Preface

One afternoon, sitting in the National Archives in Kew, I opened a file containing a report by Commander Michael Ellwood. Commander Ellwood was in charge of communications during the Dunkirk evacuation, and he wrote, in passing, of a Marconi transmitter/receiver that was used for a very short time before it broke down – due to ‘sand in the generator’.

This seemed surprising. How had sand got inside this precious piece of equipment? The Marconi TV5 was a sizeable box, and the memory of Laurel and Hardy delivering a piano in The Music Box flashed through my mind. Had two particularly clumsy ratings dropped it on the beach? Had Captain William Tennant, the Senior Naval Officer Dunkirk, yelled at them in frustration when they told him what they had just done to his only piece of transmitting equipment? Or did they stay quiet and hope that somebody else got the blame?

A short while later, in May 2016, I was standing at the shore end of the Dunkirk mole, very close to where Captain Tennant had placed his headquarters. Looking around, I could see parts of the Dunkirk beach cluttered with soldiers – or men who looked like soldiers. There were warships out to sea, and a white hospital ship, clearly marked with red crosses, was berthed at the end of the mole. Black smoke billowed in the distance, and the sea frontage had been camouflaged to remove any traces of the late twentieth century. Dunkirk was looking remarkably as it had in late May 1940.

Something else was striking, though. The wind had picked up and sand was whipping everywhere. It was clogging hair and stinging eyes. Most people were wearing goggles and shielding their faces – and I suddenly realised that nobody had dropped the transmitter. There had been no clumsy ratings. Sand had been blown into the generator in May 1940 just as it was now blowing into everybody’s eyes and ears. By spending time at Dunkirk, I was learning things about the original event that I could simply never have learned otherwise.

This is why I would urge anybody interested in the story of the evacuation to visit Dunkirk. Walking along the beaches and up the mole, exploring the perimeter where French and British troops kept the Germans at bay, visiting the excellent War Museum, the deeply moving cemetery and Église Saint-Éloi with its bullet- and shrapnel-pitted walls – these are all activities that will bring the events of May and June 1940 to life. The landscape retains the story, and fills in the gaps between words.

With this book, I have tried to tell a different story, or at least a wider story. Just as a visit to Dunkirk will make you think differently about the evacuation, so this book tries to explain events by placing them within a richer context – not merely military, but also political and social. It will try to give a sense of what it was to be a young soldier in 1940, and of the importance of youth culture, in its different forms, in the build-up to war. It will focus on the fighting (and sometimes lack of fighting) that led to the evacuation. And it will explore the effect of the evacuation, up to its very latest manifestation – the 2017 Chris Nolan film.

I have been lucky enough to work as historical adviser on this film. It was a pleasure to do so – partly because I enjoyed meeting so many interesting and enthusiastic people. But mainly because it has brought an under-appreciated piece of history to life in a remarkable way. In the last chapter, you will read of the efforts taken by director, producer and heads of department to be as true as possible to the historical event. By making those efforts, they have allowed the spirit of the evacuation to be recreated as vividly and as truly as I think it ever could be. The result allows us to experience the story for what it actually was – a hard and desperate fight for survival that kept the world free.

Nothing could be more important than that. I urge you to remember, as you watch, that without the real Tommys, Georges and Alexes, we would be living in a far darker world today. And many of us would not be living at all.

Joshua Levine

April 2017