get help for him.’
Tom looked round frantically. ‘What help? Don’t talk daft, man. Come on.’
‘I won’t leave him.’
Tom shrugged and beckoned to the other two. They didn’t need telling twice and in a moment they had disappeared, swallowed up in the throng making its way down to the beach.
Bob sat down beside the sergeant and leaned against the wall. What hope of finding a medic in all this chaos, he thought. But he had to help Williams, who’d been a good leader when they’d been deserted by their officers. He’d got them this far and Bob would not leave him now.
‘We can’t stay here,’ he muttered. He could hear guns in the distance and the rumble of tanks. Was it more of their own troops or the advancing enemy? Better not wait to find out and probably end up a prisoner of war. He stood up and scanned the crowds, his heart leaping as he spotted a red cross painted on the side of a half-ruined building. He helped Sergeant Williams to stand up and, holding on to his good arm, led him towards the first aid post.
A medic rushed forward and helped the injured man on to a stretcher. Inside was chaos but Bob felt relieved that at least Sarge stood a chance now, even if taken prisoner.
The medic, after ascertaining that Bob was not injured, waved him away. ‘Get going, while there’s still time,’ he said. ‘Your man will be all right. We’ll look after him.’
Bob hurried away, scanning the crowds for a sight of Tom and the others.
***
Daisy was on early shift and they were extra busy, but she couldn’t avoid the buzz of conversation as sailors crowded in to the NAAFI. They had no ship’s name on their caps, but she overheard one of them saying that HMS Ross had returned the night before. ‘Loose lips sink ships’, she thought. They weren’t supposed to talk about what went on in the dockyard. As she bustled around making up piles of sandwiches and re-filling the tea urn, she was dying to ask how many troops they had rescued. Was Bob among them? She sighed. It was too much to hope that even if he had been taken off the beach, he would have ended back here.
‘Come along, girl. Stop day-dreaming.’ Mrs Green’s sharp voice startled her and she almost dropped the can of corned beef she was struggling to open.
She heard a laugh and turned to see Harold smirking behind her back. The smile left his face as Mrs Green glared at him. ‘And you, Private Tompkins. Haven’t you got anything better to do?’
Daisy hastily finished opening the can and started slicing the corned beef. Soon she had another pile of sandwiches and she was about to take them through to the canteen when Mrs Green said. ‘I’ve got a job for you. Wrap those up and take them down to dockyard gate.’ Her voice softened. ‘Those poor lads are exhausted and starving.’
‘Yes, Mrs Green.’ Daisy found some greaseproof paper and wrapped the food, placing the packages into a cardboard box. Her heart quickened as she hurried past the parade ground towards the dockyard entrance. Would she get the chance to ask about Bob? Daft idea really. Hundreds, even thousands, of men had been rescued. What chance to find one among so many? But she had always been an optimist and she smiled up at the guard on the gate, asking if she could take the food to the ship.
‘Sorry, love. No one past the gate without authorisation. I’ll take that.’ He held out his hand for the box.
Daisy handed it over but hesitated before turning away. ‘My fiancé might be on that ship. Is there any way...?’
‘No, love. There’s hundreds of the poor buggers. They’ll be sent on to other units once they’ve been debriefed. Sorry, love, I don’t know any more than you do.’
Daisy bit her lip, holding back tears. Where was he? It had been foolish to hope, she knew.
The guard took pity on her. ‘You’re Stan Bishop’s lass, aren’t you?’
She nodded.
‘And it’s young Bob Gardner you’re asking about?’
She nodded again.
‘Well, I’ll see what I can find out but don’t hold your breath. It’s a right muddle as far as I can tell.’
She smiled and thanked him. ‘Better get back to work,’ she said.
Back in the NAAFI Mrs Green was behind the counter serving a long queue of sailors and soldiers, while June scurried around clearing tables.
‘You took your time,’ she snapped as Daisy hurried in. ‘Take over here. I need to go and check the stores.’
June stuck her tongue out behind the supervisor’s back and Daisy struggled to hide a smile. ‘Sorry Mrs Green,’ she said, donning her overall and going behind the counter.
As she poured tea, gave out cigarettes and gave change, she tried to put Bob out of her mind. Maybe there would be news when she got home this evening. The crowd thinned and she checked the shelves behind her to make sure there were sufficient cigarettes for the next lot of customers.
Mrs Green’s remark about checking the stores reminded her of her suspicions some time ago when she had been sent to get stock. She had been so busy and her mind so full of worry about Bob that she had almost forgotten Mr Browning’s telling her off about not signing stuff out. Not that she had neglected to do so. She was sure it had been his mistake – or was it a mistake? She resolved to pay more attention to the number of goods sold, compared to what was in the store. And if there was any funny business, she would report it. But who to, she wondered.
A tap on the counter brought her thoughts back to her job and she smiled as Lofty said, ‘A penny for them?’
‘What?’
‘Your thoughts. You were miles away.’
‘Sorry. What can I get you?’
‘A cuppa and one of those rock buns,’ he said, pointing to the glass case.
He passed over the money and teased, ‘Dreaming of your boy friend, were you?’
‘He’s over there – in France,’ she said, a sob catching her throat. ‘Suppose he doesn’t get back?’
Lofty’s face reddened and he spoke abruptly. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’ He picked up his cup and plate and went over to a table in the corner.
All her worries flooded back and Daisy thought no more about Mr Browning and any possible w
rong-doing. There were more important things on her mind.
At last her shift ended and she threw off her overall and grabbed her uniform jacket off the peg behind the door. She didn’t wait for June and Lily but hurried out into the warm May evening.
She was home in ten minutes and, as usual, her eyes went to the mantelpiece in search of a letter. Of course, there was nothing there and she threw herself down on one of the kitchen chairs, covering her face with her hands. She wouldn’t cry, she told herself fiercely. Bob was safe, on his way home – he must be.
She sat up as the back door opened, wiping her hands over her face and turning to smile at her mother, who was still wearing her WVS uniform. ‘Just got back from the station’ she said. ‘We’ve been handing out tea and sandwiches to the lads. Poor souls. After all they’ve been through, they’re sending them back to their units. So many of them...’ She sighed.
‘We’ve been busy at work too,’ Daisy said. ‘I kept looking for Bob every time the door opened. And they sent me down to the dock gate to hand over a pile of sandwiches.’ She sighed. ‘They wouldn’t let me in though.’
‘Of course they wouldn’t. Don’t be daft, girl,’ said Stan.
Before Daisy could say anything, Dora said, ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. Mrs Gardner popped round this morning...’
‘She’s had news?’ Daisy jumped up. ‘He’s home?’
‘No, dear. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean... It’s one of Bob’s mates. He came to see her. He got back on one of those destroyers. My goodness, what a time they’ve had.’
‘But, Mum. What about Bob? Is he safe?’ Daisy could hardly contain her impatience. She dashed to the back door. ‘I must go and see her.’
‘Daisy, wait...’
But Daisy couldn’t wait. She pushed through the gap in the fence that had been there since they were children and, without knocking, pushed open the back door to the Gardners’ house. She could tell at once that Bob’s mother had been crying and her heart sank.
Daisy's War Page 7