Live the Dream

by Claire Lorrimer

  His first attempt to join the RAF as a pilot had been turned down on a minor weakness in one eye, but after the dreadful loss of pilots in the aerial combats during the Battle of Britain, he had been told his renewed application had been approved. As a result, he was awaiting his call up and determined, meanwhile, to make the most of every moment to enjoy life.

  Una understood why Alistair felt it necessary to make the most of life while he still could. All around her, news of boyfriends’ sudden deaths was all too frequent an occurrence. Two of the girls on her shift had lost their fiancés; another slightly older girl had lost her husband. Others had lost civilian relatives in the bombing raids, although the war was only two years old. From the way the Prime Minister, Winston Churchill described the situation in his speeches on the wireless, the country was in for a very long, rough time with no prospect of an early end to the war.

  Una liked Alistair very much, enjoyed his company and was only too happy to help him make the most of the time he had left to do so. Each evening she went out with him, and when the dancing ended he would drive her up to the surrounding hills where they would have prolonged necking sessions in his little car. Finally she had agreed to spend a forty-eight-hour pass with him at one of his friends’ flat in London, and they had taken their affair a stage further. He proved to be an enthusiastic but considerate lover, and Una now told Dilys that she might even eventually have fallen in love, but neither chose to let the affair become more than a happy, pleasurable friendship, knowing that any kind of permanence was transitory.

  It was strange how her relationship with Dilys had changed, she thought as James came into the sitting room having finished in his surgery for the last time. Their lives had taken completely different roads. Dilys denied that she wished she had been free to join the WAAF like Una. Even the suggestion that she might be having a more exciting life if she had not become pregnant elicited a violent protest from her that nothing, nothing at all, could ever make her wish to be without her child.

  Her twin’s vehemence worried Una and was on her mind as James drove her to the station to catch her train back to London. Was it, she asked herself, just Dilys’ devotion to little Tina that made her so certain of her feelings? Or could it be that the little girl was a living link with Kristoffer, the man she still loved?

  Una was sure, as James helped her on to the train and said goodbye, that she had done the right thing in keeping Dil and Kristoffer apart. Dil was happy now, and as for the man her sister had married, his love for her he’d been unable to hide.

  FIFTEEN

  Despite poor weather conditions, the Lysander managed, on the third attempt, to land safely. A strip of grass in an isolated field had been prepared by partisans who held torches to guide in the aeroplane, which was expected soon after midnight. Not unexpectedly, the landing had been precarious, not only because of the limited length of the runway but also because of a strong crosswind. Fortunately a German patrol had not been in the vicinity. Despite the rigid security practised by all those involved who assisted the partisans, there was always the risk of there being a Quisling among them ready to betray these nocturnal activities.

  Kristoffer thanked all those who had brought him safely back to Norwegian territory and made his way on foot to one of the safe houses, a pig farm on the outskirts of Oslo. Reaching the farm shortly before dawn, he hid the bicycle he had been loaned in the hay barn. In the soles of his shoes were hidden precious diagrams of the interior of the slott thirty kilometres south-west of Oslo where their mission of destruction was to be accomplished. He grabbed a few hours’ sleep in the loft.

  The owner of the farm, a true patriot, was accustomed to finding strange men hiding in his outbuildings. Discovering Kristoffer asleep in the hayloft, he woke him up and went back indoors to tell his wife to prepare breakfast for him. Like all the other food producers, they were obliged by the Germans to hand over all but a tiny amount of their produce. Needless to say, they all managed to retain more than was permitted: eggs from their chickens, a piglet, and at this farm an old sow, which had been reported to have died of old age, had been turned into joints of pork and smoked up the chimney. Some of the meat was salted to make bacon, the offal was eaten at once and the head and trotters were made into brawn – all concealed in a pit below the floor of the dairy. Such concealments were very dangerous as the Germans made irregular inspections, and an erring farmer, and possibly his wife too, would either be shot or sent with other culprits back to labour camps in what they called ‘the Fatherland’.

  Kristoffer had encountered strict food rationing in England but the shortages here since the occupation were far more severe and, knowing the risks this patriotic couple took hiding produce to feed those like himself in the Resistance, he wished there was a way to thank them adequately for their courage.

  Later that afternoon, he rode back to Oslo on his bicycle to meet Bjorn, the head of one of the resistance cells based in Oslo. He was then able to hand over the maps and information he had been given by Kaptein Martin Linge in London.

  The Milorg resistance cell in Oslo, with which Kristoffer’s cell was amalgamated, now learned of the plans that had been devised for them in London: they were to blow up specific rooms in Estridborgen, a huge twelfth-century castle thirty kilometres south-west of Oslo. Situated on the forested slopes overlooking Oslofjord, it was a grey stone edifice owned by an old Norwegian family who had moved out when it was requisitioned by the Germans. The village of Grulvik was two kilometres down the hill on the edge of the fjord. Its residents, without exception, were bitterly opposed to the presence of the German soldiers who were now occupying and guarding the castle while it was engaged in some highly secret activity. When they were off-duty they were permitted to go down to the village to requisition the best of the fishermen’s previous day’s catch. They also commandeered fruit and vegetables from the villagers’ gardens and took the opportunity to ogle the women. In the evenings they would sometimes disobey the rigid rules of good behaviour with the residents and get drunk on the local beer and akevitt. A small number of the local women and girls had been employed by the Germans to clean and cook for the assortment of plain-clothed and uniformed men resident in the castle. The women were never allowed to go into the large reception rooms where the German specialists were carrying on their secret activities situated on the upper floor above the old dining room below. From time to time, German orderlies went as far as the closed doors of the rooms to deliver unidentified boxes and parcels, but even these uniformed men were not allowed inside.

  Kristoffer was aware of all this, the details having been passed to Bjorn by partisans living in the forests surrounding the castle. What was not known was what went on in the rooms other than that both engineers and scientists were involved. In each case, they had total disregard to the former beauty and antiquity of the two adjoining rooms they were working in and damaged a number of the precious artefacts.

  Word had filtered in that several extremely important government officials were due to arrive at the castle from Germany on 15 November to inspect ‘a working model’ of their secret apparatus.

  This much information had been elicited from a German orderly by one of the patriotic local fishermen, who had made a point of befriending him. He had succeeded in getting the man drunk enough to reveal that the high-powered visitors would be staying the night there. He knew this, he’d boasted, as he’d heard his gefreiter instructing the cleaners to clean and prepare six more bedrooms. Fruit, soap, flowers and refreshments would be supplied the day of the visitors’ arrival.

  The German orderly, pleased with the interest the fisherman was showing, further related that the dining room on the ground floor of the castle was being prepared for meetings, with extra chairs and writing materials. What was not yet known, however, was the programme for the two-day visit, nor had any of the local women who worked as servants been able to provide comprehensive details regarding the interior of the building. It was these plans – arc
hitecturally accurate drawings of the ground and first floor and of the surrounding exterior – which Kristoffer had collected from London. They had been cleverly extracted from a large collection of guide books and photographs.

  While Kristoffer had been away, Bjorn now told him, word had come in from another cell. A bilingual Norwegian Milorg resistance worker had found out from a boastful high-ranking German officer that the secret work being carried out inside the castle was the creation of a vitally important weapon which could speedily end the war in Germany’s favour.

  The news gleaned from one of the Norwegian gardeners, that the number of guards had recently been doubled, was now explained. News had also been received by the Oslo cell that the same German, General Haseneder, had been indiscreet enough to boast about his involvement at the castle to the patriotic Norwegian actress who had succeeded in charming him. Hoping to impress her sufficiently to agree to become his mistress, he had boasted about the importance of the proposed visit of the German VIPs who would be attending an extremely vital, high-powered meeting at Estridborgen together with one of the Führer’s closest advisers. Further, to impress the beautiful woman he was escorting to dinner, he had added that he believed the work being carried out at the castle involved the plans for a new, highly secret weapon.

  After reading all the information Kristoffer had been given by Kaptein Martin Linge in London, Bjorn admitted to Kristoffer that the proposed plan to blow up the dining room where the scientists, engineers and German VIPs would be gathered, and the rooms above where the secret work was being carried out, would inevitably mean that far more of the east wing of the beautiful, historic building would also be destroyed, whereupon they had agreed that if the proposed secret weapon was of such importance to Hitler it had to be destroyed, together with its inventors.

  Now that they had all the details of the interior of Estridborgen, Bjorn arranged a meeting to discuss tactics for the forthcoming activities with the other members of Kristoffer’s cell. Lorentz, his cell’s radio operator, was to contact London to arrange for a Lysander to deliver the equipment they would need.

  ‘It’s going to be a very tricky and dangerous job,’ Bjorn said to Kristoffer after the other men had left. ‘As I see it, we are going to have to silence all those extra guards as well as the usual ones before we can get near the building itself.’ He held up the letter included with the maps Kristoffer had given him. ‘This tells us exactly where the dining room is – the one room where we can be certain they will all be together – and the passageway to it. Someone will have to find a place to put the explosives. Erik,’ he named the head of the Grulvik area cell, ‘wants someone reliable to be inside with the domestic staff – someone who can alert us as to the plans for the VIPs’ itinerary. Someone capable of giving us an indication of seating arrangements at the dining table, for example.’

  He paused then turned to look directly at Kristoffer as he added: ‘Erik has asked me to get hold of a suitable girl who could cope. I seem to remember you mentioning a girl called Gerda living in your street who wanted to join your cell. Did you not tell me that she wanted more dangerous work than she’d been doing for your lot?’ He paused briefly to look once more at the papers he was holding, then said, ‘We’ve got two weeks to go before the VIP gathering. Erik heard that extra staff would be needed, and his idea is to get the girl into the village in time to be recruited as one of the extra waitresses they will require. Time’s short, Kris, so you need to see if your girl is willing as quickly as you can. She’ll be a pretty important part of Erik’s plan. Ideally he hopes to get her on the domestic staff employment rota at the castle as well. I have an identity card ready; it only needs a photograph. She’d be Katja, the daughter of a local fisherman.’

  His face broke into a smile. ‘Fifteen days doesn’t leave us a lot of time but we will succeed. I’ll get a message to Erik to let him know you are here. We’ll meet up with him in two days’ time after dark. Meanwhile, Kristofffer, do your best to contact the girl before then; hopefully she can come along with you to the meeting.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ Kristoffer replied. ‘I haven’t seen her in ages but I’m pretty sure I can find her. One thing I can tell you is that she’s a very determined character, and if she says she will do something you can be sure she will do it properly. I’ll get word to you if I can’t find her.’

  Bjorn nodded, his expression thoughtful as he said, ‘She’s a pretty integral part of our plan so don’t hide the fact that it will be extremely dangerous from her. She’ll need to get out of the building within a couple of minutes of giving us the signal to blow it up, and that won’t be easy. Erik has already got the wiring in place.’ He smiled again as he told Kristoffer that one of the local cleaners had deliberately stained a large patch on the dining-room wooden floor. The housekeeper, part of Erik’s cell, had then reported it as damp so that the village carpenter could go and replace the floorboards, making it perfect for the visitors.

  This job had enabled him to lay a long length of cable beneath the floor of the dining room, ready to be connected to a plunger hidden outside the castle walls. It led to the huge window, where he’d bored a pencil-thick hole in the left-hand side of the window frame which he concealed behind the beautiful, heavy brocade curtain. In due course, on the night before the planned explosion, a cleaner would pull out a length of cable and feed it through the hole where it would drop to the ground, hidden among the leaves of the thick creeper covering the wall.

  Bjorn smiled as he added: ‘It seems Erik has planned it pretty well. He has even got one of the gardeners standing by to spend a day “pruning” the creeper on the appropriate day, to guide the cable over the stone archway leading to the kitchen garden. In his wheelbarrow, together with his hedgecutters, a second long length of cable will be hidden to run among the creeper along the wall, over the top of the arch and down to the hedge bordering the fruit bushes. There it will lie hidden beneath the hedge, waiting for the plunger to be attached to it. As if tailor-made for the purpose, the ground falls away behind the hedge down through the forest to the fjord far below, affording excellent cover for the proposed VIPs’ visit.’

  ‘If we can pull this off,’ Bjorn said, ‘apart from destroying their new invention, we will be getting rid of the Germans’ top brains, which will be a huge contribution to the war effort. It’s tricky, of course. So many things could go wrong. The wires could be discovered, for instance, or perhaps your Gerda cannot for some reason give the signal saying when everyone is seated at the table and the waitresses are out of the room.’ He broke off, sighing. ‘Ah, well! There’s little we do which isn’t risky! Let’s hope this girl is right for the job as you say, Kris. It certainly sounds as if she’s up to it if she’s keen to “Kill the tyskersvin” – pigs is an apt description!’ he said derisively. ‘Meanwhile, how was London? By all accounts taking an awful pounding.’

  For a moment, Kristoffer could not speak, his meeting with Una and failure to see Dilys uppermost in his mind each time he thought of his brief trip to England. Then, pulling himself together, he replied, ‘As you can imagine, the bomb damage everywhere is pretty grim – gaps where houses used to be, streets with big bomb craters, pedestrians picking their way through rubble from the previous night’s raid on their way to work, men and women, some in foreign uniforms, hurrying about their business despite the devastation. Everyone was friendly, strangers ready to talk to and help one another. The most depressing sound,’ Kristoffer related, ‘was the wail of the air-raid sirens! Their rationing regulations are similar to ours but food, although severely limited, is still available in the hotels and restaurants. As for the people, in spite of all the horror and danger their spirit is as defiant as ours.’

  He drew a deep sigh before adding: ‘Brave as they are, I couldn’t help wondering how long it will be before they are forced to give in. A shocking number of supply ships and their escorts are being sunk by the wretched German U-boats. With food so scarce, every bit of land capa
ble of growing vegetables, even people’s gardens, is now being used for that purpose. There’s a black market of course, but then we have one, too, don’t we? I came away praying that they can hold out and not be forced to surrender as we Norwegians had to do.’

  Bjorn nodded, his expression thoughtful. Then he patted Kristoffer on the shoulder, saying, ‘At least we in the Milorg are doing what we can to make things difficult for the enemy. Glad you are safely back. See you here the day after tomorrow, after you’ve had a chance to see your parents and speak to your friend Gerda. There is one of our fishing boats leaving tonight for Bergen and they have been warned to expect you. You will be safe with them.’

  When Kristoffer walked through the door of his home early the next morning he was welcomed by his father and mother who, as always, had been concerned for his safety. They told him that Gerda, too, had come back home and had not been very well.

  Having changed into his ordinary clothes and eaten the meal his delighted mother had hurriedly prepared for him, he went across the road to Gerda’s house. He found her sitting in an armchair by the window, an unopened book on her lap. Her face was very pale and her fair hair hung limply round her cheeks.

  ‘Gerda, it’s me, Kris!’ he announced, as she had not turned her head when he’d opened the door. Hearing his voice, she swung round and, recognizing him, burst into tears.

  He hurried to her side and put his arm round her shoulders, holding her until her tears stopped. Then he said gently, ‘What on earth has happened to you? I’ve never in my life seen you like this. Tell me what is upsetting you.’

  For a moment she remained silent, then, brushing away her tears with the back of her hand, she whispered, ‘He … they … they raped me … they …’ She broke off, starting to cry again.