The "little ships" of Dunkirk

In late May 1940, the war has turned in a matter of days. Broken through at Sedan, the Allied front has collapsed; the British Expeditionary Force and tens of thousands of French soldiers are falling back toward a single port still held, Dunkirk. With their backs to the sea, they crowd onto the beaches and the mole under the bombs, waiting for ships that struggle to come close. On the other side of the Channel, on the Kent coast, the rumble of the guns can almost be heard; the news is bad, and everyone understands that an entire army is at risk of capture.

At Ramsgate, the owner of a small pleasure boat follows the affair with a particular anguish. His hull knows the coastal waters well, but not the open sea under fire. Yet the great Royal Navy ships draw too much water to come alongside the shallow beaches: small craft are needed, able to shuttle between the sand and the ships lying offshore. On this 31 May, the Admiralty issues an urgent call for every usable boat, and the rumor is already running along the quays of Kent.

The man grasps what is at stake. The crossing means the minefields, the diving Stukas, a frail piece of machinery in the midst of chaos — and perhaps never coming back. To stay is to know himself safe while others die a few miles away. Handing his hull over to the navy would be a compromise. He must decide within a few hours.