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brought an aw.” She held up the tablecloth. Seeing the look of disbelief on Betty’s face, Ella said, “Ah know, ye could have knocked me over wi’ a feather.”  
    Betty leaned forward expectantly. “So whit is she like, Ella? Ah want the whole story.”  
    “Well, the way she talks, at first ye think she’s that stuck up, but it’s no’ that at aw.”  
    Betty dismissed this notion with a wave of her hand. “Aw c’mon, she’s that pan loaf an’ Kelvinside. What is anybody like that daeing around here?”  
    Ella nodded. “Ah’ll grant ye, she sounds it right enough, but she’s no’ like that when ye get tae know her. Ah’ve telt ye afore, there’s a story aboot that wumman but ah don’t know whit it is.”  
    “Well you just be sure ye find it out, Ella McLennan,” said Betty whose curiosity about other people’s business was well known in the close. But Ella, surprised at her own reaction, felt protective of her new friend and held her peace. As they sat over their teas, though, Ella had to admit that she would very much like to know more about what had brought someone like Bessie to 2005 Dumbarton Road. She was determined one way or the other to learn it all.

Chapter 3
    Beached
    Dunkirk, May 1940
     
    The Jasper had left Poole astern and was working her way up the English Channel in a heavy sea that made her pitch and roll.   She was a ship of modest size, barely 700 tons, with the superstructure and bridge aft. The single mast sat amidships between the cargo holds, each with its own derrick. The Jasper was just one of the many coastal vessels that plied the shores of Britain distributing the vital cargoes brought over by the Atlantic convoys.
    On this trip the Jasper was carrying cased petroleum, an unpopular and extremely dangerous cargo. Her holds were packed with full petrol cans for the motor transport of the British army in France. In heavy seas, the cans might grind together and rupture; a spark was all that was required for disaster.  
    Charlie Burns was taking a welcome break from the heat and noise of the engine room. He sat back on the bench seat of their small mess area, a mug of strong tea in one hand and a week-old newspaper in the other, folded back to make it manageable. Across the table sat a stocky man of less than average height, with powerful shoulders and arms. Despite his size he looked like one to treat respectfully in a dockside bar, if you knew what was good for you. Harry Campbell, a capable, quiet man from Inveraray, was looking at the back of Charlie’s newspaper.  
    “So whit dae ye think is gaun on, Cherlie?” he asked. “They’ve been very quiet aboot this whole trip.”  
    “Ah, well,” Charlie said cautiously, “they never say much do thae?” He paused before continuing. “The fact is, Harry, ah don’t know ony mer than you dae. But ah will say this, ah think we’re headed for France.”  
    “Why dae ye think that?”  
    “Well, look at whit we’re carrying for wan thing. Who’s gaun tae need that? An’ we’ve just left Poole an’ we’re heading up the Channel. Where else wid it be but France?”
    The British Expeditionary Force had gone over at the end of the previous year to mount a defense with the French against an expected invasion by Germany. For months nothing had happened. This changed dramatically on May 10 when the Germans began a concerted attack that would see them sweep through Belgium and Holland and, unexpectedly, through the Ardennes, to catch the Allies in the jaws of a great pincer. The force of the assault had come as an unpleasant shock. Now, two weeks later, the situation was deteriorating rapidly.  
    The Jasper stayed close to the coast until almost at Dover before heading out into the English Channel. Among the seamen speculation was rife. With better knowledge of the situation in France they could have quickly eliminated Boulogne, which was just then falling into German hands. Calais and Dunkirk were under