waves; but the noise was the worst thing. What with the machine guns from the beach, the planes overhead and the gunfire from the destroyers that escorted us, you could barely hear yourself think.’
He paused, took a sip of vodka and grimaced. Whether it was from the burn of it going down his throat, or the images that haunted him, none of them knew.
‘There were thousands upon thousands of men trapped on the beaches,’ he said softly, his gaze distant with the memories of what he’d seen. ‘Apart from our troops, there were Frenchies, Aussies, Canadians, Belgians.’
He was silent for a long moment before continuing . ‘We got in as close as we dared, the machine-gun bullets ripping into the Seagull, sending shrapnel flying everywhere – it was a miracle neither of us got hit. They poured off the beaches, wading through the water that was soon thick with the bodies of their comrades – so thick that they were being trampled underfoot.’
The silence in the kitchen was deathly. They could all see and hear the terrible images he’d conjured up.
‘It was like the Somme all over again,’ he rasped. ‘They were being mown down even before they could reach us. The poor bastards never stood a chance.’
Peggy didn’t even admonish him over his language as she perched on a chair, her face ashen, eyes fixed to him, wide with horror.
‘We dropped anchor and hauled as many as we could into the Seagull.’ His haunted gaze sought his father. ‘But there were too many, Da – we couldn’t take them all, and the boat was shipping water and in danger of capsizing as they clung to her sides, pleading to be let on board. We had to force their fingers off her planking, and leave them in the water, so we could take the lucky ones to the Navy destroyers that waited further out.’
Peggy moved to sit on the arm of his chair, her hand softly settling on his shoulder.
Jim’s voice was lower now, broken with emotion. ‘Then we went back – and back again until we lost count. On and on it went through the night and into day after day, after day. The sea was red with blood, and we could hear them screaming for help – but there was nothing we could do; there were just too many.’
He looked at Ron, his face a mask of pain. ‘There had to be almost a thousand craft out there, naval and civilian, but we couldn’t save them all, Da. We couldn’t possibly save them all.’ Jim’s face crumpled as he buried his face in his hands, the deep, agonising sobs filling the little room with his heartbreak.
Peggy wrapped him in her arms and held him as he wept. The boys crept towards him and clutched his legs as Ron surreptitiously wiped his eyes and Mrs Finch sobbed into her handkerchief. Anne and Cissy sat dumbly, their tears running unheeded down their faces as they watched their big strong father cling to their mother, curling into her like a wounded, terrified child.
Sally felt chilled to the bone, for the images Jim had painted were all too real, and her fear for John was overwhelming. She gathered the wide-eyed Ernie close, needing his warmth and weight in her arms – needing the solace in this, her darkest hour.
‘Did the Germans hurt Uncle Jim?’ he asked, his voice wavering on the edge of tears.
‘No, love,’ she murmured, ‘but he’s hurting inside cos of everything he saw – and sometimes that’s even worse than a bullet-wound.’
Ernie rested against her and closed his eyes. ‘I don’t like it when he cries,’ he murmured. ‘It makes me hurt inside too.’
Sally kissed the top of his head and cuddled him. ‘I know,’ she whispered, feeling the same terrible pain.
‘Come on, Jim,’ murmured Peggy. ‘You’re exhausted. Let’s get you to bed.’ She turned to the girls. ‘There’s a bit of mince for tea. Do what you can while I see to your father.’
The mood was broken and, glad to have something to do to dispel the awful thoughts, Sally and the girls dried their tears and began to prepare the evening meal. Peggy’s larder was still well stocked with the bottled fruit, jam and pickles she’d made the previous summer and autumn, but there was only a handful of mince and two sausages to share among them all – they had to be creative.
Ron collected onions, potatoes and tomatoes from the garden, and cut some parsley and