Daisy's War

by Roberta Grieve

  She rushed across the room and, kneeling in front of her chair, took the older woman’s hands. ‘What’s happened?’ she looked round to see a soldier standing by the window, twisting his cap in his hands.

  ‘I’m Tom,’ he said. ‘Bob’s mate. We were together till...’ He coughed and paused. ‘Sorry. It’s hard. I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘They left him behind,’ Mrs Gardner wailed. ‘My boy...’

  ‘We didn’t want to leave him,’ Tom protested. ‘He insisted. You see, our sergeant was wounded and Bob stayed with him. He was very brave.’

  Daisy patted Mrs Gardner’s hands. ‘Don’t worry. He’s probably safe. They’re still bringing people off. I heard it in the NAAFI today.’ She didn’t really believe it, but she needed to comfort Bob’s mother.

  Tom looked embarrassed. ‘I hope so but it’s crazy over there and the Germans were right behind us.’

  ‘Maybe he’s been taken prisoner,’ Daisy said, clinging on to a little bit of hope. ‘That must be it.’ She turned to Bob’s mother. ‘We mustn’t give up hope yet.’

  Tom shifted his feet. ‘I shouldn’t really be here. I was on my way to the station. I just felt I had to come and give you what news I could.’

  Mrs Gardner straightened her shoulders. ‘Thank you, young man. I’m grateful. And, as Daisy says, we mustn’t give up hope.’

  Daisy followed him to the door and thanked him. But as he turned away he said, ‘I’m sorry to say, from what I saw there was precious little chance he got away. I just hope he’s taken prisoner, not...’

  She didn’t reply, just closed the door and went back to try and offer Bob’s mother some comfort.

  Chapter Ten

  Bob waded out into the sea, holding his rifle above his head. A small boat bobbed alongside him and willing hands pulled him on board.

  ‘That’s it, mate, soon have you home.’

  Bob was so exhausted he scarcely heard, gazing back at the sand dunes pitted with craters and littered with dead or dying men. The little boat came alongside a destroyer and he managed to climb the ladder onto the deck. The ship was crowded and he looked around, bewildered. There was nowhere to sit and when he moved towards the companionway, hoping to find somewhere to rest, an able seaman stopped him. ‘Full up down below, mate.’

  Bob stumbled away and managed to squeeze into a corner where exhaustion claimed him. He slept so deeply that he was oblivious to the noise of bombs dropping all around them.

  He was awoken by a hand on his shoulder and he opened bleary eyes. ‘What you doing here, mate?’

  ‘Where are we? Is this Dover?’

  The man laughed. ‘Dover? You joking? Listen to that.’

  Bob could hear machine gun fire and he stood up groggily, gazing around in bewilderment. ‘I thought we’d be home by now,’ he said.

  ‘Mate, you were home. We offloaded everyone and turned back to pick up another lot. Don’t know how we missed you.’

  Bob groaned. Back in Dunkirk, just when he thought his troubles were over. He stumbled towards the rail and looked down at a scene from hell. His thoughts turned to Sergeant Williams and guilt assailed him. He shouldn’t have left him behind. He turned to the sailor who had woken him.

  ‘I want to get off,’ he said.

  ‘Go back there? You mad?’

  ‘I left a mate behind. I need to see if he’s OK.’

  The sailor shrugged. ‘Better get a move on then. We won’t hang about too long.’

  Bob was still shaky but the sailor helped him to the rail and lowered him into one the small boats that had just unloaded another cargo of shocked and wounded men. He looked across to the beach, dismayed at how many men were still there, all hoping to be picked up.

  The boat reached the shore and he jumped into the shallows and waded towards the beach, pushing his way through the crowds to the causeway. He tried to remember where the first aid post was where he had left the sergeant. But the buildings he passed only a few hours ago were now a blackened smoking ruin. He groaned. Too late. He’d better get back to the boats.

  As he turned away and joined a group of men making their way to the beach, he heard a sound that turned his blood to ice. The rumble of tanks approaching - German tanks. He stopped, turned and, following the advice of the officer in charge, held up his hands. Some of the men tried to run but were mown down. Bob felt sick but he held his head high.

  A long march inland began, prodded from behind by German soldiers. Bob stumbled along, eyes on the ground cursing his bad luck. Where would they end up? Would he ever see Daisy again? His own fault. He had almost been home. Why hadn’t someone woken him? Too late now.

  ***

  It was a week after Tom’s visit to Mrs Gardner and there was still no news. Daisy still prayed that Bob had somehow survived, that even now he was on his way home. But it was becoming harder to cling on to hope.

  There was very little in the newspapers or on the wireless news about the evacuation from Dunkirk, but Prime Minister Churchill made a speech in the House of Commons a few days ago and an extract from that had been read out on the nine o-clock news.

  ‘Trying to keep our spirits up,’ Stan Bishop said, as the family sat round the table eating their tea. ‘A miracle of deliverance,’ he says, but we all know what’s coming.’ He went over and turned the wireless up. ‘Let’s hear what J B has to say.’

  They ate in silence for a while, listening to J B Priestley’s ‘Postscript’, the talk he gave after the evening news. He too was talking about the ‘miracle of Dunkirk’.

  ‘Propaganda,’ Stan exclaimed through a mouthful of shepherd’s pie. ‘It’s defeat, not victory however they try to dress it up.’

  ‘Oh, Dad,’ Daisy said, a sob in her voice. She pushed her plate away. ‘I can’t eat any more, Mum. I just keep thinking about Bob.’

  ‘Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to upset you.’ Stan put on a more cheerful voice. ‘Well, Mr Churchill said, ‘we will never surrender’ and I for one will carry on doing my bit,’ Stan said. ‘You too, Daisy love, don’t give way. I’m sure, wherever Bob is now, he’s trying to do his bit too. That’s why he joined up.’

  Daisy didn’t care what the Prime Minister said. Everyone knew the Germans were almost on their doorstep just waiting to invade. ‘What good can we do, Dad?’

  ‘I don’t know, love. But we’re trying. The LDV are getting proper training and they’ve promised us guns, proper equipment.’

  ‘Not much use against tanks and...’ She choked on a sob, pushed her chair back and rushed upstairs before she could give way to the threatening tears. She threw herself down on the bed but after a few minutes she sat up and wiped her eyes. No use crying, she told herself. She must be brave, like Dad. Face whatever happened when – if – it happened.

  If only she could write to Bob, pour out her hopes and fears, tell him how much she loved and missed him.

  She must do something to take her mind off this all-consuming worry though. She decided to write to Sylvia. They hadn’t heard from her since her brief visit earlier in the year.

  Writing to her sister helped to calm her down and she even managed to make a few jokey references to the lads who came into the NAAFI. She told Sylvia about creepy Private Tompkins, about grumpy Mr Browning and Cook Sergeant Shiner who acted as if he was a chef at the Ritz.

  She didn’t ask if Sylvia had heard from Roland, the handsome RAF officer she had brought home with her. She was sure that, despite her offhand comments, her sister had been really smitten with him but he didn’t seem the sort to stick to one girl friend, especially one who was so far away. And she didn’t mention Bob either.

  She felt a bit better after writing and she sealed the envelope and went downstairs to ask her mother for a stamp.

  Stan was still hunched over the wireless while Dora was in the scullery washing up. Daisy picked up a tea towel and began to dry the dishes.

  ‘Where’s Jimmy?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s gone up to Barton’s Point,’
Dora replied. ‘He can’t keep away – says he’s helping the gun crews, running errands for them and that. I don’t like it but what can I do?’

  ‘You worry too much,’ Stan called from the other room. ‘There’s been no raids as yet. Time enough to worry when old Hitler gets here.’

  Dora tipped the water away and dried her hands, then marched into the other room. ‘Don’t talk like that, Stan.’ Her voice trembled and Daisy put her arm round her mother and gave her a hug.

  ‘No use getting upset, Mum. We just have to get on with it and do what we have to do.’

  The back door banged open and Jimmy came in, his hair on end and his eyes alight with excitement. ‘Just saw another destroyer making its way to the Dockyard. Perhaps Bob’s on board,’ he said.

  Hope flared in Daisy’s breast again and despair fled. Jimmy could be right. She mustn’t give up hope yet.

  ***

  Bob felt as if he’d been walking for days. His boots were falling to pieces and he had lost his tin hat, left behind in the scramble to get to his feet after one of their brief stops. The sun beat down on his head, sweat dripping into his eyes so that he could hardly see where he was going. Not that he wanted to look around him, nauseated by the sight of the dead and dying by the roadside. Soldiers and civilians had been mown down by Stukas in their desperate attempt to reach the coast. Why had he and the small group with him been spared?

  He wondered where they were and glanced up as they reached a crossroads. They were ordered to go straight on, but Bob caught a glimpse of a signpost pointing off to the right. ‘Amiens’. Hadn’t Francoise said her aunt lived near there? He couldn’t remember the name of the village, but she had told him about the Cathedral of Our Lady in the city. Had she managed to reach there? Bob prayed she was safe.

  He stumbled as his foot caught in one of the potholes made by the bombing and a German soldier gave him a shove. He glared at the man, only to receive a harder blow. He managed to keep walking, eyes on the ground.

  Dusk was falling when their captors ordered them to halt. They sank to the ground where they stood. Two Germans patrolled the line of exhausted men, almost daring them to try and run away. As if they could, the state they were in. Besides, where could they run to? The rest of the German unit gathered round a hastily lit fire and opened their rations. No food or drink for the prisoners who stretched out on the grass verge and within minutes were asleep. Bob lay down too, but he couldn’t sleep. He kept seeing that signpost in his mind’s eye. How far away was Amiens? He hadn’t had time to see a number on the sign, just the word. It made him think of Francoise and her pretty accent as she said it.

  It was almost dark, and he glanced around him. The road stretched into the distance, leading who knew where. Behind him a field of early wheat, less than a foot high. No hiding place there. But at the far side, a small wood. If he waited till full dark and moved slowly, he might be able to reach its shelter. A faint chance but worth a try. Better than staying here to be shot or incarcerated in a prison camp. He debated waking the man next to him to share his plan but decided against it.

  The guards reached the end of the line and were walking back towards him. When they passed, he turned over onto his stomach and inched his way across the grass and into the field. He crawled away, expecting a bullet in his back at any moment. After several minutes, he looked back, seeing only the shadowy figures of his captors by the light of the campfire. He was almost halfway across the field. He crawled on, his progress slowing as he tired, but at last he reached the furthest edge and tumbled into a ditch. Stagnant water lay in the bottom, but Bob didn’t care. He was well hidden and, so long as his absence wasn’t discovered, he would be safe – for the time being anyway.

  ***

  Despite her father’s gloomy predictions, Daisy hadn’t believed that there would really be an invasion. They still had the Navy didn’t they? And those thousands of soldiers who’d made it back home could defend them, couldn’t they? They wouldn’t just have to rely on men like her father in the LDV. So she tried to comfort herself.

  But, a few days later, as she walked over the moat bridge towards the garrison, she was amazed to see a roadblock in position. She had got so used to walking through the gate and waving jauntily to whoever was on guard duty. But this morning, before she even reached the entrance, she was stopped and asked to show her pass.

  She smiled cheekily and said, ‘You know me, don’t you?’

  He looked at her, not a flicker of a smile in reply. ‘Orders, miss.’

  She shrugged and got her pass out of her bag, then walked through the gate, past the guard room towards the NAAFI.

  Inside, June was hanging up her cardigan and putting on her overall. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

  ‘Invasion alert, so Harold Tompkins said.’ June looked scared. ‘Do you think it’s going to happen?’

  Although she felt butterflies in her stomach, Daisy smiled reassuringly and said airily. ‘What does he know – a private in the Catering Corps! He’s trying to scare you, June.’

  Still, the increased security was worrying. She got ready for work and tried to stifle her concerns in keeping busy. There were more soldiers than sailors in today, many of them looking drawn and tired. Survivors from Dunkirk, Daisy surmised, but she didn’t ask questions, tempting as it was to ask if any of them knew Bob. What chance was there among the thousands who were taken off the beaches? Don’t think about it, keep busy, she kept telling herself.

  She was run off her feet for the whole morning and looking forward to a break when Mrs Green asked her to go over to the stores for some razor blades. They were selling like hot cakes to the dishevelled and weary soldiers. Daisy sighed and rubbed her aching back but she nodded and grabbed the chit Mrs Green held out to her. Her feet hurt too – she hadn’t sat down all morning. She stumbled as she hurried across to the stores, imagining a hot bath and a cup of tea when she got home.

  She pushed open the door and tried to remember where the razor blades were kept. She passed rows of boxes of cigarettes, reminded of her last visit here and her concerns about possible missing goods.

  Everything seemed to be in order today and she quickly found a box of blades, ticked them off on the list by the door and hurried back to the canteen.

  ‘Take the chit through to Mr Browning,’ the supervisor said. ‘He’s doing a stock check.’

  Daisy couldn’t help thinking that if he was the one responsible for things going missing, he could easily cover it up when stock taking. But she nodded and reluctantly went through to the manager’s office, telling herself that she had no proof. It was just her dislike of the man making her suspicious.

  She knocked on the office door, hoping he wasn’t there. She would just leave the paper on his desk and get away. When he shouted at her to come in, she took a deep breath and opened the door.

  ‘Chitty for razor blades, sir,’ she said. ‘Mrs Green asked me to bring it.’

  ‘Put it down there,’ he snapped. ‘I’m busy.’

  He was examining the contents of a box on his desk and as she sidled past to put the paper in the tray, he turned to her and said, ‘Do you know anything about this?’ He pointed to the box.

  ‘No, sir. What do you mean?’

  ‘Someone’s been tampering with the stores. This box should be full.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about it. This is the first time Mrs Green’s sent me to the stores for ages.’

  ‘Well, girl, I’ve seen you flirting with the men. You sure you don’t slip them the odd free packet of fags now and then?’

  ‘Mr Browning - I wouldn’t dream of...’ Daisy almost choked as tears threatened. How dare he accuse her?

  ‘All right, all right, don’t start blubbing. I’m not accusing you. But watch it. I’ve got my eye on you.’

  Daisy fumbled for the door handle and rushed out. His accusation of flirting hurt almost as much as the implication that she was a thief. She paused outside to compose herself before resuming h
er duties.

  She wanted to confide in June or Lily but didn’t get the chance as Mrs Green called her in to the office. ‘I’ve got a job for you. Take those baskets of food down to the Dockyard station and hand them out to the lads on the train. Lily can take the tea urn. There’s a cart outside. Harold will help you.’

  It was chaos at the station. As each train pulled in, soldiers scrambled for seats. Handing out the sandwiches while Lily filled their tin mugs with tea from the urn presided over by the WVS, Daisy scarcely had a chance to look at the men.

  Sometimes there was a slight lull between one train and another and she scanned the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of Bob. He must be here, although how would she recognise him among these unshaven and dirty soldiers, their uniforms bedraggled and their eyes hollow with fatigue?

  As the last train pulled out, she heard someone call her name and she turned round to see someone waving to her over the heads of the crowd. She pushed her way through to the group of WVS women by the tea urn.

  ‘Mum, I didn’t expect to see you.’

  ‘Doing my bit, love.’

  ‘Me too.’ Daisy sighed. ‘It’s awful, Mum. Those poor lads.’ Her eyes filled with tears.

  Dora put a comforting arm around her. ‘No sign of Bob then?’

  Daisy shook her head.

  ‘He probably landed at Dover. You’re sure to have word soon. Don’t give up, Daisy.’

  Daisy didn’t reply. It was the thought that Bob could have been among those thousands of weary men that upset her. She could have missed him in the crowds but, surely, he would have seen her? ‘I just want to know he’s all right’ she sobbed.

  Lily tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Come on, Daisy. Better get back or we’ll be in trouble.’

  Daisy dried her eyes and said goodbye to her mother.