Island of Secrets

by Karen Abbott

  His expression was strangely gentle as he listened to the familiar words the priest was saying to the newly married couple and Francine’s heart leapt again. If only he would look at her like that!

  Maybe, once the war was over? Who knew!

  There was no honeymoon for the newly-wedded couple. Angela joined the rest of the St. Clare family at the farm. Whenever Francine saw her, she looked blissfully happy and there was a tenderness in Pierre that was new to his nature.

  One afternoon in late September Francine received orders to make her way to Domaine St. Clare. Charles was detailed to lead a welcome party to Chenal d’Arceau, hopefully to greet a group of ten would-be-liberators and lead them to places of safety somewhere on the island to await further instructions.

  Charles knew exactly when the canon and other artillery had been placed, though it was all well-guarded and all access to the inner coast had been cut off.

  Sixteen Resistance members met at the farm that night, all quietly composed and ready for action. There was a suppressed excitement about them. Something was happening at last!

  Charles briskly divided them into two groups. One group to put the canon and other artillery out of action and the second group to each lead a liberator to a specific hiding place.

  Charles put himself in the first group with five other men.

  Francine had expected no less. It irked her feminine pride to be in the second group but her honest self-assessment agreed with the decision. She hadn’t done any hand-to-hand fighting and wasn’t sure how she would react if she had to attempt to kill an enemy soldier. She tried not to think of what Charles’ group might have to face.

  Her heart beat rapidly when the two groups split up.

  What if Charles were killed? How would she cope? She wanted to run after him and tell him that she loved him … but she knew it was a foolish notion. He needed to be cool-headed and dispassionate … and, besides, she wasn’t sure her love was shared. His demeanour had given no sign of it as he had slowly passed along the line of dark-clad figures, giving each one their individual orders.

  It seemed a long wait. No sounds came from where they knew the canon to be positioned. Had the assault failed? The ten men and women were tense as they waited in silence, their bodies cold and cramped.

  The plaintive cry of the curlew pierced the night air, stabbing their hearts with joy. André, their appointed group leader responded with the same call and a straggled line of men dressed in black clothes and with blackened faces crept towards them. Each carried a bundle wrapped in oilskins. How Francine hoped that there was a radio transmitter and receiver amongst them!

  Their two leaders made themselves known to each other and divided the newly arrived men between the waiting ‘guides’.

  Francine hoped to see Charles before she left but that wasn’t to be. A lean, dark figure was assigned into her care and she wordlessly signalled to him to follow her through the maze of the salines. It took them five hours to stealthily make their way to Grand Gibou on the western side of Le Chateau, a distance of about eight or nine miles.

  There were a number of close shaves, when enemy patrols were almost encountered but the noise of their vehicles warned of their coming and Francine and her companion were able to slide into cover long before the vehicles were upon them.

  Nonetheless, it was a scary journey and Francine was relieved when they reached their destination and she handed her ‘man’ over to the next contact. He, in turn, would take him somewhere else and only the last contact would know of his whereabouts.

  The sky was getting lighter. Francine lay concealed until the first farm vehicle approached her position and slowed its pace, allowing her to climb aboard. She slipped back into the town without being apprehended.

  Within a few days, word passed around that a man called Pierre Joguet and sergeant-in-chief Jean Boussac were in control of the new group and that they had smuggled in with them a small amount of arms and explosives and were under orders to reorganise the Oleronais Resistance.

  To Francine’s intense disappointment, there was still no transmitter on the island. Nevertheless, with the increased number of trained men dispersed throughout the island, they were able to collect more information about enemy activities and pass the information on to other groups by courier.

  It was over a week later before any moves were made to bring the various groups together to make plans for a concerted assault upon the German positions. Messages were passed back and forth; the armaments and explosives were distributed among a number of central holding positions; and everyone was keyed up for the night-time assault at the end of the second week of October.

  Their dreams were shattered on 10th October.

  Most people were asleep when the German jeeps screeched to a stop outside chosen dwelling places throughout the island. The clatter of soldiers’ boots rang out across the cobbled streets, followed by heavy bangs upon the doors. Householders who didn’t open their doors quickly enough to satisfy the soldiers’ impatience, found themselves facing a splintered door and were put under immediate arrest while soldiers ransacked every room, attic and cellar.

  Most of the smuggled armaments and explosives were found and confiscated. All people found within the houses containing explosives were arrested and taken away for questioning and certain imprisonment.

  At Boyardville, the sergeant-in-chief, Jean Boussac, Sergeant André Gérent and René Nommé were discovered and later interred in the citadel at Le Chateau. Of these, Jean Boussac was condemned to death. The others were imprisoned.

  The Oleronais Resistance and the moral of the island as a whole were shattered by the act. How did the Germans know which houses or other buildings to search?

  The answer was obvious!

  Once again they had been betrayed by a traitor in their midst!

  An uneasy atmosphere of suspicion fell upon all active members who were in any way involved in the planning or carrying out of orders. Once again, names were bandied about as everyone sought to discover the culprit. As before, suspicion fell on the inner band of local leaders. Pierre and André were still on the list … but this time, another name was added.

  Charles St. Clare was also under suspicion.

  Chapter 10

  Francine refused to believe it.

  “How can you begin to even think it is true?” she demanded of her father. “You know that Charles has taken more risks than any of us! Without him, I doubt the Resistance would have survived this long! It’s insane to think he might be the traitor!”

  “Maybe his ‘risks’ weren’t all that risky!” Jacques suggested. “He has had some remarkably lucky escapes, you must admit!”

  “So what!” Francine demanded, speaking with unaccustomed vehemence to her father. “He is a good undercover agent … and he has been lucky … like many others of us!”

  Jacques placed his hands on his daughter’s shoulders, looking sadly into her eyes. “War makes many demands on a man,” he said. “No-one is immune.”

  “Charles is,” Francine said quietly.

  A few weeks dragged by. Either no-one seemed to know anything about Charles’ whereabouts … or no-one was saying … and Francine could only hope that ‘no news’ simply meant that he was on an undercover mission somewhere.

  Suspicions about who might or might not be collaborators remained at an uneasy level among the islanders. Names were muttered among small speculative groups but the tight-lipped leaders would admit to nothing.

  The warmth of the summer faded away and autumn seemed to make an all too brief appearance that year. The nights were long, dark and cold. Ideal conditions for undercover work. The members of the local Resistance who were still able to do active service made excellent use of the opportunity, once again building up a network of information.

  Jean Boussac, who had been arrested and condemned to death in October, managed to escape from the citadel, giving hope to the families of other prisoners who were still held there. His escape heralde
d a spate of undercover sabotage activities to harass the enemy. More agents and arms were secretly landed on the island and spirited away into a variety of hiding places throughout the island.

  Many quietly believed that they had the enemy on the run, which made it all the more a blow when Francine arrived home from active duties early one morning in December to find a detachment of soldiers boarding up the front of their home.

  She immediately shrank back into the doorway of the building nearest to her on the opposite side of the street from the bakery, her heart pounding with fear for the safety of her parents. She wasn’t unduly surprised when the door behind her opened slightly and she was pulled inside.

  “What’s happening?” she whispered frantically, her voice full of dread. “Where are my parents? I must find out.”

  She made as though to open the door again. Her only thought was to find out what had happened and why.

  Their neighbour wrapped her arms around her.

  “They’ve been arrested, Francine. It was about twenty minutes ago when the soldiers stormed in and hustled them out ... and the customers who were in the shop at the time. We’ve been looking out for you. There is a warrant out for your arrest also ... and many others. They have been searching all the houses. They have taken many people.”

  Francine determinedly detached herself from the comforting arms.

  “I must find out where they are! Let me go, please! I must find them!”

  “No! No! It will serve no purpose!

  But Francine had already once more wrenched at the door and tumbled out into the street … straight into the arms of a man dressed in dark clothing. For a wild moment she thought it was Charles but quickly realised that it wasn’t.

  It was Pierre.

  With his one usable arm, he firmly hustled her back into the house.

  “Don’t do anything to bring attention to yourself!” he warned. “They are already out looking for you. We need to get you into hiding!”

  “But Maman and Papa have been arrested! I must find them! They’ll need me!”

  “Don’t you think everyone on the island feels like that? Over two hundred arrests have been made. They have pounced on every town and village at the same time.”

  He stroked her hair back from her face and smiled.

  “Try not to worry. I don’t think they’ll do anything too hasty … and, in the meantime, we’ll get you to a place of safety.”

  “I can’t think of my safety! Not when my parents …”

  “You must! It won’t help them if you are arrested too! Come! I’ve got a group of boys out there keeping watch at the back. Let’s see if the coast is clear.”

  He glanced at the anxious face of their temporary hostess.

  “The longer we stay here the more danger for Madame Corbé.”

  Madame Corbé handed Francine an old shawl and a padded cushion. She forced a smile.

  “The cushion will make you look with child, Francine. With the shawl over your head, you will not be readily recognised.”

  She led them through the house and tentatively looked out through the rear door.

  “Come!” she said, beckoning with her hand. “All is clear! Hurry!”

  Pierre took hold of Francine’s hand and pulled her with him. They could see a boy lounging against the far corner of the street. He made an almost imperceptible beckoning movement with his hand.

  “Where are we going?” Francine asked Pierre, as he laid his good arm protectively around her shoulders, as if helping his very pregnant wife.

  “To the farm,” he replied. “You’ll be safe there. Angèlique will be pleased!”

  Neither of them saw Charles step out from the other end of the street. In spite of Francine’s head being covered by a shawl, Charles immediately knew who it was whom his brother Pierre was escorting down the street. He had caught a glimpse of her face as she turned to speak to Pierre … and the delighted smile that greeted whatever it was his brother had said to her.

  His lip curled in derision. Had they no shame!

  He wished he hadn’t heard about her parents’ arrest … and that he had immediately rushed to their home to warn her, maybe to stop her before she arrived there and walked into danger.

  But he hadn’t moved quickly enough, it seemed. Pierre had got here before him. That surprised him. He had known how Francine felt about Pierre, of course. But he had thought it to be a one-sided affair. One that existed entirely in Francine’s imagination.

  How could they do this to Angèlique? She didn’t deserve to be betrayed like this. He cared little for his own heartache. It was his own fault that he had once more allowed himself to be hurt by Francine’s obsession with his brother. But Angèlique was entirely innocent and unsuspecting. How could he face her without betraying his knowledge?

  He turned away, his heart cold. There were secret missions being planned. Missions requiring volunteers. That was all that was left for him. Anything to relieve this unbearable pain deep within him.

  He didn’t look back.

  Two hundred and sixty-two persons were arrested from amongst the residents of Ile D’Olèron that day. Some were interned in the citadel at Le Chateau; others were released after questioning. Monsieur and Madame Devreux were among the former. Their rooftop look-out post had been denounced by persons unknown.

  December saw an icy cold spell sweep across the island. There was less food available since the mass arrests and every household felt the loss. Farmers concealed what they could from their German oppressors and managed to distribute basic requirements to the more needy. Even so, a poor Christmas was expected by all.

  If Francine had been asked what she would like for Christmas, she would have had two requests. The first would have been the release of her parents, who were still imprisoned within the citadel – so near and yet so far away.

  Her second request would have been for a radio transmitter and receiver. She refused to even think of her third request … that the love she carried in her heart for Charles might somehow be requited.

  They were all impossible dreams, anyway, so why add another?

  Santa Claus came early that year. On 21st December to be exact, when the first radio set was brought to the island by Pierre Joguet. His first contact, the headmaster of the school at Dolus, swiftly came under suspicion and the set had to be hurriedly passed on to another recipient.

  A second radio set came to the isle in January 1945 and was installed at La Chevalerie, just outside the town of Le Chateau. Francine was overjoyed. At last she and Angela could take a share of the responsibility of signalling all the German troop movements and positions of artillery to the Allied armies on the mainland. The islanders no longer felt quite so isolated.

  All they needed now was a united plan of attack to overcome the German soldiers and regain possession of their island.

  Francine knew that the leaders of the Resistance were working on it. She felt so impatient! But she knew they had to be very careful about who knew their plans. They couldn’t risk further betrayal.

  Angela had been looking a bit peaky since Christmas but, as spring brought the island’s flora to life and the scent of mimosa once more perfumed the air, Francine was pleased to see her cheeks begin to blossom again and she wasn’t too surprised when her friend confided to her in a whisper that she was expecting a baby in the autumn.

  “I do hope it will be a ‘freedom baby’,” Angela sighed. “I hate the thought of our baby being born a prisoner.”

  “It will,” Francine promised, hoping her optimism was justified. “What does Pierre think? Is he pleased?”

  “I haven’t told him yet,” Angela confessed. “I’m afraid he will try to wrap me in cotton wool and not let me beyond the boundary of the farm. After waiting all this time for the transmitters, I couldn’t bear not to be part of it all!”

  Francine understood Angela’s reluctance to be sidelined.

  “I somehow don’t think Pierre will be kept in ignorance for long tho
ugh,” she smiled. “A farmer is used to thinking in rhythms and seasons … and you look too healthy to be true!”

  As soon as Pierre came home later that morning, they knew that something was in the air. His whole demeanour spoke of a pent up excitement even as he entered the kitchen.

  Angela flew into his arms, her face held up for a kiss. The smile of contentment at her friend’s joy on Francine’s face froze as another figure followed Pierre into the kitchen.

  It was Charles.

  Francine hadn’t seen him since before Christmas but she knew he was on the island. The old heartache threatened to burst within her and she wished she could excuse herself from the family scene. She had no justifiable rights to be there, after all. No-one would miss her.

  It was Pierre who stopped her as she tried to sidle past him and Angela, who was still enfolded within his one-armed embrace. If she had tried to pass on the other side, he would have been unable to stop her without making a fuss but, as it was, he merely extended the arm that held Angela close to his chest.

  “Don’t go, Francine,” he said quietly. “This is for you as well as Angela.” He smiled at Angela in adoration. “But, before I speak, I think my darling wife has something to tell me, haven’t you my ‘angel’?”

  Angela blushed and cast a sidelong glance at Francine, knowing her secret was a secret no longer. She smiled in resignation, not entirely displeased to be telling him. After all, she could twist him round her little finger if she chose to. It would make no immediate difference to her war work.

  “You’re going to be a father,” she said, her cheeks dimpling prettily. “Sometime around September, I should think.”

  Pierre swooped her close by his good arm, a delighted grin on his face.

  “I knew it, you minx! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  Angela smiled, her heart full of love for Pierre.

  “I didn’t want to distract you from your work until I had to.”