Night Sky

by Clare Francis

  She spotted him straight away. He was wearing naval uniform and carrying a bag. He looked taller than she remembered. As he came down the gangway he paused for a moment and she knew he was searching the knot of waiting people. He reached the quay and, looking round again, made his way clear of the onlookers.

  She waved. He saw them almost immediately, and, waving back, started towards them.

  Julie didn’t move. The boy tugged at her hand. ‘Come on, Mummy! Come on!’

  ‘You go.’

  The boy ran forward, a little shyly, and she heard him shout, ‘Hello!’

  Ashley stopped in front of him and, smiling, said, ‘Hello, young man! How are you?’ He reached out and tousled Peter’s hair. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, I must say.’

  He looked up to where Julie stood and came towards her.

  ‘And you too.’

  She smiled. He embraced her, gently, then bent and kissed her cheek and held her at arms’ length, looking into her face. She stared up at him and was surprised. There were so many things she’d forgotten about him …

  She said quickly, ‘How marvellous that you’re safe.’

  ‘And you!’ He was going to say more but changed his mind. She realised he was nervous too.

  He tucked her arm in his and they began to walk slowly along the quay towards the town, Peter hopping up and down beside them.

  She asked quickly, ‘Will you be able to stay a while?’

  ‘Several days, at least. Then I must go back and see my family for a while. Did you get my letters?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you for writing. It was – lovely to hear so soon.’

  He looked down at her for a long time. ‘You look just the same.’

  ‘Do I?’ It wasn’t true, but she smiled anyway. ‘Well, it’s very nice of you to say so.’

  When he looked away she glanced up at him and noticed how thin he was and how pale his face. His eyes were the same, warm and caring, but she sensed a reserve behind them that hadn’t been there before.

  It was just as she’d thought. He’d changed.

  A woman Julie knew slightly passed by and smiled. It was a knowing smile directed first at Julie then at Richard. It happened twice more and Julie quickly suggested they went and had some tea.

  They chose the hotel on the harbour. Peter thought it was the best place in the world because it had scones and a sweet mixture that resembled jam. No cream, though; that was still unheard of.

  Because of the boy, they talked lightly about school and homecomings and how difficult it was to find eggs and fruit and chocolate. Food, they decided, was not what it used to be.

  Richard said, ‘But it’s a darn sight better than I’ve been used to, I can tell you.’

  ‘Didn’t you get anything to eat in the camp?’ Peter asked. ‘Was it awful?’

  But Julie interrupted, ‘Not now, Peter. Richard won’t want to talk about that now.’

  Richard nodded at the boy. ‘Some other time, Peter.’ He looked away and Julie saw that he was frowning.

  Later they separated for a while, he to take a room in the hotel, she to put on her best dress and brush her hair and dab a little more perfume behind her ears.

  ‘Can’t I come too?’ Peter asked hopefully.

  ‘No, another time. You can come out to dinner another time, I promise. But not tonight.’ She’d arranged for him to go next door to Mrs Trehearn’s for the evening.

  He stamped his feet a couple of times then accepted defeat gracefully and went off to find out what Mrs Trehearn was cooking for supper.

  Julie was ready early and sat down by the window to wait. Her stomach was still fluttering. Excitement. He still had that power over her. Yet in many ways he was a stranger. And she was a stranger to him …

  Finally he arrived, looking handsome in his formal dark uniform. And attractive. Very. She decided she was rather pleased about that.

  They walked slowly towards the hotel and talked about the Scillies and the sort of war the islands had had.

  Richard stopped and pointed to the far side of St Mary’s Sound. ‘In the early days we used to take Concarneau trawlers there, to New Grimsby, and repaint them in their proper colours.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Everyone guessed what was happening.’

  He laughed. ‘I should have known. There isn’t much you locals don’t know.’

  They walked on a little way. Suddenly he said, ‘It all seems a long time ago, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The dinner was execrable, but then everyone was used to that. However it was made more palatable by a bottle of wine which the hotel proprietor had been keeping for a celebration. It was a celebration, wasn’t it? Julie said that yes it was, and Richard smiled. The wine, when it came, was not much better than the food, but they drank it anyway.

  ‘Not a touch on your uncle’s stuff.’

  ‘No.’

  He smiled briefly and looked at her over his glass and she knew he was remembering the evenings in the attic room.

  There was a silence. Eventually he said, ‘Smithe-Webb told me everything about what happened to the others. I never saw them, you know, after we were taken from the beach. Only my crew, and even then we got split up. I’m very, very sorry. And I’m sorry about your aunt.’

  She nodded. ‘It was a blessing. She wasn’t very well …’

  ‘But this traitor … Smithe-Webb told me you’d identified him and proved that someone else was innocent – your cousin, wasn’t it? That was wonderful, Julie, a great achievement!’

  She murmured, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘But how on earth did you do it? How did you find out who he really was?’

  She hesitated. ‘It’s a long story … But it was the Resistance and other people – friends – who really found out who he was. Not me.’

  ‘The Major thinks you’re something of a heroine all the same.’ He smiled warmly at her. ‘But I knew that anyway.’

  She dropped her eyes.

  He went on, ‘But this fellow Vasson … I gather the Resistance got him and executed him, didn’t they? That’s something. It won’t bring the others back and it sure as hell won’t make up for my two lost years. But … well, it’s something. And I bet they made him go through it before they finished him off.’ He laughed briefly. ‘I bet the devil suffered!’

  She stared at him. ‘Yes, I suppose so …’ She opened her mouth to say more, but couldn’t. She wanted to tell him, to share the dreadful weight of it … But what would he think? How would he look at her once he knew, once he realised she was capable of such a thing?

  Better not to tell, much better.

  Perhaps one day … perhaps never.

  Instead she asked him about the camp. Haltingly and a little unwillingly, he sketched out the story. With relief she realised that there were whole areas of his life that he, too, didn’t want to talk about.

  Finally he said, ‘It drove me mad, being locked up. There were thousands in the same boat, of course. But even now I can’t talk about it without …’ He shook his head.

  She reached over and gripped his hand. ‘Then don’t!’ He looked up in surprise.

  She said, ‘Let’s talk about something else! Something … nice!’

  He laughed. ‘What a marvellous idea.’ Julie noticed that the reserve had gone from his eyes.

  They started to talk of less serious things and she felt more at ease. She even found herself laughing, which she hadn’t done for a long time. She’d forgotten how funny he was, how warm and vital. She began to remember other things, forgotten words, small incidents …

  Perhaps, she thought, he hasn’t changed so much after all.

  They talked a little about the future, though not too much and not too deeply. He had lots of plans. She realised that, for Richard, the future was everything. She was glad, thankful – he made her feel optimistic again.

  After a while he paused and asked, ‘Do you remember the holiday we were going to have?’

  ‘You mea
n …’

  ‘Here, in the Scillies. On Dancer.’

  ‘Yes, of course I remember. Perfectly.’

  ‘Well? Would you like that?’

  She smiled slowly. ‘Very much. I’d like that very much indeed.’

  Later, when the wine was finished and the meal cleared away she watched him and thought: There’s something else I’d like very much too.

  You.

  In that respect nothing had changed at all.

  And why not now, tonight?

  Yes. Life was too short.

  Yes, she would stay with him tonight, whatever …

  Then, in time, maybe everything would be all right. Maybe there would be love and security and a new life. Perhaps the nightmares might eventually go away …

  At least she’d be happy while she found out.

  She smiled at him across the table.

  ‘I’d love some fresh air. Shall we walk along the beach for a while, before we go home?’

  Postscript

  BY THE OUTBREAK of war, Germany had developed several successful early-warning radar systems to guard herself against air attack. These systems were large and land-based and worked on medium to long waves. Thus convinced of Germany’s security, Goering ordered a halt to all long-term research. The many Jewish scientists and technicians involved in the work were sent to concentration camps.

  Later, when it was realised that the British actually possessed radar, there was panic and the armed services, industry, and finally even the concentration camps were combed for technicians.

  An electronics research laboratory was set up by the SS in Dachau. Eventually over a hundred skilled prisoners were employed on dismantling captured enemy equipment.

  Right up till the moment in August 1943 when the captured Rotterdam Device (the British H2S shortwave radar) was finally pieced together and made to function – it revealed a perfect ‘picture’ of Berlin – the German experts were convinced that shortwave radar was both impossible and impractical.

  14 May 1943, Fuehrer Conference Minutes.

  Admiral Doenitz’s Report:

  We are at present facing the greatest crisis in submarine warfare, since the enemy is for the first time making fighting impossible and causing us heavy losses, by means of new location devices.

  Admiral Doenitz: Memoirs. January to March 1943, Collapse of the U-Boat War:

  Radar, and particularly radar location by aircraft, had to all practical purposes robbed the U-boats of the power to fight on the surface. Wolf pack operations against convoys in the North Atlantic, the main theatre of operations … were no longer possible. … I accordingly withdrew the boats from the North Atlantic. We had lost the Battle of the Atlantic …

  Many, many brave men and women risked their lives to help Allied servicemen escape from Occupied Europe. Occasionally, an airman shot down over Belgium would find himself back with his squadron in England in just two to three days. The record was nine hours. Usually it took a little longer …

  There were numerous escape lines operating through Belgium and France, most of them functioning on arms and money sent by MI9 in London.

  One of the most successful lines was Comet which ran from Belgium through Paris to the Pyrénées and Spain.

  In 1943 the Brussels end of the line was hit hard by the Gestapo and over a hundred people were arrested, many dying by firing squad or in the horrors of the concentration camps.

  For a while the Paris branch of Comet continued to function until that, too, was hit by a terrible blow. This time the traitor was identified. He was a new courier by the name of Jean Masson. It was an assumed name, as were all the names he used in his long and terrible career.

  His real name was Jacques Desoubrie.

  Later Desoubrie penetrated another escape line, further to the west. As a result of this treachery seventy British and sixty American evaders were caught and sent to Buchenwald concentration camp.

  There is evidence that, on the orders of his masters, the Gestapo, Desoubrie penetrated at least two other lines …

  The French Resistance was at its strongest in Brittany.

  However, early attempts to establish an escape line through Brittany met with difficulties, mainly organisational. Later in the war properly trained agents were sent in, and the Shelburne line was born. Motor gunboats, crewed with great bravery and daring by officers and men of the Royal Navy, made regular runs from Dartmouth across the Channel to rock-strewn beaches on the Brittany coast, right under the noses of the Germans. Knowing that coast as I do, I can only marvel at the incredible feats of navigation they displayed.

  The Shelburne line was very successful; it transported 307 servicemen and agents to England in a single year.

  Incidentally, when the Germans came sniffing round, the gunboats sometimes had to depart in rather a hurry. On more than one occasion some members of the gunboat’s crew did get left on the beach.

  The traitor Desoubrie continued his career of betrayal and treachery until the end of the war.

  Then his luck ran out. He was, in fact, brought to justice and executed in Lille.

  But it might have been different …