by Alex Brown
‘So how did they get posted?’
‘My father, who became Pauline—’ he coughed, ‘sorry … Dad was her handler.’
‘What did you say?’ April jumped in. She had heard that name before, and recently.
‘I, er, meant Winnie.’
‘No you didn’t. You said Pauline!’ April raised her eyebrows and fixed her stare on Charlie.
‘You might as well tell her the whole truth,’ the general piped up. ‘She has a right to know, and it’s hardly going to matter now, some seventy years later, is it?’
‘Yes it is!’ April jumped in. ‘It still matters, very much so. And it will always matter …’ She leant forward. There was no way she was letting her aunt’s memory be dismissed. Not now. Not after she had seemingly been forgotten about for all these years by the government, her country, the very people that she had sacrificed her life for. Surely, some of them were still alive, the people who trained her, the people she relayed the information back to from France, so why hadn’t they made sure the whole world knew how brave her aunt was? Why wasn’t there a record somewhere? A Wikipedia entry? Something?
April was fired up, passionate, and determined to find out the truth, the whole truth, because it wasn’t every day that you discovered your great aunt had served as an SOE agent and played such a vital role in helping to win the war. And she needed to make sure that her aunt hadn’t died in vain. That felt most important.
‘Pauline was Winnie’s code name,’ Charlie said. ‘Winnie assumed the identity of an old school friend who had died some years before, with no family left to arouse suspicion. Dad was quite specific about that in the memoir. As if he intended for this to be revealed … perhaps so your family would know the truth in the end.’
‘Whaaaat?’ April put her head in her hands momentarily before resting her hands back in her lap as she remembered Hettie, or was it Marigold, mentioning a Pauline, a girl in the village who had died of TB, her mother too. ‘But this is madness, like something out of a spy thriller. An episode of Spooks.’ Both men nodded. ‘And how, may I ask, do you know about this? How did you find Charlie Finch?’ she said, looking at the general.
‘My pal in the House. I asked him for a favour after you gave me that piece of paper with the name Finch on, and he did a bit of digging, got access to some dusty old government files and a match came up with both Finch and Winifred Lovell’s names being linked to SO2 – that was the name of the original special operations department set up July 1940, during the Second World War. That’s when I knew there was very much more to her not making it back home, but I needed to be sure before I came to you. You do understand, don’t you?’ the general asked, and April nodded, mulling it all over.
‘And one of Winnie’s letters was posted from London.’
‘Was it?’ Charlie looked fascinated, and seemed as intrigued as April was about uncovering the mystery. ‘My father would have posted the letters.’ Charlie turned to the general and added, ‘He must have slipped up. The letters were supposed to have been sent from Oxford, the FANY base, so the family would think she was there. It was all part of her cover.’
‘But I’m pretty certain they knew she was going into the field, to drive ambulances …’ April said.
‘Ahh, yes, that was a very common cover story, but it would have been very difficult to have engineered letters to be sent from the field while she was under cover as it may have aroused suspicion. Your aunt would have maintained her cover identity at all costs and any attempt to contact her family from behind enemy lines would have put both herself and other SOE agents in danger.’
‘How do you know all this?’ April asked, narrowing her eyes.
‘It’s all there in my father’s memoirs – I’ve been researching his life story, hoping to publish it all as a book some day. When he died, quite a few years ago now, he left a safety deposit box key for me, with strict instructions that I was to wait a minimum of ten years before accessing the box.’ Charlie paused to shake his head. ‘My father was a stickler for covertness, right up until the very end. You see, I never knew about his war effort either, that he was an SOE commander, Winnie’s handler. We, the family, knew of course that he was a military man, but just assumed that he had served in the regular army during the Second World War. It wasn’t until I opened the safety deposit box that I discovered the truth, and then, later, by chance, an old school pal – he works for the government too and had been helping me with the research – got in touch and said that this gentleman had made enquiries about Finch, my father, the name that you had passed on to him.’ Charlie turned his face towards April. ‘And I’m so grateful that you did … you provided the missing link.’
‘So you honestly had no idea?’ April asked, her head spinning with it all now.
‘None whatsoever, I promise. If I’d had so much as an inkling then I would have been in touch before now. But I can tell you, that towards the end, Dad talked about Winnie. A lot. And with enormous fondness. His mind was wandering and he became very muddled, meandering between muttering the name, Pauline, sometimes, then on other occasions it was Winnie. Thankfully, my mother had died some years previously, because Dad was quite vocal about Winnie being the love of his life. Saying stuff like, “I should never have let you go, my darling” and “So brave and beautiful, my precious violet”; he said that line over and over sometimes.’ April shifted in her seat, recalling the words in Winnie’s diary, what Finch had said to her when he gave her the flower – the true meaning, it all made sense now. And why Winnie had felt it prudent to leave the flower at home. Charlie paused, gathered himself, and then continued.
‘We assumed that he was talking about an old sweetheart who had left him before he met my mother, not that he had sent a young woman into enemy-occupied France … I guess we chose to ignore it mostly, for Mum’s sake, her memory. You do understand, don’t you?’ Charlie dipped his head.
‘Of course,’ April offered, but felt sad that her aunt’s life had seemingly been forgotten, pushed into insignificance. ‘But what do you know about the “married man, baby” thing, where did that come from? Is there anything in the memoir about it? Was your father married when he met Winnie? Or was it just a strand of gossip that got embellished over time when Winnie didn’t make it back home, as these things do?’
‘No, Dad wasn’t married when he met Winnie, and there’s nothing whatsoever to suggest that Winnie had a baby,’ Charlie said, and April nodded, knowing that her aunt Edie would take comfort from knowing the gossip wasn’t true.
‘Good.’ April shook her head and let out a long breath.
‘I’m still trying to piece it all together, because, in Dad’s typical style, his memoirs are very cryptic,’ Charlie continued. ‘And it’s dotted with all kinds of random lines …’
‘Like what?’
‘Like, oh, I don’t know …’ Charlie’s eyes moved upwards and to the right as if trying to remember. ‘Ahh, yes, something about drawing gloves in the street …’ He creased his forehead, clearly baffled. ‘What’s that all about? It doesn’t even make sense, and Dad’s handwriting was atrocious towards the end so I may have got it all wrong in any case … maybe he meant draw a gun instead, I’ve no idea.’
‘It is a mark of ill-breeding to draw your gloves on in the street!’ April recited quietly.
‘YES! That’s it. Extraordinary, isn’t it? But how do you know?’ Charlie said. Both men stared at April as they leant forward.
‘Because that same line is written in Winnie’s diaries.’
‘Diaries?’ the men parroted in unison, clearly eager to know more about this unexpected revelation.
‘That’s right. And Winnie underlined that sentence in an old book about etiquette, which she gave to Hettie,’ April said.
‘Yes, I know her … has the haberdashery shop.’ The general nodded, straightening his blazer.
‘That’s right.’
‘And where are the diaries now?’ Charlie asked.
�
�In an old wooden apple crate in my aunt’s sitting room sideboard,’ April said, relieved all over again that they hadn’t been destroyed in the fire.
‘And the book? The one on etiquette?’ the general checked.
‘I have that too. And there’s another line that’s been baffling me …’ April told them.
‘Go on. Please,’ Charlie prompted, pressing his fingers together to make a steeple.
‘Treasure this book always, for it—’
April stopped talking. Charlie was on his feet now, with an incredulous look on his face and his hands on his hips.
‘Will stand the test of time!’
‘How do you know?’ April asked.
‘Because it’s written on the last page of Dad’s memoir. And it was also in the letter that came with the safety deposit box key.’
‘What do you think it means?’ She looked at Charlie.
‘I’ve no idea!’ Charlie shook his head and pushed his hands into his trouser pockets.
‘It’s a code!’ The general stood up, and April did too. ‘A secret! It has to be.’ He put one hand on her arm, and another on Charlie’s arm and then told them, ‘I think that your incredibly brave relatives,’ he nodded first at April, ‘your aunt and her …’ he coughed and then looked at Charlie, ‘lover … your father, the SOE handler, left behind some clues. A way for the truth to be revealed to their families and friends in the event of them not making it back home. All we need to do now is work out what these sentences mean!’
And the three of them stood silently in the little gypsy wagon in the orchard, exchanging glances as they let this revelation sink in. April felt full of admiration for Winnie and wondered if she had deliberately given the book to Hettie in the hope that she would indeed treasure it for always, as she had requested in the note. Winnie must have done. And the line about the gloves had to mean something, it had to be a clue, why else would it be in the diary without any context? Not to mention the actual diaries themselves. Winnie could so easily have found a more secure hiding place for them; surely she would have considered that they’d be found under the floorboards in her bedroom. Why take the risk? When she could have destroyed them, or given them to Colonel Finch for safekeeping.
No, Winnie wanted her family to find the diaries, she wanted them read and for them to lead the reader to the book. It was all planned out. Of course, it could just be a romantic notion, fanciful thoughts, but the more she let her mind wander, the more April was convinced it was something more. A way for the brave, courageous Winnie to eventually reveal the truth to her family, to her great niece, April, after all. Certainly, it was a shame that George and Delphine never knew the truth, but April did and she would make sure Edie did, and the whole of Tindledale too for that matter.
*
Later, after promising to be in touch again very soon, Charlie said his goodbyes and left with the general, leaving April alone with her thoughts once more. She tucked the manila folder under her arm and walked slowly back towards Orchard Cottage, again picturing her incredible great aunt Winnie doing the exact same thing. April wondered where it was that Winnie had been kissed by Colonel Finch. And then felt an overwhelming joy that her young aunt had experienced such emotion, that true feeling of falling in love, as she had written about in her diary. At least she had that sweetness before her life was so cruelly, and prematurely, ended.
April lifted her sunglasses up on to her head and stopped walking. After carefully laying the manila folder at her feet, she stretched out her arms and tilted her head towards the sun before bringing them in close to her, wrapping them around herself, as if in a hug. A hug for Winnie. Tears trickled over April’s face, but she didn’t feel sad, instead she felt light, elated even, empowered and encouraged by the beautiful and so very brave woman who fearlessly gave her life for her country. Did her patriotic duty. It took April’s breath away as she picked up the folder and continued on to Orchard Cottage.
Before pushing open the front door, April curled her fingers around the brass door knocker, just as Winnie would have done all those years ago, and took a moment to smile as she reflected, relishing the evocative sense of timelessness, the heritage, the closeness to the generations of her family that had lived here before her. There was a certain comfort in that. And she loved it, loved that Orchard Cottage had given this to her. And ultimately brought her home. Edie had been right. This place had worked its magic on April … and now she truly understood its secret.
After entering and finding Edie standing in the sitting room, April went to her.
‘Please sit down, Aunty. I have something to tell you about Winnie.’
‘What is it? Do you know what happened to her?’ Edie’s eyes lit up, lucid, as Nancy helped her down into the easy chair.
‘Yes!’ April crouched in front of Edie and took the frail old lady’s papery hands in hers, and told her again, ‘Yes, Aunty. I most certainly do.’
Springtime … six months later
‘Are you sure you’re warm enough, Aunty?’ April asked, as she tucked the handmade granny-patch blanket more snugly around Edie’s lap. ‘Only, you can’t be too careful in these draughty old castles with the stone walls and the ceilings being so high.’
‘Oh yes, thank you, my dear. But where’s my favourite girl?’ Edie asked, her watery blue eyes scanning the atrium.
‘I’m right here.’ Nancy ducked around from behind the wheelchair to give Edie a quick kiss on the cheek. They had figured it the best option, given the amount of walking involved today and Great Aunt Edie could only manage a few steps now before needing a rest.
‘Sit next to me, will you please.’ Edie indicated the wooden bench seat beside her. ‘You’re such a bonny girl, and there’s some sweets in my bag for you. Don’t tell your mother though.’ Edie chuckled as she patted her black gold-clasped bag that was looped over her elbow and resting on the blanket. Nancy grinned and squeezed in between Edie and April after she had shuffled along a little.
‘What did she say?’ April whispered as she leant into Nancy.
‘The usual … little girl, bag of sweets thing again! But you’re not allowed to know, remember.’ Nancy gave her stepmum’s hand a quick pat.
‘Oh dear.’ Both women stifled fond smiles. Edie was functioning now almost entirely in a time long, looooong gone. April reckoned her aunt was getting muddled, thinking Nancy was her, as a child, when she used to visit her aunt in Tindledale during the holidays. April had a vague recollection of her own mum asking Edie to please ration the sweets, ‘seeing as our little April hates the dentist so much’, but then being allowed to choose two ounces of cola cubes or sherbet lemons from the glass jars on the shelf in the village store whenever her dear aunty took her up to the High Street, which she was pretty sure was most days back then. April straightened her coat and checked to make sure her mobile was switched off; it wouldn’t do for it to ring. Not that anyone ever called her on it, but Molly had teased that she would do just that right in the middle of it all.
They were all here for a special memorial service. Winifred Lovell was one of a select number of people being honoured today. And April had brought Edie along to accept the award on her sister’s behalf. Posthumously. The George Cross. And April was sure her heart might burst with pride.
For acts of the greatest heroism or of the most conspicuous courage in circumstances of extreme danger.
That’s what it had said in the official notification letter from Buckingham Palace which April had got framed in the bookshop in the High Street and then presented to the parish council. Mrs Pocket had then kindly arranged for it to be proudly displayed on the wall of the village hall for everyone to see, and she had even sorted out a little unveiling ceremony with curtains and everything for Edie to open while a reporter from the Tindledale Herald took photos to accompany the lovely piece he wrote about Winnie’s bravery, ‘one of Tindledale’s finest’, as she had since been described. Deedee then took April to see Bill the postman, who lived with his
daughter-in-law, Dolly, and she was very hospitable – made them tea, and they ate cake together while Bill told April what he remembered.
‘I didn’t know anything about the girls’ tittle-tattling in the village about Winnie – if I had then I’d have put a stop to it,’ he’d said seriously, a slice of cake resting on a napkin in his lap. ‘I do remember delivering the telegram to George.’
Bill had been silent for a moment, as the memories returned. ‘He confided to me that he needed time before breaking the news to Delphine and Edie − both had been heartbroken when the first telegram had come notifying them of the death of their oldest son, Sidney.’ He’d shaken his head, ‘George couldn’t break their hearts all over again. No, I think he hoped that Winnie would surface, that she’d somehow still be alive … but he died too …’ Bill also remembered delivering the letter from the War Office to Delphine in the winter after George died and said that it was all so terribly sad.
April inhaled, and shifted her thoughts to the present day, hoping this would help to put right the wrong that happened back then. She had known the medal was coming, having kept in touch with Charlie – they had spoken several times over the months since that day in the gypsy wagon. And she had him to thank for making today happen – he had arranged it all via his pal in the government. Talking of whom, Charlie had just arrived and was taking a seat in one of the adjacent rows. April leant around Nancy to give him a wave and beckoned him to join them. The general had saved a space for Charlie at the end of their row next to Hettie and Marigold who, when April had invited them, had both said that they wouldn’t miss this day for all the tea in China, despite London being a very long way from Tindledale. Both women were dressed in new pastel-coloured skirt suits with matching fascinators that kept getting tangled whenever one of them moved her head.
‘Marigold, will you take the blasted thing off please? You’ll have somebody’s eye out otherwise!’ Hettie batted a bony hand in her friend’s direction.