Heronfield

by Dorinda Balchin

"Yes. I suppose northern France was like this once." Jane’s voice was wistful, and Sarah turned sympathetically towards her friend. "I know what you’re thinking, Jane, but you must try not to dwell on what might be happening."

  "That's easy for you to say." Jane’s voice held a sharpness which Sarah had rarely heard before. "You’re not carrying the child of a man fighting out there. Each time new patients arrive, I find myself looking for Al. I have to stop myself asking every one of them if they’ve seen him, or know what’s happened to him. I'm so worried, Sarah.”

  "I know." Sarah’s voice was soft, comforting. "I worry about Bobby too. But that won't help him. It just distracts me from doing my job properly. We owe it to them to carry on as normal."

  “It's different for me. I love Al, and I want him to be with me when our child grows up. You don't love Bobby like that. How can you know how I feel?

  Sarah turned away from Jane. She gazed with unseeing eyes through the trees to where the river reflected the sunlight in the distance. She supposed Jane was right. What she felt for Bobby was different from how Jane felt about Al. She loved him in a quieter, less passionate way. She was concerned for his safety, and it would leave a great hole in her life if he were to die. But it was not the same as if Joe had ever gone into battle, or how she would feel if Tony was in Normandy, instead of safe behind a desk somewhere in England. Sarah felt a gentle touch on her arm and looked round. Jane had tears in her eyes.

  "I'm sorry, Sarah. That was unfair of me. I know how much Bobby means to you."

  Sarah smiled gently.

  "It's all right, Jane. Of course you’re more worried than I am. You’re worrying for two. But believe me, I do know how you feel. I would have felt the same if Joe and I had married and he’d gone out there."

  "Do you think of him often?"

  Sarah shrugged. "Now and then. Sometimes I don't think of him for weeks at a time. Then something reminds me of him and the memories come flooding back."

  "It must be hard."

  Sarah nodded. "Yes, but as the months and years pass the pain does ease. I can smile at my memories." She looked thoughtfully at Jane. "I suppose finding someone else to love has helped too."

  "Are you trying to tell me that if Al dies I’ll fall in love again, and have nothing but happy memories?" She grinned, the impish grin Sarah knew so well. "Let me tell you this, Sarah Porter, I won't need to fall in love again. Al is going to come home to me and the baby." She touched her stomach where it swelled with its precious cargo, and her eyes softened with the misty look of love. "He cares too much not to come back."

  "That's the attitude." Sarah smiled. "Be positive. Al and Bobby will both come back, and all of our worries will be over."

  Jane laughed. "Mine will, but yours will just be beginning!"

  Sarah frowned for a moment then joined in the laughter. "I suppose you're right! One day I shall have to choose between the two men in my life. But I don't know how to do it!"

  "It shouldn't be that difficult. Which of the two has supported you best during this war? Who has been the most honest? Which one tries to keep in touch? Which one has caused you the least unhappiness? Which one..."

  "All right! Enough!" Sarah held up a hand, laughing. "Are you trying to tell me that Bobby is the better of the two?"

  "What do you think?"

  Sarah frowned. "I suppose he is. But do we always fall in love with the best?" She was quiet for a moment, deep in thought. When she spoke again it was as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "I know Bobby would make me happy and would always be there for me, not like Tony. It's weeks since I heard from him or saw him. When I do see him it often ends in tension. But when things go well with him, it’s so much better than being with Bobby."

  "How often do the good times come?"

  Sarah sighed. Jane was so perceptive.

  "Not really often enough." She frowned. "I can't break my promise to Tony to wait until after the war. But if things haven't improved between us by then, I shall go to America and start a new life with Bobby. I know from experience that I can get over him in time. I don't see why I should commit myself to an uncertain future, when I have security and love waiting for me with someone else."

  "I think that's the right decision. I'm sure you won't regret it."

  The two women stepped out from the shelter of the trees and walked towards the river in silence. Sarah felt that the difficult decision had now been made. It saddened her to think that her future would not be with Tony, but she convinced herself that she must be strong, or she would regret losing Bobby for the rest of her life. As they walked a strange sound could be heard in the distance, a harsh, grating sound. The two women stopped as the sound grew louder, and looked around to see if they could pinpoint its source. For a moment they could see nothing. Then Jane pointed to a small black dot in the sky to the southeast.

  "What's that?"

  "A plane, I think. It sounds as though there’s something wrong with its engines."

  The flying object approached swiftly until they could see its outline, and Sarah’s heart sank.

  "It looks like one of those new flying bombs we saw on the newsreel. What did they call them?"

  "Doodlebugs." Jane did not take her eyes off the object. It was passing south, heading away now. The noise, which had risen in pitch to an unbearable sound, was beginning to recede. Then it stopped. The silence was almost painful after the harsh sound of the V-1’s engine. The women watched the nose point towards the earth and the bomb began to fall. A whistling sound began, growing in pitch until they had to cover their ears. Sarah grabbed Jane’s hand and they ran back into the shelter of the trees. Behind them, Hitler’s secret weapon hit the ground and exploded in a geyser of earth. Sarah turned to see that it had fallen beyond the trees, probably in a field on the other side of the river. She was thankful that no one lived in that direction. She turned shakily towards Jane, whose face was ashen.

  "How can we defeat something like that?"

  Sarah shook her head. "I don't know, but we will. It's only a machine, and no machine will defeat us."

  It was as though Jane had not heard her. "Are they sending them against our men? Will they be able to shoot them down?"

  Sarah took her gently by the hand. "Come on. Let's get back."

  Jane nodded and walked along beside her friend towards the people who were flooding out of Heronfield house to see what had happened. The new V-1s instilled a feeling of uncertainty and fear into people who felt that this weapon could prolong the war. Yet if they had been aware of the weapons vulnerability they would have felt easier in their minds as they made their way inside and back to their normal everyday routine.

  156

  Bobby tried to wrap his coat closer around himself, but it was a fruitless exercise. After four days of torrential rain, the worst recorded storm for forty years, he was wet through and the coat gave no protection. The water dripped from the rim of his helmet, splashing into the liquid mud where he had sat for four days, since 19th June. The whole Allied advance ground to a halt as the rain lashed down. Thunder roared overhead like artillery fire, and lightning split the sky. Beside him, Al was eating corned beef from a tin with a spoon. The food was cold again because they could not light a fire. He grinned across at his comrade.

  "What a way to earn a living!"

  Bobby wiped water from his face with a hand that had not felt warm for days. Reaching out, he took the half eaten meat from Al, and began to spoon the cold damp mess into his mouth. He smiled.

  "If I'd known it was going to be this much fun, I would have invited the girls to our picnic!"

  Al reached down for his tin mug. Huge raindrops were splashing into the cold coffee. He grimaced as he drank. Over the rim of the mug, he spied a tiny patch of blue, and knocked Bobby with his elbow.

  "Hey, will you look at that."

  Bobby looked up. The sky did seem slightly less grey. The small patch of blue was growing as the rain began to slacken. He sighed.r />
  "Do you think it can really be over?" He smiled as the wind began to clear the rain-clouds from the sky. "Do you realise we could actually be dry tomorrow!"

  Al laughed. "You'll be dry but we'll have to move out, so you'll complain about your sore feet instead!"

  "And why not? We have to complain about something!"

  The sky finally cleared, leaving a land wet and steaming. And two armies ready to meet in conflict once more.

  157

  With the storm finally over the Americans began to move forwards once again, heading inexorably towards Cherbourg. In the east, the 15th Scottish Division pushed on until, by 26th June, they were within striking distance of Odon. On the following morning they secured the bridge, and began moving their armour across, only to face the largest ever assembly of Waffen SS armour around the Cheux salient. The sight of hundreds of tanks was daunting. But the British had intercepted the German signals and a map from a motorcycle courier, so they knew the German plans well in advance. As the 9th and 10th Panzer Divisions rolled forward to attack the British forces around Cheux on three sides, in an attempt to push them back and re-take the bridge over the Odon, they were swamped with British artillery fire, against which they were helpless. Shell after shell fell amongst the tanks, throwing metal and bodies into the air while the Allies dug in to await the outcome. It was hopeless for the Germans. Tank after tank was destroyed as they attempted to push on towards the river, but finally they had to halt and try to retreat through the shattered remnants of their own forces. It was a heavy defeat for the enemy, leaving the British in control of the bridge, poised to push on towards the German homeland.

  News of the great British victory at Odon was well received by the Americans as they made their way towards Cherbourg and, with increased vigour, fought onwards up the Cotentin Peninsular. The Germans were trapped in and around the port and fought valiantly, but were eventually forced to surrender. Organised resistance at Cherbourg ended on 27th, but the final forces on the breakwater did not surrender for two more days. The Americans took thirty thousand prisoners, and entered the port to find that the Germans had wrecked the dock installations and obstructed the harbour. It was a disappointment to the forces who had wanted to use the harbour to aid their supply operations, but at last it was in Allied hands. Once repairs were made, it would soon be in a position to receive supplies for the advancing armies.

  Bobby stood silhouetted against the sky, his helmet pushed towards the back of his head, pack heavy on his back and rifle on his shoulder. He looked tired yet triumphant, standing on the quayside surveying the destruction around him; the twisted metal of cranes, hulks lying low in the water, buildings blown apart by bombs and artillery. It was a dismal scene, so much destruction and death. He looked north across the English Channel, as though trying to see the peaceful countryside he had explored with Sarah. For a moment he smiled as he thought of her, wondering what she was doing, then he turned eastwards, and his gaze was stern. Over there lay Germany, and he could not see Sarah again until that country was defeated. Between him and his objective were thousands of men who would try to stop him. With grim determination, he moved away from the water’s edge towards the unnumbered battles which still awaited him.

  158

  Angeline stood still and silent in the shadows of the alleyway, and watched the German patrol marching briskly past. The three weeks since the landings on the Normandy beaches had not weakened the German hold on Saint Nazaire. The docks were still in a mess, but operating in a limited way. The German soldiers showed no fear of defeat, as reports of the fighting continued to come from the north and east. The Resistance group had laid low since the attack on the docks, hoping for more Allied help and searching for clues to what had happened to Tony. But they were disappointed. No Allied attack on Saint Nazaire materialised, and the occupiers soon settled back into their normal routine. Some civilians had been taken in retaliation for the attack, but the Germans seemed more intent on building up their defences, and had not reacted with their usual brutality. No one knew if they had captured Tony on the night of the attack, or if he had been killed. For days they hoped he would make his way back to the farm, or be found wounded and hiding somewhere. But after a week they reluctantly gave up hope. No announcement was made by the Germans, and nobody was found. That led Angeline to the reluctant conclusion that Tony was dead. Surely, if Steinhauser had taken him prisoner he would have bragged about it? If they had captured an English spy, they would have had a public execution? The only other possibility was that Tony was killed before they had identified him, and his body was buried without any fuss. The Germans had so many more important things to occupy them.

  The patrol disappeared round the corner, and Angeline crossed the road as silently as a shadow. Within minutes she was hidden deep in a basement, with the radio set in front of her and earphones on her head. Expertly, she began to tap out her message to England.

  159

  Captain Dawson sat at his desk and looked down at the piece of paper in front of him. He had seen many such messages, but experience did not make it any easier. He read the message once more.

  'Still no sign of Albert. No German announcement. No execution. Must assume killed in attack.

  Angeline'

  The words were cold, heartless, but that was only for speed and accuracy. Dawson knew how difficult it must have been for Angeline to send such a message. The procedure for such an eventuality was laid down. The family must now receive a telegram with the news of the loss of their son. Dawson, however, was a good commanding officer. He appreciated the calibre of work his men did, the dangers they faced, the secrecy of their lives. He knew the shock that hearing of this through an impersonal telegram could cause the family. Reaching down into the drawer beside him, the captain removed an envelope and a bulky package and laid them on the desk in front of him. The smaller was addressed to 'Miss Sarah Porter, Heronfield House Hospital' the larger to 'Sir Michael and Lady Kemshall, The Lodge, Heronfield'. With a sigh, Dawson picked up the packages and left the room. It was going to be a long and difficult day.

  The staff car turned in through the gateway. As the wheels of the vehicle crunched on the gravel driveway, Captain Dawson slowed, then brought it to a stop in front of the steps which led up to the lodge. He sat in silence behind the wheel for a moment. He had given his driver the day off so that he could drive himself, anything to keep his mind occupied by thoughts other than what he had to say to Tony’s parents. With a sigh he opened the door and climbed out of the car. Leaning across the passenger seat, he picked up the packages which Tony had left in his safe-keeping. Then he straightened and slammed the door. He looked up at the lodge. Inside life was pursuing its usual course. It would continue until he spoke, and then things would never be quite the same again.

  "Can I help you?"

  Dawson jumped at the sound of the softly accented French voice. He turned to see who had spoken, and was greeted by a smiling Louise Kemshall.

  "I am sorry to have startled you. I was in the garden at the side of the house and heard your car."

  "Good morning." Dawson tried to smile but found it difficult. Her features were so like Tony’s, and with the French accent, he knew he was addressing one of the people he had come to see. His next question was reluctant. If he did not say it, he would not receive the answer which he dreaded. But say it he must. "Are you by any chance Lady Kemshall?"

  "Yes, indeed I am. But there you have me at a disadvantage."

  Dawson gave a crisp salute. "My apologies, Madame. My name is Dawson, Captain Dawson. I wonder, is Sir Michael at home?"

  Louise nodded. "Yes, he is in his study. Please come this way."

  Dawson followed the lady up the steps into the cool interior of the house. She led him past the first door on the right, before knocking gently on the second door and pushing it open.

  "Sorry to disturb you, mon cher, but there is a Captain Dawson here to see you."

  There was the murmur of a
reply, the words inaudible to Dawson’s ears. Louise turned towards him.

  "Please come in." She stood back to allow him to enter. "Well, if you will excuse me, I must get back to my garden."

  "Thank you, Madame."

  Dawson entered the room and heard the door close quietly behind him. Sir Michael was standing beside his desk, with a slight frown.

  "Captain Dawson? I'm sure that that name is familiar, but I can't think why. Welcome, anyway." He held out a hand which Dawson shook, feeling like a traitor.

  "Your son may have mentioned me, Sir Michael."

  "David?"

  "No, Tony. I am his commanding officer."

  "Yes, now I remember. You're from the Ministry for Economic Warfare. You’re the one who refused Tony permission to transfer to an active unit." He indicated a chair. "Please sit down Captain Dawson. Tell me what this is all about. Have you granted his request at last?"

  Dawson gratefully took the seat. He watched Sir Michael walk back round to the other side of the desk, and make himself comfortable in the large leather chair.

  "Sir Michael, I’m afraid I am bringing you bad news." His voice was tentative. How many times had he gone over this conversation in his mind, without coming up with a better way of beginning? "I'm afraid that Tony is missing in action, presumed dead."

  Sir Michael’s face paled. For a moment he felt that his heart had stopped beating, his lungs refused to take in breath. Then he shook his head emphatically.

  "No. You must be wrong. Tony has never seen action. You must be talking about someone else."

  Dawson’s eyes were filled with sadness and compassion. Sir Michael fell silent before his steady gaze. Would Dawson have come if it were not true?

  "But it can't be true! I haven't received a telegram!” He was clinging to straws, and he knew it.