"There'll be Bluebirds Over the White Cliffs of Dover"

Written in 1941 by Walter Kent and Nat Burton

Scores of liberated prisoners of war, hoping to get a glimpse of freedom, crammed the guard rail on the open deck of the ship carrying them from Calais, France to Dover, England. Some were Americans; others were from the British Empire... Australia, Canada, India. The majority were heading home…to Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland and England. These were the healthiest of those liberated. Many were left behind to get much- needed medical care before sailing to England or straight on to North America. These men began their recovery in Lucky Strike camps on the French coast, or in hospitals scattered throughout Western Europe and occupied Germany.

The close to one-thousand liberated men from Luft Stalag 13 were on this ship. Their trip to their home countries would have to wait until the debriefing in London was completed. A few were left on the continent, too sick to make the voyage, but the those on the ship roamed the decks, smiling and enjoying their new-found sense of safety. Others enjoyed the refreshments provided by the Red Cross, ignoring the warnings from the medics to not overindulge.

Carter was standing over by a ladder, eyes closed, savoring the fry cake and the best cup of coffee he had ever had in his entire life.

Newkirk poked LeBeau. "Look at him. He looks like he's in ecstasy."

"After all that good food I cooked for him," LeBeau said in mock jealousy. He wasn't angry. He'd be doing the same. "How's your tea?"

"Best cuppa I've ever had." Newkirk deftly stepped aside to allow two other men to get past. They were from a British army brigade, and one of them, upon hearing Newkirk's accent, turned.

"East End, Amhurst Road?"

"That's right, mate," Newkirk answered.

"Same here! How long you in for? I'm David Bellamy." The Londoner held out his hand.

Newkirk shook the man's hand and introduced himself. "Peter Newkirk. Since Dunkirk. Got shot down at the start."

The lad's eyes widened. "Blimey. Sorry. Got caught in Belgium, last winter."

"Not to worry," Newkirk replied. "Oh, this is my buddy, Louis LeBeau. Met him at camp around the same time."

LeBeau nodded. "I need to make sure Andrew doesn't get sick." Sure enough, Carter had gone back for more donuts. "You catch up, Peter."

"Multinational camp?" Bellamy asked. "We never saw them from the other countries. We were all separated."

"We had a small camp, a decent Kommandant…decent for a German, that is, and a top C.O. Not to say, I'd rather be elsewhere. Wasn't fun. But a lot had it worse."

"What camp was that, then?"

"Luft Stalag 13. Near Dusseldorf. Most of us are on board."

"You all deserve to get home right quick, then?"

Newkirk nodded. "We all deserve it."

A commotion near the bow got their attention. They hurried over to see a crush of mainly British soldiers standing five or six deep gazing out into the channel.

"Can you see it? The cliffs! Straight ahead."

"I can't." A short private in the back jumped up and down to try and get a glimpse.

"Down in front," someone yelled. Others began looking out from the port and stern railings. Below decks, you could hear soldiers scrambling up the ship's ladders to get on deck.

Suddenly, Newkirk felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to see his best mates from camp, LeBeau, Kinch, Baker, Carter and Olsen, standing in back of him.

"You're almost home, buddy," Carter said softly.

Newkirk, tears forming in his eyes, nodded. He turned his head and continued to gaze out into the channel. "I see them."

A whistle came over the loudspeaker, signaling an announcement. "This is Colonel Robert Hogan of the United States Air Force. As the highest ranking POW on this ship, I want to say to everyone…job well done…and to our British friends, welcome home."

"That's my C.O." Newkirk told his new acquaintance proudly.

Next, over the loudspeaker, the returning soldiers heard the familiar strains of a favorite song. Tears flowed freely now, and everyone, bit-by-bit, joined in.

"There'll be bluebirds over
The white cliffs of Dover
Tomorrow
Just you wait and see…."

This was one of the most popular songs of the era. One of the most famous recordings was made by Vera Lynn in 1942.

From Wikipedia:

"It was written before America had joined, to lift the spirits of the Allies at a time when the Germans had conquered much of Europe and was bombing Britain. The song was written about a year after British and German aircraft had been fighting over the cliffs of Dover in the Battle of Britain: the song's lyrics looked towards a time when the war would be over and peace would rule over the iconic white cliffs of Dover, Britain's de facto border with the European mainland.

"The White Cliffs of Dover" is one of many popular songs that use a "Bluebird of Happiness" as a symbol of cheer, although there are no bluebirds in Dover (the bluebird is not indigenous to Britain). Nat Burton, the lyricist of the song, was an American who had never been to the place. But, the song captured the feelings of the Allies about protecting Britain from the planned German invasion"