by Noreen Riols
Chapter 5
Sadly, some missions ended in tragedy due to treachery. Henri Déricourt, who before the war had been an experienced French pilot, was the man responsible for choosing the landing sites and dropping zones, known as DZs, in France. But he turned out to be a ‘double agent’, working ostensibly for SOE, but also for the Gestapo and the Abwehr (German military intelligence).
I never met Déricourt, though I have heard a great deal about him from Bob Maloubier, who knew him before the war when Déricourt was a stunt pilot working in a circus. Bob is convinced he was not a double agent, as some believe, but a triple agent in the pay not only of SOE and the Gestapo and the Abwehr, but very possibly MI6 as well. He was an astute, one might say devious, man, who had great personal charm and managed to play his cards very successfully, juggling between his three masters. He was responsible for grouping together letters, both personal letters from agents to their families and official mail containing sensitive information which could not be trusted to the radio’ since it risked interception by the enemy. This mail was sent with any plane which landed for delivery to London on arrival. But before Déricourt handed them to the pilot of the plane he gave them to his Abwehr contact, who opened and copied them before handing them back, which may explain why the Prosper/Physician réseau was ‘blown’.
Déricourt used to be at the DZ to meet the agents when they landed and would take them to the isolated farmhouse, from which the members of the reception committee had left a few hours earlier. Here they would be given a substantial meal and a bed for the rest of the night. I remember one returning agent saying that they had had a very bumpy journey on the way over, being tossed about all over the place as the pilot attempted to evade the German flak and the fighter pilots sent up to shoot them down. He was feeling sick and groggy when he landed and the wonderfully rich meal awaiting him proved to be too much. On the pretext of getting a breath of fresh air, he walked out to the bottom of the garden and was violently sick!
Should they not be destined for a local resistance group, they would grab a few hours’ sleep, and at dawn a member of the reception committee would accompany the agents to the local railway station. Before arriving, the agents would separate and take the first train to Paris or the nearest large city: each one travelling in a different compartment without any sign of recognition passing between them, either on the platform while waiting for the train or on the train itself. When they left the train, they would then head off separately in different directions.
Déricourt often not only accompanied the newly arrived agents to the station, but also travelled on the same train. He would have informed the Gestapo in advance of the drop and told them at which mainline station the agents would arrive the following morning. The French police would be waiting at the barrier to do a ‘spot check’, which was not unusual. Déricourt would give a prearranged signal, often an almost imperceptible nod or inclination of his head as he passed or walked behind the agent approaching the barrier. The agent would then be picked out by the police for a ‘snap’ inspection of his or her papers. And although the papers were in order – London saw to that before they left – it was always possible for the police to pretend that there was an anomaly and take the agent into custody for further investigation, from where he was inevitably handed over to the Gestapo. Some were never seen alive again.
The largest and most important réseau in France in 1943, the Prosper réseau, based in the Paris area, had tentacles stretching out all over the country from Belgium to the Poitou. It was decimated by the treachery of Henri Déricourt, with the near-fatal result that, after Prosper’s collapse, F Section’s resistance in France threatened to come to an end. One thousand five hundred people were arrested, and hundreds of agents and locally recruited résistants belonging to the group were seized, tortured, deported to concentration camps and sent to their deaths.
Among them was Prospers organizer, Francis Suttill, who was brutally tortured before being sent to Sachsenhausen concentration camp and hanged. His courier, Andrée Borrel, was one of the four women F Section agents who were burnt alive at Natzweiler. And the radio operator, Noor Inayat-Khan, having survived many months of solitary confinement in various prisons, terrible torture and, for the last four months of her life, being shackled wrists to ankles, was finally shot in the back of the head, too weak from starvation and torture to be able to crawl across the floor. It was said that when she died she no longer resembled a human being; she was just a mass of raw meat, the skin hanging off her back from her many beatings. But, like Suttill and Andrée Borrel, she never once talked or gave the enemy any information.
One of the first members of the Prosper réseau to be arrested was Suttill’s lieutenant, Gilbert Norman, codename ‘Archambaud’. Norman was later accused of being a traitor and betraying his comrades. He did, but unwittingly. He was tortured and brainwashed to such an extent that the Gestapo convinced him that it was pointless to withhold information, since the other members of his réseau had all been arrested and interrogated and had revealed the names of his colleagues, as well as the place where their considerable supply of arms was hidden, none of which was true. In actual fact Francis Suttill and Norman’s other resistance colleagues were arrested after a confession was dragged out of Norman. To add to his agony, when they were all brought in for interrogation, the Gestapo seated him at a desk in the entrance to the building in the avenue Foch, giving the members of his réseau the impression that he had defected to the German camp. When they arrived he became the recipient of their incredulous and often contemptuous stares and realized that he had been tricked into betraying them. His colleagues believed he was responsible for their arrest, which in a way I suppose he was. But had he intentionally betrayed them? To all outward appearances it looked very much like it, and the word ‘traitor’ clung to him. However, many people who were later questioned did not think so. His father apparently spent the rest of his life trying to clear his son’s name. But even if he had collaborated with the Gestapo, it did not save him. He later suffered the same fate as his organizer, Francis Suttill, and was hanged at Sachsenhausen concentration camp.
Buck had had his doubts about Déricourt’s loyalty for some time. But he was never able to actually pin any accusation on him. The disaster of the collapse of the Prosper circuit confirmed Buck’s suspicions, and he decided to recall Déricourt to London for a debriefing. When the plane landed, Gerry Morel, who had been sent by Buck to bring Déricourt back, was standing in the doorway. Although a major in the British Army, as a precaution in case of capture Morel was wearing a squadron leader’s uniform, which would enable him to claim prisoner of war status as a member of the aircrew. He ordered Déricourt to climb in, but Déricourt, taken by surprise, refused to leave without his wife. There was a terrible scene, and a heated argument broke out between the two men, during which in the wind Morel’s cap blew off and had to be chased across the airstrip by one of the reception team. The whole landing and take-off operation was supposed to be effected in less than three minutes. After fifteen minutes the pilot shot his head out of the cockpit and began banging on the fuselage, yelling: ‘What the hell’s going on?’ He threatened to leave without Morel.
When they landed back in England Buck was on the airstrip, waiting to receive Déricourt. He was not amused when Morel confessed to returning without him. However, Déricourt had promised to leave on the next flight provided his wife could accompany him and, for once, he kept his word. The following week, when the plane bringing radio operator Noor Inayat-Khan and courier Cecily Lefort to work for the Prosper and Jockey réseaux respectively landed, Déricourt’s rather vulgar wife was waiting with him on the airstrip, covered in jewels and wearing a floor-length fur coat. On arrival in England they were given a suite at the Savoy, where they were seen dancing, he wearing a squadron leader’s uniform, to which he was not entitled, his rank being flying officer, and sporting DFC and DSO ribbons on his chest, to which he was not entitled either.
<
br /> In spite of Déricourt’s protestations, Buck refused to allow him to return to France. He was given a splendid flat in a fashionable part of London – I believe it was Kensington – where he and his wife entertained lavishly. I can understand Déricourt’s anger and frustration at being kept in London. Being a double agent was extremely dangerous, but it was also a very lucrative business. Déricourt, although from humble origins – his mother was a seamstress and his father a postman – had amassed a fortune through his treachery, ending the war a very rich man. He not only owned a royal hunting lodge in the countryside outside the capital but also a luxury flat in the sixteenth arrondissement, the most expensive district in Paris, with a live-in Spanish maid for the rare occasions when he wished to use it. After the war he became a pilot for the company which later became Air France. One evening, he was passing through British customs on the way to his plane and said he had nothing to declare. The customs officer asked him all the same to open his overnight case. Underneath his pyjamas was a layer of gold bars. He was arrested, but at his trial he managed to charm the judge and convince him that he was a ‘war hero’. The judge did not give him a prison sentence but let him off with a £500 fine – peanuts to Déricourt – though his gold bars were confiscated.
Buck was not the only one to be suspicious of Déricourt. Vera Atkins, Buck’s close assistant, had never trusted him. She was convinced, right from the start, that he was playing a double game, and it may well have been at her insistence that Buck had him recalled.
But the French authorities might also have been keeping their eyes upon Déricourt. In 1946, when he returned to France, he was arrested and imprisoned, and in 1948 he was tried for treason. At his trial Déricourt managed, as usual, to be very convincing. He had fooled many people, who spoke in his favour, though Buck refused to testify for him or even to attend the trial. But Nick Bodington, Buck’s one-time assistant and former ‘right-hand man’, went to Paris, claiming to have been sent by SOE to testify in Déricourt’s favour. Although untrue, this so-called ‘authentic’ testimony from a former very influential member of F Section helped swing the balance. Déricourt was acquitted and saved from the firing squad.
Vera Atkins and Nick Bodington had always disliked each other intensely, which can’t have made life easy for Buck. Vera did not hide her feelings about Bodington, whom she always suspected was in league with Déricourt, playing a double game. Since Buck had absolute confidence in Vera and trusted her completely, especially her judgement, which he relied upon, it may well have been Vera who persuaded Buck to have Bodington rusticated for six months during the war. She was in Paris at the time of Déricourt’s trial and bumped into Bodington in the street. ‘Nick, if you attend Déricourt’s trial,’ she apparently threatened him, ‘I’ll never speak to you again.’ Bodington calmed her down, assuring her that there was no question of his doing so, and she took him at his word. He then went to the Palais de Justice and testified in Déricourt’s favour. Vera kept her word, and never spoke to him again.
Déricourt’s insatiable greed finally got the better of him. He went to Laos and, together with a pilot friend and two small planes, formed a company, Air Laos – known colloquially as ‘Air Confiture’ (Air Jam), since it was common knowledge that they were trafficking opium. With these two planes they evacuated rich refugees from Laos to Saigon – at a price! Déricourt’s plane could carry six passengers, but he regularly crammed in eight. One afternoon in November 1962 he returned to base and decided that he could do one more flight while it was still light. There were ten passengers waiting. He took eight, refusing the last two. They pleaded with him, upping the exorbitant fare he charged by so much that he finally accepted. The seriously overloaded plane was unable to rise above the trees. It crashed soon after take-off, with no survivors. Déricourt’s body was never found – there were only limbs and torn flesh scattered over the jungle floor. However, a funeral was held with great pomp and ceremony for the well-known ‘war hero’, with many attachés from neighbouring embassies and other dignitaries present. Déricourt deceived everyone right to the end!
After the war there was also suspicion in the hierarchy surrounding Bodington’s loyalties. There were questions about whether or not he was a double agent working closely with Déricourt, so perhaps Vera’s mistrust was not unfounded. It has also been said that he was a ‘mole’ planted into F Section by MI6, who disliked SOE intensely. His pre-war connections with the Germans, when he was a Reuters correspondent in Paris, seemed to give weight to the theory that he was a double agent in touch with, and passing secret information to, former friends he had known at the German embassy. These friends were now high-ranking officers in the Gestapo and the Abwehr. But no definite evidence has yet come to light.
Nick Bodington was not liked by his colleagues. They complained that he was mean, never having his wallet on him when it was his turn pay for a round of drinks in the pub. In appearance, he was not an attractive man, though he married three times. He seemed to be a loner, intelligent, but without a great deal of charm. Henri Déricourt, on the other hand, was a handsome man who had great charm and was very intelligent. What a pity he did not put his talents to better use.
Chapter 6
There were also bona fide agents who played the double game in order to obtain important and useful information, which they then passed on to London. But, in doing so, they were taking an enormous risk.
I heard of one F Section agent, though I never met him, who almost lost his life pretending to be a double agent. He was the organizer of a resistance group who, in order to glean information which he then passed on to London, was ‘friendly’ with the German soldiers stationed in the area. He naturally kept his double game a secret even from the members of his réseau. It would have been too dangerous if the Germans had discovered his deceit. But the members of his réseau became suspicious and began to doubt his loyalties when they saw him being ‘hail fellow well met’ with the enemy. And especially when they saw him spending evenings in bars with these soldiers, laughing and joking and encouraging them to have another drink. When their tongues were loosened by too many glasses of red wine, the agent often obtained vital information which he then transmitted to London. Oblivious to their organizer’s ingenuity, the members of his own réseau wanted to execute him for treason, convinced he was a traitor. But he persuaded them to wait twenty-four hours and send a message personnel to London, requesting urgently that it be broadcast the following evening. ‘If you hear this message on the BBC’s French Service programme tomorrow evening, you’ll know I am genuine,’ he told them. ‘But if you don’t, then go ahead and do what you have to do.’ They agreed to keep him under close arrest for twenty-four hours. The following evening the message came over loud and clear, convincing the members of his group of his innocence. He was untied, handshakes were exchanged all round, and that evening the red wine flowed freely.
Another F Section agent who risked his life playing the double game stands out in my mind, probably because he was the ‘coolest’ man I ever met. Stocky, strong, nearer forty than thirty, Benny Cowburn was a dour, tough, down-to-earth Yorkshireman with an accent you could cut with a knife, even though he had been brought up and had spent most of his life in France.
A member of F Section, he was parachuted into France four times and would probably have gone for a fifth try had the German surrender not put an end to his activities. On one of his missions Benny was dropped as organizer of the Tinker circuit in the Aube. Here, like his F Section colleague, he also played a very dangerous game, pretending to be friendly with the local Germans, greeting them on the streets and spending evenings drinking with them in cafes. But he also was taking an enormous risk. On the surface it looked as if he was working for the enemy, and the members of his réseau could easily have believed that he was a German plant, in other words a traitor, and summarily executed him. They never did. So I imagine he must have inspired absolute confidence.
Ben trusted nobody, not even
the members of his réseau. He did everything himself because, as he put it, his résistants ‘blabbed in cafés’. One accepted such a remark from Ben simply because he loved France, had chosen to live in France and in some ways was more French than English. Whether his accusation was true or not, I don’t know. But he wasn’t taking any risks. So he made his own ammunition from the raw material parachuted in, working alone in a little hut in the mountains. At about three o’clock one morning, when he was busy at his work bench, there was a knock on the door of the hut, and a voice shouted: ‘Open up! German patrol.’ Quickly shovelling what he could out of sight, he went to open the door. To his immense relief it was his ‘friends’, a local group of German soldiers. ‘Whatever are you doing here in the middle of the night?’ they asked, open-mouthed.
‘I’m making bombs,’ Ben replied. ‘I’m going to blow up yon railway line to stop you chaps advancing.’ The soldiers looked at him aghast, then burst out laughing, saying the French equivalent of‘You are a one!’ One of them actually winked and nudged him joking: ‘Real British humour, eh!’ never realizing that he had in fact spoken the truth in jest, since they all believed he was a local-born Frenchman.
‘Got any beer?’ asked their leader.
‘Sure chaps,’ Ben replied. ‘Come on in and help yourselves.’ He backed away and sat at his bench with his arms spread out in an attempt to hide his material. They helped themselves to beer, but he declined. ‘No, you go ahead. I never drink when I’m working. Need to keep a clear head otherwise I might blow myself up. Dynamite’s tricky stuff to handle.’ They apparently roared with laughter again and thought he was even more amusing.