"Apart from how to live as Frenchman, we shall also teach you the tools of your craft, from how to pass on a message to how to stand up against interrogation. You will need to know how to handle the French police. The Milice work closely with the Germans and will prove hostile; never, ever approach them, although you might find that some of the ordinary Gendarmes will be quite helpful. If you approach a police control point, be brisk, polite, perhaps a little dull, but never offer extra information. That will only make them suspicious."
Tony was finding it all difficult to absorb at one go, and felt his confusion must show in his features. Many of the trainees must have displayed the same feelings, for Jim smiled.
"Of course, we will cover this all again in much more detail over the next few days. For now though, it’s important to start living as a Frenchman. To help you in this, all conversations here will be in French, not just at lectures but twenty four hours a day. You will eat French food, adopt French customs and habits, wear French clothes. You will each be given a cover identity. Study it for the rest of today. From tomorrow you are that man; you must react exactly as he would, be able to answer any questions about his life history without hesitation."
He looked around the room, meeting the gaze of each one of the trainees. "Remember, this is not a game. Once you get to France, even the slightest slip-up could cost you your life. Consider that you are no longer in England. From now on we all live, breathe, eat and sleep as Frenchmen."
Without another word Jim stepped down from the podium and left the room, while other training officers handed out the files containing the cover identities of the agents. Tony retired to his room to study his new identity, the man he would be for the rest of this war. As he spent hours reading and memorising the details of the fictitious man into whom he must transform himself, the dangers that lay ahead of him in France became acutely clear to him. He realised that his chances of coming out of this alive were slim indeed.
"I knew they’d accept you" Jim smiled across the breakfast table at Tony. "You're ideal material for this work."
Tony nodded. "I like to think so.” He was glad to be able to renew their friendship, forged during those never to be forgotten days in northern France. “What have you been doing since I last saw you? So much has happened to me that it seems more like five years than five months."
Jim shrugged. "I haven't done much, I've spent most of my time running courses here." He smiled grimly. "That's not as easy as it sounds. None of us knows what it's really going to be like out there. We just have to do our best to think of all the possible pitfalls, and then try to train against them." He took a sip of tea and smiled at Tony. "I suppose you've been busy with your training most of the time. Has it been hard?"
"Yes, but not nearly as hard as life at home."
Jim frowned. "Problems?"
Tony laughed sardonically. "You could say that. Dad seems to think that working for the Ministry of Economic Warfare is a safe desk job that I’ve taken to keep me out of the firing line. Basically, he thinks I'm a coward."
Jim shook his head sadly.
"It must be really difficult for you to keep your real job a secret."
Tony nodded but said nothing.
"Of course, it's different for me," Jim continued. "I'm a regular. I was in the forces before this ghastly war broke out, so my family just accept that I'm a soldier and can't tell them everything I do. Surely your brother, David isn't it? Surely he understands?"
Tony closed his eyes and bowed his head for a moment at the thought of his brother. Then, taking a deep breath, he spoke.
"To begin with, he thought like my father; but then he came to understand a little more. I'm sure he came to the conclusion that I'm not a coward, and he tried to get Dad to lighten up a little."
"Did he?"
Tony shook his head.
"Still, with David on your side it should relieve the pressure a little."
"David's dead."
Jim was silent for a moment, then placed a comforting hand on his friend’s arm.
"I'm sorry."
"His Spitfire was shot down and he couldn’t bail out. We buried him last week." In his mind’s eye Tony could still see the clods of dank, dark earth falling upon the coffin, the thud they had made as they hit the wood still echoed in his mind. He buried his face in his hands. "I'm doing this for him, Jim. I still remember the air attack we saw on the civilian refugees, and the mess on the beaches of Dunkirk; but when I go into France it will be to avenge David."
"I understand your feelings, Tony, but don't let the need for revenge get too big a hold on you. It could cloud your judgment. It could cost you your life."
Tony looked up, straight into Jim's eyes. The eyes of a friend conveying concern, compassion, support, the love of a comrade. He took a deep breath and nodded.
"Don't worry. I won't let you, or David, down."
Jim smiled.
"Now come on, it wouldn't do for us to be late for the lecture. After all, I'm giving it!"
With a laugh the two friends left the table and made their way to the lecture room. Jim took up his position at the front, while Tony took one of the two remaining empty seats. He expected Jim to wait for the late arrival, but he began to speak immediately.
"Good morning, gentlemen. Before we begin, I feel I must explain the empty seat in your midst. This morning I had the unfortunate duty to inform one of your comrades that he had failed his training."
There was a buzz of interested chatter and Jim held up his hand for silence. "It was difficult for me to do. This particular young man had excelled in everything he had been asked to do so far, he failed only on the fact that he could never live in France as a Frenchman. You are wondering how I know this and I shall tell you. Your rooms are bugged, and because of this we learnt that this trainee talks in his sleep. In English." Jim looked long and hard at the remaining trainees. "That may seem excessively harsh to you, but something like that could cost you your life in France, and maybe the lives of others too. That’s why you will be under such close scrutiny over the next few weeks. It’s our best chance of ensuring your survival in the months, maybe years, that it will take to win this war. Now, down to business.
"Many of the skills you will need in France will take a lot of learning. They will need to be constantly practised until they are second nature to you. How do you drop a pre-arranged password into a casual conversation? How do you hand over a written note unobtrusively? How do you spot, and lose, a tail? How do you deal with Germans at checkpoints? The list of things you need to know is endless. Today you will learn how to turn up for a meeting." He smiled at them. "That sounds pretty straight forward, doesn't it? But it isn't as easy as all that. You must always, and I stress - always - be punctual. If you arrive early, you could be arrested while hanging around waiting. If you're late, your contact could be arrested while waiting for you. Don't arrange to meet at times like midday, or on the hour. Why not 12.17, an odd time when no one would be expecting a meet to take place? Arrive a few minutes early, walk past the rendezvous to check it out, make sure it’s safe then go into a shop or something before walking back to arrive exactly on time."
Jim talked for a long time about how to conduct a meeting. By the time the trainees went outside to put his advice into practice, their heads were spinning.
Tony had been at the training centre for almost a week, living the life of a young Frenchman, when he was awoken in the dark hours before midnight. He barely had time to notice the silhouettes of three people crammed into his small room, before sticky tape was slapped over his mouth to muffle his cries, and a black hood was pulled roughly over his head. Tony struggled to fight off his attackers, but they were obviously professionals and his brain was clouded with sleep. Within moments his hands were tied securely behind his back and he was bundled roughly from the room. With a man at each elbow, he was steered along corridors and down stairs. In his confused state the walk seemed to take ages but, less than five minutes from
when he had first awoken, Tony felt hands roughly forcing him down into a seat. The hood was ripped from his head along with the tape that had covered his mouth. He winced in pain.
A bright light shone directly into Tony's eyes, drowning out the interior of the room in which he found himself. He had no idea where he was, or how many people were present. Screwing up his eyes, he turned his head to avoid the glare. As his eyes began to adjust he saw three men in the room, all in the uniform of the SS. Tony was stunned. What was going on? Had enemy paratroopers taken over the training centre? A voice boomed at him from the dark shadowy man behind the light.
"Name?" The interrogator spoke French with a thick German accent.
Tony gave his cover name. "Albert Fouqet."
"Address?"
"22 Rue Blanc. St. Nazaire."
“Liar! You are a spy."
Tony shook his head. "No."
The voice screamed at him again. "You are an English spy! What is your name?!"
"Albert Fouqet."
The shadowy figure waved an arm, and his two companions dragged Tony to his feet. Standing him against the wall, they threw buckets of ice-cold water over him. Tony drew an involuntary deep breath as the cold hit him like a physical blow. His pyjamas were drenched and, as the water poured from him, he felt the material clinging clammily to his kin. Tony shook the water from his eyes.
"Stand to attention, spy!"
Tony stood to attention.
"English spy, what is your name?"
"Albert Fouqet."
"How many were with you when you attacked the checkpoint?"
Tony shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Liar! You killed two German soldiers, so you must die. Where do you live?"
"22 Rue Blanc. St. Nazaire."
"Who was with you?"
"I didn’t do it."
The questions went on, hour after hour. Tony was frozen; his wet clothes clung to him; his arms ached where they were still tied behind his back; his head ached from the bright light which was still directed into his eyes; his legs were stiff from standing to attention with his back against the wall; and still the interrogation went on. For one brief moment Tony was tempted to tell the truth, to say yes he was English. But then he remembered the dead civilians on the French country roads and the beaches of Dunkirk, remembered David. His head lifted slightly.
"I am Albert Fouqet. I live at 22 Rue Blanc, St. Nazaire. I am not English. I am not a spy. I don't know what you're talking about."
Six hours after being so forcefully removed from his bed the hood was once again placed over Tony's head and he was dragged from the room. The same three men led him, exhausted and stumbling, upstairs and along corridors. Tony had the vague feeling that he was heading back in the direction of his room, but he could not be sure. At last he heard a door open and was ushered inside. His hands were untied and he rubbed his numbed wrists with relief. He heard the door close quietly behind him and stood in silence for a moment, wondering what would happen next.
"You can take the hood off now."
Tony took the hood off to find himself facing a smiling Jim sitting on his bed. He was stunned.
"What's going on, Jim?"
Jim stood up and held out a towel. "Get out of those wet clothes while we talk."
Tony began to peel off his sodden pyjamas. "I suppose this was all part of my training." It was more of a statement than a question and Jim nodded.
"You performed very well. Not once did you deviate from your story."
Tony began to towel dry his hair. "But was it really necessary?"
Jim nodded grimly. "Yes. We had to be sure that you could stand up to it. But don't feel too pleased with yourself. We were very gentle compared with what the SS will really be like if you’re captured in France. The interrogation will go on for days, not hours, and they won't stop at buckets of cold water. The SS are renowned for physically torturing their captives."
"Do all trainees have to go through this?"
"Yes. Some fail. They can't keep their French going or stick to their cover story under pressure. So far everyone on this course has done well."
"I hadn't heard of this exercise. I thought I must be the first."
Jim shook his head. "No. Those who have already undergone interrogation are sworn to secrecy. How can we test you fully if you know what to expect?"
Tony nodded. "I see what you mean. So I must remain silent about tonight’s little adventure?"
Jim smiled. "Yes. Now go to bed and get what sleep you can. You have to be up again in a little over an hour. It's going to be a busy day."
Jim gave Tony a playful slap on the back, then turned and left the room.
31
On their evenings off, Jane and Sarah often went into Marlborough to the cinema. It was a change of scenery from the hospital, giving them the opportunity to forget for a while the smell of carbolic soap and the sight of wounded soldiers and airmen. After one such evening, the two young women walked slowly down the dark road to the bus stop. The last bus to pass Heronfield House would not be along for another half-an-hour, so they had plenty of time to spare. Jane frowned as she pulled her coat more closely around her against the cold night air.
"I enjoyed the film tonight, but the newsreel was too disturbing for me."
Sarah nodded. "I know what you mean. I've never been to London, but I hate to see all that damage. It must be awful for the people who live there and have to spend most of their nights in the shelters."
"Yes. We're lucky to be out in the country."
Jane turned to her friend. "How’s Joe?" she inquired, wanting something to take her mind from the images of indiscriminate bombing on the civilian centres of England. Something to bring a little normality back into her world.
Sarah shrugged. "He seems all right according to his letters, but I’ll be glad to get home to see him. So far there’ve been no raids over Coventry, but I do worry about him and Mum."
"At least he's doing his bit. You should be proud of him."
"I am. And I'm glad he's relatively safe where he is."
Jane nodded. "I suppose I'm lucky that I don't have anyone really close. At least I don't have anyone to worry about."
"Surely you don't mean that?"
Jane smiled. "No, not really. In fact I rather fancy that Tony Kemshall!"
Sarah laughed. "You're not serious?"
Jane giggled infectiously. "Of course I am! He's good looking and rich, what more could I want in a man? But seriously though, I don't think I'd stand a chance with him. He's only interested in you."
"Don't be silly!" Sarah laughed. "I hardly know the man; and besides, I'm in love with Joe!"
"That doesn't prevent Tony showing an interest in you though, does it?"
Sarah blushed. "I suppose not. He's a nice enough man but I'm not interested in him in that sort of way. And he knows it."
"I know, I'm only teasing." Jane laughed. "We're a very small community up at the hospital. We need something to gossip about!"
"So what are you going to talk about when I'm on leave?"
"Don't worry, we'll think of something!"
Jane laughed and led the way towards the bus stop.
32
Coventry without lights no longer seemed as strange to Sarah as it had done at the outbreak of the war. She smiled happily as she made her way swiftly through the blackout to her home, thinking of her mother, and of Joe. The house looked dark and forlorn when she arrived, but she knew that there would be a warm welcome awaiting her. She pushed open the unlocked door and entered the dark hall. Closing the door and pulling the blackout curtain across to cover the cracks, she switched on the light and placed the small bag holding her necessities for the next three days on the floor.
"Mum! I'm home!"
She made her way along the hall, an enticing aroma drawing her towards the kitchen. The kitchen door opened, and Alice reached out her arms to embrace her daughter. The two women hugged e
ach other for a moment then pulled apart.
"It's good to see you, love."
"You too, Mum." Sarah sniffed. "Something smells good."
Alice smiled. "I've been saving up my meat rations. We've got pork chops for dinner."
“Mum, you shouldn't! You need your meat rations for yourself!"
"Please indulge me, Sarah. You're home so rarely that I like to do something special. Besides, the vegetables cost nothing. Remember we dug up the garden? Well, all the crops have been harvested now. I've a store of carrots and parsnips, there are onions hanging in the air raid shelter and potatoes stored under the stairs. They won't last for the whole winter, but at least I'm doing my bit towards growing food for the country."
Sarah took off her coat and hung it up. "I suppose it's hard to cope with the rationing. It's not too bad for us at the hospital, we just hand over our coupons and the kitchen staff are responsible for providing our meals; but it must be difficult for you."
Alice shrugged. "I cope, just like everyone else."
The two women sat down at the kitchen table and Alice poured them each a cup of tea. "How is work gong?"
"The rush after Dunkirk has passed now. We don't have any of the soldiers who were on the beaches; the beds are now full of airmen who’ve been shot down in the last few months. Things are rather slow, I'm glad to say. But once ground fighting picks up again we’re sure to be busy."
Alice nodded. "We owe a lot to those young fliers. They’ve held the enemy planes back long enough to stop an invasion, but they’re just too few to hold back the night bombers."
"I know." Sarah frowned. "Jane and I saw the newsreel a couple of days ago. It must be horrible to live in London at the moment."
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