by Mary Nichols
Russia had invaded Finland but that was too far away to bother them and Hitler seemed reluctant to attack the west. The weather wasn’t in his favour. By early December it was already exceptionally cold. Everywhere was frozen, even the canals and rivers, which hampered the movement of supplies and equipment on both sides. The ground was frozen so hard the troops found it impossible to dig the trenches and defensive works on the border with Belgium which had been ongoing ever since the BEF arrived in France. Everyone was fed up with the situation and called it the Bore War, but some, who had been in France since September, were cheered by the news that they would be granted leave to spend Christmas with their families. Max decided to go to Dransville.
He found Elizabeth in the cowshed, her head in the flank of a cow, her fingers skilfully easing the milk into a pail. ‘Your grandmother said I’d find you here.’
The sound of his voice made her whirl round on her stool. ‘Max!’ She abandoned the cow to stand up and hug him. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I had a spot of leave and thought I’d spend Christmas with you. That’s if you’ll have me.’
‘Of course we’ll have you. It’s a wonderful surprise.’ A swish of the cow’s tail reminded her she had an unfinished job to do. ‘I must finish the milking. Go indoors and I’ll be with you in two shakes.’
‘I’ll stay and watch.’ He released her reluctantly and she went back to the cow. He stood leaning against the byre door, smiling at the sight of her. She was dressed in a simple gathered skirt, a blouse and cardigan, topped by a sacking apron; her lovely hair was hidden beneath a headscarf. Her feet were encased in rubber boots. ‘Very rural, you look.’
She laughed. ‘If I’d known you were coming, I’d have dressed up.’
‘I didn’t know myself until yesterday. I caught the first train out of Paris this morning.’
‘You must be hungry.’
‘Hungry for the sight of you.’
‘Give over.’ She laughed as she emptied the milk into a churn and took the pail out to the trough to wash it before taking it indoors to be properly scrubbed. Then she took his arm and led him into the kitchen.
It was warm inside. Grandmère was busy cooking. Food was already becoming scarce, but they were almost self-sufficient on the farm and there would be no problem with the Christmas dinner. There was a stuffed goose on a shelf in the larder ready to be put into the oven first thing the next morning.
‘What news of the war?’ Albert asked from his chair by the hearth after Max had taken off his cap and greatcoat and taken a seat opposite him.
‘No news at all. A few skirmishes, a few patrols to see what the other side is up to, but that’s all. The French troops are calling it La Drôle de Guerre.’
‘Hitler’s afraid to take us on,’ the old man said. The arrival of Max and someone different to talk to seemed to stimulate him to speak more clearly.
‘Seems like it,’ Max said. ‘But the weather isn’t helping him. Nor us either, come to that. It’s why some of us have been granted leave.’
Elizabeth perched herself on the arm of Max’s chair. ‘Why didn’t you go home to England?’
‘What for?’ He put his arm about her waist. ‘You’re here and that’s where I want to be. My sister is busy looking after her own family and, besides, if I went back to Scotland, half my leave would have been spent travelling.’
‘We’re glad to have you,’ Grandmère said. ‘Justine is coming later today and Pierre and Jeanne and the boys tomorrow, so we’ll have a good party and forget the war for a little while.’
‘Wish we could,’ Albert put in. ‘We don’t know how long Henri and Philippe will avoid call-up, and if they have to go, how’s Pierre going to manage? I can’t help him.’
‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Perhaps the war will end sooner than we think.’
‘Have you thought any more about going home, Liz?’ Max asked her.
‘I won’t go while I’m needed here. And I can’t see there’s any danger staying. Hitler seems to think he can win the war at sea and Haute Savoie is a long way from the sea.’
Max laughed at her naivety, but he wouldn’t disillusion her. ‘At least while I’m in France I’ll be closer to you, though if anything bad happened I’m not sure what I could do.’
The conversation was being conducted in French and though Max’s accent was most decidedly English, he was able to hold his end up much better than he had on his previous visit. ‘Your French has improved no end,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Have you been taking lessons?’
He laughed. ‘I’ve been working alongside French troops for three months, some of it’s bound to have rubbed off. I only hope I haven’t learnt bad habits.’
The back door opened, letting in an icy blast and a woman in her thirties. She was slim and chic. Her dark hair, topped by a fetching felt hat with a feather across its brim, was coiled into a roll down the back of her head.
‘Justine!’ The old lady darted forward to embrace her. ‘Take off your coat and hat and come and warm yourself by the fire. You are just in time for supper.’
Justine put a small suitcase down and bent to kiss her father’s cheek. ‘How are you, Papa?’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Good.’
She turned to hug Elizabeth. ‘Hallo, Lisabette. You have been doing sterling work on the farm, I hear, looking after everything.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Maman writes letters and so does Pierre. I know all about it.’ She turned to Max who had stood up on her entrance. ‘You must be Max.’
‘Oh, let me introduce you,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Justine, this is Captain Max Coburn, a very good friend of mine who is spending his Christmas leave with us. Max, Ma’amselle Justine Clavier, my mother’s younger sister. She teaches English in a school in Paris.’
They shook hands and both said ‘How do you do’ in English.
‘Max speaks good French,’ Grandmère said, letting them know that she wanted to be in on the conversation. ‘Lisabette, lay the table, this chicken is ready to carve.’
‘What’s happening in Paris?’ Elizabeth asked Justine as they sat down to eat.
‘Nothing much. There’s a shortage of petrol and coal and it’s a job to keep warm, most of the young men have disappeared into the army, but everyone else is trying to carry on as usual. The great and the good spend their time giving charity balls in aid of the troops, and Coco Chanel has set her seamstresses to making gloves and pullovers for the army.’ She laughed. ‘She has put her label on them, so I bet a lot of them will never be worn but stashed away as souvenirs.’
‘The young men are going from the farms too,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I’m not the only woman trying to cope without them. Mama says the same thing is happening in England. She says Jack has volunteered for the air force, though he hasn’t been sent for yet. Amy is training to be a nurse. I didn’t think she’d be any good at it, she hasn’t seen much of life and I thought she would be too squeamish, but she says she likes it.’
‘You were squeamish once,’ her grandmother reminded her. ‘You soon learn to get over it when you have to.’
Elizabeth laughed. ‘So I was.’ She turned to Max. ‘I can wring a chicken’s neck and shoot a rabbit and skin it. I helped pluck the Christmas goose and watched Grandmère draw it. It’s stuffed ready for the oven tomorrow.’
‘I shall enjoy it all the more knowing you had a hand in its preparation,’ Max said.
No one sitting down to the gargantuan meal the following day would have guessed there was a war on and many people were suffering shortages of food and fuel, and if any of them thought it might be the last good Christmas dinner they had for some time, they did not voice it.
Afterwards Max and Elizabeth wrapped themselves in warm coats, boots and gloves and went for a walk, Pierre and the boys went out cutting logs for firewood, while Jeanne and Justine washed up and her grandparents snoozed by the fire.
It had been snow
ing and the hills were white with it. The skiers were out, expert and beginners, whooshing down the slopes enjoying a holiday that might very well be the last for a long time.
‘I still think you should change your mind and go home,’ Max said. ‘This Phoney War won’t last, you know. Hitler won’t be content to sit on his gains. Either we’ll have to take the initiative and attack him or he’ll come to us. The trouble is that the French seem content to fight a defensive war. We’ll never win that way.’
‘Max, let’s not talk about it.’ She took his arm in both her hands and put her head on his shoulder. ‘It’s lovely to have you here. You’ll come as often as you can, won’t you? It’s surely easier than having to go all the way to England to see me when you get leave.’
He laughed. ‘There is that.’
They stopped in the shelter of a hut where he took her into his arms and kissed her. She clung to him. ‘I wish you didn’t have to go back so soon.’
‘So do I. It’s been a grand leave, something to remember when I’m cold and dirty and hungry.’
‘I’ll miss you. Take care of yourself, won’t you?’
‘Of course. I mean to see this war out and ask you to marry me properly and I hope you are going to say yes.’ He put his finger over her lips when she opened her mouth to answer him. ‘Not now. Save it. It has to be special.’
‘Oh, Max.’ She reached up and pulled his head down to kiss him back.
He left next morning to travel back to Paris with Justine.
Chapter Five
May 1940
The troops were exhausted. They had known the attack was coming and thought they were ready, but the truth was they were beaten, beaten by a ruthless enemy who had overrun Denmark, forced Norway to capitulate and advanced rapidly across Holland and Belgium and were knocking at the doors of France, all in the space of a few weeks. The long hard winter was behind them and the spring well advanced when the so-called Bore War ended, cataclysmically for the Allies. The Netherlands and Belgium had tried to hold onto their neutrality but the German troops had ignored that and continued their relentless advance to the French border. The population of France waited for its army and the BEF to bring them to a halt.
The attack, when it came, was in the Ardennes, south of where it had been expected. Supported by bombers, German Panzers crossed the Meuse at Sedan and were on French soil. In spite of patchy opposition, some so weak as to be almost non-existent, some ferociously determined, the invaders had turned north towards the Channel to encircle the Allied armies. Max and his men found themselves fighting a rearguard action as they were forced to withdraw inside a tighter and tighter perimeter. His orders were to hold off the enemy as long as possible in order for the troops behind him to be evacuated by sea.
The noise was deafening as shells rained down on them from enemy positions, throwing up clouds of earth and debris, and they were constantly dive-bombed by screaming Stukas. Max had lost half his men and the others, though fighting bravely, had almost lost hope. Holed up in a barn, they watched the road ahead of them, sniping at anything that moved, wondering how long it would be before they were given the order to withdraw and could make their way to the coast where they had been told there were ships waiting to take them off.
But the order never came.
‘We’re beaten,’ Grandpère said. ‘Better go while you can, Lisabette. Go over the border to Switzerland. You can get home from there.’
‘I’m not leaving you. And how do you know we’re beaten? That’s defeatist talk. And even if we are beaten, you still need me.’ They were sitting round the kitchen table after listening to the wireless while they ate their supper. The plentiful food of Christmas was a dream that had passed, leaving the stark reality of rationing and shortages. If her grandparents were to survive, she had to do all she could to help them. She was more use here than in England.
‘You are as stubborn as your mother,’ Grandmère said. ‘She wouldn’t listen either. She insisted on going to the front to be near Jacques and look what happened.’
Elizabeth smiled. ‘What did happen?’
‘She got herself pregnant, didn’t she? Came home as big as a mountain and Jacques dead. She wouldn’t have the baby adopted …’
‘I should think not. I wouldn’t either, especially if I loved the man who gave him to me. Were you angry with her?’
‘I suppose I was to start with. It was a disgrace and I felt everyone was pointing at us, but when little Jacques was born, of course we loved him. And Annelise was lucky, she met your father again and he gave her a second chance.’
‘They have been very happy together. I hope Max and I—’
‘Sacredieu, you are not enceinte, are you?’
‘No, Mamie, I’m not. But one day we plan to marry, when this war is over.’
‘You’ll have a long wait then,’ the old man put in.
‘You, Papie, are a pessimist.’ Elizabeth paused, as her thoughts went to wondering what had happened to Max. Had he got safely away with all the others at Dunkirk? It had been a massive undertaking and seemed to turn a defeat into a triumph, but was Max with them? She told herself over and over again he was a survivor, but she wished she could have some news. She had heard nothing from him for over a month and that had told her very little except that he was well. Letters from home were taking a long time to reach her too; she had no idea how everyone was coping. She had written to say she was safe and well, but she had no way of knowing if the letter had reached its destination. That was the worst part of the separation, not knowing. They had to rely on rumour fed by thousands of fleeing refugees and the heavily censored wireless for news. They listened to the BBC and knew Churchill was now prime minister and making stirring speeches aimed at boosting everyone’s morale, but of her own family she knew nothing.
Men were tearing up the wrought iron gates at Nayton Manor. They were watched by Bernard on his way home from school. ‘Everyone has to give up their metal to help the war effort,’ one of the workmen told him. ‘To make aeroplanes and guns.’
Bernard knew about that because he had heard it on the wireless. According to the news London parks were losing all their railings and housewives were giving up their saucepans. At school they had been urged to collect scrap metal from neighbours and bring it all to school. What they collected would be melted down and go towards making a Spitfire. Bernard had liked the idea of that: doing something to aid the war effort. He had fetched a wheelbarrow from the gardener’s shed and gone round the village begging for metal. He had acquired several old saucepans, a colander, some cutlery, tins that had once held peas and carrots, a few battered garden implements and sundry unidentifiable bits of tools, which had taken the whole of one Saturday to collect. Proud of himself he had wheeled it to the field at the back of the school and added it to the growing heap.
‘Well done,’ Jack had said when he told him he thought there was enough there for at least one Spitfire. ‘We’ll soon have old Jerry beaten.’ Jack was in the air force and flying Spitfires, but he came home now and then on leave. Bernard wondered what had happened to the portrait he had been painting of the railway-crossing girl. She had disappeared before Christmas and there was a new woman operating the crossing gates since Mr Storey had married again.
He had told Edmund about the picture and Edmund had sneaked into Jack’s room to look for it, but he couldn’t find it. According to Edmund, he must have misunderstood what was going on; Jack wouldn’t look twice at the likes of a railway worker. They had had a fight over it, but had made it up when Edmund had conceded that if Jack had come across a girl being attacked, of course he would wade in to help, but that didn’t mean there was any more to it than that. Bernard didn’t believe him but, for the sake of peace, had agreed he was probably right.
He wished he could go home. He had a new brother now, called Joe. Ma had brought him down to visit them, but she still wouldn’t take them home. He had only one more year at school after this one and then he’d leav
e and find a job and he’d go home whether she wanted him to or not. Cissie wouldn’t mind, not now. Cissie had grown so fond of Annie that she had stopped fretting for her mother. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. As for Raymond and Martin, they had become real Norfolk dumplings, were even beginning to sound like them, calling each other ‘bor’ and dragging out their vowels. He wondered if they would ever settle back in London among grimy streets and back-to-back houses.
He watched the men loading the gates onto a lorry and turned to go up the drive to the house. Lady de Lacey, in her WVS uniform, was cycling towards him. She went everywhere on her bicycle now they couldn’t get petrol for the big car.
She dismounted when she saw him. ‘Have you got homework to do, Bernard?’
‘Yes, My Lady.’ The polite address tripped easily off his tongue now, though he didn’t see that she was any different from any other woman except, of course, she was rich. ‘It don’t seem right, do it, takin’ the gates away?’
‘No, but we must all make sacrifices if we are to win the war.’
‘As soon as I’m old enough I’m going to join up.’
She smiled at him. ‘I hope the war is over long before that happens.’
‘Jack likes it. He said it was great fun.’
She chuckled. ‘He would say that. Now run along and do your homework before you go out again.’
Annelise remounted and went on her way to her WVS meeting at the village hall, musing about Jack. He did seem to be enjoying life but, as far as she knew, he hadn’t seen any action yet and she hoped he never would, but that hope was fast dwindling. Since the horror of Dunkirk, the Germans had continued their relentless advance; according to the news, the heavy guns could be heard in Paris. How long her countrymen could hold out, she did not know. She feared not long and then the beautiful city of her homeland, the scene of her idyllic honeymoon, would become just another conquest for the barbarian. And then what? Lizzie and her parents were constantly in her thoughts. How they were coping, she had no idea; there had been no letter for months. Lizzie probably didn’t even know that Max was missing.
