Time Passes Time

by Mary Wood

  The lorry swerved, unbalancing her. German anger exploded in the form of voices coming through the window of the cab, swearing and demanding to know what was going on. Philippe answered in a perfect imitation of one of the Germans’ voices: ‘It is under control. One of the prisoners of no consequence managed to free his hands and lunged at us. He is dead. Pull over when you can. Contact the convoy and tell them you will re-join on the back when we have dealt with his body. The others, including the girl, are still alive.’

  Whispering to her, he said, ‘Be ready to shoot the irons off your feet as soon as they stop. Then you have to deal with them before you release us.’

  Terror gripped her. Their liberation was down to her, and so were their lives, as certain death would follow this attempt to escape.

  Twisting her body round so that her legs were facing the back of vehicle, she parted them as far as possible. Pointing the gun as near to the centre of the irons around her ankles as she could, she braced herself for what would be excruciating burns. She had to be able to ignore them and react as fast as she could, as the releasing of her feet had to coincide with them opening the flap. What if they hadn’t believed Philippe and held their own guns at the ready? She couldn’t let this thought in as she knew she wouldn’t stand a chance.

  ‘Philippe, I need to release you and give you a gun. I may not be able to overpower both of them. We cannot take the chance.’ A movement stopped Philippe answering her. The man next to him had difficulty keeping his body still. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘He is an epileptic. He does not work with us, only shelters us. I am sorry I have caused him to be caught. His fear must have triggered a fit. There is nothing we can do but pray the truck stops soon.’

  Getting Philippe’s hands free proved almost impossible. The positions of them and the movement of the truck hindered her from reaching the binds. As the lorry made a sudden turn to the right she stepped up her efforts. They must have found a place to stop!

  At last his hands were free! Grabbing the other gun she thrust it towards him just as the truck came to halt.

  Holding her breath, she listened. Other trucks rumbled past. Both she and Philippe had their guns aimed at the irons on their feet. The man having the fit spat froth into the air, and his body juddered against Philippe’s. Would he impair his aim? Christ! We’ll have to shoot him! Please don’t let that happen.

  The last truck passed. Darkness fell as no more headlights shone into the truck. A door slammed and then another. Footsteps crunched on gravel. Sweat ran down her face. The glow of a torch swung in then out of any open places around the canvas covering the back of the truck. A voice shouted a man’s name. Philippe answered.

  ‘Öffnen Sie die Klappe.’

  She understood something about opening something – they are asking for the flap to be opened! She looked at Philippe.

  ‘Ich kann nicht von innen.’

  Not understanding this, she waited. A grunt signalled the soldier’s annoyance at whatever the answer was – probably a refusal to open the flap. Another noise came, and this time she knew the flap was being released. Her finger tightened on the trigger. Her hand shook. She must ignore any pain that was coming, no matter how bad.

  Air hit her face. The combined shots from hers and Philippe’s guns deafened her. Agonizing pain caught the breath in her lungs. For a second it took her attention, but the gunshots had surprised the Germans. They dropped their torch and fled. Jumping from the wagon, she quickly retrieved the torch, flashing it towards the trees. She saw the backs of the fleeing Germans and fired quick successive rounds. Philippe picked up the torch and highlighted two bodies on the ground at around twenty feet away. He handed her the torch and fired a couple of more rounds. The bodies jumped and collapsed again. Satisfied they were dead, Philippe ran over to them and took their guns. ‘Right. Help me out with the other two bodies.’

  Climbing back into the truck, they saw the fitter had fallen asleep. His body doubled over away from the third man’s. This man cringed away from them. Her mind questioned this, but there was no time to ask why as Philippe grabbed her and pushed her out of the truck. ‘Get into the cab. let’s get out of here.’

  They drove for miles, but passed no other vehicle. Their journey soon took a mountain path, but with the safe feeling this gave came other feelings. Now her body shook. Now her ankles smarted, but neither the fear nor the burns could take away the sense of relief.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘There’s a place up here where we will be safe. There is a radio. You need to abort the mission. It is too dangerous. I will get the explosives moved at a later date. Security will be tightened. The mission is compromised.’

  ‘What happened? How did they find out about it? That man, the one in the corner. He spat on me. Does he think I betrayed you?’

  ‘No. He is the traitor. He will be shot once we reach the safe place.’

  This shocked her. ‘But why is he tied up?’

  ‘They do that to informers and keep them until they are sure. Or they may torture them to find out more, but whatever, they usually end up killing them. Our way lets him off as it will be a clean kill without the pain of torture.’

  There was nothing to argue against. If called upon to pull the trigger, she would do so. Traitors were a curse. As well as putting hers, Philippe’s and the epileptic man’s lives in danger, this traitor had stopped an operation that had been months in the planning, and that would have saved countless lives and brought forward the end of the war. She hoped he would rot in hell!

  Disguised as a factory worker and with her ankles healing, Theresa journeyed back without incident. It seemed the trains going north were the most occupied with German troops, as were the roads she saw through the window. This was a worrying trend, as it indicated they were nervous of what the future held from that quarter. She knew it held something big, but knew nothing more than that. The sick feeling in her stomach and the realization she hadn’t seen her period took her mind off everything other than the fact that she might be pregnant. How would she handle that? If she told HQ, they would lift her out of France. No. That must not happen. There was much to do. She had proved how useful she was. Besides, she could not leave Pierre.

  He stood a little away from the station. Cigarette smoke curled up from his mouth into a cloud above him. He did not look in her direction nor acknowledge her as she walked past him. Now dressed in her usual clothing, but still with her blonde hair, her nerves jangled in her stomach. She still had to negotiate the village without being stopped by a German. Deciding she couldn’t, she turned into a lane that she knew led to Monsieur Langlois’s house. The Langloises were in the Resistance, so she could cut through their garden. Managing to get to their gate without being seen, she dodged the house and made for the thicket at the bottom of their land. Once in the shelter of the trees, she stopped and leaned against one. Taking off her scarf, she shook out her hair.

  ‘Ma chérie!’

  His voice brushed every part of her as if a feather had been passed over her. ‘Pierre, oh, Pierre—’ His arms grasped her, stopping her from sinking to the ground.

  ‘What is it, Olivia? My darling, I have missed you. I have stood by for every train that arrived – whenever I could, that is. I couldn’t believe it when you alighted today. How did the mission go?’

  ‘Oh, Pierre, we were betrayed . . .’

  ‘No! How did you avoid capture? Mais, ça ne fait rien. It does not matter. You are here, my darling. That is all that matters. I will arrange a car to take you up to our hiding place. It is still safe. The Germans suspect nothing. I have to return to work, but I will be with you in a couple of hours. Get some rest.’

  For a moment she clung to him. All that was Olivia had gone; only Theresa was left – and a vulnerable Theresa at that.

  ‘Go, my darling. Wait at the edge of the wood, but don’t show yourself. Watch out for a van. A black van with “Vassel’s Plumbers” on the side. Wait, as it wil
l go past your hiding place first then will return. It is then you can show yourself. I love you, my darling, and want to hold you and kiss you, but I dare not.’

  She knew what he meant, as she had the same feelings inside her. To give in to the urge to kiss would be their undoing. Better to get to the safe house and await his visit later. Savouring the anticipation of this, she moved with stealth further towards the road.

  Monsieur Ponté greeted her. His face held pain.

  ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘Our bakery was burned to the ground . . .’

  With relief, mixed with a little contempt for this couple who still held so much store by the old life they had lost when others had suffered far worst fates, she said, ‘But buildings can be rebuilt, as can businesses. You must not fret so.’

  ‘Not lives, though. Four of our neighbours were forced inside. They were burned to death . . .’

  ‘No! Why? Oh, God . . .’

  ‘These bâtards, they do not have to have a reason, but this one is a reprisal. They suspected my closest neighbours must have known where I had gone to, and that my disappearance was because of you. You are in grave danger and you increase the danger to us.’

  ‘I am sorry. I will contact Command. But first I will wait until Pierre comes so he can tell me what he wants me to do.’

  At this moment all she wanted to do was sleep. A bath would have been a bonus, but the bathing process here was a long, drawn-out affair of collecting the water into the boiler, stoking the boiler and then transferring the hot water to the tin bath. Privacy was also an issue, so she chose to swill her face and take to her bed. Not even a bowl of soup offered by the still tearful Madame Ponté could tempt her to do otherwise.

  1963

  Knowing Theresa was safe, Lizzie gave in to the tiredness and lay back on her pillows. The last few days had drained her. But, making the effort, she threw back the covers and edged her way out of the bed onto her wheelchair. Sarah had laid a dressing gown over it. She pulled this on and steered over to the window. What she’d just read shuddered through her. The evil acts done under the guise of war were difficult to understand. People were people, weren’t they? How come that some could burn others alive in such a callous way? But then, Ken had been like that. She had to admit that. He could have shoved those innocent people into the flames without even thinking about it.

  Twenty-three

  Harri’s Shock Decision – Patsy’s Shock Reaction

  1963

  ‘What do you mean, Harri hasn’t come back with you? Why?’

  ‘One word: Greg.’

  ‘But . . .?’

  ‘There are no buts, Mam. Harri said to tell you that she is in love with Greg, that she cannot leave him and that she has moved into his flat with him.’

  ‘My God! Our Harri? Our sensible Harri? I can’t take it in. I’ve never heard the like. Being in love, yes, but to give up everything and her not knowing him more than a couple of weeks? It’s . . .’

  ‘She’s in love with Greg, Mam. That’s all there is to it.’

  ‘And she couldn’t telephone me and tell me herself?’

  ‘She gave me Greg’s number where you can reach her. She felt that with settling Lizzie in you had enough on your plate and could talk to her in your own time, when you’ve had time to absorb it.’

  ‘That’s considerate! I’m very cross with her.’

  ‘Not as cross as Patsy. She’s furious – that’s when she could stop coughing long enough to express her feelings. She reckons as Harri has shown no consideration for her at all! Don’t see it meself Why does Harri have to consider Patsy all the timer Anyroad, Harri hasn’t given up everything. She wants Dad to help her to transfer to a London-based teaching hospital so she can continue her medical studies.’

  ‘Well, We’ll see what Dad has to say about it. Harri . . . My God, I can’t believe it, but if I think about it, she’s like me and me mam and me granna in that, we all knew our man once we spotted him. let’s hope this Greg is all he seems. Mind, she’ll get a name for herself and that won’t help matters. Not in the medical world, it won’t.’

  ‘Mam, they’re getting married!’

  ‘What? She wouldn’t! She . . .’

  Ian watched his Mam’s body slump into a chair. She’d coped well with the news of Harri not coming home, but Harri getting married without even telling her seemed a step too far. But he’d no option but to tell her. ‘They are driving to Gretna tomorrow.’

  ‘No . . . Why?’

  ‘Because Harri didn’t want to live in sin. But she told me to tell you that they plan to come here in a couple of weeks and will arrange a blessing in the church and a family do. She wanted you to understand, but knew it would be difficult. She just cannot leave Greg’s side.’

  Though he knew this to be true, he also knew Harri didn’t want to give Patsy a chance to spoil things for her. Why she imagined she would, he didn’t know. Well, maybe he did, if he was honest. Patsy did feel that she owned Harri, and her fury at the news had shown him she was capable of making mischief if she got the chance.

  ‘I suppose we have to accept it. There isn’t anything else we can do. But whether as a married woman she’d be allowed to continue her studies is another matter. Oh, Harri, Harri.’

  ‘What is it, dear? Is anything wrong with Harri?’

  It was a relief to Ian that his dad came in at that moment. His mam had come over all emotional and he wasn’t one that could handle that.

  Listening to her telling his dad, he knew she’d accepted it and taken it quite well. She even went to the trouble of giving little excuses such as ‘when the heart is smitten, there’s nothing we can do about it’.

  ‘Not when the smitten heart belongs to a twenty-two-year-old, I’m afraid not, dear. I am shocked though. Harri? Never dreamt it of her. I wanted to give her away at her wedding, and now . . . well, what am I to do with her wedding fund?’

  ‘Spend some on the day she does plan on sharing with us and the rest, well, let her have it to do what she likes with. Oh, Richard . . .’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Do you? I feel like I have lost her. It was bad enough when she went to university, but I knew she’d come back, but now . . . She’s gone, Richard, really gone to another.’

  ‘Come on, dear.’

  Time to leave. Ian made for the door without saying anything. Looking back, he saw his dad take his mam in his arms. Could anyone wish for a more solid person for a dad than he had? Folk often said that he himself was like his Granddad Jack in nature, but he hoped there was a lot of his dad in him too. He’d need it to win over and keep Patsy for himself. By, she was a hard nut to crack!

  Being like his granddad didn’t come into it where the ladies were concerned, as Granddad Jack had had no problem in that department. Nor did his brother David. He’d been with his lass since his school days, but then, David was a plodder: happy with the farm work and with his lass from the village. Whereas he had to go and aim for a lass like Patsy – a complicated lass with stuff from the past that guided her actions, and a lass that looked down on him as some kind of simpleton. The thing was that he wasn’t really a plodder. He enjoyed the farm work and so he’d just allowed that side to happen. He hadn’t strived for anything more. He had it in him to, he knew that. And of late he had thought about it all a great deal, and had come to the conclusion that he wished he had taken up medicine. He had enough qualifications to get a place in uni; he just hadn’t bothered. He regretted that now. He’d speak to his dad later . . . If it was a possibility it might cheer his parents up after this business with Harri. And it might just impress Patsy.

  Patsy’s face sweated under the oxygen mask, but her anger made her body sweat too. How could Harri have done this to her?

  The voice that had spoken to her many times since the deep, dark, watery depths of the river had engulfed her, spoke again: ‘Don’t allow it! Get out of here and get back to London? All her life she’d wondered if she was like her fath
er. Did this prove that she was, this hearing a voice? Many times she’d tried to find out if Harri had fears in that direction. She’d questioned her about it. But Harri had always convinced her it couldn’t happen. Now, in her own weakest moment, what she’d fought against since hearing about her father had beaten her.

  Her father, or so Sarah told her, was dictated to by what he called a redness in his brain. Would this voice dictate to her what she should do? No, she wouldn’t let it.

  But that thought had hardly died in her when she found herself planning to go through with going back to London.

  She knew there wasn’t a train now from Leeds, and it had to be today as Ian had said Harri and Greg were going to Gretna tomorrow! She’d have to get to her bank and get enough money out so she could get a taxi to the nearest place where she could catch a train. She’d go and see her mother if she arrived at a decent hour. She’d feel better once she’d done that. Then she’d find this Greg, whoever the hell he thought he was, and make sure he regretted ever setting his eyes on Harri!

  At last she was on the last leg of her journey. No train from anywhere nearer than Crewe had gone straight through, so it had been a long taxi drive and cost her just about every penny she’d taken from her account.

  Getting out of the hospital had been easy. Slipping into the kitchen where the nurses made drinks and snacks for the ward, she’d found a doctor’s housecoat hanging on the back of the door. Why it was there, she hadn’t thought to question, but she knew that in the hospital in London the junior doctors often went into the ward kitchen during the night to half-inch a biscuit or make a quick cuppa, so maybe one had left it the night before. But whatever, it had fitted and had concealed her clothes, which she’d managed to put on under the bed covers.