Welcome Home (16 page)

‘It’s a shame, though,’ Monty added with a sigh. ‘I reckon we’d make a good team.’

Despite their disappointment that it was unlikely that they’d be sent abroad together, Beth and Monty stayed with each other through parachute training, though sadly Monty injured her
ankle during the very last jump and was out of action for several weeks.

Beth went to Oxfordshire to train as a wireless operator. Rob was the only other person who’d been in Scotland with her who was also sent to Oxfordshire. Then it was back to London to the
flat where they would stay until they were given a final briefing just before their departure for France. The days passed in the flat were tedious. Nothing seemed to be happening. They
couldn’t go home and couldn’t write long, newsy letters. ‘You’ll have to be patient. You know we’ve got a special assignment for you,’ Alan told Beth when she
went to the offices in Baker Street. ‘But things have got to be right the other end before we can send you in. We’ve just replaced the organizer out there, so we need a little time for
him to get settled, make contacts and set everything up.’

So, Beth had to wait.

‘Have you heard from Beth, then?’ Lil asked as she popped into Edie’s home for their morning cuppa together. It was a warm August morning and their back doors
stood open to let in whatever bit of breeze there was.

Edie pulled a face. ‘Only a measly postcard. It’s on the mantelpiece there. You can read it, Lil. There’s nowt private in it.’ She sniffed. ‘There’s no room
on the blessed thing for owt that the world and his wife can’t see.’

Lil reached up and took down the card. ‘It’s posted in London. So, what’s she doing there, d’you think?’

Edie shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. Summat in the FANYs, I suppose. Though don’t ask me what, ’cos I can’t tell you. She didn’t say much when she was
home at Christmas and, of course, we’ve seen neither hide nor hair of her since. And that’s more than seven months ago. I don’t know what to make of it, I’m sure.’

‘Mm,’ Lil said thoughtfully as she replaced the card. ‘I noticed she was unusually quiet about what she was up to. Not like Beth at all. She normally chatters nineteen to the
dozen. Mind you,’ she went on, smiling now, ‘your Shirley made up for it. She’s certainly coming out of her shell now. I think Ursula’s good for her.’

‘They certainly spend a lot of time together. Shirley’s never at home these days.’

‘That’s good, isn’t it, Edie? She looks a lot happier, I have to say.’

‘Aye, I suppose so, but now and again I could use a bit of help about the place, ’specially when Archie’s away. Some days I feel as if I’m run off me feet, what with the
WVS and all the queuing we have to do.’ She paused and then asked, ‘Have you heard from Irene? I’ve not had a word from Reggie.’

‘Yes, I had a letter last week. She’s says they’re all well.’ Lil laughed. ‘Reggie’s a boy, Edie. You can’t expect him to be much of a letter writer.
Besides, from what Irene said, he’s busy from morning till night helping out on the farm. She says he’s developing into a big, strong lad. That must please you, surely?’

‘Aye, it does,’ Edie replied, but her tone was grudging, ‘but I’m not there to see me own son growing up, am I? I just wish we could go and see them, though I suppose
I’ll just have to content myself that he’s well and happy.’

‘You’ve still got Shirley at home.’

Edie gave an unladylike snort, ‘Aye, when she’s here. And now she’s talking about going into some sort of war work at the end of September when she’s eighteen.’

‘Eighteen. My, how time flies. Doesn’t seem long since Irene and Beth were wheeling her about in the pram.’

‘And Frank was teaching her to walk.’ Edie sat down heavily at the table and poured out the tea as she added softly, ‘They were all good with her, but poor Laurence
couldn’t cope with her crying. He’d sooner take Frank out and teach him to play football.’

The two friends were silent for a few moments, sipping their tea and remembering the past until Lil crashed her cup down into the saucer, her eyes lighting up, as she said, ‘I know,
we’ll have a party for her. Eighteen’s a bit of a milestone, Edie. We oughtn’t to let it pass unnoticed. Let’s give the lass a party, eh? We’ve about six weeks to plan
it. That’ll give us plenty of time to save up our rations.’

Edie smiled across the table at her friend. ‘You’re a good soul, Lil. A good friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

‘Nor me, you, Edie. Now let’s get our thinking caps on and, a bit nearer the time, you can write and tell Beth what we’re planning. She’ll not let the cat out of the bag.
She’s good at keeping secrets and I’m sure she’ll come home if she can.’

‘You’re going the day after tomorrow,’ Sybil Carpenter informed Beth when she visited the flat one evening in late September. ‘It’ll be a night
drop, but I believe you were expecting that. We’ll get you kitted out tomorrow.’

‘Where am I going? Is it still to the Détanges’ farm?’

‘We’ll tell you just before you take off,’ Sybil said, smiling. Even at this late stage, everything was shrouded in secrecy.

Beth hardly slept that night. It seemed such a long time since she had first said she wanted to become an agent. The training had been long and arduous and even when that had been completed,
they were still not ready to send her.

The next day seemed to drag. She packed her suitcase and then checked and double-checked that she had got everything and that all her belongings were what would belong to a young French girl.
There couldn’t be much; Leonie Moreau, which was to be her name from now on, had just lost everything in the bombing of her home in Boulogne-Billancourt, a suburb of Paris, which had been
destroyed in March. Six hundred people had died so, sadly, it was feasible that a young girl would have lost all her family and her possessions too. This information had been provided by Alan, as
the apartment where he, his family and Beth had lived had been bombed.

Sybil Carpenter arrived at the flat to give Beth her final briefing. ‘There’s only you going tonight, which is a shame in a way. It’s always nice to have a bit of company even
though you’ll be on your own once you get there.’

‘Not really,’ Beth said. ‘I already know Monsieur and Madame Détange. Well, a little, anyway – if that
is
where I’m going,’ she added
impishly.

‘Yes, it is. To their farm in the Loire Valley near the village of St Michel-près-Beauvoir. The nearest town is, as you probably know, Beauvoir-sur-Loire. Locally, as you might
imagine, they’re just referred to as St Michel and Beauvoir. The agent we sent out recently is lodging above the
boulangerie
in Beauvoir. You’re to act as wireless operator for
him and for the local resistance group when they need to get in touch with London. The agent’s code name is Bruce, by the way, and you’ll have to be very careful about contacting him.
The baker himself is trustworthy. He’s a member of the local Resistance movement, which in rural areas is known as the Maquis, but his establishment is right opposite the town hall, which the
Germans have commandeered for their headquarters in the district.’

Beth gasped and stared at her. ‘Why there, of all places?’

‘For the very fact that it
is
right under their noses. They wouldn’t think an enemy agent – because that’s what we are to them – would be foolish enough to
do something like this.’

‘Oh.’ Beth blinked. She could see the logic, but thought it a dangerous ploy.

For a moment Sybil looked doubtful. ‘I’m still not sure it’s a good idea you going to people you know.’ She sighed. ‘But the powers that be seem to think
it’ll work. I hope it does for your sake – and theirs.’

‘I’ll make sure the Détanges are happy with the arrangements as soon as I get to the farm. If not, I’ll move somewhere else.’

‘If you have to do that, what about your cover story? A young girl wandering about occupied France is bound to arouse suspicion.’

Beth shrugged. ‘Antoine will advise me, no doubt.’ Antoine was the code name by which Emile Détange was now known.

Sybil smiled. ‘Good girl,’ she said, then added swiftly, ‘Oh, I’m sorry. That sounded patronizing, but you really do look like a fifteen-year-old.’

Beth laughed with her, delighted that her disguise seemed to be working.

‘Now, let’s make sure you’ve got everything. Identity card, ration card,’ Sybil said, handing each document to her. ‘And a certificate of non-belonging to the
Jewish race.’

Beth’s eyes widened as she stared at her. ‘What on earth is that for?’

Sybil sighed. ‘There are dreadful tales coming out of Germany about how they are persecuting the Jews. It started a few years before the war. No doubt you heard of
Kristallnacht
– the night of the broken glass?’ Beth nodded. ‘Their businesses have been smashed,’ Sybil went on, ‘and they are forced to wear the Star of David. There is no hiding
place for them. We’ve already had a lot of Jewish refugees come to Britain, children especially, but a lot left it too late to get out and now they’re trapped. Heaven alone knows
what’s happening to them, poor souls.’

‘I – see,’ Beth said slowly, but she didn’t really. She’d heard rumours but she hadn’t realized it had got as bad as that.

‘And, of course,’ Sybil went on, ‘in the countries they are invading, the same thing is happening to the Jewish communities there. They’re being herded into ghettos, so
it’s said.’

‘Can’t we do anything?’

‘Win the war,’ Sybil said promptly, ‘and you’re doing your bit to achieve that. Now,’ she went on, ‘we usually give our agents photographs of family and
friends but since your home has been bombed in Boulogne-Billancourt and you’ve lost everything, we thought it best that you shouldn’t carry anything like that. Have you memorized the
address where you are supposed to have lived?’

Beth nodded. ‘Yes, and I remember the street and the flat where we lived well.’

‘We’ve decided to let you use the actual address where you lived with Alan and his family. The more truth that can be woven into a cover story, the easier it is for you to remember
it.’ Sybil was smiling as she added, ‘I’m sorry, but we can’t give you the lipstick we normally give to our women when they leave. You’re too young!’

Beth laughed. ‘That’s all right. And I’ve been practising plaiting my hair. It’s a few years since I did that!’

Already she was dressed like a French schoolgirl, with every item of clothing she was wearing being French made.

‘And no cigarettes or perfume either, I’m afraid.’ Sybil looked her up and down, checking for the slightest detail that would give her away. ‘You’ll do.
You’ll be met by members of the resistance group you’ll be working with. They’ll guide the plane in with lights and then help you with your parachute and the packages when you
land. The code name of the circuit is Fisherman.’ Sybil smiled. ‘We thought that quite appropriate for you.’

Beth felt comforted; it seemed like a good omen, a link with home that would bring her good luck. ‘It’s a relatively new set-up,’ Sybil went on. ‘We sent a replacement
male organizer out there two weeks ago – the first one only went out temporarily – but he desperately needs a wireless operator now. Antoine should be there to meet you when you
land.’ She frowned. ‘This is the only part I’m doubtful about; the fact that you already know the people you’re going to be with. You know him as Emile Détange,
don’t you? You could give so much away if you’re caught.’

Beth nodded. ‘I know, but Alan has told me that Madame and Monsieur Détange are to be known by their real names and that, if I’m questioned, I am to say that their son, Emile,
is away fighting, but no one knows where. He advised me to think of Emile and Antoine as two entirely different people. That way, I’ll find it easier.’ Beth’s stomach was
churning, but whether from nerves or excitement she couldn’t be sure. She just wanted to get on with it now, but Sybil was not finished with her instructions yet. ‘Your suitcase
wireless will be dropped at the same time as you. It’ll be dark, of course, but you must retrieve it. Hopefully, though, there will be several willing hands to help you.’

Now Sybil held out her own hand in farewell. ‘Time to go. Good luck.’

As Beth crossed the windy airfield towards the waiting plane, her nerves disappeared and all she felt was a tremendous excitement. At long last, she was on her way.

When Edie’s letter arrived by a circuitous route on Sybil Carpenter’s desk the morning after Beth’s departure, it caused her an immediate problem that could
not have been foreseen. A batch of handwritten postcards, completed by Beth before she had left, lay in the top drawer of Sybil’s desk to be posted at regular intervals. But now, the letter
from home required a different answer. Sybil frowned, her eyes scanning the letter regarding the proposed surprise family party for Beth’s younger sister at the end of the month.

It’d make Shirley’s day if you could get home
,
Beth
, Mrs Kelsey had written.

Sybil picked up the receiver of the black telephone at her elbow. ‘Alan,’ she said into the mouthpiece after a few moments, ‘your forger – d’you think he could do
me a little favour . . . ?’

Beth landed with a bump in a dark field. She heard the thud of equipment and goods landing around her and then a rustle of movement from the trees at the edge of the field. A
voice greeted her with the greeting, ‘Red sky at night’ and, giving the response, ‘Shepherd’s delight’, she felt her arm grabbed and then she was being hustled away to
the shelter of a copse. Once beneath its cover, a light was shone into her face and she put up her hand to shield her eyes.

‘Good Lord!’ said a familiar voice in French. ‘It
is
you, Beth.’

‘Well, yes, it is, but I’m Leonie now. And you’re Antoine. Is that right?’ Emile switched off the glaring light and a low chuckle came out of the darkness. ‘Sadly,
yes, because I’m in hiding with my compatriots. I can’t live at home any more. It’d be too dangerous for my parents.’

‘I don’t want to bring danger to them either. Are you sure it’s a good idea for me to live there?’