JIMMY - (as seen through the eyes of his cat)

© Maureen Smith, May 2021

In September 1939 men were killing each other - again. The world was at war - again. Sometimes I don't understand humans, they can be gentle and kind but also brutal, cruel and very stupid. We cats only fight for the pleasure of a female, and not even to the death. Maybe men fight for the fair lady that is their country? Just a thought. It's a good job not all men are fighters though. Take my Jimmy. He was a kind soul and didn't have a bad word for anyone. I first saw him on the dock in Dover. I was gnawing on a fish carcass, when I noticed a skinny kid with a mop of blonde hair, looking as though he needed some loving. I was happy enough with my solitary life, but did enjoy human company, so I thought I'd check this one out. I wandered up to him, wound affectionately in and out of his legs. He picked me up and I rubbed my head on his, purring. That was enough for him to tuck me into his shirt and take me home. His home was a small cottage near the dock, not too flash, but warm and comfortable. It was obvious no woman lived there, it was dusty, untidy and had no pretty touches like doilies or a vase of flowers. Jimmy lived with his father, Doug and elder brother Bill, who were fishermen and owned a fishing boat called May moored in the harbour.

When the local school closed, due to the war, Jimmy took on the household chores. He cleaned the cottage, washed the clothes and cooked the dinner. I followed him everywhere and when his chores were done, we sat on the settee. I usually curled up on his lap, kneaded his legs while he read a book aloud to me. When he sang the hymns his mother had taught him, he had a faraway look in his eyes, but when he sang sea shanties, he rocked me like a baby to the rhythm of the tunes and we danced around the room. He had a beautiful voice and if he lived near a cathedral, I'm sure he'd been a boy soprano in the choir.

A few months later, we were having a special tea for Bill's birthday, when he dropped a clanger. He announced that now he was eighteen he was joining the army. His father went red in the face and yelled, 'No Son, you're not going! There are enough young men being killed. I forbid you to go.'

'Dad, I have to go, it's my duty as a man. England needs me.'

'And I need you too. How can I manage the boat and the nets without you?'

'Oh, so that's it, eh? You 're not really worried about me getting killed, you're only thinking about your bloody boat and fishing.'

'It's our livelihood son, we feed not only ourselves but many others as well. Besides we are in a reserved occupation, you don't have to go.'

'Dad,' he stood up, looked down at his father, 'I'm going. Okay you need a crew, well take Jimmy, he's fourteen now and besides working will toughen him up, he's turning into a girl, cooking and staying at home reading books with his dammed cat.'

That was how my Jimmy became a fisherman.

At first Doug wouldn't let me on board his boat, remarking, 'The sea's no place for a cat.'

'But Dad he's a lucky black cat, he could bring us luck.' Jimmy pleaded.

'Don't care, it's not coming.'

However, one day I snuck on board, to be with Jimmy, and hid in the cabin below. That day they caught more fish than they had ever done before and when they pulled in the nets the fishy smell was so mouth-wateringly powerful, I had to go up on deck. When they spied me, Jimmy quickly implored, 'See Dad, Lucky has brought us luck.' Doug was in such a good mood at the big catch, I went fishing with them from then on.

In late May 1940 the news came that British and Allied soldiers were trapped on the beach at Dunkirk in France. The enemy were advancing towards them and the troops were locked in between the German Panzers and the sea. Navy ships had stared evacuating many of them, but there were hundreds more left, and as water on the beach was too shallow for the large Navy ships to get close to the shore, it was feared the troops on the beach would be at the mercy of the enemy. We heard the call for all owners of small ships, yachts and anything that could float to help evacuate the men. The Navy was commandeering all small boats and it was intended they would man them.

Silence prevailed during supper. Neither spoke about what they were thinking. I was so frustrated with them, I jumped up onto the mantlepiece and sat next to the photo of Bill in his army uniform and fixed my green eyes on them. My penetrating stare usually triggered a reaction. They both looked at me, then at each other and smiled.

'Yep, OK Lucky we get the message. Son you get some blankets, food and water together while I ready May. We leave at first light.'

The dawn sky was streaked with crimson and Jimmy's dad groaned. 'Red sky in the morning shepherds warning.'

'Are we still going then?'

'Yes, we are, I can handle the English Channel in a storm son, I've done it before.'

I could see Jimmy was apprehensive, and he pressed me closer to his chest. I rubbed my head on his to reassure him. But if the truth be known, I was a bit scared as well. We motored to Ramsgate as instructed and waited for our orders. I'd never seen so many boats of all sizes and types gathered in one place. A Navy officer holding a wad of papers strode towards us and told us that a Navy personnel would take our boat to Dunkirk. Jimmy's dad looked him in the eye, 'No one takes my boat out but me and my son here.'

He looked Jimmy up and down, 'But you're only a kid, how old are you son?'

I wondered if this was Jimmy's way out, but no, in the deepest voice he could muster he lied, 'I'm sixteen Sir. I'm my Dad's right-hand man, been fishin' in this vessel since I was a kid.'

'The officer raised one eyebrow, 'If you say so,' he looked at Doug, 'you know where to go and what at to do?' Jimmy's dad nodded. When the Navy officer turned to speak to another fisherman, we pushed the boat out to sea before we could be interrogated about Jimmy's age. Doug patted Jimmy on the shoulder and in a gruff broken voice and said,

'Proud of you son.'

A cold wind ruffled my fur and the waves started to chop, so I took up my usual position in the cabin on the bunk and curled up happy to be warm. The hum of the engine and the rocking of the boat usually put me to sleep and today was no exception. I slept for I don't know how long and woke when the engine stopped. I bounded up on deck to the sight of thousands of men all tightly lined up along the shore knee deep in water. It was a grim sight. Soldiers dressed in dirty, shaggy uniforms stretched for miles, looking like long brown hedge rows creeping across a grey meadow. Heavy raindrops mottled Jimmy's shirt as he stood staring at the line of humanity making their way toward the boats waiting to take them to safety.

As the men scrambled on board the raindrops became heavier and turned into a downpour making a challenging process more uncomfortable. With everyone finally settled on board we headed into the wind across the grey choppy sea. May was only thirty feet long, and not used to carrying the weight of so many men and I wondered if we would make it across the channel. They were crammed into the small cabin, sitting and lying on the deck, so close to each other I had to walk over them to get from one side to the other. Hands reached out and stoked me as I passed, such an outpouring of affection I didn't expect from fighting men. Jimmy was busy weaving between them handing out blankets, sandwiches and cups of water, Doug at the helm steering May towards home and I found a shivering man and curled up on his chest to keep him warm. We all felt pleased we were doing our bit.

We were ploughing through the waves making slow progress when we heard a low flying aircraft and hoped it was one of ours when a spray of bullets hit the water, 'Keep down everybody, enemy above,' shouted a voice, 'they'll be back!' And they were. Swooping and diving like a bird of prey, the aircraft bombarded us with a barrage of bullets. I curled up under the blanket as if it were a shield and snuggled close to the man I was with. A voice rang out in obvious pain and Jimmy's desperate voice shouted, 'Dad!'

I wriggled out from under the blanket and was horrified to see Jimmy standing over his father who was bleeding and slumped on the deck. One of the soldiers jumped up and shouted,

'First aid kit, have you got one?'

'Yes,' Jimmy shouted, 'I'll fetch it.'

The motor stalled and the boat began to list, no one was at the helm. 'You drive the boat; I'll attend to your father.' The soldier shouted to Jimmy above the rabble of voices and whining of the aircraft above. Jimmy looked at me and I knew what he was thinking, he'd never driven the boat before, his dad always took the wheel. 'Hurry son,' the soldier urged, 'let's get going we are sitting ducks here.'

My brave Jimmy, stood up straight, I swear he looked a foot taller, took the wheel and set his eyes ahead. The rain became heavier, vision was almost obscured. He zig zagged that little fishing boat with the skill of a skipper, in order to be a harder target. As the heavy rain increased it mercifully hid us from the plane's vision. We heard its engine move further away from us. The men cheered. I was so proud.

'How's me Dad?' Jimmy turned his head towards the soldier attending to his father.

'He'll live, but keep on going son, it's best we get to shore as quick as possible.'

Jimmy revved the engine and bend forward to try and see through the curtain of rain. Spray splashed up over the front of the boat and waves sloshed over the sides. We started to sway from side to side and I was sure we would be swallowed up by the sea.

'Keep her steady Son.' It was his father's voice and with renewed confidence Jimmy tightened his grip on the wheel to hold her steady. I realised Jimmy needed me now more than ever, I jumped up onto the shelf near him and fixed my eyes on him sending him my love and wishing him strength. We bounced through the waves and as the rain diminished an anaemic sun struggled through the parting clouds. Jimmy was confidently in charge so I jumped down to see how his dad was doing. He was conscious and the bleeding in his shoulder had been staunched. He looked at me and smiled, patted me on the head and whispered I was truly a lucky cat. He was pale and obviously proud as he looked up to his son standing tall at the wheel.

The sea settled as quickly as it had become ferocious and with Jimmy still at the wheel he turned to the men and shouted, 'White cliffs of Dover ahead.' They all cheered, and a voice yelled from the crowd, 'Three cheers for skipper Jimmy,' We all felt triumphant.

Especially me as my Jimmy was a hero.