Heronfield

by Dorinda Balchin

  Angeline thought silently for a moment, then nodded.

  "I suppose you're right, though I don't want to leave." She looked at Madeleine and Georges for the first time. "I'm going to need your help. There are two bicycle lamps further along the field, I'll show you where. I want you to switch them on when we hear the plane. Then when it has taken off again, switch them off and get back to the car as quickly as possible. Jean-Paul,” the Frenchman looked at her as she spoke, "I want you to take care of the one at this end."

  Jean-Paul nodded and moved across to the lamp which she pointed out to him.

  "Were you followed, Vincent?"

  He shook his head. "No, but we had to kill some soldiers at a roadblock so they must know by now which direction we took. They could be here any minute."

  She nodded. "Keep the engine running. And when you get home, hide my radio."

  He smiled sadly. "I’ll miss you, Angeline."

  "Don't worry Vincent. I'll be back. After all, I'll have to retrieve my property won't I?" She leant over and kissed him on the cheek. “Right, you two,” she looked at Madeleine and Georges as she spoke, "the plane will be here any moment. Follow me."

  The two members of the French Resistance followed her into the darkness at a run, and were soon stationed beside their bicycle lamps. As they watched the Englishwoman turn and run towards the car once more, they marvelled at her. She looked so plain and ordinary, yet she had taken command of the situation swiftly and expertly. She had come to their country at great risk to herself in order to help them, and they regretted that they had not had a chance to get to know her. Yet they knew that, as long as they lived, they would never forget the plain bespectacled woman who had so briefly intruded into their lives.

  As Angeline ran, she heard the engine of the monoplane approaching from the north. In front of her Jean-Paul switched on his light and the beam leapt towards the star-studded sky. Looking back over her shoulder, Angeline saw the other two lamps burst into life. She heard the plane banking to the west. It had seen the lights and was beginning its approach run. The young woman quickened her pace and arrived at Jean-Paul’s side just as the small monoplane touched down yards away from them. There was a roar from the engine as the pilot applied the brakes and the plane bumped its way towards Madeleine and Georges. Moments later, they saw its black silhouette turn in a tight circle and begin to taxi back towards them.

  "Get Albert."

  Jean-Paul made his way over to the car. He lifted his young English friend gently into his arms like a child, and made his way back to Angeline. The Lysander was turning, once more facing Georges and Madeleine. Jean-Paul approached it and helped Angeline to lift the inert bundle which was Tony into the rear cockpit. The British agent tapped on the window of the front cockpit. The pilot opened it.

  "I'm coming back with you!" She called loudly to be heard over the sound of the engine.

  The pilot gave the thumbs up sign and Angeline climbed aboard.

  "Good luck, Jean-Paul."

  He nodded. "And you too. Take care of him!" He leapt down as the engine roared and the plane began to move. As he watched it moving across the bumpy ground, he was glad that Tony was unconscious and unable to feel it. Then the wheels lost contact with the springy turf, and the plane was airborne. Jean-Paul picked up his lamp, switched it off and leapt into the car.

  "We have company."

  On hearing Vincent’s words Jean-Paul looked over his shoulder and saw an armoured car approaching at breakneck speed. With a curse, he put down his lamp and picked up his gun.

  "Drive on to pick up the others! Fast!"

  As the car leapt forward. Jean-Paul opened fire on their rapidly approaching pursuers. Ahead of them, Madeleine and Georges were racing towards the car. Vincent screeched to a halt, and they leapt into the back. They turned to rake the armoured car with bullets as its occupants began to return fire. The car raced off once more. The plane banked above the trees and headed north. Angeline looked out of the window of the cockpit and watched in horror as the vehicles raced away. The flash of guns could still be seen as the cars disappeared behind the trees and headed east. She wished there was something she could do to help, but there was nothing. She would not even know the outcome of the chase. Turning back to her unconscious colleague, she checked that his belt was securely fastened and wrapped the blanket around him once more. There was nothing she could do to help their French colleagues, but at least she could do her best to make sure that Tony was still alive when they arrived back in England.

  SEPTEMBER - DECEMBER 1942

  113

  Tony’s body sought protection from pain, fatigue and hunger in unconsciousness. He felt nothing of the discomfort of the flight, nor the following ambulance journey to a small military hospital in the south west of England. The ambulance arrived just as dawn was painting the sky with the delicate shades of an artist’s palette and its sole occupant was carried on a stretcher into a small private room, where his injuries were examined and tended. He was finally left to sleep in a comfortable bed. With no jolting to cause additional pain and new strength imparted to his body by the injected drugs, Tony slowly regained consciousness at around midday. He opened his eyes and his features creased into a puzzled frown as he slowly focussed on the young nurse seated beside his bed. His vision was blurred but he thought the figure was familiar, particularly the uniform.

  "Sarah?" His voice was hoarse and grating. The nurse leaned over him solicitously with a glass of cool water.

  "No. My name isn't Sarah." She held the glass to his cracked and dry lips. "Try to drink a little of this."

  He lifted his head from the pillow. A groan escaped him as pain coursed through his body. The nurse slipped a hand beneath his head to support him as he took a few sips of water, and then lay back, exhausted.

  "I'll fetch the doctor. He wanted to be informed as soon as you woke up."

  Tony watched the nurse as she put down the glass and left the room. Now that his vision was clearing, he could see that she did not resemble Sarah at all. His mind had been clinging on to thoughts of her throughout his ordeal in France. Regaining consciousness in comfortable surroundings had allowed his imagination to run away with him. His features softened and he smiled. It would not be long now before he could see her again, hold her, kiss her. His whole body ached for her with a longing that had kept him sane and strong under the brutal torture of the SS. and could no longer be denied. He wondered if he would be transferred to Heronfield to convalesce. He certainly hoped so.

  The door opened, shattering the idyllic image his mind was creating. He smiled weakly at the grey haired figure who approached him.

  "Good morning, Lieutenant. I'm glad to see you awake. You’re at a hospital which is often used by the S.O.E. if a patient has arrived somewhat unexpectedly."

  "Then I'm right in thinking I'm back in England?"

  The doctor smiled.

  "You certainly are, young man and if I may say so you're damned lucky to be alive." He shook his head. "If I hadn't seen your injuries for myself I wouldn’t have believed that people could be so brutal."

  "How bad is it?"

  "Well, your minor cuts and bruises will heal well enough by themselves, and the burns to your torso should cause little problem, although I must warn you that you will probably be scarred for life."

  Tony nodded weakly. "I'm not surprised."

  "You also have three broken ribs," the doctor continued, "and are extremely lucky that your lungs weren’t punctured by the sharp ends of the bones. If that had happened, you wouldn’t be here now.”

  "Will they heal?"

  The doctor nodded. "Given time, and plenty of rest, and food to build up your strength."

  "Food has been sadly lacking for me since the Germans took me."

  "I’d guessed as much. A word of warning though. Say nothing of the Germans to anyone, not even the staff. I know where you’ve come from, and I'm sure that given your injuries some of those who nurse you will g
uess what has happened. But you are not to speak of it until Captain Dawson has debriefed you."

  "Captain Dawson? Is he here?"

  "No, but I've spoken to him on the telephone. I expect him to arrive sometime tomorrow."

  "I can't make a phone call?"

  "Not until you've seen Captain Dawson."

  Tony sighed. Seeing Sarah, even talking to her, would have to wait a little longer. He moved slightly in the bed. He felt an arrow of pain shoot along his foot and leg, and drew a swift breath in through gritted teeth.

  "You haven't said anything about my feet,” he managed to say through the waves of pain. The doctor shook his head as though in disbelief.

  "I’ve never seen anything like them before. What did they do to you?"

  Tony closed his eyes. The pain intensified as he forced himself to live through the agony once more.

  "They pushed matchsticks down under the nails, then set them alight."

  "That explains your injuries. The nails are torn and splintered, and there are pieces of charred wood embedded in the flesh which is obviously cut and burned." He suppressed an unethical shudder. "I'm afraid we'll have to take them off."

  Tony’s eyes opened wide and he stared in horror. "Take them off? But I won't be able to remain on active service without my toes!"

  The doctor laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Calm yourself. I mean to remove the nails not the toes. You’ll be in pain for a while and it will be some time before you can walk normally again, but we’ve got you in time. The toes should heal eventually."

  Tony relaxed into the pillows, the vision of permanent disability fading.

  "When will you do it?"

  "Now. You’ve had no food for some time, which means we can administer the general anaesthetic without any danger. Once the operation is over, we can start to feed you again and build up your strength."

  "Good. Let's just get it over with. I could do with a good meal."

  The doctor nodded and walked towards the door. "Right, I'll send in a nurse to prepare you."

  At the door he stopped, hand on the knob, and turned towards his patient. "You know, Lieutenant Kemshall, I really admire you, and the others who do your line of work. Not many could do it. But it’s vital to the war effort. I feel privileged to know you."

  As the doctor turned and left the room, Tony managed a weak smile. Now that his work in France seemed to be over, he should be able to tell his father all about it. Imagining the pride he would see on his father’s face as he learnt of his youngest son’s work, Tony found himself content.

  Dawson entered the room the following morning. He gazed down at the pale young man in the bed. He looked tired and thin, but there was a sparkle of life in his eyes.

  “Well, Kemshall, I'm glad to see you, though I wish it were under different circumstances." He pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed. “I’ve spoken with the doctor. He said that your operation went well.” He shook his head sadly. “He told me the full extent of your injuries. We won’t speak of them now, I would think the memory is too painful. All I will say is that I feel responsible in a way. I sent you out there, and I sent the order for the assassination, although I wasn’t happy with it. You may be glad to know that the powers that be have decided to put a hold on all assassinations for now.” He sighed. “I just wish they’d made that decision sooner.”

  “There’s no reason for you to feel responsible, sir. I knew what I was getting into when I joined SOE, and I knew when I dropped into France that something like this might happen.”

  His commanding officer nodded but said nothing.

  “I’ve spoken to Angeline. She’s given me details of what has been going on in your area.”

  “You’ve spoken to her?”

  Dawson nodded. “Yes, of course. She flew back with you. Didn’t you know?”

  Tony shook his head. “I was unconscious from the moment we left the SS HQ until I woke up here. I have no idea what’s been going on.”

  “Well, Angeline is to be given some leave. She’ll come and visit you in the next day or two, and she can tell you all the details of the escape. For now though, tell me what you’ve been up to. What is the make-up of your group, details of your attacks, plans for the future? You know the routine.”

  Tony smiled. “Yes, sir, I certainly do.”

  Tony related all that his group had accomplished in France, holding nothing back. He told of the successes, the deaths, the hopes, the fears and finally of his days at the mercy of SS Major Steinhauser. When he had finished, Dawson was quiet for a moment, as though digesting all that had been said. Finally he spoke.

  "Of course I shall want a full written report, but that can wait until you’re feeling better. I'm proud of you, Kemshall. You’re a credit to the S.O.E. I shall be recommending that you be decorated for your service."

  "Decorated?" Tony was surprised. "That isn't necessary, sir. I was only doing my duty."

  "What you’ve been doing is above and beyond the call of duty for an ordinary soldier, Tony. You deserve everything you get."

  "Thank you, sir." Tony looked questioningly at his superior officer. "Will I be able to go back to France, sir? Now that I’ve been a guest of the SS, it would be unwise for me to go back to Saint Nazaire, and I don't know any other area half so well."

  Dawson nodded. "It's hard to say, Tony. At the moment I see your future career as a training officer at Beaulieu. You’ve learnt a great deal during your two trips to France. All that will prove extremely useful to new recruits."

  "Does that mean I can tell my family about what I've been doing?"

  Dawson shook his head. "No. You’re still a member of the S.O.E. You must keep your work secret. Is that a problem?"

  "Not exactly, sir. It's just that my father would like to see me on active service. He hates the thought of me in an office job, when I should be out there avenging the death of my brother."

  "Keeping your work a secret is a problem?”

  Tony nodded. "Yes, sir."

  "I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do. S.O.E. activities must not be made public until after this damned war is over."

  “Well, sir, if I can't tell him what I've been doing, can I at least request a transfer to an active unit?"

  "You can make your request, but it will be turned down. You’re far too useful to us as a training officer."

  "I understand, sir."

  "Good."

  "When will I be allowed to get in touch with my family?"

  "Not until you’re well again, I'm afraid. If they were to see you in this state then they’d begin to ask questions. We can't have that." Dawson smiled at the frown which furrowed Tony’s brow. "It's not just your family you're thinking about, is it? Am I right in thinking there's a girl?"

  Tony nodded. "According to my cover I've been over in America. I had to promise her that I'd write, but of course that’s been impossible."

  "Don't worry, she hasn't forgotten you."

  Tony raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  "You obviously gave her our London address. I have some letters for you." He handed Tony a small bundle of letters as he spoke. "I'll leave you to read these in peace, but please don't reply to them, or she'll want to know why you can't get to see her if you're back in England."

  Tony nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

  Captain Dawson rose and left the room, leaving the young man to his correspondence. Tony looked at the postmarks and frowned. The first six letters had been posted in May, the following four in June and the last two in July. There had been none since. With rapidly beating heart, he tore open the first envelope and began to read.

  Half an hour later Tony was staring silently at the sheets of paper spread out on the bed in front of him. His eyes picked out random passages. They seemed to piece together a story which he did not want to believe, but which his heart told him was true.

  'My darling Tony,

  I’m missing you so much. When the missing becomes too much to
bear I close my eyes and think of Bath, and it always seems to bring me closer to you.'

  'Life here goes on in its normal vein. So many wounded! I hope your work will help to bring this war to an end soon....When I feel lonely I think of those last few hours we spent together and I feel you close to me....Please write soon, I'm missing you so much.

  With all my love,

  Sarah.'

  'You’ve been gone for over a month now and I'm getting used to your absence but it still hurts. I miss you. The Americans based near here are always getting letters from home. Why don't you write?'

  'I am beginning to feel foolish. I write to you so often but you don't write to me. Is there someone else? It’s hard for me to take the old familiar walks alone. So often I have felt that you were walking by my side but now even that feeling is fading. Are you no longer with me even in spirit, Tony? Maybe you didn’t really want me to write to you. I don't know what to do.'

  Finally his eyes rested on the last letter once more, his vision blurred by tears

  'Dear Tony,

  I'm sorry that I’ve bothered you with so many letters. It’s obvious to me now that you didn’t really want me to write. I can no longer deceive myself by saying that you are too busy, or that your letters have got lost. You’ve been gone for three months now and I miss you as much as ever but, if anything, this war has taught me to be a realist. I was happy with you, Tony. My memories of those days we spent together will stay with me for the rest of my life, but I will not try to force love where there is only friendship. Why do I say is? Perhaps the word should be ‘was'. Surely you would have written by now even if we were just friends? At least I now know where I stand.

  Thank you for the memories Tony.