The English Air

by D. E. Stevenson

  It was very pleasant to lie still and to feel that he was recovering his strength day by day. It was a rest—he had had no rest for months—it was peaceful and secure. He trusted Dane implicitly. Nothing could happen to him as long as Dane was there. Gradually and bit by bit he told Dane the whole story and Dane listened to it with the deepest interest and attention. He was especially interested in the account Frank gave him of his adventures in broadcasting, and asked all sorts of pertinent questions about the methods employed.

  “Yes, it was a van,” Frank said, “a huge van which was fitted up like a shop. We sold hardware in the villages. The broadcasting apparatus was hidden in a sort of cupboard in the roof. At night we camped in fields or meadows and opened it up and got it going. There were four of us to each van … oh yes, there are several vans and they are all disguised differently … each van has two mechanics who understand the technical part of it, one man to broadcast, and one as a sort of odd job man to sell the stores and to keep guard. I was the broadcaster in our lot.” explained Frank. “We toured all over the country and scarcely ever spent two nights in the same place, and that’s what puzzled the Secret Police. As soon as they had traced the broadcasts to one neighbourhood, and begun to search for us there, the broadcasts began in quite a different neighbourhood altogether … It was fun at first,” said Frank, thoughtfully, “but after a bit it began to get rather too exciting.”

  “I can well believe it,” declared Dane, looking at him in amazement.

  “Yes,” said Frank. “It wasn’t so bad until the war started, but after that we had great difficulty in getting food. We didn’t exist, you see. I mean we had no existence on paper and therefore no food tickets. Fortunately there were plenty of rabbits about and I’m afraid we stole an occasional chicken. We had some narrow escapes; one, especially. We were camping beside a stream and suddenly we found ourselves surrounded by a small body of Secret Police. I was in the middle of a broadcast when I heard shots and I looked out of the window and saw our head mechanic fall with a bullet through his head. Fortunately the other mechanic managed to leap in the driver’s seat and we charged right through the Police and back on to the road. I got a bullet through my arm but it was nothing.

  “We got away all right but we realised that the game was up, as far as we were concerned, so we spent all night dismantling the van and destroying all evidence of the radio apparatus.”

  “Why?” inquired Dane.

  “Those were our orders,” replied Frank, “and they were wise orders, because if the Gestapo got hold of one van they would know what to look for and might easily find the others.…

  “After that I was on a coal barge. It was easier than the van, because we became real people. We had papers and food tickets. We were flesh and blood coal-heavers.” Frank laughed a little and added, “You wouldn’t have known me, Dane.”

  “I daresay not,” agreed Dane.

  “We shovelled coal all day,” Frank continued, “and we did our broadcasting in the evening. We were at it for weeks and then suddenly we got word to sink the barge and scatter, so we sank her.…

  “We took her into the middle of the river and set a bomb and a small fuse and then we swam to shore. Some of us made for one shore and some for the other. They were such good fellows, Dane. All of them were. It was a marvellous experience to live with men like that … we got to know each other inside out, and there wasn’t one of them that wouldn’t have given his life for another.…”

  It was an amazing tale. Dane listened enthralled. He heard all this and much more, and he heard it bit by bit as he sat beside Frank’s bed. The fire burnt cheerfully in the polished grate, the clock ticked away industriously on the mantelpiece, and the medicine bottles stood in orderly array upon the glass-topped table; and sometimes, as Dane listened to the quiet tired voice narrating its owner’s astounding adventures, he could hardly believe his ears; the tale was so alien to the austere and cleanly comfort and security of the small bare room as to be almost incredible.

  The boy had lived through a nightmare—through months of strain and stress and constant dangers—and it seemed odd to Dane that these experiences had left no mark on Frank. He saw Frank sitting up in bed, with his breakfast tray balanced on his knees, he watched Frank cut off the top of his egg with meticulous precision, and lift the silver egg spoon. There he sat, in an ordinary common or garden hospital bed, wearing a perfectly ordinary pair of pink and white striped pyjamas! It seemed incongruous to the point of absurdity that a man who had fought and starved and suffered, and had escaped by a hairsbreadth from worse than death should look and behave like an ordinary person, should be enjoying his breakfast—just as ordinary people enjoyed theirs, only with a good deal more zest than most—should be having his face and hands washed and his hair neatly brushed by a matter-of-fact Scottish nurse.

  Dane was all the more able to understand and appreciate Frank’s account of his adventures because he had been in a few tight corners himself. He thought about Frank a good deal for he had plenty of time for thought. Frank was indeed a whole person—just as Sophie had said—and he was even more of a whole person now, for he had found himself. Through dangers shared with other men Frank had found that strange happiness of companionship in danger, he had discovered his fellow man. Dane realized this because he had gone through the same experience. For years he had travelled the world, locked up within himself, exchanging words or signals with his fellows which carried no freight, and then, through dangers shared with other men, he had found companionship—he had become a citizen of the world and all good men and true were his brothers.

  Dane had put up at the little hotel at Dalfinnan. He had come by train for the roads were blocked with snow. It was, indeed, the heaviest snowfall that the country had experienced for years, and the hardest frost. There was very little for Dane to do in the hours between his visits to the hospital. The snow was too deep for him to walk very far except on the roads which had been cleared by the snow plough. He found a set of Waverley novels in the little hotel and renewed his acquaintance with them with a good deal of pleasure. He also wrote long letters to Sophie, telling her all his news, and received in return even longer replies. Sophie and he decided that when Frank was well enough to be moved he was to be brought to Fernacres for a period of convalescence. The doctor was a source of companionship and amusement during these long and somewhat lonely weeks, and Dane often dined with him at his house, or entertained him at the hotel in return.

  Gradually Frank recovered. He was allowed to get up for a few hours, and he sat in a chair by the window and looked out at the snow. It was melting now, but not very rapidly, it was seeping away into the ground in small streams of water.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “So you see,” said Frank, after a little silence. “So you see I couldn’t let anyone know where I was or what I was doing—besides I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to see anyone I knew because I was so ashamed. I had trusted Hitler … admired him like a god … and I felt he had betrayed me. I had to do something to take the bitterness out of life.”

  “Are you still a member of that league?” Dane inquired, for this was a question which had exercised his mind a good deal.

  “Yes and no,” replied Frank slowly.

  “Perhaps you’re not allowed to tell me.”

  “I may use my discretion … and I’m going to use it. I’m willing to tell you everything because I think we can help each other.”

  “Why should you think that?”

  Frank lay back on his pillows and gazed at the ceiling. “You took me in at first,” he admitted. “I thought you were a drone, but I saw quite soon that you had a brain and used it. I believe you are in the British Secret Service.”

  “No,” said Dane.

  “You have some connection with it, anyhow, I’m sure of that.”

  “How—?

  “Little things put together … Dane, we’re working for the same end.”

  “Are we?”

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nbsp; “Well, of course. Isn’t Britain’s aim the overthrow of the Nazi Government?” He tugged at Dane’s sleeve. “Dane, do help me. You’ll put me in touch with the right people, won’t you?”

  “You seem to think I’m a magician,” said Dane, smiling at him.

  “Yes, it’s a habit I’ve got into. You always seem to know everything. You turn up at exactly the right moment and smooth out all the tangles. Yes, I’m afraid I’ve got into the habit of thinking you can do everything.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Dane said. “Perhaps I’ll wave my wand …”

  He thought about it a good deal. Frank had said that they were working for the same end. That was not quite true. Dane was under no misapprehension. He was not one of those wishful thinkers who said that we were fighting Hitler, and Hitler alone; we were fighting Germany and fighting for our lives, there was no doubt of that, but of course it was quite natural that Frank should take the other view. At the same time it seemed to Dane that there were possibilities in Frank’s suggestion and he decided to write to Colonel Carter on the subject. The letter was not very easy to write, for the matter was so extremely delicate and confidential that he was unwilling to put it on paper and entrust it to His Majesty’s mail, but to Colonel Carter a hint was as good as a detailed statement of fact, he was a past master in the art of deciphering cryptograms.

  Having dispatched his letter, Dane decided to clear up another matter which had been on his mind for some time. In the course of their conversations together Frank had often said that he wondered what had happened to Rudi and Max. His recollections of those last few moments in the Heinkel were extremely vague, but he had received an impression of urgency and stress in Rudi’s voice. “He kept on saying I was to hurry,” Frank had told Dane (and had told him more than once). “He kept saying that there was no time to waste. It was odd, because, before, he had always told me I was to do it slowly …”

  Frank was anxious about his friends—it was quite natural that he should be—and Dane decided to find out what had happened to them. This was not a difficult matter of course, but to clear it up in a satisfactory manner it was necessary that Dane should leave Dalfinnan by the early morning train and return late in the evening. He told Frank that he was going away for the day but did not disclose his reasons, for if he discovered that Frank’s two friends had met with disaster—a not unlikely contingency, all things considered—he intended to keep the fact to himself. Frank had enough to bear without the distress of knowing that his two friends had given their lives in his service.

  Frank had plenty of time to think during Dane’s absence, and, because he missed Dane’s visit so much, he realised more clearly than before how good and kind Dane was to stay with him. Dane must be longing to go home, and of course he ought to go … I must talk to him about it, Frank decided. He had had his supper and had gone back to bed, and was lying watching the firelight flickering on the ceiling when the door opened and Dane looked in.

  “I’m not asleep,” said Frank quickly.

  “Good,” said Dane. “How have you got on? I hope you’ve been a good boy and done what Nurse told you.”

  “I haven’t any choice,” declared Frank somewhat ruefully. “She’s very kind of course, but she rules with a rod of iron.”

  Dane came in and stood by the bed, he looked very tall and thin in the dancing firelight and his shadow was huge and distorted upon the opposite wall. “I’ve got news for you, Frank,” he said.

  “News for me?”

  “Yes … I don’t know whether you’ll think it good or bad.”

  Frank gazed at him in surprise. “You’re very mysterious,” he said.

  “News of your friends,” explained Dane, sitting down beside the bed. “Rudi and Max … they’re both well.”

  “How on earth—?”

  “You said once or twice that you wondered what had happened to them and it wasn’t very difficult to find out. They were attacked by R.A.F. Fighters and the Heinkel was forced down into the sea, but Max and Rudi were rescued by a fishing-boat and taken prisoner. They’re well and cheerful, and they were very interested to hear all about you.”

  “Dane, do you mean you’ve seen them?”

  “Yes, and spoken to them.”

  “You spoke to them in German?”

  Dane smiled. “Of course I did. They can’t speak anything else. I had a long talk with them—I was able to arrange it—and when they discovered that I was a friend of yours we got on like a house on fire. They’re nice fellows, Frank.”

  “I think your news is good,” said Frank, thoughtfully. “They were both feeling the strain pretty badly … but they will be a great loss to the league.”

  “They sent you messages,” continued Dane. “Rudi said I was to tell you that you’ve won your bet, and Max sent you his love, and a mysterious communication about a two-edged weapon … he is content to leave this weapon in other hands.”

  Frank smiled.

  “You understand?” inquired Dane.

  “Yes,” said Frank. “Yes, I understand very well.” He was silent for a few moments and then he said, “I have just thought of something. I ought to be there too … in the Prison Camp … and, Dane, if you think it right I am willing to go. If you think I should give myself up—”

  “No,” said Dane, smiling. “No Frank, you stay where you are. We may find other uses for you.”

  The next day was fine and sunny and Frank took his first walk in the garden of the hospital, leaning on Dane’s arm.

  “You are good to me,” Frank told him.

  “Not a bit of it. I’m merely exercising common humanity.”

  “It is a pity that kindness isn’t more common,” said Frank with a little difficulty. “There is kindness in German hearts, too, but it is hidden from view because kindness has become a crime.”

  They stopped their slow pacing and looked out over the hedge encircling the little garden. The road passed by on the other side of the hedge and curved away over the moor. The landscape was brown and wintry looking, and there were still patches of snow to be seen, lying on the sheltered side of walls and rocks and in the hollows of the hills, but in spite of this, there was a feeling of spring in the air.

  Frank sighed. “I have given up all hope of Wynne,” he said in a quiet voice. “I want you to know that, Dane. You needn’t be afraid of—of that any more.”

  “But Frank—”

  “No, please listen. I’ve thought it all out. You were right, Dane. It wouldn’t be fair to ask Wynne to marry me unless I were ready to give up my nationality—that would be the only way—and I can’t do that. I can’t do it because it’s part of myself and some day Germany will be a good and great nation. She must be, Dane. There’s so much good in her still—courage and kindness and faith—”

  Dane was moved. He said, “Everyone knows that, Frank.”

  “When that day comes Germany will need us,” continued Frank in a low voice. “At least I hope she will. I can’t desert my country when she is in distress … but it may be years before she is free from shadows.” He thought of Tant’ Anna as he spoke—an old woman frightened of shadows—and his voice was grave and stern.

  Dane was wondering what to say in reply when a car drove up and stopped at the gate and a tall, broad-shouldered man got out and straightened himself stiffly, Dane looked at him … and looked again … it was Colonel Carter!

  Dane was so amazed to see Colonel Carter here in Dalfinnan that he was quite bereft of the powers of speech and movement.

  When Colonel Carter had finished stretching himself, he turned and looked up at the hospital and then round the garden. The two figures standing by the hedge caught his eye and he waved his hand cheerfully.

  “Hullo,” he cried, coming towards them across the grass. “Hullo, Dane, there you are! Once more the mountain has had to come to Mahomet … and I imagine this is our young friend. I have wanted to meet him for some time but you kept him in your bag … supposing you introduce us.”
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br />   “But how …” exclaimed Dane staring at him.

  The Colonel chuckled. “It’s worth the journey to see you at a disadvantage,” he declared. “By Jove it is! To see you standing there with your mouth open just like any ordinary person taken by surprise … ha, ha, it’s great! Is there any fishing in this part of the country?”

  “Fishing!”

  “Yes, fly-fishing—that’s what I’m supposed to be doing. I’ve given myself a week’s leave … I had to. When I got your letter I was so eaten up with curiosity that I couldn’t concentrate … you were so damned careful to give nothing away that your letter read like something out of Alice in Wonderland … and, while I was still racking my brains over that, the news came in that you were making up to a couple of German Airmen in the Prison Camp at Northtown … using my name to get yourself a private interview with them. What are you up to, Dane?”

  “Lord, lord, what a man!” said Dane, laughing heartily.

  “What a man, yourself,” retorted Colonel Carter. “What are you up to? What do you think you’re doing? Did I give you leave to bandy my name about Prison Camps all over the country-side?”

  “I found it worked very well—”

  “I daresay you did … and that’s not all by any means. What did you mean by rousing my curiosity, filling my head with your mad hatter allusions and nearly driving me to drink?”

  “I thought you would understand—”

  “You seem to think I’m a telepathist or a crossword puzzle fan,” declared Colonel Carter with mock fury. “You seem to think I have nothing to do all day but sit and read your letters with a wet towel round my head … and here am I—a busy man with weighty affairs pending—here am I wasting my time chasing you all over Scotland.”

  “There wasn’t any need—”

  “Wasn’t there? Of course there was. About the only thing I did manage to glean from your letter was that our young friend had turned up again in mysterious circumstances, and I wanted to see him before you shoved him back into your bag. I’ve come a matter of five hundred miles to make the acquaintance of our young friend—and you refuse to introduce us.”