The Little Ship

by Margaret Mayhew

  They passed through hamlets that appeared deserted except for scavenging dogs. He noticed a herd of cows with swollen udders, milling wild-eyed by a field gateway; he could hear their pathetic lowing even above the rumbling of the tank’s tracks. Huge numbers of French civilians, it seemed, had fled en masse which was most obliging of them. A line of trees on a bend obscured his long view for a few moments, but as soon as the tank had rounded the corner he whipped up the field-glasses again. Another village lay ahead – presumably deserted like the rest. He kept the glasses trained on it.

  The British soldier lay half in and half out of the open doorway, his head in the road, his feet inside the house. He had been wounded in the chest but he was still alive. As they bent over him he looked up at them with dull eyes and his lips moved. Anna knelt down closer. ‘He is asking for water, Guy. Fetch the bottle quickly.’ She swatted away the flies clustering over the Tommy’s face and held the bottle to his lips but he seemed too weak to swallow and most of the water ran out of the corners of his mouth and down his chin. His lips moved again. ‘My mate … in there.’ Guy went inside the house and found the dead body of another soldier lying beneath the shattered window in the front room. The smell was already sickening. He prised the man’s rifle from his fingers and found that it was out of ammunition. When he went back outside he heard the sound of tank tracks in the distance and saw a cloud of dust rising above a line of trees.

  * * *

  Otto was not surprised to see the soldier lying at the edge of the road. He knew that many of the British had been separated from their units and were wandering about behind the lines. Some had been taken prisoner; this one had not been so lucky, except that he appeared to be still alive. He gave the order for the tank to stop and climbed down from the turret. There was not much that could be done for the man, he realized. He held his water-bottle to his mouth but he was too far gone to drink. Otto looked round. Where there was one Tommy, there could be another. He unbuttoned his holster flap and, gun in hand, stepped over the soldier into the house.

  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight to the dim interior. He saw the dead body of another British soldier lying beneath the window. There was a table in the centre of the room with some chairs round it and, beyond the table, an officer in the uniform of the Royal Air Force pointing a revolver. A girl stood slightly behind the man and, at her side, there was a dog. At first he thought he must be hallucinating, that the heat and exhaustion must have affected his senses. And then his eyes adjusted completely and his mind cleared. The dog was growling deep in its throat and showing its teeth. Bluebottles were buzzing loudly over the dead body.

  The officer spoke. ‘Put your gun on the table.’

  He shrugged and did so, laying it on the table between them. Immediately the girl snatched it up and aimed it at him. He said calmly, ‘If you shoot me, Guy, my men outside will blow you to pieces. You … And Anna. And if I do not return to my tank in one moment, they will wonder what is wrong. You have no chance. None at all. If you surrender, you will be well treated – you have my word.’

  ‘And how will they treat Anna?’

  He looked at her again. She was dirty and dishevelled, her dress torn, her face scratched, her hair tangled; of course, it made no difference. She stared back at him without a trace of fear, holding his gun very steady. She would kill me, if necessary, he thought. If she knows how to use it, I hope that she is a very bad shot. ‘What in God’s name is she doing here, Guy?’

  ‘She was in France when you invaded. In Lille.’

  ‘But what is she doing with you?’

  ‘I’m taking her to England.’

  He smiled at that; almost laughed. ‘To England? That will not be so easy. Did you know that your army is nearly defeated? That you are in full retreat and that we are surrounding you? How did you imagine that you would go to England? All the ports are being taken. Boulogne is already ours and Calais is under siege.’ He saw by the look on Guy’s face that this last part, at least, was news to him. ‘It would be much better to surrender.’

  ‘I don’t happen to agree with you.’

  He glanced at Anna again. He knew very well how she might be treated. ‘There is one chance for you, perhaps, if it is not too late. The British and French still have Dunkirk and your Royal Navy are evacuating troops from there. You would have to find a way across country as fast as you can. It is just possible that you may be able to escape by boat before we take Dunkirk. You will need a map. Do you have one?’

  ‘No.’

  He took one from his pocket and tossed it onto the table. Guy made no move to pick it up and the revolver stayed trained on him. He knew, though, that Guy would not shoot. He might risk his own life, but not Anna’s. He was not so sure about Anna. The dog was still growling at him: a thin mongrel with floppy ears and a matted brown coat. ‘He is yours?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He believes that he is. He is not as handsome as Nereus.’ He turned to Guy. ‘I must return to my tank before my crew become alarmed. May I please have my revolver back?’

  ‘Give it to him, Anna.’

  ‘Then he will shoot us.’

  ‘No, he won’t. Put it on the table.’

  She put it down slowly and very reluctantly.

  ‘Thank you, Anna.’ He picked up the gun, looking at her once more for a moment and for the last time. He spoke to her quietly in German. As he stepped over the British soldier lying in the doorway he saw that he had died.

  His crew were waiting for him outside.

  ‘Anything in there, sir?’

  He rebuttoned the flap of his holster and swung himself on board the tank. ‘Just another dead Tommy.’

  They caught up with the rest of the column much sooner than he had expected. The tanks were halted and Stephan, for once, was unsmiling. ‘We have been ordered to stop. Can you believe it, Otto? We have the whole British army within our grasp—only a few miles away – and now we can do nothing. General von Rundstedt has ordered this. We are to stay this side of the Canal Line until we receive further instructions. They say it has been commanded by the Führer. Has he gone mad?’

  ‘What about Dunkirk?’

  ‘The rumour is that it is to be left to the Luftwaffe. Reichsmarschall Goering apparently wishes all the glory for himself. It is insane. We are building golden bridges for the British to escape.’

  They might make it, Otto thought. They have been given a good chance.

  ‘I wish you had shot him, Guy, just like they have been murdering those poor refugees.’

  ‘If I had, his crew would have slaughtered us. We hadn’t a hope, Anna. He let us off the hook. More than that, he helped us. What did he say to you in German?’

  She looked away. ‘It was nothing. Nothing that I believed.’

  The wind was humming loudly in the mainsail – a fair north-easterly that was helping them make good headway. There had been a mist over the river when they’d left just before five o’clock, but by the time they got to the mouth of the estuary it had cleared. Just the same, Matt knew he should never have let Lizzie come. He should have stuck to his guns instead of giving in. If the fear came back he could start making stupid mistakes.

  The jib gave a warning rattle and began to flap. He shouted above the wind. ‘Pull it in, will you, Lizzie.’ She tugged at the sheet hurriedly. She was pea-green and he knew she was feeling sick, though it wasn’t rough. He should never have let her come.

  They reached the Buxey buoy and he took the Rose south-east across the tip of Foulness Sand towards the North East Maplin marker. He kept a close watch on the skies and on the strength and direction of the wind. So long as the moderate weather held he might manage to make a decent job of it and take them safely down to Sheerness. Once there, he would hand Rose over to the Royal Navy and that would be that.

  From the North East Maplin they sailed down the edge of Sands, following the marker buoys, into the Thames estuary. Off Shoeburyness everything change
d as they started across towards Sheerness. The wind was dead astern now and much stronger and the ebb tide, running fast out of the Thames, had the Rose rolling heavily and the waves slapping high over her bows. The sun had vanished behind the black clouds building up overhead and Matt could feel his stomach knotting and his hands starting to shake. If he didn’t do the right thing and do it quickly they could do a standing gybe. The wind could get on the wrong side of the mainsail and the boom would crash over. It could easily break the rigging and, most terrifying of all, the Rose could capsize. He yelled at Lizzie who was clinging tightly to the jib sheet and gunwale.

  ‘We’re going to have to take the mainsail down. Can you manage it, Lizzie? I can’t leave the tiller.’

  She nodded gamely. ‘Tell me what to do.’

  ‘Make the jib sheet fast on that cleat. Then undo the main halyard and pull the sail down. You’ll have to pull hard. Can you do that?’

  She let go of the gunwale, struggling to keep her balance while the Rose plunged about. He could tell how scared she was but she did it, cleating the jib sheet and tugging the mainsail down bit by bit into a bundle on the boom. He groped for a sail tie in the stern locker and chucked it over. ‘Can you put this round the boom now.’

  The Rose was running under the jib alone and only rolling gently. There was no danger now of a gybe or capsize. His hands had stopped shaking. He grinned at Lizzie and put his thumb up. ‘Thanks. We’ll be OK now.’

  At Sheerness the harbour was crammed with craft: cabin cruisers, speedboats, drifters, a river-excursion launch with green and white awning and slatted seats, the Southend Queen ferry, tugs, cockle boats, even a London Fire Brigade fire-float. They tied up alongside an old fishing trawler that reeked of its catch. In a big shed on the quayside, queues of owners waited while Royal Navy officers, seated at tables, spoke to each in turn. The elderly man ahead of Matt had brought his motor boat, Happy Days, all the way down the Thames from Henley. ‘They don’t tell you anything much, but we can all guess what they want them for, can’t we? I’m going over myself, if they’ll let me. I’ve never been to sea before but I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ The man behind, who was wearing a bowler hat and pinstripe trousers, said, ‘Nor would I. I’m not letting those Jerries get our lads.’ When Matt’s turn came, he was asked details.

  ‘Only fourteen foot? No outboard? Sorry, but she won’t be much use to us unless she’s towed over with the other lifeboats and dinghies. We’d be glad to take her for that.’

  He went to find Lizzie. ‘Too small and no motor. They’ll only take her if she’s towed over. I don’t want her to go like that, Lizzie. I’m going to take her myself. I don’t see how they can stop me. I’ve been talking to some of the others and they’ve been told to make for Ramsgate. I’m going to tag along. They’re all going across from there. To Dunkirk – that’s where they’re taking the men off.’ He saw her expression. ‘And before you even ask it, the answer’s no. You’re not coming too. You’re staying behind. I really mean it this time.’

  ‘Just to Ramsgate. It’s not far. I’ll get the train back from there.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I thought you said you loved me, Matt.’

  ‘That’s exactly why I don’t want you coming any further.’

  ‘We’re supposed to face things together. Or don’t you believe in that? I thought you did.’

  He groaned.

  ‘Oh, Lizzie, that’s not fair.’

  ‘Just as far as Ramsgate, that’s all. I promise.’

  In the dusk, the farmhouse looked deserted. No lights at the windows, no sign of life. The dog kept close to Guy as he moved from building to building, revolver in hand. The place was rundown and ramshackle with tin sheds on the point of collapse, Stone Age farming tools, a stinking midden, and an ancient hand pump in the yard. He kicked open a door and looked into a kitchen: oil-lamp suspended over a wooden table, cupboards gaping, an immense black range, unlit. He went through the house cautiously. The other rooms contained only cumbersome pieces of furniture, too awkward to move: a long settle, a tall armoire, a massive oak bed. Anna was waiting for him by the gate. ‘It’s OK. Nobody there. They’ve done a bunk.’

  She followed him into the kitchen, wrinkling her nose. He shone the torch round on bare shelves. ‘We’re out of luck. Looks like they’ve taken everything eatable.’ A birdcage hung from a beam and Anna opened the door and peered at a pathetic bundle of yellow feathers. ‘They forgot to take their bird, poor little thing.’ He found a door that led down a flight of brick steps to a cellar. The torch battery was dying but he could see bottles in a corner and something on a ceiling hook, wrapped in a cloth. ‘It’s ham,’ Anna said delightedly when he bore it upstairs. He held a grime-coated bottle aloft. ‘And this is home-made wine. Now all we need is something to open it with.’ He risked lighting the oil-lamp to save the torch and they hunted through drawers and found a rusty corkscrew at the back of one. He pulled the cork with ceremony and held the bottle out to her. ‘You first. There’s plenty more where it came from.’ She tipped it back and choked. ‘It’s horrible! Like vinegar. No wonder they left it.’ They drank it, just the same, sitting at the table and sawing hunks off the salty ham with his penknife and throwing pieces to the dog. They finished the terrible wine and smoked cigarettes. ‘We’ll stay here until dawn,’ he told her. ‘And then press on as fast as we can. We’ll be in Dunkirk tomorrow.’

  ‘Do you think there will be boats?’

  ‘You heard what Otto said. Our Navy’s evacuating our troops.’

  ‘Perhaps he lied.’

  ‘I don’t think so. The trick will be to get on one.’

  ‘They will take you. But not me.’

  He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘We’ll need to find you other clothes. Beg, borrow or steal some British uniform. I’m afraid we’ll have to cut your hair.’

  ‘There are no scissors but we can use your penknife. You do it. It’s easier for you.’

  He got to his feet unwillingly. ‘Actually, it’s harder.’

  ‘You said it must be cut, Guy. Go on, then. I don’t care. It will be much cooler anyway.’ She turned her back to him.

  He wiped the blade, took a hank of her hair in his hands and started to hack away, hating what he was doing. ‘I’m making a ghastly job of it, I’m sorry.’ He worked on doggedly until there was a shining carpet round her feet. She turned to face him. ‘How do I look? Like a soldier?’

  ‘Not remotely.’

  ‘Then you must cut more.’

  He hacked until her hair was almost as short as his own.

  ‘How do I look now?’

  ‘How you always look.’ He folded the knife and put it away in his pocket. ‘We ought to get some kip.’

  ‘Kip?’

  ‘Sleep.’

  ‘Where can we lie? There is nowhere.’

  ‘There’s a bed upstairs. The mattress looked fairly clean. No blankets, but you can have my greatcoat again.’

  ‘I don’t want your coat, Guy.’

  He met her eyes. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I am not sure.’

  Later on, in the darkness, he said, ‘I thought you didn’t like me.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  A bit later still, he said, ‘Well, you’ve got a damned odd way of showing it.’

  Lizzie watched the armada heading out towards France: big ships of the Royal Navy leading a vast fleet of smaller boats, fanned out across the sea. And, after them, smallest and last of all, ploughing her way valiantly through their wakes, came the Rose. She could hardly see her for the tears in her eyes.

  At Ramsgate station a newspaper headline screamed at her: B.E.F. FIGHTS DOWN NARROW CORRIDOR TO DUNKIRK. Another: DUNKIRK HELD AS B.E.F MOVE BACK FIGHTING EVERY INCH OF THE WAY. Lizzie bought a cup of tea and a bun from the canteen. The woman behind the counter was making a great pile of sandwiches, spreading fish paste onto slices of bread and slapping them together at high speed. ‘It’s for the troops. They’ve bee
n arriving all day. I can’t keep up with it.’

  ‘Do you want a hand?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say no, dear. We need all the help we can get. You can take these and hand them round when the next lot get in. Then come back for the tea. Look, here come some more.’

  A long line of soldiers was shuffling and limping onto the platform. They were unshaven, filthy and hollow-eyed with exhaustion. The tougher ones perked up as she handed out the sandwiches and then mugs of strong tea, managing to smile at her. ‘Ta, sweetheart … this’ll go down a treat … thanks love.’

  ‘Are there any RAF with you?’ she asked one of them.

  He looked bitter. ‘RAF? Never seen no sign of ’em. We could’ve done with their help an’ all.’

  She stayed all day, helping to hand out sandwiches, mugs of tea, cigarettes, chocolate and sweets to the troops who poured into the station and packed the trains. At midnight they were still coming. ‘Got somewhere to go to get a bit of rest?’ Lily, the woman behind the counter, asked her. ‘You can come and sleep at our place round the corner, if you like. It’s just my mother and me.’ It was a neat little house, in a row of others just like it. A framed photograph of a man in army uniform stood on the mantelpiece. ‘That’s my husband, Peter,’ Lily said proudly. ‘He’s over there, too. I keep looking out for him and hoping he’ll get back soon.’

  The water from the pump was clear and cool. Anna worked the handle, letting the stream gush over her head and sluice her body. The dog stayed at a distance, watching her with his head on one side, his right ear pricked. He wagged his tail uncertainly. She pumped some water into a bucket and he crept closer to drink.

  ‘Nobody has ever been nice to you. Poor thing.’

  She dried herself with her dirty frock and put on a clean one from the canvas bag. Guy was still fast asleep upstairs, lying on his back with one arm outstretched. She sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at him. In spite of the three-day growth of stubble, he looked, asleep, very much like the boy of sixteen that he had been when she had first met him. He had smiled at her so confidently and so charmingly, so sure of impressing: Terribly sorry if we startled you. I’m Guy and this is my brother, Matt. We’re Lizzie’s cousins. You must be Anna. Anna from Vienna. She had not been impressed at all. Not for years. She had thought him conceited and selfish and insensitive. She had been right and, at the same time, very wrong. She reached out and touched his forehead and he stirred and opened his eyes, looked first at her, and then at his wrist-watch.