by Milly Adams
Adam shouted, as a Stuka dive bomber screamed and raged out of the clouds, drowning the gunfire, the explosions as it passed over the Sunflower and the Maid of Torin, and then there was another, heading towards their area. He too passed, screaming so that she wanted to crouch beneath the sound. Bryony stared after them, shoulders hunched, struggling to process it all: the noise, the smoke, the awfulness, the strangeness. All these machines so busy killing but the Sunflower continued to be towed, as both planes dived on Dunkirk harbour and released their bombs. As they drew closer, the noise increased, and almost shuddered in its ferocity. Again she wanted to whimper but forced herself instead to stand straight, beside Adam, taking a turn at the wheel as though nothing untoward was happening.
Adam said, his eyes on the emerging shore, ‘Poor buggers. It’s as well we lot are here.’ He didn’t move a muscle, just took over the wheel and steadied the Sunflower as it rode the wake of the Maid of Torin just as it had done for so many hours. Well, he’d been in conflict before, hadn’t he? Norway.
She hadn’t understood.
She remained at his side as the Maid headed for the eye of the storm and she nudged him, shouting, ‘To our left, a Stuka.’ She could hardly breathe as the dive bomber screamed down towards a large trawler, whose captain must have seen but was doing nothing. Then, at the last moment he turned his trawler to starboard. The bomb fell to port, water gushed, the trawler leaned over in the surge and then righted. Adam muttered, ‘Something to copy. Keep a sharp watch, Bee, and yell out.’
She did, and one now seemed to be streaking down at them, but it was targeting the Maid, who turned smartly, straining the tow rope. It held. The surge of the explosion caught them, tipped them, but they righted. Bryony steadied herself against the swell, before heading to the stern to check that the dinghy was still with them. It was.
From the shore they heard and saw the French cruisers lying off the harbour, letting fly with their pom-poms. The land-based anti-aircraft fire was going mad. Bryony put her hands to her ears, and then stopped. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ she told herself, secure in the knowledge that Adam couldn’t hear above the chaos.
Adam replied, however, grinning. ‘You’re not ridiculous, it’s a bloody racket. Just like that cow of your Uncle Thomas’s when her calf was taken? Do you remember?’ She heard the shake in his voice, saw the tremble in his hands as he held the wheel, the lift of his shoulders. He was as stressed as she, and now, suddenly, she relaxed. No, she wasn’t ridiculous. This was what it seemed, a nightmare. It was war.
They drew closer to the shore and now the Maid jettisoned the tow rope, and Morgan bellowed through his tannoy. They could just hear him above the noise. ‘We’re standing off, and you should head for the beaches to take off those you can. Transport them to whichever big ships are also standing off. The men should queue, but then the British always bloody queue. Don’t let them panic, they’ll swamp you. There’ll be one or two that lose it. Hit them with an oar, or whatever you’ve got to hand. Grab their balls if you have to, Bee.’
He waved them off and moved back, while they joined other shallower draughts and drove in with the tide. As they drew closer they saw what looked like swarms of . . . well, what? Swarms of men, beneath a sky clouded with oily smoke. On the beaches explosions hurled sand and God knows what into the air. German aircraft were strafing everywhere, everything and everyone. Stukas were raining bombs on boats. Bryony’s throat thickened as Adam said, ‘God help us, it looks like the whole bloody army is waiting to be saved. We’ll never take them all home.’
Men were queuing out into the sea, lurching with the surf, which pulled and pushed at them. But they held the line as the enemy came in again, and again, and then again. Bryony squeezed Adam’s shoulder. ‘I’m getting into the dinghy now and I’ll bring ’em back to offload onto the Sunflower. There are longer queues over there, Adam, that you can take straight on board.’ Adam nodded, easing back on the throttle, closing in on a line of men. ‘Yes, I’ve got them in sight now, Bee.’
A sergeant was yelling at Adam’s queue, ‘Straighten up now, my lads, into that boat, and there are another two tubs coming up alongside who will take you. Now, in you get, in an orderly fashion, and you’ll be home to Blighty for a bun and tea in next to no time.’ Bryony saw that there were another two pleasure boats on the other side of the Sunflower.
She was unhitching the dinghy at the stern when Adam shouted, ‘You be careful, you hear me. You be bloody careful, Bee, or I’ll have your guts for garters.’
She was lowering the oars into the dinghy, holding it in tight, clambering down the ladder, and rowing now, heading for a shorter queue to the left of the sergeant’s.
Another flight of Stukas came over. It must be like shooting ducks in a barrel she thought. She ignored them, and the shouts and screams from the beach as the machine-gunner had a field day. The line she was heading for held, but of course it would. She called to the lead soldier, ‘I can take five, that’s all, five out to the Sunflower. In you get, one by one. No baggage. I’ll come straight back.’
One young man three from the head of the queue, and who looked as though he should still be at school, held a dog in his arms. He lifted it. The corporal yelled, ‘You can get rid of that now, sunshine. What part of no baggage do you not understand, you bloody fool.’
Bryony called, as the older man at the head of the queue clambered in, careful not to tip the boat. ‘That’s not baggage, sergeant, that’s an ally. Get in, lad, you’re not going to get a printed invitation.’ The boy did, once the second in line had clambered on board. They were all shivering and frozen, their hands white, but the lad still clutched the drenched and yelping dog. Another two edged in, and she rowed hard back to the Sunflower. They clambered up while she clung to the rope and kept it alongside.
Again and again she went back, while others swam and waded out to Adam, who had moved along to allow a larger pleasure craft to take precedence at the head of the queue. Once full, Adam then edged back from the shore, and headed for the Maid.
As he did so, there was a great roar and crash, and the large pleasure craft was bombed. It keeled over, smoke and steam streaming into the sky, with the sea too shallow to allow it to sink. Troops screamed, debris was hurled into the air, and as Bryony watched the sea turned red. She merely moved further down the beach, as the queues were doing, and rowed in to shore, with hands that had blisters the size of halfpennies. Then she picked up another five, promising to return.
As she rowed back she peered over her shoulder to where Adam would return. She saw that he was transferring his passengers to the larger ship. They were clambering up the nets hung over the sides, and as she watched she spied the lad holding on to the dog, climbing one-handed and using his teeth too. He had almost reached the top, when he fell. She waited, straining to see through the smoke, and there he was, climbing, one-handed again, and now the man next to him helped, hauling him up, step by step until they made it to the top.
One of the men in the dinghy muttered, ‘I’m taking that as a sign you know, Miss, that we’ll win through. It will take blood and guts, but we’ll get there and we better bloody had, because I’m not having me local serving bloody Kraut beer.’
The soldier next to him grinned. He had very few teeth. ‘As long as they’re not my blood and guts, sunshine.’ Everyone laughed. She looked at their grimy exhausted faces and marvelled that anyone could laugh here, but then found that she was doing so too.
They waited as the Sunflower came about and headed towards them. The sea was crinkly, one of her men was vomiting over the side. Once the large ship was full, it would head for Dover, taking man and dog with it. It all made sense, she thought, and blessed whoever had thought up the plan. Adam was diverting to another sinking passenger vessel and taking on survivors. The bombed pleasure craft was burning, with the men who had escaped lining up further along.
Bryony saw a corvette at anchor and instead of waiting for the Sunflower she rowed to it, ign
oring the pain of her hands and the screaming ache in her shoulders. Her passengers scrabbled up the nets, and back she went to the beach, but the queue she’d left there was gone, its sergeant too. Instead there were only helmets floating on the red-stained sea, and for a moment all she could do was stare, but then a roaring anger took her over, and pride. Because, even as she looked, another queue was walking out into the sea, almost alongside the remains of the first, led by another corporal, and somewhere, honest to God, she thought, someone was playing a harmonica.
On and on she went, rowing, and now her blood was on the oars: how bloody stupid of her not to bring gloves went through her mind like a song.
When the tide turned and the Sunflower could no longer nudge in close, she saw Adam coming towards her in a dinghy. He shrugged. ‘I dropped anchor. This was floating by, so let’s make use of it.’ He was deathly pale, but was that because the light was leaching from the day?
He threw her some gloves. ‘No one will want to hold your hands if you go on like this, so whack these on, you daft thing. Got ’em off a sailor. You look bloody exhausted. We’ll have to back off soon and take a break.’
She threw back the gloves, and continued to shore, and the ever-present patient men. She yelled, ‘The gloves are yours. Try to keep some part of your anatomy dry, for heaven’s sake.’ On the breeze the smell of cordite and burning oil was heavier.
He shouted across to her as he caught a crab and fell backwards. ‘No, they’re bloody not. They were a gift from a sailor, and all the girls love a sailor, you daft idiot, so you’d better love his gloves too. Bit damp, but better than nothing.’ He gathered himself together and chased after her.
He threw the gloves to one of the soldiers who was scrambling into her dinghy, calling, ‘Make her put them on, for the love of God. Stubborn bloody woman.’
The soldier caught them, and handed them to her. He was shaking. Cold or fear? What did it matter? She said, ‘At least I’ve been promoted from a bloke.’
He stared at her, and then yelled to Adam. ‘She says at least she’s promoted from a bloke.’
Two other soldiers had clambered aboard in time to hear this. They looked at Adam. ‘Well?’ one of them shouted.
Adam was dragging in a soldier, who flopped half in and half out, too exhausted to do anything more than lie there. His mate heaved him up and over, and sat him against the side. The dinghy rocked dangerously. Adam sat still, then looked across. ‘Bloke? With hair like that, and a face like that? What the hell’s she talking about?’
Her boatload complete, Bryony rowed away from the shore. The man who’d passed on the gloves said, ‘Well, what the hell are you talking about?’
The pain in her gloved hands felt easier, and the surf seemed almost fluorescent. Another soldier, a lad, said, ‘Yes, what the hell are you talking about?’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ she bellowed, with what was left of her energy. ‘Your noses are much too long. Keep them out of my business.’ But in the gloom she saw that they were pinned to the subject because it was normal, better than the hell of the beaches, and the turmoil of the surf and sea.
She shouted, as she hauled the oars through the water. ‘He said, not so long ago, that we’d go for a drink with the other lads. It’s what he always says.’
They looked at one another. ‘When?’
‘The last time was when I was piloting a Dragon Rapide back from Jersey. You see, he and Uncle Eddie taught me how to strip an engine, and so I do. There’s now no one else who’s around to do it so it’s as well I can. That’s why he thinks of me as a lad. Well, actually, I think he’s always thought that since we were tots.’
They looked at one another as they headed for the Sunflower tugging at her anchor. She said, ‘The old girl stinks of fish, but it will get you to a bigger one, and home.’ She rested the oars on the rowlocks as they scrambled up the ladder at the stern.
As Bryony pushed away, one called after her, ‘I reckon he thinks of you as a woman, lass. He just doesn’t know how to say it. You wait, it’ll happen. You pilot a Rapide? Strip engines? Bloody Nora, I’ve got to tell the missus.’
When she returned from a further trip, having had to swipe a hysteric over the head with the oar, and then haul him on board before he drowned, Adam was on board the Sunflower watching her. ‘You look as tired as I feel. Let’s deliver the lads onwards, then take the Sunflower out a bit and try to get some sleep or we’re not going to last.’ She unloaded the soldiers, tied up the dinghy and hauled herself on board. The Maid of Torin was back in the vicinity and Adam shouted his intentions to Morgan, who gave him the thumbs up. ‘There are enough of us to take it turn and turn about, but you two can’t. Get your heads down.’
They delivered their load, and stood off about half a mile, flopping on the base of the cabin like stranded fish, because the rug had been chucked overboard. They fell asleep immediately in spite of the canopy of pom-poms, screams, crashes and bombs, waking curled up against one another for warmth. They sat by the wheel and crammed sandwiches into their mouths, and slurped water. Several water cans were empty, but not all by any means, and the job wasn’t finished. Morgan would tell them when they could withdraw, but that wouldn’t be until the end was in sight. They looked at each other. ‘Up and at ’em?’ Adam asked as the dawn came up on 30 May.
‘Yes.’ They levered themselves upright. ‘Getting old,’ she murmured.
‘Ah well, you’ve a way to go. Come on.’ He slapped her on the back. In a minute she felt he’d say, be a man. She checked the dinghies they towed as he headed the Sunflower back to the beaches , and then scanned the sky for planes. There were still too many Germans having fun, and only a few RAF aircraft able to fight back. She thought of Uncle Eddie delivering planes frantically from factory to maintenance units to make good the shortfall. Soon, many more ferry pilots would be needed, and she wanted to be one of them.
They were nearly there and searched for Morgan and the Maid of Torin, but Eric, who was taking passengers on board The Saucy Lass, called across, his voice breaking, ‘The Maid was hit. She’s gone down. None survived,’
On Jersey, Hannah sat on the top of the cliff, which had a path leading to a cove she and Bryony used to run down to. Once on the beach, they’d search the rock pools for crabs. Bryony had said that it was the sort of cove where warriors would come on a rescue mission.
She lay back on the grass thinking of Peter, who was staring at the sky as he lay next to her. She could still taste the beer from his lips, just as he would have tasted hers. The empty bottle they had shared lay on its side between them. She picked it up and tucked it back in the basket. Her uncle would never know he was missing one. He had a whole stack in the cellar because he’d bought up practically the whole shop when war was declared. He’d also bought crates of wine off a French skipper as 1939 turned to 1940.
When Aunt Olive had protested, he’d held up his hand and said, ‘Just in case, Ollie dear. One never knows.’
The stub of the cigarette she and Peter had shared was ground almost to nothing at her side. She tossed it away, watching the wind take it.
‘Dunkirk sounds exciting,’ she said.
‘No, it’s not exciting, it’s serious and we still don’t know how many they can get off, so I want to join up. We’ll need reinforcements.’ He lifted himself on one elbow and kissed her again.
She jerked away. ‘What? But what about me?’
‘It’s war. Like I said, they’ll need every man or the Nazis will come.’
She looked up at the sky. He was just talking the talk, silly beggar.
Rosie whined beside Hannah and licked her face. She pushed her away. ‘For heaven’s sake, Rosie, stop fussing. I hate being licked. A lot of people have had their dogs killed, so you behave yourself, stupid animal.’
Hannah sat up and looked around. Perhaps she should have gone to Devon after all. If she had, Sid might have given her a gold or silver brooch, and he definitely wouldn’t leave her. She glanced a
t Peter. But she didn’t love Sid, she loved this boy. She reached out and stroked his face.
‘It’s because of Bryony and Adam, isn’t it, showing off and rushing across to Dunkirk to be heroes. I wish April hadn’t rung us, I wish I hadn’t told you. You’ve been restless ever since.’
He kissed her again, and lay back down, pulling her to him. ‘It’s nothing to do with that. It’s my duty.’
Above them larks flew. She sighed. Could she bear to go back to April and Bryony and the garden, and what if they had evacuees again? Last time they’d wrecked the attic. Well, not wrecked it, but one of them had wet the bed, for heaven’s sake.
They’d gone home though, back to London, when nothing happened. That’s it, nothing had happened, and after Dunkirk it would be like that again. So it was nothing. He wouldn’t go. The Germans would stop in France, of course they would.
‘What does your dad say, anyway? He’ll need you on the farm,’ she murmured.
‘Dad said I couldn’t sign up, but I will, one day. You just wait and see.’
She kissed him again and again. She’d just have to make sure he wanted to stay because if Peter went . . . She kissed him once more, wanting to ask him why people always left her, and to beg him not to go, but she now decided that if he did set off, she’d follow and stick to him like glue. That was all there was to it.
Chapter Five
3 June
Dunkirk
At midday on 3 June, Bryony rowed another boatload of exhausted and bandaged soldiers to the Sunflower. They were still embarking evacuees off the beach, day and night, alongside Eric and Barry Maudsley. As she knocked against the boat and grabbed for the rope to hold the dinghy steady, Adam came aft, yelling something. Bryony held up a hand, unable to hear over the noise of shouts, gunfire, ack-ack, strafing, bombs, shells. He leaned over, cupping his mouth. ‘We’re almost out of fuel. When I transfer this lot I’m reporting to the skipper of the Wind of the North. He’ll tell us what he said before – head for Dover with as many as we dare when we know our time is up. The old girl’s had one near miss too many, been battered once too often, the engine’s failing. So just one final time, Bee.’
