Bobby's War

by Shirley Mann

  Once at Kings Cross, he bought his train ticket. Everywhere along the platform there were signs asking whether the journey was necessary. Edward felt he could not quite answer that question truthfully, so to salve his conscience a little, he immediately gave up his seat to a serviceman and stood, wobbling between unnamed stations on the rattling branch line, working out his strategy. With no identifying signs, like everyone else in the carriage, he had to concentrate to count the number of stations. He had organised to meet his friend, Markham, for an old pals’ luncheon but he had an agenda all of his own. With a plan in his head, he went back to looking at The Times crossword but, somehow, he found it hard to concentrate.

  *

  ‘Edward, do come in,’ Group Captain Patrick Markham got up from behind his desk and moved round it to greet his visitor. ‘How are you, old chap?’

  ‘Fine, fine thank you.’

  The two men swapped niceties and then Markham closed his papers and looked at his watch. He had been in since five so he told his secretary he was taking a break and suggested they should retire to The Thornton Arms for a bite to eat.

  Edward suddenly realised he was very hungry. Always a man with a healthy appetite, his stomach had been so churned up over the past few days that he had found it hard to eat. He cursed Bobby Hollis gently in his head.

  The two men found a cosy corner at the back of the pub where there was no chance of being overheard and nursing their pints, they whispered intently, catching up with a judiciously edited version of each other’s war in recent months.

  Eventually, Markham put down his pint and faced Edward.

  ‘So, lovely as it is to see you, Old Man, spill the beans. What is it you want?’

  ‘Let’s go outside,’ Edward replied, the memory of the woman in the tube coming back to him. ‘We can’t talk here.’

  Once outside, away from the pub, he blurted out, ‘I want to go to France on the pick-up of the English woman.’

  ‘You too? I thought so,’ Markham replied mysteriously.

  Edward looked up, a horrible suspicion forming in his mind. Was there someone else in Bobby Hollis’s life?

  ‘What do you mean?’ he said sharply.

  ‘Oh nothing, just that RAF pilot who did the drop looked just as forlorn as you. He was desperate to go back and rescue her too.’

  Edward felt a searing jealousy rip through him. He thought back to the smiling photograph of the good-looking RAF pilot he had seen on Gus Prince’s file. He had noticed they had been at school together but had failed to attach any significance to that fact. He cursed his stupidity. He was supposed to be trained in looking for possible scenarios and nuances.

  ‘Anyway,’ Markham was saying, ‘you can’t. It’s absolutely impossible.’

  ‘There must be a way,’ Edward insisted.

  ‘No, there isn’t. What’s happening to you Edward? Are you going mad?’

  Edward pondered this for a moment. ‘I think I may be. I can’t sit here and do nothing.’

  He looked so uncharacteristically pathetic that Markham patted his shoulder in an embarrassed show of affection.

  ‘I’ll order us both a sandwich at the bar. I think it’s Spam – just for a change.’

  By the time Patrick returned, Edward had pulled himself together and he stood up straight. ‘Sorry, Old Boy, that was a ridiculous thing to say. Just forget I ever suggested it.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Markham replied with a smile. ‘But only a man in love would think of it.’

  Edward looked up with a jolt. ‘In love? Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Look, Edward, I’ve known you for a long time now. You saw me through that difficult business before I married Marjorie, and I’ve always known you to be a sober, sensible chap, but the Edward I’m seeing before me has been very rattled. It has to be a woman.’

  Edward stared down at his shiny shoes. Is this what it had come to? he wondered to himself. Have I taken leave of my senses? Would I have risked my career, even the security of a mission just to fly in like some knight on a white charger? Am I so eaten up with jealousy that I can’t bear another man to be the one to save her?

  ‘I just needed to be the one to get her back to safety,’ he said out loud to his old friend.

  ‘Edward, I suspect you have more experience than even I know, but can you fly?’ Markham lowered his voice but his tone brooked no argument. ‘I mean, are you capable of taking off and landing without lights? Are you able to navigate at low altitudes in a foreign country – and avoid flak at the same time?’

  Edward’s shoulders slumped. He hated feeling this useless.

  Markham relented. ‘She will be safe in a cellar somewhere, being kept well out of harm’s way. As long as she does nothing stupid, she will be safe. Let’s go and get that sandwich and another pint.

  Chapter 22

  At that moment, Roberta Hollis was crouched in a Normandy street, trying to avoid capture by a platoon of German soldiers who were standing on a street corner, just yards away.

  She had not intended to come out, but the house had been quiet for two days. She and Elizé were starving and there was no sign of Raoul, Michel or Claudette. The supplies of water and bread in the cellar had run out that morning and by two o’clock in the afternoon she decided she had to go and find something to eat. She had emerged, nervously, from the cellar, pleading with the frightened Elizé to stay put while she made some investigations. She found a kitchen that looked as if Claudette had tidied everything before she left but there was no food. Bobby was used to the men disappearing for hours on end without explanation, but they had been gone for so long. She was worried and could not even contemplate what she and Elizé would do if they did not come back.

  ‘First things first,’ she told herself and went as silently as she could from the kitchen to the outhouse where some supplies were kept. She was examining the paltry stores of food when she heard the front door click.

  Bobby froze and then edged her way back into the house, looking anxiously into every corner, expecting to see German boots waiting for her. There was nothing except . . . except, she realised with a panic, the cellar trap door behind her had been pushed back and left open.

  She nervously peered over into the dark abyss below.

  ‘Elizé? Elizé?’ she whispered. There was no reply. With her eyes, she followed the route from the cellar to the front door and let out the first swear words of her life.

  ‘Bloody hell, where’s she gone?’

  She peered out of a crack in the doorway to the street. It was all quiet. She looked from side to side and just glimpsed the hem of a child’s dark brown dress heading round the next corner.

  Bobby moved slowly along the street, dodging in and out of doorways. She was absolutely terrified, more for Elizé than for herself, but she also knew that she was putting the whole Bisset family at risk, never mind the local resistance network.

  I can’t think of that just now, she told herself, all her ATA training of calmness under pressure coming to the fore. I just have to get Elizé back.

  She mentally thanked Claudette for having the foresight to cut off the ‘Juif’ sign and star from Elizé’s coat. They had burned it ceremoniously on the second night. Elizé was a ‘nobody’ and hopefully, that would save her life, as long as she was taken for a random French child and did nothing to draw attention to herself.

  When Bobby got to the end of the street, she spotted Elizé standing dumbstruck looking at the backs of a group of German soldiers by the marketplace. They were laughing and joking and passing round a cigarette.

  She was about to hiss a warning to Elizé when a blonde woman in a plaid coat swept past the Germans, swinging her hips. The soldiers all turned to look at her but she strode past them with her head in the air.

  ‘Monique, qu’est ce que tu fais là? Je t’ai perdue. Oh ma petite, rentre immédiatement à la maison.’

  And with that maternal exclamation, she gathered the bemused child up in her arms and hea
ded back around the corner to where Bobby was cowering to keep herself out of sight.

  ‘Move . . . fast,’ she said out of the corner of her mouth as she passed the doorway where Bobby was crouching and for a split second, Bobby froze.

  ‘I said “move”, Roberta Hollis. Now!!!’

  Bobby raced to catch up with them as the woman checked the street behind them before opening Raoul’s door. They all burst in and then the woman shut the door carefully behind them.

  There was a moment’s silence while Bobby stared at the person who had just saved their lives.

  ‘Marie, Marie McGill, what in heaven’s name are you doing here?’ Bobby spluttered.

  ‘Never use that name. I am Adèle – do not use any other name, do you hear me?’ She looked meaningfully towards the child but Elizé was so traumatised, she was oblivious, staring blankly into space.

  Marie glared at Bobby with the same glare Bobby remembered from school, but then put her fingers to her lips and moved towards the open trap door. She shepherded the shaking child towards it and Bobby meekly followed.

  Marie leaned up and closed the trap door over them. She knew the rug was rucked up on top of it, which would give away the hiding place if anyone came in, but the first priority was to get the two fugitives out of earshot.

  She stood with her arms folded on the bottom step while Elizé ran towards Bobby, clinging to her and sobbing.

  ‘J’étais terrifieé’ the little girl said finally, her chest heaving. ‘I didn’t know where you were.’

  ‘I know, I know but you’re safe now.’ Bobby murmured calming words while assessing the woman in front of her. She had not really changed since school and was definitely just as formidable.

  Once Elizé had stopped crying, Bobby stepped back and the two women sized each other up.

  ‘I might have known you’d cause trouble, I warned them when I brought the child.’ Marie said. ‘Weren’t you told to keep a low profile? Can’t you do anything you’re told?’

  Bobby could not keep up with the questions in her head but bridled with indignation at the accusations.

  ‘Everyone has disappeared. I didn’t know what had happened. I had to get food for the child and me. Anyway, how did you know I was here? It was you that brought Elizé? And . . . while I’m at it, M—Adèle, what on earth are you doing here?’

  At that moment, the trapdoor re-opened and Raoul’s head popped over the top. ‘Are you all right, mes petites? Je suis vraiment désolé.’ He suddenly stopped in the midst of his apology, seeing Marie. ‘Oh merde! What are you doing here?’

  Bobby butted in. ‘What the hell is going on, Raoul? And, A . . . Adèle, you still haven’t told me what the hell are you doing in France and . . . how do you know Raoul?’

  Raoul looked shocked and worried, looking from English girl to English girl. This was awkward. Marie looked at Bobby with disdain and said, simply, ‘The less you know, the better for you.’

  Marie had turned towards her and was about to say something when she just shook her head in frustrated anger and strode towards the steps, closing the trap door behind her.

  Bobby and Elizé were left hugging each other in the dark while there were frantic whisperings coming from above and then the trapdoor opened again.

  Raoul and Michel’s heads appeared. Bobby was so relieved to see them safe that she ran up the steps towards them with her arms outstretched but Marie was standing in her way, next to Raoul’s chair, one hand holding onto the back of it, her knuckles showing white with anger. She ignored Bobby and jabbered something very fast in French that Bobby could not catch and then made her way through the kitchen towards the back door to check the yard behind before vanishing.

  Bobby stared after her for a second and then ran towards Michel.

  ‘I thought I had lost you . . . lost you both,’ she said, first hugging Michel and then Raoul.

  ‘Non, non, we are here,’ Michel said smiling but he caught his father’s eye over her head. They very nearly were not. He turned to the window to keep watch and heaved a sigh of relief to be safe behind locked doors again.

  Michel had gained his strength, his clothes were no longer hanging off him and the haunted look on his face had been replaced by a determined expression and an eagerness to get the job done. The pale young man who had turned up unexpectedly in Norfolk had been replaced by a more mature adult who his father hardly recognised.

  Michel had taken charge of recent operations which were to sabotage the railways in readiness for Operation Overlord. He had spent the last week spying on his key suspect, but the informer was clever and covered his tracks well and the two men knew that, if it had not been for the young woman who had just left, the traitor would have won and a whole network of resistance fighters would have been wiped out.

  A major operation to derail a supply train had been jeopardised by a message that had been intercepted by Adèle and at the last moment, the resistance fighters had fled leaving an ambush of Germans lying in wait for nobody. For two days, the men had dodged the furious enemy, hiding out in ditches and barns until they had been able to make their way home.

  Raoul and Michel looked at each other, they had only just escaped the Germans to find a new danger in their own home.

  Michel scanned the street from the side of the window to make sure the German patrol had left. The only people he could see were French townsfolk, hurrying to get their meagre supplies before the curfew hour but he needed to get Bobby out of sight. He signalled to his father, who ushered her back towards the cellar, taking a moment of pride to look back at the confident new leader of the local network.

  ‘And Claudette? I couldn’t find her either,’ Bobby added, stopping in her tracks.

  ‘No, when . . . something . . . happens, it is better that she is not here, we send her to her family,’ Michel told her. ‘I am sorry, we meant to be back but . . . we could not. It was not safe.’

  Bobby did not need explanations. She was still reeling from the appearance of her old adversary from school. She had a sudden desire to giggle, thinking what Harriet would say when she knew she had run into Marie, here in France, then it occurred to her that she would not be able to share her experiences with anyone for many years. She realised she was giddy from the tension of the last half hour and the relief that they were all safe and instead of going down the steps to the cellar, collapsed into the rocking chair where Raoul usually sat.

  In his head, Michel was calculating the hours until he could get Bobby safely out of the country. She was not supposed to meet anyone, especially not a Special Operations Executive, and the fact that they knew each other put them all at huge risk.

  He hurriedly pulled Bobby back up out of the armchair and ushered her back down the stairs to where Elizé was waiting nervously, promising to bring them food and water immediately.

  The trap door closed over them and Bobby turned her attention to Elizé, who was still shaking. The last time the child had seen a German uniform it had belonged to the soldier who was using the butt of his rifle to push her mother onto a railway truck and, judging by the child’s whimpering when she was asleep, Bobby suspected that that uniform appeared nightly on huge monsters in her dreams.

  Bobby sat down on the mattress and cuddled Elizé close, rocking backwards and forwards. She started to hum a lullaby she suddenly remembered her Aunt Agnes singing to her.

  That’s odd, she thought, I thought no one ever sang to me as a child.

  Chapter 23

  It was Bobby’s last day in France and for the first time she understood the term ‘de-mob happy.’ She would soon be home, able to carry on with her wonderful job, see her family, who were improving in her estimation by the minute and see Ed . . . Gus . . . she stopped, stumbling over the name Gus. She realised she had hardly thought about him since she had watched his Anson fly into the distance. She tried to remember his face but the one that had popped into her mind was Edward’s. She sat back on her hee
ls on the cold concrete floor in surprise.

  ‘Now, where did he come from?’ she said out loud.

  ‘Qui?’ Elizé said.

  ‘Les hommes,’ Bobby replied. ‘I’ve just got too much time to think, ma petite.’

  Elizé gave the knowing smile of an eight-year-old, which warmed Bobby’s heart. Pulling the blanket around her on the mattress, while Elizé drew on her paper at the bottom of it, Bobby took stock of how much she had started to look forward to the evenings with Michel, Raoul and Claudette.

  The last week had opened up a different side to the war and while it had been fraught with danger and tension, it had also been a very special time for a girl who had never had a cosy home life. Bobby had luxuriated in the evenings spent round a tiny fire with a bottle of wine and the comfortable chatter of Raoul and Michel, Claudette fussing round them. Elizé, too, would sit sleepily on a small stool next to Bobby, waiting for bedtime. Putting her hand affectionately on the child’s head, Bobby often wondered whether the walls of this house were having the same effect on Elizé as they had had on her, creating a haven that seemed sacrosanct. Once Elizé was in bed, Bobby curled up in the armchair, ready to hear Raoul waxing lyrically about the charming life in a small French town before the war and the horrific reality of how that idyll had been smashed to smithereens by the arrival of the Germans.

  But, with the evening when they could escape their confinement still several hours away, Bobby shivered and decided it was time to do her exercise routine on the cold cement floor. She started to hum to herself and knelt down on the space in front of her. Elizé looked over with a puzzled expression. Sometimes, these English people were very strange.

  ‘Come and do some press-ups with me, it’ll warm you up,’ Bobby called over.

  Elizé wandered slowly over and, copying Bobby, knelt next to her. She did not even flinch at the coldness of the floor on her bare knees and started to do what Bobby did.