Mrs Miniver – the deleted Doeblin scene

MGM’s 1942 blockbuster Mrs Miniver won five Oscars, and was said by Winston Churchill to have done as much for the British war effort as a fleet of destroyers. It also offered Alfred Döblin his best chance for stardom in the bizarre world of Hollywood, but the scene he contributed – published here for the first time – failed to make it to the final cut. How different might Döblin’s Californian exile have been if he had shared the credits for the Oscar winning screenplay?

So near, and yet so far

From October 1940 to October 1941 Döblin had a one-year contract with MGM which required him to “write”. (See https://beyond-alexanderplatz.com/a-year-in-hollywood for his accounts of this year in letters to friends.) The contract was a temporary life-saver for the refugee, an act of charity by MGM as much as an investment in a screenwriter.

Döblin struggled valiantly to develop “storys” that would appeal to decision makers in the bizarre world of Hollywood, but nothing clicked. The closest he came to success was his contribution to Mrs Miniver, which survived to a late stage in the editing but was cut from the final product. His writing for the screen here is strong and assured; there is no intrinsic reason why it should have been cut; presumably considerations of overall screen time prevailed.

Mrs Miniver won five Oscars. The Oscar for Best Screenplay credited four writers: the Austrian-American George Froeschel, and the British writers James Hilton, Arthur Wimperis, and Claudine West. Had Döblin’s contribution been retained, he would no doubt have been included in the screenplay credits. As an Oscar winner, would he have escaped the financial stress of the following California years, and might he even have seen some of his own writings adapted for the big screen?

THE DUNKIRK FLOTILLA :

ALFRED DÖBLIN’S CONTRIBUTION TO THE FILM MRS MINIVER

Grey dawn. The Minivers’ bedroom. Her bed on the Left by the window, his to the Right has the little table with the telephone. The telephone jangles. Both lie asleep. The woman sits up: ‘Clem.’ The telephone jangles again. Mrs Miniver gives him a shake. ‘Clem, telephone.’

He bleary, not moving: ‘What?’ – ‘The telephone.’

He puts out a hand without sitting up, to the Right. To make light for him and orient herself she draws back the curtain a little; they see it is dawn.

Clem, half lying, has the receiver to his ear: ‘Yes. Speaking.’ Suddenly he sits up, listens, looks to the window, asks his wife: ‘How late is it?’ – ‘Half past three.’ He into the phone:  ‘At once? Of course.’ He replaces the receiver, pulls his legs from the covers, ponders. ‘Night exercise.Or something of the sort.’

Mrs Miniver: ‘Didn’t they give any details?’ – ‘It was the Yacht Club. The steward never makes himself clear.’ – ‘Perhaps you misheard, Clem.’. – ‘No, I have to go over to the Club at once, with the boat.’

Clem is standing, ready. The woman too is out of bed, has thrown a coat around her. ‘You’ll be back soon, of course, for breakfast perhaps. I’ll find you a warm rug.’ – Clem: ‘Absolutely not necessary. The leather jacket will do. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.’ – They say their farewells. Mrs Miniver: ‘You can catch up on your sleep then.’ – Clem: ‘Don’t bother making my bed. I’ll put my shoes on downstairs. I hope the children haven’t been woken. Byebye.’ – Mrs Miniver: ‘Byebye.’

He goes. But at the door she throws another rug over him. He leaves sleepily.

Down in the garden. Clem stumbles blearily, the rug falls off. He picks it up.

She stands above at the window, smiles to see him stumble, closes the curtain, throws down the coat, lies down.

He leaves the garden. He finds himself in a little street leading down to the river. Two men run past. In his sleepy state he takes no notice.

The Countess’ gardener, smartly dressed, laden with rugs, overtakes him, looks back at Clem, nods: ‘Mr Miniver. Good morning. Too early, eh?’ Clem looks after him as he is already hastening on: ‘Hey, you, what are you up to? I thought it was just the Yacht Club.’ He gets no answer.

Still others cross his path.

Now he is at the river. You hear shouts, see other boats and people. He goes down the pair of wooden steps, climbs aboard his boat, throws the rug in. He bends over the motor. It won’t start. He perseveres: ‘God almighty, it’s not working.’

He straightens up, looks around, is about to climb off the boat when another comes past. He calls: ‘Jackson, halloo, can you lend a hand, my motor.’

Answer: ‘Don’t you have oars? Can’t you row?’

The man is gone, Clem shrugs, stands there in despair, has already picked up the rug when suddenly the motor begins to turn. He sits down, pulls out. He crosses the river, quite close on the other side is the flat wooden building of the Yacht Club. Jackson is just tying up. ‘So there you are. Those motors are like that.’

They walk up the planks. Inside the steward has prepared coffee, he serves the gentlemen, who stand around as if it is an early party, and drink. They exchange greetings.

‘It’s supposed to be a muster. An exercise.’

‘Why an exercise? Is something up? It’s not just our club.’

‘Who else then? A football team?’(laughter)

‘Didn’t you see the Countess’ gardener? And the fisherman with his sons? They were woken up by the town hall.’

‘So what’s up, teams, what’s happening? Is it an exercise or is it not? They wouldn’t call out our Yacht Club together with fishermen and who else.’

The steward, a youngish man, serious, interjects: ‘Pardon me: the word is, if you have lifesaver rings, swimming vests and suchlike, bring them with you.’

Someone parodies: ‘Quite right. And the word as well is: if you have a rifle and a steel helmet, bring it with you.’

Steward: ‘Pardon me, sir, that was also the word, I have passed it on.’

‘You’re mad. Not to me. You’re spreading rumours.’ Steward, protesting: ‘I have…’

Another interrupts: ‘He told me too. I’ve brought along my fowling piece. No idea what I’m to do with it.’

‘Parachute troops.’

‘No jokes, please. It wasn’t an alarm.’

The telephone jangles, the steward picks it up: ‘Yes, yes, right, at once.’

He returns to the men: ‘They’re calling from the bridge. Everything must move out at once. Not one boat must stay behind.’

The cheerful man pushes forward with a laugh: ‘To arms, gentlemen. To the fowling piece. It’s going to be a jolly big show.’

The elderly teacher stumbles behind Miniver: ‘When do you think we’ll be back home, Mr Miniver? The school has exams tomorrow. I have so much to do. I won’t be fresh for work.’

Miniver: ‘Don’t worry about it.’

Outside some have moved off already. The steward comes along and confirms that two boats are still there.

The teacher climbs aboard, says to Miniver: ‘You’d think people would know that night time is better used for sleeping. Exercises like this are no use to the country.’

The steward: ‘This boat…’

The teacher: ‘It’s X’s. He’s ill. (He sets off.) Lucky beggar, lying in bed.’

Steward stands alone, calls back to the house: ‘Alice (his wife). Alice. She appears at an upstairs window.

Steward: ‘Alice, get ready, you must come along. Every boat must be deployed.’

‘But I can’t come along, husband.’

‘The boat must go out. They insist.’

‘What shall I do with the child?’

‘Take it with you. Wrap it up well. We’ll be back in an hour.’

‘Is it something bad?’

‘Just some nonsense. I won’t take you, in the end. We only have to report to the bridge, that’s all.’

He in the boat. The woman comes at once, cheerful, with the bundled up child. She climbs into the second boat.

Off they go. A little rowing boat is behind them, the sick man in it. ‘Hallo, hallo. Steward. My boat. Who’s taken her?’

Steward stops, the man climbs across, they hitch the little boat to it. Steward: ‘Forgive me, we waited for you, but there’s a hurry.’ The man points to the second boat: ‘Who’s that?’ – ‘My wife, Alice.’ – ‘How funny. It’s going to be a jolly party. Where shall we have breakfast? Oh thunder, I forgot my tie.’

Steward, as they move on: ‘Bad news, sir.’

‘There’s nothing doing, don’t fall for it. You shouldn’t have come along, you should have stayed behind to prepare breakfast.’

‘I heard on the radio…’

‘The radio. The radio, if you must know, is a magic box. And it tells magic tales. I can’t appear without a tie. Do you have a brush?’

Steward: ‘Not with me, sir. But perhaps my tie would do?’

He hands over his little black cravat.

The man is delighted. ‘Wonderful. I’ll never forget this. Now I’m human again.’

He waves across to another boat: ‘Morning, gentlemen.’ The other boat: ‘Good morning. Are you recovered? How delectable, a dawn excursion on the water. Really perks you up. You feel young again.’

The man: ‘Young. That’s overdoing it. My rheumatism will start up again.’

The other boat: ‘Dear chap, just look about you. Isn’t it fine, these boats, the two steamers, a veritable mass gathering, a race. What would Jerry say. They sing: For off we go to Engelland. Hallo, we’re off to Ger-ma-ny.’

Another in the other boat: ‘You’re lively today.’

‘Well, it stirs the heart.’

Shouts on the water have increased. The big bridge is signalling with lights and gestures. A small flotilla has assembled, all different kinds of vessel. A throng of people on the bridge and down the steps. A big steamer: an officer with a megaphone calls down: ‘Line up to starboard. Halt. One from each boat onto the bridge.’

A crowd on the bridge. A strident female voice is heard. An elderly simple woman pleads: ‘Why shouldn’t I go? My son’s over there.’

Soldier, sentry: ‘One of us to each boat. You’ll just take up space. Be sensible.’

‘It’s my boat. I’m going across. I won’t be chased away.’

Sergeant comes over: ‘What’s up?’ Soldier: ‘She has a son over there and wants to go in the boat.’

The woman: ‘I’m going over, I tell you.’

Sergeant: ‘Leave her be.’ The old woman rushes down the steps.

Below, among the men in the boats, the teacher: ‘Whatever is going on? Everyone is so agitated.’

One yawns: ‘Woke up too soon. How can you be in a good mood when they drag you out of bed at three.’

The teacher worried, looks up: ‘I don’t know.’

The other man, calm: ‘We’ve never had an exercise like this. We’ll manage it better next time.’

The steward’s wife: ‘Are you going further? Let me come with you. Why not.’

Steward: ‘And the child?’

The woman looks up: ‘I’ll leave it with a nurse.’

Before he can reply, she runs up the steps with the baby, to the table with First Aiders and nurses. ‘Please, can you take the child.’

‘But you’ll be staying here.’

‘My husband is steward at the Yacht Club. I should go with him.’

She runs gaily back down.

A small group of young people comes along singing. A lady to the sergeant: ‘Surely it is not required that the members of a rowing club should go along?’

‘Everything that’s a boat and can sail should come.’

‘But you can’t order people under 20, not yet conscripted…’

Sergeant: ‘It’s not a question of orders. It’s what they should do.’

Lady: ‘So they don’t have to?’

‘No. They should.’

The son in the group listens with two others. ‘Bye, mother. Don’t upset yourself.’

She screams: ‘Bob’ and pushes after him. The soldier at the steps holds her back. Sergeant: ‘Madam, don’t make a scene. The young man knows what he has to do.’

‘But he has an exam tomorrow!’

Sergeant laughs: ‘He’s already passed it.’

Officer with megaphone: ‘Anyone with no business at the boast must leave the bridge.’ The officer gives instructions to the delegates at the steps: ‘You will go to Dover. Each group must stay together. No lights. Blankets will be distributed. Take drinking water with you. Hurry. Blankets on the left by the First Aiders.’

Delegates wave to those below: ‘Fetch blankets.’

A man from the Yacht Club: ‘I say, something doesn’t add up. They said Dover. They should be straight with us. What’s happening in Dover?’

‘Take your blankets, sir.’

The man: ‘If it’s something serious, I’d like to telephone my wife.’

The officer, coldly: ‘On your way.’

The man hurries angrily down the steps, accosts the steward: ‘Steward, you’ve roused us with an alarm. You will now find out what’s really going on. Since you woke us from our slumbers you must know what it’s for. Are we children?’

Steward: ‘We have to make for Dover, sir. I can’t say more than that.’ The steward rows away. The man stands rigid. Someone else climbs into the boat. ‘Sit down. We’ll find out soon enough.’

The man: ‘But I really must telephone.’

Blankets are thrown in the boat. They set off without a particular signal given, glide over the water. Low singing from some rowing boats.

An old fisherman, a former sailor, sits beside Miniver on the boat. Fisherman: ‘Spare your motor, sir. We don’t have much petrol. I’ll row.’

Miniver: ‘None of us were prepared. I hear ships were sunk off Dover.’

Fisherman: ‘Sir, I was in the Navy. This is no ordinary sinking. They wouldn’t alert the whole coast for that.’

Miniver: ‘Then it must be a major exercise.’

Fisherman: ‘They all seem a bit too serious for that.’

The fisherman sees someone he knows in another boat; it’s getting lighter: ‘Ahoy, Willy!  See him there? Morning, Willy!’

Willy: ‘Charles, haven’t seen you in a while. Where do you live now?’

‘Ten steps from here.’

Willy: ‘And we never see each other.’ Fisherman: ‘And here we meet again! (He is very cheerful.) Do you see him, sir, what a fine boat he has, it’s his, cross my heart.’

Miniver, patient: ‘I’m sure it’s his.’

Fisherman: ‘You can depend on it. He’s got it made. He was always a hard worker. (He gives a great laugh and shouts at the others)

Miniver: ‘They’re far ahead already.’

Fisherman (wipes his face, still laughing): ‘Begging your pardon. Him and I go back a bit. We were in Calcutta one time, or Singapore. Walking down a street and see an Indian cauliflower or something. We were amazed, hadn’t eaten cauliflower in ages. And this such a fine one. So he says to me: “If we don’t get some cauliflower to eat in this city, my name’s not Willy.” Of course I said the same. So he says, we have to find something to go with it, a rabbit, and something to drink, whisky. And that was our bad luck. ‘Cos in those parts there was no good whisky. Lots of bad stuff, but the fine stuff had all been drunk.’

(During this story there are interruptions, greetings. Once he points out the steward’s wife, rowing: ‘Look at her, rowing like the devil.’)

‘So we get hold of a rabbit, and he hangs it all tidy like under his jacket by his belt, ‘cos he doesn’t want to be holding it in his hands all the time.’

Miniver amused: ‘So why didn’t you carry it?’

Fisherman: ‘’Cos of the bottle. I didn’t have it yet but I wanted my hands free. So then we discover that there’s no good whisky anywhere, which we do by visiting a number of drinking spots.’

Miniver: ‘Aha.’

Fisherman: ‘You see. And why did we buy the rabbit when we had nothing to drink with it?’

Miniver: ‘And the cauliflower.’

Fisherman: ‘We haven’t bought that yet, that’s still to come. And so we both flew into such a rage about this city and the whole business. And now there’s a man on the corner and he’s scolding us, and he’s maybe a policeman.’ (He laughs loudly and shouts again: ‘Willy!’)

Miniver: ‘They’re well ahead.’

Fisherman: ‘So now being an old soldier he really lets rip. And he pulls out the rabbit and lets fly with it at the policeman, like this.’

(Meanwhile they are approaching Dover, thuds of cannon-fire can be heard. Seagulls circle over the water. There is mist, growing thicker. Ship sirens.)

A hospital ship is disembarking. Wounded are led down or carried on stretchers. A dense crowd on the shore. In boats. A man from the Yacht Club: ‘Here we are. This must be the place. It took long enough. We won’t be back home before 10.’

As the other boats line up tightly along the shore, awaiting instructions, a few stragglers row in, among them the boat with the solitary old woman. A small steamer comes straight ahead, the old woman seems to want to tie up to it. From one boat: ‘What’s she up to? Look at the old lady. She was making a fuss at the bridge. Looks like she wants to row across the Channel.’

The steamer throws a line to the woman, she grabs it, hitches it to her boat. The Yacht Club men gape astonished. Several motor boats also shoot off behind the steamer.

From one Yacht Club boat: ‘They have plans for us. Mark my words, we won’t be staying here. What good are we here. This is definitely not an exercise.’

‘That’s what I said. I wanted to telephone the wife and the sergeant wouldn’t let me.’

The steward, already on shore, shouts: ‘Mr Miniver, over here, on the bridge.’ A circle has formed up there, instructions are being passed around. You can hear: ‘You will keep as closely together as possible. Be sparing of fuel. If you can go under your own power, do so, or else attach yourself to a ship. Take no superfluous passengers. So, on your way!’

Some disembarked soldiers, some of them led by First Aiders and limping, pass close to the group. A soldier: ‘Gentlemen, make haste. Look sharp! Our people are waiting.’

Second soldier: ‘You got nothing better to do than hang around here?’ Clem stands with the others and watches the troops pass by. ‘Something’s happened.’

Another, hurrying up to him: ‘Dreadful news. Our soldiers over there, the French too, the whole army, is stuck at Dunkirk and wants to come over. Out fleet has to go and fetch them. The Germans are bombing the ships. If we don’t go and fetch them, they’ll all be captured or killed.’ They rush down the steps. The bridge commander orders: ‘Move out, those at the front, make way.’

Several boats are already provisioned and moving. The commander to an officer: ‘Look at them, nutshells. Is this really a good idea. They’re crossing the Channel.’

An officer: ‘You can see, there’s no holding them back.’

Tumult on the bridge. Many are trying to get down to the boats, looking for their own boat. Elegant gentlemen climb down. Blankets and bottles are thrown into boats. One comes half-dressed, a woman throws him her coat, he puts it on. The flotilla sets out. Miniver and the others have hurried into the boats without a word. The fisherman welcomes him with a wild look: ‘Where are they?’ Miniver: ‘Dunkirk.’ Fisherman: ‘Is it bad over there? Well, sir, I thought it must be as soon as I saw that old lady. She’s after something.’

As they move he stumbles around in the boat. ‘How much petrol, have you got, sir? You have no water, sir, no drinking water. Are there any tins? Didn’t think of anything!’ (He is furious.)

Miniver: ‘The worst thing is the motor. It has its moods.’

Fisherman: ‘You leave that to me. Otherwise we have the oars, or can hitch a ride.’

They are en voyage. It is the Channel. The boats bob and fall. Miniver’s boat is using the motor.

Fisherman: ‘So now, because you heard something up there and you’re just a landlubber, and we only have these few boats, you’re thinking we won’t manage it.’

Miniver has become very grave, answers absently: ‘I’m thinking absolutely nothing, old man.’

Fisherman: ‘Well, first off we’re not just a few boats. Just take a look around. We’re a few hundred. Thousands. And you can be sure it’s not just these few boats that we can see. Our Admiralty is not so stupid to think a few boats can ring the whole army over. There’s ship after ship. You’ll see soon enough. The whole of England is over there.’

Miniver: ‘I think that’s so.’

Fisherman: ‘You mark my words. Well then. We’d better cut the motor and start rowing. Save the petrol for the return journey.’

On they go. The mist thickens. Nearby boats can hardly be seen, each boat seems to be alone on the sea.

The Yacht Club man who came late: ‘Allow me to make myself comfortable.’ (He removes his jacket, collar and tie.)

His companion: ‘We never dreamt yesterday that today we’d be travelling across the Channel.’

The man, rowing: ‘it’s really not so bad.’

As they row, the thunder of cannonfire grows louder.

Miniver’s boat. Miniver: ’My son is off to the front today. So here I am doing my part.’

Fisherman (rowing): Mark my words, sir. Dangers only look splendid in the cinema or the newspaper. When you’re in the thick of it, it’s nothing at all. I’ve only ever noticed what a bad do it was after I was telling about it. For instance -.’

A big wave comes, they struggle, it lasts a good while. The boat is now full of water. Only the dripping rowing fisherman is seen, working away wildly. He shouts: ‘Sir! Sir, are you there?’

Miniver has been thrown from the bench, is lying below, picking himself out of the water.

Fisherman: ‘There you are. We’ll dry off soon enough. You’ve got woollens there. Hold tight to the bench. Give me one too. Now what was I telling you?’

A big rescue boat with fishermen passes them. The fisherman calls a greeting. He regards Miniver with suspicion. ‘What is it you do, sir?’ ‘Architect.’ ‘I’m only asking because I’m doing the rowing, would it tire you out to take a turn?’ Miniver smiles: ‘Let’s see.’

Several cannon shots close together. Pictures of Dunkirk harbour inserted. Big warships and transports are seen. Clusters of troops arrive with carts and guns. At the harbour, positions for defensive weapons are set up. Many planes. Anti-aircraft guns cracking over the ships. The smaller boats rock back with every blow.

The mist is less thick here than on the open sea. Along the coast, fires from burning oil tanks. Searchlights in the mist. Near the beach, as the flotilla of small boats approaches, a burnt-out destroyer lies askew. The bigger vessels stand farther offshore. Boats bring rescued people to them. People jump out of the boats, run towards them, run to the beach. Some troops throw their kitbags down and drag wounded through the water.

Wide view of the beach. It is rather empty, covered in grenade and bomb craters. Troops emerge singly from holes.

Boats stop in the surf. Miniver and his two companions pick someone off the beach, carry him to the boat, row to a ship. The three of them row back to the beach, pick up more men. People reach water down to them from the ship.

While they are on the beach a plane flies across spraying machine gun fire. Miniver lies beside the skipper. The skipper rises first and pulls Miniver up. ‘It’s not so bad, sir.’

The old woman sits in her boat as the plane approaches. She does not duck, she curses and threatens. People bring men to the boat. The companion: ‘A lot of wounded are lying in the shell-holes. We have to fetch them out.’

The woman looks at the two who have been brought to her and shakes her head: ‘I must go myself.’ She wades to the beach.

At the beach she steps into a crater. Someone is lying there. ‘Have you got water?’ he asks. She gives him some, lifts him, pulls him to his feet. Others above receive him. She stands alone: ‘Is my son there? He looks a lot like him.’

A small group of soldiers comes running past the woman. ‘Out of the way, old lady. Better get yourself back home.’

She holds one back: ‘What regiment are you?’

The man pulls free: ‘Mind your own business.’ She grabs another: ‘What regiment?’ he goe son without answering. At last she stops one. Old woman: ‘I’m looking for . Do you know where they are?’ The soldier considers: ‘Wait a minute. , I was with them at one point. They’re farther back. They’re not coming, they holding the line of retreat.’

He shakes his head, makes a gesture as if to say: ‘There’s no hope,’ moves off.

The old woman stands rigid for a moment. She murmurs: ‘Good, my son, good. You’re doing the right thing. Take care of yourself, my boy.’

She begins to work like mad, goes into a crater, pulls one up. ‘You can’t lie her, son. Come.’ ‘I can’t walk.’ She grabs him. The young soldier: ‘You can’t carry me.’ ‘I can, I can do anything.’

Another plane, they are still on the beach. Soldier: ‘Mother, watch out, take cover.’ But she kneels by him, shakes both fists after the plane. She carries the man to the boat. ‘You’ve got him. You’ll be better soon, my boy. You’ll show them.’

She returns to the beach, peers into a grenade hole, pulls one out. ‘You can’t laze about down there. Wounded? You’ll soon recover. Come. Don’t let that lot come after you.’

Picture: a bomb falls on a ship, bright flames, clouds of smoke, steam from the funnels. The ship lets down its lifeboats. Motorboats come speeding from all sides.

Miniver’s boat: He carries a young French officer on his back, puts him down.

Miniver climbs in, collapses a little. ‘So, that’s enough, let’s get going.’

The officer stammers: ‘What are you doing. Leave me alone.’

Miniver: ‘Sir, you’re not in your right mind.’

Officer: ‘I don’t want to. Let me out. I won’t go in a boat. I am French. Leave me in my own country. You are going to England?’ Miniver nods. Officer: ‘I don’t want to. We’re finished. I can stay back here.’

Miniver, very stern and frowning: ‘It’s not finished by a long shot, sir.’ The young officer looks back at the shore, hides his face and sobs: ‘Oh God, my France. I can’t believe it. We are lost. My parents, my brothers, everything.’

Miniver, hard: ‘Not by a long shot, sir.’

Officer: ‘You don’t know. You can’t know. You didn’t see any of it. We’re emptying the country. We’re leaving my homeland to them.’

Miniver: ‘It won’t last.’

Officer: ‘The Germans are monsters, sir. Don’t say that. They are monstrously strong. They must not think we are cowards. We are not weak. We were cut off on every side. We sat in a cauldron.’

Miniver: ‘You’re out of it now.’

Officer: ‘Just look at it. Look at their planes, so many. If only we had guns. They are doing Blitzkrieg on us.’

Miniver: ‘The storm’s already over. We start blitzkrieging now, sir. It’ll be a long time before a storm hits England. When it comes it’s a smasher. Are you comfortable?’ He takes off his leather jacket, stuffs it under the man’s head. ‘Here, take a sip of water. The sea air will do you good.’

Miniver sits silent and glowering as they move out. Now and then a flash lights up the horizon. It is early afternoon. Miniver’s boat follows in the wake of a big ship. Soldiers sing on the ship.

Miniver to the officer: ‘You hear what they’re singing, sir?’

Officer, gloomy: ‘I can’t believe it, sir, I beg your pardon.’

They go on in silence, the singing continues. Miniver: ‘You’ll believe it soon enough.’

Large parts of the small boat flotilla are making their way back. Last booms of cannon. Everyone looks increasingly tired and weary. In boats that we recognise from the outward journey, all personal and social differences are dissolved. In several boats people are sleeping. The skipper sits beside the teacher, they play cards noisily. The old woman sits erect with a hard expression.

Pictures of the ship: soldiers standing on deck, stretchers with wounded, a doctor and nurses go around.

The white cliffs of Dover appear, the mouth of the river. Groups of people everywhere on the shore.

Silent train of boats. At the big bridge boats separate and tie up. The young wife of the steward runs up the steps, her clothing torn. A nurse standing there recognise sher.

‘You want the baby?’ ‘Where is it?’ ‘I’ll bring it.’ ‘It’s fast asleep. Thank you. Please keep it overnight. I’ll come back early in the morning. Thanks a lot.’

Some boats tie up at the clubhouse. The steward, his wife and club members lead and carry soldiers into the clubhouse.

At the landing stage, crowds thronging at the roadside.

Mrs Miniver is waiting among the watchers. Miniver and one other are carrying the officer up to the road, to an ambulance. As they pass she recognises him, approaches him. He nods calmly and continues on. She stands bewildered among others.

The fisherman and the teacher help two men to shore, say their goodbyes. The fisherman introduces the teacher to his wife. ‘This is Mr X, we’ve been working as a team. I think, sir, we’ll be meeting again before long.’

The teacher leaves. The fisherman whispers to his wife: ‘It was amazing. He’s the best cardplayer I ever met.’

She: ‘The things you say.’ They trail behind the departing teacher.