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The Road to Dunkirk

May/June 1940

We reached Braedunes by a long hard road but we got there, glory be
yet our hearts were sad when at last we trod on those sand dunes by the sea,
we’d trudged along those weary miles the route lay though La Panne
with Messerschmitts for company, lost not a single man.
The fighters dived with blazing guns, the bombers dropped their load
whilst we with aching hearts and limbs, took refuge by the road,
we reached the beaches where we joined an army of mixed races
with English, Scots and Irishmen and Welsh from odd named places.

‘Spread out there lads keep well apart there’s room enough to let you
Yons deadly angels overhead, don’t let the blighters get you’.
Some fell asleep in the warm sand and for them there was no mourning,
better stay awake than a target make for the pilots of Herr Goring.
Some men swam out in that calm sea and climbed aboard a lugger
a bomber sent it to the deep, its bombs were chained together,
a boat pulled in beside the mole and men did clamber on
a bomb came screaming from above and everything was gone.

Defiantly we stood our ground each time the fighters came
relying on our old bundooks we fired back just the same.
We cleaned those rifles constantly but still the bolts got jammed
Old Hitler had an ally in those tiny grains of sand.
Far out to sea the battle ships with guns a constant blazing
protected men in little ships and so did help their saving,
when night came down the bombers left, the air seemed cool and free
then men would curse their horrid luck twixt the devil and the sea.

Another day, a change of plans, Dunkirk is where we’re heading
if we’re not there before night falls, the sand will be our bedding,
we reached that beach whilst the moon was low the air with smoke was laden
and joined a queue of waiting men, all hope was slowly fading.
Then suddenly from out the gloom on the morn of June the second
a shout was heard along the line, as sailors voce did becon,
‘Come on you lads, don’t hang about’, we raced along the mole
The ‘Whitshed’ bravely ventured in to save each living soul.

No time to waste just leap aboard on to that friendly decking
and find a spot mid piles of rope with friendly sailors checking,
a thousand men piled on that ship ‘fore she left yon sandy shore
and a thousand voices still proclaim, ‘twas the Navy’s fines hour.
‘Twas thus we reached old Blightys shore to welcome smiles and cheers
but still recall those left behind, the sadness and the tears,
and a lesson taught in the march of time, a lesson we did learn
men fought and died in that hellish blitz yet no medals did they earn.

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