"I first made contact with a man I've known all my life. He worked for my French grandmother." He paused as he remembered that first meeting with Jean-Paul, and how excited he had felt at being in France at last. "That friend,” he continued, "introduced me to three other people and we worked together during my first spell in France. When I returned, one of them brought two others to the group. My radio-operator finally introduced a third new member. So the group grew slowly. New members were only admitted when I was convinced that they were safe."
"Did any of them let you down?"
Tony frowned at the young man who had asked the question. "No, on the contrary. They saved my life twice, by getting me out of France when things became too difficult."
"Are they still working together, now that you’re back in England?"
Tony was silent for a moment, seeing once again the bullets ripping into his friends after the railway ambush. He swallowed hard at the lump in his throat.
"What's left of them, yes," he finally managed to say. "One was wounded and his cover blown, so he was moved to a safe place. Two others died during an operation."
There was silence for a moment, the new agents mourning the loss of people they had never met. As Tony watched their reaction he realised that his openness, however painful to him, would prove invaluable to the recruits. Rather than lofty ideals, they were learning what it was really like to live, fight and possibly die on enemy soil. After a few moments another question was put forward.
“What was it like to lay an ambush?"
“Frightening," Tony answered honestly, "but exhilarating too. To be honest, I preferred the sabotage work - we could sneak in, plant our explosives and get out again without being seen. But ambushes are necessary too. Just make sure that you don't take on something bigger than you are equipped to handle."
"What was it like to see the Germans on the streets?"
Tony smiled grimly. "Believe it or not, that was one of the most difficult things to cope with." As he spoke he almost felt as though he was back in Saint Nazaire amongst the despair of a people suffering a brutal occupation. "To see the enemy on the streets, acting as though they own the place and there is no danger of them ever being usurped; to have to walk past them without lifting a finger and without looking resentful. Controlling your emotions in the face of the enemy is going to be hard."
"Is it easy to cope with the Germans? My one fear is that I’ll be taken and will be forced to talk."
"Thank you for your honesty." Tony’s gaze held that of the young man who had spoken. "When I sat where you are sitting now, I felt the same. I didn't think I would be able to stand up to interrogation. But let me tell you that when the worst possible thing happens to you, you will find hidden depths to your character and the strength to bring you through."
"How can you be sure of that?"
"Because I was a prisoner of the SS." Tony took a deep breath, fighting to control the trembling which threatened to overrun his body at the thought of the cellar beneath the S.S. H.Q. in Saint Nazaire. "I was afraid that I would talk. But I thought of my friends whose lives would be forfeit if I spoke, friends who had already saved my life once, and that gave me the strength to remain silent."
His audience were silent, wide-eyed and agog as Tony continued to speak, almost as though he did not see them but saw again the brutal faces of his torturers.
"I won't lie to you. The SS know some diabolical ways of inflicting pain, and I don't suppose I could have held out for ever. Just remember this if you are taken. You have friends on the outside. If they are anything like my group, they will move heaven and earth to get you out of that hell hole." There were tears in his eyes as he finished speaking. You could have cut the atmosphere in the room with a knife. He could see how moved the assembled agents were, and hoped that he had not put them off. But then, if he had, they were obviously not the right material for the S.O.E.
"Any more questions? No? Right then, let me explain your first training exercise."
122
Tony soon settled into the routine at Beaulieu. He found that he enjoyed running the training exercises, although he missed the excitement and camaraderie of active service. Tony worked himself until he was so tired that all he wanted to do in the evening was to eat and go to sleep. This had the advantage of keeping his mind busy and giving him little time to dwell on his personal problems. He knew that it would be a waste of time for him to go home again. That would only lead to more arguments with his father. Yet he felt that he understood Sir Michael better now, his anger and frustration at being unable to fight the men who had killed his son and the disappointment of the belief that his only remaining son was a coward. Tony knew that once he was allowed to speak openly to his father about his activities, Sir Michael would be proud of him. That would go a long way to healing the wound of his own inability to avenge his son’s death.
Coming to terms with his relationship with his father was one thing. But Tony’s relationship, or lack of it, with Sarah was something else completely. He knew how hurt she had been about his not writing. He knew that she still loved him, that was obvious from their last painful confrontation. What he did not know, however, was how to heal the hurt, and make her understand that he loved her too. Two people who felt so spiritually close as they did could not have secrets from each other without damaging the trust that was the basis of all lasting relationships. He realised that any affair between them was doomed to failure while his wartime activities remained a secret. He cursed Adolf Hitler. If it had not been for him, his life would not be in such a mess. But then again, if it had not been for the war, he would never have met Sarah. He had come to the conclusion that his personal relationships would have to be put on hold for the duration of the war, however long that might be. The only way to ensure that he and Sarah did not drift apart was to try to put their relationship on a purely platonic footing. With Christmas fast approaching, he had the ideal opportunity.
Tony chose his Christmas card for Sarah with great care, finally deciding on one which portrayed an old country house not unlike Heronfield. The landscape was covered in a blanket of snow, while a group of carol singers holding yellow lanterns sang in front of a door which had been opened to reveal an interior full of warmth and light. He hoped that it would make Sarah feel a part of Heronfield, as though she really belonged there. Tony wrote his Christmas greeting inside, then sat for a time chewing thoughtfully at the end of his pen, before writing a short note.
'Dear Sarah,
Merry Christmas! I want to say sorry once again for hurting you, and ask that you will forgive me and remember me kindly for the sake of the happy times we shared. Can we be friends, Sarah? I know you don't want a steady relationship and I respect that, but I have come to value the talks we shared and the way you so often seemed to understand me and help me. I know that you are aware that I would like more from our relationship than just friendship, but I would rather be just your friend than to never see you or speak to you again.
Please say you forgive me and will allow me to be your friend.
May God bless you and keep you this Christmas.
Tony.'
After he re-read the letter, Tony put it with the card inside an envelope and took it down to the desk. Once it was given to the officer on duty it was out of his hands. He could only wait and see if the bond which had been forged between him and Sarah was strong enough to hold fast during difficult times as well as good, and allow them to continue in friendship.
123
Tony’s emotions were a mixture of puzzlement and excitement as he waited outside Captain Dawson’s office. They met each Saturday afternoon to discuss the exercises which had taken place during the preceding week and the agents who had taken part in them. They also took the opportunity to plan exercises for the weeks to come. If Dawson wanted to speak to Tony at any other time of the week, he usually did so in the dining room or out on exercises. Never before had he sent a message ordering Tony to report to his
office on a Wednesday morning. Tony wondered what it was all about. Perhaps they had decided that he could go back to France after all.
He knocked on the door and waited.
"Enter."
Tony went inside, closing the door quietly behind him before taking up a position in front of the desk. He saluted and stood to attention.
"Stand easy, Lieutenant Kemshall."
Dawson was seated behind his desk, the corners of his eyes crinkled with the smile that lit his face.
"I have some good news for you, Tony."
"I can go back to France?" Tony’s voice was full of eager expectation. Dawson pursed his lips.
"No, I'm afraid not. Now that the SS know who you are, you can't go back to Saint Nazaire, and you’re not well enough acquainted with another area of France to fit in. Besides, we need you here."
"If I could get in touch with the Resistance in a new area, they could help me settle in."
Dawson shook his head. "That's what you’re training these recruits for."
"What about my group? Who will handle them?"
"You're persistent, Tony, I'll give you that. Angeline has returned to France and is managing quite well. She liaises with Jean-Paul Boues, who will lead any attack which she plans. She has been ordered not to go into action, because she’s needed to operate the radio. They will not be doing much, just disrupting things for the Germans a little. We want the group to remain intact for when the Second Front finally comes."
"Will I be allowed to go back then, sir?" Tony was disappointed that he would not be allowed straight back into France but he wanted an assurance that he could go back later.
"We'll see." Dawson was non-committal. "I can't plan any operation until I know where the Second Front will be, and I don't think even the Prime Minister knows that yet."
"I see, sir."
Tony looked disappointed and Dawson grinned. "I still haven't told you the good news yet."
Tony returned his smile.
“No, sir. Sorry I interrupted."
Dawson waved a dismissive hand. "That's all right, Tony." He shuffled the papers on his desk until he found the one he was looking for. "I received this letter from the War Office this morning. It confirms your Distinguished Service Order."
"My what?" Tony’s expression was incredulous.
"Your Distinguished Service Order." Captain Dawson stood up and held out his hand as he spoke. "Let me be the first to congratulate you."
Tony took the proffered hand and shook it, lost for words at the unexpected honour. All he could think of was 'won't Father be proud!' As he released Dawson’s hand, he realised that his father would probably never know.
"Thank you, sir. I suppose I must keep this secret from my family, or they’ll want to know what I've been doing to deserve it."
Dawson nodded. "I'm afraid so Tony. But don't worry, once the war is over you can tell them anything you like."
"It can't be over soon enough for me!" said Tony with obvious feeling.
124
Sarah’s reply to Tony’s letter arrived two days before Christmas. She had been surprised to receive the card and letter, thinking that he did not really care for her at all. She had agonised for almost a week before she decided what to do about it. Although they were no longer going out together, she still missed Tony dreadfully. She agreed with him that it was too good a friendship to waste. She knew that it would be difficult to be in his company, remembering the way it had felt to be in his arms, the way his lips felt when they pressed against hers, the way it had felt when they made love, yet to remain just friends. Being honest with herself, she was not sure she could cope with the emotional turmoil it was likely to create. But she was willing to give it a try, remembering the closeness of their friendship in the early days.
Tony sat in the privacy of his room to read the letter.
Dear Tony,
Thank you for your letter. While I’m sure you didn't deliberately set out to hurt my feelings, it happened. I'm not going to let it happen again.'
Tony’s heart began to beat faster and the letter in his hands began to shake. Surely she would not say no! He continued to read, his eyes rapidly scanning the paper.
'I’m willing to give our friendship another try as I, too, value it. But please don't let me down again, Tony. I've been hurt too much by this war already.'
Tony thought of Joe, the young man he had only seen once from a distance, but who had meant so much to Sarah before the war cut short his life. Yes, she had been hurt and he did not want her to be hurt ever again. All he wanted to do was to take her in his arms and promise that he would always be there to protect her and to love her. But he knew that such a promise was impossible. He continued to read, and a flicker of hope began to burn in his heart.
'This war had put many pressures on us all. It makes us do and say things that we would not otherwise dream of, and it changes us. Maybe it will change us further before it’s over. Who knows where we will be or what we will be like before it is finished. Until then I would like to be your friend. We must promise that until the war is over we will not talk about your work, or anything else that might drive a wedge between us.
Merry Christmas.
Your friend,
Sarah.'
Tony re-read the letter and smiled. She could only commit herself to friendship now, but for him that was enough. He was in no position to offer anything more.
125
It was New Year’s Eve. 1942, a year of constant warfare, was drawing to a close and 1943 dawning with no prospect of peace in sight. Yet in a country at war, people could always find time to put their cares aside and enjoy themselves. All over the country, people were out celebrating on New Year’s Eve, forgetting the war for just one night. As he drove towards Marlborough in the car which had once belonged to his brother, Tony was glad that he was working at Beaulieu. It meant he could spend the evening at the dance which had been arranged for the nurses and local soldiers, and still be able to return to base before dawn. He was feeling nervous. He hoped that Sarah would be at the dance, and would be happy to see him. He had not written to tell her he would be coming, indeed it had been a spur of the moment decision. As he approached the hall, he wondered if he had done the right thing. What if she were there with someone else? As the thought took hold, he felt a knot of fear in his stomach and a frown creased his brow. What would he do if she were not alone?
Tony parked the car and made his way across the road and into the hall. The music was loud and the floor a swirling mass of dancers. Tony frowned. There were only one or two other British uniforms like his own, the rest were smart American uniforms, and the girls obviously found the GIs attractive. It was ten o'clock and the party was in full swing. Tony looked anxiously around the room searching for a familiar head of auburn hair. At last he saw her. A relieved smiled spread across his features, only to be wiped away when he saw that she was sitting with an American GI. Her eyes were bright and she was laughing gaily. Tony felt a stab of jealousy. He was tempted to turn and go back to Beaulieu without even saying hello. But if he left now, he would never know who the American was, or what he meant to Sarah. Taking a deep breath, Tony worked his way around the edge of the crowded dance floor until he was standing behind Sarah’s chair.
“Hello, Sarah." He laid a hand on her shoulder, and she jumped in alarm as she turned towards him.
"Tony! You startled me! What are you doing here?"
"Sorry to make you jump like that.” Tony was sheepish. "I just came across for the evening to wish you a Happy New Year." He looked questioningly at the GI. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
Sarah smiled, knowing what he was thinking and enjoying his discomfort.
"Let me introduce you to Al Ginelli."
The American stood up and held out a hand which Tony felt obliged to take. "Hi. Glad to meet you."
"Hello. I'm Tony Kemshall."
Sarah smiled as Al resumed his seat. "You remember my friend Jane?"
Tony nodded. "Of course."
"Al is her husband. They were married just a few weeks ago."
Tony felt relief wash over him like a flood, and for the first time a broad grin split his face.
"Congratulations Al. Jane is a nice girl."
"You're right there." Al grinned. "I expected nothing but trouble from this war, but instead I found myself a wonderful wife. And here she comes now."
Jane was approaching from the direction of the powder room. She frowned slightly when she saw Tony standing beside Sarah’s chair, wondering what unhappiness he was bringing her way now. But she wiped the frown away and forced a smile of welcome as she reached the table.
“Hello, Tony. Happy New Year."
"Thanks Jane, and congratulations on your wedding."
Jane glanced at Al. "Shall we dance?"
"I thought you were tired?"
"I'm feeling better now. Let's go." She took her husband’s hand and pulled him to his feet, before leading him determinedly out onto the dance floor.
Sarah looked at Tony, so handsome in his uniform. She was glad that she had a few moments in the company of others to get her muddled feelings under control. When she first heard his voice and felt his hand on her shoulder, her heart missed a beat and her hands began to shake but now she was more in control of herself. She smiled.
"Aren't you going to sit down?"
"If you don't mind?"
"Of course I don't mind."
Tony grinned, pulled out a chair and sat down. "I got your letter, Sarah. I'm glad we can be friends."
Sarah smiled nervously, not wishing to discuss their relationship. She retreated onto what she thought was safer ground.
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