by Terry Deary
‘Really? These poor people were told it was a nice little treat for finishing their training.’ Everyone chuckled.
‘How can they be so happy when they’re going to face danger and death?’ Brigit asked her maman.
‘They’re just very brave people,’ Aimee said with a shrug.
‘Stop talking, you two,’ Sergeant Evans barked. ‘Yes, you, madam, and the little lady by your side.’
‘What?’ Brigit asked.
‘Major Ellis has told me how you ended up here, miss, but you are under the British army command while you are in this training zone, and you will operate under the rules of the British army. The first rule is you must always obey the commands of a senior officer.’
‘A bit like school then,’ Brigit said. Aimee gave her a hard nudge to silence her. But it was too late. Sergeant Evans strode forward and loomed over the girl. He lowered his head and spoke with a voice that sounded like he’d gargled with gravel. ‘Not at all like school, madam. At school the punishments are writing a hundred lines or losing your break time. Here we find really nasty jobs for people who disobey – cleaning toilets, sweeping out the huts, peeling potatoes and being locked away for a few days with just bread and water. Do I make myself clear?’
Brigit opened her mouth to reply but Aimee cut in quickly, ‘Yes, sir. She understands. Don’t you, Brigit?’ She nudged her daughter again.
Brigit glared and fixed her lips tight as a rat trap. Sergeant Evans, like the Reverend Williams, would need careful handling. He stepped back as if burned by the girl’s stare and went on, ‘Sleeping huts here and here, toilet and shower blocks over there. Canteen in the middle and recreation room behind you. Any questions just ask me. Understood?’
‘Yes, Sergeant,’ came a chorus of voices.
‘Training starts tomorrow,’ Major Ellis said, ‘so get a good night’s sleep. Squad dismissed.’
The group of spies and saboteurs didn’t look much like an army squad and as they shuffled off to their huts, Sergeant Evans looked at them sourly. Brigit heard him mutter to Major Ellis, ‘Give me a week with this lot and I’ll have them marching like the Grenadier Guards.’
The major laughed. ‘That’ll not do them much good in a French field when they’re spying out German army secrets. They may not look like your usual soldiers, Sergeant, but they have just as much courage.’
Aimee tugged Brigit along with her to the hut nearest the sea. The walls smelled of fresh wood preserver and the floors of new concrete. A small stove in the corner glowed warm, as the evening air off the Irish Sea sent a chill through the room. Brigit chose the bed next to her maman and unpacked the few things she’d brought in her carrier bag.
Oil lamps were lit as the huts hadn’t been fitted with electric. ‘Too far from the nearest village,’ a tall, dark-haired woman called Yvette explained. But it was cosy and so much more homely than the Reverend Williams’ dank bedrooms.
A dreamless sleep soon swallowed Brigit and she woke with the sun to the gentle snoring of women. She dressed quickly and went over to the stove to boil a kettle of water and make a pot of tea. One by one the women rose and moved sleepily across to the stove to enjoy a cup.
Sergeant Evans was waiting on the path between the huts as the sleepy-eyed men drifted out. ‘Good morning, ladies, gentlemen… and young lady. In the canteen the cook is preparing a breakfast of bacon, sausage, mushrooms, tomatoes and fried bread.’
Even the sleepiest of the men looked bright-eyed at that. ‘Your chiefs have ordered that you have the best food there is. You need to build up your strength. Sadly, you do not get to eat one mouthful until I am satisfied you have earned it.’
Everyone groaned. The sergeant pointed towards the sea. The gate to the beach is open. Everyone will take a cup and fill it with seawater. The first one back gets extra bacon and egg. Is that clear?’
‘So it’s a race,’ Brigit said.
‘Well done. I can see there are no flies on you, your ladyship. You can’t even see where they rested. Yes, it’s a race.’
‘Not a fair race, though. I mean, in the Olympics the men and women run separately because the men are faster and sure to win.’
The sergeant looked up at the sky. ‘Very well. The first man and the first woman to bring back a cup of seawater will be rewarded with extra breakfast. Is that fair?’
Brigit shook her head. ‘And the first runner under the age of sixteen… to make it really fair.’
Sergeant Evans gave her his fiercest glare. ‘Do I look stupid?’
‘Well…’ Brigit began.
‘She will run with the other women,’ Aimee said quickly.
Everyone picked up a cup and before the sergeant had a chance to say ‘go’ some set off at a sprint down the path.
And still the war felt a million miles away.
Chapter Nineteen
‘The Battle of Britain is about to begin’
June–September 1940: Pembrokeshire, West Wales
Every morning in the training camp was the same. A run followed by a cold shower followed by a fine breakfast that would have satisfied even the Reverend Williams.
The days passed in warm rain and sunshine. At first Brigit was treated like a child, patted on the head and told she was doing well… even when she knew she wasn’t. But she quickly proved herself as clever and fit as the adults and soon everyone except the sergeant began to treat her as an equal.
In the evenings they sat in the recreation room listening to the news of the war on the crackling radio powered by a generator. All the happiness of the day seemed to slip away as the news was always bad. The British army had landed in France. But by early June they had been driven back to the sea. The radio said in gloomy tones:
‘The British commander-in-chief, General Gort, has been forced to retreat to the French coast at Dunkirk. The troops are waiting, under merciless fire, to be rescued from the beaches. A call has gone out to all owners of seaworthy vessels to travel to Dunkirk to take the troops off the beaches.’
Large ships and tiny pleasure boats set off. More than 300,000 men were rescued, among them some 140,000 French who were desperate to form a Free French army that would return and free their homeland one day. But first they needed the saboteurs to make that return easier.
‘When do we go?’ Raoul asked.
‘You have learned many skills at your camps all over Britain,’ Major Ellis said. ‘You are very good. This is the place where you will become perfect. The difference between good and perfect may be the difference between life and death. Your life. Your death.’
Major Ellis was busy with workmen building an assault course. Climbing nets and tunnels, obstacles and balance beams, rope swings and mud ditches. ‘We need you to be strong and fit for anything,’ the major told the group. The saboteurs set off. Half dropped out, beaten before they reached the end. The finishers were timed. Brigit was nimble and light. Her time was the fastest.
Sergeant Evans gave the results. He looked at Brigit with a new respect.
The work took place in the training hut and Brigit joined in. Major Ellis had said she could attend a village school about a ten-mile bus journey to the east. But Aimee pointed out that it would soon be the summer holidays and not worth it. So Brigit joined the training classes.
In a few hours she had learned to take apart a German pistol and put it back together. ‘Why not a British pistol, Maman?’ she asked.
‘If the German secret police – the Gestapo – find us with a German pistol we can tell them we found it where some careless German soldier had left it. They may punish us with a few weeks in prison. But if they find us with a British weapon they’ll know we are spies. They will shoot us.’
It sounded so dangerous Brigit decided then that she couldn’t let her maman go to France alone.
Bad news followed bad news. Later in June, Italy joined the war on the side of Germany. Before the end of the month, France had surrendered and the Germans took over.
The French leade
r Marshal Pétain told his people: ‘It is with broken heart that I tell you today that fighting must cease.’
Winston Churchill told the British: ‘The news from France is very bad, and I grieve for the gallant French people.’ The saboteurs in the camp held back their tears as Churchill finished: ‘We are sure that in the end all will be well.’
Mr Churchill stayed strong and told his people what they had already guessed: ‘The Battle of France is over. I expect that the Battle of Britain is about to begin. The whole fury and might of the enemy must very soon be turned on us. Hitler knows that he will have to break us in this island or lose the war. If we can stand up to him, all Europe may be free, and the life of the world may move forward into broad, sunlit uplands. But if we fail, then the whole world will sink into the abyss of a new Dark Age. Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves that if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say, “This was their finest hour”.’
‘The Battle of Britain,’ Yvette said. ‘We may not even get to France. Germany could come to us.’
‘We’ll be ready,’ Brigit said, most fierce of all. Just three weeks ago the SOE agents would have smiled and patted her on the head. But now they nodded for they knew she was right.
The next day they trained more fiercely than ever before. Everyone finished the assault course. And Winston Churchill was right about the Battle of Britain but it began in the air, not on the landing-beaches.
In July reports came of waves of German bombers attacking the east of Britain. In September the bombers stopped attacking airfields and turned their weapons on the defenceless people in the towns. The Blitz that had smashed Poland and Belgium was raining down on London.
‘The Castle Bromwich Spitfires will blow the bombers apart,’ Brigit said. The saboteurs prayed that she would be right.
Still they trained. From the Welsh beach they learned to operate miniature submarines, but Aimee took a different course. She learned to fly small aircraft. When she had passed her final test, she was able to take her daughter up and over West Wales. The fields of gold and green and brown with silver roads and blue rivers spread out below like a quilt.
And when they landed and returned to camp it was to an excited group of French friends. ‘We must be leaving for France soon. We’ve been ordered to scrub the huts till they are spotless. We must be moving out.’
Raoul shouted across to Sergeant Evans, ‘Is that right, Sergeant? Are we off to France?’
‘If I knew that I would not be allowed to tell you,’ the sergeant replied gruffly.
‘So why are we doing all this cleaning?’ Yvette sighed.
‘Because tomorrow we’ve been promised a very important visitor.’
‘Must be the king,’ Brigit guessed.
She was wrong.
Chapter Twenty
‘Let me show you how it’s done…’
No one slept much that night. Yvette said, ‘If we have an important visitor then it’s because we are about to be sent to France. They have come to say goodbye.’
The other women in the sleeping hut nodded.
The next morning they ran to the sea and back, showered and trained. Sergeant Evans said, ‘Our visitor will be arriving at 1300 hours. We need to entertain them. Now, for the next hour, we’ll break into groups. We will plan demonstrations. Yvette, you can show how you would kill a man… Raoul can be the victim.’
‘Thanks,’ Raoul muttered.
‘Make it look real. We will have one man and one woman on the assault course – and there will be a prize for the first to finish. Two of you will put a pistol together and then race to the target range to fire six shots into one of the dummies. A bar of chocolate for the winner. Someone can plant a real pencil bomb to show how powerful they are.’
‘Maybe we could blow up your office?’ Aimee said with a grin.
The sergeant narrowed his eyes and said, ‘Or maybe we could use you as one of the targets, Mrs Furst? A live target. Very good practice.’
‘My comrades would refuse to shoot me,’ Aimee said and looked around at her friends.
‘For a bar of chocolate?’ Yvette said. ‘Oh, but I think we would shoot our own mothers, isn’t that right, ladies?’ They all agreed they would.
Aimee stuck out her tongue at them.
‘I want someone to land by parachute – Aimee, you can fly the light aircraft and drop Jacques. Then land on the beach. Our important visitor will be pleased to see a woman pilot. And finally I need someone to use camouflage to go through the woods and get past the guards without being seen.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Brigit offered.
Sergeant Evans pulled a face. ‘I’m afraid I can’t allow that. You are not an SOE member. In fact, it would be better if you weren’t here at all. How do we explain a girl in the training camp? We will send you to the nearest village to have a nice lunch.’
‘I have done all the training,’ Brigit said fiercely. ‘There’s no reason why I can’t go to France. I can live with my grand-maman and help Maman when she needs it.’
‘We’ve talked about this and you know it can’t happen.’ Aimee sighed. ‘Isn’t that right, Sergeant Evans?’
‘SOE plans are for Major Ellis to decide. My job is just to train you. But, if you did ask me, I’d say it was ridiculous.’
‘Just as well I’m not asking you,’ Brigit muttered under her breath. Aloud, she said, ‘We’ll see.’
The saboteurs hurried off to practise their demonstrations while Brigit wandered around and helped where she could. At noon one of the guards brought the Humber FWD camp car to the front gate and Sergeant Evans opened the door for Brigit to step inside. She smiled sweetly at him and clutched her brown-paper carrier bag close. ‘I hope you have a nice afternoon with the king,’ she said. ‘I could have offered to polish his crown for him.’
‘It might not be the king,’ the sergeant said.
‘You would say that,’ Brigit thought.
‘I’ll send the car to collect you at 1400 hours when the visitor has gone,’ the sergeant went on. ‘Here is some money and a few ration coupons. I’ll see you around 1415,’ he said and slammed the door.
‘That’s what you think,’ Brigit said quietly.
The driver was one of the silent guards and that suited Brigit. He crunched through the gears and raced the engine till the inside smelled of oil and smoke. Brigit sat in the back seat and was able to make her plans while watching carefully which turnings they took. She guessed they travelled three miles before they reached a village with some Welsh name she couldn’t say.
They pulled up outside a tea shop where men and women in shorts and cycling gear mixed with others with backpacks and boots. ‘Cyclists and walkers welcome,’ a sign said.
The driver got out and opened the door for Brigit. He spoke for the first time. ‘I’ll be back at 1400 hours,’ he said.
‘That’ll be nice for you. You can have a cream cake or a scone and a cup of tea.’
Brigit walked up the path to the front of the café, which was crowded with chattering people mostly too old to serve in the war. As she reached the door she heard the gears of the Humber crunch and the heavy vehicle rolled away in a cloud of smoke and petrol fumes.
She turned around and walked back to the low white fence at the edge of the road where bicycles were propped. For a moment she thought about taking one of the bikes. ‘You took Alice’s clothes,’ she said to herself. ‘You can steal a bike. Yes, Brigit Furst, a real Robin Hood… stealing from the old to help poor Brigit.’
She took a deep breath and left the bicycles behind. ‘Anyway, there were racing bikes there – if anyone saw me go they’d race after me and catch me in a quarter of a mile.’
As she left the village behind, the clock on the church tower struck twelve. ‘I can just about make it,’ she guessed.
The road back to the training camp was rough and stony. She guessed not many cyclists would head this way or the
ir tyres would puncture. ‘They’ll puncture my feet if these thin shoes give way,’ she sighed.
Brigit tried to walk on the grass at the side of the road but some of the sharp stones had rolled into the grass and were hidden there. That made it worse. The autumn weather was warm, and Brigit’s face was red.
‘Blood, toil, tears and sweat,’ she chanted as she marched along. She stopped for a moment. ‘No tears,’ she decided. ‘Blood, toil and sweat. That’s what’ll get me there.’
She heard a car crunching carefully down the road behind her. She ran up the grass bank, pushed through the hedge at the top and threw herself to the ground. She raised her head enough to see a large black Rolls-Royce glide past her, but not enough to see who the famous visitor was. ‘It has to be King George,’ she said as the car disappeared round the bend and on the last stretch to the camp gates.
Brigit slid back down the grass to the road. ‘What did you want, Sergeant Evans? Remind me? Ah, yes. Someone to use camouflage to go through the woods and get past the guards without being seen? Let me show you how it’s done…’
Chapter Twenty-One
‘Hello, King George. Pleased to meet you’
When Brigit had walked round the bend in the road she saw the Rolls-Royce being driven through the main gate. The guard closed it and Sergeant Evans would make sure she was kept outside until their important guest had left. And then it could be a week of bread and water.
She stepped off the road once again and into the wood that shielded the right side of the camp. The old trees were still and cool in the afternoon heat. The green light was restful on her eyes. Squirrels and voles, a fox and a deer ran away from her as she crept alongside the camp fence till she came to the first watchtower. The soldier on guard was looking towards the camp instead of into the woods to seek out spies and assassins. He was looking at the famous visitor.
Brigit stepped behind a wide oak and opened her carrier bag. She pulled out the clothes she’d stolen from Alice the cook. After she had pulled the shawl over her hair it covered most of her face.
