by Tania Szabô
Violette concluded that she had to flee Rouen, not only for her own safety but for the safety of people she had dealings with. She had achieved all her objectives and more, and it would have been a mistake to stay longer. However, she said firmly that she was ready to return at any time with new papers and identity because, as a half-French woman, she could move around more freely and persuade people to join the Allied cause or wait for further orders. She had arrived in Paris a couple of days earlier than anticipated to rendezvous with Philippe and then they both returned to London via Le Fay.
The first debriefings were with Maurice Buckmaster and Vera Atkins. These meetings and debriefings swung easily between English and French.
Vera was also fluent in German and Rumanian and capable in other European languages. Vera Atkins’ naturalisation papers had just recently been accepted. But she had proved her worth time and again as Buckmaster’s assistant; some saying it was Vera rather than Buckmaster running the show. She certainly had mentally collated a myriad of details about the lives of ‘her girls’, their operations and those of male agents, radio operators and even codes, with not a word written down. Since the war, many questions have been asked as to her allegiances. I would suggest her total allegiance was to her adopted county and the Allied cause. As a Jew, she could have had no truck with the Axis. Vera might have had left-wing leanings but she was not alone. She might perhaps have given a helping hand to the US, where her brother chose to live. She had proved over the previous two years to be indispensable to ‘Buck’.
Vera was promoted to F Section Intelligence Officer and could therefore use the abbreviation ‘F Int.’ giving her great satisfaction. She had suffered from anti-Semitism and was a victim of the general snobbery in SOE and her social life. This attitude was not at all unusual from the ‘toffs’ of the service – many refer to it, including Leo Marks. It had taken Vera at least four years from starting as a simple secretary to secure her merited high place in the service and to some extent she also adopted a haughty and often counterproductive attitude.
Violette understood this attitude, because in England she was working class, and it rankled when one was putting one’s life on the line at the behest of such people. However, everyone knew their place, understood the system and got on with it.
Vera was at the peak of her abilities during these hard years of war and quite irreplaceable. After the war she would continue to do battle – always discreetly and totally dedicated – whether seeking the truth regarding ‘her girls’ who had been murdered by the Nazi regime or in her involvement in UNESCO and other world foundations.
‡
Note
102 Allied Air Force (AAF) = RAF, French, Polish, Dutch, Australian, New Zealand, American and Canadian pilots among others.
24
Rest and Refreshers,
More Debriefs
Thursday 4 May 1944 onwards
‘A rest I shall have, a sleep I shall have …’
From a poem attributed to Leo Marks, code master
For four days and nights they were shut off from the world in the confines of Orchard Court, except for being chauffeured to Wigmore and Baker Streets. Philippe and Violette were thoroughly exhausted after separate and joint talks and debriefings, including those at the War Office and with Lieutenant Colonel R.A. Bourne-Paterson, SOE’s F Section’s second-in-command. Finally, they were able to join Vera and Buckmaster for an informal chat, then Philippe accompanied Violette to her parents’ home in Burnley Road.
‘Bed and sleep are the order of the day. You could both do with a good rest and certainly deserve it,’ was Vera’s parting shot.
As they sank back comfortably in the roomy, soft leather backseat of the Humber, Violette said, ‘Philippe, would you ask the driver to take us to Mill Hill so I can pick up Tania. It’s not too far away and not dark yet.’
‘Sacré bleu,103 Violette! You certainly pick your moments. All right.’ Sighing deeply, Philippe turned to the driver and gave him directions.
Half an hour later, they drew up to a small house on a slight incline. Violette jumped out to fetch Tania. Vera Maidment had just fed her on bread and milk and was surprised to see them, but welcomed Violette in, helping gather a few of Tania’s things. Back in the car, the tiny girl sat between Violette and Philippe yawning then dozing to Stockwell. It was early evening and dusk was falling.
The driver pulled in to the kerb outside 18 Burnley Road and helped Violette out as she was carrying the sleeping child in her arms, then unloaded Violette’s luggage, taking it up the steps to the front door. No lights were visible; because it was blackout. Violette rang the bell and they waited.
After a while soft footfalls approached the door and an enquiring head peeped out from the door open a crack, ‘Oh, goodness me, it’s Vi. It’s really you. Oh, how wonderful. Come in, come in … and le Major Staunton is wiz you. Well, well, well … and little Tania, too? How did you …?’
‘Oh, for goodness sake, Mum, give us a hug and let us in,’ was Violette’s laughing response to her mother’s astonishment and delight. But she leaned back wearily against the door as Reine took Tania from her.
‘She looks all in, poor girl,’ remarked Reine, looking at her darling daughter.
‘Just put her to bed and I’ll be off,’ said Philippe.
‘Oh no, no you don’t,’ said Violette, suddenly coming to life. ‘You must come in and have a cup of tea with us.’ As they walked into the narrow hall, heads appeared from the kitchen and up the stairs. Reine had put her arm around Violette’s waist, letting Tania climb down as she woke up to the excitement. Philippe brought in the luggage.
Pandemonium erupted in the little Georgian house. With her delightful French accent, Reine fussed around them all, to-ing and fro-ing from the kitchen, preparing tea and laying out biscuits, all the while exclaiming how good it was to see Violette and me, and welcoming Philippe. Charlie was in magnanimous mood and their youngest, Dickie, came in, wondering what was going on – he was growing fast – a strikingly good-looking lad and intelligent with it. Grinning broadly, he walked to Violette, kissed her on her right cheek and shook hands solemnly with Philippe.
Her other brothers, Roy, based in the south, and John, serving in the tanks, were on leave from the army while George had come on leave from the navy. The family was complete. Florrie Lucas, Charlie’s sister, had come down from Hereford to see her son Norman, also on leave from the navy. They were all staying at number 18. A tight squeeze – but a happy one.
Violette, dying to distribute her gifts, shouted over the laughter and leg-pulling, ‘Look, keep quiet a minute! I’ve got one or two little gifts for you. While I was down on the coast, doing my bit for the war effort, driving and the like, a couple of Belgians came over on a small fishing-boat loaded with hauls captured from German coasters off Belgium. Nobody seemed interested so we took what we wanted with the blessing of our superiors. They knew we’d been working damned hard and thought this would be a good way to say thanks. We thought so, too!’
Philippe sat in the background; his eyes wide at the easy story falling from her lips. He was happy to relax, seeing the pleasure Violette’s parents and brothers showed at seeing her again. Her fatigue was pushed aside in the joy of giving out the gifts from occupied France, beguiling them to believe they came from some English field!
‘Well,’ chimed in Philippe. ‘I’m off now. I have returned your errant daughter in one piece. She needs a rest. A car will collect her in two days to take her to FANY HQ as they want her to do advanced driving or mechanics or something,’ he added wickedly.
Violette laughed. Reine looked up, smiling, wondering if they were romantically involved, while Charlie glowered at him, wondering what his intentions were with his only daughter. They both knew he was a French journalist married to a Frenchwoman. But his manners were impeccable and Violette treated him as her commanding officer. They concluded they were mistaken.
‘Goodnight,’ everyone chimed.
‘Major S
taunton, thank you so very much. I’m aware of some of what she’s been through. Thank you for bringing her safely home to me and to Tania,’ Reine whispered quietly to him in French.
‘She did it all herself, madame. She is very clever and very courageous. And it’s my pleasure. Goodnight,’ he replied in French. He ran down the steps and into the waiting black Humber that carried him swiftly to one of SOE’s special safe-houses.
Reine returned to her family and saw young Dickie with the small French Meccano set Violette had brought back for him. Violette gave Aunt Florrie one of her own bottles of perfume. She did not want her aunt and cousin to feel left out. Florrie was thrilled; it was her first bottle of expensive French perfume and she continued using it sparingly for years. Then there were lawn hankies and silk ties for the men; Violette had bought enough to give Norman, her cousin, a set. When her mother opened her gifts of cosmetics, perfume, kid gloves and beautiful silk scarf, she looked closely at Violette, who winked back. Her parents were not duped but the boys took her story at face value, admiring their gifts. Then Violette unwrapped her yellow jumper and the three dresses, shoes and handbag. ‘That’s a bit bright, Vi, that jumper, don’t you think,’ frowned her father.
‘Oh, Dad, don’t be so square!’ was Roy’s laughing retort, always coming to Violette’s aid when Charlie Bushell grumbled at her modern outlook.
‘All right, all right. Can’t take a joke anymore, eh, Vi? It’s a lovely jumper and you’ll look like a summer’s day in it. The dresses look pretty. Silk, aye? Might even write you a couple of verses on them and their provenance, if you’re not careful.’ Charlie Bushell knew when he was beaten and was, in fact, proud as punch of his daughter.
Reine frowned at the mass of contradictions that was her husband; sometimes rash and full of stories, sometimes taciturn and a ‘bit of a tartar’, as the boys liked to say. Charlie liked to consider himself the head of the household. He could and would protect his only daughter. He would never admit it, but he had known that she had been undercover in France since he found the parachute badge she had dropped after a flaming row over how she had sprained her ankle.
Perhaps his over-protectiveness was to compensate for the years he had to leave his two oldest children, Roy and Violette, with the French side of the family. More likely, it was the effects of serving on the frontline in the First World War and having experienced what he and everyone thought was the worst that mankind could do to itself across trenches of broken spirits, broken bodies, rotting flesh and cesspits. Those who survived would soon discover mankind could commit far worse.
Authoritarian as Charlie was with Violette, he was more so with Roy and the boys, who considered their father far too harsh. Hot arguments were no rare thing in the Bushell household, but they were often forgotten ten minutes later. There were also many happy moments full of laughter and fun. Reine was there to diffuse situations. She loved Charlie and so put up with his difficult nature. Her love was fully reciprocated, if taken for granted.
After the flood of gifts, Violette took out a special box and called Tania, who was not quite two years old, over to her. She gave her the box to open. It was full of lovely tissue paper and she pulled out the prettiest dress she had ever seen. ‘That’s for you, Tania, do you like it?’
‘Yes, very much,’ Tania said shyly. ‘I want to put it on now.’
‘You know, Violette, it’s too big for her. It would be a pity, although possible, to alter it to fit her now. Better keep it in that box and it vill be lovely when she is about four, don’t you sink, darling?’ commented Reine. ‘The material is beautiful. So smooth – zer best lawn comes from France, of course.’
There was a rueful look from Tania, who was desperate to wear it right then and there. Dickie called her over to show her how to put two pieces of Meccano together so the little girl forgot about the dress, losing herself in the magic of his box.
It was around nine o’clock when Roy, Norman, John and George went off down the pub for a beer or two. The door closed quickly so no light shone into the street. Violette said she was going to bed, taking Tania with her. Dickie had fallen asleep behind the couch so Charlie carried him to his tiny bedroom at the top of the stairs. Reine busied herself with clearing up, humming softly, glad Violette was back safe, knowing she had been in France, in dangerous places. Reine saw strain and fatigue in her eyes, hoping desperately she would take on no more dangerous missions.
‡
After she had put me to bed, Violette was so awake that she asked Reine if she could have a bath now the house was quiet again.
‘Bien sûr, ma chère Violette. Let me run it for you,’ said her mother, thinking that a nice warm bath would ease the tiredness from her daughter’s young body. ‘I’ll put a couple of towels out to heat on the stove, too.’
‘Come in and talk to me, or let me talk to you, Maman. En français so we can be discreet.’
‘Certainement, chérie,’ called Reine as she bustled to get the bath running. Florrie retired with a book into a corner of the sitting room, later sleeping on the divan Reine made up as a bed for the night.
The tiny bathroom was just off the kitchen so kettles of boiling water were brought in as needed and towels warmed over the stove. Violette poured a packet of luxurious French bath salts into the bath. She was feeling very tired but relaxed and free of anxiety.
‘You sit on the stool and I’ll tell you some really funny things,’ went on Violette, entirely in French. She told her mother all about Paris, about the Grand Café with Philippe’s aunt (whom she said was the aunt of a friend of Philippe’s called Tante Eva, not Evelyn), touched on her trip to Rouen and Le Havre, about the train journeys, adding, ‘It was so funny, you know, being on the Rouen train with German bigwigs kow-towing to an attractive young Frenchwoman, offering her a seat in their carriage, cigarettes and showing their photos to her.’
‘Well, you are an attractive young Frenchwoman, dear,’ commented Reine, speaking in English. ‘Especially with zer beautiful accent you ’ave – very Parisian – you’ve lost your provincial Picardian accent. But it must ’ave been so perilous. Don’t go again. It eez far too dangerous. You ’ave a daughter to think about.’
‘Maman. I know. She’s just gorgeous. But here’s something I do well and it’s for her and for you, of course for Étienne, for all of us and for Tante Marguerite all by herself under those damn Nazis.’ She told her mother many things as she relaxed in the bath. ‘You know, it was such fun going into those high-class fashion houses. I met André Malraux.’
‘What was he like?’
‘A strange man but doing his bit, quite a big bit, it seems. I’m about done now, pass me a towel, please, Mum.’
‘I shall dry your back and then make you ’ot milk with ’oney. Like I used to when you were a child.’
Off she went to the kitchen and bustled about while Violette finished drying herself and put on her mother’s dressing gown.
Ensconced in her narrow bed, pillows propped up behind her, hair damp and tousled from bathroom steam, Violette felt just like a child again. It was lovely. It was really her mother who kept the family together. I must think of making a will if I’m to go again, thought Violette, and make sure that Maman is guardian to Tania, not Dad, but Vera can look after her for as long as necessary. A light tap at the door and her mother walked in, bearing a tray with a glass of warm milk and honey and some tea biscuits.
‘Gosh, it’s good to be here. Thank you for everything, Maman. Tomorrow, I’ll take Tania back to Vera Maidment as it’s safer for her at Mill Hill and keeps her out of Dad’s hair. I hope Vera is giving her good food. Mind you, I’m paying her so I’m sure she is, it’s just that Tania looks a little peaky and seems to still have a bit of a cough. Anyway, at the weekend I’ll pick her up and we’ll come and see you. Meanwhile I’ll be in the Pembridge Villas flat so I can get to meetings easily.’
‘Yes, dear, I noticed her cough, too. But it should soon disappear now that it’s springtime. I
should think the weather’s improved in Pont Rémy as well. You know, I just don’t understand my sister, Marguerite. She’s so stubborn; she wouldn’t leave France when you and Dickie came ’ome. She should ’ave come to live ’ere with us.’
‘She’s happy there. You’re the one who fell in love with an English bloke, not her!’
‘You’re right, Vi. But I miss her. And I’m afraid for her. Now, my dear, sleep. You’ll wake up fresh tomorrow.’ She kissed her daughter on the cheek, then turned off the light and went down the stairs after quietly closing the door.
‡
A further full day of debriefing took place at 59 Wimpole Street before Violette was summoned to be yet again debriefed, at a Baker Street office and finally at an office attached to the War Office. The meetings in Baker Street and the War Office bureaux concerned all she had learned about the V rockets, their sites that Violette had visited or acquired intelligence on and the German Naval Headquarters in Rouen. She was asked to draw ground plans. Question after question was asked to help her recreate the sites as accurately as possible. She gave details of military emplacements and personnel attending them and geographic and demographic intelligence on surrounding areas.
Finally, she passed on intelligence she had gained from her visit to the dangerous town of Le Havre and gleaned from Résistants and leaders of groups further afield.
Having a coffee in one of the canteens one day, she learned that, on their return flight from France, they just missed the bombing raid on Portsmouth on the night of 30 April, as they flew over the Channel. She and Philippe were truly lucky to be alive.
It was an exhausting four days and Violette went back to Pembridge Villas in the evenings, as it was central for her meetings with the Baker Street bods. Although she missed Tania, she knew she could not leave her alone in the flat at Pembridge Villas all day while she was being debriefed. She was happy to meet up with friends in SOE and go clubbing or to the cinema in the evenings. It took her mind off things.