‘And you girls can have a good old gossip without us getting in the way.’
The meal over, the women cleared away and the guests insisted that they should do the washing-up in Jessie’s scullery. ‘You’ve done enough,’ they assured her. ‘That was a lovely meal.’
‘I really liked the pudding, Jessie,’ Lil said. ‘It tasted a bit different to the one we make, didn’t it, Edie? Would you give me the recipe, Jessie?’
‘I’d like it too,’ Norma put in. ‘Because next year, you must all come to me.’
‘Next year!’ Edie exclaimed and added determinedly, ‘Oh, the war will be over by then, Norma, and everyone will be home.’
At White Gates Farm, the table groaned under the weight of food that Mrs Schofield had cleverly amassed. She hadn’t broken any of the regulations but on a farm there were always ways to skirt the rationing. The two land army girls had gone home for three days but Ruth and Joe’s generosity had extended to including three airmen from the nearby RAF camp who couldn’t get to their homes during the leave allowed. The company of the young men enlivened the day. They played board games with Reggie and Irene and entertained Tommy. One of them, a married man with a son almost the same age as Tommy, couldn’t get enough of the little chap. They’d brought chocolate for him and Reggie and tobacco for Joe Schofield. And into Ruth’s grateful hands they’d loaded some rationed foodstuffs that the farm didn’t produce.
As Christmas Day drew to a close, everyone declared it had been one of their happiest ever and Ruth retired to her bed, weary but elated that she had been able to give all those who were far from their loved ones a good day; a day to remember.
Irene went to bed with the image in her mind of a handsome, dark-haired young pilot, who reminded her poignantly of Frank, dandling her son on his knee.
On the farm in France, it was a very different scene around the kitchen table. The Germans had taken almost everything that was edible for their Christmas feasting leaving the Détanges with scarcely enough to eat, never mind celebrating the festive season.
‘Emile – I mean Antoine – won’t come,’ Raoul said softly. ‘He believes it’s a very dangerous time to visit. That’s when the Germans might spring a surprise search, knowing that it’s a vulnerable time for families when they might feel compelled to come home.’
Surreptitiously, Marthe wiped her eyes but she smiled bravely. ‘But we have our niece staying with us, Raoul. We have family here.’
Beth touched the older woman’s hand in a gesture of gratitude for she, too, was missing not only her own family dreadfully, but also the handsome Frenchman too. Over the weeks they had been working together under dangerous circumstances and had become very close. Emile’s dark brown eyes looked into hers, his expression not guarded like Kurt’s, for he knew her real age. Beth knew that Emile was falling in love with her, and she with him, but also that the daily danger they lived in kept him from declaring his feelings for her. Those similar feelings that, unfortunately, Kurt Hartmann did not have to hide.
Three nights after New Year’s Day, Beth woke suddenly in the middle of the night to the droning of a British bomber overhead, its engine sounding damaged; the aircraft was in trouble. At once, she threw back the covers and began to dress hurriedly, pulling on trousers and thick jumpers. For a moment she thought the plane had flown on, but then there was a terrific crash that rattled the windows. She hurried to look out and, in one of Raoul’s meadows, she saw flames leaping into the air. She winced. If there were any crew still on board, they would not have survived such an inferno. But she must go to see. Perhaps the crew had bailed out and were somewhere nearby needing help. She opened her bedroom door and crept downstairs to find both Raoul and Marthe already in the kitchen. The farmer was already dressed and pulling on his sturdy boots. His wife, with a shawl thrown over her nightgown, hurried between her pantry and the table, spreading out what bit of food they had left, rousing the range fire to wakefulness and setting the kettle to boil. It looked to Beth as if they’d fallen swiftly into a well-rehearsed routine, but it was the first time something like this had happened since her arrival.
‘What do we do?’ Beth whispered as if already she feared the Germans might be listening. Surely they could not have missed hearing such a noise; they would be here soon.
‘We go and see if we can find any survivors.’
‘What about the Germans?’
Raoul shrugged, almost nonchalantly. ‘If they come, they come. But if we can get to the airmen first . . .’ He stood up, ‘Come on. Let’s go.’
Jasper was already standing at the back door, his pink tongue lolling, his eyes bright and expectant. He knew he had work to do and when Raoul opened the back door, he raced out into the night.
‘I didn’t see any parachutes, but then the plane was almost overhead by the time I woke up,’ Beth said softly as they hurried after the dog.
‘Don’t worry,’ Raoul said, sounding surprisingly calm. ‘If there’s anyone out there – at least within a reasonable distance – Jasper will find them.’
They walked through the blackness, the land lit intermittently by a fitful moon. They had walked through one field and into the next, a ploughed field awaiting its spring wheat, when they heard a soft bark. Even Jasper, it seemed, understood the need for quiet.
‘Where is he? I can’t see him.’
‘This way,’ Raoul murmured, unerring in his sense of direction.
Again, another bark, nearer this time and, within minutes, they saw a dark shape on the ground with Jasper standing guard. A parachute billowed out from the still form of the airman. Beth fell to her knees beside him.
‘What – where . . . ?’ the young man began, disorientated by his fall. He was speaking in English.
‘It’s all right. We’re French. We’re here to help you. Are you hurt?’
‘I – don’t know,’ he said again in English, but he seemed to have understood her question even though she had spoken to him in French. She dare not give away her true nationality yet, if at all. He tried to sit up, but the parachute cords still pulled at him.
‘Get it off him,’ Raoul instructed, ‘and I’ll bury it.’
Beth wondered why Raoul had grabbed a spade from outside the back door as they’d left the house. Now she understood. It was as if it had been standing there in readiness. Perhaps it had, for the farmer seemed confident in his actions. He’d done this before, Beth was sure.
The airman, recovering swiftly now, released his parachute and sat up.
‘Can you stand?’ Beth asked as she hooked her arm under his and helped him up. ‘All right?’
‘I – think so. Doesn’t seem to be anything broken. I was just winded, I think.’ He looked around him. ‘Where are the others?’
‘I don’t know. You’re the first Jasper has found.’ She looked down at the dog. ‘Go find, Jasper,’ she told him. ‘Good dog.’ And the animal raced off once more.
‘How many of you are there?’
‘There – there should be seven, but I think I might have been the last to get out. I came out third.’ He lifted his gaze towards the burning aircraft, its flames still lighting the night sky. ‘Poor sods.’
‘Come, lean on me. I’ll take you back to the farmhouse.’
‘Are you sure? It could mean trouble for you.’
‘We’ll take that risk.’ She would like to have taken him to the little barn to hide him, but there was something already far more important – even than a British airman – hidden there. Somewhere on the farm would have to do for tonight.
Another figure came stumbling through the darkness towards them, carrying his parachute.
‘Lewis – you OK?’ a voice came out of the gloom.
‘Yeah. I seem to be. Where’s Jimmy?’
‘Dunno. What shall I do with this?’
‘Give it to me.’ Beth could see Raoul still digging in the softened earth in one corner of the field. ‘My uncle is burying them.’
‘What’s she s
ay?’ the newcomer asked his companion.
‘Give her the parachute. Her uncle is going to bury them.’
‘Are they going to help us?’ she heard the airman, whose name she didn’t yet know, ask as she took the bundle of white silk and hurried away.
‘I reckon,’ Lewis replied and there was no mistaking the fervent hope in his tone.
As Raoul and Beth pushed the two chutes into the deep hole he had dug, Beth whispered. ‘There’s another one somewhere. They’re talking about someone called Jimmy. They think three got out of the plane. The rest . . .’ She couldn’t bring herself to say the words but Raoul understood.
‘We must hurry. That crash will have alerted someone in the village, no doubt.’
It was a close shave. Jasper had found the third airman – Jimmy – who was also miraculously unhurt, all three parachutes were buried and the five of them and the dog returned to the farmhouse.
‘We can’t stay here,’ Lewis protested, as Raoul ushered them inside and offered them the bread and cheese and a cup of weak coffee which Marthe had prepared. In their absence, she had dressed. ‘We don’t want to bring trouble on you.’ He understood French, but still spoke in English himself.
‘Bring the food,’ Raoul said. ‘I will take you to my pigsty. We’ve built a hiding place in the roof. You can get up to it by a ladder, which I must then remove. I regret the smell will not be pleasant, but you should be safe there. The Germans are fastidious.’ He chuckled. ‘They don’t like to get their shiny boots dirty.’
The three airmen, whose names Beth now knew to be Lewis, Jimmy and Geoff, were safely in the loft and Raoul had just returned, locked the door and turned down the lamp, when they heard the vehicles roar into the yard.
‘Quick! Upstairs. Get back into your night things and into bed. You, too, Marthe.’
‘What about you?’
‘I shall stay down here until you’ve had time, then I will open the door – if they knock, that is, which I’m sure—’
He had not finished his sentence before a loud banging on the door began and a voice shouted, ‘Raus. Raus. Out. Out. Open up.’
‘Hurry.’
‘But you’re dressed. Won’t they—?’
‘Go, Marthe, please.’
Whilst Beth and Marthe hurried upstairs, Raoul took off his jacket, his shoes and socks and loosened his shirt, so that it looked as if he’d just pulled some clothes on when he’d heard the commotion. In her room, Beth stripped and put on her nightdress. Then she folded the clothes she’d been wearing neatly over the chair beside her narrow bed. Now she could hear that Raoul had opened the back door and the soldiers were rushing into the house. Beth slipped into bed and turned on her side, her face away from the door, as the soldiers came pounding up the stairs.
Twenty-Three
Archie lay in bed with his eyes wide open staring into the darkness as he listened to the bombers coming back from a raid in the early light of morning. One, two, three, he counted, and then he could no longer distinguish the engines of individual aircraft as several flew in together. Edie lay beside him, fast asleep, undisturbed and untroubled by the noise overhead. He wondered where they’d been and had they all come back. He doubted it – there weren’t many bombing raids that took place where all the aircraft came back safely. And then, as the sounds died away, his thoughts turned – as they nearly always did – to Frank and Beth, and now to Shirley too. He missed them every bit as much as his wife did and he worried about them, for perhaps he understood, even more than their mother did, just what danger they might all be in. He believed Shirley was still in England, but he knew Frank was abroad. And Beth – well, he didn’t even know where she was.
Tomorrow he would have to go back to sea. He never said anything to Edie – or to anyone, for that matter – but he was more fearful every time he put out to sea now. He’d been lucky so far, he knew, but just how long would that luck hold out?
The German soldiers ran riot through the farmhouse, crashing into all the rooms, upturning the beds, pulling furniture away from the walls. They did the same in the barns, tipping over bins full of valuable animal feed, oblivious – or uncaring – of the damage they were causing. They found ladders and climbed into the hayloft, but – thankfully – not one of them thought to look above the pigsty. For a frightening half-hour, they held Raoul, Marthe and Beth in the kitchen at gunpoint whilst they searched the property. Beth considered that a fifteen-year-old would be so terrified that she would cling to Marthe and weep. Marthe wept too, but her tears were real and not put on as were Beth’s. Inside, the highly trained agent was seething. She was frightened – of course she was – but her fear was for the farmer and his wife and the three airman. If they were found . . .
At last the soldiers gave up their search and reported to their superior – this time not Major Hartmann – that they could find nothing, not even a trace, of British fugitives.
Questioned, Raoul lifted his shoulders in a Gallic shrug. ‘I heard the aircraft crash and saw the fire.’
‘You didn’t go out to see if you could help them?’
Again, a shrug. ‘Who could have survived that?’ It was a reasonable comment and though the officer stared at him for a moment, he then turned away, seemingly satisfied. ‘You would do well not to even think of aiding the enemy. You could be shot.’
Marthe let out a wail and buried her face in Beth’s shoulder.
Emile arrived late into the night, but Beth had stayed up, waiting for him, for she guessed he would come if he could. She had insisted that his parents went to bed, promising she would call them if he came. He hugged her swiftly and then held her shoulders at arm’s length, gazing into her eyes. ‘You are all right? Maman and Papa too?’
‘We’re fine, but there are three British airmen hiding above your father’s pigsty.’
Emile smiled. ‘I helped him construct the hideout. He’s used it once or twice before you came. Can you send a message to London at once to request they send a light aircraft as soon as they can? I don’t want my parents in any more danger than they already are, so I have the map references for a suitable field some distance from here belonging to another farmer who keeps out of the way when a drop is being made and will deny all knowledge if questioned. But he is a loyal Frenchman and on our side.’
‘I’ll go now,’ Beth said at once.
‘I’ll come with you.’
Hand in hand – her hand felt so good clasped in his – they crept through the darkness, listening intently to the slightest sound. An owl swooped low over their heads, startling them, but they pressed on. Outside the small barn they paused and glanced around. There was no sound, no lights anywhere.
‘Right,’ Emile said softly, ‘I’ll stay out here whilst you send the message about the airmen. You know what to say, but keep it as brief as you can.’
In the pitch black of the interior of the barn, Beth lit the candle she had brought and set it on a stone that jutted out from the wall. Then she removed the wireless from its hiding place, setting up the aerial. The tapping out of the Morse code message echoed loudly in the stillness. Surely, she thought worriedly, it could be heard fields away, but she carried on. Her message sent, they waited half an hour, standing outside with their arms around each other.
‘Oh Beth,’ Emile murmured, forgetting for once to use her codename, ‘when all this is over—’
At that moment, the wireless set began to bleep. You certainly pick your moment, London, Beth thought wryly and eased herself out of his warm embrace to step back into the barn. The answer was that arrangements would be made and they would send a coded message on the night the Lysander would arrive over the normal wireless airwaves amongst the personal messages that were broadcast from the BBC. The message would say, ‘Aunt Matilda has gone home on the 2 o’clock train’. This would give the local resistance group – Emile’s men – the expected time of arrival. The number ‘two’ would be changed to whatever time the aircraft would be due. Despite the fact that
Beth had told Kurt Hartmann that her uncle did not have a wireless set, Raoul kept one hidden beneath the floorboards in his bedroom; something else the searching soldiers had not uncovered.
Beth stowed the transmitter behind the stones and removed the candle. ‘I’ll come back in the morning and make sure everything looks undisturbed. And now we’d better go and wake your parents. Your mother would never forgive me if they missed your visit.’
An hour or so later, as they said their goodbyes at the gate, Beth whispered, ‘I will take any message to the dropping point in the oak tree just outside the village.’
‘If there are Germans about, go on into the town to see Bruce, but only if there is no other way. Henri Lafarge is trustworthy, but the less you are seen in town making contact with Bruce, the better.’ Emile held her close for a moment and kissed her forehead. Releasing her swiftly, he turned away and was immediately lost in the darkness. She could not even watch him go, but the feel of his lips still tingled on her forehead.
‘1943 already, Lil, and still no end to the war,’ Edie said disconsolately as they walked together to the WVS a few days after New Year. They had celebrated – if that could be the right word in such circumstances – the turning of the year very quietly, just the three of them in Lil’s house.
‘I know, duck, but let’s hope this year will bring an end to it all, eh?’
‘I can’t see it myself. I talked to Archie about it before he went back this morning. He isn’t hopeful.’
‘I’ve had a letter from Irene. She’s heard from Frank and though he doesn’t give much away, she reckons he’s in North Africa.’
‘Africa? Whatever is he doing there?’
‘Perhaps he was part of the British Eighth army that triumphed over Rommel two months ago. Now wouldn’t that be something if your Frank had been part of that?’
‘Is he all right?’ Edie was hungry for this kind news – news of her family and of Frank’s safety. She didn’t really care what battles he’d been in, just so long as he’d come through them unscathed.
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