Welcome Home

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Are you still sure that you won’t allow me to take you to dinner? We could go into the town if you are afraid the villagers would think badly of you. I know how it is for you young girls. You’d be thought a collaborator’ – he smiled – ‘or, worse, a spy for your country’s enemy.’

  Beth stared at him, her heart thudding. Then she managed to laugh a tinkling, silly girlish sound. ‘Me? A spy? Oh, now that would be fun, wouldn’t it?’ She put her head coquettishly on one side. Then she pretended to sigh. ‘But I’m not clever enough.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ he said softly and stared at her for a moment as if trying to make up his mind about something. ‘Perhaps,’ he said slowly, ‘there is a way you can help us – me, that is.’

  Beth felt a quiver of fear, but she kept her eyes wide in a mystified stare. ‘Really, Major? How?’

  He stepped even closer, towering above her, but his nearness was not threatening, it was rather as if he were about to take her into his confidence. ‘You could tell me of anything that happens in this area.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she said innocently. ‘What sort of thing?’

  ‘If you hear of any enemy aircraft dropping things?’

  Beth frowned. ‘What sort of things?’

  ‘Supplies. People.’

  ‘People? Why would they drop people?’ She bit her lip, wondering if she were pushing the dumb act a little too far. She saw him watching her as if trying to decide if she really was as naïve – or stupid – as she was making out. She decided to act as if she had realized what he might be talking about. ‘Oh, soldiers, you mean?’

  ‘Possibly. More likely it would be agents.’

  Now perhaps she could pretend once more not to understand. ‘What for? What do they do?’

  Patiently, he explained. ‘The French have formed resistance groups and the British are aiding them by sending weapons and ammunition and people – men and women – as secret agents to send radio messages back to England.’

  Beth’s face brightened. ‘Oh – is that why you were searching Uncle’s buildings? You thought one of these agents might be here?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  She shrugged. ‘Well, there’s no one here except Uncle and Aunt and the lad from the village who comes to work on the farm when we’re extra busy. And me, of course,’ she ended with a winning smile. She hoped she was acting the part of a naïve, perhaps rather simple, fifteen-year-old girl who would be flattered by the attentions of a handsome German officer.

  Suddenly, he asked her sharply, ‘Do you know where their son is? Emile Détange?’

  She might have been thrown off guard by his sudden question, but the role-play in her training had been excellent. ‘Always,’ their instructor had warned them, ‘be on your guard for the unexpected question that will catch you out. Don’t answer too quickly. Take a moment to think . . .’

  Beth frowned. ‘My cousin? He’s not here.’

  ‘Do you know where he is? Does he visit? Has he been here at all since you arrived?’

  Now, he snapped out the questions, no longer the friendly occupier of her country trying to appease her or even perhaps paying court to her. As she believed a young girl would have reacted at the sharpness in his tone, Beth stepped back and tears filled her eyes. The ability to weep at will had saved her from many a hiding in her childhood and even a caning at school. And all the games of charades at Christmas at Shirley’s insistence, when Beth had had the family in stitches with her impersonations, had honed her talents. Now, once again and in a far more desperate situation, her acting skills came to her rescue. She hoped Major Hartmann could not read her thoughts as the image of Emile’s face, of him creeping through the darkness to bring messages to her, of his gentle kiss on her forehead in the seclusion of the barn, flitted through her mind.

  ‘I – no – I’ve not seen him. I don’t know where he is.’

  ‘Do your aunt and uncle know?’ His tone was still firm – he wanted answers – but he spoke a little less harshly now.

  She bit her lip as the tears slipped down her cheeks. She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. Aunt Marthe cries all the time.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Fräulein, I didn’t mean to make you cry.’ He stepped closer and put his arms around her, drawing her against his chest, her cheek resting against his uniform.

  And that was how Raoul saw them as he stepped out of the barn.

  Later, she was able to explain to Raoul and Marthe everything that had been said. ‘And I think he knows about the British airmen. Just as he was leaving he said, “If you hear any light aircraft landing nearby, be sure to let me know.” He must know that such aircraft only land if they’re picking someone up.’

  There had been two more airmen who had hidden above Raoul’s pigsty for two nights until a Lysander had flown in to rescue them. Again, the pick-up had been arranged through Beth, but this time there had been no need to involve Rob. The tree trunk had been unguarded.

  ‘Let’s hope they got away safely the other night as they were supposed to,’ Raoul murmured.

  ‘And Emile?’ Marthe whispered, her mind on her son rather than on the airmen. Her eyes were fearful, her fingers to her lips. ‘He asked about Emile? By name?’

  Beth nodded.

  ‘Well, he would, wouldn’t he?’ Raoul said reasonably. ‘He’ll know we’ve got a son and he’ll know his name. It’s natural he should ask about him. Just so long as he doesn’t start asking us about “Antoine”.’

  Twenty-Six

  Edie wasn’t dealing very well with being on her own for days – even weeks – at a time. She counted the days now to Archie coming home from the sea more than she ever had done in their married life. Always – until now – she had had the family to keep her busy, too busy sometimes, but Edie, a born homemaker and mother, had revelled in it. Even when she had gone to bed exhausted, it had been what she always called a healthy tiredness. ‘I’m not ill,’ she would say to Lil, ‘because there’s a good reason why I’m weary.’ Then she’d smile and add, ‘but I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

  But now was a different matter; she was alone and very lonely. ‘If it wasn’t for you, Lil, I don’t know what I’d do,’ she’d say a dozen times during the weeks when Archie was away. Lil tried to keep her friend busy, but it wasn’t always easy to think of things they could do. Any pleasure the two women had had in shopping was now gone; it was an unending chore coping with the rationing and the shortage of goods that weren’t on ration. And the queues just seemed to grow longer, often with disappointment in the end. ‘That’s another two hours wasted,’ Edie would grumble as they trudged home from the town, their shopping bags hardly any heavier than when they had set out.

  ‘Have you heard from Shirley?’ Lil asked.

  ‘She writes every week – never misses.’ Her tone hardened as she added, ‘That’s more than I can say for Beth. Only one postcard in months, Lil. I wonder about that girl, really I do.’

  ‘I expect she’s busy, Edie. If she’s involved in nursing now, maybe she’s even been sent abroad.’

  ‘She’d have let us know if that had happened.’ Edie paused and there was uncertainty in her tone as she added, ‘Wouldn’t she?’

  ‘Of course, she would, duck,’ Lil tried to reassure her, and then steered the subject away from Edie’s children. But that was easier said than done. Edie was still going through them – one by one – in her mind. ‘Frank’s on the mend. I actually got a letter from him yesterday.’

  ‘I expect he’s had more time whilst he’s been laid up.’

  ‘He’s going back on light duties next week, he said.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Is it?’ Edie said mournfully. ‘I’m not so sure ’cos it might mean he’ll be back in the thick of the fighting again soon.’

  Lil bit her lip, unable to argue with Edie’s logic.

  ‘We could take a trip out to the farm again – just the two of us – or we could ask Ursula if she’d lik
e to come with us. Or Jessie.’

  Edie pulled a face. ‘Archie said he thought it best to stay away. I don’t think we were ever so welcome last time.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure we were. It was just that we arrived unexpectedly. This time we could plan it and write and tell them.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Edie seemed strangely reluctant and, for once, her friend couldn’t understand why. The truth was that Edie didn’t want to see her young son happy and well settled in the countryside. She knew it was selfish of her, but it hurt and the cut had gone even deeper when he hadn’t even seemed pleased to see them. All that had worried him was that they had come to fetch him home. Perhaps it was better, as Archie had suggested, to stay away until the end of the war. But then, Edie promised herself, he would come home. She’d make sure of that.

  ‘I wish we could go to Cleethorpes beach like we did with the kids in summer before the war.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I used to like a walk along the sands this time of year, even when it was crowded.’

  ‘I like the beach best in winter,’ Lil said, ‘when we’ve got it all to ourselves, even though it’s a bit chilly. Still, there’ll be none of that until the war’s over. I’ve heard there are rolls of barbed wire all along the beach and you can’t get near the sand, ne’er mind the sea. There’ll be no holidaymakers this year.’

  ‘Do you remember, Lil, taking all the kids to see the illuminations in Cleethorpes the year they were put up? We all went, even Jessie and Harry. Reggie was only three and I don’t reckon he’ll remember much about it, but the others do.’

  ‘I remember,’ Lil murmured, ‘and the crowds in summer, flocking in by train. You could hardly move on the prom.’

  Recalling the happy times the two families had shared only made Edie even more maudlin.

  ‘We could go to the park,’ Lil suggested, trying to get her friend’s mind away from happier memories, ‘it’d be nice to see all the vegetables they’re growing there now as part of the Dig For Victory.’

  Posters were being displayed all over the country exhorting householders to use every bit of available space to grow their own vegetables. Lil had even planted potatoes in the earth covering her Anderson shelter.

  But Edie was listless. ‘I suppose so,’ was her disinterested reply, ‘but I’m not sure I want to see it now. Have they taken the lovely ornamental entrance gates away yet for the war effort, like they were threatening?’

  ‘I don’t know, Edie. But let’s go anyway.’

  ‘They might set us on digging,’ Edie said, with a sudden flash of her old humour.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind if they did,’ Lil laughed. ‘It’d be a change from making nets.’

  Emile sneaked into the house under cover of darkness. After greeting his parents he gave Beth a swift, brotherly hug. Quickly they told him about the day’s events and his face sobered. ‘You will have to be careful, Leonie.’

  Now, they were all using her cover name all the time; the more they came to think of her by that name, the safer it would be. Now, too, they always called Emile by his Maquis name – Antoine – though his mother still found it difficult. Emile sat down at the table whilst Marthe laid a meal out for him and wrapped more food in a bundle for him to take back to his compatriots hiding in the forest.

  ‘This is what you need to transmit tonight. We are hiding two British airmen who were shot down two nights ago and have managed to evade the Germans and find us. We need them to be picked up as soon as possible and we also need more ammunition.’

  ‘And I need some more radio valves,’ Beth murmured, committing to memory the list that Emile was reeling off.

  Before leaving, he went with Beth to the barn in the fields. ‘I think this is as safe a place as any, you know. I wouldn’t worry about moving it. If they do find it here – as long as it’s not whilst you’re actually transmitting – you can deny all knowledge of it.’

  Beth laughed softly. ‘And you think they’d believe that?’

  ‘Probably not,’ Emile was forced to agree with a sigh.

  ‘The most dangerous time is when I am transmitting. That’s when they can pick up the signals.’ She paused and then added, ‘Antoine – I’m so worried about your parents. Do you really think I should be staying with them? I mean, it’s one thing if I get caught, but quite another if they—’

  Emile moved towards her in the darkness and she felt his arms slip around her, his lips against her hair. ‘They know exactly what they’re doing. Believe me, if my father was a younger man and didn’t have the farm to run, he’d be out there in the woods with me.’

  ‘But your poor mother. If they were arrested . . .’

  ‘I know, I know,’ he whispered. ‘But she’s tougher than she looks. Just you’ – she felt his lips brush her forehead – ‘look after yourself.’

  And then, almost before she had realized it, he was gone, slipping like a wraith into the darkness.

  It was easier – and safer – transmitting at night. There was always the danger that if the Germans did arrive unexpectedly, her absence from the farmhouse in the middle of the night would be difficult to explain. But from the barn she could see even the smallest light coming towards her and, in the stillness of the night, voices and sounds could be heard more clearly and Beth felt it was a risk worth taking. Each time she left the tumbledown building, she peered out cautiously to make sure no one – not even locals – were watching. Then she covered the traces of her visits, scattering dust over the floor to hide her footprints.

  She was pleased with the hiding place; she didn’t envy those agents in towns or cities where, every minute of the day, they might be discovered or betrayed. Here, Raoul was a respected member of the local community and no one would suspect the burly farmer of harbouring a secret agent. If anything, he was thought to be collaborating just a little too much with the enemy. But most of his neighbours could sympathize; they were in the same position and were obliged to succumb to their invaders’ demands or suffer untold consequences. To protect themselves and their families – especially their loved ones – they had to cooperate, even though it hurt their pride to do so.

  But some of them did wonder where exactly young Emile Détange had gone. One or two guessed; their sons had also mysteriously left home, bidding a fond farewell, but refusing to say where they were going or what they were going to do. Many had gone away to avoid being sent to Germany to work or even to fight on the Eastern front for the Germans. Many a father envied their son’s bravery and many a mother wept with fear.

  And Marthe was one of those mothers.

  Edie lay alone in the Morrison shelter in her front room listening to the enemy bombers droning overhead. And then the bombing began. At first it was some distance away, but then the planes came nearer and nearer until they sounded as though they were directly overhead. She heard the whine of a falling bomb and then there was a terrific crash, so close that she felt the whole house shake. She screamed, sure that the building was going to fall on top of her.

  ‘Lil! Lil!’ she cried, wishing that she had gone into her neighbour’s Anderson or that Lil was here beside her. ‘Why didn’t I get her round here when it started?’ she whimpered. More bombs fell, not so close now, but still they were falling on the town.

  At last, after what seemed an age, the noise died away and eventually the All Clear sounded. Edie crawled out of the shelter and struggled to the back door. She flung it open and staggered to the gate in the fence.

  ‘Lil! Lil, are you all right?’

  ‘I’m here, Edie. A bit shaken but—’ Before she could say any more, Lil found herself enveloped in a bear hug.

  ‘Oh thank God, you’re all right. Lil, in future we stay together. I’ll come into yours or you into mine. Even when Archie’s home. I’m not going through another night like that again, not knowing what’s happened to you.’

  ‘I’m all right, duck, honest. Come on, let’s get inside and get the kettle on.’

  ‘I must have a look outside first, Lil.
I reckon there was at least one bomb fell in our street. I hope Jessie’s all right.’

  ‘Come on, we’ll go together.’

  They emerged from Lil’s front door to see a flurry of activity further down the long street.

  ‘It’s not near Jessie’s. It’s the other end.’

  ‘There she is, though, look. Handing out drinks to the rescuers from the mobile canteen. And there’s Norma alongside her.’ Edie laughed wryly. ‘Strange bedfellows this war’s caused, Lil.’

  ‘Aye, well, they get along when they’re helping others, I’ll say that for them.’

  ‘Come on, Lil, we’d better go down and see if we can help.’

  Though it was early morning and they hadn’t had any breakfast, the two women were fully dressed. ‘I’m not being caught in me nightie when there’s a raid,’ Edie had declared, ‘in case I have to be dug out.’

  But their help was not needed. ‘You go home, Edie love,’ Jessie said. ‘There’s plenty of us here and you look as if you’ve had a rough night of it yourselves.’

  So the two women sat in Lil’s living room, drinking tea and trying to calm their nerves.

  ‘It was bad enough, Edie,’ Lil said, ‘but I reckon those things they’re calling butterfly bombs which they dropped on us a month ago were awful weapons. They were sneaky.’

  ‘Anti-personnel bombs, Archie said they’re called. They don’t go off on landing but wait until someone touches them.’

  ‘Evil, I call it. It’s as if they’re aiming them at kids, ’cos they’ll know youngsters can’t resist collecting bits of shrapnel and that.’

  ‘That’s why Archie won’t hear of Reggie coming home yet,’ Edie said dolefully. ‘He says he might get in with the kids running riot. We’ve always let our youngsters play out in the street, but Harry’s been telling him that bomb sites are a favourite playground for the local kids now. Them that haven’t gone away, that is.’ There was a wistful note in her voice as if she almost wished her Reggie was at home to run riot.

  ‘Sorry, Edie, but I agree with him,’ Lil said, bravely ignoring Edie’s baleful glare.