The Battle of Britain Five Months That Changed History, May—October 1940 by James Holland (z-lib.org).epub

tank that began firing towards them until the guns of a destroyer off-shore
opened up and hit it. The proximity of the enemy and the confused nature of
the fighting, combined with the shortage of communications, meant that
Alexander was faced with making decisions based on what limited
information he had. It was a huge responsibility, but one of the hardest
decisions he had made was that no more wounded could be lifted off.
Stretchers took too much room. It was, he decided, the fit that now needed
saving. A hospital ship sent out that day was so badly bombed she was
forced to return. So too was a second, but 1 June was undoubtedly the worst
suffered since the evacuation had begun. The Luftwaffe had flown over a
thousand sorties that day between 5.30 a.m. and 5.54 p.m. Thirty-two ships
had been lost this day, not including further little boats, and a further ten
badly damaged. It was a disastrous toll.
Captain Bill Tennant had watched the attack on HMS Worcester with
both horror and anger. He had barely had an inch of sleep since arriving, but
this attack was the last straw. Out of forty-one precious destroyers that had
taken part in the operation only nine now remained – the rest were all sunk
or damaged. Enough was enough; the price of daytime evacuation was
becoming too great. ‘Things are getting very hot for ships,’ he signalled
Ramsay at 6 p.m. ‘Have directed that no ships sail during daylight.
Evacuation by transports therefore ceases at 0300.’ Then he added, ‘If
perimeter holds, will complete evacuation tomorrow, Sunday night,
including most French. General [Alexander] concurs.’
There was salvation for Sid Nuttall, however. Now that there were no more
stretcher cases to take out to the shore, he and his remaining mates in ‘C’
Company were sent that night towards the mole. With the onset of darkness,
the evacuation was once more accelerated. In the early hours, Sid was near
the end of a long line of men on the mole. Now arriving at Dunkirk on her
seventh trip was HMS Icarus. It was just after midnight on the morning of
Sunday, 2 June. Two destroyers were coming out in reverse as Icarus and
HMS Windsor entered. Watching out on deck was Andrew Begg. ‘There
was no thought for safety,’ he says. ‘The skipper sat with his legs over the
bridge yelling, “Come on! Hurry up! Get a move on!”’
Dunkirk was still blazing, great orange flames leaping angrily into the
sky. It meant ahead of them, everything was swathed in an orange glow, but
that behind it was pitch black. Now clambering aboard was Sid Nuttall,