by V M Knox
‘Bombers, aren’t they?’ Mary asked as Clement entered the house. ‘Could you see them?’
‘Yes.’
‘London?’ she asked.
‘It would be my guess.’
Johnny was depressing the dial tone buttons on the telephone repeatedly and shouting for the operator, then replaced the receiver. ‘I can’t get through. The lines must be down.’
There were multiple reasons for that, none of them good.
‘Should we go into the shelter?’ Mary asked.
‘They are too high for us,’ Clement remarked.
‘No such thing any more, Clement,’ Johnny added. ‘But it is unlikely they would target Fearnley Maughton. Have you drawn the blackout curtains? No point in giving them direction lights.’
‘I’ll check the bedrooms,’ Mary said disappearing up the stairs.
Clement went to his study and drew the curtains. He could only imagine what must be happening in London.
They sat in the dimly lit sitting room eating a dinner of tinned lamb’s tongue and vegetables. There was little conversation. They prayed for London and James and Helen Moore.
An hour later Clement opened the front door and peered out. Dusk had come and gone, and night had descended. No bombs had fallen on the village and no sirens had wailed. Every ten minutes Johnny tried the telephone, but it was a further hour before he could contact The Admiralty. Only overhearing half the conversation did not make any of it intelligible, but Clement guessed what was being discussed. He listened for the word “Cromwell” but it had not been voiced.
‘I should return to London,’ Johnny said entering the sitting room. ‘There are things I need to do. It was my great pleasure to meet you Mrs Wisdom. And thank you for the dinner.’
Clement walked with Johnny to his car. ‘Is there anything you would like me to do?’
‘Just get your team, Clement. The training will take a minimum of two days. As soon as you and your men have returned to the village, be in a state of readiness.’ Johnny lowered his voice, his eyes glancing around. ‘Gubbins believes the invasion has begun.’
Chapter 6
Sunday 8th September
He chose O God, our Help in Ages Past as the gradual hymn. Clement climbed the pulpit steps and gazed around those present. Every pew was filled; even the Naylors were present. He had tailored his sermon around Divine help in adversity. Despite being written before the two devastating air raids on London the previous night, its relevance could not have been missed. Three hundred German planes had pounded the city in two successive waves, especially the East End, causing massive destruction and hundreds of people where dead or homeless. Invasion was on everyone’s mind.
Clement finished his sermon with a quote from the Prime Minister about preparation, duty and confidence. He even included his favourite line from Shakespeare.
‘Excellent sermon, Clement,’ Peter said as they stood in the church doorway.
Clement smiled as Peter wandered away, ambling towards the graveyard to wait away from the general congregation. Clement shifted his attention to the next parishioner. The well-proportioned Mrs Greenwood hovered in front of him. As the village postmistress and telephone exchange operator, the woman knew more than she should about village affairs.
‘Good Morning, Mrs Greenwood.’
‘Vicar. I think you should know,’ she whispered, ‘there are deeds afoot.’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Greenwood. I’m not sure I understand you.’
‘Perhaps I shouldn’t say but..’
‘Then perhaps you shouldn’t, Mrs Greenwood. The Bible has much to say about gossip.’
‘Well, I just thought you should know that Margaret Knowles’s bicycle has been seen...’
‘Yes. Thank you, Mrs Greenwood. I mustn’t keep you. I’m sure you have a great deal to do.’ Clement turned his attention to the next person standing in the queue. Mrs Greenwood strode away.
Twenty minutes later he checked the church to see if anyone remained, then closed the main door and hurried to the vestry to remove his cassock and stole. He knew the men would be assembling outside and he didn’t want their presence there to cause suspicion, especially with the eagle-eyed Mrs Greenwood.
On a pillar to his right was a small mirror in which he could see his clerical collar. His gaze rested on it. He always wore it - it symbolized everything his Christian faith meant to him. ‘Not for this,’ he muttered, pulling it from his shirt.
Clement opened the small door to the churchyard. Six men stood waiting, brief smiles the only communication between them.
‘What would you like us to do, Vicar?’ Stanley Russell asked as they filed in.
‘If you give the man a chance you will find out,’ Peter chided.
Clement smiled. Leaders and followers. He had seen it during his training for the last war. Some would exhibit what his former commanding officer had called, “leader’s legs”. Others would follow. And some would fail. Only time could tell. But all had to make a decision and all had to know the worst.
Clement stood before them, his gaze shifting from one smiling face to the next. He had known them all for many years, but now it was different. He tugged on his lower lip; the seriousness of what he was about to ask of these men, almost intimidating. ‘Commander Winthorpe should have been here today to meet you and tell you the reason for this meeting. However, with the bombing last night in London, he was needed there.’ Clement glanced down at his notes. ‘I have to tell you that what I am about to discuss with you, and ask of you, is both extremely serious and highly secret.’ He looked up. He saw the smiles being replaced with frowns. There was total silence. Clement went on. ‘I have been asked to form a top-secret, special group. You have been selected specifically, by me, for your skills and character. This will not be for the faint-hearted. It will be tough, physically and mentally, and there will be no disgrace if you decide not to be involved. We have all witnessed the planes in the skies this last month, and now they are bombing our homes, not just our factories. Invasion is no longer probable, but imminent. If the Germans land along the Sussex coastline, it would be our job to stay behind enemy lines and do as much damage to their advance as possible.’
‘Like guerrilla fighters?’ George said.
‘Yes,’ Clement said aware of George’s excitement.
‘More than Home Guard duties, Clement?’ Ned Cooper asked.
‘Yes.’ Clement looked into each face. ‘I cannot force you to volunteer. It is dangerous, and you will most probably not survive. Should you agree to be part of this special group there will be some extra training involved and, of course, you will be required to sign The Official Secrets Act.’
A palpable silence settled.
‘How much time do we have to think about it?’ Reginald asked, breaking the silence.
‘Not much. In fact, I need your answer before you leave here today,’ Clement told them.
The men stared at him for what seemed like hours.
‘Where is this training?’ Clive asked.
‘Wiltshire.’
‘How long would we be away, Clement?’ Peter asked.
‘You will be back on Thursday. As far as your family and anyone else are concerned, you are doing exercises with the Home Guard. I wish to stress that this is top-secret and cannot be discussed with anyone. You should know that the penalty for breaching The Official Secrets Act is death by hanging.’ Clement paused. ‘The Official Secrets Act aside, our safety lies in our coherence as a group and our loyalty to each other.’
‘I don’t have anyone to stay alive for anymore, so count me in,’ Ned Cooper said.
‘Thank you, Ned.’ Clement understood the man’s reasoning.
‘It doesn’t give us much time to rearrange things. I’ve got meat that needs portioning for the rations,’ Stanley said.
Clement stared at the young man. ‘I’m sorry about that, Stanley but time isn’t exactly on our side.’ Clement had expected some degree of apprehension, or even ex
citement, but given what was happening around them, he had not anticipated that chopping up meat would usurp the Prime Minister’s plans to thwart the invading enemy.
‘No, we apologise, Clement,’ Peter said, glaring at Stanley. ‘I don’t think any of us really believed the invasion would happen this quickly. Of course we will reschedule things.’
‘I suppose Gladys can do it,’ Stanley added in a low voice.
Clement saw the pink flushes in Stanley’s pale cheeks. The man would feel silly enough without further comment. At least, Clement hoped so.
Courage is a curious human trait. It has no signs or symptoms until displayed. Every man among them joined the team without further hesitation. He almost thanked the Germans for the bombing of the previous evening, and Peter for his steadying influence.
‘You need to be at Lewes Station tomorrow morning at six o’clock. Wear your Home Guard uniform, if you have one, and bring only your personal needs. Everything else, including weapons, will be provided. May I remind you that you are not permitted to discuss this with anyone. Is that clear?’
Heads nodded and it was most certainly a different group of men who left the vestry.
Clement closed the door behind them and locked it. Despite the sobering effect of what he had said, he felt an odd sense of pride in his selection. Every one of them had agreed. Clement wondered about Stanley’s acceptance, hoping the man’s decision was not solely due to embarrassment. Regardless, he had a few days before he needed to make the final selection. If Stanley, or any of them, proved unsatisfactory, they would be excluded. Clement checked his watch. His new assistant, Reverend Herbert Battersby was arriving on the three o’clock bus from Lewes, and Clement wanted to spend some time with Mary. Hurrying through the cemetery, he walked down Church Lane to the vicarage.
A meal of cottage pie and vegetables was already on the table when he arrived home. Mary had already begun her plans for Invasion Day. She had organized a central emergency assembly point at The Crown, where a roll of all the villagers’ names had been drawn up. She had even asked Doctor Haswell to place some emergency medical supplies there.
A few minutes before three, Clement wandered down to the bus stop by the village green and sat in the shelter. The bus drew up and an elderly man alighted wearing a clerical collar.
‘Reverend Battersby?’ Clement asked.
‘The same. Reverend Wisdom, I’m imagining.’
‘Thank you for coming.’
They wandered towards the vicarage where Clement knew Mary would have some tea and cake waiting. Clement learned that Battersby was nearly eighty years of age and had been a vicar for fifty-five years. Clement decided there wasn’t much about parish life that Battersby hadn’t encountered. The man had a winning way about him that exuded calm efficiency, and Clement believed that Johnny couldn’t have found a more perfect man for Fearnley Maughton.
Together they discussed the Invasion Day plans and parish business for some hours before Clement walked the elderly man back to the bus stop.
‘Given the circumstances, it’s been a most pleasant afternoon, Reverend Wisdom. Thank you.’
Clement smiled to Battersby as the bus door closed. With Battersby attending to the parish and Clement’s team selected, he and the villagers were as prepared now as they could be for whatever eventuated.
Chapter 7
Monday 9th September
Lewes Railway Station was cold and a lazy wind had accompanied the early light. Stamping his numb feet, Clement drew his overcoat around him and stared at the heavy, damp fog hanging like a shroud over the valley. Behind him, the towering barbican of Lewes Castle loomed above the High Street. His gaze settled on the parapet. A thousand years had passed since a foreign power had successfully invaded. It was a proud history and one to cling to when fear and hopelessness tried to conquer. He pushed the thought from his mind with a silent verse of Onward Christian Soldiers.
Peter joined him. ‘Morning, Clement. All the men are here. Except one,’ Peter said nodding towards the huddled group of men, chatting.
‘Really? Who?’ Clement said as the smoke of the approaching train became visible.
Within minutes people from the waiting rooms were gathering on the platform. Hurrying through the crowd ran Stanley Russell, his face florid.
‘Sorry I’m late, Vicar.’
Clement felt a frown crease his forehead. ‘Just get aboard, Stanley. Don’t be late again.’
‘Right you are,’ Stanley grinned.
Clive Wade stood beside him. ‘He’ll be late for his own funeral, that one.’
Clement pursed his lips. He watched Stanley board the train, hoping his decision to include the boy wasn’t a mistake. Clement took his seat, his mind still on Stanley. The next few days would sort the lad out, one way or the other.
Peter had already boarded and seconded two compartments for them. Spirits were buoyant and excitement kept the men chatting. They stowed their few possessions and within minutes the train pulled away.
It was mid-afternoon when they walked down the road, away from Swindon Station. Clement scrutinized the waiting cars and lorries, searching for a military vehicle. Parked to one side of the station was a three-ton truck marked with the GHQ Home Forces insignia, a lion rampant and the unit identification number 490. Clement walked towards it as the driver’s door opened and a man in a corporal’s uniform jumped down.
‘Captain Wisdom?’ the man asked.
Clement nodded.
‘I am to take you directly to Coleshill House, Sir. Major Bannon is expecting you,' the corporal said.
Clement opened the passenger door and climbed aboard as the men threw their packs into the rear of the lorry then climbed in. The engine roared and the lorry pulled away from the station precinct.
‘Are there any activities planned for this evening, Corporal?’ Clement asked recalling his military training prior to the last war. In his mind he could hear the gravelly voiced Drill Sergeant of long ago telling the new recruits to form a circle of equal sides. He smiled at the recollection.
‘Major Bannon’s the one to speak to, Captain.’
Clement had hoped to have forewarning about any activities planned for the remainder of the day but the corporal remained unforthcoming. The army had a habit of springing exercises on the unwary.
Coleshill village sat atop a long ridge with a commanding view over the surrounding countryside. At the top of the ridgeline the vehicle left the main road and entered the estate through a pair of tall ironwork gates. Clement glanced at the passing meadows. On both sides of the drive were fields with stands of mature trees. Off to the east was the dense foliage of a forest. A few minutes later Clement saw Coleshill House, a beautifully proportioned four-storey mansion.
‘The big house is for the officers. And the two old girls who live there,’ the corporal told him.
‘The owners are still in residence?’
‘Elderly sisters, Sir. And their dogs. All other ranks are in the stables. Major Bannon regrets that due to you coming mid-week, there is no room for you in the big house.’
‘It suits me,’ Clement said. ‘Actually, I’m a vicar. My boss was born in a stable because his parents encountered the same fate.’
The corporal smiled. ‘Let’s hope the Lord didn’t have to worry about rats.’
Clement shuddered; the furry little bodies and their smell were instant reminders of the trenches. As the truck pulled up in a courtyard at the side of the big house, a man in a major’s uniform approached them.
‘Sorry I wasn’t there to meet you, Wisdom,’ the major said. ‘Bannon is my name. Corporal Davis will show your men where to put their things and where you can get a cup of tea. We will assemble at nineteen hundred hours in the house.'
‘I understand I am also in the stables, Major?’
‘Sorry about that Wisdom. Full up this week,’ Bannon said, but there was no additional reason provided.
‘Will there be any training this evening, Major?’
‘Dinner is at nineteen thirty hours,’ Bannon said. ‘And tonight there will be an address by the Colonel followed by a lecture on intercommunication. Tomorrow we begin in earn-est. It’s a full programme, Wisdom. Usually we see recruits on weekends, but your group is a bit of an exception. Colonel Gubbins has given your sector top priority. You’re from East Sussex, I understand?’
Clement nodded. ‘What will we be learning?’
‘Explosives in the morning. Unarmed combat in the afternoon, then a lecture on guerrilla tactics and after supper a lecture on the Jerry army. Then it’s a night patrol, I’m afraid.’
While the major spoke, Clement watched the corporal herd his men into the two-storey stable buildings.
‘And Wednesday?’
Major Bannon turned to face him. ‘On your second day we teach you about your Operational Bases, where you will be living once Jerry arrives. And then it’s putting the theory into practise. Normally the groups leave in the afternoon but Gubbins wants your group to learn a bit more about our clandestine enemy.’
‘Is there a reason for that?’ Clement asked.
‘You’re pretty close to the coast there, Wisdom. It could be that you will encounter enemy spies. Best to know how to recognize them. And what to do with them when you do. Your lecturer for that session is a civilian…and a woman. Comes from a family in your line of work, actually. Then there will be your assessments in the evening. So you will be leaving us on Thursday morning.’ The major smiled. ‘Remember Wisdom, you never know who you’re talking to. We have a slogan for that: The Enemy is Always Listening. Well, I’ll leave you to settle in. See you in the house at nineteen hundred.’
‘Sir,’ he replied, saluting.
‘We don’t salute here, Wisdom. Not a habit we encourage in our line of work. Remember Nelson.’
Clement watched Major Bannon walk away then followed the team into the stables. Inside were rows of timber bunks. Each had a rolled-up mattress and between each structure were a small cabinet and shelf. No adornment of any kind graced the walls or floors. Peter had the men stowing their few possessions.
