After Julius (26 page)

It’s stupid to call this a log, really; I haven’t the faintest idea how to keep one properly. But I do want to keep some kind of record, in case I want to do
this again, or, I suppose, in case I don’t get back: perhaps someone of the family may be interested in knowing what I was trying to do. Perhaps I just want to keep it. I’m sitting
in the cabin now waiting for the ebb tide – due in about fifteen minutes. If I sail dead on it, I shall get the benefit of it on the long haul eastwards. There’s nothing more to do
now: I’ve stowed everything – three trips in that dinghy – I’ve turned the engine over and she starts with reassuring ease. In theory, at least, I know how to hoist
these sails, although the mainsail is going to be a bit of a problem. I’ve eaten a sandwich, made some coffee in a thermos to see me through the night, and I’ve taken a double dose
of seasick stuff – hope that helps, at least. I’ve laid my course, and it doesn’t look too impossible, although it seems much farther than I originally thought it would be.
This is much farther west than I would have chosen, but on the other hand, the boat is the best I was offered. She is sound, handy, seaworthy, I’m told, with a reliable engine, and I
should be able to get ten or a dozen men in her: they won’t be comfortable, but they’ll pack in somehow. At the moment, the worst fear I have is that I’ll mess up getting
under way: the channel’s so narrow and the tide so fast that one has to do everything right and quickly, or I’ll run the boat aground and have to sit there until the tide floats me
off. I’ve made a gadget for lashing the tiller: it looks Heath Robinson, but I think it will work. The water is hardly eddying round the mooring buoys now: I think the tide is on the
turn. I shall sail down the river; make for open sea leaving Ryde Pier well to my right, and then lay my course as planned. The river channel seems fairly well marked and anyway it will be
light . . .

It must have been about four when Mr Grace picked us up out of the water.

M. G. Could you say something about how you came to be there?

BLACK. Oh yes. Well sir, the situation in or around St Valéry was a real old muddle. That’s the only way you could describe it, really. I’d lost my Section: been ordered
to destroy stores and equipment some way inland and meet at an assembly point. It’s surprising how long it takes you to destroy that sort of stuff, sir – so’s it’s no
good to anybody else, I mean. I got to the assembly point, all right, but no one else was there, and I knew we was making for the coast so I kept on walking and sometimes there were people I
could ask where my Section was, but nobody knew. And the other two. Driver Watson had simply been told to drive his truck north, and he picked up Bombardier Godden on the way. He – Godden
– had lost his battery and he couldn’t do anything about trying to find it ’cos he’d been wounded and he couldn’t walk. I suppose we spent about two days at the
coast: more and more men were arriving all the time, and we kept being told to wait in cellars, march down to the beach, march back to the cellars, dig ourself into a bit of shore there, etc.
You know – they kept saying ships were coming and we’d be embarking at oh-bloody-oh hours and then it didn’t come off. In the end it did though. We was put into transports to
be taken out to destroyers – they couldn’t come inshore as it was too shallow for them – miles out, they looked. I didn’t meet Watson and Godden till after our transport
was hit – she was badly hit, sir – killed a lot of people and it was clear the boat was sinking. The officer told all men who could swim to jump for it and disperse –
they’d get picked up by other transports, and those who couldn’t swim to hang on. I jumped, and then I saw what turned out to be Watson drop over the side of the boat – she
was waterlogged by then – and hanging on with one arm he was trying to hold this man’s head out of the water rising in the boat. That was Godden, sir – he wouldn’t have
been able to move and it looked like he’d drown if it hadn’t been for Watson. There was a second burst of fire from the Dornier and that made most people feel it was better to be on
their own than hanging on to the target. I’d just reached Watson when I was suddenly aware of this small yacht bearing down on us. She seemed to come from nowhere. One minute she
wasn’t there, and the next minute I thought she’d ram us. The yacht was towing a dinghy, and I yelled at the man on board (your brother, sir) to cast her off for us. I swam for the
dinghy, and he got the point just in time and I heaved myself into it. Well then we had to manoeuvre Godden out of the transport into the dinghy and that was tricky. We could float him out of
the transport by then – it was full of water – but we had to rock and lean the dinghy practically on to one side to get Godden into it. I told Watson to row, but he said he
didn’t know how to row, so I told him to stay in the water and hang on to the dinghy. That was when I first noticed that Mr Grace didn’t seem to have anyone to help him on the
yacht. I could see he was having trouble, and the distance between us and the yacht was lengthening too fast. I shouted to him to make a circuit and pick us up and just as I thought he was too
far to hear, he started to do just that. Well – he had to make two shots at it, and I could hear Watson’s teeth chattering. Mr Grace tried to throw the dinghy’s tow rope, but
he threw it a shade too early and it fell short. The next time he tried, I stood up: I nearly fell out of the dinghy, but I caught it, and we hauled ourselves alongside. Then we still had to
get Godden out of the dinghy. I tried Watson in the dinghy and me on the yacht, but to lift Godden, Watson had to stand: the dinghy rocked and of course he lost his balance and fell over Godden
– he made an awful sound sir, and fainted: I don’t think we’d realized he was hurt so bad till then. Then Mr Grace, he said lash him to the oars – it’ll be easier
if we have him rigid, he said, and he was right. Watson went on board the yacht, and when I’d lashed Godden, Mr Grace said to lever him up head first and they’d each take a
shoulder. The first part was the worst: he was a big man and the oars weren’t long enough to support his head. I suppose the distance from the bottom of the dinghy on to the deck
wasn’t more than about three feet, but it was an awkward angle and of course we was trying not to hurt him. The last part was worse for me, because I had to mind his bad leg, and standing
in the dinghy was a risky business. In the end we managed it with one final heave – quickly, while he was still out – we wouldn’t have had the nerve to get on with it when
he’d come to. We’d been so taken up with getting him on the boat, we hadn’t noticed that the Jerry plane had gone. Mr Grace – he told us his name then – pulled a
flask out and offered me some brandy. I had a swig, and I said what about giving him some to pull him round, and Watson his teeth were chattering so much he could hardly talk said we had to get
him on to the big ship: he needed a doctor badly, he’d said so when Watson had picked him up. Mr Grace said we’d better make straight for the destroyer, and then we could come back
for other people. He revved up the engines and we set off – miles away the destroyer looked and the other transports had already got there. We must have been quite a time with the dinghy
and all. I made Watson have a drink – he was only a kid and he didn’t want to, but he’d got much colder than me because he couldn’t swim. Mr Grace said there were
blankets in the cabin, and Watson started getting Godden’s wet clothes off him. When I brought up the blankets, Watson said: ‘He has a tourniquet: it has to keep on being
done.’ He set about it, and I thought you never know I’d better watch. His trouser leg had been cut: the wound was high on the inside of the thigh – Watson looked scared when
he loosened the stick, and said: ‘He says it’s a compound fracture and damage to the artery.’ The moment the stick was loose, blood – you could see the blood coming out
on the dressing – a lot of blood it looked to me. Watson tightened it up. ‘I couldn’t find no one to do better for him. When my truck give out, I couldn’t leave him for
long enough to find anyone.’ He had eyes like a dog we had at home when we were leaving to go out. ‘He a pal of yours?’ I asked. But he said he only see him on the road.
‘You done your best,’ I said: ‘let’s get him into a blanket and give him a spot of brandy.’ We had to cut his clothes off him and Watson found a spoon for the
brandy. Mr Grace said there were some oilskins and a jersey in the cabin and to change into them, so I did. I was still in the cabin when Mr Grace gave a shout. When I came up I saw that the
destroyer – she still looked bloody miles away – had embarked all the men off the transports. ‘She’s making ready to leave,’ Mr Grace said. He said he
couldn’t get any more speed out of the engine. I asked if he had a torch, and he had, and I went to the front of the boat and made a signal. Wounded on board wait, wait, wait. I made it
three times, but they didn’t answer – the battery was low in the torch and it can’t have been very strong to see.

Then the destroyer just moved off, sir – nothing we could do. I had a job trying to explain that to Watson, though – that there was nothing we could do, I mean. For some daft
reason, he seemed to think that the smaller a ship was the faster she could go: he thought we could catch the bloody destroyer up. When at last the penny dropped, he burst out crying with a lot
of naughty language. It was all on account of his pal, but I had to speak sharply to him to pull him together. I told him to go below and change his clothes and be quick about it: he was
hysterical sir, but he hadn’t worried about number one when he was in the water. He went off, snuffling like some kid. Well, I asked Mr Grace what he thought we should do now. Godden was
round, but he didn’t look so good, and I could see Mr Grace thought that too, because he said we’d better make for England. We decided to carry Godden down and put him on a bunk
where he’d lie softer. Mr Grace said he had a first-aid box and that cheered Watson up: he said he’d put a dry dressing on Godden’s leg. He did too. He had hands like a bunch
of dirty bangers, and he said he didn’t know anything about first aid, but he bandaged him up as gently as a woman doing it, sucking his teeth and breathing deep the whole way through.
Well, we heated some soup on the primus and we all had cigarettes – it was quite a party then. It was then Mr Grace told us he’d come from Hamble. ‘Charley comes from
Portsmouth,’ Watson said. He was feeding Godden with soup, I couldn’t believe at first he’d come on his own, sir. I mean by then, it was clear he was no sailor if you’ll
excuse the expression. Well, he said that. He said: ‘I’m sorry, I’m not really used to boats.’ That made Godden smile and Watson grinned and said: ‘You’re
feeling better, aren’t you Charley? Charley can sail a boat all right,’ he went on. It was amazing what a lot Watson seemed to have picked up about Charley: they’d had nothing
to do but chin in the truck, I suppose. Godden said we’d do better with our mainsail. He seemed better then, he had quite a bit of colour in his face – it was fever, but we
didn’t know it then. Well, Watson stayed below with Godden, and Mr Grace and I got the mainsail up O.K. and then we took turns to steer, and talked. It’s a funny thing, sir, your
brother was in a world apart from me; I mean he was old, and he’d had the education; he was the kind of man who I wouldn’t have had much time for if he wasn’t a teacher or a
doctor – you know what I mean. But we were on our own and everything wasn’t normal for either of us, and I don’t think I’ve ever talked to anyone so much in my life
before. We had talks that went on past argument to finding out – I can’t explain it, it wasn’t a normal experience – well, that’s how it was . . .

M.G. What did you talk about?

BLACK. Well, of course, he asked me about myself – you won’t want to hear that – where I come from, my life and times you might say . . .

M.G. No, we should like to hear that. What did you tell him?

BLACK. Oh well, sir . . . I’m twenty-four; I’m a Londoner; made the grammar, always had a passion for everything to do with electricity: my uncle had a small shop and I worked
for him in holidays. As soon as I left school I got apprenticed to the GPO. By then, I’d got this thing about electrical faults – I had a kind of feel for them without testing
through the book for it, so I did quite well. I volunteered for the army and got drafted into the Royal Corps of Signals. After eight months I was made a lineman – that’s good going
in a way, but I don’t think your brother understood. I tried to explain a circuit to him, but I could see he couldn’t understand what I was talking about, so I give up. But
it’s an interesting job, and a lot of people depend on you when you’re doing it. That’s all there is about me, sir – and I’m not saying your brother wasn’t
interested – I just couldn’t make him understand. No more than I could understand his job – he told me about that – it seemed funny to me spending all your life on
communications and not be able to understand a circuit. We’re both in the communication business, I told him, and he laughed. We had one argument though – I wish we’d finished
it. He said that the reason he minded about language and communication was because it was the only hope for humanity and what did I feel about that? Humanity, he said, sir. ‘Must look
after number one,’ I told him. That tore it. He said that after this war, we all had to be responsible for everybody else – had to think about them and all that. I said:
‘Look, I had a good job and a nice young lady. I give it all up to fight this war.
I
don’t hold with war:
I
didn’t make it. Here I am – would have been
dead today if it hadn’t been for you most likely. And that won’t be the end of it,’ I said. ‘I reckon when this war is over, I’m entitled to my life in my own
country and a good job and a house, and it’s my kids I’ll be worrying over – not a whole lot of foreigners. I don’t expect to worry them – and they’d better
not worry me. I’m doing my bit now.’ He kept saying that it wouldn’t be like that. The world would get smaller and much more crowded and we’d all have to think of
everybody else. ‘Look, sir,’ I said: ‘you get this boat and come over to France to rescue me and those two. Right?’ He said ‘right’. ‘Well,’ I
said, ‘if you hadn’t looked after number one coming over, you wouldn’t have got here, would you? That proves you have to start with number one, doesn’t it?’ He
said a whole lot more, then, about humanity – we rather lost the thread there, sir. We started having trouble with the mainsail after that, and he went to ask Godden what to do. He told
us to let it right out and we’d run, and we did that, and Godden was right. He had a bit of nerve, your brother, because he didn’t know half the time what he was doing. Then Watson
came up and said Godden was so thirsty he kept drinking water and now he wanted a piss and needed help propping up a bit. We got a can and I helped, and I didn’t like the look of him at
all. He was flushed, and his skin was dry and burning hot. I asked him how he felt and he said all right, not so good, but he’d taken against Watson loosening the tourniquet and Watson
said he wasn’t getting to do it as often as he should. Mr Grace said to give him aspirin to bring down the fever and make him sweat, and he’d go and talk to him about the tourniquet
because he knew Watson was right to loosen it. ‘I should have brought a book on First Aid,’ he said. He was a great one for books. I told him I thought Godden would have to have it
off – it looked poisoned to me – puffed up, and a nasty colour. ‘
We
can’t take it off,’ he said: ‘we’ve nothing to do it with, and he’d
probably bleed to death.’ ‘Christ!’ I said: ‘I know we bloody can’t. I wasn’t suggesting anything so daft.’ He said that people used to do this kind of
thing in the Napoleonic wars, but I hadn’t the stomach for it. I said I’d try to get a bit more out of the engine, although engines weren’t my line. He went down to look at
Godden’s leg, in case there was anything he thought he could do, and a bit later, he came up, and vomited over the ship’s side and said there wasn’t anything. I’d coaxed
a bit more out of the old engine, but she was running very hot, and I told Watson to come and look at her. He sat over her, but he said it was nothing like his Bedford, and he didn’t know
no more than his Bedford. I sent him back down.