by Allan Jones
He reached out and touched her hand. She withdrew it swiftly and searched in her bag for a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes to mask her confusion. Speaking about it was making her lose control as all the grief came rushing back. When she had finished she looked at him: he was gazing out of the window, his face a mask of sorrow, perhaps remembering his own demons.
She composed herself and continued. “I went through the whole bit, the shock, the disbelief, the grieving, the numbness. Thought I’d never be the same again. It just wouldn’t go away! The worst thing was the feeling that I was completely alone. People were kind, but it didn’t matter; I was still alone. Me! In a world gone mad. Then something else happened I got angry. Angry at those bastards who took my life away from me. They stole my future! They say revenge is a dish best served cold, but my need for revenge is different, it’s hot! Flaming hot, hot enough to burn all the thugs and cowards out there. I want them to pay; I want them to die in agony and burn in hell and I want to be the one who kills them.”
“I understand,” he said.
“Do you?”
“Yes. We have to fight to be who we are, to be able to live in a world that is acceptable to us. Our right to exist is not negotiable, it is a fact. We exist, therefore we fight; either we win and go on, or we don’t. Nothing else matters.”
They each retreated into their own thoughts and mused. The train sped down an incline, gathering speed for the next upward climb through the now-mountainous terrain. They could not be so far from their destination now. In an effort to lighten the mood, Paul unscrewed the top from the brandy flask and said: “Come, let’s drink to the future; to us and all the other big-headed adventurers out there who think that they can do things better than anyone else.”
She laughed and took the flask from him. “I’ll drink to that,” she said, taking a long swig. She handed it back and watched as he drained the last of it.
They talked about simpler things after that; tales of where they had been, what they had seen, memories. Presently, the train drew into a station and they heard shouts down the corridor announcing that the train terminated here at Fort William. They disembarked and waited at the platform, under the clock, as they had been told. Suddenly, they were alone. Amelia’s nervousness around him had returned now that he was standing close to her. She felt dwarfed by him, though she was by no means short herself. He had a presence about him, a confidence, as if he could adapt to anything, handle anything that happened with ease.
He wandered around for a while, his hands in his pockets, and she watched him, painfully aware again of his resemblance to Bill, his bearing, his way of moving, the sense of danger lurking beneath the surface, barely held in check. A corporal appeared further down the platform and called to them. “You for SOE?”
They picked up their bags and followed him out of the station to a waiting car, its boot open already for their bags. The corporal held the back door open and they scrambled in. “How far have we to go?” she asked the corporal.
“Far enough,” he replied. “Be about two hours.”
The car was small, and they could not avoid contact, but each sat stiffly to afford the other room.
They rode in silence, looking at the landscape, till Amelia’s eyes began to droop, her head lolled forward and she shook herself awake, fighting her tiredness and the effects of the brandy. Her eyes drooped again. Paul snaked his arm warily round her shoulders and drew her head to rest on his shoulder; she didn’t resist and was soon sound asleep.
The car jolted and she snapped awake, confused for a moment as to where she was. His arm was still around her and he was asleep, his head lolling backwards. She remained still for a while, enjoying the intimacy of the moment, but also inwardly cursing herself for having allowed this to happen. Carefully, she eased his arm from around her and placed it in his lap and she straightened up. The car was running along a small road, with pine trees to the right and a glittering loch to the left, and she admired the view as she marshalled her thoughts.
She had to admit that she was attracted to him, but she couldn’t! It was too soon! How long was grieving supposed to last for decency? Besides, she was still haunted by the memory of Bill. More than she had supposed. She sneaked a look at him sleeping; he looked so at peace, so untroubled, but she had seen inside of him and knew that this was far from true. She would have to let it go… for Bill’s sake! She would have to concentrate on the job at hand, keep busy, try to keep a distance. She still thought of herself as a married woman! Albeit widowed.
On the other hand, times were now very different. Who knew what was likely to happen if the war was lost? She could be dead before long, so was it right to deny oneself? Shouldn’t one live for today, live each moment to the full? Others seemed to! Could she put her guilt over Bill aside? They shouldn’t have done what they did, got married like that; they both knew a war was in the offing.
But, back then, there was still hope, still a chance of peace. No-one really had believed the war was inevitable, so they had, like so many others, carried on regardless. It had been good, though. Thinking about it, she was glad. Though he was gone, she still cherished what they had experienced, even though it had been for such a short time. Things changed quickly in wartime; look at her now! Off to prepare to fight the Hun, do or die! Come what may! She looked at him again. Would it be so wrong? Was it really too soon?
The corporal interrupted her reverie. “Nearly there, Miss,” he announced.
“Where is there?” she replied.
“Can’t say, Miss.”
“Oh, come on, can’t hurt now,” she chided.
“Rules, Miss. Sarn’t Carter’d have me up if he found out.”
“I shan’t tell him,” she said mischievously.
“Can’t risk it, Miss. You’ll know soon enough.”
Their talk woke Paul. He yawned, stretched as best he could, and smiled at her. She returned his smile weakly, feeling suddenly self-conscious and embarrassed. They each said “Good morning” and then they peered out of the front of the car, eager to see their destination. The car swept through ornamental gates with pillars either side and an arch connecting them. There was a bright patch on the stonework where it was evident that a sign had been recently removed. They continued up a tree-lined drive and presently a large Palladian house came into view. The gravel scrunched beneath the tyres as the car came to a halt in front of the steps leading up to the front door. The corporal got out, opened the boot, and waited as they retrieved their bags. They were about to move up the steps when a sergeant appeared at the front door and bellowed: “Corporal Williams, stand where you are!” The corporal snapped to attention as the sergeant marched crisply down the steps and shoved his face to within an inch of the corporal’s nose. “Why are these good people carrying their own suitcases, you ’orrible little man?” he bellowed. “Pick them up and stand to attention, an’ don’t you move till I tells yer.”
The corporal hurriedly grabbed the cases and stood to attention, staring fixedly into the distance. The sergeant turned to regard the amused pair.“’Ello, Mr Klaussen, sir, remember me do yer?”
“I certainly do, Carter. Sergeant now? Good to see you.”He extended his hand and Carter took it with a firm grip, shaking it furiously.
“We wuz tol’ to expect you, sir. Good to see yer again.” He turned to Amelia. “You’ll be Miss Du-Clos. Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said, affecting a more refined tone.
She shook his hand, grateful that she did not receive the treatment he had meted out to Paul, who, she could see out of the corner of her eye, was rubbing his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Sergeant. You’ve met Mr…Klaussen then.”
“Yes, Miss, we’re ol’ muckers, we is; saved us all, ’e did, in France.”
Klaussen coughed in embarrassment. Carter took the hint and changed the subject swiftly. “’Ere, Mr Klaussen, sir, do you remember Nobby, Nobby Clarke?’E’s ’ere too, sir; sergeant, same as me.”
“How could I forget him,�
�� Paul said with a wink.
“An ’e’s got a letter for you from Lieutenant Johnson, sir.’E gave it to ’im to keep till you come, sir.”
“Do you know where the lieutenant is?”
“Sadly not, sir. Rumour is,’im an’ the rest of the lads is overseas, don’t know where.”
Carter eyed the corporal, then said, “Right, Sir, got to take you to the CO, then get you billeted, show you around and get you some lunch; after that you could join us in the Sarn’ts’ Mess for a drink; you too, Miss. Nothing to do proper till tomorrow. They do a fine Scotch roun’ ’ere, they do, an’ no mistake,” he grinned.
“You’re on,” said Paul.
Amelia also nodded her assent and followed the sergeant, who led them up the steps. She paused at the door and looked back at the corporal, still standing to attention by the car, with their bags in hand. “You won’t leave him there for long will you, Sergeant?”
Clarke looked back over her shoulder with a grin. “Just a bit longer, Miss; teach ’im respect,” he said.
They were taken in separately to see the CO, an energetic Lieutenant-Colonel who, in between answering numerous telephone calls, welcomed them, handed each a booklet containing a plan of the establishment and their schedules. Then he directed them to the adjutant, who checked them in and issued them a kitbag. Paul was amused when the adjutant handed him an envelope in which was a slip of rice paper bearing the code-name by which he was to be “known” whilst here. His was “Nimrod”. Amelia was astonished to discover that she was to be “Pumpkin”: Bill had often called her that! She hadn’t minded then, but here, in this context, it was rather dull and, well, unflattering. It seemed rather silly to her.
She was glad that when shown to their quarters, they were separated at the top of the main staircase: hers were to the left, whilst Paul was escorted off to the right. Her room was quite large and had clearly seen better days; the furniture was shabby, some of it clearly out of place. It was a room assembled in haste and obviously by men! There was no attempt at embellishment, and no thought had been given to comfort. She closed the sash window against the cold air; at least someone had thought to air the room. The only advantage was a small bathroom.
The plumbing made a knocking noise when she tried the tap, and the emerging water was a muddy colour, but it soon cleared and after an age began to become warm, then hot. Hurriedly, she put the plug in, in case hot water here was in short supply.
Her case was at the foot of the bed. “That poor corporal must have lugged it up here,” she thought, as she opened it and tipped it all over the bed, selecting a blouse and some loose trousers to change into. She looked at her watch: an hour to go till she was to go down for a lunch unusually put on for today’s new arrivals. Glancing at the door, she saw there was no key, so she wedged a chair under the knob before she undressed. She walked naked into the steamy bathroom, noting with mild disgust the shabby towel and army-issue carbolic soap, so she returned to the room and retrieved her own things.
As an afterthought, she picked up the booklet the CO had given her, noting, with amusement, the words “not to be removed from this establishment” which had been stenciled on the front cover, and took it with her into the bathroom. Thumbing through it in the bath, she saw it was divided into sections. Close and unarmed combat, Fieldcraft, Boat work, Elementary Morse code, Demolition and Learning to live off the land. There were subsections intriguingly headed “Silent killing”, “Use of enemy weapons” and a section detailing the rules that had to be observed whilst in training.
On the last page was a timetable, and she was dismayed to learn that her days were to start at 05.30 and run through until 7pm. First on the agenda was a cross-country run tomorrow! Hell! She read for a few more minutes, then let the book drop and lay back in the bath and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth. She remembered her invitation to the sergeants’ mess and made a mental note to be careful about how much she should drink. From there her thoughts drifted… to Paul.
She had a long soak, until the water began to get too cool, then she emerged from the bathroom wrapped in her towel. She sat on the bed and regarded the outfit she had selected, and changed her mind. “Plenty of time to be practical,” she thought; “might be the last chance for a while to dress up.”
She chose a knee-length frock and shook it in an attempt to be rid of the creases. She put on her suspender belt and fastened her stockings, then rummaged through the pile on the bed for some panties. She selected two pairs, then, with a grin, threw them back in the case. “Sod it, no bra either,” she thought, as she stepped into the frock and buttoned the front, leaving a display of cleavage. The shoes with the heels completed the outfit, and she returned to the bathroom to do her make-up. Usually, she was sparing with it, but today she decided on the full works. Finishing with a band for her hair, she inspected herself as best she could in the small mirror.
Satisfied, she shovelled her make-up into her small handbag and left the room, making a mental note to ask for a key to her room. The dining room was crowded when she got there, upwards of forty people perhaps, of all ranks, she noted. She looked for Paul: he was sitting with a group of men. He caught sight of her and beckoned her to a vacant seat next to him. She nodded at him and went to the servery and was issued with a none-too-appetising shepherd’s pie, and a large mug of tea. She could feel hungry eyes inspecting her as her back was turned; she smiled to herself and walked with as much dignity as she could muster to Paul’s table. The men all stood, then waited till she had sat down before they resumed their seats.
She looked around the room and saw that all the women present, and there were quite a few of them, were all sat, each one, with a table full of men! Paul introduced the men round their table, each by their code-names, some of which provoked laughter. The biggest laugh came as she shamefacedly told them hers. At least it broke the ice! The talk round the table was hesitant, as each avoided the usual questions: “where are you from?” and “what did you do before the war?” Instead, they joked about the food and moaned of their respective journeys to get here.
She tried to think of something to talk to Paul about, but here, in company, she was tongue-tied. She was glad when he turned to her and said, “Don’t forget we have a rendezvous with those rogues in the sergeants’ mess.”
“I hadn’t forgotten. I’m looking forward to it.” She paused. “Carter said you saved them all, in France. What was that about?”
He shifted uneasily in his seat. “Oh, I just murdered some of my countrymen who were about to murder their captives. ”There was an uneasy silence as she mentally kicked herself for asking. Then he shrugged and added, “Truth is, Carter and the rest saved me, really. Clarke did, literally. Before we met up, I had no clear idea of how to get out; I was riding my luck I suppose, then things began to fall into place, and we made it all together, as a team.”
“You missed this bit out on the train,” she remarked.
“Did I?” he said. “I don’t remember. I talked too much.”
She smiled at him. “No you didn’t.”
“Your perfume…” He changed the subject. “It’s French, isn’t it?”
“Yes, do you like it? It was a present from Hutchison. He confiscated all my old cosmetics and gave me a whole new set, some of it very expensive; told me it wouldn’t do to smell like an English rose in France.”
“Very commendable,” he said; “and yes, I do like it. In fact, you look lovely.”
“Thank you.” She gave him one of her best smiles.
They eventually finished their meal and he rose and drew her chair back for her and offered his arm. She took it graciously and they walked to the door. There were a few wolf-whistles as they went, but they ignored them, asking a passing soldier the way to the sergeants’ mess, and, when they got there, Carter ushered them in. “Thought Clarke was going to be here,” Paul remarked.
“’E’ll be along shortly; ’e’s off on a scavenging mission, ’e won’t be long.”
As if on cue, Clarke came in carrying a record player and a stack of records. He dumped them down on a table, then subjected Paul to a hand-pumping, back-slapping embrace. “Good to see yer, sir,” he repeated again and again till Paul directed his attention to Amelia.
She was amused that he came over all gentlemanly of a sudden and kissed the back of her hand, telling her how “’onoured” he was.
“It’s me that should be honoured. I’ve been hearing a lot of things about you; all good, I might add.”
“Nothing good about ’im,Miss,” Carter chuckled “Nothing but a rogue and a thief,’ e is. Where d’ya get the records and such, Nobby?’
“They was lying about in the attic, Carty, an’ I only borrowed ’em, as you well know. Some good stuff here.”
Carter poured the drinks as Clarke plugged in the record player and put a jazz record on. “’Ere, Mr Klaussen, sir,” he said.
Paul interrupted. “I’m not a sir anymore, Nobby; call me Paul. That goes for you too, Carter; it’s Jack, isn’t it?”
“Yer,’e’s Jack, all right. Jack the lad since ’e made sergeant! I was going to say I got a letter for yer, from the Lieutenant. Do you want it now?”
He produced it from his breast pocket and handed it to Paul. They looked expectantly at Paul as he examined the envelope, but he turned away to find a seat and there was an awkward silence.
With a beaming smile, Amelia asked: “So! Isn’t any of you handsome gentlemen going to treat a girl to a dance?”
Carter got there first, but the record ended, and, to cover his embarrassment, Clarke rushed to put another on. It was a lively number and they danced energetically. Carter was very nimble on his feet for such a big man, and, as he spun her round, she remembered that she had no knickers on! She would have to be careful, very careful.