“I don’t think so. The naval officer we spoke with yesterday mentioned that there would be cruise liners. The smaller vessels might be transporting everyone to ships that are too large to get into the harbor.”
“I hope you’re right,” Ruth said. “We’ll need huge boats to get everyone out of here.”
An hour later, the same vessels—their decks empty—began to return to the piers. Evacuees were gradually loaded onto boats, and the line crept forward.
Jimmie’s anticipation grew as he shuffled ahead with Ruth. “Given our location, I’m thinking that the evacuation ships might disembark in southwest England, perhaps in Falmouth, Plymouth, or Southampton. If we’re lucky, it’ll be Southampton.”
“Why?”
“It’s close to my family in Portsmouth, and it might give me a chance to see them before reporting to duty.” He adjusted his grip on the bag. “How do you feel about meeting my parents and my sister, Nora?”
A smile spread over her face. “I’d love to.”
It took two hours for Jimmie and Ruth to reach the end of the pier, where a tugboat with a French flag was docked. They climbed onto the craft, packed with a few hundred British and French soldiers, as well as a few dozen refugees. It was too crowded to sit, so they stood at a spot along the port-side rail. Soon, a rope was untied, the tug’s engine growled, and the boat pulled away from the dock.
The tug chugged through the harbor, spraying a mist of salt water over the evacuees. As the boat reached the mouth of the Atlantic, the captain reduced the engine throttle and two crew members stood lookout over the bow.
“Why’s the captain going so slow?” Ruth asked.
Jimmie leaned over the rail and peered ahead at the open ocean. “I don’t know.”
“The Luftwaffe dropped sea mines,” a soldier said, standing next to them. “The captain is being careful to avoid them.”
Jimmie rubbed his neck. He turned to the soldier and nodded.
The soldier removed a tin from his pocket and held it to Jimmie and Ruth. “Cigarette?”
They shook their heads, turned to the rail, and scanned the water for floating mines.
Twenty minutes into the journey, a huge ship appeared in the distance. People strained their necks and jostled to get a view as jubilant shouts erupted over the deck.
“I see it!” a British soldier called out. “It’s bloody colossal!”
Jimmie’s tension eased. He drew a deep breath, bringing salt air into his lungs, and loosened his grip on the railing.
The tug gradually made its way toward the cruise liner, which Jimmie estimated to be approximately six hundred feet in length. Its huge sides were painted battleship gray and the portholes were blacked out. Towering high above its seven decks was an enormous funnel that exhausted black smoke from its engine. To Jimmie, the vessel looked like a Mediterranean cruise ship that had been requisitioned and refitted for war.
The tug grew close, and Jimmie’s eyes gravitated to the name on the starboard bow—Lancastria.
Ruth leaned into him. “She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
He wrapped an arm around her. “She is, indeed.”
CHAPTER 41
SAINT-NAZAIRE, FRANCE—JUNE 17, 1940
Jimmie’s pulse rate quickened as the tugboat revved its engine and pulled alongside the Lancastria. Soldiers, some of whom were assisting refugees, began to disembark the tug and climb up a cargo net that hung down the hull of the massive ship. He looped the strap of Ruth’s bag over his head and shoulder, and peered up at a large opening in the side of the vessel.
“Maybe we should ditch the bag,” Ruth said.
“It’s light,” he said. “It won’t get in the way.”
“Do you need help climbing?”
“No.” Jimmie patted the cast on his forearm. “I’ll hook my elbow around the rungs as I climb. If I have any trouble, I’ll get a soldier to help me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he said, hoping to alleviate her concern. “I’ll be fine. Go ahead and I’ll follow.”
Ruth kissed him on the cheek. “See you on board.” She stepped to the edge of the tugboat, clasped the net, and climbed upward.
Jimmie watched her, along with several soldiers, safely scale the cargo net and enter the opening in the side of the ship. He drew a deep breath and exhaled, then focused his attention on the net, rising and falling as the tug bobbed in the sea. As the boat reached a crest of a wave, he grabbed a rung with his good hand and stepped onto the net. He steadied his legs, carefully inserted his cast-covered forearm through the webbing, and—using his elbow for leverage—reached upward. He clambered, rung by rung, up the cargo net. At the top, two BEF soldiers pulled him aboard.
Ruth wrapped her arms around him. “Well done.”
“You too.”
They made their way into the boarding compartment, where some of the evacuees were picking up life jackets from a small pile on the deck.
Jimmie plucked one and handed it to Ruth.
“What about you?”
“We’ll share,” he said. “There isn’t enough for everyone.”
She glanced at the paltry supply of life jackets and nodded.
