Love

By Carole McEntee-Taylor

Love is the third book in Lives Apart. A WW2 Chronicle. The five book series is a mixture of fact and fiction inspired by the true story of Rifleman Ted Taylor and his fiancée Brenda, through WW2. All books have photos at the back.

Joe struggles to accept the continual casual brutality of their guards, but even more worrying are the strange letters he is receiving. He is still trying to work out the truth when the post brings yet more bad news and this time he needs to act quickly, or he will lose everything.

Although Peggy’s friendship with Chris is growing, he still wants more than she is prepared to give. But Peggy has more important worries. Her new friend Rosie urgently needs help, but so does a terrified Molly who suddenly arrives in the middle of the night.

Olive thinks her problems are over when Kurt comes to visit, but as the bodies mount up it leads to an unexpected outcome.

Despite his friends attempt to dissuade him, Marcel is determined to do the right thing even though it’s breaking his heart. But his decision has surprising consequences.

Marie is torn between hating the enemy and her growing feelings for Heinz, but Louis is even more confused, especially when the German goes out of his way to help him. It could assist in his fight against the occupiers, but if Louis is wrong it could put them all in even more danger.

Brigitte arrives in Paris and decides her decision to help Louis was a mistake, but it doesn’t take long for her to realise it is not Louis who is the mistake.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carole McEntee-Taylor
• Release date: Mar 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005105303

Carole McEntee-Taylor

I write military history, historical fiction and memoirs and sometimes a mixture of all three. I am also a ghost writer of novels and memoirs.My non fiction, published by by Pen and Sword Books Ltd, include Herbert Columbine VC, Surviving the Nazi Onslaught, A Battle Too Far, Military Detention Colchester from 1947, The Battle of Bellewaarde June 1915, From Colonial Warrior to Western Front Flyer, The History of Coalhouse Fort and A History of Women’s Lives in Scunthorpe.I have also written a biography of John Doubleday to be included in his book: The Work and published The Weekend Trippers and My War and Peace myself. I am always on the look out for new military memoirs to publish. If you would like to know more please visit my website.My spiritual books are The Re-Enlightenment and The Holiday From Hell.My fiction includeSecrets ( a book of six short stories)Lives Apart: A WW2 Chronicle - a five book series inspired by the true story of my in-laws.Obsession - a five book series inspired by the true story of the missing POWs at the end of WW2.Betrayed - a stand alone murder mystery set in WW2 Germany and Palestine.Secret Lives - a six book series set before and during WW1.A One Way Ticket - a four book series inspired by the true story of Bill Young through WW2 and beyond.

Book preview

Part 1

December 1940 – April 1941

Chapter 1

Honor Oak Park, South-East London

Peggy jumped at a particularly large explosion. She had never been so scared in all her life and sitting in the dark after the candle had gone out only made things worse. She wondered what the others were doing in the shelter and desperately wished she’d gone with them.

The whooshing sound came closer and she could hear crackling and smell smouldering wood. Deciding she wasn’t going to stay there and be burnt to death, she half stood up, opened the cupboard door and gingerly stepped out into the hallway.

Although the noise was louder here, there didn’t seem to be any damage but the whole of the house was bathed in a bright orange glow. She made her way upstairs to her bedroom, crossed to the window and moved the blackout curtain. Immediately the room was flooded with light and she gasped. Both sides of the river were engulfed in flames, thick black smoke filling the air. Above her, the skies were lit with the arcs of searchlights trying in vain to locate the murderous bombers and her ears rang with the continuous sounds of ack ack guns and the urgent jangling of fire engines. The whole of London appeared to be on fire, buildings spontaneously bursting into flames, others collapsing into piles of rubble before her eyes. She took a step back, too shocked to cry or even feel scared anymore. If this carried on, there would be nothing left in the morning.

*******

Outside Béthune, Pas-de-Calais

Brigitte removed the black wig, heavy make-up and waitress outfit and climbed into bed. When Rolf had first brought home the wigs and other clothes for her to wear, she had felt insulted. But after a while, she had decided she quite liked dressing up. She could pretend to be someone else, other than Brigitte, and she began to change her personality depending on the clothes. This seemed to excite Rolf more and, for a little while, he stopped bringing home other women.

This suited Brigitte who resented having to make love to Rolf’s tarts and hated sharing him with them. She began to feel more optimistic: perhaps he would go back to the charming man who’d taken her to Paris. If she behaved herself, Rolf would continue to treat her well.

He grunted in his sleep but didn’t wake. She lay there thinking about her conversation with Louis. She was already beginning to regret agreeing to help him.

*******

Outside London

Chris climbed out of his car and stared in horror at the black smoke billowing above London. He was on his way back from Wales and he couldn’t wait to see Peggy again. He had decided to try and push things along. He knew she liked him and wanted to go out with him. He could still remember the passion in her kiss. He just had to find some way of salving her conscience. The stupid thing was, he knew how men thought and behaved and he very much doubted Joe would be faithful if the situation were reversed. He would probably take a much more pragmatic view, that you should just consider anything that happened while the war was on to be irrelevant to long standing relationships. Somehow, he didn’t think Peggy would go along with that though. She would argue Joe would expect her to remain true to him while he was a prisoner and she couldn’t risk someone telling him she had been seen out with another man.

Perhaps that was the answer? Maybe he could try suggesting they saw each other in secret, then there was no danger of anyone finding out. That might allay her fears. Feeling more confident, he stared back at the capital and his heart fell. Could anyone survive the raging fire he could see in front of him? Would Peggy still be alive when he finally reached Lambeth, or had he left it too late?

*******

Spain

To start with, Pam had trouble following Patricio in the dark. He traversed the mountains with the ease and skill of someone who had always lived there. They climbed higher, the combination of altitude and her own level of fitness making breathing difficult but, determined not to show weakness, she struggled on behind him, desperately hoping he couldn’t hear her panting and gasping for breath. She was so busy concentrating on where she was putting her feet, she was unaware of just how high she had climbed until the moon appeared over the top of one of the mountains, bathing everything in a hazy, white glow.

The view from halfway up the mountain was breathtaking. The light from the moon reflected off the icy snow covered peaks surrounding them. Their pristine slopes shone brilliant white, reflecting more light than the emerging moon. Pam was speechless. She stopped and gazed on the incredible beauty around her and, only when Patricio turned round to find out why she had stopped, was she able to continue.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ He smiled at her reaction.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so amazing. I’m not sure I could ever get used to this, however many times I came up here.’

Patricio smiled at her. ‘Come on, we have people waiting for us. You’ll need to be very careful now as we are nearing the frontier. The Vichy French patrol the border area, much like they did when the Internationalists came across. Only now, things are even more dangerous. Then, if they caught you they would just send you back home. They might occasionally lock you up, depending on what country you came from but on the whole they didn’t bother. Now, if they catch you, they will probably hand you over to the Milice, and they are just as bad as the Gestapo.’

He turned and carried on upwards, leaving Pam to follow. Her good mood swiftly evaporated while she thought about what could happen to her if she was caught. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Her job was to provide the money and papers, not wander around the mountains putting herself at risk. She had allowed Estrella to shame her into this, just to prove she was not afraid. She cursed herself for allowing the girl to get to her and vowed not to let the same thing happen again.

They continued to climb upwards. No sooner had they reached the top of one peak than there was another, ever steeper, in front. Pam was exhausted and she knew she shouldn’t have come. Then, just when she was reaching her limits, Patricio stopped dead and motioned for her to take cover behind the few bushes still surviving this high up the slopes. Pam obeyed immediately and, with relief, threw herself behind the sparse group of shrubs and waited, glad of the opportunity to catch her breath.

Patricio whistled quietly. The melodious noise sounded like the beginning of a song to Pam, but she had no time to ponder this because almost immediately there was an answering whistle from further away. Because she was lying down, she couldn’t see, so she cautiously raised her head. Patricio frowned at her, his hands frantically waving her back down. Feeling rather stupid, she remembered she wasn’t meant to see the French guide. She could hear voices speaking quietly and then there was a long silence. She waited, not sure what she should do and then she heard Patricio’s voice.

‘Violette, you can come out now.’

Pam crawled out and found herself face to face with a group of fifteen men. They were all wearing old, rather crumpled clothes and a variety of hats. They also looked exhausted from the long trek.

One of the men stepped forward and removed his peasant cap, revealing reasonably short blond hair. He was fair skinned and his face was flushed red from the climb

‘Buenas noches.’ He spoke with a strong English accent, while holding out his hand to shake hers.

Pam shook his hand and smiled. ‘Hello, I’m Violette.’

He looked surprised and then relieved by her very English accent. He shook her hand even harder.

‘You have no idea how good it is to hear an English voice again.’ He was smiling broadly and, before he could say anything else, she found herself being hugged by the other members of the group. They were nearly all English RAF crewmen. The remaining men were privates from the Royal Sussex regiment who had managed to evade capture since the fall of France. They had been travelling through the French countryside for several months, from one safe house to another and the toll was beginning to tell on their morale.

‘We are in Spain, aren’t we?’ This was from a tall, rather lanky man who looked completely out of place in the tattered peasant clothes he was wearing.

Pam nodded and then quickly shushed the men as their voices rose.

‘You’re not out of the woods yet and we must still be careful, unless you want to end up in Miranda del Ebro.’

‘What’s that?’

‘A prison camp that is really not very nice,’ she explained.

‘So, how do we get back to Blighty, then?’ The first man was looking distinctly fed up at the thought of yet more delays.

‘We’ll move you down to the border with Gibraltar and then you will be taken across.’ She saw Patricio’s impatient expression. ‘Come on, it’s not a good idea to hang around here. The Guarda Civil often patrol near here.’

The men needed no further encouragement and, lifting up their packs, they turned and headed back down the mountain further into Spain.

*******

Stalag XXA, Thorn, Poland

‘So, what do you think they’re doing at home now?’ Dick asked cheerfully, grinding his cigarette out carefully on the floor. There was still some left and, once he was sure the stub was no longer alight, he placed the remains in his tin to smoke later.

Joe gave him a withering look but didn’t bother to answer. He liked Dick, even if he could be extremely trying at times. Cyril was not so reticent. ‘Oh, they’ll be having a great time I’m sure, being bombed and not knowing how we are. You do ask some damn fool questions at times.’ He turned away from Dick.

The evenings were always the worst. Cyril was really missing his children and his wife and he was wondering whether they felt the same. The letter he’d received from his nine year old son earlier that day, had mentioned an ‘Uncle Jack’ and he had no idea who ‘Jack’ was. His daughter, who was seven, had also written but she hadn’t mentioned him. Her letter had just complained the cat had wandered off and not come back. The next bit had been censored, so he could only assume the animal had wandered off after a bombing raid. The three letters he had received from his wife since he had been incarcerated had been cold and unemotional and, although he had put this down to her being wary about upsetting him or giving the censors anything to drool over, he was beginning to worry.

He could understand she might be lonely with only the kids for company and he could even sympathise with her, being on her own with all the worry and responsibility and having to the endure the constant bombing raids. But this had only added to his worries because he was stuck in the camp and his family could be in all sorts of danger and there wasn’t anything he could do. Even worse, they could be injured or even dead and it might be weeks before he found out. Then he had received the letter from his son mentioning this ‘Jack’ person. The trouble with being a prisoner was you had nothing else to think about, other than food and those you had left behind.

‘Everything alright, Cyril?’ Joe’s voice was low and he sounded concerned. ‘You’ve not been your normal self all day. Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘Nah, thanks mate. Probably just worrying about nothing.’ There was a long silence which Cyril finally chose to fill. ‘Bertie, my son, mentioned an ‘Uncle Jack’ in his letter and I don’t know who ‘Jack’ is.’

Joe didn’t know what to say. He’d seen other men get the dreaded ‘Dear John’ letter and many gave up afterwards. ‘There’s no point in me telling you not to worry, but this Jack could be an elderly man who’s helping them out. Look at my Peggy, she’s taken in some woman and her child who were bombed out; at least I think that’s what’s happened. It’s a bit difficult to tell through the censored bits. Not that I’m saying your wife’s been bombed out.’

‘Yeah, you could be right, Joe.’ Cyril shook his head. ‘This place makes you doubt everything.’

Joe nodded, relieved Cyril looked slightly happier. No sooner had the thought passed through his mind than there was a commotion outside. The sound of shouting grew louder, but they still couldn’t make out the words and then they heard several gun shots, followed by silence.

Chapter 2

Spain

The moon continued to climb steadily into the sky. Pam had fallen into conversation with the blond pilot whose name was Barry and he had told her how he and his crew had been shot down near Calais. They had been hidden in cellars, barns and even spent some nights in the woods before being moved across the demarkation line. Afterwards, they had travelled steadily south, resting briefly in the Hotel de Paris in Toulouse before going by train towards Perpignan. Having left the station on foot, they had followed a guide who had taken them to a small farm on the outskirts of the city. From there, a farm cart had taken them to Laroque-des-Albères, where they had waited a couple of days, while the other men arrived and then, the previous evening, they had finally begun their climb over the Pyrenees.

‘We’re lucky, we’ve only been in France a few weeks, those poor army sods have been evading the Germans since June last year. It’s amazing they’ve not been captured. Came close a couple of times and nearly gave themselves up once, after one got injured but they’ve made it. Hats off to them. I’m not sure I could’ve kept going that long.’

Pam looked back at the three soldiers who were having no trouble traversing the steep slopes and inclines. One of the men looked up and, seeing her watching, smiled at her. She was about to say something when she tripped. Fortunately, Barry’s reactions were quick and he caught her arm, steadying her.

Relieved she had not damaged her ankle, she gave a rueful laugh. ‘Thank you. Obviously I need to keep my eyes on the path.’ The last thing she needed to do was to injure herself and, with this thought in mind, she gave her full attention to the track, everything else forgotten.

They continued down towards the valley in silence. The lower slopes had more vegetation than those higher up and Pam began to feel less exposed while they weaved their way around the bushes covering this part of the mountain. They were soon below the tree line and ahead lay a wooded area.

Suddenly Patricio stopped. His abrupt halt caught her by surprise but his frantic gesture to lie flat was obeyed instantly. Pam threw herself behind some thick bushes, her heart pounding while she wondered what had caused Patricio’s panic. She carefully raised her head but could see nothing from where she lay. The shrubs obscured her view. Unable to see anything, she closed her eyes, straining to hear above the loud pounding of her heart. She realised she was holding her breath and she let it out slowly and gently.

At first she could hear nothing other than the sound of church bells ringing a long way in the distance. Then she heard something. At first she wasn’t sure whether she was imagining the noise. She listened harder. Yes, somewhere close by, she could hear slow deliberate footsteps. Whoever it was, they were being very careful not to tread on anything that could give them away but there was no doubt whatsoever. Someone was stealthily making their way towards where she was hiding.

*******

Glasgow, Scotland

The German stared out of the window and sipped his cognac. His man, known to him only as ‘Jock’ for security reasons, should be back in London sometime during the next day. He would just have to be patient. He looked down at the letters again and wondered why the woman called Olive Cooper had suddenly started spouting rubbish. He didn’t think British intelligence were involved; they would have been more subtle. Perhaps she was cracking up under the pressure of the continual bombing and had started drinking. He hoped not; her earlier information had been quite useful.

He would wait for the report, but if she was losing interest, the others might too. Perhaps Kurt should slip back into the country and remind all his women what they were missing. The more he thought about this, the better the idea sounded. After all, the women were all on their own and probably lonely and, as unlikely as it seemed, given most were older spinsters like Olive, he didn’t want to run the risk of other men sniffing around them. If that happened they might lose interest in Kurt and stop writing.

*******

Stalag XXA, Thorn, Poland

It was pitch black outside and they could see nothing through the windows which were frozen solid both inside and out.

‘Do you think we should take a look?’ Joe was hesitant. A few months ago, they would have all rushed outside to see what was happening, but the continuing brutality had taught them to be wary and to be careful about which battles they chose to fight.

‘After you, Price.’ The grating voice of Carstairs always irritated Joe, but he had learnt not to let the man goad him into doing something stupid and he remained motionless on his bunk. Before anything else could be said, the door was flung open and two guards appeared, their solid grey outlines stark against the backdrop of white swirling snow and frozen ground. Their gaze swept the hut while their greatcoats, covered in snow and icicles, flapped in the icy cold wind. The temperature dropped rapidly as the freezing cold air began to circulate inside the hut and the wind blew the silently falling snow onto those who were unlucky enough to be nearest the open door.

‘Raus, Raus.’ The shouts were accompanied by angry gestures and, for once, there were no arguments or grumbling, the men accurately gauging the mood of the sullen guards. Lining up quickly, not wanting to give them an excuse to resort to their habitual brutality, Joe shivered. He wondered what could have happened to have caused the underlying feeling of menace now filling the air.

They were ushered outside into the white wilderness. The snow, which came halfway up their legs, was falling so heavily, visibility was zero. Within minutes, Joe had lost the feeling in his fingers and toes and was so cold he had even stopped shivering.

Finally they reached the place where they normally lined up. He felt a nudge in his side and turned his head in the direction Mitchell was pointing. At first he could see little through the blizzard, but peering through the curtain of snow, he could just make out something in the middle of the square. He would’ve frowned but his face was frozen, the ice and snow forming thickly on his unshaven features. He had no idea what he was looking at but he continued to stare at the ‘something’ that was obviously the focus of all the fuss and attention. After several minutes, he finally realised what he was looking at.

Tied to four posts in the centre of the square were what looked like bundles of rags, but were in fact other prisoners of war, at least he thought they were, until the sickening reality of what he was seeing was finally made clear. These were women, probably Polish women, who had fallen foul of the Germans and Joe wondered just what they had done to bring such pain and suffering upon themselves. Then his heart went cold and his stomach began to churn. He turned to Cyril, horror written all over his face

‘Surely they’re not…’ He left the rest of the sentence unspoken, unable to put his thoughts into words.

Cyril didn’t answer, only stared stonily ahead leaving Joe alone to wrestle with his memories of how they had smuggled out pieces of coal from the railway station and dropped them in the snow for the local women who’d risked their lives to bring them extra food. But that was ages ago; surely this couldn’t be anything to do with that. Joe’s mind was racing. How had they found out? Perhaps they had been caught picking up the coal. But then, why wait so long to punish them?

*******

Figueres, Spain

Pam realised she still had her eyes closed, so she opened them and strained her ears, but could hear nothing. She could feel Barry’s tense body next to hers, but she didn’t dare turn to look at him in case she made a noise. Although she could hear nothing, she could smell the pungent aroma of a cigar and, if she concentrated, she could see the delicate tendrils of cigar smoke curling up towards the night sky. She had no idea how long they waited. Despite the chilly air, she could feel sweat forming on her upper lip. She should never have disobeyed orders and come to meet the escaping airmen. Not a very good decision for her first SOE outing.

The minutes ticked by, dawn broke and the winter sun began to climb into the sky, the bells of distant goats mingled with the plaintive bleats of the kids and echoed across the vast expanse of the Pyrenees, and still they waited. A scraping sound followed by a sigh drifted across to them. Pam frowned. Then she guessed the watcher was probably grinding out his cigar on the rocks. Within minutes, the footsteps resumed slowly and, with as much care as before, but now they were heading away from where they were hiding.

Pam risked a glance at Patricio. He was peering through the tangled branches of the small shrub which was providing him with some cover. Feeling Pam’s eyes on him, he glanced back and imperceptibly shook his head. Pam nodded, again using the minimum of movement. Patricio resumed his vigil, Pam closed her eyes and waited for Patricio to confirm they were safe to move.

*******

Honor Oak Park, South-East London

‘Thank God you’re alright.’ Annie flung her arms round Peggy when they arrived home, squashing baby Helen in the process who soon objected by screaming loudly, making them all laugh.

‘We’ve been worried sick.’ Jane also gave Peggy a big hug.

‘Did you see the bombs, Auntie Peggy?’ Alf asked with interest. He was becoming increasingly frustrated his mum wouldn’t let him take a peek outside when the bombers came over. He only wanted to see what they looked like, after all, and couldn’t understand why she kept saying no and getting cross with him

Peggy smiled and swung him up into the air, pleased to have something to smile about. ‘No, Alf. I’m afraid I hid under the stairs the whole time.’

‘Oh.’ Alf looked very disappointed and couldn’t understand why she would have wasted such a good opportunity. Grown-ups were very strange. Then he brightened up. ‘I wish I’d been with you. I’ve missed all the fun. Can I stay with Auntie Peggy next time, Mum?’

‘No!’ Jane snapped, making him jump.

Peggy also shook her head. ‘Believe me, Alf, I’ve never been so terrified in all my life. I didn’t think I’d ever see you all again.’ She picked him up and hugged him, surprised by just how close to tears she was and not wanting them to see. Alf began wriggling and she put him down. He ran off immediately to inspect the rest of the house for damage.

‘Oh, to be young.’ Peggy blinked away the unshed tears.

‘Seriously, Peggy, you are coming with us to the shelter in future.’ Jane made it quite clear she wouldn’t take any excuses. But she needn’t have worried. The previous night had been more than enough for Peggy. However much she disliked going to the shelter, she was never ever going to hide under the stairs again in an air raid.

*******

Figueres, Spain

Patricio finally gave them the all clear to move.

‘Do you know who was watching us?’ Pam brushed the last of the scrub from her clothes while she spoke.

Patricio shook his head. He looked worried. ‘I’ve never seen him before and I don’t know why he left. It can’t have been a coincidence he stopped right by us. I was sure he knew we were there, so why did he just walk off?’

He was talking in Spanish and Pam struggled to understand the rapid dialogue, but his thoughts echoed her own. She too had thought the man was aware of them and had expected at any moment to be discovered.

‘Perhaps he thought there were too many of us. We could have easily overcome him. Maybe he’s waiting further down?’

Patricio looked even more concerned. ‘I agree. It’s the only explanation that makes sense. I think we should go somewhere else. He may well have set up a trap for us. We need to go back across the ridge and head down into the adjoining valley.’

‘What about the safe house?’

‘That’s no problem. We have others; we will have to use one of them instead.’ He glanced at the escaping men who were standing waiting for instructions. ‘You’d better explain they have a bit more walking to do before we can rest, and everyone needs to take extra care not to leave any trace we have been here.’ He smiled at her serious expression, his teeth flashing white in the brilliant light from the sun. ‘Don’t worry. At least I brought some extra food with us. Anyway, you said you wanted to see more of our beautiful country.’ He laughed. ‘I think you should put yourself at the end of the group this time, then you can keep an eye out for our nosy friend.’

Pam turned back to Barry and the others and explained what they were going to do. Despite grumbling, the men picked up their bags without argument and began to follow Patricio back up the way they had just come. Pam waited until they had passed and fell in some way behind them. As they climbed back up, she kept a look out, but could not see anyone at all. The mountains seemed completely deserted. Other than the melodious jangling of the bells worn by the goats and cows further down the slopes and the occasional sound of voices echoing from a long way in the distance, it felt like they were the only people on earth.

*******

Toulouse, South-West France

The early morning sun shone through the window. Unable to sleep, Jeanne lay in bed and stared at her elegant evening dress, hanging up ready for the ball that night, and tried to ignore her fears. Tonight would be the first time she would go out in public with Gabriel and, although she was looking forward to being with him properly, she couldn’t ignore the uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. Gabriel mixed in a much higher social circle than she was used to and she was worried she would do or say something to let him down. But she was even more terrified she would betray her Jewish origins either to a group of people who were Pétainists, or to Gabriel himself, who had no idea. She couldn’t tell him now, partly because she should have told him already, and also because she had no idea how he would react. She didn’t think he was anti-Semitic, but if she did tell him and he was, her father and Angele would be at risk too. Although Angele wasn’t Jewish, no one was likely to believe she wasn’t Jeanne’s sister and Jean-Paul’s daughter.

She wished her mother was still alive so she could ask her advice and then Claudette’s last words to her came into her mind. ‘Follow your heart.’ Jeanne smiled. Perhaps her mother was with her after all.

*******

La Couture, Pas-de-Calais

‘Goodness, Louis, you’re early.’ Henri had only just arrived at the shop himself. He could see from Louis’ face that something had happened.

‘We’ve got a problem.’ Louis was pale. ‘They’ve billeted a German officer on us.’

‘Merde!’ Henri stared at him in horror. ‘When?’

‘He came round to tell us last night.’ Louis gave the ghost of a smile. ‘We thought he’d come to arrest us, so it was almost a relief when he said why he was really there.’

Henri still wasn’t saying anything and Louis began to feel impatient.

‘So does this mean we’ll have to stop what we’re doing?’

Henri shook his head. ‘No, we can’t stop now, but we will have to be much more careful. We’ll only meet here and obviously you can’t hide any more packages in the house.’

Louis gave him a withering look and Henri smiled. ‘Sorry, Louis. That was a bit of a stupid thing to say. What does your mother think?’ He wondered whether Marie would want to stop their activities now.

Louis shrugged. ‘Just that we should carry on but take more precautions. She seems to think that having the Boche in the house might make us look less suspicious, because no one would be stupid enough to carry on helping escapees under the Germans’ noses.’

Henri nodded then a thought struck him. ‘They’re not already suspicious, are they? They haven’t billeted the boche on you because they know what you’re doing?’

Louis shook his head. ‘We don’t think so. But who knows?’

Henri was silent for a few moments then he made a decision. ‘We’ll have to be extra careful for a while and see how the land lies. Fortunately we don’t have anyone at the moment, so we can play at being the good citizens. I’ll pass the word down to make sure we don’t get any surprise visitors until we’re sure it’s safe to continue.’

*******

Stalag XXA, Thorn, Poland

Not long after dawn broke in the snow-filled sky, the Commandant finally appeared. He opened his mouth and began to speak rapidly in German, releasing clouds of vapour into the icy air. For once, Joe wished he spoke better German. He now had to wait for the translator.

He felt, rather than heard, the gentle sigh of relief escaping from Mitchell. ‘It’s nothing to do with us,’ he whispered. ‘They were caught trying to help a couple of men escape. The guys are over there. The bastard’s going to shoot the women first to teach them a lesson.’

Joe said nothing. He closed his eyes when the shots rang out, opening them in time to see the guards untying the now prone bodies of the women and replacing them with the men. Again he closed his eyes and waited for shots to ring out but nothing happened and he opened them again when the Commandant began to speak.

‘What’s happening?’ The mutterings around him steadily grew louder and the wave of anger already circulating reached a crescendo of outrage, leaving the guards nervously cradling their rifles.

‘They’re going to leave them tied there all day as a warning to the rest of us.’ Mitchell’s voice was low and Joe could hear the suppressed anger.

Joe opened his mouth and joined in the shouting: ‘You can’t do that, you bastards!’

His voice was lost among the various other menacing shouts and threats coming from the furious men. Realising the danger, the senior sergeant swiftly approached the Commandant, pushing past the guards who attempted to stop him and earning a violent shove in the back for his trouble. He began complaining loudly, his voice only just audible above the noise of the angry men who were surging forward. The guards struggled to maintain control, their faces pale and anxious against the backdrop of the still falling snow, their grips tightening on their rifles as they attempted to hold a solid line.

‘Come on lads, let’s get ’em!’

No one knew where the shout came from but before he could think about what they were doing, Joe and the others were shoved forward into a melée of struggling POWs and guards. Trying unsuccessfully to avoid flailing limbs, punches and kicks, they found themselves being dragged down under the onslaught. For a few moments, everything was chaos and Joe was trampled into the ground, unable to free himself from the legs and feet treading on him. Months of starvation rations began to take their toll and he felt dizzy and faint. He knew it would be fatal to pass out but he couldn’t find the energy to stay conscious.

Chapter 3

La Couture, Pas-de-Calais

Marie stared out at the snow and shivered. Even the extra weight she was carrying was not enough to keep her warm these days. But it wasn’t just the winter cold making her shiver. Today would be the last day she and Louis would have the house to themselves. From tomorrow, they would have Major Heinz Krug billeted on them. The problem wasn’t that she disliked Major Krug. On the contrary, she found him very charming, which was half the problem. She didn’t want to like the Germans, especially one whose company was forced on her. More importantly, his presence would make it harder to carry on with their resistance work.

She sighed. The other problem was Louis. Her oldest son was very hot headed. He found it difficult to be polite to the Germans, let alone friendly. If they were all living inside the same house, somehow she had to make Louis behave himself. She didn’t expect him to fawn all over the Major, but she did need him to be polite. The most important thing was to allay any suspicions the officer might have about them, so they could continue to hide the airmen.

The baby moved in agreement and she smiled and rubbed her stomach. ‘What a world you are about to be born into, my love.’ Tears formed in her eyes. She wished Jacques could have been with her to see their baby, especially since she was sure this one was a girl.

She sighed and rubbed her stomach again. The bump seemed lower and she had a feeling she wouldn’t have to wait too much longer now. She felt tired, more so than with the boys. But then she had been a lot younger and she hadn’t had so much to worry about. Maybe being tired was making her depressed. Still, at least she had Louis by her side and, whatever his faults, he had been a tower of strength over the past few months.

The scratching at the door made her smile and she hurried to let Georges in. He was no longer the gangling puppy he’d been when Henri had turned up with him a few months ago. Although he was supposed to be a guard dog, he had become her constant companion. Louis had given up trying to make him sleep outside and now he slept in her bedroom, at the foot of her bed. She knew Louis didn’t approve, but she found his presence comforting.

She fondled his ears and, as he turned to face the door, his ears pricked. She froze. She hadn’t heard anything but Georges had. He was staring at the door with complete concentration and Marie found herself holding her breath. She remained motionless for several seconds, then pulled herself together. She walked over and opened the door. There was no one there but, before she could say anything, Georges had shot outside and was running towards the barn, barking furiously. Marie was about to follow him when a hand grabbed her arm and she jumped, only just managing to suppress a scream.

*******

Stalag XXA, Thorn, Poland

As if from a long way away, Joe heard a volley of shots. This was followed immediately by another and then another and, very slowly, the bodies on top of him began to move away and the oddly comforting warmth surrounding him slowly dissipated, to be replaced by freezing cold air that pierced his chest each time he breathed in.

‘Joe! Joe! Are you alright?’

Still gulping noisily for breath, he nodded, vaguely recognising Mitchell’s voice. Arms pulled him to his feet and, although he was unsteady, the pains in his chest subsided. He slowly became aware the snow was still falling and the Germans were putting a number of their guards on stretchers. He glanced nervously at Mitchell whose face was totally expressionless, his eyes staring sightlessly straight ahead. He glanced to the other side and realised Dick was holding tight to his other arm.

‘You okay, mate?’

Joe was still unable to find his voice and Mitchell let go of his arm, just in time as the Germans began barking orders at them. This time Joe had no trouble understanding the meaning. They were to stand apart from each other while the guards walked between them to see who carried wounds, so they could find individuals to blame for the guards’ injuries. He prayed there were no visible marks on his face and tried to ignore the pain in his chest. He wondered if he had cracked any ribs, not that he was likely to get any medical treatment, even if he had. The safest thing would be to not draw attention to himself, hope there was no lasting damage and pray the injury was not painful enough to stop him working.

The guard came closer and Joe could feel the sweat forming on his forehead, despite the freezing conditions. He wondered whether sweat froze and whether this would give him away and then the guard was level with him, his eyes boring into Joe’s face, trying to provoke a reaction. Joe stared ahead, fixing his gaze on some point in the distance and tried to make himself think of something else. His heart was beating so rapidly, he was sure the guard would be able to hear it and, despite his anger at a God who no longer seemed to be listening, he found himself praying.

The guard scrutinised him for several long seconds and then moved on to Mitchell. Joe let out a slow breath, frantically trying to reduce the vapour cloud inevitably following the emergence of his warm breath into the icy air. He realised he had been holding his breath and, when his lungs filled up again, he fought against the sick dizzy feeling that immediately engulfed him. But the danger had passed; the guard had finished their row and moved onto the men behind. Now he felt slightly safer, Joe surreptitiously wiped away the sweat that was beginning to freeze on his face.

The silence continued. Other than the crunching of the German guard’s feet on the frozen snow there was no sound as they all stared stonily ahead, each one praying they would not be the one to be dragged out. The guard finally reached the end of the row and started to walk down the next. Joe’s heartbeat slowly returned to normal and now he was no longer scared, he became aware of the cold again. He had long since lost the feeling in his feet and his hands were going the same way. He longed to move but did not dare. He could only hope he would not topple over or do anything to draw attention to himself. The snow was falling heavily and he could hardly see the men tied to the posts in front of them. Renewed anger at what the Germans were doing surged though him. How dare they? They were soldiers, sailors, men from the air force, most of whom had not chosen to go and fight. They’d had no choice in the matter.

If only… but the thought was cut off abruptly as he heard the scuffle behind him. Without thinking, he turned round to see what was happening and felt the force of a rifle butt in his back knocking him to the ground. With difficulty, he struggled back to his feet in time to see one of the men from two rows back being dragged out towards the front. Swaying precariously, Joe fought to remain conscious and, to his relief, the dizziness began to pass. He turned his attention back to what was happening in front of him.

The Germans had chosen one man from each block and he watched while they dragged them away towards one of the buildings at the far side, although he could not see where. The snow swirling around was so heavy now, they could barely make out the men who were still tied to the posts.

The Commandant spoke briefly and then headed back to his warm office. The men continued to stand where they were, the guards eyeing them warily. But the fight had gone out of them. They were so cold, most could no longer feel their bodies at all. They began to feel sleepy and, when they were finally given the order to move, they could only shuffle wearily back to their huts.