Thurrock Royal Naval Association closes

THURROCK Royal Naval Association met for the last time on Sunday, as falling numbers and ill health of members forced them close.

More than 100 people, including RNA members from other branches in Essex, packed into St Cedd's Church in Stifford Clays to watch the Thurrock branch lay the standard in a two-hour service.

Thurrock RNA President Leonard Prewer, 83, from Stifford Clays, said: “We had a very good turn out, laying the standard was a very sad moment.”

Mr Prewer says the association, which formed in 1984, has been forced to close because there are not enough members for a committee anymore.

He said: “I am the President, Treasurer and the Social Secretary!

“We used to have 300 members 20 years ago, now we’re down to 45, and the majority of these are not active and can’t get down to the meetings, so we were averaging about 17 people to each branch meeting.

“Unfortunately if you can’t get a committee you can’t carry on.”

Thurrock RNA member and ex-Able Seaman James Christmas, 88, from Stifford Clays, has decided to share with Gazette readers the true story of when he met a Frenchman called Henri off the Dunkirk beaches in 1940, and the gift he gave him which he believes saved his life.

An extract of the story follows here:

The Talisman, by James Christmas

The noise of the battle was deafening and frightening.

The German Stuka dive-bombers had spats fitted to their wheels, which contained air activated sirens that produced a terrifying scream, which mixed with the shell fragments and flaming ‘onions’ that were falling around us.

Our skipper decided this was not a healthy area to be in and we steered away from the larger ships which were the main target for the Stukas.

I must pay tribute to our skipper, whose handling of the boat was nothing short of miraculous.

Whilst Alfie my oppo and I were engaged in pulling the soldiers aboard out of the water, the skippers eyes were on the lookout for any trouble that might be pending.

It was there that I saw Henri for the first time. The French soldiers were standing in a queue, with water up to their armpits.

Pulling them aboard was no mean feat.

Turning to the next soldier in line, I saw he was wounded in some way, as he was being supported by his comrade who gently pushed him up from the water.

We sat the wounded soldier in place, then turning to help his comrade aboard, I saw him wading back towards the beach.

I shouted to him, waving for him to come aboard the boat, but half turning he rejected my offer with a wave of the hand, I saw him heading along the beach to the town.

The town was a place to avoid, being on fire in several places.

At least 50 per cent of it’s buildings were in ruins and it was being bombarded by enemy aircraft and continuous shelling by frontline enemy gunners.

We were carrying on with our task when suddenly from the town came a wail of an air raid siren.

It seemed strange that people still existed there- and that was where our brave French soldier had gone seeking more wounded comrades.