by Alex Brown
The next day, having spent a restless night going over and over the words in the letter from the War Office, April still felt bereft, but strangely at peace now that she knew. Knew that the rumours about Winnie weren’t true. She was a heroine. Winnie had gone off to do her bit for the war effort and had most likely been killed by a bomb. Yes, it was disconcerting that there weren’t more details, but there was a war on, maybe her whereabouts had been confidential – Marigold had said she thought Winnie was going into the field, whatever that meant, after she had finished her ambulance training at the special FANY place. But what April didn’t understand was why her Aunt Edie didn’t know that Winnie was missing, most likely presumed dead? Surely, she would have been told, wouldn’t she? Maybe Bill, the old postman, could shed some light on it – he would have delivered the letter from the War Office and perhaps the missing telegram too. April resolved to talk to the general when he arrived with whatever news he’d managed to uncover about Finch. Yes, April would ask him if she could pop along with Edie to the next dance in the village hall and speak to Bill then. And then, when she had all of the information, she would sit down with her aunt and explain it all to her – she needed to do that soon. As Aunt Edie said … she wasn’t getting any younger!
*
April was in the sitting room when she saw the general walking along the garden path with another man, in his sixties perhaps, wearing a linen suit and a cream panama hat, following behind. She went to open the front door.
‘Good morning, April,’ the general said, doing that rocking thing with his hands behind his back. ‘Might we have a word?’
‘Of course, come on in. I’ll put the kettle on, and I have news … I found a letter from the War Office yesterday … saying that Winnie was missing, which we all know meant “presumed dead”. It must have been a devastating blow for the family, but I wondered if I might have a chat to Bill, see if he knows why Edie wasn’t told,’ April said, stepping aside and gesturing with an outstretched arm for them to come in. But they held back. The other man seemed anxious as he clutched a briefcase. ‘Is everything OK?’ she asked.
‘Er, perhaps we could talk somewhere in private,’ the general suggested, giving the other man a sideways glance. April followed his line of vision, and then the general quickly added, ‘Forgive me. I should have said … this is Charlie Finch. He has a family connection with this case. Charlie, meet April … Winnie’s great niece.’
‘Oh, um …’ April said, automatically shaking Charlie’s extended hand, her mind racing. Family connection! How? Who is he? And for some reason, she felt quite odd all of a sudden. Curiosity, or was it fear? She wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, she was intrigued. Finch. This man was obviously related to Winnie’s beau. He was far too young to be the Finch, in the diary … so who was he exactly? And why wouldn’t they come in? And why was the general behaving in this way? Sort of vague, secretive, sleuth-like almost, with his mention of ‘this case’, as if he were a policeman! Oh God, Winnie wasn’t involved in a crime, was she? Or murdered, or something equally awful? April immediately composed herself and tried to calm her head from already writing the story, which could quite possibly be absolute fiction, she certainly hoped so. Yes, best to wait and see …
‘Pleased to meet you, Charlie. I’m April. We could talk in the sitting room,’ she offered on autopilot, as she tried to figure it all out.
‘Not here. We need to talk in private.’ It was Charlie who spoke now, and with a very well-to-do accent, as if he’d just stepped away from filming an episode of Downton, upstairs for sure.
‘Um. OK. If that’s what you’d prefer,’ April said, taken aback by his manner. ‘Can you give me a few seconds please? I’ll just need to settle my aunt …’ And April dashed inside and into the kitchen to ask Nancy to sit with Edie.
‘Of course. No problem. Who is the bloke in the linen suit?’ Nancy grinned.
‘Charlie Finch,’ April hurriedly replied in a low voice, keen to find out more from the general as she grabbed her cardy from the chair. It was starting to feel a bit autumnal today. She pushed her arms into the sleeves. ‘I shan’t be long. See you in a bit. And if Edie needs the bathroom, you’ll be OK to help her, won’t—’
‘Finch!’ Nancy exclaimed and made big eyes as she put her hand on April’s arm. ‘Charlie Finch.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ Both women pondered for a couple of seconds, until April clarified, ‘He’s far too young to be the Finch from the diaries.’ She laughed and went to leave. ‘That would be impossible.’ She shook her head, amused.
‘True. But the Finch could be his dad!’ April stopped moving and turned back to look at Nancy. ‘And Winnie could be his mum!’ They both took an inward breath.
‘Noooooo.’ It was April who spoke, with a look of incredulity on her face as her mind raced into overdrive. ‘There’s no way that could be, surely? Winnie went off to do her bit in the FANY, in the field, and she went missing, it said so in the letter. The official letter with the crown stamp on it.’
‘Yes, but she could still have done all those things and had a secret baby. Remember that letter posted from London? Weeeell, maybe that’s why she was there,’ Nancy paused, took a breath, ‘sorting out plans for the baby … you know, to have him adopted, taken care of. We know now that she wasn’t killed in the Blitz, it would have said so in the letter from the War Office, surely … sooo, it’s entirely possible.’
‘OK. Unlikely though, highly unlikely, I just don’t think Winnie would …’ But April’s mind was racing again. If Charlie Finch was Winnie’s son, then that would make him Edie’s nephew, and her … second or great cousin? If there was even such a thing. April wasn’t sure, she always got in a muddle when it came to figuring out family trees, and she was most likely getting way ahead of herself in any case. But, allowing herself a moment to fantasise … what did it matter who Charlie Finch was in relation to her if there was a chance that he was a blood relative? A member of her very own family. A living one. A part of her parents. The same DNA. And who knows, he could have an enormous family of his own. He could be a granddad with a trillion grandchildren. Imagine that! Suddenly, April was feeling very excited. And Edie would be over the moon.
‘But he could be,’ Nancy said, beaming as she slowly nodded her head in realisation at what this would mean for April, before promptly telling her to, ‘go on! Hurry up and find out,’ as she shooed her out of the kitchen.
An hour later, and April still couldn’t take it all in. They were sitting in the gypsy wagon in the back orchard. April had suggested Kitty’s café, The Spotted Pig, but the general had thought it unsuitable – ‘too many ears and eyes’, he had said, and now she knew why.
Charlie Finch, who it turned out, was indeed the son of the Finch, aka Colonel Finch, had just revealed the most incredible story. One which hadn’t included the news April had hoped for, even though in her heart she’d known it was utterly unlikely, given everything she had discovered about her great aunt Winnie. No, Winnie never did have a baby.
‘We’ll stop talking and leave you alone with your thoughts for a moment, dear.’ The general was sitting alongside Charlie on the flowery-patterned seat, and opposite April. She nodded mutely. Winnie hadn’t been killed by an airstrike in the field while driving ambulances for the FANY. No, she had died a different death, and a very long way from home.
In France.
Alone.
Shot by the Nazis in one of their horrific death camps, after being parachuted in to work on dangerous missions behind enemy lines. Undercover, disguised as a Frenchwoman, Winnie spoke the language fluently, having learnt as a child from her mother, Delphine, so she was able to pass herself off as a saleswoman for beauty products and relay coded information back to the British government using a radio that she kept hidden under the floorboards of her tiny Parisian apartment. That was her mission. She had been trained as a code transmitter. Working with the French Resistance to communicate vital and highly dangerous details
of enemy troop movements, Winnie was courageous in her ability to remain undetected by the enemy for nearly two years before she was captured. By pure, fateful chance … she had looked the wrong way when crossing a busy Parisian street. Right first, as she would have done back home in England, instead of left as they do in France. An easy mistake to make, but people were vigilant to clues such as this during wartime and her cover was blown.
April’s hands trembled as she flipped open the manila folder again.
SOE.
Special Operative Executive.
‘Are you absolutely sure?’ April muttered as she lifted the faded black-and-white photo, allowing her index finger to gently trace the outline of her brave great aunt Winnie’s face. The uniformed woman in the photo looked just like April, albeit with a different hairstyle and a stoic, indomitable air, just as Hettie had described her. But it was like looking in a mirror too – the same eyes as her own looking back at her. And it broke April’s heart as she slipped the photo back inside the folder and lifted out a bundle of papers. To think of her great aunt, Winnie, aged only twenty, younger than Nancy was now, recruited for her ‘confidence, calm head, resilience and plucky persistence in all her endeavours’ – April read through a photocopied document, taking in all the comments, written in old-fashioned handwriting.
Winnie had indeed gone off to do her duty, her bit for the war effort, but not to the FANY. Yes, she had gone there for a short while as part of her cover, but Colonel Finch – the man who had already spotted her potential during her driving duties for the army base when she was in the Land Army – had seen the way Winnie had handled herself when they visited the bomb site in Brighton, and then her attempts to save Rita from the flames during the airstrike, and arranged for her to go to a special training centre in Scotland, where she was assessed further for her suitability as an SOE agent and to identify her strengths and weaknesses. Then, Winnie was moved again on to a ‘finishing school’ in Surrey where she learnt how to lead a clandestine life, how to make contact with other agents and maintain cover stories, amongst other things, all designed to keep her safe in the field.
So it had been true, Winnie did go ‘into the field’ and had specifically said so to Marigold – April couldn’t help wondering if Winnie had meant this message as some kind of code … who knows, anything was possible. Even Winnie’s ability to shoot a gun, her being a ‘remarkable shot’, was noted. April read through the papers in silence, keen not to miss a thing.
‘There’s no doubt, my dear.’ It was the general who replied. ‘Winifred Lovell was a remarkable lady. You should be very proud of her. The Special Operations Executive, SOE, was an elite organisation of highly trained and capable individuals that worked with local resistance movements and conducted espionage and sabotage in enemy-held territories. Highly dangerous work that only the very bravest of souls could undertake.’
‘It’s a lot to take in.’ April slipped the papers back inside the folder and went to hand it to Charlie.
‘It’s yours. I had it all copied for you.’
‘Thank you. But …’ April hesitated as she folded her arms around the bundle of precious papers that contained the truth about her great aunt, utterly unsure of where to begin. So many questions were whizzing around inside her head and then her chest tightened, she felt panicky. Overwhelmed. ‘Sorry, please, er, can you just give me a moment?’ She stood up, put the folder on the bench and quickly left the gypsy wagon. She needed some air.
Standing outside in the orchard, April plucked a leaf from a nearby hedge and twiddled it in between her fingers as she marshalled her thoughts. She inhaled and let out a long breath as she slipped her sunglasses on and looked up at the sky. The same sky, the same view that Winnie would have seen all those years ago when she had lived here. Just a normal girl, before she became a truly remarkable woman.
April closed her eyes, imagining her aunt, Winnie, as that young girl, carefree but fearless, enjoying her youth here in the rural idyll of Tindledale, growing up in Orchard Cottage. She tried to picture Winnie, what she was wearing on the day she left, the perfectly tailored khaki-green uniform, and then … on the day she died. How she was then? What was she wearing? Tidy and confident. Hettie’s words floated into her mind.
And April dipped her head, she opened her eyes and whispered, ‘Oh Winnie. You poor, brave, darling lady. I so would have loved to have met you … to have known you.’ And in that very moment, April made her great aunt, Winnie, a promise.
And then returned to the wagon.
‘OK,’ she addressed both men. ‘Tell me everything. I want to know all that there is to know about my incredible great aunt, Winifred Lovell, the fearless Special Operations Executive agent. But most importantly, how come my other great aunt, Edie, was never told about any of this? And how come her parents, George and Delphine, died without ever finding out the truth of what had happened to their courageous daughter? And why were there rumours that Winnie had run off with a married man and had his baby?’
Both men glanced at each other.
Then shifted in their seats.
And then Charlie proceeded to tell April everything and the secret started to unravel.
‘So how come Winnie’s parents never learnt the truth?’ Now that Charlie was here, and the answers were so close, the questions flew around inside April’s head. ‘My aunt said she thought her mother, Delphine, had written to the War Office.’
‘That’s right. She did. And here’s a copy of it,’ Charlie said coolly, opening his briefcase and producing the letter as if pulling a rabbit from a hat, just like that. April read the words. Tears scratched in her eyes as her heart went out to poor Delphine, her words so composed and formal, as was the way in those days, but she must have been so worried about her eldest daughter, yet never got to find out the truth of how brave she was. She’d gone to her grave never knowing the secret. A solitary tear trickled down April’s face before pooling in the crevice above her left shoulder blade. Silently, the general handed April a folded white cotton hanky which she took with a shaky hand.
‘Thank you.’ She dabbed the tear away and pressed her nails into the palm of her other hand. The old coping technique reinstated, this time for another relative. April wondered how much more loss she could bear.
‘Secrecy was paramount to the SOE organisation,’ Charlie started, ‘and to all covert war operations.’
‘Yes, I understand that, but how come you know all of this? You have copies of letters, reports about my great aunt Winnie’s progress and skills during her training.’ April fixed her eyes on Charlie.
‘The Official Secrets Act was relaxed in 1989 so some sensitive information only came to light after that, and then of course there was my father’s memoir, locked away – many covert agents and code-breakers never spoke about their work right up until the day they died.’ April shook her head. ‘I know it’s hard, that your great grandparents never knew, but please try to take some comfort in the fact that if Winnie had made it back home, it’s most likely that she would never have revealed the secret of her work during the war. Not ever.’
‘Yes, of course. And at least I know now, and I can find a way to explain it all to my aunt,’ April said, grateful for that at least. She had set out to find the truth and now she had achieved just that. But the victory felt hollow, given that George and Delphine never got to know how brave their daughter was.
‘Absolutely. And that probably wouldn’t have been possible if you hadn’t scrutinised the letters, and then found the diaries and questioned everything, culminating in you giving my father’s name to the general,’ Charlie said.
‘Maybe so, but instead, there was gossip about Winnie being a wanton woman, a marriage wrecker or whatever other labels people liked to put on women in those days. And all the while, this “awful woman”, my aunt Winnie, was off valiantly fighting to protect those very same people that were vilifying her. It’s disgraceful. My great aunt Winnie should be commended. Acknowledged as a heroi
ne. Why isn’t her name on the war memorial in the village square alongside all the other brave souls who gave their lives for this country?’ April pushed the papers into the manila folder and glared into the middle distance – a flower stencil on the whitewashed, wooden wagon wall behind the two men sitting opposite her.
‘My dear, I’m sorry you feel this way …’ the general started. ‘If I had known it would stir up all this emotion, then perhaps I shouldn’t have—’
‘Please!’ April held up the palm of her hand. ‘Just tell me straight. I feel as if we are going around in circles. Perhaps you can start by explaining how my aunt, Edie, has a bundle of letters from Winnie, written supposedly from the FANY training centre?’
‘Winnie wrote them and post-dated them before she left Tindledale,’ Charlie said, giving April the straight answer that she had requested.
