Small Boats
WW2, Dunkirk: we were not far from the coast, and I can
remember all the local boats going off...
I was there that day... on the beach... my beach, sandy,
peaceful... mine... and I remember the sound of them, the
feel of it all... but the sea took no notice, still rolling
up the sand, whispering warnings, and spreading dread, the
sky didn't answer.
One of them crawled to where I was standing... his eyes
full of tears he laid his head on the seaweed: "Hi," he
whispered, "take me home please..."
Standing over his brokeness I looked around for help, my
beach was black with them all... and then I saw the boats,
little boats with giant hearts, battering through the
waves, they took as many as they could, calling comfort,
offering a chance of home...
For hours and hours, desperation wrapped everything in
horror, I stood guard over my friend, he was very quiet,
but kept whispering 'Mum'... it grew dark, and cold... no
more little boats, they promised to come next morning... we
waited under the stars, the tide swept the sorrowful beach,
making it pure again, dawn arrived turning my feathers
pink, beside me the whispers had stopped... his eyes were
closed and dusted with sand...
Then they arrived, those brave little boats...
Boats that belonged to another life, of Sunday sails,
picnics, regattas... fishing... and then a pair of battered
boots appeared beside me... a gruff voice muttered words of
comfort as he carried my friend down to the seas edge and
lifted him gently into the boat which was already almost
full, the air smelt of engine oil which lay as rainbows in
the surf...
I circled the boat as it turned for home... they made my
friend as comfortable as they could, and I setled beside
him... daylight brought a little warmth, and the shores of
home grew closer...
Nurses and doctors waited on the beach, kind, gentle and
caring hands helped faltering feet up their own beach, my
friend was carried carefully to a van filled with rugs,
which took him to hospital, still asking for Mum...
I hung around for days to make sure he was going to be
alright, and then flew home, but my beach was never the
same, always full of the echoes of screams and noise, but
laid overall with the bravery and courage of those dreadful
days, when ordinary men became extraordinary....
pim claridge