by Henry Landau
The ‘White Lady’, which was hiding Deboucq at this time, realised that he was now compromised from two distinct directions – the Walraevens group, and through Siquet. Wisely the organisation decided, for its own safety as well as his, that it would have to get him out of the country at all costs. A frontier guide was found who took Deboucq through the high-voltage electric wire into safety.
Had Deboucq been able to come to the War Office service, all would have been well, for we had a number of reserve frontier passages which we could have placed at his disposal. But instead, on his arrival in Holland, he reported immediately to B’s representative, for it was to this group of the British GHQ service that the Biscops organisation belonged.
The two ‘letter boxes’ at Brussels and Turnhout being intact, Deboucq and the B. Service immediately attempted to establish connection with them. At this period, the B. Service had just organised a new frontier passage on the Dutch–Belgian frontier, opposite Turnhout. The helpers at this frontier passage consisted of smugglers, who were working in conjunction with some German soldiers on frontier duty. I am sure neither the representative, nor Deboucq, knew that these German soldiers were involved in the combination, otherwise they would never have risked sending through this frontier passage messages which contained the names and addresses of two members of the Biscops Service.
Strange to say, however, the German soldier who was handed the messages enclosed in a shaving-stick, faithfully carried out his part of the undertaking. He carried the shaving-stick to a man called Verschueren, residing between the frontier and Turnhout, and requested him to carry it farther to Abbé Dierckx, at Turnhout. Verschueren, alarmed at having these instructions handed to him by a German soldier, refused to accept the shaving-stick; and the soldier, not knowing what to do with it, buried it. Shortly afterwards the group of German soldiers smuggling at the frontier were caught; it was then that the soldier in question told the Secret Police about the shaving-stick which he had buried.
It was dug up. In it were found two rolls, each the size of a cigarette, one was marked Turnhout, the other Brussels. In the Turnhout roll, Abbé Dierckx was requested to get in touch with the man whom Deboucq had nominated to succeed him as chief of the Biscops Service; this man was referred to as the ‘White Negro’ and Abbé Dierckx was informed that he could contact him by presenting himself at the house of Anna Verhegge, 44 rue Philippe de Champagne, in Brussels. The Brussels roll was addressed to the ‘White Negro’. In it he was told to start the Biscops Service functioning again, and that he could communicate with Holland through Abbé Dierckx, whom the representative had obviously intended connecting up to the frontier passage by way of Verschueren.
Goldschmidt of the Secret Police Bureau ‘A’ once again took the investigation in hand. Abbé Dierckx was immediately arrested. The German secret agent Coulon (the man who had arrested Parente), armed with the Brussels roll, which Gold-schmidt had previously photographed, and disguised as Abbé Dierckx, was sent to call on Anna Verhegge.
The old lady could not help but have confidence in him, for she had never seen the real Abbé Dierckx; besides, on the roll which Coulon showed her, she recognised the handwriting of her nephew. She confessed that she could not put Coulon in touch with the ‘White Negro’; but she knew someone who probably could, and so she sent him to Madame Descamps, the Brussels ‘letter box’.
Coulon was a French subject, and so was Madame Descamps. The old lady, whose hearing and eyesight were already impaired by age, had complete confidence in him; in fact, she took quite a liking to this priest who hailed from her own country. She regretted, however, that she did not know the identity of the ‘White Negro’, but she assured Coulon that he could get in touch with him through her nephew, Father Bormans, at Charleroi, to whom she hastened to give him a letter of introduction.
Immediately after Coulon’s visit, a friend of Father Bormans happened to call at the house, and as he was returning to Charleroi that same evening, Madame Descamps gave him a verbal message for her nephew to the effect that a priest with a communication from Holland was on his way to see him. When, therefore, Coulon arrived in the guise of an ordinary civilian, instead of that of a priest, Father Bormans was immediately suspicious; as soon as Coulon broached the subject of espionage, he showed him the door.
Coulon, who probably had not felt sufficiently sure of himself to parade in clerical dress before a real priest, returned to Brussels somewhat crestfallen. However, he soon devised a suitable story to tell Madame Descamps: he explained that having come from a town so close to the frontier he was a natural object of suspicion to the Secret Police, and having no excuse to go to Charleroi, he had gone there in disguise. The old lady apologised for her nephew’s lack of faith, and promising to take the matter in hand herself, post haste, she sent Bormans a letter explaining matters, and asking him to arrange a meeting in Brussels between the ‘White Negro’ and Abbé Dierckx; to the letter she joined the Brussels roll, which Coulon had brought back with him.
The ‘White Negro’, impressed by the undoubted authenticity of Deboucq’s message from Holland, lightly dismissed Father Bormans’s suspicions; and accompanied by his daughter, proceeded to keep the appointment which in the meantime had been arranged at Madame Descamps’s house.
Coulon was the first to arrive at her house. Chatting amiably with the old lady, he waited for his victim to arrive. The bell rang. Madame Descamps hastened to the door to usher in the ‘White Negro’ of whom she had heard so much, and who by now had thoroughly aroused her curiosity and interest. In triumph she returned with him and his daughter to introduce them to Abbé Dierckx. No sooner had the ‘White Negro’ acknowledged his identity, when to her blank amazement, Coulon pulled out his gun, and arrested the three of them.
On searching Madame Descamps’s house, the Secret Police had a surprise in store for them. They discovered a number of spy reports belonging to an entirely different service, one attached to the cereal company in Holland (the cover used by the second of the British GHQ), the one directed by Major Wallinger. This patriotic old lady, in spite of her age, had for over a year been an active member of the Wallinger Service. For this service, she had also been playing the role of ‘letter box’.
The usual traps were mounted in the houses of Anna Verhegge, Madame Descamps, and in that of the ‘White Negro’, whose real name was François Pevenasse, a druggist at Charleroi. One arrest led to another until about forty members of the Biscops Service, including Abbé Anceaux of Namur, were arrested. A number of Wallinger agents were also caught in the net.
Once again Stöber had a major spy trial on his hands. With elaborate detail a chart was displayed in the court room; it looked like a transcription of a page of ancient history. The different Biscops train-watching posts, couriers, ‘letter boxes’, and head agents were shown in a diagram, and opposite each name, the service name was shown. Deboucq was Diogenes; Pevenasse had two service names, the ‘White Negro’ and Demosthenes; Abbé Anceaux was Horace; and so on. The trial took its normal course; the Secret Police were in possession of all the evidence, and it was easy for them to reconstruct the role of each agent.
Stöber demanded seven sentences of death and secured five: Marguerite Walraevens, Abbé Anceaux, and three others. The governor-general commuted all these death sentences, however, to hard labour for life. The other prisoners were also given long prison sentences with hard labour. On the whole, all the prisoners were lucky – scores of spies had been executed in Belgium on far less evidence.
This was practically the end of the Biscops Service, or the service of the Sacré Coeur as it was sometimes known. It had functioned for more than a year before the Brussels arrests, and with its twenty-odd train-watching posts, it had rendered the Allies inestimable services. Deboucq was both a brave and a clever organiser. He was not to blame for the downfall of the service. The arrest of Marguerite Walraevens was due to pure chance; and it was the B. Service, and not he, who was responsible for the choosing of the Tur
nhout frontier passage that proved so disastrous. Had Deboucq been given a safe means of communicating across the frontier, his service would probably have continued until the Armistice.
The Biscops Service is also of special interest, because on several occasions, it crossed the path of the ‘White Lady’. The explanation of this is perfectly simple. Both services had a large number of priests enrolled in it, and both of them largely recruited their members from the Belgian intelligentsia. Unselfishly, and at a great risk to themselves, the ‘White Lady’ helped the Biscops Service in ways which I have already indicated.
CHAPTER 13
THE CONNEUX FLYING SQUAD
THE ‘WHITE LADY’ was always extending itself. And with each step farther afield the safeguarding of the organisation as a whole became more difficult. It was only by strictly adhering to the principle of independent nests that it was possible to keep the service intact. Even though plans for new extensions were often submitted to headquarters in Liège for examination and action, their execution was never entrusted to existing units. A special and separate ‘flying squad’ was created in the area from which the development was to take place, and the flying squad was charged with organising the new platoon. Only after this new platoon had been working for some time, and had deposited its reports regularly at its ‘letter box’, was this ‘letter box’ connected up to one of the existing courier platoons of the ‘White Lady’.
At this time there were three of these flying squads in existence – one at Tournai, one at Arlon, and the other at Conneux. From Tournai, Lille and Douai, in the northern part of occupied France, were reached. From Arlon, the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg was penetrated. Here a train-watching post was mounted on the vitally important Trier–Luxembourg line, which together with the ‘White Lady”s post on the Aachen–Herbesthal–Liège line enabled us to control all traffic westward out of Germany to points on the Western Front between Verdun and the sea. Finally, it was intended that the Conneux Flying Squad should push down into occupied France in the direction of Charleville and Sedan. It was two young girls who planted the ‘White Lady”s flag in Charleville, and because I have their modest report before me, I am going to let them tell the story, after I have made a few introductory remarks.
To the south of Namur, in the provinces of Namur and Luxembourg, there stretches the chateau country of Belgium. Here, living on their estates abounding in fish and game, one finds chiefly the families that compose the aristocracy of Belgium. Among these families, the ‘White Lady’ had many staunch supporters, notably the de Moffarts, the de Villermonts, the de Radiguès de Chennevières, and the de l’Epines. It was here that the Conneux Flying Squad was organised. Its objective, Charleville, was not only the headquarters of the German Crown Prince, but it was also an important railway centre. It was on the strategic line Trier–Luxembourg–Sedan– Charleville–Mézières–Hirson; and, in addition, leading from it were the branch lines to Rethel, and Givet.
The families I have mentioned had friends in Charleville, but they had been out of touch since the war; even so a friend was not always one who was willing to risk his life as a spy. It was only by sounding them out personally that a suitable chief could be found to organise the Charleville platoon. A delegate had, therefore, to be sent across the border. Two young girls, Baroness Clémie de l’Epine, and Marie-Antoinette, the daughter of the Marquise de Radiguès de Chennevière, volunteered for the job. The ‘White Lady’ wisely allowed them to undertake the mission: they knew that because of their age they would have a better chance of getting through than the older agents; and if they were caught, they might escape with a less severe sentence. They also had the advantage of being personally known to the people they intended to solicit; there would be no need for them to carry any incriminating written messages. Although considerably worried, the families of the two girls patriotically gave their consent.
Clémie de l’Epine’s family had an estate at Gedinne on the French border. Using this as a base, the two young girls started to organise their expedition.
It was no simple matter to get across the frontier. A barbed-wire fence, 10 ft high, a relic of pre-war days, separated Belgium from France in the Gedinne area, and along this fence, with the help of sentries and Secret Police, the Germans kept a strict surveillance – to prevent the passage of spy reports, all circulation between occupied France and Belgium was forbidden. It was necessary, therefore, to find an experienced guide to take them through to Charleville; in their search for one, they naturally addressed themselves to some of the many potato smugglers in the area.
I will now let Clémie de l’Epine continue the story. With true modesty, she has confined her youthful report to a bare recitation of the facts, and has not attempted in any way to stress the importance of her mission, or the value of the results achieved. These two young girls were, however, completely successful; and the Charleville platoon, which grew out of their efforts, sent us the first reports that the Allies had received from this area since the early stages of the war:
It was necessary to find a trustworthy guide. After a search of several days during which we received several set-backs, the one being afraid, the other saying it was too far, we finally, with the aid of Lucien Voltèche, one of our foresters, found the man we wanted – a smuggler, a big strapping fellow, about twenty years of age, with a determined though friendly face, who answered to the name of Georges. For 100 francs he was willing to conduct us to Charleville, and back.
We hastily put some provisions in a sack, and at one o’clock in the afternoon, we were on our way to Charleville. In appearance we strongly resembled the women of Seraing – bare-headed, and wrapped in dirty, threadbare, hooded cloaks, which we had borrowed for the occasion. We followed each other in Indian file, Georges leading, carrying half a sack of potatoes on his back.
We arrived at a small farm, and Georges, to his disgust punctuated with appropriate remarks, had just noticed that half his potatoes had escaped, when suddenly from nowhere we heard a gruff command, ‘Halt!’ Two members of the Secret Police emerged from behind some bushes, and demanded our identity cards. We had nothing to fear – we were in Belgium. But for Georges it was different: there were the potatoes.
He was taken out of sight by the two plain-clothes men. We waited. An hour went by. Was he coming back? Would we have to return and start finding a fresh guide all over again? These were our thoughts, when we saw him approaching us. He was free, but minus his potatoes. Once again we were en route.
We now started climbing the wooded slopes of a steep hill, zig-zagging to avoid open spaces. After half an hour of climbing, we were in sight of the barbed wire, about 10 ft high, strands close together. But it was not here that we were to pass. We skirted the fence for some distance, until finally Georges gave a grunt of satisfaction. It was still there – some broken strands, a hole conveniently made by some smugglers, and through it we went. We were in France. Still the woods. We followed a goat track which took us down into the valley. It was now getting dark. In the distance, we saw the village of Monthermé. Soon we were in the village, and, as we entered it, we took on the casual air of one of the villagers. Georges had friends in the village, and we were to spend the night.
We arrived at a cottage. Before entering it, Georges asked our names. On the spot we christened ourselves: Marie-Antoinette became Antoinette Duval, and I, Henriette Dhust. Georges pushed the door open.
Scene: A workwoman in a light print dress, standing over a stove in a dingy room which was kitchen and living-room. ‘Where are the potatoes?’ she asked gruffly. Georges explained and we took his part. When things had calmed down, Georges took the woman over to a corner, evidently to explain our presence, for she bade us welcome, and did her best to make us comfortable. After we had had a cup of brown liquid which passed for coffee – but we were glad to get anything – she showed us to a room; it contained the only bed in the house. There were no sheets, and so we went to bed in our clothes.
It was still
dark when Georges woke us; at four o’clock we were on our way. Again the woods, we climbed several hills, and finally descended into the valley of the Meuse. At a cottage on the water’s edge, we found a friend of Georges’, who after a parley, lent us his boat. While we anxiously scanned the river up and down, Georges rowed us across; and on reaching the opposite bank he hid the boat under the overhanging branches of a tree, ready for our return journey.
We were glad to reach the friendly shelter of the woods again. With our arms held out in front of us to ward off low branches and to push aside the bushes, we continued our march. It had rained overnight, and soon our shoes were wet through, our cloaks sodden. Suddenly we heard voices. False alarm! It was some woodcutters. From them we learned that there was a sentry ahead, and so we made a detour to avoid him.
Like Christopher Columbus about to discover the New World, we found ourselves on the outskirts of Charleville. But for our entry we had to look respectable, and so with our fingers we straightened each other’s hair, while our friend, for this is what Georges had become by now, cleaned our shoes with a handful of grass. Finally, almost presentable, we prepared to make our entry into the town. But gone were our smiling faces. Down there, 50 yards ahead of us were two soldiers. Rouf! We were through the door of the nearest house, nearly upsetting a woman holding a baby. We apologised profusely, and explained our sudden entry; but evidently she was used to this kind of irruption, for she didn’t seem at all surprised.
We promptly realised how foolish we had been – our sudden bolt might have attracted the attention we wished to avoid. Charleville was full of soldiers, and the only chance of escaping detection was to put on a bold face, and pass as one of the inhabitants. But our unannounced entry had its utility; we borrowed a small girl, who had entered from an adjoining room to see what the commotion was about, and under her guidance we set out to find the house of Abbé Bierry, the friend on whom all our hopes were pinned. At his house, on hearing that he was at home, we dismissed Georges, fixing a rendezvous for eight o’clock, the same evening. It was now nine o’clock, and we had a whole day in which to accomplish our plans.
