Escape by Moonlight (15 page)

‘How risky is it?’

‘You have to be careful, of course, and can be asked for your identity papers at any time, so it’s not a good idea to be seen out and about with our men on the run, especially after curfew. But I’m becoming adept at knowing if I’m being followed and I always ask the men to follow a few yards behind when I’m leading them anywhere, then if either of us is stopped, it doesn’t implicate the other. They understand that. At the station I buy the tickets but I don’t keep them on me but hand each man his own, then it’s up to them how they deal with a search. Remember that, Lizzie, if you ever have to escort anyone. Having more than one ticket is asking to be arrested.’

‘I will, but we don’t need tickets to take them over the mountain and, so far, that’s all I’ve done. Can’t even do that until the snow melts.’

‘I know, but I’m going to take the lieutenant to a safe house in Lyon. Someone else will take him on to Marseilles and he’ll be passed on from there over the border into Spain. Spain’s not the best way out because
so many there are pro-German, but it’s better than staying in France.’

‘The longer the line the more danger there is of being caught.’

‘I know, but each section is run separately and, apart from the organisers who are responsible for communications, they don’t know the people in the next one.’

‘You do?’

‘I’ve helped organise it, but I’m not going to tell you how. Best not to know.’

‘I understand, but things are not so bad in the
Zone Libre
unless some busybody decides to spill the beans. Vichy are nothing but lapdogs of the Germans and delight in following up information and throwing their own countrymen in jail.’

‘How many people know you are not Pierre’s daughter?’

‘Almost everybody in Dransville, I expect, but unless they are asked the specific question, I’m safe enough.’

‘If you’d rather not …?’ Her voice faded on a question.

‘I’ll do what I can. Goodness it’s little enough and it makes me feel as though I’m helping the war effort.’

‘London is getting involved, sending agents in to help us. It remains to be seen how much help they are, but at least it shows willing and they’re sending wireless operators so we can ask for supplies to be dropped.’

‘How do you know that?’

Justine tapped her nose. ‘Best not to know.’

Elizabeth accepted that. Just lately life had become one of secrecy and lies. ‘I wonder how they are getting on at home. According to the wireless, London is being flattened, and not only London but all the big cities, and morale is so low the people are ready to surrender, not that I believe
everything Vichy Radio says – they only broadcast what they’re told.’

‘Nayton isn’t near any big cities, is it?’

‘No. Norwich is the nearest, but I’m thinking of Max and Jack. They are serving somewhere, but I don’t know where. I assume Max got back safely and his leg healed properly. I wish I could have news of them. Mama must be worrying about Papie and Mamie.’

‘If you write a note, just a few words, I’ll give it to Flight Lieutenant Sandford when I hand him over. Don’t write anything incriminating and use tissue paper so it can easily be destroyed if he gets stopped.’

The next day, Elizabeth said goodbye to the lieutenant, who hugged her and promised to see her parents as soon as he could. The note he carried was written on toilet paper and simply said: ‘All well and enjoying my holiday. See you when I get back. Love to all. L.’ It could have been written by anyone anywhere, but those at home would know she was safe.

The news of the war was dismal, the bombers had come back to Britain after a short respite; Hitler’s forces had occupied Yugoslavia and were heading for Greece; Rommel had taken the offensive in North Africa and allied losses at sea were horrendous. But the long, cold winter was at an end and there were signs of spring in the countryside; green buds on the trees, primroses in the woods. The arrival of John Sandford at Nayton one Saturday afternoon at the end of April, bringing with him a tiny scrap of paper, cheered Annelise more than anything else could have done.

She invited him to share their luncheon and bombarded him with questions. How was it in France? How was Lizzie? Was she well and did she have enough to eat? And the old couple, how were they faring, especially her father who had had a stroke? When he had answered as best he could, she asked about him, about himself and how he had managed to get out of France.

‘I’m not allowed to say, Lady de Lacey. I really should
not have come to see you, but I promised your daughter I would deliver her note.’

‘Thank you for that. But she has written so little.’

‘She dare not risk any more. She did not want me to be carrying evidence that I had been helped if I were picked up.’

‘Does that mean she is in danger?’

‘She is very careful and Dransville is remote.’

‘How did you come to be there?’

‘I was taken there from Paris by Miss Clavier.’

‘Justine! She is my young sister. How is she?’

‘She told me to tell you she is well. I did not realise Elizabeth was not Pierre Clavier’s daughter until she gave me her note and told me the address to come to.’

‘It all sounds very clandestine.’

‘Yes. I’m sorry. Please, do not ask me any more, I should not have told you that much.’

‘We understand,’ Charles said, laying his hand on his wife’s arm to restrain her. ‘We are grateful you have taken the trouble to come and see us.’

The meal over, John rose to go. ‘I must get back. I believe there is a train at two-thirty.’

‘Yes, I’ll have Bennett run you to the station in the pony and trap.’ Charles laughed. ‘Bennett is our chauffeur but since we cannot get petrol for the car, he has had to turn his hand to four legs instead of an engine. I imagine it must be the same in France.’

‘Yes. I saw a van in an outhouse at the farm, but Elizabeth said they could not get the petrol to use it. When I was there, nearly two months ago now, there was a lot of snow and the people were using snowshoes and skis.’

Their goodbyes said and an invitation given to call again
when he could, Charles took him out to the stables where the pony was harnessed by a middle-aged man who spoke in monosyllables in a broad Norfolk accent. In no time he was bowling along the country lanes, listening to the steady clop of the horse’s hooves, musing on the meeting with Lord and Lady de Lacey.

It was a pity he hadn’t been able to tell them more, but he had been thoroughly debriefed when he finally arrived back in England and warned he would be in trouble if he divulged anything of the escape route. The debriefing had been done at the War Office and had been more like an interrogation than a friendly chat. But they had seemed satisfied and sent him back to his unit where he was given leave. His first port of call had been his home near Hereford and then Nayton. And now it was back to business, knocking the hell out of the Hun. And he was going to do it in one of the new Lancaster bombers.

The trap stopped at the crossing gates. He jumped down, thanked his driver and went up onto the platform where a woman in a turban and a flowered apron was sweeping. He bade her good afternoon and received a grunt in reply, probably because she had a half-smoked cigarette in her mouth. He sat on a bench to wait for the train. The pony and trap had turned round and gone back the way it had come.

The woman carried her broom into the
waiting-room-cum-ticket-office
and he heard her say something and then a man’s voice shouting. ‘God woman, you’re worse than our Lucy and she was bad enough. Why does it take you all morning to do a simple job? I’d ha’ done it quicker meself.’

‘Then why the hell, don’t you? I didn’t marry you to be your dogsbody …’

There was more of the same as they both became heated. He couldn’t see the man but he assumed he was the stationmaster. ‘And for God’s sake take off that pinny. You shouldn’t be seen by the public wearing it. You look like a slut.’

‘You didn’t say that a few months ago, you were glad enough to share my bed. Now you’ve married me, you think you can boss me about. Well, you’re wrong. I’m not your precious Maggie, Bert Storey. I’m not surprised she left you …’

John heard the sound of a slap and her cry and wondered whether to go and intervene, but was stopped by the arrival of the train and a man in railway uniform came out of the waiting room to see to it. ‘Nayton Halt!’ he shouted, but no one got out. He took some parcels and crates from the guard, piled them on the platform and prepared to send the train on its way. John climbed aboard and shuffled along the corridor until he found a vacant seat. He saw the platform buildings, the crossing gate and the signal box slide past him as they left Nayton behind.

‘We must let Max and Jack know about Lizzie,’ Annelise said to Charles as soon as their visitor had gone. ‘Do you know where Max is?’

‘Last I heard he was up in Scotland somewhere, don’t know the address.’

‘Try Britannia Barracks. If he’s been posted, they are bound to know where.’

But those at Britannia Barracks could not, or would not, tell him. ‘If you write to him here, I’ll see that it’s forwarded,’ he was told by the CO.

It was easier getting hold of Jack. A message left at his
station to ring home had him on the end of the telephone that evening.

‘What’s up, Mama? Why the mysterious message? Somebody ill?’

‘No. Good news. We’ve heard from Lizzie. She’s well.’

‘That
is
good news, but how did you hear?’

‘A young flier who’d been shot down was helped to escape by Justine and Lizzie and she gave him a note to bring to us. He was here this afternoon.’

‘What did she say? What’s it like out there?’

‘She didn’t say a lot. I’ll read it to you. “All well and enjoying my holiday. See you when I get back. Love to all. L.”’

‘That all?’

‘Yes. It was apparently too risky to say any more. We’re trying to get hold of Max but no luck so far. I believe he’s in Scotland.’

‘What’s he doing there?’

‘I’ve no idea. The CO at Norwich said he’d forward a letter if we sent it to him, so that’s what we’ll do. He’ll be relieved to know Lizzie is OK.’

‘Yes.’

‘When is your next leave?’

‘It depends on what’s going on. In a few weeks, perhaps. I’ll let you know.’

Max was not in Scotland, he was back in London. He had had a long wait after that first interview while Intelligence checked him out, looking for any signs that he might have Nazi sympathies, ensuring themselves of his complete loyalty and trustworthiness. He had obviously passed that test because he had been sent to the Western Highlands
for physical training under the instruction of Captains Eric Sykes and William Fairbairn, which had honed him down to twelve stone of bone and muscle, sharp as the knife he had been issued with and hard as the bullets he put into his colt pistol. The knife, double-bladed with a very sharp point and a heavy grip, he kept in his left-hand trouser pocket. The gun was in a special holster sewn into his right trouser leg. Both could be withdrawn and used in a matter of seconds. He could kill accurately with either, or his bare hands if necessary. He had learnt to kill silently in a dozen different ways, a skill he found hard to come to terms with, but he knew any squeamishness would mean being sent back to his unit as unsuitable.

Long marches with heavy equipment, running, jumping, scrambling over obstacle courses, swimming and wrestling had all played a part. He thought he had been fit before but it was nothing to his fitness when he finished that part of his training. But that was only the beginning; there was the mental side to deal with and that, he knew, was going to be harder.

‘So far so good,’ was the comment of Major Buckmaster, who had recently been appointed to take over the running of the French section of SOE, the Special Operations Executive, when he reported back to Baker Street. The major had Captain Sykes’ report in front of him. ‘Still want to carry on?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. What have you told your family? You have a married sister, I believe?’

‘Yes, but as far as she knows I’m still with the Norfolks.’

‘And your girlfriend’s family?’

‘Same for them.’

‘I have had a message from your colonel that they are trying to contact you. Have you any idea why?’

‘No. Perhaps to invite me to stay. They do sometimes.’

‘Ring them, but I want to know what it’s about. You can do it from here.’ He indicated a telephone on the desk, got up and left the room.

Max felt sure someone was listening in as he dialled the number. Annelise answered it. ‘Lady de Lacey, it’s Max here.’

‘Oh, good, they’ve found you. We’ve heard from Lizzie.’

‘You have? How?’

‘She sent a note by an airman she and Justine helped to escape.’

‘What did it say?’

Annelise read the short message. ‘That’s all, but I am so relieved. I am sure if my parents had been ill or anything she would have found some way of saying so.’

‘Thank you for telling me. It’s a weight off my mind too. I’m afraid I can’t talk now but I’ll be in touch.’

‘You know you are welcome to stay any time you have leave, if you can’t get home.’

‘Yes, I do. Thank you.’

‘Bye, then. Take care.’

‘I will.’ He rang off.

Major Buckmaster returned immediately, confirming Max’s suspicion that he had been listening on an extension. ‘You heard that, sir?’

‘Yes. Sorry and all that, but we have to be careful.’

‘It doesn’t affect what I’m doing, does it?’

‘I wouldn’t think so. I’m going to pass you for the next stage.’ He handed him a travel warrant and instructions to report to Ringway, Manchester, for parachute training.

Two days later, Annelise and Charles had a visit from Maurice Buckmaster and though he appeared friendly and unconcerned they knew they were being investigated, along with poor John Sandford who had only been trying to help them. They were warned not to tell anyone they had heard from Elizabeth and certainly not to say how she had helped Lieutenant Sandford escape. Doing so could put the lives of their daughter and sister and everyone else connected to them in danger. ‘The penalty for careless talk will be your swift arrest and incarceration for the duration,’ he warned them.

‘We’ve already told our son,’ Charles said. ‘He’s a flight lieutenant in the air force.’

‘That’s a pity. Let us hope he has not told anyone else.’

Jack was next to receive a visit from the major. Ordered to report to the station commander’s office, he was given the same lecture and the same warning which he received light-heartedly. ‘I told my sister, Amy, and my girlfriend,’ he said. ‘Are you proposing to have me locked up for that?’ He laughed. ‘I thought we were short of pilots.’

‘Tell me about your sister and your girlfriend.’

Jack, suddenly realising that this was serious, sketched in a few details and apparently satisfied the major. ‘I am sure Sandford was only trying to set my mother’s mind at rest,’ he said. ‘We have all been worried about Lizzie and with good reason if what Sandford says is true about her helping escapees. But then, that’s the sort of thing she would do.’

‘I assume she is bilingual.’

‘Yes, we all are. My mother is French and I was born in Dransville.’

‘Really?’ Buckmaster sounded more than usually interested.

‘Yes, which is why I have as strong a reason as anyone to beat the Boche.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ The other sounded relieved and stood to leave. ‘But take my warning to heart, will you, Flight Lieutenant?’ And then he was gone, leaving Jack wondering just what outfit he belonged to. He’d said the War Office, but there was more to it than that. And who had put him onto Lieutenant Sandford’s indiscretion?

May passed with its worst ever bombing of London; Crete was abandoned and shipping losses were the highest ever, though there was one bright note when Allied ships hounded and sank the German battleship,
Bismarck
. In June Hitler invaded Russia, making the Soviet Union an unexpected ally, and for a little while the beleaguered cities of Britain were given a respite from the bombing.

Jack had some leave due and decided it was time he saw Lucy and his son again. Peter was growing fast; he had four teeth and was able to sit up in his pram. Lucy swore he looked like Jack and would grow into a big strong man just like his father. ‘I talk to him all the time about you,’ she said. They had been walking in the park, Jack and Lucy and Peter in his pram, just like a normal, happy family, and had returned home in time for tea. ‘I don’t want him to grow up thinking he has no daddy.’

‘That would never do,’ Jack said, laughing and picking Peter up to throw him up and catch him, which made the child giggle.

‘Time he was in bed.’ Lucy took the baby from him and carried him upstairs to the back bedroom followed by Jack.

‘Lucy, what do you do when I’m not around?’ he asked, as he watched her.

‘I look after Peter and the house and go shopping – queueing takes ages – and I do washing and ironing and gardening, all sorts of things.’

‘Don’t you go out enjoying yourself? Don’t you meet other people, have a good gossip …?’

‘What on earth have I got to gossip about? I am polite to my neighbours and sometimes I meet friends I knew from work and we go to a café and have that awful Camp coffee. God knows what it’s made of, it certainly isn’t coffee.’

‘So you don’t talk about the family, about me and what I tell you?’

She tucked Peter in and kissed him before turning to Jack. ‘What are you getting at, Jack? The neighbours see you come and go, so no doubt they think you are my husband. I haven’t told them any different. What do you expect me to do, go about shouting that I’m not married and my child is a bastard? I don’t care for myself, but I do care for Peter’s sake.’