Dunkirk Spirit Part 21

'No good asking me, sir. I'm a deaf as a post. Must be that dis-en-tree. That or driving a bloomin' tank. One of the two.'

05:30 Thursday 30 May 1940.

Port Admiral's Office, Dover, Kent

'And this is the list, sir,' said Commander Edward Bishop handing it over.

'I make that eighteen men,' said the captain after running his finger down the column. 'But you will be lucky if I can find you even five replacements. You've seen what it's like over there, Teddy.'

'Well, anyone you can spare.' The Skipper tried to look deserving. 'I will take anything you have got. And I am also short of two boats now.'

'And what about a navigating officer? I don't see him on the list.'

'That's right. We were wondering if he might make it back. He's a resourceful chap and only been married a few weeks. I don't want to give his wife any unnecessary worries.'

'Better give me his name anyway...'

'Sub-Lieutenant K. R. Burnell, R.N.V.R. That's with two Ls.'

'Yes, I think I know him. Is he that baby-faced chap who spilt tonic on the Admiral's shoes at Christmas?'

'That's him,' said the Skipper.

'Well, probably best not to fret too much as yet, eh? There are a lot of chaps getting separated so there's a very good chance that he will hitch a lift back. Our chaps have priority, as you know. I'll pa.s.s the word around. How are the rest of the crew holding up?'

'Actually, I'm amazed. Those eighteen men were all from the starboard watch, prime hands and all very popular. If anything, it's steeled everyone's resolve to see this through.'

'Well I must say you have done very well so far, old boy. What is it? Four trips now?'

'Yes, sir. And we are taking on ammunition and fuel now.'

'Jolly good! Come and look at my chart.' He stepped away from his desk and steered the Skipper over to the wall. Three green tapes, marked Routes X, Y and Z, ran from Dover across the English Channel to the French beaches. The endless maze of sandbanks, beginning with the Goodwin Sands and growing with profusion along the French coast, was shaded in grey. Between both stretched a series of short red tapes indicating the mines that blocked off almost every channel. 'You see what a problem the mines are, Teddy.'

'Yes. We had to anchor in the Downs this morning. Even the approach to Dover was mined.'

'Well, the n.a.z.is are laying mines by aircraft, submarine and trawler. Our minesweepers have been almost as busy throughout the night but nothing is guaranteed. Everything between here,' he indicated a solid swath of red tape stretching from the Downs to the coast alongside Calais. 'To here, is a no-go area. They are mostly ours, of course. The French have also done a thorough job laying mines across almost every channel on their side. b.l.o.o.d.y shame really because they have made absolutely no effort to clear them. Given the circ.u.mstances, it's downright irresponsible.'

The captain let his arm drop and he paused for a moment, looking as if he might say more. He dismissed the idea and carried on: 'So, between the three of us, there's hardly room to move. Now let's look at the weather.'

They stepped back to the desk and both sat down. The captain pulled open the bottom draw and lifted out a bottle of South African brandy. 'Best I can manage, I'm afraid. Not too early for you?'

'Hardly!' said the Skipper. 'I haven't been to bed since Sunday night so I couldn't say whether it was early or late.'

The captain placed the bottle on top of the desk and looked for gla.s.ses. 'I say, you don't mind drinking out of a cup do you? It's quite clean. It's just that things have got a little out of hand since this operation started.'

'I'll drink it straight from the bottle if it makes it any easier, sir,' offered the Skipper.

'Well, there's no need for that.' He paused and stretched down and fumbled at the back of the draw. 'No need to worry. Here's a sherry gla.s.s.' He pa.s.sed it across and looked down at the weather report.

'We really could not wish for better with this fog. Visibility is down to about one mile all the way across the Channel, and stretching quite a way inland on the French side. There's a very good chance that it will last for most of the morning. It might even last well into the afternoon. There's no sign of any wind brewing.'

He pulled the cork from the bottle and lent across to fill the Skipper's gla.s.s.

'Even so,' he said. 'I cannot stress enough the need for hast. There really is not a moment to lose. I want you to head straight back to Dunkirk and the Mole.' He sat back in his chair and lifted up his gla.s.s. 'So, I suggest this, Teddy. Instead of taking the safer swept channel through the Downs and northward of the Goodwins, you should cut straight across by the direct route, trusting to the fog to conceal you from the batteries that the Germans have now captured between Calais and Gravelines. You will have to hug the coast all the way down to Dunkirk. It's only five or six miles.'

He raised his gla.s.s. 'So you had better pray that this fog lasts. Cheers!'

05:45 Thursday 30 May 1940.

Off Bray Dunes, France

The admiralty want men experienced in marine internal combustion engines for service as enginemen in yachts or motor boats; others who have had charge of motor boats and have good knowledge of coastal navigation are needed as uncertified second-hands. Applications should be made to the nearest Registrar, Royal Naval Reserve depot or to your nearest Fishery Officer.

It took Burnell a long time to make his way to the bridge. Charlie's hand was cupped to his good ear as he strained for a sound of the whistle in the fog. Somewhere along the horizon to the east the rising sun lay hidden behind thick cloud, casting a dim and diffused light through the curtain of sea mist. Tom turned with a start and looked at Burnell.

'I thought I heard her over there a moment ago.' He pointed off Phoebe's port bow. 'But then I heard it again over there.' He pointed off the starboard bow, the direction in which Charlie's ear was trained.

'All right!' said Burnell. 'Cut the engine.'

Tom brought the throttle back to neutral and switched off. Phoebe's engine spluttered momentarily and then a deathly silence settled over the cruiser. Tom visibly shivered. As the engine died, and ears grew accustomed, the sea was found to be alive with sound. The grey swell lapped against her bows and the timber supports groaned as Phoebe tipped one way and then the other. Out to sea the rich throbbing of maritime engines seeped through the mist, their direction lost in the miasma.

Somewhere, far behind them, men's voices called out of the gloom, the words indistinct amid the chorus of shouts.

'Ring the bell, Charlie,' whispered Burnell. He shivered too and pulled the collar of his jacket up around his neck.

'K'dong! K'dong!'

'Again.'

'K'dong! K'dong!'

Now other sounds travelled across the sea. Another bell answered out to the north. A smaller, tinnier, bell clanged, its direction unknown.

'Zzzzzz! Zzzzzz!'

'There it is!' said Tom and Burnell simultaneously. 'Charlie. The bell.'

'K'dong! K'dong!'

'Again.'

'K'dong! K'dong!'

'Zzzzzz! Zzzzzz!'

'Zzzzzz! Zzzzzz!'

'Switch her back on!' shouted Burnell.

Tom hesitated with the switch. Phoebe's engine fired and then instantly cut. Tom turned the ignition again and this time the deep purr of the Th.o.r.n.ycroft called out.

'Reverse! Reverse! As fast as you can!' Burnell was almost screaming out the words. Tom put all his weight above the lever and pushed down. For an instant, it seemed as if Phoebe were sinking backwards, so fast did her propelled drive her. Her bows lifted out of the water and there was a splash or two and a number of shouted oaths. A man, or men, had fallen over the side. Phoebe continued to rear backwards through the water. Those who had not turned their heads to the rear and who continued to look out across Phoebe's bows were shocked to see a towering grey wall appear out of the mist.

Charlie was ringing the bell furiously now. The coaster was answering with her powerful whistle.

'All stop!' shouted Burnell and Tom let Phoebe drift back.

'Man overboard!' shouted someone from the stern.

'Hold her there!' called Burnell to Tom.

'Yes, sir.'

Burnell stepped to the rear of the bridge and called down. 'Can anyone see him?' Men shouted back. So many were calling that Burnell could make no sense of the directions.

'Throw a line and some life jackets,' bellowed Burnell. He turned back and watched as the rust-stained grey wall slipped gently through the sea a few yards ahead of Phoebe's bows. Charlie rang the bell again and Burnell in the pause called out: 'Ahoy there!'

'h.e.l.lo!' came a distant shout back. 'Anyone down there?'

The coaster Bullfinch, the name of whose master Burnell never did find out, had arrived off the beaches three hours earlier. Unable to see or do much in the thick fog, she had contented herself with steering a narrow course through known channels about five miles off Bray beach. The men aboard Phoebe were the first Allied troops her crew had seen. She carried no scrambling nets but made do with an a.s.sortment of other nets used usually for lifting cargo aboard. The few wounded that Phoebe contained, mostly those with minor injuries but unable to drag themselves up the side, were lifted by derrick off the cruiser's stern in a cargo net, resembling a catch of wild animals destined for a foreign zoo.

'Aren't you going up, sir?' asked Tom.

Burnell had supervised the offloading from the bridge and had made no move to leave. 'That one looks a bit crowded now. I think I will hold out for a destroyer.' He looked at Tom and gave a lop-sided smile. 'You wouldn't be trying to get rid of me now, would you?' he asked.

Tom stuttered. 'N-no, sir. We're very happy to have you aboard. But where's Mr Elliot?'

'Mr Elliot?' asked Burnell. 'I'm not sure. Perhaps he's down below. He wasn't looking very well earlier.'

Charlie stepped aside and walked to the far corner of the bridge. He wiped his lenses again with his fingers, squinting as he did so. He slipped them back on and looked at Burnell. 'How are we going to find the jetty, then?'

'Good point,' said Burnell.

'Easy now! Slow up. I think I saw something ahead.' Burnell squinted through the mist. He called down to Ted in the eyes. 'See anything, Ted?'

'Not a sausage, sir.'

'Hold her where she is,' said Burnell to Tom. Charlie rang the bell. There was no reply. 'Bring her forward a bit,' said Burnell. 'And just a bit to starboard.' Phoebe pressed through the short waves.

'I see something now,' called Ted.

'Hold her steady.'

As they were all now looking upwards, antic.i.p.ating another vast grey wall, they spotted the brick-red sails of the barge before they saw the vessel herself.

'Thames sailing barge,' exclaimed Charlie. He cupped his hands to his mouth and called across with a powerful boom: 'Ahoy there! Anyone home!'

They all strained to listen. The sails hung limp in the fog. The boom swung across as a wave lifted her briefly. The blocks and tackles knocked against one another and her timbers creaked.

'She's very low in the water,' stated Charlie. 'I reckon she's sinking.' He rang the bell, a lengthy clatter. 'They've probably abandoned ship.' He felt compelled to speak. 'Usually, there's only a man and a boy aboard, plus a dog. She looks like she's been shot up, too. Look at those lovely sails, all full of bloomin' holes.' He turned to Burnell and asked: 'What d'you want to do? Do you want me to hop over and have a ganders?'

Burnell shook his head. 'There's no point. If there's anyone aboard, they're probably dead. And, if you say she's sinking...' he let the sentence hang. He turned to Tom. 'Cut the engine.'

Phoebe spluttered into silence. The waves lapped against her sides and the timbers groaned. They could all hear voices but none came from inside the barge. Somewhere in the mist men were calling out, others were groaning their last. Only the voices of the strongest drifted across the water. More bells clanged and chimed from beyond the cloud of vapour that drifting slowly around them.

Burnell nodded to Tom. He turned the ignition and once more the rea.s.suring sound of their st.u.r.dy engine filled the void.

A wayward breeze tore the curtain of mist aside and Charlie caught sight of the beach from the corner of his eye. He stepped towards Tom and, without words, nudged the wheel down to port.

'What?' exclaimed the young Sea Cadet.

'Straighten her up now,' said Charlie. 'And drop your revs. I just caught sight of the beach.'

'Where away?' asked Burnell.

'Too bloomin' near,' answered Charlie. He looked towards the sh.o.r.e. The mist had closed up again and, once more, Phoebe was shrouded in thick grey fog. The cruiser drifted slowly, rocking gently with the side-on swell. 'Hold her there,' whispered Charlie. They looked towards the sh.o.r.e, their eyes willing the mist to part. Suddenly, it did so.

'Blow me!' announced Charlie. A large rent had been torn in the mist and a lengthy corridor exposed itself. It ran from Phoebe to the sh.o.r.e and then a hundred yards or so inland. 'Look at 'em all!"

'Bring us in,' said Burnell quietly, stepping close to Tom. 'Nice and gentle. That's it.'

Phoebe edged towards the line of foam that marked the beach. 'Okay,' said Burnell. 'Less revs now.' They crept in. 'Stop!' Phoebe drifted gently on until she nudged the sand below. 'Now just bring us back a bit and hang on there.' Burnell hopped over the front of the bridge and dropped down onto the foredeck.

'Ahoy!' he called, and waited. He tried again and then he saw the small crowd wadding out into the water. He called again: 'Which way to the truck jetty?'

'Where?'

'The truck jetty. Where's Bray Dunes?'

'Who the f.u.c.k knows?' came the reply.

Burnell turned his head back to Tom and called: 'Be ready to pull us out of here, fast as you can. On my command.'