Churchill's White Rabbit (26 page)

Forest’s first few days at Fresnes were not exactly pleasant. He remained handcuffed, making the most mundane tasks difficult, and was confined to a cold cell, but in comparison to the avenue Foch it was a welcome reprieve. The guards liked to emphasise their orders with slaps and kicks, but it was nothing compared to Gestapo treatment and Forest even received treatment for a nasty slice on his wrist inflicted by the handcuffs. It had begun to go septic and a German medical orderly cleaned it and gave him medicine, though the kindness was unhappily given as the orderly saw it as pointless since he would die soon anyway. Such was the reputation of Fresnes.

Gradually things began to improve and with them so did Forest’s spirits. He was allowed to have his handcuffs removed, which was a massive relief, and he was even given a grubby blanket, so at least now he could warm himself and sleep a little at night.

Forest rapidly began to assess his situation and to make contact with his fellow inmates. He noticed that prisoners would shout messages out to communicate with each other, using code to fool the guards. Commonly this happened first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Forest decided to join the conversation and managed to draw the attention of his neighbour in the next cell. By removing the head of a tap in his cell he was able to whisper messages through the plumbing of the prison and got to know his new friend, Lecoq. Lecoq had been at Fresnes for three months and was a former member of Pichard’s network. He passed on what little he knew, the information largely out of date, and was eager to hear from Forest what had happened since his arrest. Lecoq christened Forest ‘Tartarin’, so that if a guard heard a message shouted they would not know which prisoner had yelled it. The prisoners were careful only to shout at prescribed times when many would do it at once to confuse the guards and reduce their own risk of being detected.

Speaking to a friendly voice helped Forest no end and his mental state and resolve rapidly improved. His mind was once again turning to out-smarting his captors and even escaping, but his acquaintance with Lecoq was cut short when Forest was transferred to another cell on the second floor.

At least this one was cleaner, and his guard, named Korrel, was one of the few decent human beings employed by the prison. Korrel was able to get Forest odd little necessities: a toothbrush, soap and a bible. It was not much but at least meant that Forest could wash his filthy uniform in the small sink in his cell. The bloodstains were impossible to get out entirely, but the worst of the dirt was removed. In the cold cell it took a long time for the uniform to dry and in the meantime Forest had to shiver beneath his blanket, but at least it went some way to restoring his dignity and from then on he tried to maintain it by alternately washing his underwear and uniform.

Without anyone to talk to Forest’s mind returned to the possibility of escape. Lecoq had made it plain that escaping from Fresnes was virtually impossible, but prisoners were regularly taken to Paris for interrogation – this could provide Forest with his opportunity. From then on he studied the movements and habits of the guards in order to work out when best to affect his escape during transfer.

There was plenty of time to take stock of his cell and Forest examined his small window in minute detail in case it offered any opportunities. He realised that the grouting around the panes of glass was not terribly thick and could be scraped away with a fingernail. Using what tools he could find, such as the sharpened handle of his toothbrush, he worked at the grout until the pane became loose. He took care that the piece of glass would still sit in the frame without the grout and then, when it was safe, removed it and took his first deep breath of fresh air. He couldn’t see much through the hole, but he could hear a lot.

One evening he heard an English voice calling out to try and talk to someone. Discreetly, he called back and introduced himself as Tartarin. A small part of him was concerned he could be talking to a mole working for the Gestapo, so he was cautious in what information he revealed, but wasted no time interrogating his new contact. Through a series of evening conversations shouted through the window Forest learned that he was talking to RAF pilot Jim, in reality Sergeant E.J. Gillman, who had been shot down and captured. He shared a cell with Joe Kenny, another airman, and an American pilot, Tex. In a nearby cell there was an Australian, Flying Officer Clifton Tucker.

Forest knew the airmen would likely be sent to a POW camp soon, as they had no doubt been questioned already, but since the Germans (even the Gestapo) had a grudging respect for the Geneva Convention where it concerned military personnel it was unlikely that they had been tortured.

Forest held out a hope that sooner or later the airmen would be able to get home and take a message to Barbara. As carefully as he could he gave them her name and asked them to tell her where they had last seen him. It wasn’t much, but it gave him some comfort.

If Forest had hoped the Gestapo were done with him, he was sorely wrong. As Lecoq had predicted, eventually he was transported back to the Gestapo headquarters for the usual round of interrogations. Ernst Misselwitz reappeared and tried his hand, as did Rudi, but Forest had had time to rebuild his strength and still refused to talk. It was then that Misselwitz played what he believed was his trump card.

‘You know a man by the name Horace?’ he asked.

Forest had to think fast. Horace was the failed
agent de liaison
he had almost shot because he doubted his loyalty.

‘You mean Andre Lemonnier.’ He had no loyalty to the man so was not inclined to hide his name, in fact he was intrigued to discovered what Horace had been up to.

Misselwitz was obviously pleased with his find and must have thought it a significant blow to Forest as he revealed his connection to Horace.

‘Lemonnier has been working for us for some time, he has provided a great deal of information about your activities.’

Misselwitz had a list of dates and appointments that Forest had supposedly attended that had been listed by Horace. Forest had to restrain a smirk. Since he had sent the boy packing he had had no contact with him and he certainly could not have had the information he claimed. Besides, it was quite obviously all false.

‘Lemonnier has been lying to you. I never went to those meetings. I knew he was a traitor and sent him away months ago.’ Forest said.

‘Don’t try and fool me, Lemonnier has told us everything.’

‘It is the truth, he can’t know all this, in fact all these dates are wrong and I can prove it.’

Something about Forest’s tone had clearly concerned Misselwitz, as he didn’t immediately go on the attack again. He was obviously worried – perhaps even the Gestapo had had their suspicions about good old Horace.

‘Let me confront him and I can prove to you he is a liar. I suppose you have paid him for all these falsehoods?’

Misselwitz had no answer to that, and instead he agreed to arrange a meeting when it would be ‘proved’ to Forest that Horace was a good informer. Forest returned to his cell that night feeling satisfied and gleeful that he was about to confront a Nazi collaborator and silence him forever. Long nights in Gestapo hands had made Forest more inclined towards revenge than he had ever been before. He still wasn’t sure who had betrayed him at Passy Métro, but he would have them one day as well. For now he would content himself with taking down Horace the traitor.

A week later Misselwitz was waiting for him at avenue Foch. The German didn’t appear entirely confident as Forest was ushered in. He was made to sit and then they were to wait.

‘Horace will be late.’ Forest predicted bluntly; he doubted Lemonnier had improved his punctuality for the Germans. The young man’s complete carelessness was remarkable knowing the men he was dealing with. Misselwitz ignored him, but when an hour passed with no sign of Horace he began to get agitated. It certainly wasn’t improved by Forest’s enjoyment of his small triumph.

He was about ready to send men out to search for the late informer when it was announced that Horace had arrived. The Frenchman sauntered in unperturbed at the anxiety and irritation he had caused his ‘boss’. He failed to show any sign of recognition of Forest as he entered, ignoring him as if he had seen this all before. Forest was not entirely surprised. The last time Horace had seen him, he had been in smart civilian clothes, clean, well fed and not covered in bruises and injuries. His time in Gestapo hands had altered his appearance dramatically. Still, Misselwitz was not happy.

‘Do you know this man?’ he asked Lemonnier, who nonchalantly replied that he did not. ‘I want you to list the times and places you met with the man known as Shelley.’

Lemonnier happily reeled off a list of dates and times; talking about the importance of his meetings with Forest and the supposed information he had gained from him. He was clearly unaware of the danger he was in. The part that intrigued Forest the most were the supposed rendezvous they had had during the time he had been back in London, those would be the easiest to prove as lies.

‘You say you do not know this man?’ Misselwitz pointed angrily at Forest again.

‘No.’ Lemonnier replied, though now he was starting to look uneasy.

‘This is Shelley and he says you are lying and that he can prove it.’

Forest was satisfied to see Lemonnier go pale.

‘Have you been lying?’ Misselwitz insisted.

‘No.’ Lemonnier could only hope that Forest would not be believed.

Misselwitz turned to Forest. ‘Well, what proof do you have?’

‘Those dates he claims to have met me, I wasn’t even in France, I was in London.’ Forest said.

By now Lemonnier was looking sick and Misselwitz’s fury was evident.

‘How can you prove that? You could be lying,’ said the Gestapo man.

‘You listen to all the BBC messages broadcasted and keep records? Have someone look at them, my codename was the White Rabbit and every time I left or returned to England a message was broadcast. You can confirm the dates.’

Misselwitz said no more but rang his colleagues to have them go through the files of BBC messages. Lemonnier was forced to wait, terrified, in the room, with Forest enjoying his predicament. A part of him wished he had shot the traitor when he had first suspected him and he still cursed himself for listening to Jose Dupuis, but that had been before this nightmare, when he was still prepared to feel merciful.

It was an awful moment for Lemonnier when the phone rang and Misselwitz spoke with his colleagues. The broadcasts had confirmed his guilt as Forest had hoped, and Misselwitz was furious that the 15,000F retainer he had paid Horace had been wasted. Lemonnier was removed to another room and Forest listened as he was interrogated and revealed first his betrayal of his resistance comrades and then the betrayal of the Germans. At least his mercenary tendencies had caused the Gestapo as much grief as they had the resistance. He was even more elated when Lemonnier was transferred back to Fresnes with him and he quickly spread the story of ‘Horace the traitor’ to all his friends. The foreseeable future for Lemonnier was one of isolation and suffering.

Aside from this odd excitement, life at Fresnes fell into one dull routine. Forest exercised in his cell as best he could, even taking to polishing the floor to get his muscles moving. It steadily helped his strength to return, but it could not save him from the brutality of his captors. On one occasion a Wehrmacht feldwebel came into his cell and beat him just because he was a British officer. Such abuse was commonplace and Forest kept his pride only by thinking up plans for escape.

His first serious attempt came when he was being transported between Fresnes and the avenue Foch. Dangerous prisoners were confined to the cubicles of the prison van during the journey, while more harmless prisoners were made to stand in the aisle. The only guard was one armed with a sub-machine gun, though a car with four others followed them. Forest formulated an idea of overpowering the guard, taking the gun and opening fire on the following vehicle, before escaping to a safe house he felt was still secure and where he stored papers, arms and money. It was audacious, but he was desperate.

The journey was not long, but Forest wasted no time in prising open his cubicle door. In the rattling van the noise was not noticed and when Forest peeked out he discovered the guard was facing away from him. In an instant he was out and wrestling him for his gun.

Unfortunately he had not taken into account that many of his fellow prisoners were not so eager to risk Nazi wrath and when the men in the aisle realised what was happening they intervened on behalf of the guard. Forest was forced back into his cubicle cursing them for their cowardice, though perhaps they had a point. Forest’s schemes were often more adventurous than sensible and the odds of him gunning down the four pursuers and escaping were unlikely. Besides, the Germans would not have hesitated to open fire into the prison van, killing many innocents. Fortunately the guard never reported the incident, (perhaps he feared what the reaction to his failure would be) so Forest was free to plan his next move.

His second attempt was even more risky. He was at the rue des Saussaies after another interrogation, waiting to board the van with several prisoners. It was getting late and Forest snuck into some shadows near the building before making a dash for the main archway that opened into the street. He was spotted quite rapidly and a guard tripped him as he ran. With his hands still handcuffed behind his back he fell to earth like a stone and faced the full wrath of his gaolers. For the next fortnight he was only allowed food every other day. Considering daily rations only consisted of watery soup, a slice of bread and a cup of ersatz coffee, this was a severe deprivation. But it could have been worse – guards usually shot escaping prisoners.