by Emma Fraser
‘London. He works for a large bank.’
‘I see.’
‘He wants us to get married. At least he says he does,’ Sarah blurted.
Katherine raised an eyebrow. ‘A man doesn’t usually propose marriage unless that’s what he wants, but I get the feeling you’re not too sure?’
Sarah placed her cup on its saucer. ‘How do you know? I mean, how can you be certain that someone is the person you should be spending the rest of your life with?’
Katherine frowned. ‘Oh my dear, if you have to ask me that, then I’m very much afraid he’s not the man for you.’
‘But he’s kind, safe, reliable. We could have a good life.’
‘You don’t marry someone because they are kind, safe and reliable. You marry someone because it’s the only thing you can do. Because the thought of a life without them is unbearable.’
Sarah grimaced. ‘That’s a very romantic view.’
‘It’s the only view worth holding.’
Kind and interested though Katherine was, Sarah wasn’t here to talk about her relationship with Matthew.
‘What happened to Irena after she graduated?’ she asked. ‘Do you know where she went?’
‘She went back to Poland, my dear.’
Chapter 42
Scotland, 1943
They day after they returned from Skye, Richard left to rejoin his squadron. Although they’d said their goodbyes in Skye, his actual leaving was harder than she’d imagined even in her worst moments. But he couldn’t suspect that she knew this might be the last time she would ever hold him so she stayed strong – kissing him goodbye and turning away even though she never wanted to let him go.
As promised, there was a letter waiting for her with travel warrants and instructions. Before she’d left for Skye she’d told Isabel the same story she’d given to Richard – that she was going to be covering leave at the military hospitals around Britain starting at one in Fort William. Her handler had agreed to post the postcards and letters Irena would send her from various places across Britain.
She took the train north from Glasgow, passing through several stations along the way. As instructed, she pretended to be immersed in a book so as not to be drawn into conversations with her fellow passengers.
The station signs had been taken down so she couldn’t be sure where she was. However, she recognised Fort William from her trip with Richard as soon as the train pulled into the station.
From there she had to take another train heading west. A few miles outside Fort William it came to a halt and her papers, as well as those of the other passengers, were scrutinised. When the train stopped again, it was, as far as she could see, in the middle of nowhere.
The conductor announced that this was the end of the line and all remaining passengers were to disembark. A soldier with sergeant stripes stood on the platform holding a clipboard.
‘Where are we?’ a short woman with an impish smile asked in a Polish accent as they gathered their bags.
‘I don’t know,’ Irena replied. It looked a little like Skye, with the same wide-open glens and towering mountains, but they hadn’t crossed any water so it couldn’t be. ‘I’m Anna, by the way,’ the woman said, holding out her hand. ‘I suspect we’re heading to the same place.’
She was right. The sergeant beckoned them over and checked their names and papers from a list. There were six of them – three men and three women – all Poles. They were hustled into the back of an army truck.
A short while later the truck came to a stop and the sergeant came around to the back and lifted the tarpaulin cover. ‘Right, you lot. This is your home for the next few weeks. Out you come.’
Their home was a substantial house surrounded by trees. Irena could smell damp foliage and, from somewhere in the distance, hear the sound of trickling water. Inside it was exquisitely furnished with antiques and oil paintings. They each had a bedroom on the first floor. Irena’s had double-aspect windows overlooking the garden, a bed so high she could have hidden a small family underneath, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. The uniform of a FANY captain and some fatigues were neatly folded at the end of her bed.
They were given a few minutes to unpack and change into their uniforms after which they were to meet downstairs.
They gathered in front of the roaring fire in the enormous drawing room and gratefully accepted drinks from Sergeant Fowler, who’d finally introduced himself and everyone to each other. They were a mixed bunch, ranging in age from around nineteen to forty, Irena guessed. The three women exchanged curious looks. In almost a direct contrast to Anna, Martyna was tall, thin and serious-looking.
‘Now, sirs, ma’ams, welcome to the first stage in your training. Let me tell you what you’ll be in for over the next few weeks. To get you into peak physical condition, there will be a great deal of outdoor training, which will include learning how to survive off the land. You will also be instructed in the use of weapons and how to evade capture. At the end, supposing you get through, you will be taught how to jump from a plane – with a parachute, of course.’ There was a rumble of laughter at this, which helped clear the tension from the room.
The sergeant went on to explain the routine of their days.
Their meals would be taken together in the large dining room and in the evenings they had the use of the drawing room with its fire, well-stocked bookshelves and piano. Under no circumstances were they to go into Arisaig, the nearby town – or anywhere else, for that matter – without permission.
They were given supper, a surprisingly lavish meal of lobster and venison. After they’d eaten, they gathered again in the sitting room, where they were introduced to their instructors and told the syllabus for the next four to six weeks.
Every morning they were roused from their beds by Sergeant Fowler who, whatever the weather, had them running and doing press-ups on the lawn. Basic weapons training followed breakfast and Irena discovered she had an aptitude for shooting a rifle, one she prayed she would never have to use. Unarmed conflict was next, something she was less good at, although she did her best. After lunch, they were taken into a smaller room that served as their classroom and shown how to assemble and dissemble a wireless and how to code and decode messages. They also had to learn to read maps until it became second nature and they could pinpoint where they were and where they had to go – if at any time they needed an escape route – in a moment. All the time Irena was aware of being watched, but she didn’t let it bother her. She suspected not all of them would make it through this stage of the training, but she was determined to be one of those who did.
Towards the middle of the course they were taught how to use explosives. The house was so remote they were able to practise blowing up make-believe targets without attracting any unwanted attention from the locals.
The physical training became more intense. Twice they were woken in the middle of the night, blindfolded, led to a truck and driven into the countryside before being told to find their own way back to the house. Irena, Anna and Martyna stuck together, helping each other out, not wanting to rely on the men. The first time, it took them several hours to make it back as they kept going around in circles, but the second attempt took them even longer as the low-lying cloud obscured the stars making it impossible to navigate. Knowing it was pointless to stumble around in the dark, they made makeshift shelters for themselves from pine branches and shivered their way to the morning. In the misty light of the dawn, they crept back to base using their new-found skills to avoid the locals and cover their tracks. But if they thought they were going to be applauded by their sergeant, they were badly mistaken.
‘Travelling by daylight is dangerous. Are the lot of you mad? I wouldn’t give a farthing for your chances with the Nazis. As far as I’m concerned, you might as well stick your hands up and say, “Shoot me now.” Next time you stay hidden until nightfall, then you travel. Do I make myself clear?’
Given that he was shouting at the top of his lungs, it
was difficult for anyone to pretend otherwise.
Martyna disappeared suddenly one day and when they asked where she was they were told to ‘keep their noses out of it’, didn’t they know ‘careless talk costs lives’?
Sometimes they were taken to a deep-water loch where they’d be immersed in the frozen water and made to swim to a bridge, still fully clothed and holding their packs, loaded with explosives, above their heads. Instead of being allowed to dry off, they were made to make their way home on foot, forced to take the most direct route, even if that involved, which it usually did, climbing over fences, or wading through streams and bogs. At night, their muscles aching, they’d trudge up to bed, almost too tired to climb the stairs. It was only her hatred for the Nazis and her longing to return to Poland that gave Irena the strength to get up each morning and head back out into the cold, wet, miserable Scottish weather. Yet, there were good times, too. In the evening after their supper, they would sometimes play cards or charades, Anna keeping them amused as she mimicked Sergeant Fowler. But underneath the light-heartedness and banter, they all knew that they would need every ounce of ingenuity and every skill they were being taught here.
The training that she found most difficult was when they were taught how to kill a man by cutting his throat with a knife or using a garrotte to strangle him. Everything in Irena shrank from it. The Hippocratic Oath had committed her to saving lives, not to taking them, and the thought that one day she might be called upon to do so nauseated her. She even found it difficult to practise on a rabbit, Anna sometimes stepping in when the instructors weren’t looking, to do it for her. She got through it by telling herself that it wasn’t real, that having to kill another human being would always be a choice.
Missing Richard was a constant dull ache behind her ribs. She scoured the newspapers and listened to the news on the wireless every chance she got. Every time she heard about RAF losses she felt sick. No mail was allowed in or out, all letters and postcards to family and friends being passed on to their handlers and posted from wherever they’d told their loved ones they were. She consoled herself that if something had happened to Richard or Aleksy, Isabel would write and eventually the letter would find her.
When the day finally came for them to leave their home in the Scottish highlands she had mixed feelings. The last part of their training was to take place in England where they’d be taught the specialist skills they would need. Although she was to act as a courier, she was warned that apart from taking part in sabotage, she might also have to act as a wireless operator in emergencies. Before she knew whether she had passed, she had to learn how to parachute from a plane and all her life she’d been sacred of heights.
But she was determined. Nothing would stop her from going back to Poland.
She was given three days off before she was to report to the Polish ‘finishing school’, as it was euphemistically called, in England.
Although she knew it would have been wiser to book into a bed and breakfast, she was drawn back to the house in Charlotte Square.
She asked the sergeant to send a telegram for her from Fort William, telling Isabel that she had some leave and would be returning to Charlotte Square for a few days.
Isabel was delighted to see her and Hannah fussed over her as if she were one of the family. It was lovely to have nothing to do for whole days at a time, although Richard’s presence was everywhere. At night she’d tiptoe into his room and lie on his bed, breathing in the faint scent of him that still lingered on the bedclothes.
On her last night in Edinburgh, she told Isabel that it was possible she might be going overseas to one of the casualty stations after another spell in a military hospital in England.
‘Have you told Richard?’
Irena started.
‘Oh, my dear, did you really think I hadn’t noticed the way you two feel about one another?’
‘I thought we were… discreet.’
‘A woman can’t hide it when she loves a man and you do love him, don’t you?’
Unable to trust her voice, Irena nodded.
‘And he’s proposed?’
She nodded again.
‘I’m assuming you’ve said yes.’
‘No. I can’t. Not until this war is finished – it wouldn’t be fair.’
Isabel reached over and grasped Irena’s hands. ‘I know why you think that, but you have to grab happiness while you can. My darling boy might not see the end of this war… are you prepared to take that chance?’
‘It’s because we – he – might not survive that I can’t marry him.’
Isabel sighed, the firelight playing across her face. ‘Before I married Lord Glendale I was in love with someone else.’
‘The man in the photo?’
‘You’ve seen it?’
‘Yes. Ages ago when I went to fetch you aspirin from your room. I promise I wasn’t snooping. The picture was lying face down on your dressing table and I automatically went to pick it up. I didn’t mean to look at it.’
‘That was Archie.’ Isabel’s eyes took on a faraway look. ‘My love.’
‘But you didn’t marry?’
‘We would have, but the war got in the way. Don’t let the same happen to you.’ Isabel hesitated. ‘Remember I have been Simon’s wife for a long time and know a little about his work. I’m not a fool either.’
Irena’s skin prickled.
‘These stories you’re telling me – about working at different military hospitals – they’re not true, are they?’
‘Why would you say that?’
‘You and I aren’t so very different, you know. I won’t ask you to confirm or deny anything. That wouldn’t be fair – I know you’d have no choice but to lie to me. But if you are thinking of doing anything dangerous, have you thought what that might mean? For you and my son?’
Still Irena said nothing.
Isabel sighed. ‘At least give him the chance to say goodbye.’
Chapter 43
Audley House, the so-called Polish finishing school, was situated in a large stately home hidden in the depths of the English countryside. If Irena hadn’t known it was a training school for the SOE she would never have guessed. Large, manicured lawns sloped down to croquet lawns and to the left there was a tennis court. It was here that the last part of her training – her briefing course – would take place. She was one of only two women – the other, to her delight, being Anna.
The course was taught by one of the captains and involved learning about current conditions in Poland. Most of the students, like Irena, had been in Poland during the early months of the war, but life, they were told, had changed in the time they’d been away. The training officer recounted a story about an agent, working with the French resistance, who’d ordered a ‘black coffee’, not realising that since milk had become impossible to get, everyone simply ordered a ‘coffee’. Mistakes like these, they were warned, could mean their death. In particular, they had to learn the new names of streets. Hitler had renamed many of them and not to know this could prove fatal.
At the end of the course, Irena and Anna were told they had passed. In two days, they would be taken to another house where they would wait until the weather conditions were right for them to be dropped into Poland. Irena was given poor quality Polish clothes and stout shoes, similar to the ones she’d worn when she’d left Poland, but more befitting a nurse.
‘You will need to choose a name to be known by,’ her handler said. ‘Preferably one that means something to you.’
Irena knew straight away which one she wanted: Magdalena. It seemed right to take the name of the woman she’d let down. But not her last name. Both together would link her too closely to Magdalena and consequently her father, the colonel. Drobnik, then. Magdalena Drobnik sounded just right.
‘As we discussed,’ her handler continued, ‘your cover will be that you’re a nurse. It will allow you to travel without raising suspicion. You will be based in one of the hospitals but you should be
able to travel freely on the pretext of visiting patients in their homes. It is vital you never show your extended knowledge as a doctor. Are we clear?’
Irena nodded.
‘I have to reiterate that if you are caught it is unlikely we will be able to do anything to help you. If you aren’t shot straight away, it is probable that you will be imprisoned – and tortured.’
They’d gone over this before. Irena knew what to expect. Her handler had given her a small blue pill to take should she be captured. Taking her own life was a mortal sin but she would choose death over betraying anything or anyone.
That night, one of the British soldiers who guarded the gates to Audley House slipped her a note. It was from Richard. He asked her to meet him in a lane not far from the house. He would wait for her all night if necessary. And, if she didn’t come, he would have no choice but to report her missing to the police, or go to the War Office via his father.
