Spies on Bikes

by Dennis Forster

  Sir Charles got out of the car. At the sight of the latter’s uniform the soldier snapped to attention.

  ‘Open up,’ said Sir Charles.

  ‘Yes, sir, oh, who goes there?’

  ‘I live here, damn you; open up.’

  15

  Bert answered the door holding a Webley. In the lounge the Americans were drinking whisky.

  ‘Charles,’ said Lady Elizabeth, ‘where are the boys?’

  ‘Safe and well in Newcastle’s Royal Victoria Infirmary. When I was told our hospital was under attack, I’d to put them on the back burner.’

  ‘We’ve had the most frightful scare … dreadful, dreadful news about CB, an unlucky family. If his stud business comes up for sale, Charles, we might take a look at it?’

  ‘If the price is right and Hitler hasn’t bombed it and us to smithereens.’

  ‘The army has been wonderful. Freddy sent them to guard me. He’s out of hospital, you know.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Excuse me … ‘

  Lady Elizabeth ran out of the room, sobbing.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Sir Charles.

  In the privacy of their bedroom husband and wife embraced.

  ‘I’ve been so worried, Charles. What must the Americans think of me, dashing out like that?’

  ‘I think they will understand.’

  ‘I didn’t want to break down in front of everyone.’

  ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘My reputation is safe?’ She tried to smile.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And, the boys, they really are safe?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I want them home.’

  ‘As soon as the telephones are working I’ll ring the Infirmary. When you see them, you must be brave. Doyle has used his fists on them.’

  ‘They are bruised?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been told they look as if they’ve been in a fight which, god bless them, they have … a very one-sided fight. Now, bring me up to date … what news about O’Neil? As far as I could tell, when Mike and I barged in downstairs, he was the only one not carrying a weapon. As usual he did not seem part of the company.’

  ‘He’s worried.’

  ‘The golf bag?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Mario has used our secret weapon?’

  ‘As far as I can tell all the Americans are out to get him. If he was an English gentleman Marigold told me she’d give him a loaded pistol and tell him to go for a walk in the woods.’

  ‘But he’s not an English gentleman, is he?’

  ‘No, he is not; he’s a banker … an American banker. Bert removed the bag that did not smell of lavender and replaced it with the bag with the false bottom. The one discarded by Crozier. I find it impossible to believe he’s not on our side. Charles, you were under his knife … what damage might he have done you? When the switch had taken place Marigold challenged O’Neil to a knock-about game of golf. When he removed a club and found it short you could tell he was taken aback.’

  ‘What’s his story?’

  ‘He claims never to have seen them. Marigold needled him so much, he stormed off; since then he’s been in the leper colony. Mario is an awful tease. Every time he sees O’Neil he pretends to pot a golf ball, Angus just looks at him and Jasper puts a pretend gun to his head and pulls the trigger. Charles, they’ve sent him to Coventry. It’s awful. It’s been like this since Harry and Mario came back from Newcastle yesterday evening with the bad news about the boys … Charles, I was so worried, you might have rung.’

  ‘Not so easy, my dear, in the midst of all that was going on … anyway, I reasoned that you’d know no news is good news.’

  ‘When you were away I threatened to scream at the next person to give me that piece of advice.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He squeezed her hand; she squeezed back. ‘Are you up to re-joining the party?’

  ‘For a little while I was forgetting I’m the daughter of a duke; of course I’m ready.’

  ‘As soon as Freddy has rounded up those young Nazis he’ll be knocking on our door demanding to be fed. I’d better tell Phyllis to expect him. By the way, how close to The Hall did the Nazis get?’

  ‘Marigold was the hero. She dropped a Nazi through a mullion … shot a grenade out of his hand like a trick shooter. She’d make Harry a wonderful wife.’

  16

  George and Jack arrived back at The Hall in an ambulance, accompanied by a nurse who told Lady Elizabeth, ‘They are walking wounded, milady. Please do not smother them with kisses and cuddles. They are bruised. Too much physical affection will result in more bruising and we don’t want that, do we? Come along, boys, you are home now.’

  Word that George and Jack were back spread. Before they were out of the ambulance the original welcoming party of Sir Charles, Lady Elizabeth and Bert was swelled by the Americans and every member of The Hall’s staff.

  Phyllis cried. Bert offered her his handkerchief. A scullery maid, the emotion of the occasion making her forget her lowly position, shouted, ‘Three cheers for George and Jack.’ Bert led the cheering.

  ‘It’s your turn now, Bert,’ said Phyllis.

  Bert dabbed his eyes.

  George and Jack saw smiling faces, heard cheering; knew they were home, that they were no longer in danger. They did not want to be hailed as heroes, they wanted to lie down in a nice warm bed with clean sheets smelling of lavender. They’d run out of adrenalin. They were exhausted.

  The best they could give in reply to such a warm welcome were wan smiles and feeble waves.

  ‘Moses!’ shouted the scullery maid, ‘we want Moses.’

  ‘Moses!’ came the cry from the well-wishers, pretty well in chorus.

  The sound of his name made the ferret move from an inside pocket in Jack’s Norfolk to one of his guardian’s armpits where he enjoyed being squeezed like a bagpipe.

  ‘Bed!’ said the nurse who’d come with the boys in the ambulance.

  She was a tall woman with blonde hair and ice-blue eyes like a husky’s. Her nurse’s uniform with its starched headpiece, as big as the spinnaker on Freddy’s yacht, thought Sir Charles, made it impossible for her not to be obeyed.

  Sooner than those wishing them well would have wished, the boys were put to bed. Phyllis was disappointed but understood why they’d not eaten any of the goodies she’d prepared for them.

  After the euphoria engendered by George and Jack’s escape the adults returned to the topic of war. When would the German bombers come?

  ‘I’m worried about how I’m going to get home,’ said Mancini. ‘I have a wife and children back in the States.’

  ‘The Nazis wouldn’t dare torpedo a ship flying the Stars and Stripes. Hitler would be mad to declare war on the States,’ said Weinberger.

  ‘What if he is mad?’ said Sir Charles.

  17

  Sir Charles took the call in his study.

  ‘Are you free to punt the pill?’ asked the familiar voice.

  ‘Give me time to check the weather.’

  Sir Charles pressed the button.

  ‘Go ahead, Freddy, I’m on the scrambler.’

  ‘As you will have gathered, Charlie, communications have been restored. My apologies to Elizabeth, but I won’t be able to make it tonight; there’s a flap on. The Hitler Youth are proving more difficult to catch than a swarm of bees. The blighters are popping up all over the place. They’ve wiped out the men I put in place to stop them reaching the masts … captured one of our machine guns, damn them. They’ve been firing at my men from the back of the hearse they commandeered. I’ve had to order armoured cars from Fenham Barracks … all very embarrassing. You should be OK at The Hall. The Nazis are after the masts. The ones we’ve captured are wild as rattlesnakes … waste of time being nice to them. The boys?’

 
‘Sound asleep in bed.’

  ‘Best place for them after what they’ve been through … and the Americans?’

  ‘Packing.’

  ‘The rats are leaving the sinking ship?’

  ‘They won’t be going home on a ship flying the Red Ensign, that’s for sure. All our ships will be targets. From the way they are talking I don’t think they’d feel safe crossing the Atlantic in a battleship.’

  ‘What’s your feelings about the Americans declaring war on Germany?’

  ‘America will sit on the fence for as long as it can.’

  ‘Charlie, between you and me, I’m worried. If a few dozen adolescent Nazis can cause this much damage, I don’t give much for our chances when the slogging starts. It’ll be 1914 all over again. My heart goes out to the men who will have to do what we did.’

  ‘CB was looking forward to the war.’

  ‘Silly fool. I know it’s bad form to criticise the dead but only a fool or a madman would look forward to a war.’

  ‘He wanted me to put in a word for him, fancied himself leading a battalion over the top. I tried to tell him he was too old, that he was a part-time soldier, that his German equivalents were young, full-time professionals but … will you recommend him for a gong?’

  ‘Letter’s in the post, as they say; government publicity will mythologise his charging the hearse on a motorbike. It will make him a hero. What’s happening to O’Neil?’

  ‘Denies everything … terrible atmosphere when he’s around. He’s dining in his room tonight. Marigold will be informing the President of our suspicions. What happens after that is a matter for the Americans. He’s a big name in the States. His crime would not be good publicity. Personally, I don’t bloody care what happens to him, I have enough problems of my own. Now that CB’s with the angels Elizabeth wants to know who will be in charge of our local civil defence. Her concern is the unresolved problem of how many stretchers will fit into the back of one of our Rolls-Royces when the cars’ rear seats have been removed.’

  ‘Charlie, I’ll have to go. I can hear shooting.’

  ‘The Hitler Youth?’

  ‘Sounds like them.’

  18

  To clear his head, Sir Charles walked to Mike’s cottage. He found the gamekeeper skinning a rabbit.

  ‘Let’s go into the shed,’ said Mike, ‘I’ve a couple of bottles hidden.’

  Later, when the two men were deep in their cups, Harry joined them.

  ‘Look who’s here … come and join us,’ said Mike. ‘Sorry I can’t offer you a drink … the cellar’s dry, you see.’ To prove his point he turned an empty bottle upside down. ‘You wouldn’t happen, by any chance, just happen to be carrying a hip flask, would you?’

  ‘No, I would not.’

  ‘Bad form coming into a mess empty handed, isn’t that right, Charlie?’

  ‘Very bad form.’

  ‘It’s called etiquette, Master Harry.’

  ‘I think you should call me, “sir”. I am an officer and a gentleman, you are a gamekeeper, an employee. Uncle Charles …’

  ‘You’ll always be Master Harry to me.’

  The gamekeeper stood up. At well over six foot and, after a lifetime of hard manual labour, as tough and branchy as a mature oak, he made the teenager look weedy. He pointed an accusing finger at the young man’s Norfolk. ‘Tut! Tut! You been dribbling, Harry? What’s that?’

  When Harry looked down, Mike whipped up his finger.

  ‘Howzat!’

  Harry waited for Mike and Uncle Charles to stop laughing. Old men. Juvenile humour. At the same time he was annoyed that he’d fallen for the trick.

  ‘Has Elizabeth sent you to spy on me?’ said Sir Charles.

  ‘I’ve come to say goodbye, Uncle Charles. A telegram’s come to say I’m to report to my squadron. I’m leaving now.’

  Sir Charles looked at Mike, Mike looked at Sir Charles; this was serious.

  ‘Give me your hand, sir,’ said Mike.

  ‘Damn you, Mike, I think I like it best when you call me Master Harry.’

  ‘That’s my boy! What’s that?’

  Harry looked down. Mike shook his head.

  ‘Good luck, Master Harry.’

  ‘Thank you and thank you for making me retrieve my gun from the river. A lesson for me to stay alert in combat … don’t fall for silly tricks.’

  ‘I’ll walk back with you to The Hall,’ said Sir Charles.

  ‘Watch out for the Hitler Youth,’ said Mike.

  ‘Freddy has them in the bag.’

  Before going round a corner and out of Mike’s line of sight, Harry paused and turned. After a few seconds of stand-off, Mike came to attention and saluted. Harry saluted back.

  19

  They lay in bed, side by side, on their backs, holding hands.

  ‘When will the bombs start falling?’ said Lady Elizabeth.

  ‘As of now, I don’t think even Hitler could answer that question,’ said Sir Charles. ‘I suspect our declaration of war may have taken him by surprise. He is not as ready for war as he’d like to be.’

  ‘But more ready than we are?’

  ‘While we have been reading P G Wodehouse, they have been burning the midnight oil with von Clausewitz. The German is a hard nut to crack. He is a formidable opponent. The determination of the Hitler Youth to fight to the last man, or should I say “boy”, scares me. They believe in the Third Reich. It is a cause for which they are prepared to die. Our lads will not be going into battle against soldiers but against fanatics. The fanatic does not fear death; the soldier does. CB was fanatical when he charged the hearse. He’s going to get a medal, you know, so Freddy tells me.’

  ‘The VC? He was jealous of your VC.’

  ‘I would have given the silly chump mine if I’d thought it would have stopped my nightmares.’

  ‘Charles, don’t talk like that. It is your medal … you should be proud of it.’

  ‘Well, I’m not. When we were seeing Harry off I was tempted to shoot him in the foot … tell him, you’re wounded, old boy, no fighting for you … stay at home and be safe.’

  ‘Harry’s a patriot. I’m proud of him. Someone has to stand up to Hitler.’

  ‘Quite right, my dear.’

  ‘You don’t sound as if you meant that.’

  ‘I do and I don’t. I don’t want Harry to get hurt.’

  ‘Will Jack and George be prosecuted?’

  ‘For poisoning the Hitler Youth? I don’t think they meant to kill, I really don’t. But, whether they did or didn’t, no longer matters. Now that we are at war with Germany, no investigation will take place. The police will not be involved. I suspect that by the time this conflict comes to an end the incident will be forgotten … anyway the Germans stole the mushrooms. It was their own fault. In the coming conflict hundreds, probably hundreds of thousands will die. Both sides will commit atrocities. Things will be done that will make us hang our heads in shame. Battles will make the names of towns no one has ever heard of, household names. If battles had not been fought in their fields no one would have heard of Agincourt and Waterloo.’

  ‘I do hope The Hall never achieves fame that way.’

  ‘If it does I think we may assume that we will be dead.’

  ‘We’d die fighting?’

  ‘I’d dynamite the place before I’d let the Germans have it.’

  ‘I’ve told Phyllis to prepare an early breakfast. The Americans are determined on an early start. They want to get to their embassy in London before it’s bombed to smithereens. I shall miss Marigold but be pleased to see the back of O’Neil. If he is an IRA courier he deserves to be shot.’

  ‘Best to let the Americans deal with their own. If we are to win this war we must keep them sweet.’

  ‘You know, lying here reminds me of Papa when Mother die
d. He would not accept that she was dead. Do you remember how cross he got with you when you tried to make him face the truth?’

  ‘Threatened to have me put in the looney bin.’

  ‘I cannot believe it is all going to start again … Great Britain at war with Germany … Charles, tell me it isn’t true.’

  Monday 4th September 1939

  1

  Mike drove the first Rolls-Royce. Billy, a stable boy who wished to work with ‘petrol’ rather than ‘manure’, sat, full of self-importance, behind the wheel of the second Rolls. They stopped in line, one behind the other, in front of The Hall’s front door; making, for the time they were there, a taxi rank. The Americans were going home.

  ‘Under normal circumstances,’ said Sir Charles, looking forlorn, ‘we’d have had all the staff out to see you chaps and Marigold on your way … a regular guard of honour for you to inspect, but, sadly, circumstances are not normal.’

  ‘The staff,’ explained Lady Elizabeth, ‘are on a civil defence course. When they come back to doing what we pay them to do they will know all about how to put out an incendiary bomb.’ She dabbed a tearful eye. ‘When you “guys” … I am trying to sound American; when you “guys” are sipping your cocktails in Manhattan, I do hope, perhaps between sips, you will spare a thought for the people who gave you Democracy and you, Marigold, for your ancestors.’

  ‘Lizzie,’ said Marigold, putting her arm round the older woman, ‘I’m on your side. I’m batting for you … now I’m sounding like a Limey. The President, he’s on your side, I know he is.’

  ‘So, what’s stopping him declaring war on Germany?’

  ‘Politics,’ said Mancini, ‘and people who eat more than five Hershey Bars a day.’

  He nodded at O’Neil who was taking big nervous bites out of one. The fellow’s nerves weren’t looking good.

  As had become his habit he’d chosen to stand apart from Sir Charles and his guests. His self-imposed isolation suited everyone, just fine.

  ‘Bert,’ said O’Neil, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand, in a manner Lady Elizabeth later described as ‘vulgar, ‘put my bags in the Rolls to be driven by the young man; put them on the back seat … spread them out.’