by Bali Rai
‘Beatrice, chérie!’ the man exclaimed, as he hugged his niece.
‘Uncle!’ Beatrice sobbed, unable to control her emotions.
Their embrace continued for some moments before Beatrice finally extricated herself and gestured towards us.
‘My friends,’ she said in French. ‘Joelle Breton and Mohinder Singh.’
Beatrice’s uncle nodded and beckoned us. He did not even give Mo a second glance. As though Indians were common in his world.
‘Come, come!’ he said. ‘Eat and rest!’
Mo followed my lead and we entered a warm and inviting house that reeked of roasted garlic and coffee, warm bread and crackling logs. I felt like I had entered heaven, so welcome were those homely aromas.
‘We are safe here,’ Beatrice told me. ‘Rest and then we will discuss your future.’
I thanked her and turned to Mo.
‘I need to sleep,’ I told him.
‘Me too,’ he replied.
His brown skin was grey with dirt and his eyes weary, and his relief at this respite was obvious. I felt the same way, but there was still something playing on my mind.
‘Tell me of your plan,’ I said.
Mo shrugged.
‘That can wait,’ he replied.
‘But…’
‘Joelle,’ he said in his melodic accent, and I relented.
Beatrice showed us to a room towards the rear, where two sparsely furnished beds lay against opposing walls.
‘Sleep now,’ she told me.
‘Thank you,’ I replied. ‘For everything.’
Fully rested and almost refreshed, we made our goodbyes the following morning. I had risen at dawn, my head a maelstrom of indecisive thoughts. What would be my decision? Where would I go? What would become of me, either way? I sat on a garden bench, looking out across the frozen farmyard. The cold bit deep but I tried to ignore it. Besides, it focused my mind. I did not hear Mo until he spoke from behind me.
‘Joelle?’
I turned, smiled and made room on the bench.
‘It is not easy,’ I said unnecessarily. ‘I can’t seem to settle on one thing. Each time I think I’ve decided, another doubt creeps in.’
‘Tell me,’ said Mo, taking the space beside me.
‘France is my country,’ I told him. ‘It is my home. But since Maman and Papa, it feels colder. I think of them constantly. I am reminded of them constantly. Every lane and every field. Every smell and every taste. So, a new beginning makes sense.’
Mo nodded.
‘But?’ he asked.
‘But England seems so foreign,’ I admitted. ‘And I worry that I would become a burden to you, or to someone else. How would I survive and live?’
‘You are not a burden,’ he replied. ‘Not for me, nor Beatrice, nor anyone. Never think of yourself that way.’
‘But what happens if you return to India?’ I added. ‘What would I do then?’
Mo shrugged.
‘I have been wondering the same thing,’ he said. ‘However, I do not wish to return. I like England and hope to make it my home. Even if I did have to go, I would happily take you with me.’
‘To India?’
‘If need be,’ he replied.
‘But I know nothing of India,’ I told him. ‘And your family – would they accept some French girl?’
‘I do not care,’ Mo said. ‘However, I know that leaving you here, with Beatrice and her family, will be fine. It is probably the best course to take.’
‘You want to leave me here?’
My tone was emotional and laced with surprise. Mo realised and swiftly shook his head.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I accept your decision, whatever that may be. If you do not wish to stay, I will not force you.’
‘And when we find difficulties in England?’ I asked.
‘We will overcome them,’ he replied. ‘You have my word, Joelle. My most solemn promise, on everything that I hold sacred.’
‘But the English may not let me stay,’ I said.
‘They will not send you back here,’ he replied. ‘That would be heartless and cruel. There is a war on and there will be many refugees. You will simply become one of thousands.’
I considered his words until Beatrice appeared with tin cups of coffee and a warm smile.
‘So?’ she said in French. ‘What will you do, chérie?’
I looked up at her and smiled in return.
‘I will go to England,’ I told her.
She nodded and held out my cup of coffee.
‘Perhaps that is best,’ she said, her tone tainted with sorrow. ‘I wish it were not so, of course. Yet I imagine being here without your parents will be hard.’
‘You are correct,’ I said. ‘But I cannot thank you enough, for all that you have done. I only wish we could go back to before the war.’
‘Me too,’ she replied. ‘That’s the thing about life, Joelle. We can never go back. The past shapes us. It makes us who we are. It cannot be undone. All we have is what we make of tomorrow.’
I thought on her words for a while.
‘I will return one day,’ I promised. ‘Perhaps I will find you here?’
Beatrice shrugged. Her nose was bright pink with cold.
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘I would like that.’
SEVENTEEN
Later, when Mo finally revealed his plan, he sounded completely insane. Beatrice translated for her uncle, Georges, who simply shook his huge, weathered head.
‘It is suicide!’ he gruffly exclaimed in French. ‘Have you lost your mind?’
Mo seemed to get the point, despite the language difficulties. We were sitting around a battered kitchen table, after a breakfast of bread and jam. Mo cleared his throat.
‘I know it sounds crazy,’ he told us. ‘But there is no other way. Besides, the Germans are looking for enemies on the ground, not in the skies.’
‘But, to steal a German plane?’ I asked. ‘From a German airbase? We’ll be killed.’
Mo shook his head. He seemed fresher that morning, and far happier. His smile had returned alongside the sparkle in his eyes. Perhaps it was the thought of escaping from France, or maybe the thrill of his plan. Only, his plan made me question his sanity.
‘The Germans raid mostly at night,’ Mo continued. ‘They use the darkness as cover, to avoid detection. But they won’t send all of their planes at once. So, we simply sneak on to an airfield, hide until a night raid begins and steal one of the spare planes.’
‘Absolutely out of the question!’ said Beatrice. ‘I cannot believe this is your plan!’
She translated again, and this time Uncle Georges walked off muttering to himself.
‘It will work!’ Mo insisted. ‘That’s the point. It’s so dangerous, they would never even consider it. And we’ll be away before they find out.’
Beatrice munched on a piece of bread and did not reply.
‘If we do try this,’ I said, ‘where is the nearest airfield?’
‘I don’t know,’ Mo admitted. ‘I was hoping Beatrice’s family could help.’
Beatrice finished her mouthful and sighed.
‘I will ask my uncle,’ she told us. ‘But he is more likely to slap you than help you. And he has big hands.’
As Beatrice left, I caught Mo smiling.
‘Really?’ I asked. ‘This is actually your plan?’
He nodded.
‘I thought of it at your friend’s bookshop,’ he told me.
‘Mrs Moreau?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I saw a book about planes on a side table. It won’t be easy, Joelle, but we can try.’
‘Well,’ I said with a grin. ‘We’ve got nothing to lose. Except our lives…’
‘Have you ever flown in a plane before?’ Mo asked.
‘Never,’ I said.
‘It is a wonderful experience,’ he told me. ‘The freedom, the rush of air, the sense of absolute calm…’
‘I must be as insane as you,’ I told him. ‘You’re maki
ng it sound like some wonderful adventure.’
‘You like my plan?’
I grinned again.
‘I want to fly,’ I told him. ‘So, yes.’
Uncle Georges remained unimpressed but thanks to Beatrice’s insistence, he decided to help us. He disappeared for a few hours, leaving us the afternoon to get some rest. If Mo’s plan worked, it would be a very long night.
Georges returned at dusk, with an old lady driving a single-horse cart. The bed was packed with hay and it stank.
‘What is this?’ I asked Georges.
‘Transport,’ he replied. ‘If you insist on getting killed, this will take you to your doom, child.’
‘But it stinks!’ I complained.
‘Pah!’ hissed the old woman. ‘Listen to this princess! It is simply horse muck. Nothing to fear!’
The woman was barely five feet tall. Her dark eyes were beady, and grey whiskers sprouted from her chin. She was wrapped up in a crocheted black shawl and smoking a pipe. A swallow tattoo was etched upon her left hand, and I found myself warming to her, despite her manner.
‘I’m no princess,’ I told her.
‘I can see that,’ she replied. ‘You’re covered in dirt and your hair looks worse than my straw. What prince would have you?’
‘Perhaps those whom you’ve yet to turn into frogs, witch?’ I snapped.
Her eyes narrowed, and I thought I’d gone too far, but then she cackled and coughed and slapped Georges’ shoulder.
‘I like this one,’ she told him. ‘Pity she’s about to be killed by those German dogs.’
She winked at me.
‘Don’t worry,’ she added. ‘I’ll give you a decent burial, princess.’
I grinned again.
‘If you live that long,’ I countered.
Beatrice fetched Mo from inside and when he saw the cart, he nodded.
‘We hide in the straw?’ he asked Beatrice.
‘That is the idea,’ she replied. ‘If you’re still doing it.’
‘Yes,’ he said, eyeing the old woman.
‘What is this?’ she asked Georges.
‘Indian,’ Georges replied. ‘A pilot for the British.’
‘He is handsome,’ she said, winking at me. ‘Like the ones that came during the last war. Only they had beards and wore cloth upon their heads.’
I translated, and Mo burst into laughter.
‘Tell her I follow in the footsteps of my countrymen,’ he said.
On understanding, the woman smiled.
‘I served many of them coffee,’ she replied. ‘They were brave souls. I am honoured to help him. Even if he is going to die.’
This banter continued via my translations, until finally Beatrice put an end to it.
‘We have much to do,’ she told us. ‘Come inside!’
Mo took my arm.
‘You can change your mind at any time,’ he told me. ‘I will not think badly of you, Joelle. This will be a dangerous mission.’
‘I won’t change my mind,’ I replied. ‘I go with you, come what may. Maman told me to be brave. I will honour her words.’
‘Then enjoy your last hours in France,’ he told me. ‘We will breakfast in England.’
And that was my last memory of France. Hidden beneath piles of stinking straw, with only Mo and dung beetles for company, as the cart trundled along frozen lanes, towards the nearest airfield.
‘No one will stop an old lady!’ the woman shouted, as much for herself as us. ‘They do not see me and my horse as a threat.’
She wittered on for the entire journey, perhaps an hour or more. Finally, the cart came to a stop. I heard the old woman dismount and pet her grey and aging horse, before she came around and uncovered us. I brushed the remnants of horse manure and straw from my hair. God only knows how much I stank. I had not bathed in days, and this was a final insult to hygiene.
We had stopped by a copse of trees, next to a dilapidated barn that sat alone, the accompanying farmhouse long gone.
‘You walk from here,’ the woman said to me. ‘Any closer, and I risk alarming the Germans.’
‘Thank you for your courage,’ I told her.
‘Courage?’ she spat. ‘This isn’t courage. You should have heard my husband farting. I survived fifty years of it. That was courage!’
I did not know whether to laugh or cry. The old woman was shockingly unguarded in her words, but she also had real warmth. Yet I was leaving my country, perhaps even to die in the attempt. My emotions were a mess.
‘Take heart, dear girl,’ the woman whispered. ‘You are the courageous one, for sure. I hope you can trick these German dogs and live a long and peaceful life.’
‘And if I die?’
The woman grinned.
‘Then I will drink a toast to your stupidity,’ she joked.
‘And choke on the last drop,’ I told her.
We embraced and then she remounted her cart and left us alone. As I explained our conversation to Mo, he seemed preoccupied.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
He pointed across a field to our left. In the middle distance, I spotted lights and heard the unmistakeable sound of engines running.
‘The airfield,’ he said. ‘They are readying for a night raid. We don’t have much time.’
EIGHTEEN
Darkness provided all the cover that we required. Mo had assumed that the Germans would be too busy preparing their planes to worry about intruders. He was correct. That was what made his plan so ingenious. Gaining entry to a German-controlled airbase was incredibly perilous. And the Germans did not believe that anyone could be that reckless. And yet here we were, hurrying across a frozen field, with only the lights ahead to guide us. Later I would learn of an English phrase that perfectly explained our mission that night. We were fools, rushing in where angels feared to tread.
At the perimeter, we found a ramshackle fence through which we passed with ease. Our enemies were so arrogant that they had not even strengthened their defences. It worked right into our hands. Once on the airfield, we slowed down, and looked for cover. A stack of wooden crates became our first hiding place. From about a hundred yards, we watched the Germans rushing around, the pilots shouting orders to the ground staff.
‘Listen out for guard dogs,’ Mo whispered. ‘If they sense us, we’re doomed.’
‘Okay,’ I replied.
We waited for some time, and adrenaline and fear coursed through my veins. I wanted to shout and scream but held that urge. My left leg began to tremble, and my heart thumped inside my chest.
‘Are you scared?’ I whispered.
Mo nodded.
‘Fear is our friend,’ he replied. ‘It will focus our minds.’
‘How long do we wait?’
Mo pointed towards the planes, and I heard the engines firing up again. The ground staff began to retreat, and the first plane edged away, rolling towards the runway.
‘We must wait until all are airborne,’ said Mo. ‘It won’t be long now.’
One by one, the planes began to leave. Mo recognised them as Messerschmitt Bf 109s. They were grey, with black crosses outlined in white painted on the side and wings, and the Nazi swastika on the tail.
‘They will not fly very far,’ he told me. ‘But they are deadly in the air.’
I counted seven planes taking off at first, and then three more immediately afterwards.
‘Damn!’ I heard Mo exclaim, as my own heart sank.
Far from leaving unoccupied planes behind, the Germans had launched every single one. Mo’s plan was ruined.
‘This is not good,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s see what the ground crew do next.’
The remaining men began to walk back towards an aerodrome about a quarter of a mile further back. They carried lamps and torches with them, although the lights around the runaway remained lit. As their voices receded, Mo told me to wait.
‘I will take a look around,’ he said.
I shook my head.
&nb
sp; ‘No,’ I insisted. ‘That was not the deal. We go together.’
‘But Joelle…’ he began, only for me to insist once more.
‘If something happens to you,’ I told him, ‘I will be stuck out here alone. We live together, or we die together.’
He relented and told me to follow close behind.
‘In my exact footsteps,’ he said. ‘And if they see us, you run back to the fence, understand?’
I nodded.
‘You don’t look back, you don’t wait for me, you just run.’
‘Yes,’ I replied.
My resolve hardened once again. The thought of my dead parents gave me greater courage. I would not die running from the monsters who had murdered those I loved. If they wanted to kill me, they would have to look me in the eyes.
Mo set off at a brisk pace, and I ran to keep up. To the left of the aerodrome were two single-storey huts, each about thirty feet long. To the right were more crates, and tanks of fuel. Mo slowed down as we skirted the landing lights, sticking to the shadows. Very quickly we closed in on the aerodrome.
‘Wait,’ he whispered.
He crouched and I followed suit. We were to the right, opposite the fuel drums and crates.
‘There!’ he whispered excitedly.
At first, I could not see what had animated him, but then I spotted it. Another plane, although very different to the Bf 109s. It had two sets of wings, one above the other, and two cockpits. It was the same light grey colour, with the same markings, but looked almost comical where the Bf 109s were sleek and deadly.
‘Is that a good plane?’ I asked.
Mo shook his head.
‘It’s a biplane,’ he told me. ‘Old-fashioned. They probably use it to train pilots. I think it may be a Bücker Bü 131 but I can’t be sure…’
‘So, we’re stuck?’ I said.
‘No,’ Mo told me. ‘With enough fuel, it will get us back to England.’
‘It will?’
Mo nodded.
‘As long as we don’t come across any British planes,’ he added.
‘Why?’ I asked, before realising my error. ‘Oh…’
The plane had German markings. If the British saw it, they would attack, and we would be shot down. But that might happen regardless of which German plane we stole.
‘It’s our only hope now,’ said Mo. ‘Quick!’