A Week in May 1940

The Weekend Trippers’ is the true story of Rfn Ted Taylor and his part in the heroic last stand in Calais May 1940. The Weekend Trippers is based on Ted’s diaries written at the time and was first published by Bank House Books. I have now re published it and 100% of the author royalties from each eBook and printed book sold will be going to the Rifles Benevolent Trust. It is  available as an eBook and in print.

Ted Taylor, 1st Battalion, The Rifle Brigade, was sent to France in May 1940 as part of Calais Force. Outnumbered by at least three to one they held out for 4 days against the might of the 10th Panzer Division until they finally ran out of ammunition and were forced to surrender.

Nicknamed the ‘The Weekend Trippers’ as a joke because of their short time in France before they were captured, the next five years were certainly not funny as Ted found himself part of the huge slave labour force in Poland under the administration of Stalag XXA and Stalag XXB. Life in the POW camps bore little resemblance to the cheerful films of the 1950s and time spent in Majdanek Concentration Camp and a Polish salt mine were things Ted buried deep in his subconscious and never spoke about.

Its January 1945 and British, Commonwealth, US and POWs from various other nationalities are finally awaiting liberation from the various camps in Eastern Europe, where some of them have been for five years. But their excitement is tinged with anxiety as rumours spread that the advancing Soviet forces are killing POWs and in some cases taking them back to the Soviet Union rather than releasing them to the Western allies. So were their fears unfounded?

From as early as late 1945 rumours have persisted that POWs from various nationalities were spirited east into Gulags by advancing Soviet forces. As the war neared its close relations between the West and Stalin were deteriorating rapidly and by late 1944 the Western allies were very concerned about the fate of thousands of POWs incarcerated in German camps in Eastern Europe. During the advance eastward the Western Allies had already captured thousands of Soviet POWs and Stalin was demanding their immediate return. But the Western allies delayed returning them because of fears their own service personnel would be used as hostages for various reasons.

Against the backdrop of the Cold war the fate of thousands of men of various nationalities hung in the balance and as time went by they were largely forgotten although rumours persisted. But in 1992 the proof to substantiate these claims finally came from President Boris Yeltsin who admitted the Soviet Union had lied about the fate of WW2 POWs.

A Second in Time is fiction, but fiction based on what if the above was true? What if the Soviets really did take thousands of POWs into the Soviet Union?

A Second in Time is available in print and kindle and other eBook formats

The Cat & The Nightingale Saga, the docu drama version of The Weekend Trippers, also tells Rifleman Ted Taylor’s story but in a slightly different way. It too tells of the Defence of Calais in May 1940  but running alongside is Brenda’s story as she discovers that Ted, her fiancée, is in the heart of the fighting in France.

Brenda soon has to face the realisation that not only might she never see him again but that she too is in imminent danger as the threat of invasion grows. Knowing she will worry Ted is determined to let her know he is safe and this leads to the fictional element. The story of his plan was true but, as we have no idea how it happened, the romantic in me would like to imagine it was a ‘Marcel’ who came to his rescue.

So in my opinion the answer to this question is yes. I have always been fascinated by history so to be able to write anything that is historical is wonderful but whilst I love writing non-fiction I also enjoy writing historical fiction as I truly believe the two complement each other. For me history is not just about facts it’s also about the emotions of the people who experience it. Decisions are rarely made without emotion and more often than not it’s those emotions that have made the history that I am writing
about. Thus putting fictional characters into real events adds another
dimension. Fiction allows me the luxury of exploring relationships and to
really get inside the mind of my characters whilst still educating and
informing about particular historical events. Not everyone enjoys reading a
purely factual account so fiction is just another way of telling the same
story, a way that makes the same facts available to a different audience.

For Ted’s fiancee, Brenda, life continued as normal. But as she got ready for work on the morning of the 21st May 1940 she had no idea how her life was about to change.

Chapter 2
Monday 21st May 1940
Lambeth
Brenda

‘Oh no, not another ladder’ Brenda looked with horror as the ladder gradually crept down the top of her leg. Already on her thigh it was progressing at a great rate towards her knee. Frantically she looked around for some nail varnish to stop the run before it was long enough to show below her uniform. Silk stockings were becoming harder and harder to get now. How she was going to manage if it got worse she had no idea. The Matron at Lambeth Hospital was a real tartar. The slightest hair out of place and she was down on you like a ton of bricks.

Brenda sighed. Obviously it was not going to be a good day, not that there was many of those lately. She had not seen Ted since Christmas and she had received very few letters from him. Mind you his mother hadn’t received many either so it wasn’t just her. Men just weren’t letter writers as his Mum had told her repeatedly. But she did miss him. Having his leave cancelled at the last moment had been a real blow but, as they kept saying, there was a war on. And at least she had the photo he had sent her.

The photo had been taken in Bournemouth on the 14th May 1940, and she thought he looked very handsome in his uniform. He had written ‘All my love Ted’ followed by his army number on it and she had put it in a frame and it now took pride of place on the bed-side cupboard by the bed. It was the first thing she saw when she woke in the morning and the last thing she saw when she switched off the light before going to sleep. As daft as it seemed she always said goodnight to him every night and good morning to him when she woke in the morning, as it made her feel close to him. At least he was still in the country and not overseas and when she felt down she could always look at her beautiful engagement ring and think about the wedding.

Thinking of the men who were overseas she frowned. Sally’s boyfriend was in France somewhere. Sally worked at the Ministry Of Information and was one of the girls she shared the house with. Brenda wasn’t entirely sure as to exactly what Sally did because she didn’t talk about it very much. But she was some kind of secretary to someone vaguely important and as such had access to quite a lot of reasonably secret information.

Complete opposites in looks as well as personalities they got on really well and had supported each other through the past six months when the world seemed to have gone crazy. Brenda was about five foot three inches with gentle brown eyes and shoulder length brown hair that she kept tidy with regular cuts so that it would fit under her nurse’s cap. Sally was quite tall at five foot six and had long blonde hair that was forever escaping from the pins that tried in vain to imprison it and keep it in check. Despite her dependability at work her personal life was a different matter. Invariably in trouble of one kind or another, she often came to Brenda with her problems treating Brenda as an older wiser sister. Brenda didn’t mind most of the time but occasionally wondered if there was something she was missing out on. She didn’t always feel wise and sometimes she longed to let her hair down, lose control and not be the sensible one.

Smiling she looked at the ladder that had now managed to reached her left knee. If she kept daydreaming she might just get her wish and the last thing she needed was to be in trouble today – not when she was going to the cinema tonight. She was looking forward to going out and relaxing with her friends. They were going to see Gone with the Wind starring Vivien Leigh and Clark Gable. Like most women her age she thought Clark Gable was wonderful and couldn’t wait to spend over three hours gazing at her pin up in glorious Technicolor on the big cinema screen.

When the film had first started playing in the cinemas in April, the queues to see it had stretched round the block. It was still really popular and they would probably still have to queue for a while, but it would be worth it to lose herself in something that wasn’t either nursing or war related – at least not this war, she reminded herself with a wry smile. Unlike this war, which looked like it had only just started; the American Civil War had ended a long time ago.

The news from this war did not get any better and it seemed ages since they had been able to celebrate anything. The news from Europe in the last few weeks was even worse than the news from the sea had been over the past few months.
She was thankful that Ted was safe in Suffolk. She found it hard to believe that the Germans would really invade England so as far as she was concerned Ted was probably safer than she was.

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I had no idea what I should put on my first post so decided that I should probably let my writing do the talking. The extract below is from ‘A Week in May 1940′ – the first book in The Cat & The Nightingale Saga.  Based on the diaries and conversations of Ted and Brenda it tells the story of their war. Although it is based in fact there is a certain amount of fiction hence it is published under ‘historical fiction’.

Prologue – End of May 1940

Strangely enough it was the silence that woke him again, the deathly quiet that still
seemed so out of place that it bought him back to full consciousness in a split
second leaving him momentarily confused as to where he was. Then the memories
came crowding back: a kaleidoscope of smoke and flames, a cacophony of noise as
earth shattering explosions mingled with incomprehensible screaming and men
crying out for loved ones. He closed his eyes tighter as he tried to block out
the horror but this only intensified the flashbacks making him groan loudly,
his head twisting from side to side as he sought desperately to dislodge the
nightmarish images that were plaguing him.

‘Shut up over there. We’re trying to sleep’ the disembodied voice was not one he
recognised but why should he. He was no longer among friends, only strangers
whose experiences happened to have coincided with his. But at least the voice
had shattered the images and bought him back into the present, a present that
was strangely devoid of sound or signs of life.

Now fully awake his eyes quickly accustomed themselves to the lack of light and he looked
round at the dark silhouettes that surrounded him. Despite the proximity of so
many other men he suddenly felt very much alone and his spirits sank even
lower. It was cold in the field, the grass was damp and he found himself
shivering, whether from cold or fear he was no longer sure. At least when the
mortars were falling and the gunfire was raging all around he had been too busy
surviving to be really frightened. But now it was all over his thoughts had
room to breathe. Now it was quiet he could hear the nagging voice in his head
giving substance to all the fears he had successfully ignored during the past
few days.

He looked around guiltily as if his unspoken thoughts had been heard by the other men,
but they all seemed to be sleeping. He could even hear snoring, a sound so
normal and so out of place that he almost smiled, almost but not quite.

He was hungry, painfully so and he wondered when or even if they would be fed. Maybe
he should just count his blessings and be grateful that he was still alive. He
would at least have a chance to live, to go home to his family and the woman he
loved, unlike so many of his friends whose lifeless bodies littered the
streets, dunes and fields of Calais. The rumours that they would be shot if
they surrendered had proved groundless, but he still couldn’t relax all the
time there was the fear of not knowing where they were going and what was to
happen to them. As his thoughts raced ahead to the unknown the German soldier’s
casual threat of sending him to a salt mine hurtled into his mind and his heart
began to race.

Fortunately a sharp pain in the calf muscle of his left leg broke into his thoughts,
bringing him abruptly back to the present. Without thinking he kicked out
wildly in the hope of easing the cramp that was now working its way
relentlessly up his leg.

‘Oy what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ the voice spoke almost at the same
instant that his foot made contact with the body of the man laying next to him.

‘Sorry mate, cramp’ Ted whispered hurriedly, not wanting to annoy anyone else. His mind
was now firmly back in the present, his demons safely packed away in the dark
recess of his mind.

‘Hmmp’ the man grunted and instantly went back to sleep leaving Ted watching him
enviously. Now his eyes had adjusted to the darkness properly he could see more
clearly the thousands of bodies spread out across the fields, many of them
huddled up against the hedges to protect against the chill of the spring night.
He could also just about make out the soldiers guarding them, their silhouettes
etched clearly against the night sky. If he looked hard enough he could even
see plumes of smoke rising in thin white columns as the soldiers huddling round
their vehicles smoking and if he listened hard enough he could hear their
guttural voices and the occasional burst of subdued laughter. Ted licked his
dry, cracked lips wishing he too could smoke, but he had no cigarettes left and
in any case he had nothing to light it with even if he had somehow managed to
save one. Licking his lips had reminded him of how thirsty he was and he wished
he had some water left, the need for a drink now overtaking his craving for a
cigarette.

His thoughts turned to his family and he wondered what they were doing now. And
Brenda? Was she thinking about him? Was she too looking up at the star filled
night sky wondering about him? He smiled ruefully, he had no idea what time it
was but it must be quite late so she was probably asleep in bed. This thought
was somehow calming and for the first time in several days he relaxed slightly.
But his mind seemed determined to give him no peace as within seconds the
cataclysmic events of the past weeks flooded into his thoughts again.

‘So that’s it’ he thought ‘All that fighting, all those lives lost and it had all been for nothing. Calais had fallen anyway and the Germans had reached the coast. How long before they crossed the channel? How long before his family faced the wrath of the mighty Hun? Would he ever see any of them again? The idea of his family having to face the kinds of
horrors he had witnessed made his stomach churn.

Despairingly his thoughts turned back to Brenda. How would she survive without him to
protect her? And then, almost immediately, they took a different turn. Would
she wait for him, however long it took, or would she forget him and find
comfort with a German soldier? As soon as that thought entered his head he
realised how absurd he was being. And then he smiled, the first real smile in
days, as just remembering her sweet innocent face had suddenly given him back
his courage. He would return; however long it took, whatever he had to do, he
would survive and he would go home.