The whole process went off without a hitch. The guide met with them the next day as the agent had promised. Payment was arranged and Gerard was set to leave for Spain that night. As Virginia prepared to return to Lyon, Gerard thanked her profusely, telling her he owed her his life. He asked her if there was anything he could do for her when he returned to London. She laughed and asked him to send her a new pair of shoes.
Five days after her return from Toulouse, on March 14, Virginia received the telegram she’d been waiting for from Ambassador Leahy in Vichy. The Corsicans were to be moved to a Vichy concentration camp in Mauzac the next day, forty miles from Beleyme on the Dordogne River. Virginia knew the place. It was still a prison, but the conditions were much improved over Beleyme. She got the news to Marie Bloch. The Corsicans were one step closer to freedom.
A little over a month after that, however, her nerves were jangled when she received news that Pierre de Vomecourt had been picked up and sent to Fresnes Prison outside Paris. He had parachuted back into France on April 1. Furthermore, his brother Jean had also been arrested. It was a stark reminder to Virginia, as well as to every other agent in France, of what a tenuous wire they were walking and how close they were each day to falling victim to the same fate.
The Germans had an almost neurotic necessity for organization, which permeated all aspects of their government, including their human repositories. The unwanted masses they were collecting were interned in one of three types of camps: concentration, whose internees were used either as slave labor or summarily exterminated; internment, where Jews, foreigners, prisoners of war, and those considered “enemies of the state” were confined; and transit, which functioned as collection centers, most often for Jews, bound for the concentration camps.
The camp system was set up in all of the Nazis’ conquered territories, including France. The most notable were Gurs, a transit camp near the Pyrénées, about fifty miles from the Spanish border, and Les Milles, an internment camp located in Provence in southern France. Jews, both French and foreign, as well as other groups of “undesirables” lived and died in the camps. Food was scarce, as was clean water. Disease ran rampant with so many individuals living in such confined spaces. Torture and cruelty of every type imaginable were inflicted on men, women, and children.
There were camps in occupied France too, primarily of the transit variety. Drancy was a camp just outside Paris. It was an unfinished housing complex that the Germans took over, and became an infamous stopping-off point for Jews before they were shipped to the nightmares awaiting them at German death camps like Auschwitz or Majdanek. Conditions in Drancy were even worse than in the other camps. In October 1941, in an effort to save resources, the Germans had released nine hundred sick and dying interns, figuring they it would be more cost effective for them to expire on the streets. Shortly after the prisoners’ release, an observer noted in a Paris underground newspaper: “I have met several living skeletons who can hardly stand. They are the Jews freed from Drancy.”
The first time Virginia saw the yellow Star of David on a child’s jacket, it appalled her. The exploitation of adults was bad enough, but including children gave her new loathing for the enemy. On June 1, 1942, on behalf of Vichy, René Bousquet ordered French Jews to wear the stars, just as the rest of Europe’s Jews did. “There would be no problem if they had blue skins,” Bousquet was quoted as saying. “But they don’t and we need to know who they are.”
Jews’ cartes d’identité were also stamped “Juif.” Virginia found the whole notion of branding people disgusting. A sense of urgency now accompanied her work. They had to rid the country of the Nazis and their ilk. There just never seemed to be enough time to do it all.
Virginia’s flat on Place Ollier was a veritable Grand Central Station, with RAF pilots, agents, and Resistance friends needing assistance or a place to catch a quick nap before moving on to the next event. This left her with very little time to do anything of a personal nature. Not that there was much she could do. War-torn France was no place to afford the extravagancies of bubble bath or toilet water. Most of her bathing was done out in the sink in her flat, with cold water, one body part at a time. That is, when the flat was hers alone. She washed her hair in the sink as well and wore it pulled back in a bun at the nape of her neck. Its natural wave gave her the luxury of not having to pin it up at night.
Virginia had never worn much makeup, even during the prewar years. But she did have the remnants of a lipstick tube and a little pot of rouge that she applied for special occasions. For the most part, though, her job was to blend in with the struggling French and not draw attention to herself. The more bland and ordinary she appeared, the better.
The one bright spot on the personal front in the spring of 1942 was the arrival of a new pair of shoes, thanks to the message Gerard took back to London. They arrived in a parachute drop that Labourier had gone to fetch in late May. They weren’t really new—just new to Virginia. Sporting a pair of spanking fresh oxfords when most French were having a hard time finding enough food would have caught the attention of too many people. Rather they were a pair that had been procured from some refugee newly arrived from France. Baker Street gave all incoming expatriates new clothing in exchange for their old ones, which were then issued to outbound agents. It was crucial that all agents appear no different from any other Frenchmen, right down to the label in their skivvies.
The days seemed to move by at an incredible pace. Virginia rarely had time to reflect on her mother or her brother and his family back home in Baltimore. But she was certain that Vera was keeping them informed of her safety. The letters the SOE sent to the families of agents were identical, just the names were changed. And they all carried Vera’s signature as secretary of the fictitious organization, The Inter-Service Research Bureau. Virginia hoped they were of some comfort to her mother.
Dear Mrs. Hall,
We continue to receive excellent news of your daughter, Virginia. We are very proud of her and hope you are as well.
Sincerely,
Vera Atkins, Secretary, Inter-Service Research Bureau
11
And the Walls Close In
Virginia had been in France almost a year. During that time a great many radio transmissions and messages had been sent with the names of Brigitte LeContre and Germaine in them. Now, in early June of 1942, Virginia was of the opinion that perhaps it was time to take on new names. London concurred and Marie Monin became her new nom de guerre, with Philomène her new code name. Those in Lyon who knew her as Brigitte LeContre and Germaine continued to address her as such. She had already been living a lie for months—what were two more names? She wondered if she would remember to respond to Virginia Hall when she finally returned to the United States.
On a bright June day in 1942, “Mlle Monin” left her flat on Place Ollier to meet with the current HECKLER circuit radio operator. His name was Pierre le Chêne, code-named Gregoire. He had arrived from London on May 1 and had bounced from one safe house to another to make his broadcasts, staying just steps ahead of the Gestapo. Their direction finders were becoming ever more sophisticated and deadly.
One of le Chêne’s preferred locations was the home of M. and Mme Joseph Marchand, who lived above one of Lyon’s newsstands along the Rhone River. It was there that Virginia was to meet him. But when she arrived at their home at number 2 quai Perrache, the newsstand owner was standing in front of his shop, ostensibly sweeping the sidewalk.
As soon as he saw her, the shop owner greeted her and ushered her in. He had become a good friend of the HECKLER circuit, acting as a letter box and keeping his eyes and ears open for news that would be of interest to the Resistance.
Once inside he told her that the Gestapo were tossing the Marchands’ apartment as they spoke. He didn’t know who else was up there, but he thought it wise for her to leave via the exit at the back of his shop and wait at the Café de la République. He promised that as soon as he had ne
ws, he would send word to her. Virginia thanked him for his keen attention and followed his suggestion to wait at the café. Thirty minutes later, le Chêne himself came in and sat down with her, visibly shaken and telling her that he had been closer to arrest than he ever hoped to come again.
He had been transmitting, he explained, thinking that one of the Marchands was playing lookout. Each of them thought the other was doing the job and it turned out no one was. Mme Marchands ability to talk saved them all. She kept the Gestapo busy at the door, insisting that they wipe their shoes before coming into her house. It was a long enough delay for le Chêne to stash his radio beneath a sideboard with a partial false front. The Gestapo had torn the place apart, he said, but never found a thing.
Virginia asked about the Marchands. le Chêne laughed and told her that as he left, Mme Marchand was giving Monsieur an earful for not doing what he was supposed to. Le Chêne said Monsieur really wasn’t to blame, but he wasn’t about to get between them. The good news was that le Chêne had managed to get out all of the messages he was to send, including the most important one asking for additional funds.
Virginia needed cash, a lot of it, to pave the way for the Corsicans’ escape. Pierre had told his wife that George Bégué—code-named Georges, the most senior agent in their group and the first to arrive in France from SOE—thought he could duplicate the key to the hut where they were being kept. He had done some metalworking in his youth and said if ever there was a time to turn a hobby into something useful, this was it. All he needed was materials and tools.
With the additional funds brought to Virginia by an incoming agent, she and Marie had plenty of capital for the plan they had put together. Marie was still allowed to bring her husband food packages, but now she would include clean linens and books, removing the soiled linen when she left. Virginia would supply her with the money to make whatever purchases she needed on the black market.
Marie followed Virginia’s directions. At first, the guards tore through the packages to make sure they didn’t contain any contraband, but after about a month they became accustomed to the arrangement. They stopped their searches and just waved Marie through. Once that happened, Marie began to include tins of sardines in tomato sauce with the food, also purchased on the black market. The tin was the material Bégué would use to fashion his key. And folded among the linens or stashed in the books were files, pliers, and tin snips. Any materials they no longer needed were wrapped up in the soiled linens. Once the work began, Marie told Virginia that the group sang obscene songs at the top of their lungs to drown out the noise of Bégué’s work.
As that part of the scheme slowly unfolded, Marie and Virginia had to identify guards who would be willing to look away while the men escaped. They found their marks among the exterior guards who patrolled the perimeter fence. These men had nothing to do with the prison. They were poorly paid refugees from Alsace who had come to the interior of France after the Germans invaded their province. And, as Marie learned, their love of the Vichy government was not absolute. They were willing to take bribes.
Each time Marie went to visit her husband, she spent the night in the only hotel in the nearby town of Mauzac and passed the time in the hotel’s cafe before retiring. As it happened, the off-duty guards also spent time there and Marie became familiar with them. She got to know one of them especially well and discovered he augmented his guard’s salary by running a bar not far from the camp. He was interested in earning additional francs to supplement his other two jobs and listened carefully to Marie’s proposal.
Near the end of June, Marie visited Virginia to bring her up to speed on the progress. Georges had each member of their group study the door key they saw on the guard’s belt. Taking into consideration each one’s observation, he had finally made a key. The next step was to test it. The men had observed the guards’ patrols and timed their test accordingly. But to Georges’ dismay, the lock did not open.
Marie had also conveyed to her husband how to communicate with the inside guard she had bribed. He would transport messages from the Corsicans to the guard on the outside in tubes of aspirin tablets. Of course if either of these guards decided they would simply take the money already given them and inform the gendarmes of the pending escape plot, all hell would break loose. The guards, the Corsicans, and Marie would be tortured to gain additional information. And if any of them were unable to hold up, Virginia could be implicated as well. Then they would all face a firing squad.
As June slid into July, Marie kept in very close contact with Virginia. The importance of freeing these men was huge to the Resistance effort, and the pressure the women were operating under was enormous. Finally in early July, Marie came to Lyon with the news that a successful key had finally been produced. But they had also had a very close call.
As he’d been directed, Pierre had passed the aspirin tube to the inside guard named Welton. When Welton didn’t see his friend outside the prison fence, he decided to put the tube in the fellow’s coat pocket in the cloakroom. Unfortunately, he got it in the wrong coat, one belonging to the mess sergeant. When Marie arrived at the prison, there was a message from the sergeant waiting for her. When he questioned her, she denied any knowledge of what he was talking about until he convinced her he was willing to help as well. For a price, of course.
The fifty-thousand-franc price was not a deterrent. The man had told Marie he would stand guard for them at the hollow outside the prison fence where the Corsicans were to meet the car. If the coast was clear, the mess sergeant would flick on his cigarette lighter. They were to inform him of the day when they delivered the cash.
Adding an additional guard made Marie and Virginia nervous. It was one more person who might double-cross them to worry about. On top of that, another change from their original plan had occurred. Two of the Corsicans decided not to try the escape. Their lawyers had convinced them that the risk was too great and it would not be long before the charges against them were dropped. Everyone else knew this was unlikely, but the two insisted. Virginia hated changes in plans so late in the game, but she didn’t have any choice. The escape was set for the night of July 16.
The night of the escape was illuminated with a brilliant moon. Each Corsican had prepared a dummy to fill his bed so that the guards wouldn’t become suspicious until the light of day. When those who made the night patrol returned to their guardroom at about 3:00 AM, the men crawled out of their hut, one by one. Welton whistled and tapped his stick on the ground to make as much noise as possible, covering any noise coming from the escapees. Once they’d crept under the prison’s barbed wire fence, the eleven Corsicans, plus the outside guard and the mess sergeant, ran three kilometers to the awaiting car.
They drove about fifteen kilometers farther and then hid in an abandoned farmhouse. Virginia and Antoine (Philippe de Vomécourt) had seen to it that the house was equipped with soap and razors, fresh clothing, and biscuits and jam, and they continued to provide for the men throughout the next week. Once their false papers arrived, the men made the trip to Lyon two or three at a time, where they met Virginia. She had arranged for their exodus from France via Spain. But each of them vowed that once he had given Baker Street his report, he would be returning to continue the work he had only gotten the chance to begin.
Virginia was enthused and relieved at the same time. This was quite a victory for London and the Resistance. Like her, these men were SOE pioneers. Their knowledge and expertise was of great importance, augmented by the fact that they now had intimate knowledge of the Gestapo and two Vichy prisons.
It would be months before Virginia learned of the horror that was taking place in Paris at the same time the Corsicans escaped. While other countries in Europe had fallen to the Germans, France was the only one that also rounded up Jews to hand over to them. Members of Pétain‘s government told one another that if they aided the Nazis in this way, the Germans might be inclined to keep Vichy’s sovereignty intact. The collaborating French
even exceeded the human quotas requested by the Nazis, using collection methods as horrific as the occupiers.
During the days of July 16 and 17, 1942, a rafle occurred in Paris. Gendarmes arrested twelve thousand Jewish men, women, and children. This mass of humanity was deposited in a sports stadium known as the Vélodrome d’Hiver, where nothing had been prepared for them. They had not been allowed to bring much with them, and were given only minimal food and no water by their captives. There was nothing available to protect them from the scorching summer sun or the chilly nights. As there were only a few WCs, they filled up immediately and were never emptied.
There were pregnant women among them who delivered their babies, aided by a charitable few near them. There were the infirm who suffered from tuberculosis, dysentery, and other maladies, and who terrified the rest. This crowd contained only three doctors and a handful of nurses. And not one German was anywhere to be seen. All of the guards were French.
After existing for five days in unspeakable squalor, their sojourn in this hell came to an end. The adults were separated from the children and shipped to transit camps for deportation to Auschwitz. The Germans had only been interested in the French gathering Jews over the age of sixteen, which left the French with 4,051 motherless children. The children were terrified, some so young they were unable even to give their names to the everpresent government record keeper. At the request of the Vichy president, a day later the children were also bound for Auschwitz.
The Wolves at the Door: The True Story of America's Greatest Female Spy Page 15