Dunkirk Spirit Part 20

'All ready!'

'Then on my mark,' called Burnell. 'Two-six-heave!'

Nothing happened.

'Two-six-heave!'

Phoebe refused to budge. Many of the faces of the men in the water flushed red with the effort. Many now had looks of concern.

'That stupid old fart!' exclaimed Elliot, stamping his foot onto the sand. 'I never told him to run her so hard aground. She's jammed fast!'

'I heard that!' shouted Charlie from the bridge.

'You were meant to,' mumbled Elliot.

'All right! Quit the squabbling. Let's try again,' called Burnell. He looked down at the brown sc.u.m that foamed at the water's edge. His clothes were only just dry and he felt suddenly reluctant to go back into the water. He held his breath and stepped over the sc.u.m, the water chilling first his ankles and then his thighs, sending shivers racing up his spine. Burnell reached out his hands and pressed them hard up against Phoebe's smooth side.

'Ready! Two-six-heave!'

Again nothing.

'Are your lot pulling on the anchor, Charlie?' Burnell turned his head and called up towards the bridge.

'Course they're b.l.o.o.d.y pulling. She's sunk into the sand. We need a tow. We ain't getting off otherwise. I just can't see how.'

'Mr Elliot. We're going to need some more men.' He turned again to Charlie and called: 'Throw us down the heaviest line you've got.'

Burnell stepped back and wadded to the sh.o.r.e, turning to the other sub-lieutenant. 'If we get a rope across the bows, and put another fifty men on each side, that should give us plenty of purchase. And let's have another five to heave on the anchor.'

'Okay,' agreed Elliot. 'Sergeant! You heard the officer. Let's have some more men, if you please.'

Charlie had reached the prow. He tossed the heavy rope down onto the sand at Elliot's feet. 'Here you go, sunny. Don't get it in any knots!' He turned and walked back to the bridge.

Elliot screwed his mouth tight with anger and turned to the sergeant.

'Here's your rope. Let's have fifty men on each side. Think of it as a tug-of-war. I want the men at each end of the rope to take a turn around their shoulders. Come on, get them in the water now.' Reluctantly, the soldiers stepped into the cold sea.

Phoebe had a convenient dent in her prow, caused by a careless skipper ramming the lock gates at Teddington the previous summer. Burnell positioned the rope across the dent and called out. 'Okay, sergeant! Have your men take the strain.'

'Yes, sir.'

The rope quickly disappeared round the cruiser's sides as the soldiers took up the slack. Burnell tugged on the rope, holding it in place across the dent.

'Everybody! Take the strain. Two-six-heave!'

There was the faintest sensation of grinding sand transmitted through Phoebe's woodwork, but no sense that the cruiser had budged so much as an inch.

'Two-six-heave!' Burnell felt his hands slipping off Phoebe's painted sides and he struggled to stay upright. Many of the soldiers had lost their footing in the soft sand and were landing facedown into the filthy water around him.

'It's high tide now,' called Elliot from the sand, a higher tone than usual in his voice. He pointed at his wrist.w.a.tch with an exaggerated air. 'What do you suggest now?'

'I suggest that you organise the men to start digging the sand away from underneath her. I have a plan. Keep the men digging and, if I'm not back in ten minutes, have another go at hauling her off.'

'Where are you going then?' asked Elliot, miffed.

'I'm going to borrow a lorry,' said Burnell.

As Burnell trotted along the sand he was surprised at the transformation of the beach from the previous evening. The soldiers, instead of milling around in hapless groups, were now standing in organised queues, guided by orderly lines of telephone wire held in place by bayonets in the sand. The nearest line zigzagged back to the dunes. Each line of men extended out into the water, its head hidden in the mist. Burnell slowed down and listened. Out at the end of the line, some three hundred yards away, he could hear the sound of oars splashing in the water. A sailor was calling out in a harsh voice. 'Watch it, you stupid sod! You're 'ave us over!' Slowly, the line of men progressed out into the mist. Burnell pressed his way through the men and trotted on.

The truck jetty was about five hundred yards up the beach, in line with the seafront at Bray. As Burnell approached he could see men in the water, struggling to lash the most recent arrivals to the trucks already half submerged by the incoming swell. He slowed down and looked for someone in charge. He approached the jetty and addressed an oil-soaked soldier sitting on the sand.

'Who's in charge here?' he asked.

The soldier looked up at Burnell and studied the left side of the naval officer's face. 'Lieutenant Dibbens is over there.' He turned and pointed up the beach to a small group of men deep in discussion. Burnell thanked him and strode on.

'Lieutenant Dibbens?' he asked.

'Yes. h.e.l.lo,' said an officer, detaching himself from the others. 'You look like you've been in the wars.' The redcap laughed and then shook his head. 'How can I help?'

'I wondered if we could borrow a lorry.'

'A lorry? Planning a trip somewhere?'

'We need a push. I've got an eighty-foot cruiser stuck fast on the sand. I thought we might shove her off if we could use a lorry.'

'An eighty-foot cruiser, you say? What sort of tonnage?'

'About fifty tons. Why?'

'Well, she's a bit heavy but we're just about finished here and we need someone to try it out. Do you fancy it?'

'If you lend me a lorry, you mean?'

'Yes. I lend you a lorry and then you come here and moor up at the end of our new jetty. You can help us offload this lot.' The officer waved his hand back along the beach. It seemed as if most of the Army's First Corp had formed up along the strand.

'Well, I've actually promised a lift to some chaps who have been trying to help us. How about we run them out to the nearest ship and then come back?'

'Sounds like you've got a deal, young man,' said Dibbens, shaking Burnell by the hand and grinning. 'And I suggest that you put some Germolene on that burn before it turns really nasty.'

'Okay, back her up, nice and slowly.' Burnell stood again at the water's edge and watched tentatively as the three-ton Bedford reversed. 'Easy now. Stop!' called Burnell. He nodded to Elliot, indicating that the men take up the strain. 'Now let the clutch out gently.' The Bedford's tailgate nudged against Phoebe's bow with a thump and clatter of chains. 'Okay, now give it some welly. And heave!'

The lorry's wheels began to spin in the sand, forcing many of the men gathered around the cruiser to back off hastily. Burnell looked down at the water's edge. The tide was already on its way out. Another ten minutes and Phoebe would be high and dry again.

'Stop! Stop!' called Burnell. The lorry was churning up the sand to no effect. 'Hold her there. Sergeant! Let's wedge these wheels to stop them spinning. Grab what you can. Lumps of wood, cloth, anything.'

Dozens of men ran around, looking for items to jam beneath the wheels. Less than two minutes later and they were ready to try again. 'Okay,' called Burnell to the driver. 'Let the clutch out. Nice and slow.'

The wheels spun, sending more sand into the air and engulfing the men as it blasted back from beneath the lorry. The exhaust fumes were making many of them cough and choke. As the wheels spun, the sergeant wedged another plank of wood firmly beneath the tread. Suddenly, the wheel caught and the lorry moved backwards, sliding to the right as it did so. A quick-witted soldier wedged his rifle b.u.t.t beneath the other wheel. The lorry hesitated for a moment and then reared up.

Phoebe began to move. The men hauled with all their might. The sand grated against her bottom and she heeled to port briefly as the lorry applied more pressure. Charlie on the bridge kept his hand over the throttle. He felt the cruiser rise away from the sand and bob free. He pushed the throttle down, and Phoebe's engine roared and the propeller bit into the water. Phoebe reared back in a wash of foam. Charlie brought her to neutral and then edged her forward until she was just a few feet from the rear of the lorry and still floating free. Burnell clambered up and hopped across.

'Tom, you come and take the wheel now,' called Charlie across the bridge. 'Your eyes are younger than mine.' Charlie stepped aside and slipped off his gla.s.ses, wiping away the condensation with his fingers. 'I can't see a bloomin' thing!'

Phoebe crept through the mist, parting the cloud of cold vapour with her sharp bows. Tom took his eyes away and looked down onto the deck. The majority of men lay strewn where there was s.p.a.ce. A few had managed to don kapok life preservers giving them a strange hunched-back appearance. They seemed in better order than the troops they had lifted the previous day. Even those encased inside the life preservers still retained their helmets. A good third of the men were French. And most were sleeping like the dead.

'Is Mr Elliot down below?' asked Tom of Charlie after a while. The young sub-lieutenant's usual place was on the bridge and breathing down the c.o.xswain's neck.

'Little Lord Fauntleroy? No, I ain't seen him.'

'Maybe he's down below, Charlie.' Tom paused for a while but soon felt compelled to fill the silence. 'It's a lot nicer when he's not here. He makes me feel a bit uncomfortable, a bit nervous, like he's always sneering down his nose.'

Charlie did not answer. Aside from the faint murmur of men below, Phoebe sailed on in heavy silence.

'But Mr Burnell, he's below, right?'

'Yeah, he's below.'

Tom did not speak for a few minutes more and then he shivered and turned to Charlie again. 'This silence is giving me the creeps, Charlie. I wish we could put the wireless on.'

'What? And attract the Jerries?'

'I don't see how they'd hear us. They wouldn't hear us if they were in Stukas, would they? But, if they were in submarines, would the sound travel under the water?'

'I dunno,' said Charlie, knitting his bushy eyebrows. 'But it would be a bit eerie, wouldn't it, hearing Joe Loss through the walls of your submarine? Anyway, there's no programmes until a quarter-to-seven, and then it's the news in b.l.o.o.d.y Norwegian.'

Tom shivered again at the silence. Suddenly his face illuminated with insight. 'But, perhaps we should ring the bell, Charlie. How else are we going to find the big ships in this peasouper? We're going to have to make some kind of signal.'

'G.o.d! That's a thought.' Charlie laughed aloud, a heavy growl that began in his throat and ended in a puff of breath through his nose. 'I think my mind musta been elsewhere.' He laughed again and then turned quickly to Phoebe's bra.s.s bell, now coated in sloppy grey paint.

'K'dong! K'dong!'

Many of the men on deck jerked convulsively at the sound, but few bothered to raise their heads.

'K'dong! K'dong!'

Down below in the saloon, Sub-Lieutenant Burnell was still trying to arrange the press of men. He paused when he heard the bell. The majority of those below, being so tightly packed and unable to sit or lie down, were still awake, swaying in a ma.s.s as Phoebe negotiated her way through the swell.

'Excuse me, sir,' called a small voice at his side. 'Is there a toilet down here?'

Burnell swivelled in the crowd and looked down at a dark-complexioned tank crewman.

'There is,' answered Burnell, feeling the skin to the side of his mouth crack painfully. 'But there are about twelve men pressed in there right now and I don't think even you will fit in. Can't you hold on?'

'I got that dis-en-tree, sir'

'What?'

'The trots, sir, you know. I've gotta go every ten minutes. Can't help it.'

Burnell's face hurt even more. 'Well, you're just going to have to try to hang on. Perhaps were can run you out to a pa.s.senger liner and then you can have a nice hot bath as well.'

'Well, I'd hang on for that! But it ain't very likely is it, sir?'

'No, not very likely,' agreed Burnell. 'But take my word for it, I don't think anyone will actually notice. It smells worse than a cattle pen down here.'

'Yeah, I know what you're saying, sir. I'd cross my legs but I can't move 'em. I lifted one up a moment ago and now can't get either of 'em back down again.' He smiled at Burnell. 'But when it comes to smells, I got something you might like. Can you get your hand into my backpack?'

'I could try,' said Burnell. He pulled an arm free and worked to slip his hand inside the pack.

'There's some small boxes in there,' said the tankman. 'Grab yourself one.'

Burnell pulled his hand back and looked at the tiny box. He read the label: L'Air du Temps.

'D'you have a sweetheart, sir?'

'I'm married,' said Burnell. 'Just six weeks.'

'Then have it as a wedding present, sir. I've loads more. Perfume's always a good seller.'

'Where did you get this stuff?'

'From the back of a lorry.' He laughed conspiratorially. 'You should see what some of the other blokes have got. There was one lad trying to get on board carrying a typewriter. A great big one!'

'Yes, I saw him, and another fellow with a sewing machine,' said Burnell. 'I made them throw the stuff over the side.'

'They'd have nicked some of the cars, too, if they could. I bet there's blokes on the beach carting anvils around.' They both laughed.

'Well, I won't mention this to anyone,' said Burnell, struggling to slip the box into his breast pocket. He thought to himself: my Daisy will love this. He smiled at the man. 'A genuine souvenir from France. Thank you very much.'

'Least I can do for a ride out of that h.e.l.lhole! I've been waiting on the beach two whole days and nights, and been bombed senseless the whole time.' He winked at Burnell. 'And you ought to put some b.u.t.ter on that burn of yours. That's what my mum always did. Burns can turn nasty if you're not careful.'

'I think we might be out of b.u.t.ter,' replied Burnell, aware again of the increasing pain.

'Wot! No b.u.t.ter?' asked the tankman, beaming.

'K'dong! K'dong!'

'Zzzzzz! Zzzzzz!'

'Did you hear that?' asked Burnell, craning his ear towards the hatchway.

'The bells, d'you mean?'

'No, not the bell. That's ours. Something else that sounded like a steam whistle.'

'K'dong! K'dong!'

'Zzzzzz! Zzzzzz!'