by Helen Peters
“I am very hungry, and also very thirsty.”
“We can find you some food,” said Frank. “Can’t we, Molly?”
“I’m sure we can get you something,” said Molly, “but we won’t be able to take too much or Mum will notice. It would be a lot easier if we could tell her.”
“No,” said the man, shaking his head. “Don’t tell your mother.”
“She wouldn’t report you, I’m sure. If she heard your story, she’d understand, the same as we do.”
The man sounded as though he was choosing his words carefully.
“Your mother might not be as understanding as you children are. To many people, disobeying the order of one’s superiors is a thing they would disapprove of. So, please, I would prefer it if you did not tell your parents. But if you could buy me some food, I would greatly appreciate it. I can pay.”
He took a wallet from his pocket and handed Molly a pound note. I noticed a lot more notes in the wallet. Everyone said soldiers were well paid, but I hadn’t realised they had that much money.
“Bread would be good, and butter if possible. And some cheese or ham. And cigarettes.”
“Have you got your ration book?” asked Molly.
“Oh, how silly of me. No, I don’t have it.”
“We won’t be able to get you the butter or ham then. And it’s a bit late to go to the shops today. We’ll get you some water now, and we can bring you some food from the house. Not too much, or Mum will notice, but enough for tonight. We’ll go to the shops in the morning.”
“Thank you,” he said. “You are most kind.”
“What’s your name?” asked Frank.
“Peter,” said the man. “Peter Smith.”
“Goodbye, Peter Smith,” said Frank. “We’ll be back soon.”
“Come on, Clover,” I said. She was crouched by the wall, on her guard, but when I picked her up she settled happily into my arms and began to purr.
“She’s a lovely cat,” said the man.
I said nothing. We went down the ladder in silence. I handed Clover to Frank while I climbed down, and then took her back. It was so comforting to feel her warmth in my arms again.
None of us spoke or looked at each other until we were on the other side of the farmyard. I felt the tightness in my chest relax a little.
Frank hopped with excitement. “A real soldier in our barn!” he whispered. “And we’re looking after him!”
“Shh,” said Molly. “You promised not to say anything.”
“But there’s no one here. And I only whispered.”
“Even so. You never know who might be around.”
A sudden breeze made a stable door bang. Clover leapt out of my arms and raced back towards the barn. I ran after her.
“Just leave her,” said Molly. “She’ll come back when she wants to.”
But I couldn’t leave her. I needed her solid, comforting presence. And I didn’t want her getting too friendly with Peter Smith, either. She was my cat. Not that I would have said that to Molly.
We had left the barn door slightly ajar, and I slipped through the gap. My plimsolls made no sound on the dirt floor.
I heard noises from the loft, as though the man was rummaging in his haversack.
He muttered to himself.
My stomach turned over.
No. It couldn’t be. I must have heard wrong.
I stayed completely still, listening, my heart thumping. He was still rummaging, but he had stopped muttering.
Something rolled across the loft and dropped over the edge on to the barn floor. The man swore.
My blood froze in my veins.
He had sworn in German.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Do Not Believe Rumours and Do Not Spread Them”
If the Invader Comes
My blood pounded in my ears. My legs felt weak.
It sounded as though the man was shuffling across the floor. I had to get away. I tiptoed out of the barn and sprinted across the yard, my heart pounding.
I caught up with the others just outside the cottage. I skidded to a stop, flailing my arms, and grabbed Frank’s shoulder to steady myself.
“Ow,” he said, pushing my hand away. “What are you doing?”
“Come to the tree house,” I hissed.
Molly looked at me in surprise. Then her look turned to one of alarm.
“You’re completely white. What’s happened?”
“In the tree house. It’s top secret.”
I ran down the garden path and out through the little wooden gate at the bottom of the garden that led to the sheep field. I heard Molly and Frank following me.
I didn’t stop until I reached the oak tree in the middle of the field. Then I turned slowly in a circle, scanning the horizon in all directions, trying to take deep breaths to stop my heart thudding against my ribcage.
There was nobody around.
We climbed the rope ladder to the tree house Uncle Bert had built. It wasn’t really a house, just a plank platform with a low wooden wall around the edge. In winter, you could see for miles, but now the leaves formed a thick green canopy and we were completely hidden from view.
“Now, tell us everything,” said Molly.
“We need to whisper,” I said. “Frank, can you be lookout?”
Frank climbed up to the next branch, where there was a gap in the canopy. Molly shifted impatiently.
“Come on, Anna. Spit it out. It can’t be that important.”
Anger flared inside me.
“It’s about as important as anything could be. I wouldn’t tell you unless it was important.”
She frowned. “What is it then?”
My stomach felt like a pit of snakes. I couldn’t believe this was happening.
“He’s German,” I whispered.
“What?” Molly looked blank.
“That man. He’s not a British soldier. Everything he told us was a lie.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When I went back in the barn, I heard him swear in German. He didn’t know I was there. He’s German.”
For a minute, she just stared at me. Then she whispered, “So you mean … he’s a spy? A German spy?”
“Oh, my goodness,” said Frank, his eyes huge. “A German spy in our barn. Oh, my goodness. We need to tell the warden.” He climbed down from his lookout branch and tugged at Molly’s arm. “Quick, let’s go.”
Molly shook her arm free. “Get off, Frank.” She turned to me. “Are you really sure he’s German? He doesn’t sound a bit foreign.”
“Perhaps he’s lived in England for a long time. But he’s definitely German. He started muttering to himself, and it sounded German, but I thought I must be imagining it. But then he dropped something and swore, and it was definitely German.”
“He must have come down in a parachute,” said Frank. “That’s probably how he sprained his ankle, not from tripping in a ditch at all. And how he got the blood and scratches on his face. He probably landed in brambles.” His eyes shone with excitement. “I can’t believe there’s a real German spy in our barn.”
“His ankle,” I said in relief. “I’d forgotten the sprained ankle. So at least he can’t get away at the moment. Let’s go and report him, quick.”
Molly shrieked. She clapped her hands to her mouth. Her eyes were huge and panicked.
“What is it?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh no, oh no, oh no!” wailed Molly.
“What?” I said. “What is it?”
“If he’s a German spy,” whispered Molly, her voice muffled through her palms, “then we’ve just given top-secret information straight to the enemy.”
I frowned, replaying the conversation in my head. “No, we haven’t. We didn’t tell him anything. We just asked him questions.”
“You didn’t tell him anything. But before you came in…” She groaned, and covered her face with her hands again.
Frank gasped. “Oh, no! It
was me. It’s all my fault. Oh, no!”
“What? What did you say?”
Molly shook her head. “I’m not saying it again. We should never have said it the first time. Nobody should ever have said it.”
Anger rose inside me again. “Molly, you have to tell me. This isn’t a game.”
Molly shuddered. I tried to contain my irritation.
“Take a deep breath and tell me.”
Her deep breath was more like a gasp. She glanced at Frank, whose eyes were shiny with tears.
“Frank heard Dad tell Mum,” Molly whispered. “Dad heard it from Mr Robins – you know, the butler at the big house. The one you thought was Lord Hurstwood. Dad told Mum secretly in the garden, but Frank was in the Anderson and he overheard. And then he told me in the barn.”
“So what’s the secret? It can’t be that bad.”
Tears welled up in Molly’s eyes.
“Winston Churchill is coming here on Thursday.”
I stared at her.
“Winston Churchill? The Prime Minister?”
Molly burst into tears.
“Stop it,” I hissed. “This is important. Stop crying and tell me exactly what you said.”
I could tell she was trying to stop, but it took ages before the crying turned into shuddering sobs. Frank was crying too. I had to bite my cheeks to stop myself from shouting at them.
Eventually Molly took a juddery breath and said, “Mr Robins told Dad that he’d been told to expect a very special guest for lunch on Thursday. And then he was asked to find this particular bottle of champagne from the wine cellar and order a particular box of cigars. And he said that type of champagne is Mr Churchill’s favourite and those cigars are the kind he always smokes. So he’s certain the Prime Minister is coming on Thursday to inspect the troops.”
I felt hollow.
“And Frank told you all that in the barn?”
Molly covered her face with her hands and nodded. “We just told a German spy that the British Prime Minister is coming here on Thursday.” She started to cry again. “If Winston Churchill’s killed, it will be our fault.”
Frank’s sobs grew even louder. A strange feeling came over me: a feeling of calmness and strength. I had to take control of the situation.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s not panic. We’ve seen his ankle. That was one thing he couldn’t lie about. It’s a bad sprain, and it might even be broken. He won’t be able to go anywhere for a while, so even if he did hear what you said, he can’t pass on a message. And he might not even have heard, because he said he was asleep, remember?”
Frank’s sobbing lessened. He looked at me hopefully.
“But he would say that, wouldn’t he?” said Molly. “I’m sure he heard every word we said. We weren’t even whispering.”
“But he can’t tell anyone else. He’s stuck in the barn. And just to make sure, two of us can keep watch at the door while the other one runs for the warden or the policeman.”
“He might have a wireless transmitter to send Morse code messages back to Germany,” said Frank. “Spies all carry Morse code transmitters. He might have sent a message already.”
I looked at him in horror. Of course.
“How big is a wireless transmitter?” I asked. “He only had that rucksack.”
“He might have been hiding it,” said Frank. “He’d have to hide it, wouldn’t he?”
“Right. We’ve got no time to lose. One of us must go for the warden straightaway, while the other two take him the water and keep him in conversation. We have to make sure he’s arrested before he can cause any damage.”
“If he’s already sent a message,” said Molly, “then he’s already caused damage.”
Panic rose inside me, but I tried not to show it. “The police will make him tell them if he’s sent any messages, and then they’ll sort it out. They won’t let Winston Churchill come here if there’s any danger.” I stood up. “Come on. Let’s go. We mustn’t waste any more time.”
I started to climb down the ladder, but Molly gasped and gripped my arm. She was deathly white.
“No! We can’t tell anyone.”
“What are you talking about?” said Frank. “Of course we’ve got to—”
“Don’t you see?” hissed Molly. “If we get him arrested, they’ll make him tell them what he knows, and then they’ll find out that Mr Robins told Dad about Mr Churchill coming, and Dad told Mum, which was giving away a national secret, and Mr Robins and Dad will get arrested.”
Frank turned pale. “They wouldn’t arrest Dad, would they?”
“Of course they would. Not just arrest him either. You know what the sentence is for passing on state secrets?”
A tight ball of anger was forming in the pit of my stomach.
“Molly, don’t be stupid. We have to report this.”
“No, we don’t!” Molly was hysterical now. “Don’t you understand? People who pass on state secrets get the death sentence. Dad could be hanged!”
Frank burst into tears again.
“Stop crying, Frank,” Molly snapped. “That isn’t going to happen. Because we’re not going to tell anyone. Are we, Anna?” She gave me a fierce look.
I was so furious I was actually trembling. “So you want to keep a Nazi spy in the barn, and take him food and water, knowing he knows the Prime Minister’s coming here on Thursday? Are you mad as well as stupid?”
“We just have to stop him passing on information to Germany,” said Molly. “If we make sure he doesn’t do that, then we’re not doing any harm, are we?”
“You really are mad, aren’t you? Well, I’m going to report him if you won’t.”
I climbed down the ladder before she could grab me again. I started to run up the field, but Molly was a faster runner than me and she caught up with me and grabbed the back of my shirt before I was halfway to the gate.
I whirled round to face her.
“You accuse me of being a Nazi!” I hissed. “It’s you who’s the Nazi! You want to leave him in the barn, sending messages to Germany so Hitler can blow up the Prime Minister and all those soldiers! And what happens if Churchill gets killed? Then Britain has no leader and Hitler wins the war. And do you know what that means? No, of course you don’t. You haven’t a clue. But I know. I know what it’s like to live under Hitler. And if you don’t report this man, then you’ll very soon know what it’s like too. So I’m going to report him right now and you’d better not try to stop me.”
I turned to run. But Frank grabbed my hand in both of his. His eyes were huge in his tear-streaked face.
“Please, Anna,” he sobbed. “Please don’t get Daddy hanged. Please, please don’t let Daddy die.”
“Don’t be stupid,” I said. “Of course he won’t—”
Then, looking at the desperate terror in Frank’s face, I stopped.
I had been going to say, of course Uncle Bert won’t be hanged. But now it hit me for the first time that this wasn’t actually true.
One of the first things Churchill had done when he became Prime Minister was to pass the Treachery Act. Molly was right. The sentence for passing on a state secret was death. Their father might actually be hanged.
Good, kind, gentle Uncle Bert, hanged for treason? How could I let that happen?
But how could I not report a Nazi spy?
“Look,” said Molly. “The most important thing – the only important thing at the moment – is to make sure he can’t pass on any messages.”
“And what if he’s already done that?”
She was silent for a while. Then she said, “All right. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll take him some water, like we said we would. And while we’re there, we’ll find out if he has a wireless set. If he does, we’ll have to report him.”
Frank gasped. “No! We can’t!”
“We have to,” she said. “We don’t have to say anything about Dad. Maybe they won’t find out. But Anna’s right. We can’t just let a German spy live in t
he barn, sending messages back to Hitler. We can’t put the whole country at risk.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Hide Your Maps”
If the Invader Comes
Frank and I waited in the farmyard while Molly went indoors to get the water. She took forever. I thought I’d explode with frustration.
“What’s she doing in there?” I muttered to Frank, as I paced up and down by the garden wall. “Doesn’t she realise it’s urgent? He could have sent hundreds of messages by now. There might be bomber planes on their way already.”
Frank gave a strangled whimper. Immediately I felt bad. I squeezed his hand.
“Don’t worry, Frank. There won’t really be planes coming yet. Even Hitler isn’t that fast.”
I tried to speak lightly, but I was terrified. There was no time to spare.
Eventually Molly reappeared with a jug of water and a glass.
“What took you so long?” I said.
Molly frowned. “What do you mean? I was only gone a couple of minutes.”
“Come on,” I said, hurrying towards the barn.
“Remember, Frank,” said Molly, “we have to act as though we completely believe his story. Just be very sympathetic, but if he asks you for any information, you absolutely mustn’t give it to him.”
“But how can I not give it to him without making him suspicious?” asked Frank.
“Just pretend to be very, very stupid,” said Molly. “Whatever he asks you, tell him you don’t know.”
As we approached the half-open door of the barn, we all fell silent. Suddenly I had an idea. I signalled for the other two to stop.
“I’m going to listen at the door for a minute,” I whispered, “in case he’s talking to himself in German again. I’ll signal for you.”
I tiptoed to the doorway and slipped inside.
Sure enough, the man was muttering under his breath. I had to strain to hear his mumbling. It took a while to tune out the sounds of the farmyard and make out any individual words. They were pretty much all swear words.
Hearing him speak German churned up my insides. The last time I’d heard German had been on the journey to England.
He seemed to be concentrating intently on something.
