He went on to list some of the hardships being imposed by Reichskommissar Terboven, the German commander in control of the country. She knew, as everybody did, of the thousands of young Norwegians escaping to join the Free Royal Norwegian Forces formed in England under their exiled king, but she had not known that the penalty for even attempting to escape from Norway was death by firing squad. The Major also told her that recently the fathers of the successful escapees had been taken as hostages, whatever their ages, and sent to one of the concentration camps in Norway. The most notorious of these was Grini near Oslo where hundreds of patriots, men and women, were housed in apalling conditions and subjected to brutal treatment.
“Hitler thought Norway would be easy to subdue. After all, there are only three and a half million of us among all those mountains and fjords, but from the start on what we call the Home Front we proved him wrong. German reprisals and arrests and even torture happen every day, but nothing has checked the people’s determination not to be broken.”
Anna looked down at her hands linked in her lap, moved by all that she had heard. “Occupied, but unconquered,” she said as much to herself as to him.
“You’ve summed up the situation most accurately.” He paused for a moment. “How would you consider the chance to return there in these troubled times?”
Her head jerked up and she stared at him, her heart beginning to thump heavily. A possible understanding as to why she was here had begun to dawn on her throughout all he had been saying. “How would I do that?”
He sat back in his chair. “This is the headquarters of the Norwegian Section of Mr Churchill’s Special Operations Executive, which organises military sorties and sabotage by the Resistance in Norway, as is being done in every occupied country. Here we select fellow countrymen, who have escaped, to return to Norway secretly and to undertake extremely dangerous missions. Naturally they have to be of the right character and calibre to meet such requirements.”
“You haven’t mentioned women.”
“We have many women in the Resistance and you have been highly recommended. The training would be hard and strenuous. I’d want you to have a week’s leave to think it over.”
“How soon could I start that training?”
His eyes showed his satisfaction at her query. “Just as soon as I see you again. But there is an important point for you to remember. There can be no reunions with your aunt or anyone else in Norway. That would be putting their lives at risk just because you yourself would always be in danger. Their ignorance of your presence in the country would be their safeguard.”
The thought of being in Norway and unable to see those she cared about was a bitter disappointment, but she accepted that it was how it had to be. “Does anyone else except you and Captain Kringstad know why I’m here?”
“Only those within a closed circle.”
“How did you hear about me?”
He gave a slight shake of his head. “I can’t tell you that, but I will say that it came from a reliable source.”
“I feel privileged to have been mentioned.”
They talked for another half an hour. He could tell that already Anna had committed herself whole-heartedly to what had been asked of her.
“Come back a week today,” he said as the interview came to an end. “I need hardly say that everything has been strictly confidential. Now enjoy your leave.”
In the nearest telephone box Anna made a call to a good friend from her schooldays, Joan, with whom she usually spent her leaves. Joan, married to a bomber pilot serving overseas, and alone at home with a three-year-old, always looked forward to Anna’s visits. Her voice over the line was warm and welcoming.
“Some unexpected leave prior to an overseas posting, Anna? No, of course I don’t mind that you can’t tell me where. Catch the next train!”
They had an enjoyable week together. Anna was able to wear her own civilian clothes, for Joan was looking after her personal possessions for the duration of the war, since she had no home now. By chance on their last evening together when they were listening to the radio, the BBC broadcast a recording of President Roosevelt speaking to the people of the United States. His slow, gravelly voice was clear and articulate.
“If there is any man who wonders why this war is being fought, then let him look to Norway. If there is anyone who has any illusions that this war is unnecessary, let him look to Norway. And if there is anyone who doubts the will of democracy to win, then again I say, look to Norway. He will then, in the besieged yet unconquered Norway, find the answers to all his questions.”
Joan glanced at Anna, able to tell by her expression that her thoughts were with her aunt and Nils in particular. “It was a very fine tribute.”
Anna gave a slow smile. “I’ve always liked that man. He and I see eye to eye about Norway.”
When the time came for Anna to fold away her own clothes again, she kept back one item that would be useful in the future. It was a traditional kofte, a thick hand-knitted cardigan such as was worn by people of all ages in Norway. Hers was in grey and white and had been knitted specially for her in an intricate pattern by Aunt Rosa’s housekeeper. She made sure that Joan did not see it go into her suitcase, not wanting to give any clue to her destination.
The following day, after a return visit to see Major Andersen, Anna travelled to her training centre. It was in a bleak and isolated area. There were other women on the course with her, one Dutch and the others bilingual in French. She was the only one not destined to cross the Channel when the course was over.
It was as strenuous as she had been warned. There were lessons in unarmed combat and self-defence, hours spent at a shooting range and in operating and repairing a radio transmitter. On her first parachute jump she did not release her harness in time and was dragged some distance across rough moorland before she managed it. She did not make that mistake again. The most strenuous exercise of all, apart from climbing high walls and going hand over hand along a rope strung across a river, was escaping in the countryside under real ammunition. The trainees became used to ending a day wet, cold, bruised and muddy.
While the others were given individual briefings on France and Holland, Anna received hers from a Norwegian, who was a veteran of several dangerous sorties back in his own country. It was he who prepared her fully as to what to expect there under Nazi rule.
When the course ended it was February. She had been encouraged all the time to think herself into the new identity and background that she had been given. Her surname was to be Larsen, which was common enough in Norway, making it less easy for any inquisitive person, German or otherwise, to pinpoint anything about her. On all the forged papers she was given she saw that the German language had priority over Norwegian on her identity card, ration book and clothing coupons as well as on a travel pass. She thought how galling it must be for the Norwegians to have their language demoted to second place.
Apart from her pre-war Swiss watch, which was of the kind that had been available everywhere, and her hand-knitted kofte, one of which would have been issued to her in any case, Anna was unable to keep anything else of her own. Some photographs in a leather folder, a powder-compact that had been a gift and other small personal possessions had to be put into a box that would remain stored until her return. She demurred about the two spare keys that Aunt Rosa had given her long ago to the Oslo home and the west coast house. Since the invasion of Norway she had felt that the keys had become talismans and that by keeping them with her she could be sure of opening those doors again one day.
“If ever questioned,” she said to the Norwegian who had briefed her, “I’ll simply say that they’re the keys of my old home and I’m keeping them for sentimental reasons.”
He considered seriously before he gave a nod. “OK. They may help you to unlock entirely different doors in an emergency. Some members of the Resistance carry bunches of master keys and then they can get in anywhere. Now you’d better go into the other room and see the
clothes that are ready for you.”
All the garments had been made in Norway or were accurate copies, even to the labels, and included a ski outfit and boots, not for sport but for any necessary cross-country treks that might come about in her new venture. She was to pack everything in a well-worn suitcase, which she guessed had probably been brought across the North Sea by an escapee. A false bottom had been added to it for any secret papers she might carry.
At first Anna thought that the handbag, which held appropriate Norwegian-made contents, was of crocodile skin. But closer inspection showed that it was dyed fish skin. It was the same with a pair of shoes with wooden soles that had also been provided. The ingenious Norwegians, faced with a leather shortage, were making use of natural resources wherever possible. There was a pair of stout brown leather shoes, still in a pre-war Oslo box, but these had been scuffed deliberately in order not to look new.
When Anna, again in her WRNS uniform, stood once more in Major Andersen’s office, he congratulated her on how well she had come through the course. Another officer, who was also present, gave her a wad of Norwegian Kroner notes, for which she had to sign. Then he gave two pills into her keeping, one a stimulant and the other lethal. She would have preferred not to have received the second one, but the Major had told her that Gestapo interrogation could bring a captive to a point beyond human endurance.
Both men shook her hand and wished her well. “As we say in Norway,” the Major added, “farewell for the time being.”
Outside an army car was waiting for her and she was driven out of London. Contrary to her expectations she was not to be dropped by parachute into Norway. Instead she was to go by a very different route.
To download the book and continue reading click here.
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Extract from The Fragile Hour by Rosalind Laker
What the Heart Keeps Page 43
