Not Flag or Fail (9 page)

At just after half one, in relative darkness, Fishy gave us the word and we left the cave, heading out across the beach towards the dinghy’s with Ronny and Jack taking our kit and all the rifles down to the water’s edge. Fishy, Harry and I turned the dingy over and put the oars inside and began to push it across the sand heading down to the sea. I was surprised how easily the boat went over the sand and we soon had it in the water. We pushed it out until we were waist deep, and then loaded the rifles and our kit inside. Fishy was in the boat in an instant, telling the rest of us how to get in without capsizing it. After a few false starts, which I’m sure in safer environments would have led to peals of laughter but here raised none; we all got into the boat and were ready for off.

Fishy took both oars and with measured strokes pulled away for our chosen boat. The sea seemed pretty rough to me as we got further out and closer to our destination, Fishy continued to pull on the oars, never missing a stroke, whether we were at the crest of a wave or down in a trough and eventually we bumped up alongside the fishing boat. Fishy quickly shipped the oars, grabbed hold of the rope that was tied to the front of the dinghy and, timing his leap to match the rise and fall of the waves, he jumped aboard the fishing boat.

“Come on then and don’t flipping fall in We’re already wet enough!” he shouted across to us, as the spray lashed our faces. I decided to go first and jumped across, I got it nearly right, thanks to Fishy who held me, preventing me from falling over onto the deck. The others came across with varying degrees of success and when we were all on board Fishy tied the dingy to the back of the fishing boat.

“I’ll go and try to get us started, you lot should get down on the deck just in case anyone can see what’s going on.” he walked toward the wheelhouse which was only a bit bigger than the size of a telephone box, a padlock held the door closed, but as we had seen earlier this was no deterrent to Fishy, who again used his bayonet to deal with it. I watched as he pumped and primed and then we heard the sound of a starter being engaged, after only the merest of splutters the diesel engine came to life.

He moved the boat backwards until it stopped held by the anchor chain, then he moved it forward again and I watched as he left it idling in neutral. He came out of the wheelhouse and asked me and Ronny to go to the front with him which we did. The three of us then pulled at the anchor-chain, Ronny falling over backwards as it eventually came loose. “That’ll do then you two, pull it up and I’ll get us underway.” He went back to the wheelhouse leaving us pulling up the chain, the front of the boat lifted over a wave and we were away.

I don’t suppose it was what you would call a big sea but equally it was not what you would call a big boat, in fact at just over twenty five feet long and I would guess eight or nine feet wide, I think you could say it was a small boat. I sat at the front end wedged into the corner between the side of the boat and the front bit, I was feeling miserable and shivering in my wet clothes as the sea washed over the top and onto the deck. Jack and Harry sat with their backs to the wheelhouse, Jack holding a bucket that he had been sick into twice since we had got out to sea which was only about forty minutes ago. Ronny and Fishy looked perfectly at ease; Ronny holding the wheel on a course that I assumed Fishy had given to him and Fishy busying himself in different parts of the boat. He had managed to get the bilge pumps started and the hold below us was or so he told me, rapidly emptying out; he later informed me that he had checked the diesel and we had plenty for the trip. That’s it then I thought, all aboard the skylark sit back and think of England.

I hadn’t yet been sick but it was still a distinct possibility. Despite my discomfort I must have nodded off because the next thing I was aware of was waking up and feeling a lot better, it was still dark but the motion of the boat had definitely changed. I looked towards the back of the boat and saw that they’d put up a small sail, I decided to go and see what was happening. The sea was still running with about four or five foot waves, so holding onto anything I could, I swayed down the deck until I was able to grab onto the wheelhouse.

Ronny stood outside smoking and Fishy was sitting on the Captain’s chair steering the boat, a fag between his lips.

Someone had covered the other two with some old sailcloth and they looked to be asleep.

“How you feeling now Bomb?” asked Ronny as I joined them.

“Funnily enough I feel ok, much better, what’s changed?”

“We’re on course for England now and running with the wind, the bad motion before was because we were sailing against the wind in order to get quickly out to sea and out of danger.” I glanced at my watch but couldn’t make out the time in the darkness. “Just coming up to four o’clock, the darkest hour,” said Ronny. I thought about it for a while and then said

“Blimey I slept for over two hours!”

“Well what else would you expect but relaxation on a Thomas’s Continental cruise eh?” Fishy said leaning out of the wheelhouse.

“Listen you,” I said “tonight you are nothing short of a saint, you have in one night wiped out the debt that you owe me for the six months I’ve had to put up with your blooming moaning. And when we get home if the Army doesn’t give you a medal I’ll buy you one, now shut up and get us home.”

When daylight finally broke and we could see around us there was no land to be seen in any direction and our little boat seemed a very small dot in this big green sea. Fishy and Ronny I could tell were actually enjoying themselves and Harry and Jack having woken up were also looking much better but hadn’t yet ventured out from below their temporary cover. Somehow they reminded me a bit of photographs I’d seen of steamship passengers out on the deck taking the air in deck-chairs.

It was now just after six o’clock which meant that we had been going for a little over four hours, I could tell that we weren’t going particularly fast, even with the wind, but was still surprised when I asked Fishy how long we would be and he said he expected to sight land in about another two or three hours and with luck, tie up sometime before noon.

In the distance we could see several ships that looked like destroyers, from this far away it was difficult to tell? We could however see that they were heading back to where we had come from. We talked for a while about the possibility of being spotted by German ships or planes but decided there was little we could do to prevent it or to evade it, so we may just as well put it out of our minds.

By eight o’clock the sun was shining brightly and the sea had turned from oily green to a bright turquoise it had also calmed down considerably, the waves now only about two foot or so. Our old boat had settled into a comfortable motion, encouraging Harry out from under the sail to try a cigarette. We all stood watching a ship in the distance making rapid progress towards us. Ronny was steering the boat and Fishy shielded his eyes from the sun as he watched it getting nearer. He spoke to no one in particular when he said, “I don’t think it’s anythink we need to worry about, it looks like a fisherman to me. We’ll see soon enough though, I reckon he must be pushing twenty knots.”

“Just out of interest,” I said “how fast are we going?”

“Well we’re making about four or five knots now but earlier on, when the sea was running higher we were down to just about two.” he replied.

I did a quick calculation and realised why it was taking so long to cross the twenty odd miles or so of the English Channel.

Just before nine o’clock, the other boat slowed and drew level with us about forty yards away, It was a purpose built craft about eighty feet long, it looked like a deep sea fishing boat but was very smart in its admiralty grey paintwork with its red ensign blowing in the breeze. There was a four inch gun at the front and another at the rear also at the front end there were deck mounted torpedo tubes and at the back depth charge canisters were lashed down next to a launching device.

Contrasted against the grey paint, all along the sides of the boat were varying shades of khaki drab, there did not seem a space anywhere on the deck that was not filled with Army. A launch was lowered and quickly travelled the short distance across to us, an experienced looking sailor sat in the rear holding onto the tiller, expertly bringing the launch into the side of our boat which was now just bobbing up and down Fishy having put it into idle.

A young Lieutenant at the front of the launch used a short boathook to grab onto our side and then addressed us all “Morning chaps, nice day for a sail eh? Are you all ok, any injured among you? No, that’s good, in that case my Captain wants to know if you require any assistance, says you’re welcome on board if you like, or says you can carry on, under your own steam if you prefer? Not far to go now anyway.”

I looked at Jack “You want to go across?” he shook his head.

“No thanks, Lieutenant we’ll finish what we started” I replied

“Good luck then” he said and he leaned down, with his free hand picked up a cardboard box from the floor of the launch, handed it to me and said,

“Have this with the compliments of the Navy “with that he let go with the boat hook, saluted smartly and the seaman powered up the engine and pointed the launch back towards their vessel. In less then five minutes the launch had been hauled back on board with several whoops from her sirens and a lot of waving from the troops along the rails, she was back underway and soon afterwards so were we.

We opened the box and looked inside, it was like all our Christmases rolled into one, greaseproof paper packages filled with jam sandwiches, two big glass bottles filled with warm sweet tea, a small tin containing a fruit cake that someone with foresight had sliced up for us, a bottle of water and a half bottle of Navy issue rum and a tin of fags and matches.

I have heard it said that starvation is the best sauce for food, if that is so if you added exhaustion and worry as condiments then you will understand that to us this meagre fare was like a feast. It didn’t just feed the inner man; it was so English that I think that if ever a meal could be described as spiritual then this was the one. Sitting there in the sunshine with the now gentle motion of our boat as we headed for home all of our spirits were lifted by this act of kindness from people we didn’t know, a tear rolled down my cheek but no one noticed and I was able to wipe it away unseen, the wind quickly drying the spot where it had been.

“There she is!” said Fishy, standing at the front of the boat pointing with the jam sandwich he was in the process of eating, while Ronny had a turn at the wheel.

“There’s what?” I asked looking over to where he was pointing.

“Blinking England this sceptic isle.” he said delivering this famous line in true fishy style.

“Surely that’s just cloud isn’t it?” Jack said, fortified by the sandwiches and water, he had finally come out from under the cover and joined us at the front. But even as he said it, what could have been mistaken for clouds seconds ago, was solidifying into the solid shape of land, we all stood there grinning, Fishy had done it, he had got us home.

“Got any money, I’m having a whip round for the driver later.” he said, shoving a piece of cake in his mouth and walking off towards the wheelhouse “Now where’s that rum?”

As we got closer to land more and more boats and ships of all types came into view, some like us going in towards the land and plenty more were going away in the opposite direction. About a mile outside Dover harbour we watched as our angel of mercy came hurrying back out again now without it’s soldiers, going back for a refill and giving us another whoop as she sped past quite closely, her bow wave causing us to bob up and down alarmingly. As we chugged the last part of the journey, waving to people along the harbour wall, relieved to be back, I called all of the lads around me outside the wheelhouse, so that Fishy could hear me too.

“Look lads there are bound to be some sort of questions when we get back so we all need to be singing off the same hymn sheet. As I see it, there are only two issues, one is how did we lose the Captain? And the answer to that is the truth we lost him in the dark … we just got split up. The other, of course, is how we happened to come home in a stolen French fishing boat? And again we sort of tell the truth we just say we missed the turning for Dunkirk found the boat and decided to chance our arm. Are we all agreed?” No one argued with me.

With a skill born out of experience, Fishy brought our boat gently in against the harbour wall and I threw the front rope up to an old salt waiting on the top of the wall. The old chap expertly looped the rope around a mooring post, when this had been done Fishy reversed the boat until the rope was tight, then he stepped out of the wheelhouse, threw the back rope up to the same old man who once again tied us off, he then walked back into the wheelhouse and shut off the engine. “All ashore who’s going ashore?” he said, as he came out of the wheelhouse and stood looking up at the quay above us.

It didn’t take long to assemble our rifles and what little kit we had left, then after a last look around the old boat we climbed the rusty steel ladder up to the top of the harbour wall. At the top an MP sergeant came over and spoke to us “Well done lads and welcome home, if you get yourselves down to that old warehouse over there, there’s tea and sandwiches on offer and then afterwards someone will sort you out.” he pointed to where we had to go and then walked away to where a biggish motor cruiser, loaded with about a dozen half naked soldiers, was pulling into the wharf. We walked away from our little boat in the noon sunshine and it suddenly occurred to me that we didn’t know her name, I turned around and there in grimy, barely noticeable letters at the back of boat were the words ‘Stella De Mer’ “Ronny look, does that mean what I think it means?” I asked pointing to the boat.

“If you think it means Star of the Sea, then yes.” He said and carried on walking.

The warehouse was a vast place, the WVS had set up tables with dry clothes, blankets, and old shoes, it looked a bit like a jumble sale but having seen the blokes on the cabin cruiser I could understand the need for it but it was of no interest to me. Further down however was something of great interest, from the biggest tea urn I had ever seen, they were pouring huge mugs of scalding tea with the option if you wanted it with a splash of rum. From the next table along from that, big sugar buns were being handed out. We all went for the rum option and despite our Navy sandwiches, took the option of a second bun when they were offered. Once we had been served, a middle aged lady in smart uniform pointed us to the tables further on into the warehouse and told us to find ourselves a seat.