Vera's Valour

by Anne Holman

  The girls looked at each other again. “Well, we’re going tomorrow morning. We’re going to drive a NAAFI van.”

  Vera brightened. “Can I go with you?”

  “How do we know you are not a German spy?”

  Vera smiled and took out her military indentity card she used when she had to visit military camps for her work. “I’m Vera Parkington, Colonel Parkington’s wife, and I have something I must give him.”

  The girls smiled. “Oooh! So your Parkie’s wife are you? He’s a real heart throb.”

  Not, thought Vera, all the time! But she smiled thinking of her beloved husband.

  Then the girls relaxed. One said, “I’m Susie Salter and she’s Doreen Thornhill. We’re NAAFI girls.”

  Vera then remembered their uniforms, and smiled broadly. “We are like sisters,” she said determined to be friendly, “because I do similar work – providing meals for people who come to the British Restaurants.”

  The ice was broken between them and for Vera it was a great relief to find two young women like herself who soon understood her problem: the necessity of getting the message to Colonel Parkington as soon as possible.

  They were soon walking over to the NAFFI canteen and there Vera ate a plateful of sausage and mash and they were able to discuss how they were going to smuggle her down to Selsey, because, as Susie put it, “Our manageress, Dulcie Swanton, is a right tarter. She might not let you thumb a lift with us. She’d frighten Hitler!”

  Vera just hoped she wouldn’t meet this dreadful manageress, Dulcie Swanton - although, Vera herself was quite capable of sending shivers down many people’s backs.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “WHAT’S the name of this engineering wizard we’re supposed to be picking up?”

  The SOE soldier with his rifle at the ready, and lying on his belly in a Normandy field late at night, replied, “Colonel Parkington.”

  His companion, whistled. “He’ll need to be a wizard with this French coast crawling with Germans. What’s his mission?”

  “Believe it or not, Churchill dreamed up the idea of the invasion troops bringing their own harbour with them – a floating dock, and they’re going to put the ruddy thing somewhere along this coast so they can get the supplies in after the invasion troops are ashore.”

  “Whew! Dream on.”

  “Well this Parkington fella thinks its possible - that’s why he’s coming to wave the thing into place.”

  “If he lives to see it.”

  “If any of us live to see it. The whole invasion seems dicey to me.”

  The two soldier’s attention was taken up the sound of a low flying aircraft and soon three parachutes could be seen floating down to earth. Trained in special services work the two soldiers quickly made their way to the drop zone, and in a short time were able to locate the men who’d been flown into France from an airfield in England.

  Hurrying the new arrivals to a nearby village and a safe house, they left the Royal Engineers with some agents.

  Colonel Geoff Parkington was visibly shaken after his first parachute jump, and required some brandy kindly offered by the French agents to help him recover.

  “I wouldn’t feel quite so apprehensive about this massive project if I had the papers I was told were going to be sent to me before I left,” he told his second in command.

  “Geoff, you’ll see it the job’s done OK, I know you’ll get around any problem we face.”

  Geoff Parkington groaned quietly. He was frankly, scared. The huge floating dock was going to be on its way soon after the invasion took place. He’d used up all his courage to make himself do the parachute jump - and still felt wobbly after doing it. He was haunted by a past mistake in an engineering job, which had cost a soldier his life. He had a bad cold, and the weather was atrocious - rain, rain, rain. Would it ever stop?

  The French coast was well defended by the Germans – and they were excellent fighters – and soon the RAF would be dropping bombs everywhere. The chance of being killed or injured was . . . well, he didn’t like to think of the likelihood of it. And deep in his heart he regretted he hadn’t been able to bid his beloved wife, Vera, goodbye, because he’d had to hurry away immediately when he’d been ordered to go to France and prepare the Mulberry B dock landing area.

  The only comfort he could think of was that British engineers had done a brilliant job, making Mulberry, and it should work well as Churchill had foreseen. And Vera was a courageous lady who would not go to pieces when she learned that he had gone off to France to help with the invasion.

  Geoff Parkington smiled as he envisaged Vera sitting comfortably in her armchair in their cottage with a cup of tea in her hands, and their two dogs snoozing by her feet. And he hoped she would forgive him for his bad temper over the past few months when he’d been working so hard on Mulberry.

  * * *

  Actually, Vera was far from the their cottage, and dogs - and from being comfortable, as she tried to sleep on a makeshift bed the Naffi girls had rigged up for her in their hut.

  Nevertheless, she did sleep eventually, and was woken by Susie offering her a cup of tea.

  “Rise and shine, ducky. We’ll be on our way soon.”

  Stiff, and feeling unwilling to go anywhere except back home, Vera gulped down the tea, and after visiting the wash room she scrambled into her clothes.

  She found the two NAFFI girl friends ready for her to be boarded into the back of the mobile canteen van.

  Soon she was being trundled in the van out of the camp and starting the long drive down to the south coast.

  Hours of being seated on the floor of the van, with her bicycle propped up by her,

  was not comfortable time for Vera, who was shunted about as the van stopped and swerved and sometimes backed – and not being able to see where they were going was unpleasant too.

  During the long hours of travelling, there were a few stops, when the girls were able to unlock the van to allow her to get out and stretch her legs – but they were always mindful of being caught with a stowaway.

  * * *

  They were in a vast, noisy army camp and Vera was amazed to see so many army personnel milling about wearing various, mostly khaki, uniforms. And huge dumps of ammunition and petrol cans - and other stores were stacked everywhere.

  “Come on,” said Susie, “I’ve managed to scrounge a meal ticket for you. But slip my spare jacket on and you’ll pass as a NAAFI gal.”

  Vera didn’t argue, she was in need of some sustenance.

  In the long queue waiting for her meal Susie and Doreen did their best to hide her and in the crowd of service personnel. And because there was an air of excitement about the coming invasion, the chatter was loud, everyone wondering about their part in the Allied landing, and glad to laugh at a joke to hid their apprehension. So Vera was unnoticed.

  The girls were returning to the NAAFI van, ready to start off again, when a loud female voice assailed them. “Salter. Thornhill. What are you up to?”

  “Oh!” exclaimed Susie, “that’s our manageress.”

  A square shaped older NAFFI woman shouted at them as she marched towards them. “What are you doing with a bicycle in your van?”

  Seeing Doreen and Susie struck like frightened rabbits as the manageress’s piercing eyes shot at them, Vera owned up saying, “It belongs to me.”

  “Who is she?” Dulcie Swanton swung around to give Vera a look that suggested she was something the cat brought in.

  But Vera was quite up to her. Fishing out her identity card Vera held it up for the manageress to see saying, “I am a supervisor from the Ministry of Food.”

  Vera had the card snatched from her and it was scrutinised. Then Vera herself was examined. “Why are you wearing a NAFFI jacket?”

  “Well, as I have to get to Selsey with a message for Colonel Parkington, and your girls kindly offered me a lift. I thought I might be useful as an extra pair of hands, serving tea, and meals.”

  “What makes you think
you can do our job?”

  “Well, I am a Cordon Blue chef.”

  “And you are always saying you need more cooks,” added Doreen.

  Dulcie Swanton was dumbstruck. “Certainly I can do with some expertise with the cooking – but we’re not serving officer’s lunches.”

  “I feed people in the British Restaurants,” Vera told her boldly, “so I know how to prepare good, plain meals. I’ve been doing it for some time.”

  Now it was Miss Swanton’s turn to look abashed. “Well I suppose you think we have a kitchen prepared when we get to the coast – we haven’t.”

  Vera replied, “That ‘s where I might be of some help to you. I can assist you to set up a canteen kitchen.”

  “What about that message you have for the colonel?”

  “I will, of course, have to deliver it to him as soon as possible.” Vera went on to explain her urgent need to get the military pouch to her husband.

  The outcome was that Vera spent the next part of her journey to Selsey being driven in the mangeress’s van as a passenger. And having their catering work to discuss they soon became much more friendly.

  * * *

  It was dark, and raining heavily, when they arrived at their destination. Going towards the camp Vera was staggered to see the amount of supplies piled up everywhere ready to be taken over the channel by ships and boats and onto the Mulberry dock into occupied France.

  The importance of her husband’s work hit her forcibly. “I must get to the command office and see if Geoff is there,” she explained to the Dulcie.

  And, Miss Dulcie Swanton, who’d been much impressed by Vera’s knowledge of catering, and organizing kitchens, drove immediately around to the office so that Vera could make enquires.

  Eventually Vera was shown into a room full of maps and clusters of busily talking officers. A tall gangling officer came to speak to her.

  “Your husband was parachuted into France, last night, ma’am.”

  Vera felt sick. She stood blinking at the officer, unable to think of anything to say other than, “He needs this message.” She produced the military pouch.

  “May I look at the dispatch and see if it is of importance to him?”

  Vera nodded.

  “You say it was delivered after he left home?”

  “It was,” Vera found her voice.

  The officer took the pouch and strolled over to talk to another man, who opened it and after looking at it he then replaced the document and came towards her.

  “Colonel Parkington would have found this information useful. But there is no way I can get it to him now. I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing,” he said giving her a weak smile. Then he was called away, and Vera stood feeling tired and dejected. It was clear planning was going ahead for the invasion, which seemed imminent.

  Everyone was busy. She picked up the pouch, which had been left on a table.

  Dulcie Swanton’s van had gone when she walked to leave the hut. Only her bike was left propped up again the hut wall. But seeing the pouring rain she stayed undercover waiting for it to stop, so that she could go and find the NAFFI canteen.

  But the rain continued. Relentlessly.

  She leaned against the door frame for ages looking out miserably at the British Summertime weather!

  But she wasn’t surprised to see people scuttling about in their waterproofs – and she even heard laughter and someone whistling. It was the typical British spirit to keep cheerful, and it gave her some succour to carry on with her quest to find Geoff.

  But how?

  It was by chance that she overheard her husband’s name mentioned by a couple of Americans dressed in combat uniforms leaving the building.

  Running after them she caught them up saying, “I’m Colonel Parkington’s wife. And I need to get some information to him. Urgently.”

  The soldiers stopped and one turned to her saying, “Well ma’am. I guess he’s now in France.”

  Intuition made her ask, “I know that. Are you’re planning to go there? I need to get this to him.” She held out the pouch for them to see.

  They looked at each other. “Yep. We’re going on a raiding party. But we’re not offering to carry mail for a Limey colonel.”

  From somewhere deep inside her, Vera knew she must jump at the chance to go with them to France with the message. She’d no idea of what she would find when she got there – except the enemy. But someone might know where Geoff was – the underground might be able to locate him. And as the invasion would be taking place very soon so she would have to hide until she could come back home.

  “Please let me come with you,” she said impulsively. “I must do my best to find my husband.”

  “He won’t like it if his pretty wife gets killed.”

  “I’ll have to take my chance, like everyone else,” Vera said boldly. “I believe this pouch contains information that is something he needs to make it safe for many people going over there with stores after the invasion.”

  The soldier looked at the determination on Vera’s face, and then each other. “Okay, ma’am, follow us. Our leader will decide.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  VERA had always found most Americans had an easy-going manner – but they were also sticklers for rules. Meeting the members of the raiding party she found unnerving. They examined her, her identity card and the military pouch she had for Geoff with brusque thoroughness. And after she was subjected to a grilling by the leader of the raid – as if she might be an enemy spy - she felt so dazed she wasn’t sure she wanted to risk her life and go with them.

  Argumentative as usual, Vera looked up at them and said clearly, “I know it is a secret. But I know nothing about the invasion plans.”

  “But you know we are going to attack in Normandy.”

  “So do you. And the Germans are just as likely to capture you.”

  “Lady, you carry a military pouch with vitally important information.”

  “The information in this pouch is in code. I don’t understand it - and I doubt if it will mean anything to the Germans either. And even if they did manage to decipher it, it won’t be of any help to them – it’s only useful for us.”

  One soldier grabbed her. “Do you know what could happen to you if you are caught? The Gestapo are ruthless.”

  Vera shuddered, but put on a brave face. “Of course I don’t know what will happen to me if, and when, I get to France - ”

  “Ma’am, “ the leader shouted at her, “We don’t care what happens when you get over there. As long as you keep your mouth shut if you get captured. Just remember you don’t know nothin’ about us, or where the invasion is taking place. Okay?”

  Vera thought that even if she was unfortunate enough to be caught by the Germans, she doubted if they would give her a harder time than these Americans.

  But worse was to come. She was not prepared for the most terrifying journey of her life. The sea was in a fury and the heavens poured down incessant rain. Feeling as miserable as she’d ever felt in her life, Vera began to wish she could die before she got to the coast of France.

  However, she did arrive to find herself in the early morning in Normandy. Battered, cold, and lost - because the men she came with had abandoned her hours ago.

  Fortunately, she had two things in her favour. One was she had taken her cranky bicycle so it would enable her to get about. The other was that she had been blessed with an excellent French teacher at school.

  But where should she start looking for Geoff?

  She decided to bike to the nearest village and ask at a shop.

  The mouth- watering smell of newly baked bread led her to La Boulangerie.

  The trouble was, she hadn’t any French money. Not a sou.

  She stood feeling very English, and uncertain. But what she didn’t expect was that a woman came swiftly along the pavement and, without saying a word, beckoned her.

  Struck that she stood out like a foreigner, Vera wondered if she’d been recognized
by the Gestapo. Her breathing pounded with fright. But then she noticed the middle-aged woman looked nondescript – and that’s what agents tried to be so that they didn’t attract attention. Perhaps she’d been found by friends not foes?

  “Come along,” the woman said as she brushed by her.

  For once, Vera didn’t argue, she wheeled her bicycle alongside the woman whose quick footsteps took them to a large stone house just outside the village. The old property had a wall around it. They walked through the gate and into a pleasant tiled courtyard.

  Vera just had time to look up at the weather-beaten house, with its peeling paint and shuttered windows when she heard footsteps.

  “Vera! What in the world are you doing here?”

  It was Geoff!

  Her heart pounding with joy, Vera felt tears of relief seeing her tall husband dressed looking very French in a shirt with rolled up sleeves, a neckerchief and beret.

  “Geoff!” she cried with delight as she ran over to greet him.

  But, as she came near, she noticed he looked extremely angry. “We received a call to say a courier was on the way – but I was not expecting you!”

  He sounded so unwelcoming. Her footsteps slowed. He was not going to greet her by taking her in his arms and kissing her.

  Puzzled, Vera stopped in front of him and taking the military pouch from her skirt waistband where she’d been carrying it, she offered it to him saying, “I brought this message which arrived soon after you left home. I thought you would need it . . . ”

  He almost snatched the pouch from her and opening it, strode away from her and began to read the contents as though she didn’t matter.

  Welling up inside her was acute disappointment. She had suffered she much to bring him the message – and now he was ignoring her! In fact, he seemed to be furious with her.

  Feeling someone nudging her elbow, she looked to see the woman who had bought her to the house indicting that she should come in the house.

  A large cup of coffee and a freshly baked roll helped to pacify her as she sat in the French kitchen.