Roses of Winter (10 page)

After a few moments, Jean’s face relaxed a little. “It is now official, Capitaine. The British have ordered an evacuation for their troops. That is, provided they can get ships into the harbor. Only the two long jetties are usable. Already, many soldiers have arrived and more are expected. Boulogne has fallen. The Germans are shelling ships from coastal batteries near Calais. I’m afraid it does not look very promising, Capitaine. We must do our best to get you and your men out of Dunkirk as quickly as possible. I think it would be best if you move closer to the water. You will be better able to watch the situation there and respond quickly if an opportunity presents itself.”

Tierney agreed with Langlois’ assessment. While relatively safe here, they were far removed from the center of activity. He would let the men rest tonight and head towards the harbor at daylight. “Thank you Jean for everything you have done for us,” Tierney said.

The Frenchman made a deprecatory gesture. “These are bad times for France and for Britain,” he said. “We must do everything we can to hold back these barbarians. I hope we will meet again in better times.” Tierney nodded his agreement with that sentiment. “I have brought you what food I could find,” Langlois continued. “Everything is in short supply, even water.
 
We have been reduced to unloading water in cans from a ship that managed to get through. That is how desperate the situation is.”

❅❅❅❅❅

The morning sun rose through a haze of dust and smoke. Charlie awoke suddenly. Overlaying the sweet aroma of the hay were hints of oil, soot and burnt soil. He coughed and sat up, disturbed by the sensations in his body. Charlie had dreamt he was home, having a quiet smoke after Sunday dinner. He sat by the fire with the Sunday Post. Mary was sitting across from him darning Alastair’s shorts. Charlie had looked up from The Broons and gazed at her as she worked. She brought the needle up to her teeth to cut the yarn and caught his eye. “Whit are ye looking at?” she asked him, puzzled by his expression.

“Ah wis jist looking at ye. Can a man no’ look at his wife when he has a mind to?”

“An’ whit is there tae look at efter aw these years,” she said, a wistful tone belying her sharp manner.

“A fine lookin’ wumman is whit’s tae look at,” he said, a catch in his voice.
 

“Are ye gaun saft in the heid on me, Charlie Burns?” she asked. She made light of it, but was pleased. He came over to her chair and gently rubbed the back of her neck. She looked up at him, surprised. Her heart skipped in her chest. He kneeled beside her chair. Drawing her to him, he kissed her in a way that made her face flame.

Instead of calling him a silly auld fuiter and pushing him away, she placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed him back, hard and demanding. Charlie placed his hand on her breast and felt her quiver with excitement.

He had awakened then, disoriented and breathing heavily. He felt the constriction in his trousers and looked quickly around. Charlie sighed, first with regret at having returned to the reality of the stable, then with relief when he looked around and saw the others still asleep. He slumped back on to the straw, tears of homesickness and longing springing in his eyes.
 

Charlie fished for his handkerchief and wiped his face. His dream had seemed so real. When was the last time that he and Mary had been so passionate?
It had been quite a while
, he thought.
Well, ah’m getting mysel’ hame, he said to himself. And ah’m gaun tae make it up tae her
.
 

He got up and tapped the sole of Harry’s boot with his foot. Harry stirred and coughed.

“Whit’s the idea?” he moaned testily.

“C’moan Harry, get up and let’s see if we can find ony tea in this place. An’ ah could sare use a fag if ye hiv ony left.”

Harry reached in his pocket with a resigned look on his face. “Aye, a hiv a few ah wis savin’ but ye can have wan. Ah widny smoke it in here tho’,” he said, looking around at the straw.

“Ah wisnae gaun tae,” Charlie replied, reaching for the cigarette. He nodded at the sleeping men. “If they smell tobacco, ye’ll no’ hae ony left.” He headed for the door.

Harry got up. “Ah think ah’ll join ye."

They went out into the stable yard where they found Captain Tierney and John Stokes. Charlie put the cigarette behind his ear and came over to them. They looked up. “Are we gaun tae try tae get oot o’ here the day, Captain?”

“We are, Charlie,” Tierney replied. He turned to John, “Would you muster the men, please?” Tierney turned back to Charlie. “The fact is, Charlie, we don’t know too much about what is happening. We’ll head down to the harbor and see what the situation is.”

Charlie nodded. “Aye, that makes sense.”
 

Charlie wondered what the next few days would bring. In a way he could not explain even to himself, he was convinced that he would make it out of Dunkirk. He had to concede that the situation did look pretty bleak.
I don’t want to jinx myself
, he thought. But he had confidence in his own ability to make things work in life as he did in his engine room. If there was a way to leave Dunkirk he was sure he would find it and he was determined to get as many of the crew off with him as he could.
 

Jean had informed Pierre-Louis Lejeune of their departure He hurried out to bid them farewell. Lejeune grasped Captain Tierney’s hand in both of his then embraced him. Tierney, a man not given to extravagant displays of emotion, endured this stoically. He was genuinely grateful to this man who had helped his crew in the midst of his own personal trouble. Tierney struggled to convey this to Pierre-Louis. “Merci” he repeated until Pierre-Louis nodded his head in understanding.

The crew set off. They were in good spirits at first, happy to be on the move. Their mood turned somber when they reached the ruined streets of the city. Their few quiet days at the stables had been a respite.
 
Now they were confronted again with the seriousness of their situation. The confusion and disarray increased as they neared the waterfront. In the harbor, the superstructures and masts of many ships projected above the water.
 
The streets were filled with British soldiers heading for the beaches, many without rifles or packs.
 

“Wid ye look at this?” Charlie said to Harry as they passed a small group of soldiers. “Ye’d think the hale British army was on holiday at the seaside.”

One of the soldiers turned and called out, “Hey Jimmie, are youse frae Glesca?”

“Ah am that,” Charlie replied after a brief glance at the man.
 
The soldier was of medium height and wiry frame and looked tough as nails. Charlie sized him up immediately as a wee Glesca hard man, a wide boy who would know all the dodges.
 

“It’s nae holiday, pal,” the man said, not unkindly, “But it’s as crooded as Rothesay at the Fair. Where are youse from?”

“Maryhill,” Charlie replied.

“Izzat right?” the man replied. “Mah sister lives in Maryhill. See me, ah’m frae Partick.”

Charlie relaxed his guard a little. “Dae ye hiv ony idea whit’s gaun on?” he asked.

“Ye mean apart frae it bin’ a total balls up?” the soldier asked. “Naw, no’ much. We were told tae get doon tae the beach an wait tae be told whit tae dae.”

They parted company then, the Glaswegian soldier being called away by his companions. The sailors managed to stay together as a group but the throng of people pressing in on them made communication difficult.
 
Tierney brought them over behind a ruined structure, where they squatted down on the rubble. “I suggest you stay here while I try to find someone who knows what is going on. Mr. Stokes will remain in charge. I will return as quickly as possible.”

Set adrift in this sea of humanity, Tierney tried to get his bearings.
Where was he likely to find someone in authority?
He looked at the harbor. He was near the land end of the long East Pier. If they were embarking evacuees, this would be a logical place to attempt it.
 

Tierney worked his way through the crowd until he came within sight of a sergeant. As a member of the merchant marine, Tierney was a civilian. Although just as much in harm’s way as any Royal Navy man, his rank didn’t cut much ice with the military types. He was frequently exposed to condescension and indifferent treatment. Tierney brushed off his uniform jacket and straightened his cap. He realized that an air of authority was essential in this situation.
 

Tierney strode up purposefully and looked the man straight in the eye. “Sergeant, Captain Tierney. And you are…?” The sergeant hesitated a moment, looked at the ornate cap badge and the braid on Tierney’s sleeve, before straightening up. “Sergeant Barker, Sir.”

“I need to know the situation here, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have any ships been able to enter or leave the port in the last 48 hours?” Tierney asked.

“A few, sir. The
Mona’s Queen
got off last night and the
Canterbury
managed to get in. We are expecting more ships, sir, but definite information is hard to get.”

“Sergeant, our ship was bombed. I need to get my crew out of Dunkirk. What do I need to do to get them on a ship?”

“You’ll need to speak with the Major, sir.”

“Can you please direct me to him?” Tierney asked.

The sergeant turned and called over a Private. “Wilson, take the Captain here to see the Major.” Tierney thanked him. The sergeant saluted. “Best of luck sir to you and your men.”

When Tierney was introduced to the Major, his heart sank. He sized up the other man immediately as a self-important martinet. Tierney knew the type. He would stand on his rank and be a stickler for the rules. The Major looked over Tierney’s uniform carefully, failing to meet his eye, while Tierney explained his crew’s predicament.

“Captain Tierney, a merchant captain, I believe,” the Major said.

Tierney’s spirits sank.
 
The Major’s tone assaulted his Celtic ear. Here was an extreme example of that particular type of affected English accent that so offended the ears of those who resided in the non-English periphery of the British Isles. It carried an air of pomposity, domination and condescension that raised Tierney’s hackles and stirred ancient resentments. Tierney merely nodded.

“As civilians, Tierney, you must understand that my first priority is to get the armed forces out of Dunkirk. We have thousands of men pouring into Dunkirk daily and very few ships to get them off. You will just have to bring your men to the beach and take your chances like everyone else.” Tierney, who had simply wanted information, not special treatment, found his temper rising.
 

“Let me explain something to you, sir,” Tierney said, speaking each word carefully and distinctly. “My men and I have already taken plenty of chances bringing you the petrol your army needs for its trucks and tanks. Our ship was sunk beneath us and we lost three men in the process. I think we have already proved we don’t need to be told about taking our chances.”

The Major, to Tierney’s surprise, apologized. “I am sorry about your men and your ship, Captain Tierney.” There was a new tone of respect in his voice. “But the reality is that I cannot get off the men that are already here. There simply are not enough ships. We are sending our own people to the beaches so that we can better organize an evacuation when it becomes possible.”

Tierney nodded. “And my men?”

“If we are able to get the men off the beaches they will get the same opportunity as everyone else. But I have to tell you now, I have no idea whether it will be possible to get many more men away from Dunkirk. Right now, there is simply no way to tell.”

He is telling me the truth
, Tierney thought. He had detected the anxiety behind the Major’s proper manner. The situation was clearly serious, perhaps dire. He thanked the Major who shook his hand and wished him good luck.

Tierney made his way back to his crew. He wondered what to say.
It would have to be the truth, of course. But how to relay the news in a way that would not demoralize them? Well
, he thought,
being in command involves knowing how to look self-assured and confident despite one’s real state of mind
. He straightened his back and approached the men.

“Well, it’s like this men,” he began. “They are planning to attempt an evacuation. As of now there are not many ships in port. We are instructed to join the army on the beach and await further information.” The men looked at each other. “It looks like the situation is changing by the hour,” Tierney continued. “We need to be alert and wait for our chance. The best place for that is with the troops.”

“What will we do about food and shelter, Captain Tierney?” one of the deckhands asked.

“I doubt if there will be much of either, Albert,” Tierney said. “We’ll just have to make the best of it.” Privately he thought,
If we don’t get off soon we’ll likely be German prisoners anyway
. Instead he said, “listen to me. I want you all to set a good example for the merchant marine. We’ll show them what we are made off, won’t we?”

“Aye that we will,” Charlie called out to a ragged chorus of agreement.

Stokes arranged the men in an orderly column and led them in the direction of the beach. They joined the crowd of soldiers heading in their direction.
I hope we will find someone who knows what is going on there
, Tierney thought. He felt deeply his responsibility for his crew. The sands east of the city were broad and flat. On the landward side were low dunes dotted with tufts of grass. The scene reminded Charlie of the beaches of the northeast of Scotland where he had played as a boy.