by Daisy Styles
Changing gear, Robin put a hand over hers.
‘No cracking tonight, young lady!’ he chuckled.
The road led them to Lamorna, a tiny hamlet near Mousehole fishing harbour, where they were forced to stop because of the sea mist rolling in and totally obscuring the narrow road. Luckily they found accommodation in an ancient inn, in a room with a crackling fire and an old four-poster bed. When the mist lifted towards the end of the day they walked hand in hand along the cliff tops and looked out over the wide English Channel towards France. With the wind whipping their cheeks and sea birds wheeling around them, it was impossible to imagine anything other than being in love in a beautiful part of England. They climbed steep iron steps down to the tiny cove, pleased to find they had it all to themselves. Sheltered by large slabs of rock, they watched the autumn sun sink over the metal-grey sea, which churned relentlessly against the pebble shore. All too soon the sun dipped quickly over the horizon, and the sea, briefly coloured a shimmering lavender, faded, in a blink, to grey.
‘I don’t want this moment to end,’ Alice said as she snuggled her hands underneath Robin’s great coat and felt his flesh, soft and warm, beneath.
Robin ran a line of kisses down her delicate neck and into her soft cleavage.
‘Sorry, darling, but I need supper and then I need to get you into that warm four-poster bed!’
Supper was a real treat: local lamb roasted with potatoes, plus delicious sprouts and leeks grown by the landlady on her own allotment. They washed it down with cider, then made their way to bed, where Alice had no guilt or inhibitions about making love to Robin.
The pressures of war and their dangerous work only added to their determination to share and give as much as they could to each other. Their lovemaking not only strengthened them but it focused them on their mission too; both of them were committed to their work as Special Ops and both of them knew full well that they might die fighting to keep the Britain they loved a free country. Those few golden days driving around Cornwall on petrol coupons were memories they would cherish and take to the grave.
Back at the training centre, the Brigadier told the senior Special Ops that their next assignment was a night-time training exercise.
‘Choose suitable clothes for an evening sortie, black up and return here at 2000 hours with your revolvers.’
Returning to their dorm, Gwynne sprawled out on her bunk.
‘Well, that gives us the day off,’ she yawned. ‘I think I might sleep till 2000 hours.’
‘You must be joking!’ Alice laughed as she rummaged through her clothes trying to find something to wear for their assignment.
‘Hey, don’t forget a hat and gloves,’ said Gladys as she stood in the middle of the dorm wearing her bra and knickers, a black beret and a pair of woolly gloves.
‘Oh, dear, it’s good that we can laugh,’ sighed Iris. ‘I have to admit I’m pretty terrified of wandering about in the dark waiting to feel a gun in my back.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ said Alice confidently. ‘Better we learn these things on our own patch than behind enemy lines.’
Eventually, after sharing out their clothes, they all went to supper suitably clothed, then blacked up their faces in readiness for the sortie.
‘We’ve chosen tonight because there’s a full moon,’ the Brigadier told the team. ‘It’s easier to hide in the shadows when the moon’s bright. We’ve set up targets; shoot fast and straight when you see them.’
They were driven to a forest where they were told to walk on, with revolvers at the ready.
‘Don’t bunch up. Split up and go in search of your targets,’ instructed the Brigadier, who was leading the exercise.
With her heart hammering against her ribcage, Alice scanned the trees. Every breath of wind in the treetops brought her out in a sweat; it was as if all her senses were on high alert. Metal targets attached to the trees on hinges suddenly popped out, causing Alice to jump in alarm, but she kept her cool and shot fast and straight. If a target dropped she knew it was a clean hit; if it remained upright she knew that in real life she’d be dead by now. As she crept deeper into the forest, she heard footsteps behind her. With the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end, Alice turned and held her revolver at arm’s length, ready to shoot. A soft laugh startled her, then a friendly voice spoke to her in French.
‘Une boisson, ma belle?’
Alice could hardly believe her ears; why would somebody ask her if she wanted a drink on a night raid in the middle of a dark forest?
‘Non!’ she snapped, whilst keeping the revolver trained on the head of the approaching man.
‘I have brandy and it’s a cold night,’ he added in French.
And then the penny dropped. Of course! This was just another form of cracking: somebody was playing out the part of a friendly French Resistance worker who might or might not be a German spy. When she heard the metallic sound of a bottle being unscrewed she spoke sharply.
‘Identify yourself!’
‘Okay, you’ve passed the test,’ said the man, who, as he neared Alice, she recognized as one of the sergeants in the Intelligence Corps at Helford House. ‘I’ll go and see if I can dupe some other poor bugger,’ he said as he slunk off into the forest, leaving Alice feeling quite shaky.
She leaned against a tree until her breath had steadied, panicking that if she was like this on a training exercise on home ground, how would she cope when it was for real?
They got back to Helford House at four in the morning and were up as usual at eight, ready for what turned out to be their final exercise.
‘Thank God it’s daylight,’ said Iris as they piled into trucks and were driven to the nearby demolition pit for an explosives training session.
‘Let’s see how you cope with booby traps,’ the commanding officer hollered.
Half a mile down a track, Alice saw a branch of a tree blocking the path. Not taking any chances, she sidestepped it but Gladys gave it a hefty kick and ‘BOOM!’ an explosive went off that sent Gladys flying into the undergrowth.
The track ended by a roadside, where the commanding officer told a dozen of the Ops to guard the area.
‘Three men will cross this road twenty yards up,’ he said. ‘I guarantee you won’t even see them.’
Looking at the empty road with no obstructions in sight, the trainees shook their heads. It was impossible not to see anybody; they had a clear view for miles. As they stood watching and waiting, a big explosion went off behind them, the force of which sent them all flying to the ground. When the smoke cleared and they were back on their feet the commanding officer smiled.
‘Remember the three men?’
He paused as he waited for their response. ‘Well, they all crossed the road whilst you were flat on your bellies, and they’re well away by now.’
The Special Ops groaned at their own stupidity.
‘Such a bloody obvious trick,’ said Gwynne.
‘We fell for that, hook, line and sinker,’ chuckled Gladys.
‘It’s instinctive to fall flat if a bomb goes off but in doing so you might miss vital action up ahead; train yourselves to look around, even as you fall.’
‘Easier said than done,’ said Robin as he sidled up to Alice for a surreptitious cuddle.
At the end of a very intense week they were given an operational box that contained a tommy gun, a Smith & Wesson automatic, sharp knives and knuckledusters. They also had their own thirty-four-pound radio set, which was the size of a large suitcase.
‘They’ll parachute drop the radio in two halves,’ Robin told her.
‘And the other stuff – aerials, earth wires, head sets, spare valves?’ she asked.
‘They’ll be dropped too,’ Robin replied.
One by one, sometimes in couples, they were called into the Brigadier’s office, where they received instructions on their first drop. When it came to their turn Alice and Robin were surprised to find themselves in the presence of another couple.
/> ‘You four will be dropped on Friday night,’ the Brigadier told them all. ‘You will separate on landing, one couple going west, the other going south. Your aim is to link up with the French Resistance who will take you to separate places of hiding. From there you will infiltrate the community.’
The Brigadier gave them a smart, swift salute. ‘Good luck and God speed.’
Outside in the corridor, Alice and Robin stared at each other.
‘Scared?’ he asked softly.
Alice shook her head as she took hold of his hand.
‘Not when I’m with you,’ she replied.
After the intense training and all the endless waiting, wondering and worrying, it was almost a relief to be doing something, to be focused.
When Iris entered the dorm and saw Alice packing she knew not to ask questions; she just nodded, gave her the thumbs-up and left the room.
‘Will I ever see her again?’ Alice whispered to herself as Iris closed the door behind her.
The two couples were driven to a small airfield where, in a Nissen hut, the final checks were made for every imaginable detail: suits, skirts, blouses, shoes – all had to have a French label; teeth were checked for French fillings; wristwatches had to be French or Swiss; loose change, notes, cigarettes, handbags, hairslides, headscarves – all had to be recognizably French. The last sombre check was for cyanide pills sewn into their hems and cuffs and trouser turn-ups.
Bearing the heavy packs containing their parachutes, the two couples left the hut and walked to a Whitley bomber, which was completely stripped out and had a large hole in the floor. They huddled together, and Alice shivered as they took off and roared across the English Channel.
‘Action at last, sweetheart!’ Robin whispered.
After what seemed a surprisingly short time they heard the pilot’s voice announcing that they were approaching the drop zone. Alice’s heart almost stopped beating. Tensing herself, she waited for instructions that would send her tumbling to earth on a thousand-foot drop. As she took deep breaths and psyched herself up for the command to jump, she heard the pilot speaking sharply.
‘We’ve got to go round again.’ He swung out in a wide arc then added, ‘Our people on the ground are supposed to signal two letters in Morse, so far we haven’t received anything.’
Totally wired up, the agents slumped as their adrenalin levels dropped, but after two or three rotations the pilot finally received the correct signal.
‘Okay, chaps, it’s safe to go,’ he said. ‘Wait for the all-clear, red to green then jump.’
This is it! Alice thought to herself as she waited for her signal. Then an image popped into her mind: a memory of running over the moors with Emily, who was holding her hand and calling out excitedly, ‘Fly, Alice, fly!’
‘Now!’ said Robin.
In pairs, they dropped through the large hole cut into the Whitley bomber, and even after months of training, Alice gasped in amazement as she left the plane. She seemed to float for a few seconds on an air current, then her chute opened, blooming like a flower overhead as she gently fell to earth. By the silver light of the moon she could see vast stretches of French countryside, the fields, tracks and trees way down below. Then came the landing. As the ground rushed towards her, Alice was dragged for yards by a brisk ground wind before she managed to hit the quick-release box that enabled her to drop out of the heavy parachute harness. She frantically looked around for Robin, who had landed in the lower boughs of a nearby tree. Without either of them saying a word, she helped him struggle out of the tree, then they stuffed their parachutes into the nearest bushes and cast about for their radio sets, which were dropped along with them.
‘God,’ Alice prayed as she frantically crawled around in the dark, ‘please let them be close.’
‘Found them!’ hissed Robin.
Before Alice could join him, and from their separate positions, they each heard footsteps. They instinctively pulled out their revolvers.
‘C’est qui?’ Robin whispered.
Fortunately, it was only the couple who had parachuted in with them.
‘Keep down and wait for the contact,’ Robin said.
Crouching in a bush, Alice held her breath. Surely everybody in the area must have heard the Whitley circling over the drop area? When she heard hurrying footsteps approaching she almost fainted with terror.
‘C’est qui?’ hissed Robin again.
‘The fox at midnight,’ a low voice said in French.
‘Howls at the moon,’ Robin completed the pre-arranged password in French.
‘Allons! Rapidement,’ came back the urgent whisper of their contact.
The four of them were taken to an abandoned farmhouse and told to lie low. Alice’s worst fears were confirmed when their contact spoke again.
‘The plane made so much noise before the drop, everyone in the area knows something has happened. The police are already out looking for you,’
‘Should we separate?’ Robin asked.
The contact shook his head.
‘No, stay here until I return with more information.’
As he hurried away, swallowed up by the darkness, the four spies stared at each other.
‘Better get some kip,’ said Robin. ‘God only knows what tomorrow will bring.’
CHAPTER 29
A Royal Visit
Agnes wondered how she could best prepare Esther for her return to Keswick and the difficult parting that would necessarily ensue. She desperately wanted to talk to Stan but couldn’t get through to him on the phone; the Cambridge fruit farm where he worked didn’t run to such a luxury. When she phoned Addenbrooke’s Hospital Agnes was told by the doctor that Stan only came in once a week for a check-up. So she gave the doctor a message to pass on, just in case he saw her husband before Stan received the letter she’d posted to him.
When the day came to leave Pendle little Esther screamed the place down. Everybody cried, but most of all Agnes, who had wracked her brains trying to think of an alternative to Esther living in Keswick. Eventually, she’d had to bite the bullet. This wasn’t just about care and accommodation; this was about hospital treatment for polio. Sentiment had to be put aside if she ever wanted her daughter to walk normally again.
Clutching the pretty china doll that Daphne had bought her from Hamleys toy shop months ago, Esther sat on the train and sobbed. When they arrived in Keswick Agnes asked Mr and Mrs Sugden, who were to take care of Esther again, if she could spend at least one night there, just to soften the blow before Esther went back into hospital. The old couple kindly agreed, but counting down the hours to her departure the next day was a torture for Agnes, and Esther, of course, picked up on her mood. In between being moody and emotional, she clung to her mother like a limpet, and Agnes seriously wondered if she’d let her go the next day.
As Agnes led a very reluctant Esther along Keswick High Street the following day, she pointed out Catbells, which was bright and sharp in the morning sun.
‘Look, darling,’ she cried. ‘That’s where Mrs Tiggywinkle lives, right up there. That’s where she hangs out her washing to dry on sunny days.’
Esther, who loved the story of Mrs Tiggywinkle, didn’t respond. She just limped along beside her mother, her calliper dragging heavily on the ground.
Agnes stopped and bent down to talk to her sad little daughter.
‘Esther, this is for your own good,’ she said, with a briskness she didn’t feel. ‘If your leg goes untreated it will never get better.’
Esther nodded. She’d been in hospitals long enough to understand her mother’s words.
‘I don’t want to leave you, Mummy,’ she said as tears slid down her ashen-grey cheeks.
‘Oh, sweetheart, I don’t want to leave you either!’ cried Agnes, stifling a sob.
They walked down the old familiar ward, where the staff greeted Esther with genuine pleasure.
‘This is your bed,’ said the ward sister as she whipped back the cubicle curtain.
/> ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ came a voice.
A beautifully familiar voice. Agnes looked up, scarcely able to believe what she had just heard. It couldn’t possibly be … But, yes, it was Stan!
He stepped out from behind the curtain and, laughing with happiness, he lifted his astonished daughter into his arms.
‘Daddy! Daddy!’ she cried as she hugged and kissed him.
‘You came and helped me get better so I thought I’d come and help you,’ he told her.
‘Daddy, pleeease stay for ever,’ Esther implored as she clung onto him.
‘Do you know what? I will!’ said Stan simply. ‘I’ve sorted it. I’m going to stay right here with you.’ Over the top of his daughter’s head he winked at Agnes, who was so flabbergasted she could hardly speak. ‘Mummy has to go back to work but we’ll stay together in Keswick till you’re better,’ he promised.
Agnes wasn’t sure she’d ever felt such relief. She looked at the two most precious people in her life and felt utter joy.
As the staff nurse took care of Esther, Agnes and Stan slipped into the canteen where, over a cup of tea, he explained what had happened.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ gasped Agnes.
‘There wasn’t time.’ He smiled as he recalled the conversation he’d had with the doctor in Cambridge. ‘They were more than happy to discharge me. They said I had more important things to attend to up here.’
‘Are you well enough, Stan?’ Agnes asked anxiously. ‘I mean really well, not just putting on a brave face?’
‘I’m fine, love. Hard, outdoor work’s done me a world of good. I still have terrible nightmares, mind, but they’re nothing like as bad as they were; and sometimes the old wounds flare up. But, God’s honest truth,’ he said with a happy grin, ‘I’m not the walking dead man I was a year ago.’
The farewell she’d been dreading turned out to be much easier, although, of course, she wished she could stay with them both too. A smiling Esther, with her father holding her hand, waved her mother goodbye and blew kisses till the train disappeared from sight. As she journeyed back to the Phoenix, Agnes knew she couldn’t leave her daughter in more caring hands than Stan’s.