Island of Secrets

by Karen Abbott

  Keeping to lesser-used tracks to avoid the roadblocks set between the principal villages, they plodded steadily in a north-westerly direction. How different it might have been if she hadn’t spurned his love for so long, she sadly reflected.

  She imagined snuggling close to him, her head on his shoulder. With her arms around him, she would feel the beating of his heart and smell the masculine fragrance of him. The depth of her loss caused a tear to trickle from the corner of her eye and down her cheek to her lips. The taste of salt made her hiccup and, to hide her emotion, she jerked her body away from Charles to the edge of the driving seat. It was her own stupid fault, she chided herself. She could blame no-one else.

  They skirted east of St. Pierre, following the edge of the salines to Sauzelle, and then travelling west of St. Georges to Chaucre and finally to the small port of St. Denis. Dusk was fast approaching but several other wagons were on the road, blatantly ignoring the fast-approaching hour of curfew. The surly expressions of their French drivers showed that they were unwilling participants in whatever task they were doing. The presence of a German soldier on most of the wagons prevented the hope of any conversation between the conscripted drivers.

  “What’s happening?” Francine whispered to Charles, their estrangement temporarily laid aside.

  “I’m not sure. Wagons were being seized from local farms yesterday but I had no way of getting close enough to discover what’s happening because there was a German soldier riding on each wagon. Tonight, I intend to find out!”

  Charles jostled his wagon into line, nodding briefly to the other drivers. Francine wasn’t sure but she felt she detected a glimmer in their eyes as if they knew who he was.

  “There’s a roadblock ahead!” Francine warned in alarm. “Everybody is being stopped!” Her mouth went dry. What reason could they give for being here so near to curfew? Would they accept that they were making a delivery? Her heart hammered loudly behind her ribs.

  Charles assumed a bland expression on his face, letting his mouth fall slack with saliva dribbling from the corner, looking as if he didn’t have an ounce of intelligence in his brain. When they reached the head of the queue, he pulled back on the rein, halting the wagon.

  The German soldiers stepped forward.

  “Your pass?” one demanded.

  “Eh?”

  “Your pass!”

  Charles handed the man his travel pass, grinning inanely.

  “I’ve got sacks of salt for the fishermen of St. Denis … but soldiers said to come here. We do as they say. Can we go now?”

  His simple amiability seemed to deflect any suspicious notions the officer might have had.

  “Not yet. Who’s your passenger?”

  Charles grinned. “She’s my sister. She looks after me. She’s bossy! You like her?”

  Francine scowled at the soldier, glad that she had made herself look extremely undesirable.

  The soldier made a derisory comment and laughed coarsely at his companion. Francine didn’t need to understand German to know that she had been rejected.

  The soldier stepped back a pace.

  “Dump your load over there and then follow the others!” he commanded, pointing to the side of the road. He then nodded to the next soldier in line and the soldier leaped onto the wagon.

  With a curt order to proceed, Charles flicked the reins, guiding his ox out of line.

  He handed the reins to Francine. “Hold him steady, Franni!” He jumped down and ambled to the rear of the wagon where the soldier was already stacking the sacks near the tail-end.

  Francine seethed indignantly. Franni, indeed!

  She could hear Charles grumbling about what his boss would do to him when he returned with no money for his load of salt but the soldier paid no attention.

  “Just do as you’re told!” he ordered.

  When their wagon was empty, the soldier roughly grasped Francine’s shoulder and pushed her towards the rear of the cart. His harsh words and jerk of his head told Francine that she was to give up her seat to him and ride in the back of the wagon. There was no point in arguing. She did as he commanded her.

  “Get back into line!” he then ordered Charles.

  Wagons were being sent in different directions. Charles was directed to follow two others and they slowly lumbered their way towards the rocky headland at the most northerly part of the island where the tall black and white lighthouse had stood for many years, shining its light seaward.

  A couple of large concrete lookout bunkers stood starkly on the cliff-top at the side of the lighthouse, their squat silhouettes just visible against the dark night sky. The lighthouse beamed no guiding light to warn mariners of the out-jutting rocks at its base. They would approach at their own peril.

  The shadowy figures of German soldiers were waiting for the conscripted farm vehicles. Charles and Francine were ordered down and commanded to help to load heavy gun equipment onto their wagon. Francine did her best to comply. Charles bore most of the weight and they managed to lift the heavy pieces of iron canons onto the wagon.

  “And this one?” Francine asked, putting her hand on another canon.

  “No!”

  The refusal was sharp and Francine jumped away. Her touch had been brief but it was long enough to detect a difference in material. The one left behind was made of wood. A moment’s pondering gave her the reason. It was a wooden replica canon. She nodded slightly in appreciation of the ploy. It would be put with others of its kind in the now-empty positions of the genuine canons that had been removed. To anyone too far away to determine what the canons were made of, they would appear to be genuine weapons and, perhaps, deter an assault.

  She bit her lip in frustration. Without a radio transmitter they couldn’t let their allies know of the deception. She tucked the information away in the back of her mind and concentrated on the task in hand. They were heading back towards the south of the island, taking heavy weaponry with them.

  It was a long journey back. The ox was tired and its load heavy. Francine could sense Charles’ anger when the soldier snatched his whip and lashed the animal’s back. She tried to stay awake, hoping to be able to work out their possible destination but the previous night’s activities took their toll on her and eventually her heavy eye-lids closed in sleep.

  On awaking, it took her a few seconds to remember where she was. Her whole body ached and she was cold and sore. The sky above her had paled and a low mist hovered over the ground. She painfully raised herself onto her elbows and looked over the rim of the wagon sides. It was difficult to orientate herself. There were so few distinctive places in the country lanes in the middle of the island. Where were they?

  The sun hadn’t yet risen but she detected the glimmer of dawn slightly left. So they were travelling east southeast. Somewhere on the inland coast. How far south had they gone? Were they north or south of Dolus? Dare she risk asking Charles?

  It was worth a risk!

  She stretched her limbs and made her voice sound sleepy, drawing out the first word as if it were a waking sound. “Ou sont-nous? Where are we?”

  Charles didn’t reply straight away and Francine wondered if he hadn’t heard. But then he flicked his whip and sucked in his cheeks making a clicking sound to encourage the tired ox.

  “Arceau!”

  Francine smiled. Arceau was a small village north of Dolus and, across the salines, on the coast, was the Point d’Arceau where a deep, narrow channel flowed into the marshes. That would be possible place for the Allies to make an assault on the island and an ideal place for the Germans to position a canon!

  Soon afterwards, Charles repeated the encouraging clicking sound, followed by the single word, “Allez!”

  He was telling her to go!

  The soldier’s shoulders were hunched and Francine guessed he was barely awake. She slowly edged her way to the end of the wagon. They were approaching a crossroad on the unmetalled track. It was unmanned.

  Francine glanced over her shou
lder. The soldier was unaware of her movements. She gathered her skirt high up her thighs and clambered onto the tailgate. Holding her breath, she waited until Charles slowed the pace of the wagon … and dropped to the ground.

  She rolled as she fell, softening the blow as she landed on the hard earth and then immediately rolled over and over into the tall grasses that bordered the track. She stopped rolling and lay still, waiting for the harsh guttural sound that would herald the soldier’s observance of her departure … but it didn’t come.

  The wagon lumbered on.

  Francine waited until the rumble of its wheels faded away. Then picked herself up, brushed down her skirt and set off at a loping run towards Le Chateau.

  A glimmer of expectation rose in her heart. The Germans were moving their defences to the inland coast. A liberating attack from the allied armies must be expected.

  The end was in sight!

  But where would that leave her and Charles? Could she bear to let him walk out of her life after only so recently discovering that it was him whom she loved?

  From the coolness he had displayed towards her in the past few days, it seemed as though she wouldn’t have any choice in the matter!

  Chapter 9

  The news was welcomed by the local leaders. Something had alarmed the occupying army and they were making defensive manoeuvres. They were on the run!

  But, if the end was indeed in sight, it wasn’t immediately noticeable!

  The islanders watched helplessly as a great number of fortifications were swiftly constructed in the southern part of the island, each position protected by mines and barbed wire and a network of trenches with places to fire the artillery, making local attempts at sabotage well-nigh impossible.

  The German Commandant took possession of the citadel and reinforced its fortifications, increasing the menacing presence of the occupying troops. The sharp sound of marching jack-boots became commonplace in the small town and the islanders learned to live with the surge of fear they felt when a sudden banging on the door of their house heralded yet another house-search.

  Like the rest of the would-be saboteurs, Charles fumed and fretted at their restricted movements and their utter helplessness. Francine rarely saw him and, although she felt bereft without him, she knew he wasn’t yet ready to forgive what he saw as her willingness to betray her friend. She had better try to forget him and learn to live her life without him!

  But her heart wouldn’t obey her head. She yearned for him with an inconsolable longing.

  Her undercover work was the only solace to her heartache. Sent out to monitor the beaches, Francine and her comrades identified anti-landing defences covering eight kilometres of the island’s beaches. She feared there would be nowhere left for the Allies to be able to make a successful landing when the right time came.

  They tried to shut their ears to the constant sound of sawing and hammering that was heard in the forest of St. Trojan as the pines were sawn down to make booby-traps to slow down the progress of any Allied troops that might get onto the island. And undercover watchers feared that many of the plethora of newly scattered mines in the salt marshes were undetected by them.

  The island was like a powder keg with a short fuse! The slightest mistake by the liberating armies would blow it sky-high! If the allies were about to launch an attack, the Germans were determined to fight them every step of the way.

  Some of the local French freedom-fighters were just as determined to keep the upper hand. As Francine was about to leave a secret meeting in the cellar at Domaine St. Clare she overheard a snatch of muted conversation.

  “There was more activity around Arceau last night,” she heard in quiet undertones. “I need to check it out tonight. How are you fixed for coming with me?”

  Francine stopped in her tracks. No-one was foolhardy enough to venture into the marshes at the moment, surely! It was far too dangerous! Their charts were well out of date!

  Even before she turned she knew who had spoken. Before André could make his reply, she pushed between him and Charles.

  “Did I hear you aright?” she hissed angrily. “Do you think you are so invincible that you can continue to spy out the salines in spite of René’s decision to cancel other operations?” she demanded. Her throat hurt as she spoke, her fear for his safety was so great. How could he be so reckless? Didn’t he care if he were killed?

  Charles faced her, his face outwardly calm.

  “Someone has to go, Francine.”

  He raised an eyebrow, giving him a slightly cynical expression. “Who better than someone who has no dependents? We have to keep the salines open! That is where our liberators will come.”

  She knew he was right … but why him?

  She wanted to scream at him that she depended on him to stay alive! That she would not want to continue to live if he were taken out of her life! Her thoughts were so strong that she wondered if she had actually screamed the words … but she hadn’t.

  Charles regarded her coolly.

  “Believe me, Francine, I have every intention of being here when the island is liberated,” he added, his voice lighter than the gleam in his eyes indicated. “I keep a cool head because I allow nothing to distract me … unlike such as my brother, who is so readily distracted these days!”

  Francine narrowed her eyes at his criticism of Pierre and searched his face for hidden meaning. Was he implying that he thought she was still trying to attract Pierre? Her face flamed with anger. How dare he?

  “And what are you suggesting?” she asked coldly. “It isn’t me who is distracting Pierre, I can assure you!”

  “Good! Then let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

  Francine reflected how closely tied were the emotions of hatred and love. At that moment, she felt she hated Charles! She pressed her lips together and, swinging away from him, she blindly hurried up the steps away from him, her head erect and her back ramrod straight. There was no way she was going to let him know how much his attitude towards her hurt. He could think what he liked! She didn’t care!

  Two days later, Francine’s father, Jacques Devreux, was lying on the roof of his family home, his binoculars trained on the neighbouring mainland, when he spotted regular flashes of light beaming across the narrow channel.

  “Francine! Get up here immediately!” he called down through the skylight, nearly slipping down the roof in his excitement.

  “What is it, Papa?” Her breath was ragged after running up the attic steps.

  “Out there! See! That flashing light! What does it say?”

  “Where? Oh, I see! Yes! Quick! A piece of paper! … Ohh! … Don’t stop! Don’t stop!”

  The messenger didn’t stop. He or she continued to flash the coded message throughout the afternoon.

  The first of the allied forces had arrived on the mainland coast opposite Ile D’Olèron. It was the 9th September 1944. On that day, the Battalion Roland, under René Tallet, occupied the nearby towns of Marennes, Hiers and Brouage.

  The islanders were jubilant as they watched the Germans evacuating their tenuous mainland position and taking refuge in Fort Louvois, a small, fortified tower on a rocky mass in the shallow waters between the mainland and the island. That evening, Captain Lucien Leclerc and his men occupied the tiny town of Bourcefranc-le-Chapus, facing their goal across two kilometres of water.

  Captain Leclerc made contact with the German Commander on Ile D’Olèron but the ultimation he gave was rejected. The Germans had no intention of abandoning the island yet.

  Francine was under orders to keep constant watch on the mainland from their rooftop. Various others came to relieve her. She found herself both hoping that Charles would be one of them and the dreading the same the very next moment.

  Neither her hopes nor her fears were realised. He did not come.

  Two days later, early in the morning, six boats carrying German soldiers came from La Rochelle, attempting to land at Bourcefranc-le-Chapus but were repulsed by the Aallied armies on t
he mainland.

  Francine and her companions were jubilant … until the Germans taking refuge in Fort Louvois evacuated the fort and retreated by boats to Ile D’Olèron, adding their number to the occupation army.

  Francine’s patience in watching out for another message was finally rewarded by a series of signals from Captain Leclerc.

  The leaders of the island’s Resistance were swiftly summoned to the small attic-room above the bakery to discuss Leclerc’s messages. They no longer felt alone. Their countrymen and Allies were in sight across the narrow stretch of water ... but under constant bombardment from the canons now set up along the inland coast of the island and from the fortified citadel.

  That was hard for the islanders to bear … shellfire from French soil was killing French citizens!

  The ceaseless sound of assault was deafening as the two armies tried to bring each other into submission. The Germans were determined to hold on as long as they could.

  The islanders, fearful of recriminations and retaliations, tried to live inconspicuously, both hopeful and fearful at the same time, knowing that the liberating barrage of warfare could kill or maim them, as well as the German soldiers. Underneath their cowed appearance, they were awaiting the promised command to act!

  Two weeks of bombardment passed.

  Pierre and Angela, determined not to let the intensified warfare to prevent their marriage, made their vows to each other in the packed church of Le Chateau on the third Saturday in September. Angela looked radiant and Francine beamed her delighted pleasure as Angela handed her bouquet to her in order to enable Pierre to place the ring upon her finger.

  Francine was aware that Charles was looking at her, his face slightly puckered in perplexity. She studiously refused to meet his eyes. Let him think what he wished! It was no longer any concern of his what she felt or thought!

  So, why did her heart suddenly beat a little faster? Did she hope he might at last discern the truth? She sighed sadly, glad that Charles’ eyes had returned to face the priest. She surreptitiously glanced at his profile.