The Spark of Resistance: Women Spies in WWII

by Sergeant, Kit

  “It’s Uncle Louis,” Françoise, her oldest daughter said sadly, sounding much older than ten. She sat at her mother’s feet. “He’s in a hospital in Paris.”

  Odette snatched the letter from Marianne and scanned it, but there was not much more information about her brother than what Françoise had already stated.

  “But you can’t go and visit him, can you?” Marianne’s voice had taken on the little girl’s whine it often did when she was upset.

  “Even if you could go, you can’t stop Grandma’s house from getting overrun by Nazis.” At eight, Lily, the middle child, was ever the realist.

  “No,” Odette refolded the note. “No, I cannot go to France. I wish I could.”

  “What’s this?” Françoise’s deft fingers lifted another official-looking envelope. “Who is Captain Selwyn Jepson?”

  “I don’t know,” Odette answered wearily, longing for a moment of peace, away from prying young girls.

  “He’s asking you to visit him in Whitehall next week.”

  Odette gathered up the rest of the letters, the one from Jepson falling to the bottom of the pile. “It probably has something to do with that part-time job Major Guthrie mentioned.”

  “Are you going to work for the war?” Françoise demanded.

  “If I can fit it in, I’d like to do some little thing,” Odette replied.

  “But you aren’t going to leave us, are you, Mummy?” Marianne’s voice grew even higher as her eyes reddened. They’d already been forced to evacuate their London home for the safety of the Somerset countryside, away from the Luftwaffe bombers that had been terrorizing the city for the past year. It had been enough uprooting for the six-year-old. For all three girls, and Odette herself, for that matter.

  Odette reached out to pat Marianne’s hand. “Of course not, chérie.”

  Chapter 3

  Didi

  Didi tossed yet another rejection letter onto the floor. “The Women’s Royal Naval Services only wanted drivers.”

  Her sister Jackie, older by four years, nodded at the paper on the ground. “I must have gotten twice as many as you. The WRNS sent me that exact same letter. I probably shouldn’t have told them I can’t drive in complete darkness with all of these black-outs.”

  “Do you think…” Didi cleared her throat. “Did it ever occur to you that we shouldn’t have come here?” It hadn’t been easy getting out of Occupied France, even though they were British citizens, but they’d eventually managed to escape via Spain. The entire journey had taken nearly six months, and now that they were finally free, relatively speaking, they were having difficulty securing jobs.

  Jackie raised a thin eyebrow. “What would you have done, stayed in France? You know the Germans regarded us as nothing but foreigners.”

  “We lived in France almost our whole lives. Britain feels more foreign to me.”

  “Well,” Jackie bent down and picked up the letter. “If you want to go back and be subject to the will of the Nazis, then do it. I’m going to stay here and do what I can to fight the Germans.” She crumpled the paper. “If only they would let me.”

  A few days later, Jackie received a note from a Captain Selwyn Jepson of the War Office asking for an interview.

  “I told you my time would come,” Jackie told Didi.

  Didi snatched the notice from her sister. “He says you ‘possess qualifications which may be of value in the war effort.’ What does that even mean?”

  “Why, I suppose it could mean nothing at all,” Jackie replied loftily, clearly not believing her own proclamation.

  Everything had always come easy to her beautiful older sister and Didi felt the need to take Jackie down a peg. “Especially if they find out you can’t drive during the blackout.”

  The words hit their mark and Jackie’s smile drooped into a frown.

  The pangs of guilt were too much for Didi. “On the other hand, maybe this Selwyn Jepson is an important man and needs you for a task no one else can do,” she added. “The return address is the War Office, after all.”

  Jackie nodded. “I’m sure you’ll get a similar letter soon.”

  But she didn’t, and, as the date for Jackie’s interview came closer, Didi grew even more anxious.

  “Be sure to tell them about me,” Didi called after Jackie as she left for the War Office wearing her nicest dress, a smart blue one sprinkled with white polka-dots.

  Jackie turned back and waved a gloved-hand. “I will.”

  “And good luck!”

  Jackie straightened her straw hat before continuing down the street.

  Didi spent a few tense hours waiting for Jackie to return. She meant to clean the small room they shared in the boarding house, but found it hard to concentrate on any one task.

  “Well?” Didi asked by way of greeting once her sister came home.

  “Well what?”

  “What did Captain Jepson want?”

  “It was a job as a driver for FANY—the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry.”

  “A driver? Did you tell him you can speak fluent French?”

  “Yes.”

  Something about Jackie’s behavior wasn’t sitting right with Didi. “And the driving at night thing? He didn’t mind about that?”

  “No.”

  Now Didi knew Jackie was hiding something—it wasn’t like her sister to give one-word answers. “Why would they hire you for a job any English girl could do?”

  Jackie cast her eyes around the empty room. “Okay, as it turns out, I’ll be working with a brand-new organization. The SOE.”

  “What does that stand for?”

  “Special Operations Executive.” The pride was obvious in Jackie’s voice. “The French section. They wanted me because I grew up in France and can speak the language fluently. The FANY driver thing is just a cover.”

  “A cover for what? What work will you be doing?” Her eyes widened as a thought occurred to her. “Are they sending you back to France to be a spy?”

  “Listen,” Jackie put a hand on Didi’s arm. “I’ve already told you too much. I promised Captain Jepson I wouldn’t say anything about this to anyone.”

  “What about me?” Didi asked. “Did you tell them you had a sister who also speaks French?”

  “Of course,” Jackie replied distractedly. “Now I have to figure out what I’m going to wear to my first training session.”

  * * *

  Finally, a month after Jackie’s interview, Didi received her own meeting request from Captain Jepson. She too put on her best dress and, after placing her gas mask in her purse, set off for the address given in the letter, which turned out to be a sparse room in the Victoria Hotel.

  With his beautifully-cut gray suit and groomed salt-and-pepper hair, Captain Jepson looked nothing like a military recruiter. After asking Didi to sit in the lone chair opposite his desk, he started by telling her his task was to recruit women for the SOE.

  “Why women?” Didi asked.

  “In my opinion, women are much more suited for this type of position than men. Women have a far greater capacity for a cool and lonely courage.”

  It didn’t take Didi long to realize her suspicions about her sister working for an espionage unit had been correct. “I would like to be considered for the same sort of thing that Jackie is doing.”

  His gaze traveled from her jaunty hat to her sensible-heeled shoes. “I think you might be a bit young to be an agent.”

  “I’m nearly twenty-two, and only four years younger than Jackie.”

  He nodded before picking up a paper. “Your full name is Eileen Mary. Where did Didi come from?”

  She shrugged. “The family legend is that Jackie had a hard time saying ‘Eileen.’ Didi rolled off the tongue easier, so Didi I became.”

  “And are there other Nearne children?”

  “I have two brothers. My middle brother, Frederick, is in the Royal Air Force.”

  “You are the baby of the family.” Jepson made a mark on the paper in front of h
im. “Your father is a doctor, so the family is obviously well-off, and you were educated in a Catholic school.”

  The finality in his voice, as if he’d already rejected her, made Didi’s heart beat faster. “When the Nazis came, we were forced from our home. They told us we were ‘enemies of the state,’ even my mother, who was born in France, because she married an Englishman. They confiscated most of our possessions, so we are no longer considered, as you put it, ‘well-off.’ Jackie and I had to learn to chop firewood, cook, and clean.”

  “Why do you want to go back to France now so soon after leaving?”

  “Both Jackie and I want to do something to fight Germany. That’s why we came here to England in the first place.” Didi could tell she was losing the battle. She spread her arms out. “Look, I can keep my own company. Should the need arise, I can work all alone. I can do anything you ask. I just want to be able to do something for the war. Even a little thing.”

  “Some little thing.” Jepson made another mark on the paper with his pen before settling his gaze back to her. “You seem to be a bright young woman, though you’ve also led a sheltered life. I’m not sure you are ready to be a field agent, but perhaps we can start you as a wireless operator or a decoder.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. While she was disappointed that she wouldn’t be heading back to France as an SOE operative any time soon, Jepson hadn’t completely refused her. “I’d prefer to learn how to work a wireless.” She figured the training for that line of work would be the most beneficial when she finally convinced Jepson to put her in the field.

  Chapter 4

  Mathilde

  Mathilde accompanied Armand to the Free Zone in central France. Since the French government had been pushed out of Paris in the Armistice, the town of Vichy had become its temporary seat. Vichy was a world away from the Occupied Zone, and even maintained the old French time. To Mathilde, it seemed the light was brighter, the autumn leaves more colorful, the fall weather more pleasant.

  Armand and Mathilde took separate hotel rooms at the Hôtel des Ambassadeurs and she spent the first few days wandering about the town, not exactly sure why she was there. Armand was never around; she would occasionally catch him deep in conversation with other men in the lobby, but that was the extent of their companionship.

  That is until she heard a knock on her door a few evenings after their arrival in Vichy.

  “Where have you been?” Mathilde asked him by way of greeting. “Why did you invite me here if you insist on ignoring me?”

  “I am sorry, Lily.”

  She wanted to continue her tirade, but he held up his hand. “Wait until you hear what I have to say.” She took the seat across from him at the little table as he went on, “I’ve been tasked with an important mission by our mutual governments in exile. They have given me permission to create a network of agents in the Occupied Zone.”

  Her eyes widened with appreciation. “Toto, that’s fabulous!”

  “Yes,” he agreed, his voice rising in excitement. “And I want you to help me run the network.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. You are the only person I know who possesses the necessary qualities for this kind of work. You are intelligent, brave, and, I suspect, ruthless. Not to mention I trust you implicitly.”

  “Oh, Toto!” She clapped her hands. “This is exactly what I’ve been wishing for!”

  He stood up, inviting her into his arms. “Just think, I will be the general, and you will become my chief of staff.” He led her across the room in a waltz.

  She quit dancing, regretfully letting his strong arms drop from their embrace as a thought occurred to her. “General Borni, what shall we call this network of ours?”

  His eyebrows lowered in thought. “Well, we will be working in the French underground to provide London with information on how to stop the Germans. What about the International Allies?”

  She shook her head. “Too long. What about Interallié?”

  He reached for her again, pulling her even closer. “That’s perfect,” he stated before his lips met hers in a long, lingering kiss.

  Armand spent that night in Mathilde’s room. The next day he gave up his room to move into hers and they fell into a pleasant routine. In the mornings, she helped him learn to read French and tried to coach the Polish out of his accent. In the afternoons, Armand attended meetings while she went out for walks around the town or took in the waters at the Vichy spa. Each night before they made love, Armand would fill her in on everything he’d discussed with his contacts, Mathilde occasionally interrupting with what she considered intelligent questions.

  Once the business of the day was concluded, the burgeoning couple often turned to small talk, with Armand carrying on most of the conversation. He told her of the time he’d been walking by a Paris train station, passing stretcher after stretcher of wounded French and British soldiers. “I could just see their faces drop once they caught sight of all those Germans surrounding them on the platform.”

  Mathilde nodded, remembering how she felt the first time those grayish-green uniforms came marching through her city.

  “But those men refused to give in. One of them propped himself up on his stretcher and sang the opening lines of ‘It's a Long Way to Tipperary.’”

  “It’s a long way to go,” she added, quoting the unofficial anthem of the British army.

  He gave her a sad smile. “Nothing can defeat guys like that.” After a moment of silence, he added, “My fellow men in the Polish Air Force were cut from the same cloth. I hate to think of them now, suffering at the hands of Hitler. If the Widow Borni hadn’t given me her husband’s passport, I might never have gotten out of that region. They would have captured me and put me back in the POW camp.”

  Mathilde heard the tears in his voice and marveled at how someone so intelligent and proud could sometimes seem so vulnerable. She decided to change the subject. “Was she pretty, this Widow Borni?”

  Armand rubbed his eyes before giving her a curious look. “Not nearly as pretty as you. Nor as quick-witted,” he added, reaching out to twirl a strand of her black hair. “After I escaped, I vowed I would do everything I could to help the Allies win.” His sensual lips eased into a slow grin. “Just think of all we can accomplish once we get Interallié up and running.”

  Mathilde lifted her chin. “We will rid Paris of those Boches once and for all.”

  “Once and for all,” Armand repeated before leaning in for a kiss.

  The next evening Armand was late getting back to the room and Mathilde went downstairs, knowing he was conferencing in a small room near the hotel lobby. She kicked off her shoes before sitting down in a large leather armchair to wait for him.

  With each passing hour, Mathilde grew more bored, wishing she’d brought a magazine to read. She hadn’t realized that she’d been anxiously scratching at the arm of her chair until a couple of American journalists paused to gawk at her. “What are you, a cat?” one of them asked.

  “Excusez-moi?”

  An amused grin on his face, he nodded at her curled hand and light scratches on the leather.

  “Of course she’s a cat!” Armand’s voice boomed. “She is ma petite chatte,” he added in poorly accented French, extending his arm to her.

  Later that night, after they’d once again made love, Armand declared that from then on, her Interallié code name would be ‘The Cat.’

  Armand left for Paris again a few days later, leaving Mathilde to learn the game of spying. On his direction, she went to the Deuxième Bureau, France’s military intelligence agency, which, like the government, had been relocated to Vichy.

  Armand had given her the address on the Boulevard des Etats-Unis but when she arrived it looked nothing like the spy lair she’d pictured. From the outside, the nondescript building resembled a warehouse, and the threadbare carpeting and concrete walls of the entryway did nothing to dispel that impression.

  She was greeted by a man in full military dress.
“Can I help you?” His voice was more growl than anything else.

  “I’m looking for the man in charge.”

  His scowl momentarily disappeared. “I suppose that would be me.” He stuck out a gruff hand. One eye was hidden by the glare of light underneath a monocle; the other never left her face. “Captain Sardanapalus.”

  Mathilde refrained from commenting on his tongue-twister of a last name. “I’m here to discuss your efforts with assisting the Parisian objective in ridding the country of Germans.”

  His visible eye became steely. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  Mathilde refused to become flustered. “I have been sent here by Armand Borni.”

  No sign of recognition flashed in the Captain’s face. “Under the Armistice, we are tasked with protecting Marshal Pétain’s government.”

  This must be a test, she concluded. “We both know that Pétain is a puppet for Hitler.”

  Sardanapalus sighed. “Follow me,” he told her before opening a door off the rear of the lobby. He led her up the stairs to a small, bare room.

  “So you wish to join Armand Borni’s network.” Sardanapalus sat down in a rickety wooden chair behind an equally rickety desk.

  Mathilde balked at the word join. “For your information, I am helping him run Interallié.”

  “You? A woman?” He gave her a dismissive look. “If that’s so, then what do you need from me? I imagine you know all about intelligence gathering: recruiting agents, running networks, and using secret inks.”

  “Well,” Mathilde spread out her hands. “Not really. That is probably why Armand sent me to you.”

  “What exactly will be your contribution to this network, then?”

  Clearly being on the defensive isn’t going to work with this ornery captain. Mathilde decided to switch tactics. “I realize that collaborating with Marshal Pétain, and therefore being in bed with Hitler, was not your idea. You want to help the Allies, but,” she cast a pointed look at his threadbare shirt, “you need gainful employment to keep a roof over your family’s head.”