Roses of Winter (17 page)

A bomb landed nearby, drenching their boat. The resulting wave pushed their boat towards the shore. “Ah can take a hint,” Charlie muttered. Aloud, he shouted, “Let’s get oor arses oot o’ here.” The men pulled together, straining to move the heavily laden boat. Charlie took a last look at the ship. The remnant left above the surface was ablaze from stem to stern. He looked around to discover the fate of the other boats. Two of them, loaded with men, were heading for the shore. From the stern of one, Harry raised a hand. Charlie returned his wave, relieved to see his friend in one piece. They pulled in to the beach. Men jumped into the surf to haul in the boat and help the survivors ashore.

Tierney greeted Charlie. “I’m glad to see you all made it back. It didn’t look too good there for a while.”

“Aye an’ ah dinnae think it’ll be any better the morn’,” Charlie replied.

They settled down for another long night, deciding to stay near the boats rather than go up into the dunes. In the morning they woke to a steady wind from the northwest that drove salty spray in their faces. They turned their backs to it, seeking relief. Gusts sighed heavily around them, stirring up little sandstorms that found their eyes, no matter which way they faced. Heavy breakers crashed on the beach. Several small craft attempting to close on the beach were taking a heavy pounding.
 

Charlie huddled together with Stokes and Tierney to discuss their options. The raging wind made conversation difficult.
 
They cupped their hands around their eyes and squinted out to sea. A launch loaded with men wallowed in the heavy breakers.
 
It teetered precariously on a billowing crest. A monstrous surge caught it on the starboard quarter. The boat capsized, spilling its occupants into the sea.
 

Tierney looked at Charlie. “If the wind’ll dae that tae a motorboat ah don’t see whit chance we wid have, Captain,” Charlie said.
 

Tierney agreed. It was very disappointing. The wind continued to pick up. The captain estimated it at maybe force 3. “It looks like it’s settling in for a while,” Tierney said. “There’s not much we can do until it dies down.”

Sergeant Hutchinson came over and squatted down beside them. He looked uneasy. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid there’s been a change of plan. With conditions the way they are there’s not much point in trying to get men away from the beach. We’ve been ordered to make our way to the breakwater. I’m sorry Captain but I may not be able to keep my promise to you and your men after all. The best I can suggest is that you accompany me and my men and we will do the best we can for you.”

 
“Thank you sergeant, we’ll take you up on that,” Tierney replied.

They joined a great procession of men heading towards Dunkirk. Some units, like Sergeant Hutchinson’s marched in an orderly column, others straggled out in an amorphous crowd. German planes buzzed around Dunkirk, like wasps around an open jar of jam. The detonations of bombs came so soon one after the other that, with the barrage of guns firing back from the ships, an almost continuous cacophony of sound arose from the harbor. As they approached the East Pier, the men felt that they were entering the very gates of hell.

 
The entrance to the pier was obscured behind a great horde of men waiting to embark. They moved together as a boiling, ever changing mass, edging their way forward a little at a time to fill the gaps created as groups of men were admitted to the breakwater. Tierney banded his men close together to avoid losing them in some unexpected convulsion of the crowd. Proximity to the pier appeared to have given them renewed strength. They would wait through a long afternoon and through the night too for the chance to be on board a ship headed for home.
 

There was no opportunity to be bored. The Germans were determined they would have no peace. They came often that day, targeting the ships vital for the success of the evacuation.
 
As the men approached the pier entrance, their nervousness grew. In one attack, bombs landed near the jetty.

 
“Jesus Christ,” Jimmie Donnelly shouted, crossing himself.

Charlie stared at him, amused at an act of piety from the likes of Jimmie. “Put in a guid word fer me there, will ye Jimmie?”

“Ah thought ye didnae go in fer that sort o’ thing.”

“Ah don’t but ah’ll take help frae onywhere the noo,” Charlie said with a grin.

“Ah didnae know ye were that desperate,” Jimmie fired back.
 

During their long wait for rescue, each man experienced a wide range of emotional states. Frustration replaced optimism, fear supplanted boredom. Underlying all was a sustaining vestige of hope.
 
Each inching step brought them closer to the pier and the chance to get home.
 
They spent an uneasy and sleepless night crowded together with no opportunity to rest. The arrivals and departures of ships continued under the German gauntlet. In the cold predawn light, bleary-eyed and exhausted, driven on only by adrenalin and the atavistic urge to get home, they found themselves at last at the pier. A densely packed queue of men was held at its entrance. Only small groups were being allowed through.
 

Charlie was so close to the man in front that he could not escape the sharp scent of unwashed body and wool uniform.
Ach, ah bet ah don’t smell too guid masel’
, he thought. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and wished forlornly for a mug of hot tea.

“Wid ye look at that?” exclaimed Harry in disgust. "This is no’ even a real pier.” Stretched before them was a long narrow breakwater that sat on pilings. It was wide enough to accommodate two, perhaps three men at a time. Wooden handrails ran down each side and there were no proper berthing facilities at all.

The sky had brightened visibly in the last few minutes. The Sergeant in charge nervously scanned the heavens for the first bombers of the new day. “All right, the next ten men will move out onto the pier and head up to that ship.” Ahead of them, on the seaward side of the pier, a passenger ship was berthed. A number of ladders and wooden planks stretched out to it from the pier. Men inched their way across these precarious makeshift gangplanks onto the deck.
 

Charlie and Harry moved quickly up the pier. Charlie glanced at the stern of the ship. The ship was the
Prague
, one of the largest of the passenger vessels to cross the English Channel. She had been brought into service to carry troops to France a few short months ago. Now she was carrying many of these same men back to England.

When Harry reached the ladder, he hesitated. It looked so insubstantial. He looked through its rungs to the water far below.
 
Charlie realized the problem. His friend was afraid of heights. Crossing that open and frail looking platform would be an almost impossible torment for him. “Get doon on yer hands and knees Harry. Ah’ll be right behind ye. If ye feel yersel’ slipping hang on tight an’ ah’ll help ye.”

The Sergeant supervising the boarding was tense and impatient. “Come on then, let’s be having you, we don’t have all day.”

Charlie turned to him and held up a hand. “Jist you haud yer horses. He’ll be all right if ye jist gie him a minute.” Charlie turned back to Harry. “If ye want tae get hame, now’s the time. Take your time and go at yer own speed. A few minutes and ye’ll be on the ship.”

Harry nodded uncertainly and edged out on to the ladder. Charlie followed him balancing on two feet and one hand, keeping the other one ready to grab Harry.
 

The few moments of his passage to the ship stretched out to an eternity for Harry. But the impulse to get away from this god-forsaken place overrode any personal phobia. What would have been fearfully avoided in peace became a small personal triumph in war. He climbed carefully on to the deck and gave out a heavy sigh of relief. Charlie jumped down beside him. They were quickly ushered towards the stern to join a crowd of men. Despite their exhaustion, they were forced to stand. Other men followed. Soon the
Prague
was filled to capacity.
 

Charlie looked around at faces as drawn and haggard as any he had seen. These men could truthfully say they had been through hell. Despite the significant personal victory of getting on the ship they knew very well that the Germans would not let them leave without a farewell. Many of the men coughed, their bodies attempting to shake free sooty debris from days of exposure to smoke from burning oil tanks. Their throats were raw, their mouths tasted like burnt tires.
 

For once Charlie was glad not to be down in the engine room. He could imagine what thoughts must be running through the minds of the engineers and stokers far below decks. They would all need luck to get out of Dunkirk Harbor. Charlie thought his chances were better on deck.
 

Without prevarication or preamble, the lines that held the ship to France were loosed and she maneuvered away from the breakwater. In the scramble to get on board the crew of the
Jasper
had become separated. Charlie looked for them. He spotted Tierney and Stokes some way off. Charlie caught their eye and waved. They returned his greeting with an enthusiastic thumbs up sign.
 

The ship headed into the channel. It had sufficient way to bring a slight, refreshing breeze to the men. Harry and Charlie worked their way to the rail. From this vantage point they saw at last the crisis in its entirety. The masts of wrecked ships filled the harbor like a forest of dead trees inundated by a flood and left to rot. On the sand banks around the channel were the beached, burned out hulks of ships that had not survived the passage they were attempting.

Charlie looked off down the beach towards the Belgian border a dozen miles away, each mile of it thick with a swarm of little black dots that moved and pulsed, men reduced to insects by the perspective. Here and there, derelict in the shallow waters off the beach was every manner of craft. Once proud paddle steamers joined drifters and minesweepers. Charlie loved ships and all things nautical. He lamented to see so many fine ships broken and destroyed. Yet, it was nothing compared to the sickening waste of yet another generation in a European war.

Charlie was brought back abruptly to reality when Harry poked him solidly and painfully in the ribs with his elbow. When Charlie turned to Harry to complain, he instead followed his friend’s horrified gaze skyward.
 

Sweeping out to sea from the beach were a host of German bombers. Two headed straight for the Prague. Anxiety ran through the men. They were packed into the after deck like sardines in a can. They felt acutely their exposure and vulnerability. All eyes were fixed on the approaching planes. Charlie watched the bombs detach from the planes and descend towards the ship. A voice in his head said the words,
This is where I came in
. But he knew that this time he could not blithely walk out of the dark interior of the Star picture house and stroll down Maryhill Road with Mary. Watching the bombs close on the ship he was forced to admit to himself that he had not the slightest idea how this picture would end.

Chapter 6

Waiting

Maryhill, 1940

Mary awoke long before dawn but lay in bed until the window shade lightened with the coming day. She moved to get up but changed her mind. Mary placed a hand on her right temple. The throbbing and persistent pain that had roused her from a fitful sleep persisted. Poorly rested and out of sorts, she brought her feet to the floor. She searched for her slippers with her feet. Standing, Mary felt dizzy and sat down again, where she remained for a few minutes, gently massaging her head. At last, expelling a loud sigh, she rose and made her way slowly to the fire.
 

Mary sat for a minute in her dressing gown, holding it tightly around her against the chill while she took the poker to the banked fire. She stirred it cautiously, looking for embers that had survived the night beneath the dross. Mary placed a few lumps of coal on top, glad that she would not have to start the fire anew. Satisfied that the fire would catch, she rose carefully, favoring the small of her back where a warning twinge advised her to treat it with care. She took the kettle off the hob and went to fill it at the sink. Her body felt heavy with weariness.
Ah’ll jist have a quiet cup of tea before ah get the weans up for school
, she thought and turned on the wireless, keeping the volume low.
 

Back by the fire, she rested her chin in her hand fighting back the impulse to cry. She stared into the fireplace soaking up some warmth from the new coals. A blue and yellow flame curled around their base. A little greenish flare flickered up suddenly and subsided. “Where are ye Charlie?” she asked the quiet room. He had left on the 18
^th
and here it was the 29
^th
and still no word from him.
 

After two cups of hot sweet tea, her headache retreated to a minor but precocious annoyance that whispered in her ear that it could reassert itself at any time. Mary wakened Elspeth and Alastair and made their dinner pieces while they washed their faces at the sink. It was only later, after they had gone off with their satchels on their backs that she thought about how quiet they had been.
They know when something’s not right with me
, she thought. Her weary and distant manner had played on their own intense fear for their father. The children had crept around and made no fuss.
It’s already like a funeral in this hoose
, Mary thought, and sat back down at the fire.