The Road Between Us by Nigel Farndale Read Free Book Online Page B

time for all that bollocks,’ he says, wiping his oily hands on a rag before ignoring Charles’s extended hand and putting his arm around his shoulder instead. ‘Let’s get cracking or they’ll be finished before we get there. You can start by checking the lights and the lifebelts.’
    As Eric supervises the provision of food and fuel, other volunteers arrive and climb aboard the neighbouring tugs and barges. A dockyard commodore, a big man with a high whispery voice and eyes like bags of cement, comes aboard with a clipboard to take their names. He asks Eric to sign a T124 form that declares his boat is now officially a Merchant Navy vessel serving under Royal Navy command. He then informs them that they are to collect steel helmets and charts from the dockyard office and set sail for Ramsgate. There they will meet the rest of the evacuation flotilla and be told their ultimate destination. They are to watch out for mines.
    With the falling caw of gulls overhead and the lusty blow of klaxons, The Painted Lady sets off with three other vessels. Being towed behind her is a six-seater rowing boat, and, as it bobs in the wake, it looks as if it is trying to overtake them.
    Having made their way out of the Sheerness basin, they realize they will not be able to reach Ramsgate before dark and so decide to stop for the night. This they soon regret. The sea is choppy and, feeling nauseous, they get little sleep. Eventually they give up and open a bottle of Irish that Charles has brought for the journey.
    Eric has a habit of stubbing cigarettes out after a couple of puffs. He lights one up now. ‘How you been keeping?’ he says before inhaling.
    ‘So-so. Bored mostly.’
    ‘Anyone said anything about your court martial?’
    ‘Nope. It would almost be better if they did. I’ve become a non-person.’
    ‘Well, maybe this …’ Eric takes another drag then flicks the cigarette out of the window. He doesn’t need to finish the thought. Both men know that this trip could be an opportunity for Charles to redeem himself.
    ‘How is your friend, anyway?’ Eric asks gently. ‘Heard from him?’
    ‘A letter. From prison in Berlin. Nothing since his trial.’ Charles closes his eyes for a few beats then opens them and slaps the table. ‘So. Where do you find love these days, Funf?’
    ‘The usual old haunts. Buggers can’t be choosers.’
    ‘Have you considered joining the Medical Corps?’
    ‘To be honest, I think my services are going to be needed more on the Home Front in the coming days. They’re already clearing beds in the south-east.’
    Charles raises his glass. ‘Here’s to finding love, assuming we both survive the war.’
    They clink, drain and refill.
    They reach the assembly point at Ramsgate a couple of hours after the sun has risen. Here they find themselves part of a strange flotilla of more than three hundred small boats: trawlers, tugs towing dinghies, motor launches like theirs, drifters, Dutch scoots, Thames barges, paddle steamers and cockleboats. As he contemplates them, Charles feels as if he has wandered into someone else’s dream. The little vessels look like exotic misshapen seabirdsgathering behind a trawler. He takes out his sketchbook to record the chaotic scene.
    Via the radio they are now told their destination is Dunkirk, and they must take Route Y, which will amount to 175 sea miles. In theory this will mean avoiding mines and coastal guns, but it will also add the best part of another day to their journey time. After studying their charts, they follow the serrated coastline of north Kent for a few more miles before heading out to sea.
    They encounter neither mines nor U-boats on the crossing but no sooner has Charles made out the coast of France under a chill, lowering sky than his mouth goes dry. Two Messerschmitts are approaching, flying in low from the east. He ducks for cover as they strafe the convoy but none of the bullets hits The Painted Lady . Instead they send up jets of water