Harvey joined the crowd streaming through the open gates of the Shadow Factory in Rugby. It had been a long day spent at the workbench making predictors for Bofors guns and he, like all the rest was thinking only of home, a good meal, and an hour or two of relaxation by his own fireside.
Outside the gates the crowd split into sections, some heading in the direction of the town, some making for the railway station. Harvey was amongst those hurrying towards the station, hoping to get there in time to grab a seat, it was a long ride to Northampton.
As he neared the entrance to the station he noticed that there was more activity inside than usual. It was always busy at this time of day with homeward bound commuters, but never quite like this.
Members of the Salvation Army with their ubiquitous tea waggons and ladies of the W.V.S scuttering back and forth. He saw a long train pulled into a siding and curiosity drew him towards it. Every compartment was crammed with men. Grey faces with sunken shadowed eyes stared back at him. some men were dressed only in vest and trousers, combat jackets and shirts long since lost. Not a rifle to be seen amongst them.
These men were some of the survivors picked up from the beaches at Dunkirk and carried to safety in the brave little boats which had thronged the English Channel.
He felt that there was only a choice of two things for him to do. Either break down in tears and get the Hell out, or do something positive. He grabbed a tray and carried the mugs of hot sweet tea to the train. Back and forth he ran, helping in the only way he could.
The memory of those gaunt shocked faces was to remain with him for as long as he lived.
Composed from an experience recounted to me by Harvey Fruish in 1989. He worked at the Shadow Factory belonging to British Thompson Houston in Rugby.
