White Mouse

by Nancy Wake

  Fournier arranged accommodation for us in a funny little hotel high up in the hills, in a village called Lieutades. It was freezing cold, both inside the hotel and outside, and there was little to eat. We had absolutely nothing to do and we were both beginning to worry as our radio operator, Denis Rake, was long overdue.

  Denis (or Denden, as he was called) had been one of our instructors at SOE school, the one arguing with the Frenchwoman. Even in those days when homosexuality was illegal he had never concealed the fact that he was queer. Indeed it was always the first thing he mentioned, especially to women, who often found him too attractive for his liking. We were both fond of him but knew he could be completely unreliable.

  Denden arrived by car just as we were beginning to give up hope. He found me sitting on the wall of the local cemetery and wanted to know if I was picking a suitable grave! He realised that his late arrival had caused us needless anxiety and in true Denden fashion he told us a cock-and-bull story which neither of us believed. However, a radio operator is an important person in the field, and we were not going to give him a reason to leave us and go straight back to his lover, which was exactly where he had been. On landing in France by Lysander he had met the man he had been having an affair with several weeks before in London, and they had decided to have a last fling.

  Nevertheless, we were absolutely delighted to see him for now we could put our plans into action. While waiting for Denden we had decided that if he did arrive we would help Fournier first of all. We had been impressed by what we had seen of his group. We respected him and knew that he had spent a lot of his savings on the Resistance. We packed our bags and left for Chaudes-Aigues.

  Fournier was overwhelmed with joy when told that we would shortly be in radio contact with London and that his group would be the first to receive our report. He and Hubert were busy making out the lists of weapons and explosives they hoped would be sent from England, and Denden and I were busy coding the messages to be transmitted.

  When the day and hour of the transmission arrived the room was full of Maquisards anxious to witness this exciting event. They appeared to be making Denden nervous so I asked them to leave the room. Reluctantly they filed out, all except Fournier, who refused to budge. Denden looked more nervous than before. He told me why. He was transmitting on the wrong schedule. He was twenty-four hours too soon. The three of us managed to restrain our laughter and started the proceedings all over again the following day. There were no more hitches and soon we were preparing for our first operation.

  The plateaux on top of the mountains which surround Chaudes-Aigues were ideal for air-drops. Fournier and his group had surveyed the whole area and were of the opinion that we could receive, unpack and distribute the contents of the containers on the field and return to our homes without any interference. As soon as London had received our messages and we were all organised we received air-drops on six consecutive nights. It continued to be a roaring success until later on when Gaspard arrived with his men and was followed almost immediately by the Germans.

  We manned the fields from ten at night until four in the morning, unless the planes arrived beforehand. We would unpack the containers immediately. The weapons had to be cleaned and all the protective grease removed before we handed them over to the leaders of the individual groups. Every available man assisted. Nevertheless, sometimes it would be noon before we finished and after lunch before we could snatch a few hours’ sleep. It was a strenuous time for everyone; we were kept on the go continuously, but it was also rewarding to witness the enthusiasm of Fournier and his Maquis.

  Every now and then Hubert, Denis and I would receive parcels from London which would arrive in a special container. Words cannot describe the thrill it gave me to open mine, stamped all over with ‘Personal for Hélène’. Here we were, in the middle of a war, high up in the mountains of Central France, yet because of the thoughtfulness of SOE Headquarters we felt close to London.

  My parcel always contained personal items unobtainable in France during the Occupation, plus supplies of Lizzie Arden’s products, Brooke Bond tea, chocolates or confectionery. Without fail there’d be a note and a small gift from Claire Wolfe, the only girl I’d been friendly with at headquarters. We remained staunch friends, and when she died at her home on the Isle of Man in 1984 I was grief-stricken.

  Once, to my delight, I received a letter from my old pal, Richard Broad. I remember jumping up and down shouting, ‘I’ve got a letter from R.B.!’ Hubert and Denis weren’t a bit interested—they’d never heard of him! But I kissed every page as I read the letter. I still have it—and it’s still covered in lipstick.

  I was thankful that Hubert and I had arranged the tasks we would perform to our mutual satisfaction. He would deal with all matters of a military nature and meet Gaspard whenever necessary and possible. I would be in charge of finance and its distribution to the group leaders. I would visit the groups, assess the merit of their demands and arrange for their airdrops, which we would both attend if possible. The tables had turned. After being regarded as a bloody nuisance by Gaspard when I first arrived, I now carried a lot of weight. I was the one who decided which groups were to get arms and money. Denden was in charge of coding and decoding the messages he transmitted and received. German detectors looking for illegal transmitters had to be evaded, and when we were expecting a message from London about a drop of arms, we listened to the five BBC news broadcasts a day. It was time-consuming, exacting work.

  For my part, I had found a different attitude in France when I returned and joined the Maquis. By the spring of 1944 anyone with a brain could see that the Allies would beat the Germans and consequently some French people were already preparing to play politics. This exasperated me as the memory of the colossal harm caused by politics in the thirties still rankled. The majority of the men wanted to kick the Germans out of their country, return to their homes and pick up the threads of their lives. Liberation was on the horizon; now it was no longer a battle between ‘cops and robbers’, it was becoming a battle of wits.

  When Fournier told me Colonel Gaspard was promoted to general. I snorted and Fournier laughed. Hubert was inclined to be impressed and a little in awe of rank. I was not. Not that I did not respect genuine rank, but in the Resistance, especially in the Maquis, some of them upgraded themselves in such a fashion that the chap you met one week as a soldier or civilian suddenly appeared as a colonel a few days later. If you enquired about such a rapid promotion you would be given the name of someone you had never heard of, or the initials of some secret organisation equally unknown to you. Furthermore, the alleged promotion would be promulgated after the Liberation. Some of the newly promoted officers tried to pull rank on me.

  Fournier laughed when I told him what I wanted to do. In view of the importance of my department—finance and airdrops—I promoted myself to the rank of field marshal, to be promulgated after the war! No one would pull rank on me and get away with it. I continued to arm and assist, to the best of my ability, the worthwhile and dedicated groups in the Maquis, irrespective of the rank of their leaders.

  During May, as a direct outcome of the large concentration of men in the mountains, a continuity of pitched battles were being fought between the Germans and our Maquis d’Auvergne. The Maquisards defended themselves brilliantly. Although they were always outnumbered by the enemy, sometimes comprising crack SS troops, the losses inflicted on the Germans were staggering. A few days before the Allies landed in Normandy the Germans attacked Gaspard’s group in Mont Mouchet. They were stopped by the Maquis and driven back in defeat.

  It was soon clear that the Germans were becoming concerned about the steadily increasing strength and actions of the Maquis. It was either just before or after this battle that the traitor Roger the Légionnaire was in our region. He and another German agent had managed to infiltrate Gaspard’s Maquis, stating they wished to join his group. Their story and their odd behaviour aroused suspicions almost immediately, and in the cross-firin
g which subsequently took place, one Maquisard was killed and both German agents were seriously wounded. Roger received three bullets in the chest from a Colt .45 but as he was wearing a bullet-proof vest he did not die immediately. Interrogated under extreme pressure, he confessed to having been responsible for initiating a series of unbelievably inhuman punishments inflicted on captured members of the Resistance. He also stated that he had been directly responsible for the arrest of O’Leary at Toulouse on 2 March 1943. His confessions were taken down and I was given a copy to forward to London. Shortly afterwards Roger and the other German agent were shot and buried on Mont Mouchet.

  I shivered when I read the report. One of the Resistance members Roger was seeking was the person who obtained the arms from England. Little did he know that he had passed me as he drove along the narrow mountain track. It was unbelievable that I had missed him in Toulouse and been so close to him on this mountain.

  I left the area as soon as possible. I could understand the hatred the Maquisards had for the Germans who behaved like crazed wild animals in their dealings with the Resistance. I hated and loathed them too but personally I favoured an accurate bullet and a quick death. Nevertheless there is a lot to be said for the proverb ‘an eye for an eye’, and when all is said and done Roger was only paying for some of the abominable treatment meted out to his victims. Torture is horrible. But before any outsiders form an opinion they should study both sides of the story closely.

  On 4 June 1944 I received a special message from London stating that ‘Anselm’ was being dropped that night in the Montluçon area, in the département of the Allier, and I was ordered to collect him. That was easier said than done. Hector had been arrested before he had time to give us details of safe houses, contacts and passwords. I knew that a Madame Renard was one of the contacts and I thought I had heard that she had been the housekeeper of an ambassador in Paris and also that she made good cakes.

  Fournier gave me his best car and driver plus a bicycle which we put on the roof. The area between Chaudes-Aigues and Montluçon was swarming with Germans and Maquis each thirsting for revenge. In those days the only petrol-driven cars belonged to either the Germans or the Resistance. We were inclined to be more afraid of the Maquis than we were of the Germans because some Maquisards had been known to shoot first and ask questions afterwards. We didn’t want them to mistake us for the enemy.

  However, all went well. We enquired at each village along our route as to the whereabouts of Germans and Maquisards and, thanks to the help and information given us, we reached Montluçon safely. We hid the car in some bushes and my driver concealed himself a little distance away so he could observe anyone who discovered our vehicle.

  I had promised one of the men in my group that I would call on his wife who was pregnant. She was happy to have news of her husband but had never heard of a Madame Renard. She did give me the name and address of a friend who, she said, might be able to help. I cycled to her home. Although the name Renard did not ring a bell, when I mentioned the fact that she had been in the employ of an ambassador she was able to help me trace her. The town was full of Germans and there were patrols and road-blocks everywhere.

  Madame Renard opened the door when I rang. I tried to explain as best I could the predicament I was in and how I had found her. She just stood there staring at me intently. Suddenly I could smell rum baba and I told her I knew all about her cakes. She laughed and led me into the kitchen. She called to ‘Anselm’, who came out of a cupboard pointing a Colt .45 clutched in his hand. We looked at each other in astonishment. It was René Dusacq, whom I had met during my training in England. He was also one of the men who had kissed me goodbye when I left on my mission. He was to become known as Bazooka.

  Dusacq nearly passed out when I said we would be going by car to Chaudes-Aigues. He sat in the back with his Colt at the ready, while I was in the front with the driver, a couple of Sten guns and half a dozen grenades. It was a smooth trip back to our headquarters where, to my bitter disappointment, I learnt that during my absence the Allies had landed and I had missed all the fun of blowing up our targets.

  On 10 June the Germans attacked Mont Mouchet, this time supported by over 11,000 troops, with artillery, tanks and armoured cars, as against Gaspard’s 3,000 Maquisards with light arms. Incredibly, they captured an armoured car and two cannons. During the night the Germans withdrew which gave the Maquis the opportunity to remove some of their vehicles, food and clothing over to our region. The attack recommenced at dawn. The Maquis were ordered to pull out at nightfall but in the meantime they fought like tigers. They were magnificent. The German losses were always anything from 4 to 10 per cent more than the casualties of the Maquis. Is it any wonder that the next time they attacked the Maquis d’Auvergne, they doubled their strength? I was destined to find myself in the centre of their mighty battle array. The wonder is that I was not captured or killed.

  From our headquarters we could hear the sound of the battle raging. Alas, we could offer no assistance to our colleagues in arms. The nature of the terrain between our position and the Maquis under attack made it impossible. All through the day our scouts kept us informed of the fighting going on. All we could do was get on with our work.

  It was unfortunate that hundreds of new recruits were streaming into our area, ready to be armed. Hubert and Fournier and his lieutenants had no time to worry about the conflict going on over the mountain. They were trying desperately to interview, however briefly, and arm the new recruits. It was a fantastic sight. The men were coming into Chaudes-Aigues from all directions. Not even the sound of the fighting nearby dampened their enthusiasm.

  Denden was forever coding and decoding; not only for the night operation but for the daylight parachutage from 150 planes we had been promised. I had been designated to the footwear department! Every man had to be fitted with one pair of British army boots and two pairs of socks. When the supplies in the village ran out I went up to the plateau and opened more containers. As soon as they had been fitted with boots they were passed on to Bazooka, who all day long and far into the night would be instructing them on how to use our weapons.

  Gaspard and his men arrived soon after their battle with the Germans and installed themselves on top of one of the plateaux surrounding Chaudes-Aigues. Hubert tried diplomatically to get him to form his men into smaller groups but Gaspard waved aside the suggestion. He was rightly proud of the way he and his men had faced up to the German attack but he was a stubborn man and very self opinionated.

  We were receiving more and more air-drops. Night after night the planes would fly over our plateau and drop our precious containers. We were so occupied unpacking them, degreasing and assembling the weapons before distributing them we had little time for sleep, but the atmosphere of the Maquisards with whom we were in daily contact was so exhilarating and gratifying that we never worried. I don’t think any of the reception committees ever got over the thrill of seeing the parachutes drop from the planes. Least of all Fournier, who never missed a drop and who made sure that his men were in position at the correct time. It was bitterly cold on the plateau and from ten at night the ground would be soaking wet with the heavy dew. We used to soak loaf sugar in eau de vie (plum brandy) and suck them to try to keep warm.

  Now that Gaspard was a ‘General’ he proceeded to turn the little village of Saint-Martial (I seem to remember it had been deserted by its inhabitants) into a pukka headquarters. He had a colonel from the regular Army with him on his staff, who had brought his wife with him. The colonel obviously had not forgotten the regular eating hours in the officers’ mess and he introduced the same system in their headquarters. We had been used to eating when it was convenient and thought this was a bit of a joke. I kept out of the way and continued to eat in Chaudes-Aigues if possible.

  Hubert attended the ‘mess meals’ on several days and begged me to at least put in an appearance. For the sake of peace I agreed to accompany him the next day. The ‘general’ sat at one end of the
table, the colonel at the other end next to his wife, and the British and American members with the other French leaders were seated in between. I thought I heard someone address the colonel’s wife as ‘Madame la Colonel’ and decided I must be mistaken, but after a while I realised they really were addressing her in this manner. That was enough for me. The Maquis and the way we were forced to live did not merit such French Army formality. Denden, Bazooka and I always found excuses to be too occupied at noon to join the ‘High Command’, as we called them, and soon Hubert followed suit whenever he could. He knew that with us at least he would have a laugh.

  In spite of the danger and hard work we were enjoying working together with Fournier and his men. We all pulled together and there was never any friction between us. We could not say the same about Gaspard. We agreed unanimously that he was an extremely difficult man to get along with. I must admit that I personally never had any trouble with him after the first meeting. He may not have liked to admit it but he had met his match with me. And I intended to keep it that way.

  I was glad to have René Dusacq with us. Although we had not yet received any bazookas, they were his favourite weapon after his Colt .45, which never left his side; hence his nickname. Also he helped me keep Denden under control. When I returned from visiting other groups an irate farmer came to see me, stating that his son had complained about an alleged advance from Denden. I managed to calm him down but it was embarrassing for our team. We had to be so careful the way we handled Denden because we knew he was just itching for an excuse to go and join his current lover further north. Bazooka, like us, was fond of him, but we could not close our eyes to the problems which would arise if we let him run wild amongst the good-looking young men in the Maquis. The trouble with Denden was that he actually believed most men were homosexual and if they were not, then they should be!