by Tania Szabô
‘Okay. And my two choices are “Begin the Beguine” and “The Lambeth Walk”,’ Violette stated firmly, smiling happily.
It was an evening filled with warmth and laughter.
‡
Back in London, after spending a night with Tania in Mill Hill, Violette returned to her flat in Pembridge Villas. Most mornings she had donned her dark blue WTS uniform and made her way either to FANY headquarters in Chelsea or to SOE in Baker Street to see what instructions were waiting for her. Most were to keep her on form in clandestine activities and ensure she was not wasting time and herself in idle pursuits.
One task was that of tracking trainees without being spotted. She never was. Another was to meet up with a trainee agent at the offices, while in uniform, or a club in ‘glad rags’ and find out some detail they were instructed not to divulge. She might be briefed to persuade them to say where they were living, or to give away their real name. Each agent had a cover name111 from the day they started training at SOE offices and Special Training Schools or mixing with SOE backroom and field personnel. Violette tried to discover any other detail about those she was testing or their family, or some new piece of military information. She was surprisingly adept at getting the trainee to reveal what he or she knew,112 surprisingly having most success with the women. On the whole, it was an exercise she enjoyed.
She continued target practice in amusement arcades and at a gun club near Fleet Street. She felt this was absolutely essential; not more than two days would pass without her having shot with a rifle or pistol.
It felt like deep summer during the hot, mostly sunny days. Violette decided to again visit her relations in Herefordshire for a brief quiet and restful break. She took Tania with her on the train to see her aunt and cousins. It was wonderful to be back in the beautiful Hereford countryside.
‡
On Wednesday 24 May, Violette picked up her issue of one pair of boots, the first part of her kit, and her promotion. She was now Lieutenant Violette Szabó. Her field pay had been increased from £300 to £325 per annum, paid quarterly to the Trafalgar Square branch of the National Provincial Bank. She was so excited when she told her parents that afternoon that she was babbling half in French, half in English.
‘Well, I’m proud of you, my girl, damn proud of you. You’ve done bloody well. I’m too old to go to battle but I’m doing my damndest as an ARW.113 John’s doing a good job in the REME114 and Roy’s in the army. George is risking his life on the high seas in the navy and now you, chit of a girl, climbing the bloody ranks. Well, I bleedin’ never!’
Reine looked on with pride and sorrow in her eyes. Her quiet but stubborn courage had been the backbone of the family since 1918, and now she must show greater stoicism in the face of imminent threat of serious injury or violent death to her three boys and daughter, as well as worry about her parents and sister in France. She was not immune either to the fear of being bombed, of Charlie and young Dickie being caught in bombing raids.
Violette tried to take her mother’s mind of these things by taking her window-shopping, walking through shining department stores. Her mother had done so much for her family. A little bit of pay-back time was due to her. It worked – for the time being.
‡
Next day, Violette returned to the issuing office to collect her battledress top and trousers with two shirts, one with collar attached, and two extras, a pair of socks, two ties and one pair of gloves. After some discussion, a pair of shoes was handed over. She signed for them, was issued a receipt and took them back to the flat.
A few days later, in the afternoon while John was still on leave, Violette was sitting at home, wondering whether she had made the right decision to meet Eric for a night on the town in Soho. She did not know him very well and had not spoken to any of her SOE chums about him. She knew he was an agent for the Norwegian Section of SOE but not much more. So she decided to persuade John, to join them. He was decidedly reluctant,
‘Oh come on, John. I’ll take you to the fanciest joint in Soho and we’ll paint the town all the colours of the rainbow. I’m meeting a friend in the forces, a Norwegian, Eric,’ pressed Violette. ‘You’ll like him. He’s a friendly guy, plenty of spirit and funny.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m off on a pub crawl. Not sure I want my sis cramping my style.’
John was in the REME because since childhood he had been intrigued by machines. The fascination stayed with him his entire life – especially in electronics and space. He read science fiction with a passion – all of which, to a small degree, he passed on to me. John took advantage of the excellent training, earning the practical and professional qualifications that set him up for life in Australia and then the US. It led him into the danger of war on which he thrived and survived, like his father, physically unscathed.
‘Well, I can drink you under the table any time, brother John. But I prefer to dance. Anyway, he’ll be company for you! It’ll be fun. We can dance and a drink, perhaps a bite to eat. What d’ you say?’
‘Aw, okay. I guess so. Don’t see you that often. What’ve you really been up to, ay sis?’
‘Nothing much, really …’
‘Don’t answer; keep mum as the posters say! I can bloody well guess – you be damned careful.’
‘Always careful, Johnny boy. Don’t drink too much, don’t smoke too much, dance and play a lot, shoot and ride as often as possible. Eat well. That’s a careful life, now isn’t it?’
‘Yep!’
‘Let’s say half past seven here. I’ll pay the taxi to and from Soho and you two can cover the rest. Celebrating my promotion. Section leader to lieutenant. I’m now a commissioned officer in the army. So, watch your step.’
When Eric arrived, Violette had to look up high as she did with John. They were both over six feet in height while she was a mere five feet three inches tall.
She introduced them. Eric was not much older than Violette, which meant that they were all in their twenties and very ready to enjoy a great evening. Eric, like John, was the quiet type, but a good sense of humour bubbled under the surface. Intelligence gleamed from his crinkly eyes and he was good-looking. John had a wicked sense of humour and could not resist, ‘I better go and put a dress and bonnet on if I’ve got to chaperone you two!’
‘John, you’re just the bloody limit! You’re on leave; I was feeling sorry for you and didn’t want you to be lonely, sitting here at home, all by yourself – so there!’ She retorted angrily, knowing he was not far wrong.
‘Humph!’
Eric fell about laughing at this brother-and-sister sparring.
Charlie came in, looked at the trio and grumbled, ‘Who the bloody hell are you?’
‘I’m Eric and I’ve come to take your daughter out for the evening.’
‘Oh, have you just? Where the hell do you think you’re going to, then, huh? Vi,’ he said turning to her, ‘if you’re not careful, I’m warning you, you’ll come to a bad end.’
‘Dad, you are the biggest pain!’ Violette swung around crossly. ‘If you were a little bit civilised you’d welcome my friend. Eric, John, and I are going out. If you bloody go on like this, I’ll be back at Pembridge Villas before you can say Jack Robinson. Don’t forget, don’t drink too much! It upsets Mum!’
Charlie swung round and stormed out of the room.
A couple of minutes later, Reine came in and said, ‘What on earth ’as got into Charlie now? Did you say something to ’eem, Violette?’ Her French accent rose with her concern.
‘Yes, I told him to bugger off and not to drink too much,’ retorted Violette, still smarting from her father’s attitude and words.
Eric stood smiling broadly alongside John, who had whispered something in his ear about their father and his unwarranted and unwanted protectiveness of his only daughter.
‘Now, you go out and enjoy yourself, Violette. You mustn’t always fly off zer ’andle with your father. He’s only trying to protect you, dear.’
As they reached the
door, Violette turned round and grinned at her mother. ‘We won’t be back until the wee hours, but I’ll take care of these two brutes and bring them back safely. Bye.’ They all laughed, said goodbye and the three young people tumbled down the stairs to the waiting taxi driven by Sidney Matthews, their family friend.
John understood Eric was a naval man who had joined the Norwegian freighter M/S Vestmanrød. This ship was to be the first to deliver supplies to the Normandy beaches on D-Day. John was intrigued by Eric, as he knew next to nothing about Norway and Norwegians. He asked many questions for which Eric did his best to supply the answers. He told them that the Norwegians were politically united under their new monarchy, unlike many other European countries. And in spite of Vidkum Quisling’s activities and his traitorous broadcasts, a high degree of patriotism was prevalent.
Eric described how King Haakon VII had escaped with the Royal Family and the government in 1940, bringing with them the gold reserves of the Bank of Norway. Violette said this must have been at the time when Étienne was fighting in Norway. The British, along with the Free French and many in the Norwegian navy, army and civilian population withdrew from Norway as their positions became untenable.
‡
For the rest of that night, war was a distant ghoul; Eric, John and Violette had a great time wandering the streets of Soho and into Great Windmill Street, where the Windmill Theatre played on, closing not once during the entire war. The three young people moved through a throng of musicians carrying their trombones, violins and other instruments, congregating in the street hoping to be picked by one of the major bandleaders. Finally, they entered a nightclub where they stayed until the early hours, the boys drinking heavily, all three singing, laughing and dancing to a three-part jazz-band and singer. John and Eric were the worse for wear, unsteady on their feet, singing foolish songs and, in a boozy haze, wondering how to get home.
‘Couple of twits. I’m going to flag down a cab,’ said Violette. She pushed their hulks into it and arranged them onto the seat where they fell into one another’s arms, guffawing and giggling all the while. When they arrived in Burnley Road, Violette paid the driver, clambered out and reached in to yank them out and then put an arm from each man over her shoulder, struggling up the steps, tiny between them. She was the only one sober having drunk very little. She hardly ever drank very much – a crème de menthe, a shandy, a Guinness and possibly a gin and tonic or half a pint. It was her nature to be in control of herself, even while she was having fun, dancing and generally enjoying life.
Reine came to open the door and smiled broadly, putting her fingers to her lips to keep them quiet, ‘My goodness, Violette, what a state they’re in. Let me help you.’
After having hauled them up the steps, Violette let her mother take one of the boys into the sitting room while she pushed the other inside and into a chair in the corner.
‘I see zat you are all right, Violette. Didn’t you enjoy yourself?’ asked her mother.
‘Oh yes, immensely, but somebody had to stay sober or we’d never have got back!’
And they both giggled over it, being mindful not to wake Charlie who had gone to bed early, grumbling about the lack of morals of the young today. He was snoring peacefully after Reine had tucked him in like a child, kissing his forehead and tucking the blanket more firmly around him.115
* * *
106 The V1 flying bombs were variously called ‘buzz bombs’ and ‘doodlebugs’.
107 Just about the very first question Sarah Helm, journalist and author, asked me when researching for her biography of Vera was, did I think that Vera had lesbian tendencies with regard to Violette, or, for that matter, any of the women in her charge? Not having ever considered this idea, I was somewhat at a loss. My curiosity certainly made me think carefully but on reflection, if Vera did entertain such notions she would have been extremely discreet. Equally, I know that Vera was attracted to a handful of men in her life with whom she had long-standing relationships, apart from the love of her life, a military man who had been killed in the war. On this matter, Violette and Vera had much in common. A year or so later, I met Sarah in her home, as she was temporary custodian to much of Vera’s archives, on loan from Phœbe Atkins, Vera’s sister-in-law, whose husband, like Vera, had changed his name from Rosenberg to the more English Atkins. I asked Sarah why she had thrown such a controversial question at me at the start of our interview. She told me that, very shortly before our meeting, a woman who worked within the same SOE offices as Vera had put the supposition to her so it was uppermost in her mind. We concluded there was not the remotest possibility as Violette clearly (and most probably Vera) preferred men as sexual partners. But, there was a strong mutual attraction of the platonic kind. They enjoyed their tentative friendship and their relationship of commanding officer to junior officer in SOE. Had Violette returned, she and Vera would doubtless have become firm friends, regardless of their many differences. Each had much to learn from the other.
108 ‘Buck’ was the nickname for Colonel Maurice Buckmaster.
109 ‘Revenons à nos moutons’ literally means ‘let’s get back to our sheep’ and derives from a farce of a trial regarding sheep in the sixteenth century. It is the French way of saying, ‘let’s get back to the matter in hand’. Quoted often by Rabelais.
110 WOK = Worked-Out Keys in codes, e.g. memorised poems. LOP = Letter One-Time Pads, usually in columns of four or five digits, printed on silk or paper. Initially on tiny pads so that once used the code could be destroyed, and the rest kept.
111 Each agent is supplied with many codenames, plus their cover name while training in the British Isles. As there is an overabundance, for easy reading I have used them as sparingly as I possibly can.
112 When a trainee agent was failed at any stage of training, he or she was sent to work in a remote, secure location and supervised closely for the duration of the war and not informed of his/her potential security risk.
113 ARW = Air Raid Warden.
114 REME = Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers.
115 For his contemporary biography on Violette, Violette’s mother wrote to R.J. Minney: ‘Violette did not like drink and she smoked very little. One night she took her brother John, who was home on leave from REME, and a young Norwegian named Eric, who was a secret agent, to a nightclub in Soho. Both boys were over six foot tall, and you can just imagine Violette having to bring them home in the small hours of the morning with one boy on each side of her, holding on for support to this tiny girl. All Violette told me afterwards was: “Somebody had to stay sober or we’d never have got back.”’
26
Hazells Hall, Fun and Delays
Friday 2 June to Monday 5 June 1944
‘A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on.’
Sir Winston Churchill
‘In wartime, truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies.’
Sir Winston Churchill
On the night of Friday 2 June, Violette sat with her mother and father. Again she implored them neither should attempt to find her, ‘Things may get difficult out there. I could be on the run and the Germans may be looking for me. It may be impossible for me to get back as planned – or to write. But you really mustn’t worry if you don’t hear from me. I’ll try to get messages to you, I really will. There’s always a way.’
‘Just you take damn good care of yourself. We know more or less what you’re up to and won’t do anything to jeopardise your work or your safety. Vi, please be careful,’ admonished her father. ‘I know we don’t always get on but you know I love you, your mother loves you and so do the boys.’ He was remembering with embarrassment how he had shouted at her when she returned from her second course at Ringway, near Manchester, yelling that all she was up to – apart from driving ungainly lorries – was clearly ‘servicing’ the military and she would end up in the gutter.
Violette, outraged, had grabbed he
r bag to storm out, but the contents had spilled over the sitting room floor. After shoving everything back in, she stalked up to her room, utterly furious with her stupid father, while he remained downstairs, fuming. A glitter under the settee attracted his attention so he bent to pick it up. It was her parachute badge, earned on completing her parachute course. Charlie had realised immediately what it meant; he went to her and apologised. They talked, ‘Mum’s the word, uh?’ he had said. He never mentioned it to anyone except his wife.
Now here she was, and he in utter anguish, but he listened.
‘There’s one thing I must insist you do not do: never try to find out where I am.’ Violette rushed on, not wanting to upset them but feeling she had to reiterate these things. ‘Just wait until the end of the war. It’s not going to be long now, anyway. If I get caught, I’ll be doing my damnedest to get back, you know that. I’ve been trained in all that sort of thing. And you’ll find me at the door, just like last time.’
Reine held back the tears, whispering, ‘I’m so frightened for you. Please be so, so careful.’
‘Of course I will, Maman,’ Violette said softly. ‘I’m dead scared of being captured and beaten by those thugs, you know …’
‘Oh darling …’ cried Reine. Charlie went white at the idea.
‘People do get through it. I suppose I would too. I’ve been well trained. And anyway, it’s rather unlikely to happen. I’ll kick them all up the bloody arse and run like blooming hell!’ She frowned hard in mock-anger.
Charlie laughed and Reine couldn’t help but smile – a tiny smile. Violette knew she should not have spoken of her fears, but they were her parents and she felt … well, somehow that there was a kind of message she had to leave … but she’d done it all wrong, she knew. Although her father was loquacious, she had never known him to divulge a confidence, so she knew she could trust him. Her mother likewise; Reine was naturally discreet and hardly accepted the concept of ‘gossip’, never mind taking part or talking out of turn.