Heronfield

by Dorinda Balchin

  Twenty heads nodded in unison.

  “Good. Now, let’s get down to business. Communications with base are vital if you're to know what we want you to do, and if we're to know what you’ve been up to. The ideal circuit will consist of four - an organiser, a courier, a wireless operator and a sabotage instructor - though there will be times when four agents aren't available, so you'll have to double up on your jobs. Sometimes you might be sent out in teams of two, or even alone. The system has to be flexible, which means you all need to be able to do all of the jobs.” He smiled encouragingly. “You'll find that you have a penchant for one particular field, and we will always try to use you in that capacity; but believe me, if you're a courier and your cover's been blown, you'll want to get out of there fast. You’ll be eternally grateful that you listened to me, and learned how to use a wireless!

  “Right. First off you will be learning Morse code. Each sender has a distinctive style. Anyone know what I mean by that?”

  Twenty heads shook in the negative. “Well, you'll all send at different speeds and in different rhythms. It’s a bit like talking really, you’ll be the only one to communicate in that particular style.”

  “Is that important?”

  The instructor nodded grimly at Tony’s question.

  “Yes. Very. We'll be able to identify you by your style, but if the Germans have been listening in to your transmissions and then capture you, they will be able to train someone to imitate you.”

  “Can that be done?”

  “Yes, Banks. We can do it so there’s no reason to believe they can’t.”

  “So you can never be sure if it’s us sending a message, or the Germans?”

  “That’s right. A tricky one isn’t it? That’s why you must always include a security code in each message, and only send to Grendon Underwood and Poundon. Never, ever send a message direct to another agent. That could cost you both your lives. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He nodded at the chorus of assent.

  “Good. Now let’s get down to business. Morse code. A serious of dots and dashes which make up letters of the alphabet…”

  “Well, Adam. Morse code over and done with and you survived!”

  His young companion laughed. “Perhaps I’m not as academically challenged as I thought!”

  Tony stretched tiredly. “Yes, I found that surprisingly easy, but these ciphers, on the other hand, are giving me hell!” He sighed heavily. “I sometimes wish that damned Leo Marks had never invented the things! I’ve spent hours of extra time working on them!”

  “You’re not the only one! But at least it’s all beginning to make sense now. The test this morning showed we can both do it. Twenty minutes to encode a short message of eight words and transmit it, without needing to check our notes. I didn’t think I’d be able to do that a week ago!”

  Tony smiled. “You’re right. It feels good to know we'll be able to communicate with home.” And it did feel good. Tony had a feeling of deep satisfaction at a difficult skill well mastered, and he knew this would help him to face the next task. This was the Barn Code, a written message that could be taken by courier. It would have to seem incongruous if the courier was stopped, but the receiver would be able to pick out the real message from the text. He found himself waiting eagerly for the next group of lectures to begin.

  After his initial difficulties, Tony found he had a hidden talent for coding and sending. His technical ability with the small Paraset wireless also surprised him and he felt ready for whatever might lie ahead, although he did not allow himself to minimise the dangers. If he became a radio operator he was more likely to be caught. They had been told that it was possible for the Germans to track down a wireless set within twenty to thirty minutes of it beginning to send. The set would have to be constantly on the move. Under no illusions about what lay ahead, he continued to study hard, determined to be as well-equipped as possible for whatever faced him in France.

  In mid-April the course was completed, and Tony was ready for action. He knew it could be months before he was needed, or he could be called upon tomorrow. He left Thame Park in a high state of nervous tension, heading for Heronfield House and four days leave before beginning his cover job. The first agent from Section F had been dropped into France three days previously. He was filled with pride, knowing that he, too, would soon be called upon to serve his country, in a job so few were capable of doing.

  51

  As Tony turned through the gateway of Heronfield House, he noticed that the huge iron gates were missing. Another casualty of the war, torn down to be melted in the furnace, forged into something more useful to the war effort. He smiled to himself, maybe he would find himself firing a gun made out of Heronfield's gates! As he parked his small red sports car in front of the lodge, his gaze was drawn up to the main house. He wondered what Sarah Porter was doing. He hoped she was not in Coventry on leave, or he would not get a chance to see her while he was home. The door to the lodge opened, and Tony turned to see his mother on the steps, a smile of welcome lighting her face. He clambered out of the car, not bothering to open the door, and rushed up the steps to embrace her.

  "Tony! It's good to see you!"

  “Hello, Mamma." He kissed her lightly on the cheek. "How are you?"

  "I am fine, mon cher."

  "And Grandmamma?"

  "She is still so sad to be away from home. But she is well."

  "Good." Tony took a deep breath. "What about Dad?"

  Louise frowned slightly. "He is well, Tony. But he is feeling useless at the moment."

  "Useless? But the factories are doing useful war work aren't they?"

  His mother nodded. "Yes, but he is not personally involved." She shrugged. “You must judge him for yourself."

  Tony followed his mother into the drawing room, where the tea was set out. He smiled happily at the sight of cake.

  "You always manage to produce such nice things, despite the war."

  Louise frowned. "I am afraid it does not taste quite as good as it looks. It is the dried egg, you know."

  "I'm sure it will taste lovely, Mamma."

  “Yes, of course it will."

  Tony turned to see Sir Michael standing in the doorway.

  “Hello, Dad."

  “Hello, Tony." Sir Michael’s voice was gruff as he made his way across the room to his favourite armchair and sat down. "Can I have a cup of tea please, my dear?"

  Louise complied happily and Tony sat down, aware that his father’s attitude to him had changed in some subtle way. As the tea continued he realised that the animosity had gone. He still said very little to Tony, and Tony still felt his father disapproved of what he thought he was doing. But there was no longer the feeling he was waiting to explode if Tony said or did the wrong thing. Maybe he was coming to terms with David’s death at last. Maybe Louise had managed to convince him that his son’s job was worthwhile, or maybe he did not want to upset his wife any further by arguing with their one remaining child. Tony did not know what had caused it, but he was glad of the reduced tension in the atmosphere. Maybe he would enjoy this leave after all.

  Once tea was over he rose with a smile. “I’ve missed home. It’s good to be back.” His gaze strayed to the window and the expanse of the estate beyond. “I think I’ll take a walk by the river.” He really wanted to find Sarah and speak to her. He knew she was engaged to someone else, and that knowledge was like a knife in his heart, constantly twisting and turning each time he thought of her in Joe’s arms, but he knew that he could not let this leave pass without seeing her.

  Tony walked for over an hour through the familiar places of his childhood, but his hope of seeing Sarah was disappointed. There were a few nurses out walking, but none with her distinctive hair, or the slim figure that made his heart race. With a discontented sigh, he turned back to the lodge, and home.

  52

  Sarah lay on her bed, gazing at the ceiling but not seeing it. Instead she saw
Coventry cathedral as it had been before the bombing, when she had sat with Joe and listened to the voices raised in praise to God. She spent most of her off duty time alone now, remembering her times with Joe and trying to come to terms with life without him. The door opened quietly, but Sarah did not look towards it. It would only be Jane.

  "Sarah, are you awake?"

  "Yes."

  Jane made her way to the bed and sat down beside her friend. She had watched Sarah sink deeper and deeper into despair over the weeks since Joe’s death, and felt so helpless at being able to do nothing for her.

  "Come on, Sarah. Joe wouldn’t want to see you like this. He'd want you to get on with your life."

  Sarah turned lethargically towards her friend, her eyes dark rimmed. "What's the point?"

  “Oh, Sarah." Jane’s voice was filled with compassion. "Did your mother think that, after your father died? There's always some point."

  "She had me to live for. I have nothing."

  "You might think that now, but you will learn to love again."

  Sarah frowned. "I'll never love anyone the way I loved Joe."

  "Of course not. He was your first love. He’ll always have a special place in your heart. But life goes on."

  Sarah sighed. "It doesn't seem to go on for me."

  "It won't do, if you coop yourself up in here. You used to love being in the countryside; the trees, the birds, the fresh air; yet you haven't been out for a walk since...for weeks."

  "You were going to say, since Joe died." Sarah sighed sadly. After a moment’s thought she sat up. "I suppose you're right. I can't spend the rest of my life in this room." She walked over to the window, and looked out over the gardens, bathed in the warm April sunshine. The spring scene held a promise of new life, of hope for the future, a hope which she did not feel she could share, but which beckoned her nevertheless. She turned her sad gaze towards her friend. "I think I'll go for a walk."

  Jane watched as Sarah put on her coat and quietly left the room, the old vitality and love of life gone, her movements now slow and heavy. She felt so sorry for her friend, but she felt there was nothing she could do to help her, just be there for her when she needed a shoulder to cry on.

  Sarah made her way downstairs, through the back door and out into the orchard. The trees were in full leaf. Some of them had blossoms, and the heady scent filled her nostrils. She reached out to one of the apple trees, placing her hand on the warm bark and feeling its strength and solidity, its permanence. Slowly she leant forward, resting her head against the trunk and closing her eyes.

  She was still standing there when Tony saw her. For three days he had been hoping to see Sarah, but without success. He had almost resigned himself to not seeing her at all before his leave was over when he walked into the orchard. For a moment he was not sure that it was Sarah. It looked like her, but she seemed to have shrunk. Her shoulders sagged, and she seemed to be drawing strength from the tree against which she leant. He walked slowly across to stand behind her.

  "Sarah?"

  She did not move. He was not even sure she had heard him. He reached out a tentative hand and placed it on her shoulder.

  "Sarah?"

  She straightened up slowly and turned towards him. He was shocked by the change in her. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes dark from lack of sleep. A feeling of love and compassion welled up from deep within him, and he wanted to take her into his arms. Sarah looked at him almost without recognition for a moment.

  "Tony?"

  Her voice was little more than a whisper. He tried to smile, but the smile did not reach his troubled eyes.

  "Yes, it's me. I'm on leave. I’ve got to go back tomorrow, so I'm glad I've had the chance to see you."

  Sarah said nothing.

  "What's wrong? Is it your mother?"

  Sarah shook her head.

  "Joe?"

  Sarah closed her eyes and tears began to seep from beneath the lids.

  "Is he…dead?"

  An almost imperceptible nod.

  “Oh, Sarah. I'm so sorry."

  He gently put his arms around her and pulled her close. She was stiff, unyielding, and then she seemed to crumple. His arms tightened around her, and he began to rock her gently.

  “Oh, Sarah. Sarah."

  She buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed, deep racking sobs. The sound almost broke his heart. He stroked her hair gently, realising, perhaps for the first time, just how deeply she had loved Joe.

  "It will be all right," he whispered. "I know it hurts, but the pain will go, and leave just the happy memories. You will be able to think of Joe and smile."

  Sarah continued to sob, yet took some small comfort from his words and the strength he transmitted through his comforting arms. She relaxed a little, glad of his friendship and understanding.

  "I've got go away tomorrow Sarah. I wish I could be here to help you."

  Slowly she lifted her face to look at him.

  "Thank you, Tony."

  The tear -streaked face tugged at his heart, and he wished with all his heart that he could stay.

  "Write to me whenever you need to, Sarah. I'm your friend and I want you to feel that you can always confide in me."

  Sarah smiled, a sad smile which did not reach her eyes.

  "Thank you."

  He put his arms around her once more, and held her close. He wished he did not have to leave, for here was something he could do for Sarah. He felt her pain and loss. He knew it would take a long time for her to come to terms with Joe’s death, but along with the sadness was a glimmer of hope. She was free now. While he would never have wished for Joe’s death, maybe he would be able to fill a part of the gaping hole which his going had left in Sarah’s life.

  53

  On 3rd February, Hitler had chosen Rommel to lead the new Afrikakorps. By 24th March they were ready to embark on the offensive. The year that had started with the British moving swiftly across North Africa now saw them retracing their footsteps, with Rommel in close pursuit. By 3rd April, Rommel had captured Benghazi. Tobruk, held as a fortress by the Ninth Australian Division, was surrounded in the German-Italian rear. Rommel, in the hope of shortening his supply line, tried but failed to take Tobruk, while the Royal Navy managed to re-supply the Western Desert Force from Convoy Tiger. Wavell went once more on the offensive to try to unseat Rommel, but the Germans were now well dug in. The British advance shattered like waves against a breakwater. The year’s earlier victories in Africa had brought hope to an island community besieged and awaiting an enemy invasion. Now those hopes were diminished as people began to realise that the war would be a long and bloody affair. As Britain settled ever more deeply into rationing and isolation, the casualties of the desert war began to return home.

  SEPTEMBER - OCTOBER 1941

  54

  After the reverses of Britain’s earlier good fortune in North Africa, 1941 continued in a disastrous vein. May 20th saw a German parachute attack on the island of Crete. Although the defenders were forewarned, communications between the different posts were atrocious. On the first day of the attack, a massacre of German paratroops took place, but the British let their advantage slip away. While confusion reigned on land, the Royal Navy were suffering heavy losses in the attack on the seas around Crete. To the despair of people at home, avid for news of victory, the British began to retreat on May 18th. The Navy managed to take off eighteen thousand retreating soldiers, but an almost equal number were left on the island, thirteen thousand prisoners and two thousand dead.

  Wavell attacked Rommel in North Africa. In a battle that began on 15th June, Britain lost ninety-one tanks to Germany’s twelve before breaking off the engagement on the 18th. Churchill was in depressed but firm mood, thinking that nothing else could go wrong when, four days later, Germany invaded Russia. This meant the creation of a Second Front and, hopefully, a withdrawal of some enemy troops from Western Europe. But no-one really expected the Russians to hold out for long. Once they had fallen
, their vast mineral and material wealth would flow west to bolster the German war machine. That night, Churchill spoke to the people of Britain on the radio in an attempt to raise their spirits. No one who heard him speak ever forgot those stirring words. "Can you doubt what our policy will be? We have but one aim and one, irrevocable purpose. We are resolved to destroy Hitler and every vestige of the Nazi regime...It follows, therefore, that we shall give whatever help we can to Russia and the Russian people."

  To begin with, events in Russia proceeded much as Churchill had foreseen. The battles were fought with a brutality and ruthlessness so far unseen in the war. The Russian forces, despite their tenacious defence of every inch of their homeland, were forced back until, six weeks after Operation Barbarossa began, the Germans were within two hundred and twenty miles of Moscow. The German advance continued relentlessly. On 26th September six hundred and sixty-five thousand Russian prisoners were taken in one pincer movement, the largest single mass ever taken in one operation of war before or since. By the end of September, nearly three million Russians had been taken prisoner. Leningrad, the vulnerable former capital, was mobilised to construct concentric lines of defence, which included four hundred miles of anti-tank ditch, six hundred and twenty miles of earth works, three hundred and seventy miles of barbed wire entanglement and five thousand pill boxes, all built by three hundred thousand members of the Young Communist League and two hundred thousand civilian inhabitants, both men and women. The defences were completed only just in time. The German siege of Leningrad had begun.

  55

  After completing his training in April, Tony had begun his 'cover job’. He spent two weeks at a time away from home, returning to Heronfield every second weekend. As time passed, his nervous energy increased. Now that he was fully trained, he wanted to be in France fighting the Germans, not wasting time at home. Home itself, however, was a relatively peaceful place to be. His father was still cool towards him, although he said nothing about Tony’s job. His mother was happy thinking he would remain in England, and so be in no greater danger than anyone else in this war. Tony felt more guilty about deceiving her than his father. After all, once the war was over and he was able to explain about his work, his father would be proud of him, while his mother would chastise him for putting himself in unnecessary danger. He knew how much she missed David, and he was worried how she would cope if he, too, were killed. Although Tony enjoyed being with his parents, the main attraction of home was Sarah.