A Different World

by Mary Nichols

  A little later, having shaved and brushed his suit, he joined her at the breakfast table. ‘I have sent for Marius who will take you as far as the border,’ she told him while he made inroads into a couple of fried eggs. ‘Other people will take over from there. But beware, Spain guards its neutrality and not all Spaniards are sympathetic towards escapees and you could easily be interned for the duration. Stick with your guide but if you do become separated, make for a British consul.’

  Marius duly arrived, a thin man in peasant clothing, who was taciturn to the point of speaking in monosyllables. Jan followed him to a local railway station where they took a train to Tarascon close to the Spanish border. He was installed in a house on the outskirts where his host spoke a dialect Jan could not understand, but he was eventually made to understand he was to wait. What he was waiting for, Jan had no idea. He was so near to freedom, and yet so far, this final delay was galling, but he knew he could not find his way over the mountains without a guide.

  During the next few days, five more escapees arrived one at a time: two English airmen, a Frenchman determined to join De Gaulle’s army in North Africa and two Polish prisoners of war. Jan did not know them, but he was soon in animated conversation with them. They had been prisoners since 1940 and knew very little more about what was happening in Poland than he did; what they did tell him was hearsay, gleaned from other prisoners, but it was enough to make his blood curdle. Warsaw was in ruins, the people half starved and frequently arrested and tortured on the least excuse, or no excuse at all. Executions were commonplace, and as for the Jewish population, they had been rounded up and forced into a walled ghetto, where living conditions were even worse. How true all this was, Jan did not know, but it made him fear for Rulka.

  The next morning, all six set out to cross the Pyrenees on foot behind their guide. It was a steep climb and the going was rough with stones and boulders. And at that altitude it was very cold. A biting wind tore through their inadequate clothing. They were glad to spend the night in a rough mountain hut, but even then they dared not light a fire for fear of the smoke being seen by German patrols. The food they had brought with them was soon eaten and they were faced with more climbing the next day.

  There was a major scare when they almost ran into a German patrol and had to scatter into the forest. It took some time to round them up again when the danger was passed and it was then too late to go on. They returned to the hut, and rose, cold and damp, next morning ready to try again. There was more climbing and then a descent. If they thought this meant they were nearly at their journey’s end, they were soon disillusioned. There was still another mountain to cross. On they trudged, so cold they could not feel their fingers and toes and as they went higher they encountered snow, which made it even more difficult. Some of the party were not as fit as Jan, particularly one of the Poles who had suffered badly at the hands of the Germans. Jan, whose own leg was beginning to ache, put his arm round him and helped him along.

  In the late afternoon of the next day, their guide held up a hand to stop them. They froze, thinking it might be another patrol, but all he said, with a huge grin on his face, was ‘Espagne’.

  He left them there and they made their way down to a village. They were not the first escapees to arrive there and they were taken in by the local schoolmaster who gave them food and a bed for the night. Unsure from the villagers’ demeanour whether they were friend or foe, Jan hardly dare close his eyes. Early next morning they were roused and directed to the next village where they were told they could take a bus to Barcelona. They had no Spanish money and only Jan had papers and these were of no use since they said he was a Polish worker in France. He felt it would be folly to attempt it, but the two Poles, who were so exhausted they could walk no further, and the Frenchman, decided to risk the bus. Jan and the British airmen, being healthier and stronger elected to keep walking.

  At the end of that day, when they had managed forty kilometres in searing heat, Jan began to wonder if they had made the right decision. Hungry and thirsty they went to the church in a small Catalonian town and threw themselves on the mercy of the priest. He fed them and let them sleep in the church and the next morning gave them money to take a train to Barcelona. The consul there sent them on their way to the embassy in Madrid and from there, after a good meal and a night in a real bed, they took a train to Gibraltar. The frontier there was well guarded because the British authorities were on the lookout for German agents and everyone’s papers were scrutinised. They had no papers but they did have letters from the consul and that ensured they were allowed through. They were once again on British territory and in the hands of the British authorities.

  Louise was reading Angela a bedtime story, but the child fell asleep long before it was finished. She shut the book gently and sat looking down at her sleeping daughter, her heart swelling with love for the little scrap. She was Jan’s gift to her. She heard the telephone and wondered if it was her mother.

  Faith had been rehoused by the Middlesex County Council in a ground-floor flat where she was looking after Henry with the aid of a nurse who came in daily. He had regained consciousness but was unable to leave his bed and could only speak in angry grunts; no one had any idea what, if anything, he remembered. Louise had suggested her mother ought to put him in a nursing home and then come to live with her in Cottlesham, but she had refused. ‘I couldn’t,’ she said. ‘I must look after your father, it is my duty, and in any case I would never fit in with your friends. Their lifestyle and yours now is so very different from what I have been used to.’ All of which sounded like an excuse to Louise.

  She had begun to wonder if she ought to change her job and move away herself to make a new start in a different area, just the three of them. But she hesitated to take the first step. She and Angela were content where they were, she loved her job and the children she taught, and there was always the hope that Jan was alive and would come back – at least in the beginning, but even that was starting to fade. It was August and the school had broken up for the summer holidays. Soon the war would have been raging for four years and still there was no sign of it ending, no news of Jan either. His Polish friend had promised to tell her if he heard anything, but he hadn’t contacted her again and she had begun to think Jan must be dead. But still she clung to a stubborn hope, as if refusing to admit he had gone from her life would bring him back.

  ‘It’s for you, Louise.’ Jenny’s voice drifted up to her. She put the book down on the bedside table and went to answer it.

  ‘Louise, it’s me.’

  ‘Jan!’ she screamed, and then more moderately, ‘Oh, Jan! Thank God, oh, thank God. Where are you?’

  ‘In London.’

  ‘Oh, Jan.’ She couldn’t stem the tears that ran down her face. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine. How are you? And Angela?’

  ‘We’re both fine.’

  He was in a public call box and the pips were going. ‘Damn,’ he said. ‘I’ve no more pennies. I’ll be back with you tomorrow. See you then.’ She heard the telephone click as he replaced the receiver. Her legs suddenly gave way and she sat down heavily on the nearest chair. Jan was alive. Jan was safe. She had got him back.

  He arrived the following morning, a gaunt, hollow-cheeked man with a slight limp, but the blue eyes still danced and his smile was just as captivating. Louise threw herself into his arms and cried.

  ‘I thought I’d lost you,’ she said, after he had mopped up her tears.

  ‘I am not so easy to lose, my love.’

  ‘You look dreadful.’

  ‘Thanks for that,’ he said, grinning. ‘I’m a lot better than I was.’

  ‘Sit down and tell me what happened.’

  ‘After I have seen my daughter. Where is she?’

  ‘In the kitchen. Jenny wanted to give us a few moments on our own.’

  Followed by Louise, he dashed off to the kitchen and scooped Angela up from the floor where she was playing. She was not sure sh
e liked that and squirmed to be put down again. ‘She’s forgotten me,’ he said flatly, letting her go.

  The child toddled away. Her little legs were quite sturdy now and she was into everything. Ornaments and medicines had to be put out of her reach, but she was learning the meaning of ‘No’.

  ‘It has been a long time, Jan,’ Louise said. ‘She’ll get used to you again, give her time. How much time do you have, by the way?’

  ‘Two weeks, a whole fortnight. Shall we have another little holiday?’

  ‘Lovely. If it can be arranged before the autumn term starts.’

  They managed to rent the little cottage they had taken before and travelled up to Windermere two days later. Little by little, Louise learnt what had happened to Jan. He was a little quieter than he had been before and often seemed lost in contemplation and she wondered how bad it had really been. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ she asked on the evening they arrived. They had eaten a light meal and put Angela to bed, clutching Cuddles, and were sitting together on the settee. His arm was about her and her head rested on his shoulder.

  ‘Not much to tell,’ he said. ‘The Dutch people were marvellous, particularly the doctor and nurse who looked after me. Even when the Germans infiltrated their underground network, they still managed to get me out. I learnt later they had all been arrested and shot.’

  ‘That’s dreadful.’

  ‘It happens all the time. I get so angry.’

  ‘Doesn’t help though, does it?’ she said.

  ‘No. Their wireless operator was the first to be arrested so they lost their contact with London. I couldn’t let anyone know I was OK.’

  ‘But you were wounded.’

  ‘I broke my leg when I crash-landed. It mended. The trouble was I couldn’t move until the plaster came off. You have no idea how frustrating that was.’

  She smiled. ‘Knowing you, I can imagine. So how did you escape in the end?’

  ‘I was passed from hand to hand, from Holland to France to Spain. It was an interesting experience, travelling through occupied territory.’

  ‘Interesting!’ She laughed. ‘I’m sure it was more than that.’

  ‘I can’t tell you any more. I’ve been warned …’

  ‘“Careless talk costs lives”, eh?’ she said quoting the posters that were everywhere.

  ‘Something like that. They spent a week debriefing me and until that was done I couldn’t return to my unit or contact you.’

  ‘I understand. And when you got to Spain?’

  ‘Oh, that was interesting too. We still had to be careful …’

  ‘We?’

  ‘There were six of us in the end. We walked a lot, took trains and buses, rode in taxis, walked, and eventually arrived in Gibraltar, a week after General Sikorski was killed taking off from there.’

  She knew General Sikorski, the prime minister of the Polish government in England and C-in-C of their armed forces, had died in an air crash after visiting Polish troops in the Middle East. His dual role had been shared; the new C-in-C was General Sosnkowski, while Stanisław Mikołajczyk became premier. ‘I read about that.’

  ‘There was a lot of talk about it being sabotage,’ he said. ‘I can’t see it myself, but it did make us nervous. I was glad when we were safely airborne and even more glad when we touched down in England.’

  ‘All’s well that ends well.’

  ‘But it’s not the end, is it?’ he said. ‘There is a long way to go yet.’

  ‘You think so? We’re winning, aren’t we? After all, we’ve invaded Italy and the Russians are chasing the Germans back where they came from.’

  ‘And they’ll overrun Poland if no one stops them. I fear for my country, Louise. I don’t think people in the West understand.’

  She lifted her head to look into his face. She had never seen him so down and knew he was thinking of Rulka as well. ‘Try me.’

  ‘It’s complicated, but I’ll put it in a nutshell. Poland originated in the valley of the Vistula and spread eastwards while the Russian state began around the Volga and spread westwards. The territory in between has always been a bone of contention; the boundary has gone back and forth according to who was in the ascendancy. It was not until 1920, after Poland won the war with the newly emerged state of Soviet Russia, that the internationally recognised boundaries were established, but even those have been disputed. When Hitler and Stalin decided to carve Poland up in 1939, the area the Soviets took they consider theirs. I doubt they will concede anything less, and, if we are not strong, they will take the whole of Poland.’

  ‘You don’t think they will be allowed to get away with it?’

  ‘I don’t know – I wish I did. I feel so cut off from it all, when I wish I should be doing something.’

  ‘You are doing something. You are helping to win the war, aren’t you? Nothing can be done until that happens.’

  ‘Yes, you are right.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Let’s not be miserable. Let’s plan what we’ll do tomorrow. A long walk perhaps, a picnic and a lazy afternoon?’

  ‘Sounds heavenly. But what about your leg?’

  ‘Oh, that’s fine. It won’t stop me doing what I want to do and right now I want to make love to you. Let’s go to bed.’

  Not wanting to spoil an idyllic holiday, she did not tell him about her father’s stroke until they were packing to leave. ‘Mum is in a poky little council flat, looking after my father and refusing to put him into a nursing home,’ she said, folding Angela’s little garments into her case. ‘She said something about retribution, but whose I am not sure.’

  ‘I am sorry, Louise, but perhaps it was your father’s retribution she was talking about. I know he is your father, but I cannot find it in my heart to pity him, not after what he did. He could have killed you and our unborn child.’

  ‘I know. But at least Mum and I are talking again. She came to Cottlesham once and stayed a couple of days, but she was uncomfortable, I could see that. Being an unmarried mother is a terrible sin in her eyes, and she couldn’t understand how I could still be friends with everyone, nor why the rector hadn’t publicly condemned me, which is what my father would have done to any of his flock who transgressed. I go and see her occasionally. Usually we meet in a hotel. I rarely go to the flat.’

  ‘Poor you.’

  ‘I told her all about you, how much I love you, what a good father you are and she seems to have accepted that.’

  ‘Does she know about Rulka?’

  ‘Yes, I told her. It only made my sin more terrible. She loves Angela, though.’

  ‘That is something.’

  She fastened the suitcase. ‘There, that’s that done. Do you want me to help you with yours?’

  ‘No, I’ve done it.’

  She turned to face him. ‘What happens now, Jan?’

  ‘We go back to the real world, me to my flying and you to your teaching, living life as best we can until this terrible war is over.’ He took her in his arms and pulled her close to him. ‘It will be time enough to worry about the future then, but whatever happens, you must always remember I love you.’

  ‘And I love you too,’ she said, fighting back tears. Every parting seemed like a last goodbye and every reunion to be treasured in case there would never be another. She didn’t suppose she was the only one to think like that. It was happening to thousands, millions, of couples all over the world. Knowing that didn’t make it any easier.

  Jan returned to duty, as undecided about the future as he had been on the day he had been shot down, more so, since he had spent two weeks with Louise and Angela and even saying goodbye to them for a short time was hard. How much harder if it had to be forever? He had been debriefed at the Baker Street headquarters of the Special Operations Executive, the people who had most to do with underground movements in occupied countries, and their questions had been searching. He had felt sometimes as if he were a criminal being investigated, but in the politest way. If anyone knew what was going on in Poland, they w
ould. They would not divulge secrets but he had asked them, as a favour, to see if they could find out what had happened to Rulka. They had said they would see what they could do, but made no promises. It was all he could hope for.

  Chapter Nine

  July 1944

  The story had gone round Warsaw like wildfire the month before. It had been whispered in the bread queues, muttered on the trams, passed from one to the next as they knelt in church in prayer, discussed among the members of the Home Army. ‘The Allies have landed in France. It can’t be long now.’

  Everyone in Warsaw who had a secret wireless listened to the BBC and passed on what they heard. London news differed greatly from what the German broadcasts were saying, but there was no doubt the fight in Western Europe was slower than had been expected. The greatest seaborne invasion in the history of the world was being met with stiff resistance. It had taken over a month for the Allies to capture Caen which had been one of the first day’s objectives and Paris had still not been liberated by July. By that time the Russians were within twelve miles of Warsaw. Artillery fire could clearly be heard all over city.

  Rulka and Colin had been summoned to a meeting of their section of the Home Army to discuss the implications. Colin had turned down the offer of an escort to Gdansk in favour of staying with the Polish underground and they were happy to have him. He was undoubtedly an asset and had been given the code name Buldog, though his Kennkarte named him as Pierre Saint-Jules. He could defuse a bomb as easily as he could make one and he was ingenious in using the most unlikely components, most of them brazenly stolen from the Germans themselves. And he could be ruthless. The gentle domesticated man he was when in Rulka’s cellar could turn himself into an assassin when the need arose.

  It was a fine July evening and the ruins still reflected the heat of the day. Rulka was wearing a blue dirndl skirt and white cotton blouse, shabby but clean. Her dark hair, once so lustrous but now lank, was tied back in a ponytail with a bit of blue ribbon. The neat clothes did not disguise the fact that she was painfully thin. Food was becoming harder and harder to find. Without Colin’s ability to scrounge and steal from the Germans – usually blank ration cards – she did not think she would have survived.