Story of Two Wonders—Violent Storm and Channel Calm.
BY C. B. MORTLOCK
PIECE by piece the epic story of the great deliverance of the B.E.F. from the hands of the enemy is being unfolded.
As in a great mosaic, the tesseræ seem often unrelated till they are assembled. But, as the story is told, two great wonders stand forth; and on them turned the fortune of the troops.
I have talked to officers and men who have got safely back to England, and all of them tell of these two phenomena. The first was the great storm which broke over Flanders on Tuesday, May 28th and the other was the great calm which settled on the English Channel during the days following.
Officers of high rank do not hesitate to put down the deliverance of the B.E.F. to the fact of the nation being at prayer on Sunday, May 26th. I am told that after careful survey of the position had been made the maximum number whom it was thought could possibly escape death or capture was 30,000. Instead of that, more than ten times the number were safely embarked.
Thanksgiving at E.N.S.A. Concerts.
The consciousness of miraculous deliverance pervades the camps in which the troops are now housed in England. An instance of that occurred soon after a large camp had been more or less improvised, and many willing helpers were rivalling each other in giving comfort, refreshment and entertainment to the men in their first hours of relaxation for many days.
Among other arrangements was an E.N.S.A. concert, and, in the midst of it at the request of the men, the chaplain conducted an act of thanksgiving consisting of a hymn and prayers and a few simple words. Since that night every E.N.S.A. concert in that camp has had a short service of prayer and thanksgiving.
One chaplain told me that he was in a party who were taken aboard a mine-sweeper. They were all drenched to the skin, having been up to the shoulders in water. On deck it was impossible for anybody to stand. Presently there was a call for the padre to say a prayer. With the help of men on either side of him and behind him, the chaplain got up and the whole of the bedraggled ship’s company joined with him in offering thanksgiving to God for their wonderful deliverance.
So the Impossible was Made Possible.
Chaplains have added their testimony to the wonderful order and calm with which the men awaited their turn in lines drawn up on the beach to go aboard the craft that came to their rescue. Although they were bombed from the air and also shelled, there were surprisingly few casualties. Men moved forward as they were directed and stood their ground until the order to embark was given.
The story of the strange armada which took the men from the beaches of Dunkirk is already familiar in outline. In its complete fullness it will probably never be known, but it is undoubted that there was such a calmness over the whole of the waters of the English Channel for that vital period of days as has rarely been experienced. Those who are accustomed to the Channel testify to the strangeness of this calm; they are deeply impressed by the phenomenon of nature by which it became possible for tiny craft to go back and forth in safety.
The secretary of one of the many small yacht clubs on the South Coast, who had been asked by the Admiralty to mobilize his members, told me that though most of them had but the frailest of fair-weather craft, not one of them had reported serious casualty beyond damage to their woodwork.
So the two miracles made possible what seemed impossible. In the darkness of the storm and the violence of the rain, formations which were eight to twelve miles from Dunkirk were able to move up on foot to the coast with scarcely any interruption from aircraft, for aircraft were unable to operate in such turbulent conditions.
The orderliness of that withdrawal is shown by the fact that all returned chaplains to whom I have spoken were able to remain with their formations or units throughout the retreat. From the men and from the officers comes the highest praise of the chaplains. Again and again men relate, “Our padre came off last with the C.O.” Others tell how, on the beaches, when they were being bombed, the chaplain would be walking up and down the line trying to keep the men in good heart and not finding it at all a difficult task. A sergeant-major of the Guards who saw twelve of his own sergeants killed, said, “Our chaplain was magnificent.”
Foot-Slogged Twice as Far as Anybody Else.
It is early yet to glean the stories of individual heroism, but there is no question of the fine example which the chaplains set, not only in carrying out their duty but often in going beyond what might reasonably be expected of them. I heard, for instance, of one padre who was at the farthest point of all from the coast when the withdrawal began. All the way back he was ministering to the wounded and the dying, encouraging the others and again and again, after traversing with great difficulty and under fire a section of the road which brought safety nearer, he would go back along the line to minister sacraments and consolations of religion to all who needed them.
“He must,” said one officer of his division, “have footslogged on that awful road at least twice as far as anybody else.”
A chaplain who celebrated Holy Communion on the sand dunes of Dunkirk had his congregation scattered five times by fierce low-bombing attacks, but after each assault they reassembled and he took up the service where it was broken off, except that all joined in thanksgiving for their safety and prayer for the wounded.
Other services had been held on the road as opportunity served, and always at the desire of the men. One chaplain held eight services on one day, and celebrated Holy Communion four times—once in a barn during enemy air bombardment.
Immunity Under Fire on the Beaches.
Chaplains have remarked on another circumstance that seems almost miraculous—the strange immunity by which the troops at times were favored. One of them told me, for instance, how he lay down with 400 men who were machine-gunned systematically, up and down, and bombed by about 60 enemy aircraft; and in the end there was not a single casualty. Another chaplain was likewise machine-gunned and bombed as he lay on the beach, and when, after what seemed an eternity, he realized he had not been hit he rose to find that the sand all around where he had lain was pitted with bullet holes and that his figure was thus outlined on the ground.
One thing can be certain about tomorrow’s thanksgiving in our churches. From none will the thanks ascend with greater sincerity or deeper fervor than from the officers and men who have seen the Hand of God, powerful to save, delivering them from the hands of a mighty foe, who, humanly speaking, had them utterly at his mercy.
Reprinted by permission from the Daily Telegraph, Saturday, June 8th, 1940.