by Tania Szabô
‘Yes, I’ll see to that, Corinne. I’ll talk to a Norwegian family of farmers not far from where you’re going, and see what they can do. I know they’re desperately wanting to do something more as one of their sons, Biscuit, a sailor, might have been instrumental in some of ours being arrested. I’m not so sure, but I certainly understand their sentiments and fears.’
‘Would you like me to see them?’
‘It wouldn’t hurt. But one part of the family is in Bezancourt and the other in La Feuillie. Why not mention it to the Boulanger women? They’ll know how to handle it.’
‘Okay, that sounds perfect.’ Violette turned back to the group and heard Lucien say, ‘I’m okay. So’s my family. Got them out, just in time. Marie is staying with me in a safe-house but, Lise, she’ll be at the shop tomorrow to help in any way she can.’
‘Marie is a brave girl, Lucien. By the way, how did you know we were here?’ asked Lise.
‘Ah, I was told at the Préfecture this morning by a known informer. Informs both ways. Reluctantly to the Germans – family threatened – and less reluctantly to us,’ explained Lucien, with a sardonic smile. ‘However, this is the main reason for my visit. Corinne, you must be very careful. Denise and Lise too – I know you two are associates, and therefore can be seen doing business together, but both your people have been deported and you’ve both been interrogated too, so, no doubt you’re under surveillance, which could easily affect you, Corinne. And you too, Madame Thivier – you’re a very gutsy lady, but this same informer said you were observed last night, shouting encouragement to the British planes. Please take care, all of you.’
‘Bof! I’ll go on as I always do. Some little informer isn’t going to frighten me at my time of life!’ Madame Thivier stalked off to make more fresh coffee.
Violette smiled and said to nobody in particular, ‘She seems to have an unlimited supply of “real” coffee, cocoa and other grand foods she couldn’t possibly produce in the hotel yard.’ There were nods of agreement all round.
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Violette then prepared to leave, explaining she would be back in a few days. After piling her canvas bag and a parcel of goodies packed by Madame Thivier into the baskets on the bike, she hugged and kissed her friends and co-conspirators and pushed the bike through the rubble until she found a clear roadway out of Rouen.
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Note
77 The neighbouring village of Quevauvillers has a street here named after Violette Szabó because the family lived there awhile.
17
Les Diables Noirs, the Boulanger Women, V Rockets
Thursday 20 April to Friday 21 April 1944
Having arrived in Ry, Violette was about to meet members of the Boulanger clan. Some of the men and women were still at liberty, hiding in the Boulanger caves, still training. They only exited for sabotage, reception committees and sorties to premises holding stocks of ration cards, coupons, tobacco and other essentials for survival. It was only over the last few days that Violette had heard the name of the group, the Diables Noirs, mentioned openly. She already knew something of the Boulanger brothers, Henri (Commandant Fantomas) and Raoul (Capitaine Cartouche); their courage could not be exaggerated.
The brothers had been captured and had kept silent under appalling torture in their own farmhouse, then later at Gestapo headquarters. Raoul’s shinbone had been broken and exposed through the flesh, his head a mass of contusions, cuts and blood. After all this, the brothers were sent to Compiègne to be transported to a concentration camp. Only one would survive. The Diables Noirs members had been told to disperse until called for. A few stayed; some simply remained in their homes nearby, doing their normal work; some disappeared to Paris and elsewhere. A highly trusted few remained active. Violette felt sure that this group would continue to act and would co-operate with other groups. She was going to meet a group of women, including members of the Boulanger family. As the Boulanger brothers kept security extremely tight, it was decided that Violette would not meet them at their farm where the extraordinary underground hideout had been built (accessed through an innocuous, narrow kitchen cupboard), but in Ry.
Before leaving Rouen, Violette had gone over the map and directions with Marcel and Lucien, who knew the area well, at least dozen times so that she would not have to ask her way or go to the wrong house. All this seemed to Violette like a test, an initiation for meeting women involved in the Résistance. She had not been the least embarrassed to go over it time and again while asking a thousand and one questions, many of them repeated. She did not want to make a mistake and did not care if they thought she was slow-witted. The two men were very patient and went through it as many times as she wanted. Violette asked about the village, what was in it, where the main buildings were and what they were used for; needing to know these things in case she was stopped and questioned. There were, at most, 200 inhabitants in the tiny hamlet. Marcel admired her insistence on knowing as much as she could about the geographic and commercial layout of the route and the village of Ry.
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It was almost midday by the time she arrived, wet and cold. En route, Violette had hidden in undergrowth whenever she heard traffic approaching. She found her way directly to the house, let her bike fall against the inside wall of the yard, grabbed her basket and rushed into the house as if she had known it all her life. Anyone watching would only see a bedraggled girl, soaked from the recent downpour, hurrying into a house where she obviously belonged.
Madame Pascaline Boulanger (Calourette)78 took care of her, towelled her hair, took her wet jacket and shoes and ordered another woman to prepare a hot tisane. Pascaline looked at the apparition before her, lovely even in her drenched state, eyes shining with the excitement of it all and talking quickly about the ride and the hail while she checked over the people in the large warm kitchen. ‘My dear,’ exclaimed the older woman, ‘You’ll catch your death of cold.’
‘Madame, je suis Corinne Leroy. I’ve come from Marcel in Rouen. I wish I could believe that the spring blossoms were still lovely this year after what I’ve just ridden through,’ she laughed gaily.
‘Bon, ben, mademoiselle, moi, j’suis Calourette. And I agree, especially with the poor blossoms – the wind and hail has really buffeted them about.’
The coded exchange made, they all sat round the table smiling at the dishevelled Violette, now in petticoat and bare legs with a child’s blanket pulled tightly round her shoulders. She felt at home among this group of farming women – earthy matrons so fiercely protective of their people.
There had not been much traffic on the roads, she told them. There had been a convoy carrying some kind of long machinery or weaponry on a number of armed lorries. She asked what that might be. They, in turn, wondered how she had made the awful journey on the rusty old bike outside, among enemy convoys and without having ever been to this house, hamlet or countryside before. Violette explained she had been given excellent directions, the rust was camouflage on what was really a fine bike and cycling was her hobby in peacetime. They liked her modesty and were mesmerised by her.
Pascaline looked anxious when Violette talked about the convoy. Violette realised that it could be a delivery of the rockets that she had been sent to find more about. It had been heading from the north, southwards, and another woman, known as Marianne,79 explained the rumours about a construction site somewhere at the lower point of a triangle from Rouen to Ry and south towards Paris. She thought it was at the quarries of Saint-Leu-d’Esserent, about thirty miles from Ry, but was not sure. Although it was mostly German labourers working there, STO men had been brought in to increase the workforce doing twelve-hour shifts, keeping the work going around the clock, seven days a week. Stories were heard of incredible flying bombs being assembled for transport to launch sites on which Philippe had already reported. He had not, as far as Violette knew, reported on a storage and transport facility. The Germans were clearly in a hurry. It seemed that the site was a concrete bunker for the storage of
large quantities of some newly invented weapon, fuel or parts.
Violette asked if it would be possible for her find a way to visit the site – perhaps with some cleaners or cooks working there. The women were aghast at the risk, but Violette was adamant that it was essential her superiors knew as much as possible about these sites and weapons. She was keen to journey to Saint-Leu-d’Esserent and perhaps on to Dieppedalle on the western outskirts of Rouen where there were rumours of heightened activity and security.
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Night had fallen. The women kept telling Violette that what she wanted to do was not possible. She retorted she had her bike – all they needed was give her reliable directions to the village of Saint-Leu-d’Esserent so she could pedal down to see what she could find out. The women were troubled, but as she insisted they agreed to organise one of the men to take her and her bike down on a truck. Once there, she would be on her own. Violette agreed, calming down now that she had her way. She thanked them for helping her as she knew how dangerous it was for everyone. However, she felt that she must get the information back to London by the end of April, if not before. As she needed to get back to Rouen, she explained that she would not return through Ry again.
‘Here’s Gaston, he’ll take you with him. Won’t you Gaston?’ demanded Calourette, then introduced him to Violette.
‘Bien sûr, anything you say, patronne! Where exactly do you want me to go? I have an important load of produce to take down to Chantilly. I’m setting off at first light. It’ll take a couple of hours especially if there’s any holdup on the roads. And there’s bloody bound to be, I’ll wager. If it keeps raining a couple of the bridges might be flooded.’
‘Monsieur, that’s where I want to go. As I understand it, Chantilly is not too far from Saint-Leu and I can ride my bike from Chantilly in an hour or so. What do you think?’
‘Ouais. But you can’t go in them fancy clothes. Marianne or Hirondelle, haven’t one of you got some farm clothes for Corinne?’
‘Sure,’ answered Hirondelle, a friend of the brothers. ‘I’ll pop back home and get an old skirt and blouse to put under your long jacket – mismatched, but you’ll blend in better.’
‘I am very grateful to you all. Let’s bloody well win this war and celebrate together afterwards,’ laughed Violette, a determined look about her.
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Violette retired to a bedroom in the rafters. Although a little apprehensive, she was actually tingling with excitement to be going into a dangerous area to seek out further intelligence useful to her government.
It seemed to her that the tide of war was turning – a certain will to fight on to victory no matter the cost was gaining ground. Among the Diables Noirs and the external members of this group, she felt the fighting spirit was alive and well, albeit battered and sore. Violette felt honoured to have met the Boulanger women. Good, strong-minded women of the Norman agricultural community. Fiercely independent like herself.
Her plans for the morrow felt right; she had transport as far as Chantilly and had only a few short miles to pedal from there. She would be wearing appropriate clothing, the remaining money well hidden in her belt lining. Violette hoped only for a mild day, a nice breeze and no stops to check identities. That’s unlikely, she thought. Bloody Boches can’t leave it alone. And they’re as jumpy as hell, feeling the end is approaching. The Germans had gone too far, been unspeakably cruel and now the people were getting ready to strike back. All the Résistance needed was good organisation and decent weapons to do maximum damage. She would do everything in her power to help this happen.
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Next morning, Friday 21 April, Violette was called down to breakfast in the steaming kitchen just before dawn. Bowls of steaming coffee were being placed on the table, with baskets of rough-hewn bread, a jar of home-made plum jam, a bowl of hard-boiled eggs and some of last autumn’s apples that had been stored in the grange roof. Before leaving on her task, Violette handed to the Boulanger women sufficient cash to help the bereaved families in their Maquis group, Diables Noirs, decimated at the same time as Philippe’s Salesman circuit, and enquired into the activities of the remaining members.
Then they all trooped out into the farmyard, where Gaston tucked Violette’s bike into the back of the truck, which was otherwise crammed with fresh produce, including a crate of hens clucking away. Violette, in her farming clothes and faded scarf tied under her chin, got in beside Gaston and off they went with a pop, rattle and shake of the wood-fired gazogène engine.
A couple of hours later, they uneventfully arrived in Chantilly where Gaston warned Violette to be careful and not to do anything rash. She nodded, smiled and thanked him warmly. The bumpy ride in the truck beside an impassive, monosyllabic but kind Gaston, the passing convoys of troops and weapons and one search of the truck had brought her firmly down to earth. Gaston unloaded her bike and she cycled off.
On the winding roads, it was about an eight-mile ride. Violette stopped after about fifteen minutes when she reached the D44 before turning left to Saint-Leu. At that moment, three German jeeps shot through with high-ranking officers in deep discussion on the back seat of each vehicle. They were going in her direction and were clearly in a great hurry. Interesting. She had dived into an overgrown thicket as soon as she had heard the sound of the motors and just had time to settle with her bike well hidden before they were upon her. Following a short review of her plans and a quick overview of her mental map of Saint-Leu, she moved off at a decent pace.
Around midday, she arrived in the town centre, which was swarming with soldiers. There were a couple of bakeries, one grocery shop, three garages, hairdressers and several cafés and restaurants; it did not hurt the little town financially to have the Germans here but there was a strong Résistance movement headed by the communist Raymonde Carbon, who became the town’s mayor after the war.
Gaston had given Violette the names of Madeleine Blincourt at one of the café-bars and Joseph Le Cauvin, a garage owner. She was hungry and decided to go the café-bar for a snack and to see if Madeleine could help her. As she entered, she found herself in the midst of German soldiers drinking and singing, with a French female singer leading the sing-along. The soldiers had clearly been drinking for some time and whistled as Violette hurried over to the bar and asked for Madeleine. Violette ignored the whistles and turned her back on the room. ‘Hello Madeleine,’ she said to the young woman who introduced herself. ‘Glad to see you. I’d like a tisane if you have any, as I am feeling a little under the weather. Gaston dropped me in Chantilly and I’ve ridden from there. Chilly.’
‘Of course, dear girl,’ answered Madeleine. ‘You must be careful not to catch a chill in this weather. Gaston should have brought you here. Come with me, I’ve a friend I’d like you to meet.’ They had exchanged the coded greeting.
Violette followed Madeleine to the backroom, where they sat near the kitchen stove. Violette explained what she wanted to do, and would appreciate a bed for the night. She would ride back to Rouen the next morning unless Joseph Le Cauvin could arrange a lift part of the way.
Madeleine suggested setting out immediately and that they should ride ahead to the turning into Chemin des Carrières. She told Violette that it was about two miles north and not far from Saint-Maximin, where she explained there was a German transport depot hidden in the same woods. They would not be able to get much further as there were too many sentries all along the quarries and the forest area at the rear. She went on to explain that Henri Bonaventure worked there and he would be able to give Violette some information later that evening, as he came to the café for his evening meal every day. They laughed as they talked, to disguise the undercover nature of their jaunt. Just a couple of women chatting away; one young and decidedly pretty, the other a little older, but still attractive in a blousy kind of way.
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As they rode out of the village Violette made mental notes of everything and everyone she saw around her, including the mood of the villager
s and the German military, which seemed in both cases calm and purposeful. The quarries were huge and hidden in the forest about half a mile from the river Oise.
Two Gestapo stepped into the middle of the road leading to the quarries and demanded their papers. Studying Violette’s papers, one of them asked why she was so far from Le Havre, which her documents stated was her hometown. She replied that she had been asked to look for her uncle in Chantilly and as Madeleine was her friend, she came to stay on her way there. She did not say that she had come from Chantilly, but rather that it was her destination. Then, if the Gestapo decided they were interested in her, they would not think she would be heading for Rouen and Dieppedalle. ‘Perhaps you could tell me if Colonel Niederholen has arrived yet from Rouen? He’s such a kind man and I’d love to meet him again if he is here,’ smiled Violette sweetly with a coy sideways look at the Gestapo officer.
‘Not that I know of. If he is here, I will pass on your message. Where are you staying?’
‘At the café-bar in rue de la République.’
‘Proceed. Do not enter the areas beyond the signs. Those areas are verboten.’
‘No, sir, thank you,’ replied Violette.
Poor Madeleine was pale as a sheet and trembling. ‘How on earth did you manage to get away with all that?’