Dunkirk Spirit Part 15

'Are we expecting any air-raids?' asked Kitty.

'In a war, we can expect anything,' added the M55A.

'What time do we arrive in Dover?' Kitty turned and looked up at the inspector as he examined and clipped the F75A's ticket.

'Dover Priory, or Dover Western Docks?'

'Dover Priory.'

'It's hard to say, madam. Yesterday, we didn't arrive until gone two.'

'Two?' exclaimed the F35C with the knitting. 'I'm meeting my husband for lunch.'

'What can I say? There's loads more traffic on the line. Military transports, and all.' He stood in the doorway, poised to slide back the door. 'Don't you know there's a war on?' He slammed it shut.

'You don't read about them in the papers, but there's loads of air-raids,' said the F35C amid a clatter of needles. 'They dropped two bombs on us the other day, near Deal. They didn't give the signal then. It wasn't in the papers. None of it! Our planes went up and you could see and hear the machineguns the bullets were coming down on the roof afterwards.'

'I have no doubt,' put in the Spam-smelling F50B. She leant forward in her seat, turning her head both ways and addressing the carriage. 'And you know, they were over the West Riding the other day and dropped some bombs. They dropped them in fields.'

'That was on the news,' put in the soldier by the window, the M30C.

'Yes, they told you that,' admitted the F50B. 'But they also bombed Catterick that's an aerodrome, do you know? Yes, they bombed that but there wasn't anything in the papers about it!' She stopped herself suddenly and sat upright, placing her hand to her mouth. 'Here, I wonder if I'm giving any secrets away?'

She turned to the soldier. 'I think you're all right, but what about you, funny accent and all?' She stared directly at Kitty, looking at her notepad as she did so. The woman was crushing her and Kitty struggled to free her arm. It was beginning to feel numb. Kitty raised it into the air, stretching open the palm to let the blood back in. The F50B reeled back as if in horror.

'Eh! That's not the salute to give here. That's like a n.a.z.i salute.'

'What?' asked Kitty, turning to stare at the woman. 'You were crushing my arm.'

'Well, if you don't like it, you don't have to sit there.'

'All the trains are crowded these days,' said the soldier, trying to calm the atmosphere.

'And they smell,' said Kitty, fuming. 'Of Spam!' She gave the woman a hard stare. 'Isn't anyone else hot in here?'

'Hot's nice, after where I've been.' The soldier pulled his shoulders back, letting everyone see the stripes on his arm.

'So, where have you been, then?' asked the Spam F50B. 'Not in France?'

'No, in Norway. And when I say cold, I mean really cold.'

'Oh, it must have been terrible,' put in the knitting F35C. 'At least, they're pretty rotten shots those Germans.'

'Well, I've seen them do some pretty marvellous bombing these past months. And I'm glad to be back now, I can tell you.'

'You on leave then?' asked the F35C, clicking away.

'Just forty-eight hours. My wife and the kiddie were evacuated down to Folkestone somewhere. I'm trying to find 'em. I wrote several times but I ain't had no reply.'

'I'm sure you'll find 'em, love,' said the F35C. 'I've just taken my children to Wales. I'm going to miss them.'

'Oh, you do. I evacuated mine the day before the war was declared,' announced Spam F50B.

'Was that this war or the last?' asked Kitty.

'Oh, my! The cheek of it!' She sat back heavily in her seat and puffed herself up, increasing the pressure on Kitty. 'This war, young lady. This war.' The carriage grew quiet again.

'What are you knitting?' Kitty leant forward, addressing the F35C.

'It's a scarf for my hubby,' she laughed.

'It's very long,' said Kitty, laughing, too.

'It'll be even longer if we don't get in till two!' she laughed again. 'My old man's in the Navy. I've knitted him a sweater, too. Would you like to see?'

Kitty nodded, and the woman bent down to a shopping basket between her feet.

'Do you think he'll like the colours?' she asked Kitty.

'It's a...it's very bright,' suggested Kitty. 'Very colourful, and it matches the scarf.'

'It's not too colourful, d'you think? Being in the Navy, wearing blue all the time, I thought he'd like something with a bit of colour. Now you've got me worried.'

'It's lovely,' said Kitty. 'He'll love it all the more because you made it for him.'

'Good clothes are important,' she told Kitty. 'Just look at all them refugees.' The F35C put down her knitting. 'They come over in any old rags and things and next morning they're strolling about, well dressed, as if they owned the place. It makes you think that only the ones with money got out.'

'There's all sorts,' said the F50B pressing against Kitty, trying to regain her dignity. 'But these Polish refugees, and the Czechs, it's not as if they make any effort to fit in. All those strange words, with lots of Zs and things. They haven't a hope of fitting in. Sooner they go home, the better.'

'And now it's all French and Belgians.' The F35C resumed her knitting and then paused to count the st.i.tches. 'Now, I've gone and dropped one! At least they're more like us. The nice ones are anyway. And lots of 'em speak English.'

'There'll be even more, now,' offered the soldier. 'Things don't look too good in France. They said on the wireless this morning that the French are holding back a big advance along the River Lys.'

'At least our blokes are giving those Jerries a good hammering,' stated the knitter. She turned to the soldier. 'I suppose you're be going out there next?'

'I couldn't say, misses, but I guess it's more than likely.' He laid down his paper and pulled himself upright. Every one in the compartment looked his way.

'What a right mess they're making of it out there,' he declared. 'It didn't help that those ruddy Belgians pardon my French - that those ruddy Belgians wouldn't let us in before this whole thing kicked off.'

He became suddenly animated and waved his hands around. 'If the British Expeditionary Force had been allowed into Belgium and could have set up proper defences, then the Germans would never have got through. There's no way! We could have held 'em the same place we did in the last war. And now what's happening?'

He looked from one pa.s.senger to the next. 'I'll tell you. We had to rush into Belgium to help them out the moment the Germans invaded. And we found we couldn't hold 'em back, could we? Especially with the Belgians surrendering like they did, and now we've had to pull back into France. At least we've got proper defences there.' He shook his head, and picked his paper back off his lap. 'Yeah, I imagine I'll be going over there soon enough.'

'Good for you.' The F75A in furs spoke for the first time and returned to her book.

Kitty stood up. 'Excuse me,' she said turning with a smile to the M50B beside her. He reached up and slid open the door and Kitty stepped out into the corridor. She walked to the end of the carriage and began scribbling urgently into her notepad. She had a good memory and tried to recapture the conversations as best she could. After a few minutes, Kitty looked up. A dozen or so people stood in the corridor. Two men were standing beside the exit, the window pulled down and the blind drawn up. They both blew smoke out of the window as they chatted.

'Excuse me,' said Kitty with a smile. 'But do you have a light?'

Both men fumbled in their pockets and simultaneously placed a flickering lighter before Kitty's cigarette. She looked from one to the other briefly and then took a light from the man furthest from the window. 'Thank you,' she said. 'It's so stuffy in those compartments, you don't really want to smoke.'

'Yes, I know what you mean,' said the man who gave her a light, an M25B.

'Nothing like fresh air,' said the other, an M30B. 'Please,' he said, moving aside and letting Kitty lean against the window.

'Nice weather,' she said.

'For the ducks, maybe,' said the M25B. 'On your holidays?' he asked.

'Who takes holidays, these days?' asked Kitty in return. 'I'm looking up some family in Dover.'

'Well, don't stay long will you,' he offered.

'Pardon,' she asked. 'How do you mean?'

'Well,' he said, awkwardly. 'You're find Dover a bit busy at the moment...'

The other man gave his friend a hard look, which softened as he turned quickly to Kitty.

'What he means is,' said the M30B. 'There's a lot of military preparations on in Dover at the moment. Troops being moved back and forth. That sort of thing. Not a nice place for a young lady travelling on her own. Oh, look!' he said suddenly. 'We're coming into Ashford.'

The train began to slow down and Kitty put her head out of the window. The ground beside the track was strewn with paper. There were post cards, cigarette packets, ice cream cartons, as well as bottles and drinking vessels of all kinds. There were also thousands of squashed tin cups. As the train continued to slow, kitty noticed orange peel everywhere. Stranger still were bits of military equipment. There was a belt, a rain sheet, even a bayonet. 'That's very odd,' thought Kitty as the train pulled into the platform.

'Open the blinds, now,' called Kitty, rushing back into the compartment. 'Trust me. You will want to see this!'

The soldier took one look at Kitty and reached forward for the strap. The blind clattered noisily and then every one in the compartment could see out of the window.

'That's a troop train back from France,' declared Kitty. 'Who would believe it? Just look at the state of them!'

'That must be a hospital train,' stated the M55A.

'But they look like Kentucky minstrels,' declared the F75A, squeezing close to the window. 'And a lot of them do not seem to have any clothes on. Oh my goodness!' She turned away, shielding her eyes.

'They're not minstrels! They're covered in oil,' explained Kitty, excitedly. 'And listen to this. I just popped onto the platform to get some cigarettes, but the man in the kiosk said he'd sold out. Sold out of everything! There's no chocolate, no sweets, nothing.'

'Wot! No sweets?' exclaimed the M50B.

'He said the pa.s.sengers on the platform had brought out all his stock to give to the soldiers,' exclaimed Kitty. 'He said there's trains just like this one every ten minutes or so. Thousands of men, all like that!'

Kitty turned to the F35C. 'I don't think your husband will miss his sweater, do you? There are chaps on that train in their birthday suits!'

'Let's give 'em the scarf, too,' said the F35C, pulling out the knitting needles.

11:50 Wednesday 29 May 1940.

Port Admiral's office, Dover, Kent 'Well, that's d.a.m.n good news,' said the captain manning the desk. 'Then you can do me a favour, Teddy.'

Commander Edward Bishop stiffened at the prospect. 'Sir?'

'We've got a party that we need to get to Dunkirk. And a wireless team to Bray Dunes.' He looked at his watch. 'I can get them to you hopefully no later that fifteen-hundred. There's a Captain Knight and five other officers for Naval HQ over there. You will have to land them on the Mole. And two large packing cases of wireless gear and two telegraphists for Bray.'

'Well, I can manage the first bit all right, sir,' said the Skipper. 'But I've no suitable boats left for carting packing cases ash.o.r.e.'

'Sorry about that, old boy.' The captain looked far from apologetic. 'But there's n.o.body else to do it. You'll have to pinch a boat when you get over there. You can then embark another load and make your way back here.'

The captain pulled himself out of his chair. 'Want to come and have a look at the charts? Catch up on what's happening?'

'Please, sir.'

'This is Lieutenant Langley,' said the captain, introducing a young redheaded officer to the Skipper. 'He'll bring you up to date. Must rush. See you later. Have a good trip.'

'Well, this is the chart, sir. It's been rather an eventful night, I'm afraid.' The lieutenant pointed to the giant chart filling more than half the room. 'Each paper flag here represents just one of the huge number of ships taking part in the operation. That there,' he pointed to a wastepaper basket on the floor by his side. 'Is the graveyard.'

'The graveyard?'

'Those sunk or otherwise out of action.'

The Skipper bent down and grabbed a handful of paper flags, and then read aloud. 'Mackay?' he queried. A sister ship. He knew the captain well.

'Ran aground at midnight at the western end of the Zuydcoote Pa.s.s.'

'And Montrose?'

'Yes,' hissed the lieutenant. 'She collided around the same time with a tug towing about a dozen naval cutters, off the Number Two buoy. Montrose was towed back during the night, but it doesn't look like she will take any further part in the operation.'

'Oh, no! Not Wakeful!' asked the Skipper, looking at another dead flag.

'Afraid so! Look, sir, do you have time for a coffee?'

'Yes. Why?'

'Come with me.' He halted before a large urn. 'Milk, sugar?'

'Please.'

'Cigarette?'

'I don't smoke.'

'You will soon,' said Langley. 'It looks like E-boats. Either way a torpedo hit Wakeful just before oh-one-hundred. She'd just picked up about seven hundred men off Bray. The fish hit forward of the boiler room, cutting her in two. She sank within fifteen seconds.'

The Skipper whistled through his teeth. 'Survivors?' he asked.

'Most of the gun crews managed to float clear. About thirty men were rescued.'

'The troops all lost, I suppose?'

'All but one. Apparently, some lucky chap had gone back on top for a crafty smoke. He was washed over the side and picked up by Nautilus.'