The Bomb Girls

by Daisy Styles

  Blinded by tears, Agnes nodded.

  ‘If I get this job I swear we’re never going to be separated again,’ he told his wife firmly. ‘With a bit of luck we’re going to be a family from now on.’

  Agnes smiled through her tears as she said, ‘But I can’t leave here and live on a sheep farm!’

  ‘And I’m not planning on turning into a Bomb Girl!’ Stan joked. ‘We’ll only be a few miles apart, and that’s nothing compared with what we’ve lived through.’

  Agnes kissed her happy husband.

  ‘Good luck with the interview,’ she said softly.

  ‘I’ll need it,’ he replied with a grin. ‘I’m the world’s best at driving London buses, but sheep … ? That’ll be a steep learning curve!’

  Due to the shortage of able-bodied men, Stan got the job as shepherd without any problems.

  ‘They just want a fit man who’s willing to work all hours,’ he reported delightedly to Agnes a few hours later. ‘In return they’ll train me up, and give me accommodation. I start next week in the shearing shed, God help me!’

  Agnes looked at her smiling, healthy husband.

  My God, how he’s changed, she thought.

  Agnes wrapped her arms around Stan’s neck and kissed him full on the mouth.

  ‘We’re so lucky.’

  ‘The happiest family in Pendle!’ he said as he picked her up and swung her in his arms.

  Elsie, who’d been minding Esther whilst Stan had his interview and Agnes finished her shift, arrived with both Esther and Jonty in her big Silver Cross pram.

  ‘They’ve played together all day,’ said Elsie as she joined Lillian, Emily, Stan and Agnes, who were sitting outside the digs enjoying the lovely warm June evening.

  ‘Have a beer,’ said Stan, who’d managed to buy a few bottles of pale ale under the counter to celebrate his success.

  Elsie, a complete teetotaller since her accident, shook her head.

  ‘I’ll settle for a pot of tea,’ she laughed.

  As Esther held Jonty’s hand and led him very carefully onto the edge of the moors, where wild winberries grew, Agnes discussed their future domestic set-up.

  ‘I’m sure Esther will get a place at the Phoenix nursery,’ she said. ‘She liked it there before.’

  Elsie frowned at her.

  ‘Why would you send her there?’ she asked.

  ‘She’s got to go somewhere whilst I’m at work,’ Agnes pointed out.

  ‘Why wouldn’t you let me look after her?’ Elsie asked.

  Agnes flushed; she had thought of that but she felt it would be too much for Elsie with her injury.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, Agnes,’ Elsie said quietly. ‘I may only have one hand but I can manage two kids – look how I pushed the pair of them up the hill in that big old pram.’ She looked her friend straight in the eye as she added, ‘I would love to look after Esther. You could drop her off and pick her up before and after work. And if you’re on late shifts, or lambing,’ she said, nodding at Stan, ‘Esther would be welcome to stay the night with us.’

  ‘It’s a lot of work, Elsie,’ Stan said, though he was clearly moved by her love and generosity.

  ‘Hard work’s never bothered me, Stan,’ Elsie replied with her usual candour. ‘Having Esther about the house will be a joy, believe me. Jonty already thinks of her as a big sister.’

  ‘What about Tommy’s mum?’ Emily asked. ‘Will she mind?’

  Elsie laughed out loud.

  ‘Whatever makes Jonty happy makes Ma Carter happy too,’ Elsie answered. ‘Plus, she loves little Esther. We all do, Agnes,’ Elsie said with tears in her honest, bright eyes.

  And so it was settled: Elsie would look after Esther, Stan would become a sheep farmer and Agnes would continue to supervise her Bomb Girls at the Phoenix.

  ‘Here’s to one very happy family!’ said Lillian as she raised her glass of beer. ‘Cheers!’

  CHAPTER 35

  The Gestapo

  Back at the flat that, only twenty-four hours ago, she thought she was leaving forever, Alice went to pieces. Where had they taken Robin? How could she find out what was happening? Why had those men been rounded up and driven away?

  She talked to herself as she paced the flat like a caged animal.

  ‘I have to get information. I’ll go out of my mind if I stay a minute longer in this dreary place.’

  Remembering her training at Helford House, she changed her dark clothes and rearranged her hair, which had got damp and flat under the black cloche hat she’d been wearing. The last thing she wanted was to be recognized as the girl who nearly got arrested at the Hôtel Canebière.

  Leaving the flat, she checked in the shop windows she hurried past that she was not being followed, then she walked across the city to Robin’s safe house. But although she rang the bell several times, nobody opened the door to her. Terrified that all the underground agents sheltering there had been arrested, Alice panicked. Her heart was pounding and she felt weak and sick from lack of sleep. Her instinct was to turn and run; instead she took several deep breaths then slowly and purposefully walked away. When she got back to her flat she found a note in her post box.

  ‘Meet me in the bar on the corner, as soon as you can.’

  Could it be Robin? Had he got away? Breathless and excited, Alice ran to the bar where she found not Robin but the Special Op who shared the same safe house as Robin. Steering her firmly by the elbow, he led Alice to a table outside where he ordered cognac. After drinking a double straight off he spoke quietly but furiously in French.

  ‘Never do that again!’

  Alice dropped her voice to a whisper.

  ‘I had no choice. Robin’s been arrested.’

  ‘I know,’ he muttered.

  ‘You know?’ she gasped incredulously. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘An insider’s cracked under interrogation,’ he replied. ‘He gave a list of the false names we’re using, and the Gestapo are rounding up everyone on the list.’

  ‘So there’s every chance they’ll find us too,’ said Alice weakly.

  ‘If you go on the run they’ll track you down, but if you lie low until the heat’s off you might survive.’

  Alice stared at him with her penetrating grey eyes.

  ‘How can the heat ever be off if the Gestapo know our names?’ she asked.

  ‘In time we’ll get new names, new papers,’ he said as he rose to go. ‘For now we’re on our own,’ he muttered as he walked away.

  Alice did exactly as she was instructed: she holed up and waited for the storm to pass. But she was sick with worry about Robin. In between bouts of crying and trembling, she filled her time writing her coded diary to Emily.

  My dearest Em,

  I’m so scared. Robin’s been taken by the Gestapo. I should be braver than this, my training taught me to deal with people who cracked and I’m ashamed of myself. Am I afraid because I’m on my own or am I just a weak woman who can’t function without a man at the helm? I never thought I was weak until now, but the very moment I need to be strong and focused I fall apart. I have cyanide pills I could take; we were issued with them when we were dropped into France. We were advised to take them if we thought we’d break under interrogation. It’s not that, oddly enough, that worries me; it’s not knowing where my love is, whether he’s alive or dead. How will I ever find out?

  I hate this flat. It has become a prison to me. I’d love to get on a train and come home. Or would I? That would take me even further away from Robin. If I close my eyes I can imagine I’m home, in Pendle, on the moors, at the Phoenix, in the digs, laughing and happy, young and hopeful. Oh, Em, when will this terrible war ever end?

  A sudden, terrible foreboding filled Alice and she was compelled to write of her darkest fears.

  If I never come home, please look after Mum and be the daughter that I might have been. Try to find my Robin. Tell him I love him more than life itself and our love goes beyond the grave.

  Tak
e care of yourself, my dearest, sweetest Em, and every time you walk on the moors blow a kiss to heaven, where I hope I’ll be when all this is finally over.

  Find Bill, marry him, have babies, be happy.

  I love you,

  Alice

  With tears streaming down her face, Alice closed the notebook. It would hurt to write more. She walked towards the kindling box then stopped dead in her tracks, filled again with a sense of foreboding. There were no more explosives left in the box because she and Robin had used the lot on the factory raid, but her wireless set along with the aerial and earth cable were still there. If the flat was searched again her radio equipment might be found, but she wanted her coded notebook, her last link with home, kept safe. Alice explored the flat; all she needed was a small place for a small notebook. Finally she shoved it up the chimney.

  ‘It’ll either be found or get burned,’ she said out loud.

  The next afternoon, whilst Alice lay wide awake on top of her bed, she heard loud footsteps thundering up the stairs and as she broke into a sweat of fear she knew with a heavy heart that this was what she had been dreading, yet half expecting, since yesterday. Within seconds the Gestapo broke down the door to her flat.

  ‘PAPERS! Where are your papers?’ they screamed in German.

  Alice calmly presented her forged papers, which they threw on the floor before they dragged her into the street.

  ‘In the truck, get in the truck.’

  ‘Why?’ she demanded in French. ‘What have I done?’

  ‘No questions,’ they snarled as they bundled her into the back of a truck.

  What Alice would never know is that many months later a British Op, newly dropped into enemy territory, would break into the safe house looking for any information he might find. As Alice had predicted, the Gestapo had taken the flat apart. Nothing remained in the kindling box, the mattress on the bed had been shredded, books ripped apart, floorboards wrenched up. But after much scrupulous searching the agent reached up the chimney and found Alice’s coded notebook. Thinking it contained important information he passed the notebook on to a contact who was returning to England. The notebook finally finished up in Helford House.

  Thrown into solitary confinement, Alice had plenty of time to go over her cover story. She was a French teacher, and she had papers to prove it. The school where she had taught in Amiens had been bombed and she was relocated to Marseilles, where she hoped to find a new position.

  She’d practised the art of spinning a cover story a hundred times during her training in Helford; now she was doing it for real.

  I won’t crack, Alice vowed to herself. I WILL NOT CRACK!

  Waiting alone in the darkness, it was difficult to know whether it was night or day, and impossible to keep track of how long she’d been held in prison. Every time she heard footsteps or the jangle of keys her heart leaped in hope, then she was filled with bowel-gripping terror. She was finally dragged before the Gestapo in the middle of the night.

  ‘Why are you in Marseilles?’

  In flawless French Alice repeated her cover story.

  ‘I’m a teacher from Amiens.’

  Unconvinced, they continued questioning her.

  ‘Why was your name given to us by Claude Moirrot?’

  Alice insisted that she’d never heard of Claude Moirrot, though he was in fact the Special Op who’d shared the same safe house as Robin and had warned her off in the bar near her flat. Her heart sank as she realized that he too must have been arrested and interrogated.

  After further questions, followed by Alice’s rehearsed replies, the Gestapo grew impatient with her. They started to slap her around the face, then they moved onto shooting bullets in a circle around her feet.

  ‘How do you know Claude Moirrot? Why did he give us your name? Why do you appear on several lists of resistance fighters?’

  Terrified, Alice began to cry and sob.

  Don’t speak English, she told herself. Speak French, cry in French, weep in French! BE FRENCH!

  A pain worse than any she had ever experienced in her life shot through her right foot as a German bullet shattered a bone close to her ankle. Falling to the floor, Alice tried to staunch the blood that pumped out from the gaping wound but the pain coursing up her leg was so unbearable she fainted clean away.

  She came to in the dark of her cell, in a pool of blood; the wound in her foot was agony and there was no way of stopping the blood. Alice ripped up her underskirt and tied it in a tourniquet around her shattered ankle. Wracked with pain, she slumped back and instinctively felt for the cyanide pill sewn into her cuff.

  It would be a quick death, she thought. And there would be no more pain.

  But if she took it she would never see Robin again, she would never see his lovely, smiling face, never feel his hands or the soft touch of his lips.

  ‘I can’t die yet,’ Alice muttered through the mist of pain that threatened to engulf her. ‘I must wait for Robin.’

  The following morning, crazed with pain, Alice was thrown into a truck along with dozens of other women and taken to Ravensbrück for further questioning.

  ‘Why are they taking us all the way to Germany? Why not kill us now?’ she whispered to a woman beside her.

  ‘They won’t kill us till they’re sure we’re not withholding information,’ she whispered back.

  ‘No talking,’ snarled the German soldier. ‘Quiet there,’ he said as he raised the butt of his rifle, indicating he’d hit them with it if they disobeyed orders.

  Alice slumped into semi-unconsciousness. In between the waves of pain that gripped her lower body, she dreamed of home: green hills bright with uncurling fern fronds, banks of fragrant bluebells under oak trees. The moors rolling away to Yorkshire, the song of larks and curlews, the taste of good food, a warm bed and a mother who loved her precious silver-haired daughter. Gasping in pain, Alice awoke with scalding tears rolling down her cheeks. How would her mother ever understand her daughter’s dark secret? Alice would never be able to explain why she’d chosen to fight the war her way, living a life of secrecy and subterfuge, spinning a web of lies in the hope that her mother could be protected from the truth.

  They arrived at Ravensbrück in the middle of the night. Screaming with pain as she was dragged out of the truck, Alice was stripped of her civilian clothes. She was then thrown into a hut along with hundreds of other female prisoners. Lying on a filthy bunk bed in a threadbare prison uniform already crawling with fleas, Alice wept as she realized that her cyanide pills had been taken away from her along with her civilian clothes. Too late, she regretted her decision not to take her own life earlier. She was in an all-women’s prison in northern Germany and the only men in the camp were German soldiers. All hope of seeing Robin before she died was gone forever.

  She never knew how many days passed before anything changed, it could even have been weeks, by which time Alice had become an emaciated cripple, hopping on improvised crutches.

  I’ll probably die of septicaemia before I’m shot for spying, Alice thought bitterly.

  Then one morning she and many other women in her cell block were thrown into trucks and driven to Dachau where they were shoved and kicked out of the trucks like cattle. Too weak to stand and crying in pain, Alice slumped against the fence that separated the men’s camp from the women’s – was there a chance that Robin might be one of the men behind the fence? How would she ever spot him amongst hundreds of emaciated men in rags; for that matter how would he ever recognize her as the slender, silver-haired beauty he had loved a lifetime ago?

  In despair, Alice turned as the guard pushed and poked her with his rifle.

  ‘MOVE! WALK! NOW!’

  Limping and bleeding, she followed the line of weary women to their hut, but not before she saw a tall, distinctive man behind the razor-wire fence.

  ‘Robin … ?’ she sobbed desperately. Then she shook her head. She was losing her mind; it couldn’t possibly be him.

  Still walking,
she craned her head around to look again at the man in the crowd, a man with distinctive blond hair, taller than most and walking with an ease she remembered and loved. Now she was sure.

  ‘Robin!’

  As she stopped in her tracks, the guard, sick of her insubordination, butted her in the back with the end of his rifle.

  ‘MOVE!’ he screamed.

  Later, under the pretence of going to the stinking latrines overrun with rats, Alice skirted the fence, her eyes scanning every man in the crowd. And then she saw him, running towards her. He’d watched the truck unload and recognized his love; though she was smeared in mud and blood and wearing rags, he’d spotted his silver-haired Alice and had been searching for her ever since.

  ‘ALICE!’ he gasped as he rushed to the fence.

  Alice lifted her tired, bloodied face to him. Though the light had gone out of her wonderful eyes they brimmed with love at the sight of him.

  ‘Robin, my love,’ she said softly.

  Robin pushed his arm through the fence and grabbed her hand, which he kissed and stroked.

  ‘How did they find you?’ he cried.

  ‘We were all rounded up,’ she said. ‘One of the agents cracked under interrogation and they got a list of all our names.’

  ‘They’ve hurt you,’ he cried as she saw her mangled foot.

  ‘It’s a bullet wound,’ she said lightly.

  ‘Alice,’ he whispered urgently, ‘the war’s nearly over and we’re winning, sweetheart. Paris has been liberated. We’ll soon be free. You’ve just got to hold out a little longer.’

  Alice gazed adoringly into his beautiful deep-blue eyes.

  ‘We’ll be free and together soon,’ he insisted.