by Hilary Green
‘Not a bad life these chaps have,’ Luke commented.
‘You’d be bored to death in a week,’ his sister told him tartly.
The keepers greeted Jean as an old friend, but none of them seemed at all interested in the three passengers on his barge.
Once Cyrano asked doubtfully, ‘Are you sure they can all be trusted?’
‘What could they possibly gain from talking to the Germans?’ Jean asked. ‘Everyone else would know at once who had done it, and from then on he wouldn’t be able to sleep in peace. He would have to move away and take his family with him. Why would anyone want to give up his home and his livelihood for the sake of a pat on the back from a Boche?’
It was past midday when they reached the bottom lock, and Jean introduced them to Jacques Molin, a big, red-faced man who greeted them all with handshakes that made them wince. His wife invited them to join them for a meal, but Luke and Christine tried to refuse, hungry as they were by this time. There had been no opportunity to buy food since they left Decize and they both felt guilty about sharing their hosts’ sparse rations. Jacques Molin would brook no argument, declaring that as they kept chickens and grew their own vegetables, they never went hungry. Very soon. they were sitting down to onion soup and omelettes and boiled potatoes. Over the meal, they discussed their next move.
‘Georges Pasquier is loading stone down at Picampoix to go north,’ Molin said. ‘He has been known to bring escapers down with him, but he’s a cussed character. There’s no knowing how he’ll react to the idea of taking you three in the opposite direction. Still, we can ask. I’ll cycle down when we’ve eaten and have a word with him.’
Jean Simon got up.
‘I’d best be on my way. I’ll go down to the quarry and pick up some stone. There’s always a need for it and it will look odd if I go back empty. But if I don’t get on it’ll be dark before I get home.’ He shook hands with all three of them and wished them luck and they all tried once again to thank him for his help. Cyrano offered him money, but the boatman refused. ‘Free my country from these accursed Nazis,’ he responded. ‘That’s all the recompense I want.’
‘But they are children! Just kids! What did Eloise think she was doing, giving us away to them?’
Georges Pasquier was shaking with fury. He was a tall, thin man with hollow cheeks and muscles like whipcord and his manner had been truculent, even before Luke had explained what he and Christine were asking him to do.
‘We’re not kids…!’ Luke began hotly but Pasquier overrode him.
‘The réseau was set up to get fighting men back to Britain so they could continue the struggle. Not to help snotty kids to run away from home.’
‘We’re not running away. We want to get back to England so we can fight, too,’ Luke said.
‘And suppose you are caught, on my boat – or afterwards, for that matter? How long will it take the Gestapo to get the names of everyone in the réseau out of you?’
‘We wouldn’t tell them anything,’ Christine protested.
‘You think not? What makes you so much braver than thousands of others?’
‘You wouldn’t tell them anything, would you?’ she asked. ‘What makes you think we can’t be as brave as you?’
‘Me? I’d sing like a canary if I was caught – give you all away, the whole lot of you. You don’t know what these swine can do to you.’ He looked across the room at Cyrano. ‘I’ll take him. He’s here to do a useful job, and he’s been properly trained. And anyway Corbigny is only half a day’s voyage away. You two will have to find your own way home.’
‘We’re not going home,’ Luke said. ‘Not to our home in France, anyway. If I go back, I’ll have to register for STO.’
‘So? Thousands of others like you have already had to go. What makes you so special?’
‘He doesn’t have the right papers,’ Christine said. ‘If the Nazis find out he’s British, he’ll be shot, or sent to a prison camp. So will I.’
Pasquier shrugged. ‘It’s not my problem. It’s too much of a risk. I’m not risking my skin, and my son’s, and the boat – to say nothing of the rest of the réseau – just so you can scuttle off to your cosy bolt-hole.’
‘We’re not scuttling!’ Luke was white with anger. ‘I’m going to join up. And England’s not “cosy”. People there are being bombed out of their houses every night, which is more than has happened to you French, since you surrendered and left us to fight your battles.’
‘Right! That’s it!’ Pasquier growled. ‘I don’t care where you’re going. You’ll have to find your own way there.’
‘Just a minute.’ Cyrano had said nothing but now his voice cut across the argument with quiet authority. ‘Of course it’s up to you, Monsieur, to decide who you will take on your boat. But I would ask you to consider two points. One is this: you say your purpose is to return fighting men to their units. Luke here is old enough to join up, and he wants to volunteer for the RAF. God knows, they need all the extra pilots they can get, so if you help him to get home that will be one more nail in Hitler’s coffin. The second consideration is this: I’ve only known these two for a few hours, but they’ve proved to me that they can be trusted. They are brave and resourceful and if it wasn’t for them I would still be stuck in that barn, desperate for food and water – or perhaps in the hands of the Gestapo by now. So I owe them something. The local Maquis are waiting for me, and when I get to them I’ll be able to organize arms drops so when the Allies get here, the Maquis will be in a position to prepare the ground by disrupting German communications and blowing up fuel dumps and railway lines. Once the area is liberated, the Maquis will know the names of all those who helped them, and those who didn’t.’ He paused and Christine saw that Pasquier’s face had lost its high colour. ‘You are worried that Luke and Christine might betray you if they were caught.’ Cyrano went on. ‘And I agree that it’s unlikely that any of us would be able to withstand Gestapo interrogation techniques for long, however brave we were. But doesn’t it occur to you that they already know your identity, and Jacques’ here, and presumably other people further down the chain, like the Eloise you mentioned earlier. Don’t you think it would be safer all round if you helped them to get out of the country? You would be safeguarding the secrets of the réseau and helping the war effort at the same time.’
There was a silence. Pasquier looked from Cyrano to Luke and Christine, his mouth working as if he was chewing something.
At length he said, ‘Very well. Since you ask it, Monsieur, and as a favour to you and out of respect for the organisation you represent, I agree.’ He glared at the two young people. ‘But you’ll have to work your passage. You’re a well-built young chap. You can help with loading and unloading and save my back. And you, Mademoiselle, will take over the cooking. But I don’t want you boarding at the quarry. The whole place is crawling with milice. I’ll pick you up at the pool below this lock. I’ll have to come up that far to turn round. We cast off first thing tomorrow morning. If you aren’t there I shan’t hang about waiting for you. Understand?’
‘We understand,’ Luke said, his voice tight with the effort of controlling his temper. ‘Thank you, Monsieur.’
Pasquier looked around at them all once more, nodded briefly at Jacques Molin, and left the room. There was a collective sigh of relief and Christine said, ‘Thank you so much, Cyrano. You were brilliant.’
‘Least I could do,’ he responded. ‘You got me out of a hole, after all.’
Luke suddenly began to laugh. ‘Oh dear! Pasquier doesn’t know what he’s let himself in for.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He’s told Christine to take charge of the cooking!’
As instructed, they set off the next morning at first light. After another night’s rest, Cyrano’s ankle was improving. He was still unable to put his full weight on it, but at least he could manage better on the bicycle, though either Luke or Christine had to stay close by to help him on and off. It was another chilly m
orning, with mist lying low over the fields and along the canal, and when they came to the appointed place it was impossible to see far in any direction. The canal and the road that ran alongside it were eerily quiet.
‘You don’t think he’s already gone, do you?’ Christine asked.
Luke shrugged. ‘We couldn’t have left any earlier. It would be rotten luck if he has.’
‘Those boats don’t move very fast, do they?’ Cyrano said. ‘I’d be surprised if he’s beaten us to it. Anyway, there’s nothing we can do but wait and hope.’
‘Listen!’ Luke said.
From somewhere down the canal, they all heard the faint chugging of a diesel engine and surprisingly quickly, the outline of a péniche came into view. The engine note changed as it approached and the bows swung in towards the bank. A boy of about Luke’s age was standing on the foredeck with a rope in his hand. Luke was helping Cyrano to his feet, so the boy focussed his gaze on Christine.
‘Oi, kid! Catch hold of this.’
‘I’m not a kid!’ she called back, catching the rope and hauling the boat to the bank.
‘Mon Dieu! It’s a girl!’ He jumped ashore, grinning broadly. ‘Salut, mon amie! My name is Roland. Call me Rollo.’
Pasquier emerged from the engine room.
‘Forget the introductions. Get them on board. I’m not hanging about here all day.’
Between them, Luke and Roland got Cyrano on board and went back for the bikes, which they lashed to the front of the wheel-house. Christine cast off the mooring line and followed. As soon as they were all aboard, the engine note changed and Roland pushed them off with a long pole. When the tricky manoeuvre of turning the barge around had been completed, he came into the cabin and repeated his introduction, shaking hands with all of them. He was tall and lean, like his father, with sandy hair cut en brosse and a wide mouth in a face marked by the scars of a spectacular attack of acne. There was something in his smile as he shook hands with Christine that made her feel vaguely uncomfortable.
‘OK. I’ll show you where you can stow your gear. It’s going to be a bit cramped with five of us on board, but at least you will have a cabin to yourself, Monsieur. Let me show you.’
He opened a cupboard built against the bulkhead, which divided the cabin from the hold, and pushed aside some clothes hanging there. With a tug, he removed the back to reveal a dark space and a short flight of steps. He took a torch from a shelf and directed it into the space.
‘Voilà!’
In the torchlight they saw a small compartment, which had been constructed in the area normally used for cargo. It contained a bed, a bucket, and an upturned box which served as a table.
‘It’s hidden by the cargo,’ Roland said proudly. ‘The Boche will never suspect it’s there. You won’t have to sleep there, of course. We’ll get to Chitry-les-Mines this afternoon. That’s as close to Corbigny as we go. But you might need it when we go through locks. The Boche have put guards on some of them because the bloody Maquis have tried to blow them up once or twice.’ He turned to Luke and Christine. ‘I’m afraid you two will have to make do with the benches in here – unless,’ with a grin at her, ‘you fancy sharing with me in the other cabin. We could kick the old man out?’
Luke said sharply, ‘You can cut that out!’
Rollo shrugged and turned away.
Cyrano said, ‘Christine can have my bed. I won’t need it after this afternoon.’
‘What did you mean by the “bloody Maquis”? Luke said. ‘We’re all on the same side, aren’t we?’
‘You think so? If that was the case, they might give some thought to poor sods like us who are trying to make a living – to say nothing of getting escapees out of the country.’
‘Have you brought many down the line?’ Cyrano asked.
‘Four, no five, so far. One soldier who got left behind in the evacuation right at the start, one POW, a Polish pilot, and two bomber crew.’
‘You’re doing a fantastic job.’
Pasquier called down from the wheelhouse. ‘Rollo, get up here and give me a break.’
His son rolled his eyes and left the cabin and a moment later, Pasquier put his head through the doorway. ‘And you Mademoiselle, had better get into the galley and see what you can find for lunch. I didn’t have your ration cards, so you’ll have to make do with what I could scrounge.’
Christine sighed and exchanged a wry smile with her brother.
‘Want some help?’ he offered.
‘From you? You’re a worse cook than I am. No, I’ll manage somehow.’
The sight of the little galley almost caused her to regret her words. It was filthy, with every surface thick with grease, and the dust from the cargo of stone. She found a bucket and scooped water from the canal, then set it on the oil-fired stove to boil. Meanwhile she searched the shelves and cupboards and found half a dozen eggs, a loaf, a small piece of butter, and some very overripe Bleu d’Auvergne cheese. Not much to feed five hungry people; she cringed at the thought of Gregoire Pasquier’s reaction. Then, in a basket, she discovered some potatoes, two onions and some carrots and was immediately reminded of the dish her mother fell back on when rations were short: Potage Bonne Femme. Tasty and filling. She could serve an omelette afterwards and finish with bread and cheese. When the water boiled, she scrubbed the small work surface as clean as she could get it and found a saucepan and scoured out the remains of whatever had been cooked in it last. Then, she melted the butter and fried the onions. Soon the galley was filled with savoury smells.
Cyrano decided to lie down and rest his ankle so, at a loose end, Luke went up to the wheelhouse to talk to Rollo. Pasquier was sitting up in the bows, smoking and Rollo was perched on a high stool, holding the wheel loosely in one hand.
‘Eh bien, mon ami’, he said cheerfully. ‘Ça va?’
‘Oui, ça va,’ Luke agreed. He looked around, seeking a topic of conversation.
‘Where is the cargo bound for?’
Rollo’s smile faded and he looked almost defensive. ‘The Boche are building a new airfield outside Auxerre. It’s for that. They commandeered all the barges. We had to do as we were told or they would just have requisitioned the boat and put their own crew on board. This way, we still have a living.’
‘And you make up for what you have to do by helping allied airmen to escape. And right under the Germans’ noses! That takes some guts.’
‘We do what we can.’ Rollo visibly relaxed. ‘Smoke?’ He produced a crumpled packet of Gaulloises.
‘No, thanks. I don’t.’
‘Don’t smoke?’ Rollo looked at him as if he had said he never slept. Then he shrugged. ‘Tant pis.’ He lit his own cigarette, drew on it and said, ‘Alors, tell me about your girlfriend.’
‘What girlfriend?’
‘You must have a girlfriend – good-looking chap like you. I bet the girls are falling over themselves. Come on, describe her to me.’
Luke procrastinated. ‘Which one?’
‘Aha! There are so many? You are like me. I have a girl in every town up and down this canal, from Auxerre to Corbigny. And each one thinks she is the only one! Not likely! No one is going to have exclusive rights to what I’ve got here!’ He pointed to his groin and grinned. ‘So tell me. Which one is your favourite?’ Then, as Luke searched for a reply, he went on, ‘For my part, I can’t decide between Suzanne and Jeanette. Jeanette has these fantastic tits,’ he cupped his free hand as if weighing something round and heavy, ‘but Suzanne … ah, Suzanne will do anything! I mean, anything!’ He rolled his eyes and licked his lips. ‘So, now tell me. Do you have a girl who will do that for you?’
For a moment Luke could think of no response.
Then he said, ‘I don’t think it’s something a decent man should talk about.’
Rollo crowed with laughter. ‘A decent man!’ he repeated, imitating Luke’s prim tone. ‘Mon Dieu! You’re not a virgin, are you?’
‘It’s none of your business!’ Luke responded curtly. �
�I think I’ll go and see how my sister is getting on in the kitchen.’
Rollo was looking at him with amused contempt.
‘Merde alors! He is a virgin!’
In the cabin, Luke stood silently, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, breathing hard through his nose. Cyrano, thank God, seemed to be asleep and Christine was clattering pans in the galley. It was true. He was a virgin. The secret knowledge chafed at him, but he had never felt so humiliated by it before. There were reasons, but not ones he felt Rollo would understand.
When he and his family had returned to France, he had found himself very popular with the local girls. They had flirted with him, even girls several years older than he was, and he had been made welcome in their houses.
One evening, his mother had taken him aside and said gently, ‘Listen, my darling, I don’t want to spoil your fun, but there is something you should bear in mind. There are a lot of families round here who hoped that one day Cave des Volcans would belong to them. Then, when I married your father, they thought they had lost the chance. But now, they see a new one. If you were to marry one of their daughters, sooner or later the vineyard would pass to their grandchildren. Of course, if that was what you wanted, that would be fine. But you should be careful. If you were to give one of those girls the wrong idea it could put us all in a compromising position. You’re a good-looking boy. It’s not surprising that they are attracted to you. Just be aware that it may not only be for the sake of tes beaux yeux.’
