Night fell, but we stayed in line, afraid that once we lost our place we would never get back in the group. During the darkness the tide came in again and as we were further forward than before, we soon found that we were chest high in the water Still we stood in line and waited as the tide turned and retreated until we were once again no more than calf deep but shivering in the early morning chill and noticed In the faint pre dawn light how lines of eerie spectral tracks appeared along the waterline as men walked on the wet sand leaving a trail of phosphorescent footprints and here and there a drowned body lay. I went to look at one, as it looked like Norman from a distance, it was someone else but the face remains with me forever. We remained standing in the water for the second day and the sea off the beach almost cleared of all the small boats as they had departed with their loads. There seemed little hope by now that we would ever get away and for the first time we felt isolated and depressed, but after a while we moved back from the water and sat on the edge of the dunes in the warm sun and our spirits recovered when over nearer the harbour mole we noticed an excited stir amongst the waiting groups as they pointed to four thin strings of smoke on the horizon. We watched, as the smoke gradually became four Royal Navy destroyers who moved at speed in splendid line astern, parallel with the beach, as if to reassure us that they were real.
A naval officer came ashore with a white-gaitered signaller carrying an Aldis lamp and took up position on the beach near the mole. Within a short time, the two had brought about an air of organised expectancy as we re-formed into groups of about thirty men each, and were numbered In sequence: we were in group number 31.
The length of beach from the harbour mole for half a mile eastwards towards Bray Dunes now took on the air of a busy bus terminus as the many groups of soldiers stood watching expectantly as destroyers circled out to sea, each awaiting moment when the Navy signaller with his Aldis lamp blinking called them In one at a time into the harbour to lie as closely as possible alongside the long stone Jetty with engines running. As one arrived the first waiting group of soldiers scrambled from the beach UP the rough stone sloping face of the mole reach the top and race along to jump down on to the deck of the waiting destroyer. Those carrying rifles were told to throw them in a heap on the deck before being herded below until the ship was full, with the stragglers spread out over the deck.
Before many groups had boarded the destroyers, German artillery on the Dunkirk perimeter had now come within range harbour and the additional hazard of falling shells added to the noise and danger. We tried to remember the old soldier's shell-fire theory of "if you can hear it, it's gone past" but it was scant consolation when we not only heard them but could see the resulting plume of water as shells fell into the harbour water near a waiting destroyer. The day went on, destroyer after destroyer sliding sleekly into the harbour loading with men and swiftly heading to sea on a zigzag course to avoid the attacks of enemy aircraft and the land-based artillery.
The groups slowly moved along the beach to take their turn to run along the mole. Group number 30 was next and we were number 31.
Group 30 shuffled forward on the soft sand to where the sloping stone face of the mole led up to the top and prepared to scramble up it and run along to the waiting destroyer.
The German artillery had been constantly improving their range and accuracy and group 30 never reached the ship. It took a long time for their dead to be moved to one side and the injured taken away and then we of the next group moved into place and in our turn prepared to run. We were shaken by the deaths in the previous group and lay face down on the sloping face of the mole, pressing on to the rough warm grey stone as though we wished we could sink Into It and the old familiar feeling began at the nape of my neck, as vulnerable as ever, as more shelling continued. We waited for the signal to run, but none came as the shells dropped into the water of the harbour where the destroyer was in position, waiting for us with it's engines throbbing and a wide open target for any lucky shell. We lay for an eternity; suddenly the lone voice of an NCO rose above the noise. "Come on now chaps " he called. "Let's have a song, shall we? All together now... 'Pack up your troubles...'" A song? I looked at Fred in amazement. A bloody song? What a time to choose for a choir practice. This silly sod I thought has been reading too many 'Boys Own' and hopes he'll get a medal for this. We tried to lie even lower and stayed mute. A few voices joined in but faded as the signal came to run and run we did.
A 'W' Class destroyer, the HMS Winchelsea, was waiting for us about a hundred yards along the mole. She lay, floating free of the wall, moving slightly, with a gap of a few feet for us to Jump across and down on to the vibrating deck. Naval ratings stood below to catch and steady us as we landed a great number of us still wearing full kit and carrying our rifles. "Throw your rifles in a heap over there." we were told. At last I was rid of 77111 and slung it with the others. Most of those boarding were rapidly marshalled below decks. I avoided going with them by moving to the stern and sitting down on some oil drums. Even at this stage, self-preservation was working over-time and I reckoned that, if a shell hit the Ship, or from the air then I still stood a chance of not drowning if I stayed on deck. A second and third group now jumped aboard and we were full and ready to go. With a great surge of power, the ship's stern dipped under the sudden acceleration and leaving a broad white wake we sped from the harbour as though everyone aboard from the Captain downwards, had heaved a vast and collective sigh of relief. We were not yet clear of trouble. A lone German plane decided to unload his last few bombs on us and HMS Winchelsea constantly turned to avoid offering too easy a target.
It's stern AA gun started to traverse and I suddenly realised It was about to fire over my head. Just in time I jammed my fingers in my ears as the blast and muzzle flame swept round me and my chest seemed to cave in from the colossal pressure.
The ship raced on and soon we were clear and heading for the open sea. I sat and looked at the high waves left by the wake and wondered if I should manage the journey without being sick although, I thought there couldn't be much to bring up after three days without food, and only a little water. I must have looked hungry. The voice of a sailor interrupted my thoughts: "Have some bread, mate." he said, offering me a paper bag with a quarter of a loaf in it. "And I shouldn't sit on those depth charges if I were you!" He grinned as I thanked him took the bread and moved to sit on a bollard near the rail. So much for my instinct of self-preservation. An elderly officer came over and offered me some brandy from a hip flask. We talked of the war and while I had thought that we were going to be moved down the coast of France to the outside of the German advance and be re-equipped to continue with the battle, it became clear from his remarks that it was all over in France and we were heading home!
There was little time to reflect on this news before it was confirmed by cheer from those who could see ahead as Dover's white cliffs appeared on the horizon and in another quarter of an hour we were entering the harbour. We were each told to collect a rifle from the pile on the deck before we disembarked. A nervous bespectacled soldier picked one up and pulled back the bolt. "This one's loaded." he squeaked with fright. I was beside him and looked at the magazine the top cartridge had a red band on it, the sign of a tracer bullet which I had always loaded from our ammunition stock the rifle number: it was 77111 and I came home with my own.
We were tired and hungry but home and safe. The shuffling crowds of troops moved slowly off the ship and onto the quayside. Military police were everywhere, guiding us in strict queues towards the nearby railway station. We wondered at their presence at the time but the maelstrom of Dunkirk would have been the opportunity to disappear from Army records forever and the Redcaps were there to make sure that we didn't. On the railway platform we sat down and slept on the cold paved surface so great was our tiredness.
A train arrived and we got aboard, only to fall asleep once again. I woke and looked out of the window at a patchwork of green fields. This was England and I slept again. We crowded the windows in curiosity as the train stopped. We were at Basingstoke and the platform was busy with elderly lady volunteer helpers handing in drinks of hot cocoa and pieces of bread and margarine, ambrosia to our starving stomachs. A clergyman handed us a pencil and pad to write the names and addresses of our families so that he could send them a card to let them know that we were safe.
Perhaps when he worked out the cost, he couldn't afford the stamps. My Mother never heard from him.
"Four years with the colours" it had said on the form when we signed on, if this was a sample six months, then sod Mr Marsh.
THE END. Well, not quite......
