DUNKIRK SPIRIT

May 2020 marks 80 years since Operation Dynamo and the anniversarty is being remembered on both sides of the Channel

- Lucy Shrimpton

It’s official, the people of Dunkirk are loons. Here at the very tip of France’s hexagon, within spitting distance of the Kent coast and touching the Belgian border, I was immersing myself with the locals in the biggest, loudest, craziest carnival you’ve ever clapped eyes on.

With girls in outlandish pirate guise – and rosy-cheeked fellas looking pretty darn comfortable in wig ‘n’ tights – the Flemish folks weren’t just out, they were out out.

And boy, do they have some stamina. Back then, on Shrove Tuesday, squished as I was at a ‘rigodon’ event (think town-square scrum, boogying brass band, swaying throngs and people singing from overhanging balconies), I was impressed to learn that carnival capers last three months, peak partying involving balls, processions and all manner of quirky rituals.

There was a key moment when the mayor threw herrings from the town hall balcony (shrinkwrapped) and another when, without a cue, the crowd knelt in unison mid-song (for the record, I followed suit – it wouldn’t have done to stick out like a buttonedup Brit) before crooning a local anthem a capella.

Carnaval de Dunkerque is a time-honoured tradition, with the Dunkerquois locals up to their high-jinks for 300 years or so, ever since fisherfolk first thought it might be nice to have a bit of a knees-up before prolonged trips out to sea. It was a good thing, I now reflect, that none of us knew what was coming...