Lieutenant ‘Scotty’ Hamilton was based twelve miles away from Fenbury. The tiny airstrip that had existed in peacetime was being hurriedly enlarged to accommodate the air force with their Spitfires and Hurricanes, their crews and administrators.
Una had recently been promoted from the ranks and had met Scotty Hamilton in the RAF Club in Piccadilly where she was on leave, enjoying a drink with a colleague at the bar. Tall and good looking, with laughing brown eyes, Scotty lost no time in asking her if he could buy her a drink. On finding that Una’s twin sister was actually living not far from his base near Fenbury, he had insisted that they further their new friendship whenever she visited Dilys. Furthermore, he extracted a promise from her that she would advise him whenever she was next on leave in London.
Now, two months since their first meeting, they had been in regular contact and Una had finally been persuaded to spend one of her forty-eight-hour leave passes with him in a hotel in Hertfordshire where they were unlikely to be seen by anyone Una knew. Like so many of the young servicemen Una met, Scotty risked his life almost daily on bombing raids across the Channel, always in danger from anti-aircraft fire and the skilled German fighters sent up to intercept them. In her job in the Filter Room, all too often a badly damaged plane was plotted making desperate attempts to limp home, praying to reach land before they came down in the ‘drink’, as they called the sea.
Scotty, like nearly all pilots, never used the likelihood of his death to persuade a girl to have sex with him. However, the huge loss of life of the air crews had gradually corroded the strict morals appertaining to unmarried girls, namely that they remained virgins until they were married. Now, when loved ones were about to go overseas perhaps never to return, or for pilots like Scotty, it seemed cruel to deny them what might be their last – and in some cases their first – opportunity for sexual comfort.
For the first time in her life, Una was enjoying a regular relationship. Scotty was immense fun, always laughing and joking and ready for any suggestion Una might make. Tina positively adored him, and not, Dilys said, laughing, just because he always managed to bring chocolate bars with him when he visited. This he did quite often, riding over in a Jeep from his base when he had time on his hands but no chance of seeing Una, who was not due any leave.
‘Just looking at you makes me feel I’m closer to my girl!’ he told Dilys as they settled down to eat the delicious cold ham he had brought with him, together with half-a-dozen eggs. ‘I’m just crazy about your sister. You know, honey, when this hateful war is over I want her to marry me. I’ve never felt this way about a girl before.’ His expression became anxious. ‘Do you think I’m in with a chance? Una has never actually said she loves me but she swears there’s no one else. As that old song says, she’s driving me crazy!’
He was smiling again and Dilys found herself torn between two opposing wishes: one that Una was in love with this charming Scot, the other that she hoped not if it meant she would end up going to live in Scotland after the war. Then she thrust such thoughts aside, telling herself that the war was very far from over and, knowing her sister, it was highly unlikely she would still be attached to the same person when it did end. Scotty, too, might have found someone else to love by then.
Love, she told herself, was not always the euphoric blessing it was supposed to be. Many of the renowned poets wrote of torment when they had been rejected by the objects of their adoration. Now, in wartime, lovers were parted, sometimes for ever. Who could be happy when no one could be certain they would live to see the following day? Perhaps she was fortunate that, great though her affection was for James, she would not feel suicidal if he were reported killed in action. Every night she prayed for his safety but never with quite the same fervour as she prayed that Kristoffer was not in danger. The last goodnight kiss she gave their little daughter was always a deep reminder of the love they had shared that unforgettable summer before the hateful war had started.
She would touch his ring on the chain round her neck involuntarily, wondering what had happened to him since the German occupation of Norway, praying that he was still alive and that one day she might see him again.
Dilys knew that such a meeting, if ever it were to happen, could not be happy, much as she longed for it. She was James’ wife and, even if Kristoffer still loved her, she could never belong to him. The memory of their cruel, abrupt parting brought tears to her eyes, but despite the pain a second parting would bring, she was never able to stop herself longing to see him, even if it was only once more.
SEVENTEEN
Surprisingly, the train compartment in which Kristoffer and Gerda were travelling to Grulvik contained no German soldiers, only an old woman with a basket on her lap containing a live goose which, they presumed, she had purchased at an Oslo market. She got out at the next station and they were then able to converse without fear of being overheard.
‘We will take the opportunity to rehearse once more,’ Kristoffer said. ‘We are brother and sister and our names are Katja and Gunnar. We are visiting our aunt who has been ill. Our aunt has told you there might be a chance of employment for you as Estridborgen has been occupied these past six months and the occupiers, Germans, will be needing extra staff shortly when they expect a number of important visitors who will be staying there for several days.’
He paused briefly, aware that Gerda was stifling a laugh. Before he could reprimand her for not taking his words seriously, she said, ‘I’m sorry, Kris, but I cannot look at your moustache and those big round spectacles without laughing. You look so much like …’ She fought for a suitable personage but failed to find a name. He was quite unrecognizable as Gunnar Jensson, which was, of course, his intention. Gerda, too, was disguised, her blonde hair dyed a light brown. It had grown long and was coiled in two plaits round her ears. She might well pass as a country girl, there being no make-up on her pretty face. Her expression had lost its haunted look, which had been replaced by one of excitement. On several occasions, Kristoffer had had to remind her that their aunt was supposedly very ill and Gerda was not supposed to be happily anticipating this timely opportunity to contribute to the death of a number of individuals of the same race as those who had defiled her.
‘Pay attention, Gerda!’ Kristoffer said sharply. He fingered the identity papers and travel passes in his breast pocket, adding in the voice of a German interrogator: ‘Your name? My name?’
Unsmiling now, Gerda replied, ‘My name is Katja Jensson and this is my brother, Gunnar.’
Kristoffer’s voice was surprisingly Germanic as he proceeded to question her, and for a moment or two, fear replaced Gerda’s former enthusiasm for what lay ahead.
Satisfied that she had all the right answers instantly ready, Kristoffer continued to brief her as to the part she must play. Hurriedly produced by a talented resistance worker, Gerda had in her possession a very complimentary reference from the fictitious owner of a restaurant in Sweden, recommending her for her capabilities not only as a waitress but as a hostess welcoming guests and ensuring that the dining room ran smoothly.
This would ensure her temporary employment at the castle, Gerda having been advised by her aunt that several local women and girls had been offered jobs there as extra help would be needed for the VIP visit. Despite being as deeply antagonistic towards their German invaders as were most Norwegians, they had willingly applied for jobs as domestics.
As expected, two Germans boarded the train at the next station, and then a third who checked travel permits and identity papers. Despite scrutinizing their papers for an unnervingly long time he eventually went away satisfied and Kristoffer and Gerda were able to continue their journey without further incident.
Safely installed in the typical wooden house of a patriotic farmer and his wife, Gerda in the only spare bedroom and Kristoffer with a makeshift bed in one of the outside barns, Kristoffer took her to meet Erik and several other men in his cell in a house in Grulvik. After the introductions, the planning was further def
ined. One of the group had managed to form a slight friendship with the chief mess orderly and would now mention Katja’s arrival. Katja had a German boyfriend in Oslo, he would report, and he was sure she would be willing to offer her services as she could still stay here with her aunt if she was needed. Katja was to go up to the castle the following morning and ask for him. The man had let slip that the visitors were in close personal contact with Herr Hitler and the meeting at the castle had been instigated by the Führer himself.
‘You will have a huge responsibility on your shoulders, Gerda. We know four of the local females employed there and it is imperative, therefore, that they are well clear of the dining room when we blow it up. You will have to devise a way to ensure this in such a manner as not to cast the slightest suspicion that something is about to happen. There will, of course, be a very large number of extra guards but we have found there is a cellar door on the north side facing the forest. It is at that side of the castle where there is no view and only the vegetable garden to see that the staff rooms are situated. It is unlikely this will be heavily guarded and our men will see they are silenced if any guards are there.’
He paused briefly to offer Kristoffer and Gerda glasses of Brennevin and poured a glass of the strong spirit for himself before continuing: ‘You will both have to make your way up to the hytte where you can lie low for a few days after the explosion. It will be far too dangerous for you to get away by train as all escape routes will be scrutinized. When the dust settles and we think it’s safe, we will send a man up to the hytte to tell you and you can go home. I hope all this is clear to you both as you, Gerda, will not only have to find a way to safeguard the other waitresses, but you will have to find out exactly where the cellar is and if a key is needed for the outside door.’
Kristofffer met Erik’s anxious gaze. ‘I’ve known Gerda all her life,’ he said quietly, ‘and if anyone can carry this off, I assure you she can. She has more reason than most to hate the Germans. If we have anything to fear as far as her capability is concerned, it is that she might want to hang around and stick a knife into any survivors! Isn’t that so, Gerda? Not surprisingly, you are without fear for your own survival, aren’t you?’
Gerda nodded. As they made their way back to the farm, Kristoffer reflected on the remarkable change these last few days had wrought on Gerda. The white-faced, tearful, almost hysterical girl he had found at her home had been transformed into a bright, upright, eager and determined female who made him think of some of the figureheads on the old Viking ships as they braved the stormy seas. She laughed when he told her so and said she hoped he would have cause now to be proud of her.
‘You told me of the bravery of the British women who you saw going to work every day, leaving their precarious bomb shelters to struggle over the debris of the previous night’s air raids, not knowing which of their colleagues might not have survived or even if their factory was still standing. Well, I, too, have courage as you will see – as much as the British women you admire!’
Kristoffer wondered if perhaps Gerda was a little jealous, thinking that his praise of British women included Una and Dilys, who he had told her were doing secret work in the Royal Air Force. He resolved not to mention Dilys’ name again, although he had already made up his mind to return to England as soon as possible. Many young Norwegian men were slipping out of the country and making hazardous journeys in small fishing boats to cross the Channel to the Shetland Islands and then to Scotland. Once safely on the mainland, they went to Brahan Castle, north of Inverness, where the Norwegian Brigade Command was stationed, and there they joined the Norwegian army regiment or enrolled to train to be pilots.
Since the occupation the twelfth-century castle Estridborgen had been requisitioned by the Germans. All that was known about the present occupants was that, surprisingly, most were not uniformed Germans but civilians reputedly engaged upon some highly important secret activity. Adding to this mystery was the fact that the castle was always heavily guarded by soldiers. The four women from the village, who were employed to clean the bedrooms and collect, wash and return the laundry, were the only local inhabitants allowed on the pathway which led up the forested slopes of the mountain.
As Kristoffer had expected, Erik was impressed with Gerda’s obvious intelligence and enthusiasm. Within twenty-four hours of their arrival at Grulvik, Gerda managed to get up to the castle, where she was taken by the mess orderly to be interviewed by Hauptmann Weiss, the German officer responsible at Estridborgen for the security and smooth running of the VIPs’ visit.
Erik had provided her with a faultless background of local family history, which Hauptmann Weiss had accepted with surprising ease, being impressed by her Nordic prettiness and charming accent when she spoke his language. He agreed at once that, with her flirtatious smile and charming manner, she would be an ideal waitress in the dining room. He had then introduced her to the four female domestic staff already recruited from the village in time to prepare for the arrival of the important visitors, all of whom would be staying for the night. Without exception, the women were all violently resistant to their German occupiers, and had readily agreed to work as domestics for the Germans up at the castle if it assisted Erik’s plans. They were delighted to meet Gerda, under whose authority they would be when the VIPs arrived and the secret plans were executed.
For the next few days Gerda devoted herself to memorizing every aspect of the building, so that when Kristoffer and Erik interrogated her she could prove that she knew all of the interior. She could find her way blindfolded from room to room and, more importantly, to the cellar by which exit she and her fellow domestic staff would escape when the planned destruction of the east wing of the castle took place. How this was to be done they had not yet told her.
For the most part, Gerda was finding these preparations both exciting and diverting. She was not, however, too happy when an order arrived from Hauptmann Weiss for her to attend him in his office. She and Kristoffer had seen him one evening when they had gone to the neighbouring village for a drink. The man was on his own and, ignoring Kristoffer, he had tried to engage Gerda in conversation. He had clearly had too much to drink and his red, sweaty, lascivious expression clearly indicated his attraction to her. Fortunately, being only too aware of Gerda’s recent ordeal, Kristoffer feigned the onset of violent stomach cramps, quickly paid for their drinks and hurried her away.
As a rule, the German occupation officers, although autocratic and dominating, behaved reasonably well towards women in public. But isolated as they were in foreign countries for months on end, they would take advantage of any available female company willing to be friendly with them.
When summoned to one of the offices, Gerda feared she was being called for a private interview with Hauptmann Weiss, and it was a great relief when she was confronted by another of the officers, a charming, elderly, grey-haired man with a military moustache. He could not have been more courteous, despite his greeting her with the customary Nazi salute. All he wanted was for her to remove the blue anemones and yellow aconites from all the vases as he had an antipathy to them. Gerda supposed that he was one of those few who disapproved of the ruthless Nazi regime but as a regular soldier must obey orders. She found herself almost wishing that he would not be blown to bits when Erik’s men blew the east wing of the house to smithereens.
The part she was to play was simple, comprising no more than drawing back one of the heavy curtains as a signal to the men concealed outside. This was to enlighten them that the German hosts and their guests were all seated at the table and no Norwegian other than herself was in the room. She would then be given exactly sixty seconds to leave the room carrying a heavy silver platter from the sideboard. This was to be dropped in the passage immediately outside the dining room as a signal to any Norwegian servant in the kitchen to stop whatever they were doing and hurry out of the room, ostensibly to help clear up whatever had fallen. So precise was the timing that they then had only half a minute to rac
e along the passage and down the flagstone steps to the cellar where Kristoffer would have opened the heavy oak door into the vegetable garden at the back of the castle.
It was assumed by Erik that at the sound of the explosion and debris flying from the east wing, all the guards and security personnel would rush to that area of the castle. He had estimated that the female staff from the village could quite reasonably be able to hurry back to their homes as fast as they could get away from the building. Hopefully, Gerda’s and Kristoffer’s escape would not be noticed as they made their way up through the forest to the hytte, one of the many cabins built high up in the snowy mountain peaks offering refuge in winter for climbers or skiers lost or marooned by bad weather. Bjorn seemed satisfied that Gerda and Kristoffer would be safely hidden up the mountain until the search for suspects had died down and they could make their way back to the safe house in Oslo.
Down in the village, Fru Nielsen, Gerda’s fictitious aunt, had been coached by Erik to account for Gerda’s sudden absence by saying that she had been wounded in the explosion and her brother, Kristoffer, had taken her to a hospital for treatment. Fru Nielsen would not know which one, but think it was across the fjord near where the pair lived. If she were subsequently questioned further as to their address, she was to say that they had recently moved; that her nephew had promised to write it down for her but in his hurry to catch the ferry across the fjord with his wounded sister, he had forgotten to do so.
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