Young, Brave and Beautiful

by Tania Szabô

  Violette realised she could take the train from Rouen. She knew she would be stopped at the station checkpoints and that would be dangerous. But she would not endanger anybody else’s life and could better protect the information she held. She would tell Madame Thivier that she was leaving and ask her to pass on her very real thanks to everyone. She would not tell her where she was going nor how she was travelling.

  Then she remembered she had other sets of identity cards she could use. Of course, that is what she could do. Catch a train under another identity. She looked at her timetable and decided to break the journey. She could get a single ticket for Mantes-la-Jolie. There she would get out and go and spend any waiting time in the town or reading quietly with a coffee at the station. Then, after an hour or so, she would get a ticket to Paris. Yes, that was definitely what she would do.

  At that moment, Madame Thivier walked into the breakfast room. ‘Ma petite, what on earth are you doing in here, in the dark almost?’

  Violette told her what had happened and that she would be leaving just before daybreak. She did not say where she was going as she did not want to put this fine lady in any more danger.

  ‘I’ll be sorry to see you go, chérie. But I’m also glad. For your safety. You must be very, very careful wherever you’re going. ’

  ‘Thank you. You’ve been so kind to me and I’ve enjoyed every moment here. Let me settle my bill now – not forgetting all those treats, by the way. You have made me as snug and safe as I could possibly be.’

  ‡

  Violette took breakfast alone at dawn and then went to say farewell to Madame Thivier, who had got up especially early to see the girl had some kind of breakfast and a fond farewell from a friend.

  That kind woman had made a generous pannier so Violette would not have to use a café-bar on her journey; Madame Thivier also gave her an old travelling blanket so she could sleep rough if need be or keep her warm during a train journey. She hoped the weather would hold out for that young woman.

  She went off to get the basket and blanket while Violette went to her room to finish packing her luggage and make safe her rice papers, extra sets of forged identity cards and money. She was dressed in warm underclothes, nylon stockings and her smart navy shoes. She wore her silk blouse covered by the beige jumper over her navy skirt. Easy to move in. Winter scarf on. The blue cardigan had been returned to her and, still wrapped in brown paper, was tied to her case. She left her reading material in the room and carried her luggage down to reception. Once there, she tied the blanket that Madame Thivier handed her on top of the wrapped cardigan.

  ‘Thank you very much, Madame Thivier. I shall never forget you. Please give Denise and Lise a big hug from me, to be passed on to all the friends I have made here. One day when all this is over, I shall come back and we shall have a wonderful time together.’ She smiled so sweetly, it brought tears to Madame Thivier’s old eyes.

  ‘Now, you take great care, my girl,’ she warned. ‘Adieu,86 petite!’

  ‘Adieu, madame!’

  Violette took her suitcase in one hand, the pannier in the other. Her long jacket she draped over her shoulders and threw her bag over her left shoulder.

  ‡

  She walked over the rubble, heading slowly to the north of town. Daylight had hardly reached the horizon. She had a timetable and a road map she had surreptitiously ‘acquired’ when she had bought her reading material. She was ready for the worrying journey on enemy trains. As it was Sunday, there would not be as much movement of civilians and military as on the other days of the week so extra vigilance was required. She knew the police, and probably the Gestapo and Milice, would be on the lookout for her.

  It was too early to go to the station, but Violette had something she must do first. She went for a last walk around the town. The duty police sergeant of last night was nowhere to be seen, nor his replacement. Ensuring she was not followed, she looked for an area free of people. She walked through the lanes towards the Hôtel de Ville and ambled unhurriedly along the side path into the extended gardens at the back, carefully looking for the space she needed. Shortly, she found a bed of mature bushes that seemed to have some sort of gap behind them.

  Looking around carefully at the windows overlooking the park, Violette saw no snooping eyes. Quickly she pushed her way through the bushes and found just enough room for her purpose. A good hiding place, and dry. She threw in her luggage and ducked in. First, she unwrapped the cardigan. Taking off her jumper and jacket, she wrapped them in the brown paper that had held the cardigan, belting them to the suitcase. She put on the cardigan. It was lined and had pads to square the shoulders off, so it looked like a Chanel-type jacket. She removed her socks, stuck them in her bag along with her scarf, then brushed her hair into a fashionable style and put on a little makeup. Finally she placed a navy blue beret on her head.

  She now looked quite different. She would walk differently too. Then she took out a new set of identity papers and hid her old ones in the name of Corinne Leroy in the lining of her cardigan (which she had prepared the night before). They may be useful again in Paris or when travelling back to England.

  She was now Madame Marguerite Blanchard, née Picardeau, veuve – widow. Address in an attractive old quarter of Vincennes, a town to the south-east of Paris. Her cover was that her husband had been killed on the Maginot Line in 1940 and she now ran his small business in top-quality vegetables and charcuterie for the wealthier citizens of Vincennes. She had come, in the cover story she had constructed during the night, to Rouen to negotiate new terms with a farmer in Gournay-en-Bray, a Monsieur Dubois whom she had briefly met with Joseph. She would describe him as her main supplier of superior fruit and vegetables, explaining that all her supplies had to be the best quality as they were delivered by her carriage man to Château de Vincennes, requisitioned by the Wehrmacht.

  Violette also had the pretext of seeking new suppliers in the region. Her identity papers included a special German authorities’ pass containing the correct German stamps for such activities as visiting agricultural communities, even in the forbidden zone.

  ‡

  Her new disguise complete, Violette walked purposefully and with dignity down the little lane out of the park. Turning right, she took the narrower lanes to the train station. She chose a street where she remembered posters of Philippe and Bob were affixed to a wall. After carefully glancing around she quickly ripped off two, stuffing them in her pocket for SOE in London, then quickly moved on. Later she could conceal them more securely.

  The first check was at the entrance to the station. Violette joined the largest queue, head held high, slightly impatient while hoping the sentry’s concentration would be lagging after a heavy Saturday night and the boredom of an early Sunday duty. As she came up to him, he looked at her carefully, then at her identity document with her photo. This image showed her in similar clothing to those she was now wearing. He also looked down a list that he held on a clipboard.

  The name of Corinne Leroy must be on it, she was sure. With a description of her, judging from the careful scrutiny she was given. She had done her best to look different without a true disguise. Her cardigan-jacket was thrown elegantly over her shoulders and her beret slanted fashionably to one side. The guard checked every line of two of her documents, looked at her again, then let her pass. By this time, her hands were trembling but as they were holding her luggage it was not detectable.

  She looked him in the eye and smiled offhandedly as he handed back her documents. Making her way to the ticket office, she purchased a first-class single ticket on the first train to Mantes-la-Jolie. This would bring her some forty-five miles towards Paris, about halfway there. Violette had chosen Mantes-la-Jolie on account of it being large enough that she would not stand out if she had to remain there for some time.

  Her train would be departing in fifteen minutes. She decided not to go into the brasserie where she had met her friends. She doubted that ‘her’ colonel would be there at t
his time in the morning, but it was better to avoid trouble and to wait on the platform. At the platform-gate she was required to present her papers, which were checked again very carefully and then she was politely told to move on. Relieved, she walked smartly through.

  Finally, the train crawled in, spewing smoke over the travellers. Although the platform was not full, there were enough passengers so that Violette could mingle and climb into a first-class carriage full of Frenchmen and women dressed in similar casual elegance.

  The journey took just over an hour and a half. The gendarmes halted the locomotive at one station for fifteen minutes while they searched the carriages for two suspected ‘criminals’. Another stop when papers were checked. Violette opened her pannier and snacked on the wonderful array prepared by Madame Thivier. Despite the delays, it was a relaxing and enjoyable journey.

  Once the train pulled into Mantes-la-Jolie and she had disembarked with her luggage, she immediately went to buy a single ticket for Paris and then looked for the platform. Violette felt much less conspicuous here and not quite so tense. Her clothing was well chosen and although a number of men watched her as she walked past, her comportment discouraged any approaches. She wore her emerald engagement ring turned inwards as her wedding ring. She was elegantly dressed and every gesture was that of a woman used to conducting her own affairs.

  Having checked the number of her platform, she bought a local newspaper, went across to the Brasserie Hôtel Terminus and ordered coffee, where she read the paper and glanced from time to time at the people as she waited patiently. She noticed that there were no Gestapo or police on duty. Two Miliciens were checking identity papers and German soldiers came in and out of the station. Outside in the forecourt, she noticed a number of military vehicles but nothing of great interest. This town had also been bombed on 19 April, as had many north-west and north-east of Paris. And, too, many of the other towns along the Channel coastline, with major roads, railway lines, canals and rivers, essential for the movement of German troops and weaponry.

  The hour passed pleasantly enough and eventually she strolled elegantly over to her platform. A porter, whom she tipped handsomely, carried her suitcase and pannier. He was a happy man and winked conspiratorially at her.

  Installed in her first-class carriage on the way to Paris, she noticed a few German officers further down her carriage. It was not full but there were the usual collection of businessmen and their wives going to treat themselves to Sunday in Paris.

  A Gestapo officer took the seat across the aisle. Fear danced again. Her temples began to throb. She forced herself to calm down, reminded herself of her persona. She crossed her legs elegantly, picked up her newspaper from the empty seat next to her, opened it and began to read with a slightly superior air.

  She tried to ignore his presence but could not, not entirely. He seemed absorbed in the papers he carried in a much used attaché case. Eventually, the train slowed to a crawl through the smoky outer suburbs of Paris until, creeping into St Lazare Station, it came to a leisurely halt in a hiss of steam and a loud double hoot.

  ‡

  Note

  86 Adieu means [go] with God, similar to vaya con Dios in Spanish and equivalent to farewell. It means at the very least a long separation.

  Part IV

  20

  Paris and André Malraux

  Once Again

  Sunday 23 April to Monday 24 April 1944

  Violette stepped down from the train with a huge sense of relief. The Gestapo officer had left his seat as they came into the station, jumping from the train even before it had come to a stop. Violette walked to the platform exit, passing uneventfully through the German security check and over to the Terminus Café, where she found a corner table and ordered coffee to think calmly through her next move.

  It was afternoon on a quiet Sunday. Tomorrow she would have a full day in this anonymous city before her first chance to meet Philippe on Tuesday. Where should she go now? She could go straight to Tante Evelyn’s apartment; she still had the key to the door. But she might put Philippe’s aunt in real danger or possibly disrupt an operation, disturb a Résister using it as a safe-house.

  Her instinct was to stay away until she had met Philippe in the Luxembourg Gardens. At some time, she knew, she would have to meet up with André Malraux87 to let him know the fate of his half-brother, Claude. She preferred to talk to Philippe, her commanding officer, first. Not essential, perhaps, but correct procedure.

  Her papers were extremely good forgeries and she had plenty of money. Violette knew of a small private hotel just off boulevard Saint-Germain-des-Prés, the Reine Marie, which Harry Peulevé had described to her. Discreet, established and comfortable. Under normal circumstances, it would have been way out of Violette’s price range. She would take a quiet look first.

  She hailed a vélo-taxi, a cycle rickshaw which was Paris’s answer to the petrol shortage. Paris looked beautiful and it was clear that some parts of the economy were booming. Cash-rich Germans, military and civilian, frequented the myriad smart cafés, restaurants, fashion houses, elegant department stores and boutiques, brasseries, cabarets and concert halls. Yet for the Parisian working population food, coal, gas and petrol were in grimly short supply, with the Germans having every priority. The German soldiers had no trouble finding French girls to take to a café-dansant88 or the cinema showing the latest films passed by the Vichy censor’s office. Many cinemas were out-of-bounds to French citizens unless they were in the company of a German.

  Since 1940, due to the Germans’ lavish spending, there had been a cultural revival in gai Paris. Even avant-garde art and theatre were doing well, though many artists had fled the country. Germans and wealthy Parisians or provincial visitors enjoyed the performances of Maurice Chevalier, close friend and lover of Mistinguett, another famed and much-loved but by then ageing performer from the era of the First World War and roaring twenties. The growing popularity of jazz in wartime France was a less acceptable leisure pursuit to the German mind, who considered it mere decadent Jewish and Negro nonsense. So it was natural that jazz became a symbol of revolt and non-acceptance of Nazi tyranny.

  ‡

  Violette needed shelter for three to five days, so she registered at the Reine Marie under the name of Madame Marguerite Blanchard, widow, as more fitting for a woman staying alone in a Paris hotel. Once registered, she unpacked in her pleasantly luxurious room. She decided to relax, have a bath and ordered coffee with pastry to her room. As the afternoon wore on, she opted to dress in casual, discreet beige and step out into the spring air.

  She went for a long stroll through the boulevards. Paris is a small city and to walk from its northern boundaries to those of the south only takes about two hours. Paris was suffering shortages of everything from electricity to Métro trains to bread. All was much as it had been when she arrived three short weeks ago – an eternity. Some débrouillards were still getting rich on the black market while others with the cash paid dearly for little treats.

  At 100 rue Richelieu, Violette met and spoke briefly to a number of people who had bought modestly priced prepared meals from the Comité d’action de restaurants communautaires (Community Restaurants Action Committee), set up for the purpose in 1944. They exchanged news of events in Rouen and this committee’s work in feeding many Parisians.

  She walked around the corner to rue George V and into Fouquet’s on the corner of George V and the Champs-Elysées for a hugely expensive but authentic coffee with a real butter croissant on its terrace. The proximity of near-starving citizens to those Parisians with money to burn shocked her.

  Violette was amazed to see one group of Germans in front of a luxury hotel loading two large vans not only with bags and suitcases, but also crates of wine and spirits, furniture and silverware, all hurriedly piled into the back of vehicles without too much care or organisation. They seemed to her rather sheepish looters and she wondered if this signalled the beginning of the end. Were the non-military Germa
ns abandoning Paris with as much loot as they could carry? Yet another piece of valuable intelligence for London on the German civilian and military frame of mind.

  Being alone in Paris was proving useful in discerning the mood of the town. Violette was more receptive than when she had first arrived. Now she entered areas that would have been previously unwise. She blended in easily and she did nothing to attract attention to herself; the embodiment of demure anonymity.

  How wonderful it would have been with Étienne beside her. Her heart cried out for him. He should have been there, in the hotel, lying next to her, holding her in his arms, making love to her. They should have bathed together, dressed together, both smiling with the look of love before dining and dancing somewhere swish and romantic. Violette had loved his laughing eyes, his tales of a legionnaire’s life, his uniform, his medals for gallantry, even his battle scars and his obvious courage. She had missed him when his leave ended and he went off to war, but this searing of her heart was different. There would never be hope for tomorrow. Tears fell down her cheeks as she walked along.

  She scolded herself for showing self-pity and dried her eyes. She clawed back her poise as she could not afford such emotions, instead allowing thoughts of revenge to sustain her. She hoped that in Rouen she had done sufficient to settle a score or two.