The Spy Net (11 page)

Judgment was rendered on 2 July 1918. Louis and Antony Collard, Abbé Arnould, and Madame Goessels were condemned to death; the others to various terms of hard labour. The sentences of Madame Goessels and Abbé Arnould were eventually changed by the governor-general to hard labour for life.

Louis and Antony Collard were shot at the Citadel of the Chartreuse at Liège, on 18 July 1918.

Nothing can be sadder than the last farewell visit to their father. They were brought together in the office of the director of the prison. The father subsequently wrote:

But the cup of grief of the aged father had not yet been filled: two years later, Marie-Thérèse followed her brothers to the grave.

After the war, both the British and the Belgian governments bestowed on Louis and Antony Collard, posthumously, the same high decorations which they had conferred on Dieudonné Lambrecht.

In rendering homage to the two Collard brothers, we must remember Madame Goessels. Her nimble mind had saved the
lives of two members of the service; in doing it, she had not hesitated to pretend a relationship with Franchimont which was completely at variance with her character. She could have revealed more about the ‘White Lady’ than any of those who had been arrested; she, too, remained heroic in her silence.

The ‘White Lady’ had weathered the storm, but Dewé and Chauvin had had many anxious moments. The Secret Police never knew how close they came to arresting them. Following up the clue that Rosa, the maid, also did part time work for a Mademoiselle Weimerskirch, the Secret Police decided to search her house. When they arrived, Dewé and Chauvin were in a back room. As the Secret Police came in at the front door, Dewé and Chauvin left precipitately at the rear.

L
ILLE WAS NOT
only occupied by the enemy but it was right in the firing line. From the British lines the outskirts of the town were plainly visible, and buildings occupied by the Germans were a constant target for the British heavy batteries. But the British shells often missed their mark, and although the centre of the town was not bombarded whole sections of the suburbs lay in ruins. Had the town been smaller, it would have been evacuated; with 200,000 inhabitants this was not possible.

So the civilian population of Lille remained as eyewitnesses to the busy German military activities in this important centre.
Heavy batteries were dotted around in the area; troops destined for the various sectors of the Front detrained there daily; several aviation fields were located close by; and, finally, warehouses filled with shells and other war material were to be found in various parts of the town. In short, it was a field where even the most amateur spy would have had no difficulty in preparing a daily report of intense interest to the Allies.

If the Allied secret services were intent on recruiting spies in the area, the Germans were equally determined to prevent them. In addition to having an army of Secret Police patrolling the region, the Germans did everything within their power to intimidate the inhabitants. No person was allowed out of doors between 6 p.m. and 6 a.m.; passes were required to travel from one commune to another; the Mayor was forced to deposit a sum of 5,000,000 francs, and to hand over five hostages, interchangeable every three days, as guarantees against hostile acts undertaken by the population; the severest sentences were imposed for the most minor offences. And, finally, since the town was in occupied France, it was blocked off from Belgium by an efficient frontier patrol and a cordon of sentries.

It was in this town that Léon Trulin, a young Belgian, seventeen years of age, found himself at the outbreak of the war. His family, consisting of a widowed mother and nine young children, had moved there from Ath, in Belgium, four years previously. One can imagine what effect the thunder of the guns night and day, and the ceaseless excitement and turmoil of the war had on a boy of his age.

Keenly alert to the bustling activity, Léon and his friends among the boys of the neighbourhood watched with youthful curiosity the
heavy guns as they rumbled through the town; and, just because it was forbidden, it became their special game to discover the eventual emplacements. With a cunning superior to that of any adult, they found means to avoid the vigilance of the German sentries. The aviation fields, too, were special centres of attraction. But it was the ridge to the east of the town, looking down on the British lines, that was their favourite objective. Here, crouched among the ruins, they eagerly discussed means of escaping across the border to join their respective armies.

Léon had already sounded his mother; he knew it was useless trying to argue further with her. He was the eldest son, and her solicitude for his safety could not be overcome; and so, one night, he disappeared from his home, leaving behind him the following message (one can excuse the youthful subterfuge; he knew a farewell scene would break his mother's heart):

In this fashion Léon entered upon a life of constant peril. He was to undergo the greatest hardships. An abandoned ruin or the damp woods were often to be his only shelter.

Coming from the north of France, he traversed Belgium, collecting military information as he went along. He knew the
value of it; he would hand it over to the recruiting officer on his arrival in Folkestone. Near the Dutch frontier he fell in with a group of refugees, and together with them, on 5 July 1915, successfully evading the German sentries, he crossed the electric wire into Holland.

Disembarking at Folkestone, in England, he hastened to the Belgian consulate. A disappointment awaited him: he was unable to pass the medical examination.

Léon was not dismayed. A rifle had been found too heavy for his frail shoulders, but he knew there were other ways of serving his country. The walls of Lille had been placarded with the names of spies who had been shot. There must have been others who had escaped. He, too, would be a spy. He showed the Belgian consul the information he had collected en route, and requested to be put in touch with a secret service organisation.

B's headquarters happened to be conveniently near, and so it was there that Léon was sent. Handing over his report to Monthaye, a Belgian attached to B's staff, Léon eagerly offered his services. Rapidly glancing at the report, Monthaye found it of interest, but it only dealt with those parts of Belgium through which Léon had passed, and this area was already covered by other spies. Of far greater importance was the fact that the boy had come from Lille, from which the service had been cut off for weeks. Pulling out a large scale map of the town, Monthaye beckoned Léon to his side. Quick to orientate himself, the young Belgian pointed out all he knew. It was difficult to discern who was the more excited: Monthaye, because of the priceless information he was jotting down; or Léon, because he realised from the interest evidenced that his services would be accepted.

Léon spent a week in Folkestone, during which time he was rapidly put through a course of training. He was taught how to distinguish between German units by the marks on their uniforms; photographs and sketches of different calibre guns were shown him; and, finally, he was given additional objectives to those on which he had already concentrated. A sum of money was handed to him for expenses, and he was promised that if he came back with a good report he would be put in touch with B's organisation in Holland, and would be enrolled as a permanent agent.

It was as a prescript that Léon returned to Lille. Unfortunately, he had sent his mother a letter from Holland to announce his safe arrival; this no doubt had been read by the German censor, and Monthaye had warned him not to go near his home. He went, therefore, to the house of Raymond Derain, his closest friend.

Raymond, a boy of his own age, listened with tense interest and excitement to the details of his friend's mission. He, too, wished to serve his country; it was not difficult to win his support. Together the two boys set about accomplishing the special mission on which Léon had been sent: they drew up a lengthy report on the forts of Lille, showing the repair work which had been done since their destruction by the French during the retreat at the commencement of the war. It was work which required the greatest skill and audacity, but with the help of a pair of field-glasses which Raymond discovered at home, and with the aid of a small boy of fifteen, who courageously penetrated some of the fortifications, they carried out the task.

On 26 July, Léon was back in Folkestone with the information. Monthaye was both surprised at his quick return, and at
the efficiency with which the plans and reports had been drawn up. He was taken in to see B, who congratulated him on his splendid accomplishment. A few days later, Léon found himself back in Holland, where he was put in touch with Carlot, one of B's head agents.

After the war, Léon Trulin's notes were found at the Belgian consulate, in Flushing, where he had deposited them for safe keeping prior to his return to the occupied territories. The following extract gives us a clear indication of the instructions which he received from Carlot:

These notes should at once dispel all ideas that the Allied agents in the occupied territories received large sums of money for their services. Léon was authorised to pay his train-watchers from 7 to 10 francs per day for twenty-four hours' service; actually, this meant about 5 francs, for a train-watcher could not possibly work efficiently more than twelve hours per day.

In addition, it must be borne in mind that these agents had to live. The salaries they obtained, it can be seen, barely covered their living expenses.

The instructions about receipts, names of agents, and photographs are typical of the methods employed by some of the Allied agents in Holland. In their endeavour to prove their own honesty in the distribution of funds, they entirely lost sight of the dangers to which they were exposing the agents in the interior. A report containing this information, falling into the hands of the Germans, would have meant a death warrant for the agents involved. The accuracy of a report, and the dangers incurred in securing the information contained in it, should have been
a sufficient guarantee of honesty – not only of the agents in the interior, but of those in Holland.

Looking at a map, and taking into consideration that all the areas mentioned were in the Etappengebiet, the most strictly controlled part of the occupied territories, one realises immediately what an enormous task had been assigned to Léon. Even for a man of mature years with large resources at his disposal, and a wide circle of friends, the undertaking would have presented infinite difficulties and dangers. How could a young boy of eighteen possibly overcome them?

Too young to win the confidence of older people, Léon turned to his youthful companions. On his return to Lille, he called them together; some were only fourteen years of age, the oldest was eighteen. Meeting in one of the many abandoned houses of the quarter, one can see him impressing on his youthful followers the importance of his mission, and one can picture the enthusiasm with which each one undertook to carry out the duties assigned to him.

The young band, with the limited means at their disposal, did their bit as patriotically and as bravely as any soldier in the firing line. Often their ruses, their tricks, and their camouflages were carried to boyish extremes – but were successful, and for two months, regularly twice a week, B received a report covering everything of military importance occurring in the Lille region. Sometimes it was Léon himself who carried the reports through to Holland, each time braving the electric wire and the perils of the frontier; on other occasions, it was Camille, a friend of Léon's residing at Tournai.

The train-watching posts had not yet been mounted. This
part of the programme, outlined by Carlot, had been beyond the boy's power. Realising this, Léon had wisely confined himself to making the reports from the Lille area as complete as possible. Rut the inevitable happened.

One day, on approaching too near a new gun emplacement, one of his companions was arrested by the Secret Police. Léon was not greatly disturbed. He thought the boy would be able to find a satisfactory excuse. But on the next day events took an alarming turn. Raymond Derain, greatly agitated, sought Léon out in his hiding place. Raymond's sister had fortunately been able to reach him before he returned home: the Secret Police were in their house; they had inquired after both him and Léon Trulin; she had overheard the conversation, and had slipped out of the back door to warn him.

There was only one thing to do, and that was to flee. Remaining in hiding for the rest of the day and night, Raymond and Léon set out for the Dutch frontier at dawn the next morning, carrying with them the last batch of reports which they had just collected.

Léon realised that he had to get across the border at all costs. He knew that he was hopelessly compromised both by the letter he had written his mother from Holland and by his arrested comrade, whom he was convinced had betrayed them. Fortunately, he knew the way. Travelling mostly at night, and hiding by day, they eventually reached the Dutch frontier to the north of Antwerp, on the night of 3 October 1915.

At this period, the Germans had not yet added a buried wire to the electric fence. Generally, by digging underneath the fence, the refugees escaped into Holland. Léon and Raymond Derain were stealthily digging their way through, when suddenly there
was a cry of ‘Wer da!' The searchlights were turned on. Léon and Raymond were in plain view. Several shots rang out. Sentries came running up.

They were trapped. Léon's immediate care was to get rid of the reports. Grasping his pocketbook, he hurled it as far as he could into Dutch territory. But the Secret Police were no respecters of neutrality (later they were to arrest Fauquenot and Creusen on Dutch soil). Léon, to his horror, saw a member of the Secret Police cross over and pick up the compromising evidence. Raymond Derain made a desperate attempt to escape, but a vicious bayonet thrust in his thigh swiftly brought him down. In the morning they were taken to Antwerp, where they were confined in the prison des Béguines.