Sir Michael’s face was transformed. It was as though the sun had come out from behind a black rain cloud, flooding his features with light and hope.
"When will it come through, son?" His voice was eager, more alive than Tony had heard it since David’s death. He hated to do what he must do next.
"Captain Dawson turned me down."
"Turned you down? Why? What about the Second Front?" Sir Michael was confused. Why had Tony built him up, only to knock him down again?
"They don't think the Second Front will come for some time yet, Dad. But when it does, they say I can do more good in my present job than by joining the invading forces."
"Can't you speak to this Captain Dawson again? Surely if he knew how much you wanted the transfer, he would agree. Shall I speak to him? They can't refuse if you are persistent."
"There’s no use talking about it. I'm not being transferred, now or when the Second Front comes."
"You mean you don't really want to be." Sir Michael crossed to the desk and picked up a framed photograph of David in his RAF uniform. He looked at it in silence for a moment, then held it out for Tony to see. His voice was cold and hard when he spoke again. "Look closely, Tony. Your brother was a man to be proud of. I could not have wished for a better son. If he and others like him had not fought so long and valiantly throughout the summer of 1940, we would have been invaded. The Germans would now be in our towns and villages, living in our homes, and there would be nothing we could do against them. Can you imagine that, Tony?" Tony said nothing, instead he saw again the city of Saint Nazaire. Yes, he could imagine it. "You and I, the whole of England, owe David so much," his father continued. "When are you going to repay that debt?"
Tony closed his eyes. 'I am repaying it! I have already!' he wanted to scream, but the words did not come. He wanted to open his shirt and show his father the scars of his repayment, to show him the feet which had been torn and bloodied in the fight against his brother’s killers. He wanted to tell him all that he had suffered for the people and land he loved. Instead he said all he would be allowed to say.
"I am repaying the debt in my present job. I won't ask for a transfer again."
"Coward!" Sir Michael’s voice was angry as he spat out the word. "You’re not fit to call David 'brother'. You’re not fit to be my son. I have fathered a coward. It makes me ashamed of myself too!"
Tony closed his eyes and fought to hold back the tears which threatened to overwhelm him. 'It's not fair!' His mind screamed his anger and frustration. 'It's not fair!' He took a deep breath and opened his eyes to look directly into those of his father, eyes filled with contempt.
"I’m not a coward, Father. I would hope that you could take my word for it. But as you can’t, we will just have to wait for events to prove me right. I'm sorry, Father, but as long as you feel this way, I can no longer live in this house."
"Then go, Tony, and don't come back. From this day on I have only one son, and he is dead."
Sir Michael turned to look out of the window but he saw nothing through his tears. Tony stood in silence, watching the ramrod back, hoping his father would turn, but nothing happened. Finally he turned away, rejection and despair showing in his every movement. Out in the hall he picked up his kitbag. He had not even had time to take it to his room, let alone unpack. He let himself out silently through the front door, and made his way down the drive. When he reached the road he turned and looked back at the lodge and at Heronfield House, both shrouded in misty rain. He no longer had the home he loved, or the people he loved. His life stretched out before him, an empty wilderness which he must wander alone. As he turned away and began the long walk along the empty road, the tears began to fall at last.
Sir Michael turned from the window at the sound of the closing front door. He wished he had handled things better, had not called Tony a coward; but he honestly believed that what he said was true. Yet he loved the young man. That was something he could deny to Tony, but never to himself. He still had two sons, one dead and one alive, but so alienated from him that he might as well be dead. He crossed to the desk once more and picked up another photograph, not of David alone this time but of the two brothers together. Two young boys in short trousers sitting side by side, holding up the trout they had caught. Both boys were smiling. Their eyes held an innocence which had been lost long years ago. Sir Michael remembered taking the photograph. He remembered how close they had all been that day, and he mourned for that lost heaven. One son dead but the memory of him bright and true, one son alive but the relationship broken beyond repair. Sir Michael lowered himself slowly into a chair and watched his tears splash on the glass covering the photograph. His whole world was shattered and he did not know how to repair it.
118
While all hope in Tony’s personal life seemed to be lost, hope was rekindled in the hearts of the British people by the news from North Africa. On October 23rd, the British launched an attack against Rommel’s forces, setting in motion the Second Battle of El Alamein. The battle raged back and forth across the burning sands for almost two weeks, before the British tanks finally broke through the lines of the Afrika Korps. That made it possible for Britain and America to land forces in French North Africa. More good news filtered through from the Eastern Front. The German advance towards the Caucasus was stopped because of snow. On November 19th, six Russian armies broke through the German lines at Stalingrad, leaving the invading forces trapped. As 1942 began to draw to a close, British forces in the Far East began a land offensive towards Burma. Although the Germans finally moved into unoccupied France and the French fleet was scuttled at Toulon, it looked as though the war might have reached a turning point at last. As 1943 moved ever closer, the hopes and expectations of the embattled Allies were raised.
119
Sarah had been out walking, a practice she still enjoyed although she avoided the walks she had taken with Tony, still finding constant reminders of his presence too painful. Now she raced up the stairs and burst into the room she shared with Jane, a safe haven in times of need. It was 15th November, 1942.
"Jane! Jane!" she called as the door banged shut behind her. "Guess what! They're ringing the church bell in the village!"
Jane, who had been busy writing a letter, paled visibly. She put down her pen unsteadily.
"Invasion?"
Like everyone else, she knew that the church bells had not been rung since the outbreak of war and would only do so if England was invaded. Yet Sarah was radiant, she was even laughing.
"No! It's good news! Monty has defeated Rommel at some place called El Alamein! Mr. Churchill said the bells should be rung to celebrate this great victory!"
Jane leapt to her feet excitedly. "Oh Sarah, isn't it wonderful! Perhaps the war will soon be over."
Sarah shrugged. "I don't know about that, we still have a long way to go. But it is good news. The Germans will be defeated in the end, no matter how long it takes."
"You're right of course, but I think Monty's timing is lousy."
Sarah frowned in puzzlement. "What do you mean?"
Her friend grinned broadly. "I have some good news to tell you, but it hardly compares with Monty defeating Rommel. Perhaps I'll save it for another day."
"Don't be silly, Jane. Tell me now."
Jane blushed slightly but her smile was radiant. "Al and I are getting married."
"What! Married!" Sarah’s face broke into a brilliant smile. "Oh Jane, I'm so pleased. He's just the right man for you."
"I think so too." Jane flung herself onto the bed and stretched out, hands behind her head as she looked up at the ceiling. "I never thought I'd be so happy. Isn't it wonderful to be in love?"
Sarah grinned. "It certainly is. When will you get married?"
“Soon. There's no reason to wait. We want to spend as much time as possible together, before the Second Front comes and he’s sent to France."
Sarah nodded. "Will you go home for the wedding?"
"Yes. We've both a
pplied for leave. With any luck we'll be able to get married before Christmas."
"That's wonderful. Can I come to the wedding?"
"Of course. I want you to be my bridesmaid."
"Me? Are you sure?" Sarah was thrilled to be asked.
"Of course! Who else?"
"Thanks! Oh!" Sarah’s face suddenly fell and Jane looked worried.
"What's wrong?"
"What on earth am I going to wear?"
Jane laughed. "I've got the same problem too!"
Sarah joined in the laughter. It was good to have friends, and she was glad Jane had finally found the right man for her. But Sarah’s happiness was tinged with sadness. Would she ever be as happy in love?
120
November passed quickly for Sarah and Jane, as they planned the wedding. Hoarded coupons were spent on food and clothes so that, although most things were rationed, they were able to provide all that was needed. November became December. Only four weeks after she announced her engagement, Jane became Mrs. Ginelli. It was a small family wedding full of joy and excitement, there had not been many things to celebrate since the outbreak of the war and everyone was glad to be able to join in the festivities. The day passed quickly. In the early evening Jane and Al left for their brief weekend honeymoon in London. Sarah travelled back to Heronfield alone, feeling empty, as though her life was being wasted, and she vowed she would do something about it.
Wartime places all sorts of restraints on people. Once the weekend in London was over, Jane returned to the room she shared with Sarah, and Al rejoined his fellow Americans at the base just outside Marlborough. Although time together was limited, it was not wasted. While awaiting the Second Front, Al had a fair amount of spare time and spent as much of it as possible with Jane at the local hotel. It was there that Jane first heard of the Christmas party that the GI's were planning for the local children and evacuees. It took no time at all for Jane to become involved in the planning. Sarah, finding in the enterprise something to occupy her loneliness, agreed to help.
The party was held on the Saturday before Christmas. The dance hall in Marlborough had been commandeered for the occasion. It had been transformed into what every child’s idea of Christmas should be. In the corner stood a huge fir tree, hung with streamers and tinsel and tiny lights that flickered brightly. Around the walls were flags, bunting and balloons, creating a gay atmosphere for the children. Down the length of the hall, trestle tables had been erected and were laden with food, food from the American base which had not been seen in England since the outbreak of war. There were tinned fruits of every possible variety, some of the children had never heard of them, let alone tasted them. There were cakes made with real eggs, full of currants and cherries and covered with sweet sticky icing to look like snow. Over in the corner, a freezer held ice-cream. As Sarah perused the hall waiting only for the children to bring it to life, she smiled. She was not sure who was anticipating the party more, the children or her! The clock in the square chimed three. The doors opened and the children came rushing in, their eyes bright with excitement, their cheeks flushed. They gazed wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the beautiful decorations, and stopped for a moment just inside the door, not sure what to do next. Then the GIs took over.
"Hi kids! Come in! It's time for games!"
The children rushed excitedly over to the group of American soldiers. There were running games, singing games and team games, and the noise was incredible. Jane and Sarah were laughing, having almost as much fun as the children as they helped to put the finishing touches to the spread on the tables. The children, although enjoying the games, could not stop their eyes from straying to the food. The Americans were lavishing all of the affection which they would normally have shared with their families at Christmas on this group of children, who had been deprived of so much during the years of their childhood. They could see the excitement and anticipation in the eyes of their small guests, and it filled their hearts with festive cheer. Grinning broadly, the GIs indicated the tables.
“Right, kids. Let's eat!"
With excited cries, the children made their way across to the tables and sat down. At each place was a party hat, which they put on before tucking into the food. Christmas carols were played on the gramophone, while the GIs passed round plates of sandwiches, cake, fruit, jelly and ice-cream. Sarah watched as Jane and Al worked together, laughing as they shared their first Christmas party. It was a wonderful atmosphere, full of joy, excitement, giving; just as Christmas should be. Sarah did not doubt that the Germans had such parties, and she wondered why men who could be so kind and giving one minute could then go out and kill people. She watched the soldiers laughing and joking with the children while the food disappeared from the tables, and hoped that this would be the last Christmas of the war, the last Christmas when people would be separated from their families, fearing for the safety of their loved ones.
When the food had all been eaten, the base commander climbed onto a chair and blew a whistle to attract attention. Silence fell upon the hall. He smiled down at the eager faces turned towards him.
"Are you all having a good time?"
"Yes!" The answer was deafening.
"Do you like Christmas?"
"Yes! Yes!"
"Well, I know someone else who likes Christmas. He's usually very busy just about now, but he's managed to come to see us this afternoon. Shall I ask him to come in?"
"Yes!"
The children could hardly contain their excitement. No one had said who the mystery visitor was, but most of them thought they could guess. As the base commander made his way over to the door and opened it, they knew they were right. It was a tall man dressed in red trousers and a coat trimmed with white fur. There were shiny black boots on his feet and a red fur trimmed hat on his head of white hair. A full white beard flowed down onto his chest, and he carried an enormous sack flung over his shoulder. The cheers which greeted his appearance left the ears of the adults ringing and their faces wreathed in smiles as he began to delve into the sack, and hand out presents wrapped in brightly coloured paper.
Sarah smiled happily. Here was the future of the world. This generation was growing up during a war. Hopefully they would remember the deprivations as well as these happy times, and make sure that nothing like this would ever be inflicted upon their own children.
121
Tony perused the group of men and women who sat in the main body of the hall gazing expectantly at him. Here he was, giving advice when he longed to be back in the field. It was a strange and disconcerting situation. Captain Dawson stepped forward and spoke to the group first. Tony, resplendent in uniform, waited nervously for his turn.
"This is Lieutenant Kemshall,” Dawson began. "Not so long ago he was sitting where you are now. At the time we had not yet sent agents into France, so what we told him about the conditions was pure speculation. Lieutenant Kemshall has recently returned from his second stay in France, and now has firsthand knowledge to pass on to you. Listen carefully to what he has to say. What you learn from him now might save your life."
Dawson’s audience looked at each other. A real agent who had been to France and, they assumed, fought the enemy on occupied ground. This seemed worth listening to.
"That's all I have to say. I'll leave you now in the capable hands of Lieutenant Kemshall."
Tony smiled wanly. Capable? He had never felt less capable in his life. He watched as Captain Dawson left the room, then cleared his throat.
"Bonjour."
He smiled at the chorus of French greetings that came back to him.
"I find it almost easier to think and talk in French after months in France," he began, "and you have to train yourself in the same way. The slightest slip of the tongue could cost you your life. In France it’s a question of fading into the background. You have to look as tired and dispirited as the rest of the people around you or you will attract attention to yourself. Always be ready with an answer, because you never know when you w
ill be stopped and questioned. You must be able to say who you are, where you’re going, what you’re doing." He paused for a moment, thinking back to his time in France, trying to pick out the things which would be most helpful to the new agents.
"Of course you won’t be working alone,” he continued. "Ideally you’ll be sent to an area you already know well. There make contact with one person you knew before the war and believe you can trust. That person will help you to build your own group through his acquaintances. Of course, some of the areas you will be sent to already have their own Resistance groups, and where possible prior contact will be made with them. You’ll find that the members of your group will be like your family to you. You can relax with them, talk with them, share with them in ways which are necessary to relieve the pressures of being a secret agent in Occupied France. You can never totally relax. Never tell anyone your real name, don't give any more information than is absolutely necessary. You will be responsible not only for your own life but the lives of your group as well, so always be on your guard."
Tony frowned, thinking of the disasters which had befallen members of his group. He hoped that the people now seated in front of him would not have to experience such terrible feelings of self-doubt, anger, fear, self-condemnation and despair.
"I can't emphasise to you too much how important it is to act naturally. I will be setting up little role-plays for you over the next week or two to give you a feeling of what it will be like, and experience in how to handle particular situations. Before that, are there any questions?"
A tentative hand was raised and Tony nodded in recognition.
"Yes?"
"You've spoken rather broadly about groups, but can you give more detail? What about the group you worked with?"
Tony took a deep breath. This was going to be difficult.
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