String of Pearls

by Madge Swindells

  Simon went on his way wondering if he was delaying too long with his plan. But no, he decided. He had to wait for proof. Only German bombers would satisfy those PWE pundits.

  Captain Rose had no love of the Brits. Not that he knew any personally, but he’d come into contact with workers and contractors, the police and British army officers in the past eight months since they arrived. He found them introverted, cold and odd. You never could tell what they were thinking, particularly since they said very little. What the hell did they think his boys were supposed to do with themselves? he wondered, remembering that silly business with the people who owned the fields they occupied. It was over two weeks since Cooper first voiced his complaint. Rose had been hoping that the entire matter would be forgotten, but now the man was waiting to see him. Damn!

  Mike Lawson had volunteered to fight the Germans within days of America coming into the war, leaving his father to run their large ranch single-handed. Now he was stuck here – wasting time, as they all were – and for God knows how long, until the Brits decided it was safe to move into Europe. In Captain Rose’s view they should have gotten straight over. Now he had to try to keep the men happy for up to another year, according to the latest prediction. It was absurd and ridiculous. He had a bunch of first-class boys in his camp – brave, tough, disciplined and aggressive – which was all Rose wanted from his men. Lawson excelled with all four of these virtues. His men needed their breaks from Army life. The regimentation and loss of individuality infuriated everyone. Facilities here were pathetic. Back home they had sports, movies and games. In Britain, the lack of radios, phonographs, magazines and baseball equipment was a constant complaint, plus the BBC’s dominance of the airwaves. The difficulties of importing American newspapers, magazines and movies, meant that many GIs felt alienated from their culture. Back home the guys were likely to write letters home, listen to the radio, read magazines, or see a movie, whereas men stationed in England were drinking beer, playing cards or dating girls. Most of them complained of trouble in finding anything interesting to do on their free evenings.

  The lack of responsibility, which army life encouraged, led to irresponsibility. Worst of all was the ‘maleness’ of their lives. Most of them – missing their wives and girlfriends overseas – cried out for female companionship, and to make matters worse the English women found Yanks attractive and desirable. They were only too happy to supply sympathy, companionship and help in relaxing. His guys deserved what little they got. At some time in the future they’d be required to risk their lives to win the war and some of them would never see their homes again.

  All this went through his mind as he glanced again at Cooper’s complaint that he had recently discovered that Mike Lawson and his granddaughter, Daisy, had spent the night together in the stables.

  She could have said no, Captain Rose thought to himself. I don’t suppose she was kidnapped. ‘Send him in,’ he told his sergeant.

  Cooper was looking particularly frosty-faced. He said, ‘It is over two weeks since I brought this matter to your attention, but there appears to be absolutely no progress on your part.’

  ‘I quite understand your concern, sir. Pressure of work has been holding up our decision. I’ll look into the matter immediately.’

  ‘You must surely be aware that he has been forbidden to see Daisy, since that fuss about the attempted rape last September.’

  Rose vaguely remembered something of the kind. He excused himself and went outside to get his clerk to find the file. So the boy had already been warned off her, he discovered. ‘How old is your granddaughter at present?’ he asked, when he returned. He tried to disguise his relief at hearing that she had passed seventeen.

  ‘I don’t think you understand,’ Cooper retorted in his staid English accent. ‘These two fancy themselves to be in love, but my granddaughter is too young to make a permanent commitment, so I’d prefer Lawson to be transferred elsewhere.’

  ‘What about your granddaughter . . . couldn’t she be sent elsewhere?’

  ‘Daisy has won a scholarship to study art in London, but my daughter, that is Daisy’s mother, decided to keep her at home for a year, feeling that she was too young to cope with living alone in London.’

  Captain Rose stood up. ‘I’m sorry this incident arose. Personally I wanted to keep my boys and the locals at arm’s length, but our commanders, in their wisdom, decided that Anglo-American friendship is the order of the day. Such a strategy leads to the kind of complaint you have indicated. I believe you’ve invited him to your home many times. However, I’ll transfer Lawson. Good day to you, sir.’ There was fury in his eyes as he contemplated Cooper.

  Cooper looked relieved as he walked out of his office, but the captain did not share his optimism. In his opinion, Lawson would have something to say about this, and so would Simon Johnson. Best to get in first. He called his sergeant.

  ‘I want you to transfer Sergeant Mike Lawson before the month is out.’

  ‘Where to, sir?’

  ‘Send him round the coast to teach scuba diving and underwater sabotage. Start him off at whichever camp is furthest away from here.’

  ‘But sir, he leads the underwater team, in fact he’s doing most of the training nowadays and there’s a polo match coming up.’

  Rose ignored him.

  ‘How can he teach without equipment, sir?’

  ‘Find out what he needs and then see to it.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Twenty-Four

  A few weeks after Miro delivered the news about the construction of a rocket base at the site of the prewar holiday camp, he woke to the sound of the air-raid siren. He came out on to the landing and saw Helen emerge from Simon’s room. He smiled to himself. He was about to call out to her, but then he realized that she would be embarrassed, so he remained on the landing, leaning over the banister, wondering if the bombs were coming their way. Simon came out to join her, tying the cord of his dressing gown.

  ‘My! You look respectable,’ she teased. ‘Should we wake the children?’

  ‘No.’ Simon replied. ‘Let them sleep . . . at least for the moment. The bombers appear to be passing over the New Forest towards the coast.’

  ‘How can you be sure? There’s nothing there for them to target.’

  ‘Let’s say it’s an informed guess.’

  ‘No. Let’s rather tell the truth.’ Now she sounded irritable.

  They were speaking in undertones, yet Miro could hear every word. For the first time he realized that the hall and landing were like a whispering gallery.

  ‘I don’t understand why they are coming this way? We might be in danger. I had better wake the children.’

  ‘No, wait a minute,’ Simon said. ‘I’m pretty sure they’re going to Pines.’ He sounded satisfied.

  ‘If you mean that old holiday camp? It’s been abandoned since war began.’

  ‘I suspect that’s their target. Our searchlights and the guns will be waiting for them.’

  ‘How do you know this?’ Helen asked.

  ‘I don’t know, but I was warned that it might happen. It’s classified, so don’t ask. They should drop their bombs any minute and make off across the Channel.’

  The blitz began, incendiaries were dropping, lighting the eastern horizon with a ruddy glow, searchlights crisscrossed the sky in their endless search, four enemy bombers spiralled down, engines screaming, to erupt in a massive explosion.

  Miro was hardly aware of the action. He was gripping the banisters and trembling violently. Daisy came out of her room, fastening the belt of her dressing gown. She linked arms with him.

  ‘My word, you’re shaking like a leaf,’ she said.

  ‘I’m freezing,’ Miro lied.

  ‘Sh!’ Helen said quietly. ‘Here come the children. We’ll talk later.’

  ‘I have to leave for London at once, Helen. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I hope later today.’

  Of course he had to go, Miro realized. Simon now knew
exactly who had passed on the message. His legs seemed to have turned to rubber as he stumbled into the bathroom. He felt unreal, as if he were watching himself from a great distance. Wave after wave of nausea was rising from his gorge. He was too shocked to think straight. He had felt like this once before, nearly four years ago, but right now it seemed as if it happened only seconds ago. He collapsed on the cold floor tiles, his head in his hands, unable to prevent himself from reliving the trauma.

  They had been locked in a cattle truck all day, but the train only left Prague in the late afternoon. It progressed with constant stops and starts and long waits, but they were given no food or water and they were all suffering. Miro was wedged in the corner, holding his hand over his mouth and nose to try to stop himself from throwing up. The smell worsened. Children were crying and they were all terrified. Later that night the metal door opened with a crash and they were greeted with loud shouts, blinding searchlights and ferocious dogs.

  ‘Be quick! Get out,’ the guards shouted.

  People were crying out, ‘What’s happening? Where are we?’ Pushed from behind, some of them tumbled to the platform, hurting themselves, but they scrambled to their feet to avoid the blows. The guards were carrying schlags and hitting out at anyone in reach. His father grabbed Miro’s arm and tried to shield him from the blows. They were marched through mud and pouring rain to God knows where. Miro and his father remained close together, afraid that they might be separated. Two hours later they reached the concentration camp called Dachau. They had heard the rumours. Drenched, exhausted and scared, they passed through a large gate with tall towers on each side manned by two guards with machine guns and a rotating searchlight which dazzled them. They kept going until they reached a large shed, but then they were separated. Men to the left, women and children to the right.

  Hanging behind, Miro had a last glimpse of his father being pushed into a shed. Then he followed the line of women and children.

  ‘Undress, be quick,’ the guards shouted. They were told to hang their clothes on the rails. Everyone was handed a piece of soap and they stumbled naked into a large square room with rows of shower roses in the ceiling. The doors closed and they waited, tense and scared. No one could guess what fate awaited them. Rumours abounded, but no one knew anything for sure, except one terrible truth: you never heard from anyone after they were taken away.

  A strange thought came to him: is this the end of the nightmare? Mothers were clasping their children to them. Suddenly, unbelievably, warm water drenched them. After the filthy cattle trucks they were able to get clean. They were herded into another room and handed striped prison pyjamas. Then Miro was marched to the children’s sector. He didn’t see his father again, nor his clothes or shoes. God knows who owned the clothes he was given to wear when he was sent to Prague, or whether he was alive or dead.

  But now he wasn’t in the camp. He was lying on the bathroom floor feeling confused. This nightmare would pass. It was over. He was safe in England. Then he remembered: his life had unfolded into a new reality, far worse than before. He had added guilt to his fear and misery and he faced the prospect of being hanged.

  Had Simon laid a trap? If so, he had fallen into it. But it was the fate of his parents that tormented Miro the most. They would be executed. Terezin was supposed to be a model ghetto, set up specifically for Red Cross inspections. They never saw the fear and the dread engendered by the sight of hundreds of people being shifted out daily on the cattle trucks. They all wanted to believe they would be able to remain in Terezin and be relatively safe. Now his parents would live out the nightmare of the cattle trucks again, but for them it would be real.

  Why don’t I kill Paddy and then kill myself?

  The thought was inviting. He knew exactly where Helen kept her gun and he knew he could kill him. But how would that help his parents? There must be another way. Think! Think! But he couldn’t get control of his mind. He forced himself to wash his face, stumble downstairs and rejoin the family. Daisy looked relieved to see him. ‘You look awful. Do you feel any better?’ she asked, gazing at him solicitously.

  ‘Yes, thanks.’ He shook off her arm.

  By now John was awake and standing in the kitchen. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘The show’s over. Back to bed you two.’

  Miro lay on his bed trying to make a plan. It seemed to him that there was no way out. The only way to prevent Paddy from telling his controllers there was no rocket base at Pines was to kill him.

  Simon arrived at PWE headquarters at four thirty a.m. Once there it took all his tact and guile to persuade the night staff to call the gang to Bush House. It was short notice and he wondered if they would come, but by six they were all present.

  They were chuffed by Simon’s success. There had been no casualties at Pines, they told him, because the caretaker and his dog had been moved elsewhere. ‘Just in case,’ Alf explained. Four enemy bombers had been shot down and Jerry had wasted a fortune. They had several more sibs ready to pass on to Simon’s mole.

  ‘No. I can’t take them. Listen to me.’ Simon had to convince them. ‘I don’t believe that my contact is grabbing everything he can lay his hands on and delivering it to his controller. He’s being selective. That could be dangerous for our plans. He’s a loose cannon. Let’s take last night. Ten formations of enemy bombers pulverized the abandoned camp, yet we have not yet provoked a response to the news that a highly evolved rocket, with warheads capable of blasting five acres to smithereens, is nearing completion in the Outer Hebrides. Why not? Because he didn’t pass on that information as it was given to him.’

  ‘But they bombed Pines, old boy,’ Rob said.

  ‘And with such ferocity . . . ten formations of bombers . . . to wipe out two thousand turned POWs. For God’s sake be realistic,’ he shouted in exasperation.

  ‘I must admit we have queries about this from the Foreign Office,’ Dick admitted. ‘They smell a rat.’

  ‘I think it’s time you came clean with us, Simon,’ Alf said. ‘Who is this suspected spy and why does he have to produce the goods for his masters? And why is he messing around with the sibs?’

  Simon had known that he would have to reveal Miro’s identity sooner or later. Perhaps now was the right time. ‘He’s just a boy and they have his parents in one of their ghastly camps. What could be more compelling than trying to keep your mother alive? I don’t suppose there will ever be a raid on Eilean nan Ron, because he didn’t pass on that sib. And why? Because he didn’t want to damage the war effort.’

  ‘We should arrest him,’ Dick said quietly.

  ‘I’m prepared to compromise. I’ll bring him in, but I need your support to keep him out of prison and to convince him that we are on his side. That’s why you need to put out a broadcast.’ He glanced at his watch. This was taking too long and it would soon be too late. ‘Put out a news release stating that Pines was under military surveillance, and that some vital, top secret construction was taking place. If you do that, we’ll have a grateful, clever boy and, even more important, his Nazi masters will be so pleased with him because they won’t know that they have been duped. This will provide him with the means of keeping his parents alive while saving his soul. Plus, we’ll have an outlet for all our disinformation.’

  They began arguing amongst themselves.

  ‘How can we employ a boy of seventeen?’ Rob asked.

  ‘If he’s old enough to be interned, he’s old enough to be useful.’ That was Alf, who seemed to be on his side.

  ‘Why wasn’t he?’

  ‘He was only thirteen when they released him from the camp to the Kindertransport organization,’ Simon replied.

  ‘Surely someone should have suspected that there was reason behind their unlikely philanthropy?’

  ‘His father is a talented Czech composer. The boy was an accomplished clarinettist, having twice played solo at Prague’s concert hall. That was the reason given for letting him go.’

  ‘He should be sent to the Isle of Ma
n. It’s not that bad. I went there to check up. They’d definitely let him practice the clarinet as much as he likes.’ Dick said.

  ‘You’re missing the point – he spies to keep his parents alive and that is why he can be extraordinarily useful to us.’

  ‘This makes sense,’ Alf said. ‘I vote we give it a go.’

  ‘Bring him to us,’ Rob said. ‘We have experts who’ll do the debriefing. You can’t get involved.’

  ‘How long will it take?’

  ‘A week . . . a month . . . six months. All depends.’

  ‘It seems we’re agreed. Over to you, Alf,’ Dick said.

  Alf was typing while he composed the brief. ‘At two a.m. this morning, ten waves of German bombers inflicted heavy damage on the southern coast of England, around an area known as The Pines. Six months ago . . .’

  Breakfast was being wheeled in on a trolley and laid out on a table. Simon reckoned that his job was done and he could enjoy a good breakfast.

  At half past six, Miro washed and went downstairs. Helen had the coffee percolating and breakfast was ready. He sat down at the table wondering how he could force himself to eat. John turned on the radio for the seven o’clock news.

  ‘Just in time,’ he said, as a voice emerged from the static.

  ‘. . . the Home Service of the BBC. Here are the news headlines, read by Alvar Lidell. Just before dawn this morning, ten waves of German bombers inflicted heavy damage on the southern coast, around an area known as The Pines. Six months ago the land was bought by the government to build a secret military installation, rumoured to be a rocket station. Local villagers state that both American and British troops have been seen patrolling the area, which is out of bounds to civilians. Whatever the purpose of the construction, the site has been razed to the ground by enemy bombers, four of whom were shot down during the raid. In Parliament yesterday . . .’

  Miro felt paralysed with uncertainly. Had he made a mistake? The rocket base was in the Outer Hebrides, only he had changed it. What the hell was going on? He’d been duped. But why? Had he been responsible for destroying the best chance the Allies had for a quick end to the war?