Young, Brave and Beautiful

by Tania Szabô

  ‘Well, sir, you did leave a notice on the door, saying you wished to be woken without fail at five this morning.’

  Chaos reigned. ‘The devil we did?’ was Jean-Claude’s surprised comment. He had not heard anything about early morning calls.

  ‘What’s the big idea? We’re not wanted till tonight. You know that.’

  ‘Well, gentlemen, the note I found on the door just after you retired states: “Urgent. Please call us at 5 a.m. sharp, without fail – and see we are up.”’

  They looked at one another angrily. Understanding spread over each face. ‘That bloody woman!’ muttered Bob.

  ‘Let’s pull her from her slumber! See how she bloody likes it,’ stated Philippe as he marched past the nonplussed batman and strode down the hall, yanking open the door and pulling Violette roughly from her bed, sheet and blanket tangling around her as she fell.

  She had already woken up at the rumpus and angry shouts, and giggled like a child as Philippe dragged her from bed, then pummelled her with pillows. She was helpless with laughter on seeing their outraged faces, hearing their volley of oaths and curses. It was hugely successful. The batman had followed the men and now stood just outside the door with a grin spreading across his face. He’d had to get up early to ensure he obeyed the order but he didn’t mind one jot. Most amusing. Something to tell the other batmen. Not often a wee lassie got the better of male officers! The men stormed back to their room, slamming the door behind them ordering the batman not to let anyone near them until ten o’clock in the morning.

  Violette, still keyed up, got dressed and went downstairs to stoke up on strong, hot coffee, scrambled eggs and a slice of bacon. Vera arrived just before nine to commiserate over the failed drop and to announce over the coffee that the invasion had taken place, saying she must return to London immediately and would send her assistant, Nancy Frazer Campbell, to see them off tonight if she couldn’t make it back. She asked Violette to tell the team about the invasion and that the reception committee had sent a message during the small hours as they were flying back. There had been German patrols on the prowl so no landing or danger signals could be given. Violette turned on the news then flew upstairs into the men’s bedroom, shouting, ‘The invasion. We’ve landed. Come on. Get up! We’ve landed.’

  ‘Get back to your blasted bed,’ from Bob with an accompanying pillow thrown at her head and just missing as she dodged it.

  ‘No, it’s not a joke! Honest! It’s true. Miss Atkins has just told me before she drove back to London. Put the wireless on! We’ve invaded. They must’ve been sailing across as we flew back. We didn’t see a damned thing.’

  What made them immeasurably angry was that on their aborted flight the pilot had not told them of the astounding sight of the Allied armada crossing the water in the moonlight’s gleam with fighter pilots overhead, protecting their progress. They had missed seeing for themselves the picture that was now spread across the morning newspapers. Violette, Bob, Jean-Claude and Philippe were deeply, deeply disappointed and absolutely furious with the pilot and co-pilot; the navigator, too.

  ‘Miss Atkins has also briefed me on our departure. She didn’t want to wake you again so she asked me to pass it on to you. We go tonight. Last night, Germans were prowling so the committee thought it too dangerous to light up. They got a message through while we were flying back. Same arrangement tonight. Won’t be the Halifax as it’s on other duties. Probably a US Liberator with a US crew.’

  ‘Well, go back to blasted bed for an hour or so, Vi, and give us a bit of a break.’ said Philippe wearily. ‘We’ll all meet downstairs at around eleven.’

  ‘Okay. To make up for this morning, I’ll take you all rowing on the Cam and a late lunch afterwards. Same pub, if you like. My treat.’

  ‘I should bloody well think so,’ grumbled Bob. ‘You owe us.’

  She laughed and left them in peace.

  Later, they went for a long, lazy row on the Cam. Violette looked gorgeous in the yellow golfing jumper from Paris, grey slacks and short tousled dark hair. The water was icy but the day hot and sunny. They lay on the grass and chatted a while as they caught the sun. A little later, they lunched in the pub, returning to the clubhouse relaxed and looking forward to the night flight.

  ‡

  Vera was disappointed to have to send her assistant in her place to see the team off, but she needed to attend to urgent matters in London. She regretted forever having missed her ‘Merde!’ to Violette; she liked to see off all ‘her girls’ – it was her personal ritual, appreciated by the agents.

  Her assistant, the neatly uniformed Captain Nancy Frazer Campbell, was moved by Violette as she saw them off. Violette seemed so tiny next to the men. Nancy shouted to them the customary ‘Merde!’ by way of farewell, deafened by their shouts back of ‘Merde!’

  This time they were not flying from RAF Tempsford. Instead, after a light dinner accompanied by a little wine, they travelled to RAF Harrington, used by the US Air Force. They drove the forty-five miles in two black Humbers with hooded lights; a long hour’s journey winding through narrow country roads in the deep black of night. Not a light glimmered from farm or village.

  ‡

  The Liberator117 stood ready for take off at 22.26 hours on the night of 7 June and everyone climbed aboard. The B-24 crossed the English coast at Bolt Head in Devon at 23.30 hours, at a height of 6,000 feet, reaching Port Blanc on the Brittany coast at 23.59 hours. Maintaining its height, it continued to fly south-east between Paimpol and Guingamp, keeping to the west of St Brieuc and away from enemy guns. So far so good.

  Again the team and crew members in the aircraft’s depths saw nothing but the backs of the heads of the pilot and co-pilot. The Liberator was huge, easily transporting the agents and containers to be dropped. Its interior was stripped down: wooden sealing and protective plates were placed under the portholes and cargo door. The din excluded all conversation except that shouted in the ear of the listener. It was supremely uncomfortable but no one seemed to mind.

  The target for the American Liberator mission carrying Violette and her team was the coded location of Stationer 110B. Manned by the eight-man crew of Pilot Marvin Fenster of Squadron 36 No 538; their load was four ‘joes’ (people), twelve containers, ten packages and five Ns (‘Nickels’118). There were no PHs (pigeon hampers). They completed their operation successfully.

  Gunner Darwin Grey kept his eyes peeled for the enemy; any time they could be hit by anti-aircraft fire. Enemy airfields and military complexes armed with gunners and flares littered the port areas and all France. A time for nerves to become ragged or be kept under crisp control. This team of three men and one woman controlled their nerves by playing cards, gin rummy and blackjack.

  Twenty-one minutes later, after crossing the French coast, at 00.20 hours, they flew over Ploërmel, where an enemy green and yellow flare-dropping plane descended from above, lighting up the entire region in an eerie glow. They were flying at 5,000 feet at the time, but not a single gun boomed. No flak rose to pierce the fuselage. Clearly, the enemy on the ground was fully diverted by the invasion east along the Normandy beaches where Americans were taking Cherbourg and the Brits, Caen.

  No enemy activity was directed at the Liberator and the weather remained ‘good’ en route with visibility at ten to fifteen miles. Pilot Marvin Fenster, co-pilot Richard Warn and navigator Rick Davis identified the ridge leading to the target plus a forest slightly north-west, and Davis verified the precise drop zone.

  The bombardier, Avery Yancy, in place of the original bomb pit, had a hole through which joes dropped. The retractable turret with its guns had been removed to provide a circular ‘joe hole’ for parachutists and containers, covered with a slab of wood until they were over the drop zone. Their dispatcher, J.W. Hall, radio operator John Ringlesbach and engineer Richard W. Thomas kept busy. Seats were placed around the hole for the agents and dispatcher. The usual line and lights were installed.

  ‡

  Fenste
r announced their approach to the drop zone. The team prepared to jump but heard the pilot over the loudspeaker report he saw no coded lights. He would circle three times. If no lights appeared, they would return to England. Violette’s heart sank. To have come so far. Again. To be over the target. Again. To be forced to turn round and make the long tedious journey back. Again. All because the reception committee was not there, or warned of enemy presence, or arrested, perhaps even dead. It was not an option – not this time. Philippe was incandescent.

  ‡

  Fifteen minutes later, they approached the drop zone for the third time. Fenster noted the coding of the signal letter at target was there, but poor, and he considered going to the alternate target. Philippe, as commanding officer of the group, had already instructed the pilot to ready the aircraft to drop them whether or not coded lights showed.

  ‘Captain, it is essential we arrive this night as we have already been delayed by bad weather for two days. The Allied invasion has already taken place. We’re late and a huge task awaits us and time is running out fast.’

  Taking Philippe’s previous comments to heart, Fenster decided that ‘poor’ signalling was a damned sight better than ‘non-existent’ and continued the mission to drop over the Stationer zone. Successfully.

  ‘I understand. On your head then.’

  ‘Right. D-Day’s done. We were supposed to be on the job two days ago.’

  ‘No problem. Get ready to jump,’ ordered Fenster.

  ‘Be glad to be anywhere else except near that damned hole!’ grumbled Philippe as he wiped his sweaty hands down his overalls. ‘It’s a damned long way down with a wind blowing.’

  The C system of lights has three torches, usually red, in a row with a white flashing signal light set up at the downwind end of the row, to indicate to the plane the approach needed in order to land upwind. But they were not all alight as the aircraft approached. The reception committee, needing to ensure that they signalled to the expected plane, waited for sight of the aircraft before setting the white signal flashing.

  Over the target the weather was fair, no longer good, visibility was down, but that did not affect the drop of joes and containers. The reception according to Fenster’s report was ‘good’.

  Flight Lieutenant Fenster pulled the heavy craft up and round. It rose and curved through the dark sky like some prehistoric bird. Scarred by shrapnel and too many near-misses in other ops, the Liberator circled smoothly, responding to the lightest touch of the controls by its pilots.

  ‘Course 300o,’ Fenster shouted to his co-pilot. It was now 01.34 hours in the morning of 8 June.

  ‘650 feet,’ responded the co-pilot.

  Philippe and Bob jumped first at 01.49 hours. Next, bombardier Yancy and dispatcher Hall dropped twelve containers that landed just twenty metres to the left of the light.

  The Liberator swooped off to make its second run.

  The co-pilot confirmed to Fenster: ‘600 feet.’

  Three minutes after Philippe and Bob had jumped, Violette and Jean-Claude jumped. It was now 01.52 hours on 8 June. Yancy and Hall pushed out the ten personal packages, which landed to the right of the light. These packages included their suitcases, along with Sten guns, pistols and GM machine guns plus ammunition, a great deal of money, maps, plans and other equipment required for this urgent mission.

  Pulling up again, Fenster brought the plane in for the third and last run at 450 feet at 01.58 hours and his crew dropped the ten remaining containers.

  Just six minutes later, the five nickels were dropped on the plane’s return path, as it flew over the towns of Excideuil, Ambernac, Alloué and two villages. It crossed back over the enemy French coast at 03.40 hours at a lower height of 5,000 feet arriving back at RAF Harrington at 04.10 hours.

  ‡

  As Violette parachuted down, a sudden gust very slightly affected her landing so that she came down a little harder than expected from the fairly low jump. She fell onto her right side as her left foot, already having suffered torn ligaments, fell into a slight pothole. She picked herself up quickly enough and, although a little sore, she ignored it. She did not limp – it did not hurt sufficiently, although Philippe saw her rub it as he ran over to her.

  ‘Ça va, petite?’ Philippe whispered loudly, hoping she had not hurt herself thus jeopardising the mission.

  ‘Oui, oui, pas grave!’ was Violette’s muffled reply as she extricated herself from her harness and pulled the parachute towards her, ready to discard it safely. She stood up, winced briefly to herself and walked off without the least limp. She knew how an injury could cause a mission to fail or be ineffective. Given twenty-four hours, it would be as right as rain.

  ‘Allons-y!’ shouted the leader in a loud whisper to his reception committee and his four ‘guests’. His group had to collect and take into the trees all the containers and packages, ready to be loaded onto bikes.

  ‘Vite!’ cried one of the reception committee. ‘Before les Boches find out just where the plane was circling.’

  ‘We gotta get rid of all the containers.’

  The men and women rushed to get the containers off the landing field and into the truck hidden in a large, dark thicket.

  Violette was introduced as Louise Leroy, Philippe as Major Staunton. Jean-Claude was kept in the background with his wireless set. The less people saw of him, the better. Bob, so tall and a little bombastic, stood out and so Philippe made the most of it by pushing him forward, introducing him as instructor and leader of sabotage ventures.

  They were driven to the tiny village of Sussac, just south-west of their landing zone. Madame Anna Ribiéras hated the Germans who made her husband a prisoner of war, so from 1942 to the liberation of the Limousin in August 1944 she had offered a safe-house to agents from England. She was trusted and took very good care of her ‘guests’.

  ‡

  * * *

  117 The Liberator was B-24-D 42-40538 K.

  118 RAF code for propaganda leaflets to be dropped – originally in nickel canisters.

  Part VI

  28

  Arrival in Sussac

  Thursday 8 June 1944

  Sunlight was filling the tiny attic room when Violette woke up. She had wearily climbed into bed just after five o’clock in the morning. Reflecting on her arrival here in this tiny village, Violette wondered about the unnamed Maquis member who had led the reception committee last night. He was married to an Englishwoman; that seemed a darned good reason for him to liaise with the British agents on the evening of the Normandy landings. This man had arranged for Madame Anna Ribiéras, who lived with her young son, Jean-Pierre – nicknamed Pierrot – to prepare bedrooms for the new arrivals: Louise, Major Staunton (Hamlet), Captain Mortier (Clothaire) and the Virgile (or Brave). It had also been he who had arranged with the Maquis that the parachute drop of the four agents and the containers should take place over the large piece of farmland called Le Clos, just a few miles from Sussac.

  It had been around three o’clock in the morning when he and his reception committee accompanied the team to the safe-house Madame Ribiéras provided. Violette was unsure of his real role; perhaps it had been he who had helped Harry Peulevé on his first jump when he broke his leg. The moon had given the only light as they arrived in the village. They had been driven along the village square and stopped around the corner at a shoulder-high wooden gate. A low gleam came from the Ribiéras’ store at the back of the building. Once inside, they walked across to the opening into the kitchen where a few greetings were quickly exchanged as Madame Ribiéras, accompanied by her close friend and constant companion, Mademoiselle Géry, ushered the four new arrivals quickly through into the living room.

  Anna Ribiéras’ hatred of the Germans matched her fear for her POW husband Jean. She was fiercely independent and wanted her and her people’s full liberty restored, so she entered into clandestine activity and acted as a safe-house. Violette could see she was plucky and indomitable. She fed everybody well and fus
sed over them as if they were children.

  Madame Ribiéras said that the reception team leader had arranged for the people from London to liaise with the Maquis groups in the area. She went on to explain the layout of the house and that the English could take their things to their rooms. Turning to Violette, she clarified that Louise would have a room to herself and the three men could share the other one at the back and after they had settled in, to come down and meet everyone. Violette and Philippe simultaneously thanked Anna very much.

  Violette though that Madame Ribiéras was quite surprised that her team spoke French with varying regional accents just as well as those in Anna’s village. Once she decided they were sympathique and spoke French like the French, she could not have been kinder. She called Violette la p’tite Anglaise.

  Philippe was keyed up and ready to start planning. So, shortly after three o’clock on the morning of 8 June, the team from RAF Tempsford set to work with the neighbouring Maquis chiefs who had arrived to make contact. One was Charles Gaumondie (Colonel Charles) with his aides who, unknown to the team, acted as a front for Georges Guingouin who survived with his men because of his great caution, strong discipline and security measures, but still accomplished more than most other Maquis groups.

  ‘I live in the village of Magnac-Bourg, strategically placed to do repeated damage to the rail link halfway between Brive-la-Gaillard and Limoges, about fifteen miles north of Salon-la-Tour,’ explained Charles Gaumondie. The rail link was on the west side of the main highway, the Nationale 20.

  ‘En effet, it’s well situated between the auto route and the Limoges–Toulouse railway line. Madame Marguerite Lazerat runs her grocery shop there, right beside the Magnac-Vicq station.’ He went on to insist that Philippe, whom he knew as Major Staunton, meet her. She resolutely acted as a ‘letter-box’, in spite of the great risks involved. Many people used her grocery shop to meet up, leave messages and prepare for sabotage activities with special emphasis on this railway. Georges Guingouin took shelter there whenever he was in the area. ‘My group, Bistrot, acts as the reception committee for most of the arms dropped from London. The first drop was 18 August last year.’ Gaumondie then went on to describe their sabotage to communication links and destruction, sometimes seizure, of German matériel, with attendant adventures and even comic events. There was much laughter, but Philippe wanted only to get down to business. His journalistic disposition kept his curiosity alive although, like all the team, he was tired. They needed some shut-eye before getting stuck into the real nitty-gritty.