by Mary Nichols
‘You hold your head up, sweetheart, and don’t mind them. The gossip and the press interest will soon die down and it will be yesterday’s news. There’s a war to be won, after all.’
Lucy wanted the funeral to be a private affair, but the newspapers had other ideas. Their reporters and cameramen were there in force. If Jack had not been beside her on one side and her new-found grandmother on the other, Lady de Lacey in front and Amy behind shielding her, she didn’t know how she would have coped. All the children had been left at the Manor under the watchful eye of Annie – even Bernard, who had been rather subdued since finding the body.
The service followed the prayer book order. There was no eulogy; it didn’t seem appropriate and no one would have known what to say. Margaret Storey was laid to rest, the congregation dispersed and the press departed, disappointed that there had been no story, nothing worth reporting. They went back to dispensing news of the war, or such of it as they were allowed to print.
Justine recovered slowly and by early autumn was strong enough to help on the farm and take over some of Elizabeth’s tasks. She knew the mountains and the forest even better than Elizabeth and would often make her way up there with provisions for the secret army. She was known in the village but no one thought it strange that she should prefer to live with her parents in the unoccupied zone rather than under the yoke of the Nazis in Paris. They knew nothing of her forged identity and would not have turned a hair if they had. Fortunately, there were few German sympathisers in the village and they were mostly those, like the hoteliers, who depended on German soldiers on leave to provide them with a living. But things were about to change.
The Allies invaded French North Africa, intending to clear the continent of German and Vichy troops. They needed to make the Mediterranean safe for Allied shipping and prepare for the invasion of southern France. It was something the Resistance forces on the mainland fully expected to happen the following year and they stepped up their preparations. Roger had a strong fighting force in the forests above Dransville, made up, for the most part, of men taking to the mountain forests to avoid service du travail obligatoire, dreamt up by Vichy to send workers to Germany to help with their war effort. They had become known as refracteurs. They had been sent some arms and ammunition from London, though to Roger’s mind, not nearly enough.
The Vichy forces in North Africa were overcome by Free French forces and changed sides, which would have been good news indeed, if it had not alarmed the German command who, sensing the danger from the south, decided to occupy the whole of France. Vichy put up no resistance and the Zone Libre was no more.
The effect on Dransville was a little slower in making itself felt, but they all knew life was going to become even more difficult. Rules and regulations, which might have become lax, were reinforced and new ones issued every day. The population grumbled but defiance was cruelly punished and many more men were expected to register for forced labour and fled to join those in the mountain forests. It would not be long before the Germans decided to flush them out and Elizabeth was hardly surprised when Hans warned her that a force of German troops and Vichy Milice were on their way.
Roger had been up there with the men for the last two days and Justine had left that morning loaded with a heavy rucksack of food and warm clothing for them. Winter was on its way and there had been snow on the higher ground, but none yet in Dransville itself. In a week or so, there would be more and then they would need skis or snowshoes to get about. The Germans knew this and, realising they were no match for mountain men under those conditions, were determined to put an end to that particular resistance while the weather was in their favour.
‘I’ll have to go and warn them,’ she told her grandparents.
They were worried to death. Not only was Justine up there, but so were Henri and Philippe and now Lisabette seemed determined to join them. The war had well and truly come to Haute Savoie. ‘Wrap up warm,’ was all Grandmère could find to say, giving her a hug.
It was a long walk but Elizabeth knew the short cuts to where the men were hiding in the deepest, most impenetrable part of the forest. She was spotted by a lookout who came forward to greet her. It was her cousin Philippe. He was roughly dressed and was carrying a rifle, one of those dropped by the SOE.
‘Lisabette, what are you doing here?’
She was breathless from her hasty climb and could hardly get the words out. He took her into the camp where Roger was supervising training. He hugged her. ‘Is something wrong at the farm?’
‘No, everyone is OK. Hans came to warn me, there are hundreds of German and Vichy troops on their way here.’
‘They have to find us first.’
‘I believe someone betrayed your whereabouts. In any case, with so many of you up here, it wouldn’t be difficult to find you.’
‘We’ll be ready.’ He turned and issued orders. Everyone scrambled to obey.
‘You’re going to fight it out?’
‘Of course.’
Philippe, who had gone back to his lookout post, returned half an hour later. ‘The mountain is swarming with troops.’
‘Right. We’re ready for them.’ Then to Elizabeth, ‘You stay here with Justine.’ And then he was gone, along with his men. The two women were left in the deserted camp.
It was not long before they heard firing. ‘I wish there was something I could do to help,’ Elizabeth said.
‘There will be casualties,’ Justine said. ‘The best we can do is to be prepared for them. There are first-aid supplies somewhere here.’ She went into a sort of cave left from old mine workings, where food and ammunition were stored. The ammunition was gone and most of the food, but Justine found a large box marked with a red cross. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got here.’
‘You are very calm.’
‘I’ve learnt to be. It’s what the Boche most hate, someone who can’t be ruffled.’
‘You never said much about the time you were in prison.’
‘I didn’t want to upset Papa and Maman. Besides, it’s not something I want to remember. Trouble is, it’s hard to forget; it’s etched on your soul and becomes part of you. I don’t know how much longer I would have lasted if Max and Roger, and Giles too, hadn’t rescued me. Poor Giles, he was executed, you know, someone betrayed him. We found out just before we left. I worry about Max, it could so easily happen to him.’
The firing was getting nearer and more intense; it sounded as if the enemy were closing in. There were shouts and groans, not too far away. The girls wondered whether to stay or leave. They could climb higher into the mountains, find somewhere else to hide but were reluctant to desert the men who might need them.
Henri staggered into the camp. ‘Philippe is dead. The snow is littered with dead and wounded …’
‘Roger?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘Don’t know. He was in the thick of it. We’ve got to get out of here. I’m for the Swiss border. You ought to come too.’
‘No,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Not while I don’t know what’s happened to Roger.’
‘He might have been taken prisoner. The Germans are herding them back to the town. They’re jubilant.’
‘What happened?’
‘We were outnumbered and outgunned. If we had had machine guns and mortars we would have won the day.’ He hugged both girls. ‘I’ll be back. Come the spring, I’ll be back. Give my love to my mother and father and Mamie and Papie.’
They watched him set off, wondering if he would make it safely across the border. ‘I’ve got to look for Roger,’ Elizabeth said.
‘Later. We don’t know if all the Germans have left.’
They stayed hidden all night, huddled together for warmth, not sleeping, not talking either. A few survivors drifted into the camp and followed in the wake of Henri but they suspected that others who had escaped the round-up had scattered, perhaps gone back to their homes.
At dawn, they stirred their cramped limbs and set off through the trees in the direction
of the valley. It was snowing and the bodies that lay scattered were being slowly covered. Elizabeth ran from one to the next. Some of them were young men she had known, some were strangers. Roger was not among them.
‘He may have got away,’ Justine said. ‘You know his luck.’
‘Luck runs out,’ Elizabeth said.
‘We’d better get a move on. The Boche will be back to collect the bodies as soon as the light strengthens.’
Elizabeth was reluctant to abandon the search, but as nothing was moving on the slopes, she followed Justine.
They dare not go direct to the farm but took a route to Annecy, relying on Alphonse to give them a lift home. If anyone questioned them, they had been visiting friends and stayed the night when they heard the firing. Elizabeth was subdued. There was nothing in her head but Roger. She imagined him wounded and lying in the snow, unable to move, freezing to death; every step was taking her away from him. If he didn’t turn up, she would have to go back and search for him.
The slaughterhouse was living up to its name. It was crowded with wounded men who had been brought down the mountain by their comrades. Alphonse was risking his life to shelter them. He had fetched a trustworthy doctor, so they could be treated and, if not too badly hurt, dispersed to their homes or safe houses. He was glad to see Justine and Elizabeth.
‘Thank God you are safe,’ he said. ‘Dirk is out of his wits worrying about you.’
‘You mean he’s here?’ Elizabeth queried.
‘Yes. He’s taken a bullet in the leg. His comrades carried him here. You’ll find him over there.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the injured men who were lying, wrapped in blankets on the concrete floor.
Elizabeth ran to Roger and fell on her knees beside him. ‘Thank God, you are alive,’ she said, taking his hand. ‘How badly are you hurt?’
‘I’ll mend. That is, if the Hun doesn’t get me first.’
‘Don’t say that.’ She tried to rub some warmth into his hands which were icy cold. ‘We’ll get you home and look after you.’
‘It was a disaster, Lizzie, a total disaster. It’s my fault. All those men dead, all these …’ he waved a hand at his wounded comrades ‘… and dozens more taken prisoner. I doubt they will be treated fairly.’
‘You mustn’t blame yourself. The men wanted to be there.’
‘I endangered you too. If I’d gone home that first time, you would not have become involved. I’ll never forgive myself.’
‘I was already involved, you know that. I would have done what I did even if you had not been around, so no more of that. Has the doctor said you can be moved?’
‘Yes, but I can’t go under my own steam, I’m afraid.’
She found Alphonse, who had arranged a herd of cows in the front of the abattoir, pretending he was going to be busy slaughtering them. They were milling about, blocking the entrance. ‘May I borrow your pony and trap to take Dirk home?’
‘Yes, but bring it straight back. I’m going to need it.’
They were going to put him on the floor of the trap and cover him with a blanket but there were so many troops and police searching everything that moved, they decided it would be better if he sat beside them openly. If they were stopped he had his false identity papers on him and a ready reason why they had been to Annecy. They just had to pray no one would look under the blanket that covered his legs. It was a painful journey for him and he winced whenever the trap went over a bump, but he bore it stoically.
But their troubles were far from over. As soon as they stopped outside the farmhouse, they knew something was wrong. The doctor’s pony was tethered outside and all the curtains were drawn. Justine scrambled down almost before they stopped and dashed into the house. Elizabeth was torn between following her and helping Roger. But she couldn’t get him out on her own.
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘I’ll be OK here for a few minutes.’
She found Justine comforting her mother in the kitchen. ‘It’s Papa,’ she said. ‘He’s had another stroke.’
‘Oh, no, and he was so much better.’
‘It was all that shooting,’ Marie said between sobs. ‘Germans all over the place and everyone gone into the hills, the boys and you too. He was frightened. And then they came and told us Philippe was dead and Henri had disappeared, probably dead too. He couldn’t take it.’
The doctor came into the room. All three women looked at him expectantly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t save him.’
Elizabeth couldn’t take it in. Her loving Papie gone, gone for ever. It was so unfair. He had never done anyone any harm, not even the hated Boche, but because of them he had died. It wasn’t in her nature to hate, but she hated now. And she was angry, too angry to cry. She stood looking at Mamie who was being comforted by a tearful Justine. How would she cope without the man who had been by her side for fifty years and more?
A cry of fury and pain and the sound of a horse neighing suddenly reminded her of Roger and she dashed outside to find him lying on the ground. He had obviously tried to get down by himself. ‘You idiot,’ she said. ‘What on earth did you think you were playing at?’ It was easier to be cross than give way to the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her.
‘Thought I could make it,’ he murmured and promptly passed out.
The doctor helped her to carry him indoors and put him to bed, where he examined the wound and dug out the bullet. ‘I won’t ask how he got it,’ he said, putting a dressing and bandage on the leg. ‘But I should find a good hiding place for him if I were you.’
‘You won’t betray us?’
‘No, I won’t betray you. Keep the wound clean and change the dressing every day.’ He snapped his bag shut and went to take his leave of Madame Clavier. ‘I’ll send the undertaker up,’ he said.
The three women were left to cope as best they could.
The official French newspapers and Radio Paris were full of the German success. Dransville had suddenly hit the headlines. Max read the details with horror. How much of it was true he could not tell, but even if only half of it was, it must have been terrifying for the civilian population, and that included Justine and Lizzie and Monsieur and Madame Clavier. According to the official report, the terrorists, as they were being called, had sustained heavy casualties, and some sons of the Fatherland had laid down their lives, but they would be avenged. Some of the rebels had escaped into hiding but the population need have no doubt they would be searched out and punished. Anyone found sheltering them would be shot on sight. It did not make happy reading.
‘Ask London for instructions,’ he told Gilbert when they met as arranged in one of the several safe houses scattered about the city. His network had been responsible for several acts of sabotage recently and his own situation was becoming more precarious. ‘They may know more than we do.’
But the SOE in London, who naturally listened to Radio Paris, knew only the official version. Roger’s wireless was silent. Max and Gilbert were ordered to make their way to Dransville and report back. This was no more than Max had hoped for and he made rapid preparations to leave.
Travel was harder than ever. Identity papers, travel permits and tickets were scrutinised at every station. Everyone travelling by road, either in gas-fuelled vehicles or on bicycles, was stopped. He arranged a convoluted itinerary, using buses, trains and taxis, each journey of short duration and not in a direct line, the sort a paint and wallpaper salesman might make. He only hoped his credentials would stand up to the scrutiny. Gilbert would follow a little way behind with his case disguised as a doctor’s medical equipment.
Roger was recovering slowly, nursed by the patient Elizabeth. The dead had been buried and there had been trials of those captured which had been travesties of justice. The sentences ranged from execution to deportation to Germany for forced labour. Justine had discovered that a few of the refracteurs had regrouped and were back in the mountains, including Henri, who could not bring himself to desert his comrades and had come back
to die with them if necessary. They were determined to stay hidden until they could be re-formed and rearmed and in the meantime they had to be fed. She was often away for days at a time. Elizabeth went about her tasks on the farm, trying to pretend everything was normal, but nothing was normal.
The little town was swarming with German troops, either billeted there or come to enjoy the skiing. She was in constant fear that one of them would come to the farm and start sniffing around. Roger was in the attic, hidden behind all the junk that her grandparents had hoarded over the years because they didn’t like to throw it away, but a determined searcher would soon find him. He was becoming impatient to be out and about, to be doing something positive. ‘Have patience,’ she told him. ‘You are still weak.’
‘And so I will be while I lie here doing nothing,’ he told her. ‘I need exercise to get my muscles working again. We can think up a reason why I limp, can’t we? At least I won’t look as though I have been dodging my STO.’ He reached for her hand and drew her down to sit on the side of his narrow camp bed. ‘Lizzie, sweetheart, you are looking tired, and is it any wonder, having to nurse me as well as your grandmother? Not to mention keeping the farm running. I could help.’
Elizabeth was feeling more than tired, she was exhausted. It was not only the physical side of running around after two invalids, the milking, the butter and cheese making, the coping with shortages of food for themselves and winter fodder for the animals, but the mental and emotional strain. She was worried about her grandmother too. The death of her husband and grandson had hit her hard and after the funerals she had seemed to fold in on herself. She hardly spoke and had to be coaxed to eat at all and then she only pecked at her food.
‘Very well, if you think you can get down the stairs.’
He grinned. ‘Dirk Vanveldt rides again.’