Young, Brave and Beautiful Page 8
She was determined to help the Allied cause in any way she could, including being a friendly young thing in an enemy-laden carriage, if this could in any way help destroy that wretched Nazi regime, so any of these soldiers had better watch their step! She turned to watch the Normandy countryside glide past; it was looking a little the worse for wear but showing all the early promise of spring growth.
The weather was holding. It seemed to her very much colder than it had been a few days ago. It had been quite a long journey from the warmer mid-France to Paris and then the colder north – now the weather was more like that of England or Wales.
The train slowly entered Rouen Saint-Sever station. As it did so, Violette saw how much damage had been inflicted on the industrial south-west of the town. On the right bank the steeple of the Gothic cathedral gleamed in sad welcome above a haze of dust that seemed to hang low over both banks of the river.
Once the train came to a standstill, soldiers scrambled off, to be brought to strict attention on the platform, luggage neatly before them. The officers in Violette’s carriage stood up, gathered their things and helped her with the utmost courtesy to take down her luggage from the rack. With punctilious salutes and clicking of heels, they took their leave and bade her farewell.
It was with real relief that she descended the train to make her way into the town. Just as Violette was about to walk across the bridge to the right bank of the river, Colonel Niederholen approached her and suggested she ride with him. She accepted.
‡
* * *
32 Todt Organisation was formed in 1933 by Fritz Todt as a Third Reich civil and military engineering group. In the early years it relied heavily on compulsory labour from within Germany, but increasingly used forced labour from Germans rejected for military service, concentration camp prisoners and a large number of POWs and compulsory labourers from occupied countries.
33 A lanterne is a very slow train stopping at every station en route where lamps signal them to stop.
34 Wehrmacht = Defence Force and was the German armed forces, especially the army, from 1921 to 1945 disbanded at the end of the Second World War.
Part III
6
Friendly Lodgings in Rouen
10 April 1944 – Easter Monday
Trains from Paris arrived into Rouen at Gare Saint-Sever on the left bank of the Seine or Gare Rive Droite35 on the right bank. The Allies bombed the lovely old station of Gare Saint-Sever on the left bank even while Violette was in Rouen, to keep the German military from using it for transporting troops to and from Paris and elsewhere, especially as D-Day was just a few weeks away.
Once he was deposited at the Hôtel de Ville, Colonel Niederholen ordered the driver of his armoured car to take Violette where she wished. As she had not reserved a place to stay, she decided she would put her luggage in the consigne at the Gare Rive Droite while she got her bearings. The colonel suggested a couple of hotels, including his own but, Violette explained, they were somewhat out of her price range as she must conserve her funds. He was not, as yet, suspicious.
Stepping out of the armoured vehicle at the stylish art-deco station, Violette brushed down her skirt and coat, smoothed her hair and, with luggage in hand, walked with quiet assurance to the station entrance. She now needed to reassemble her thoughts and plan her movements for the day after her intensely stressful journey.
High-ranking German officers had entertained her, enemies of her country and herself. She had been slightly anxious and somewhat aloof, as was only to be expected of a respectable young French woman. Still, she had managed to laugh at their bad French, bad jokes and bear with the bad smells of unwashed, sweaty bodies. She had captivated them; a small but significant battle won. Most of these military men were not card-holding Nazis, but soldiers loyal to their country which had been dragged into fanaticism by a fierce minority exercising a mesmeric hold over the people of Germany.
It was coming up to lunchtime and, her luggage safely in the station consigne, Violette decided to stroll around before looking for a café-bar or brasserie within a short distance of the station. She wanted to review the information buzzing in her head and the strange experience of mixing with the enemy. The hostile civil and military landscape she had travelled into needed to be assessed. Groups of soldiers, fully armed, were parading through the quaint streets of Rouen, stopping people and checking their papers, sometimes arresting them on the spot. Civilians were hurrying about their everyday business. Fashionable women, suited and hatted businessmen and self-important civil servants mingled with tired-looking, shabbily dressed, unshaven men; a sprinkling of women and ragged children were queuing where there were rumours that goods had suddenly become available. To Violette’s tired eyes and stressed mind it was on the whole a mournful scene, full of menace.
She did not need to remind herself that this was the dangerous zone interdite, the forbidden zone, which she must penetrate to discover what had happened to the Salesman circuit and whether there were Résistants enough to keep the network going, or whether it was possible to set up a new group to gather information, receive parachute drops and carry out acts of well-planned sabotage – especially with a view to facilitating the imminent Allied invasion. It made no difference whether the invasion took place here or further along the Atlantic Wall. Only a handful of people around Winston Churchill knew the exact spot, which would depend to some small extent on the weather. For everyone else the job was to get on with allocated preparatory work to start the liberation of Europe.
Philippe’s words came back to her, ‘When I went to Rouen for the first time to start the circuit, I was sure of one or two contacts. I had Claude Malraux and Jean Sueur. But you have no contacts at all. You don’t even have a wireless transmitter to keep in touch with London. You will be entirely alone. You have nothing except the list of people who used to be in the group.’
‘That’s fine, I’ll manage. You can bet your last farthing I’ll be careful – a dead agent’s no good for anything.’ Violette smiled.
‘True,’ agreed Philippe as he had continued, ‘I’ll give you the best descriptions I can of certain people, too. All you can be quite sure of, Corinne, is that you’re going into great danger. You’ll hardly be able to move without being watched and even followed.’
‘Well, providing I’m not too much of a dope I should be all right. After all, I speak French; I’ve been there every year since being dragged back to England when I was twelve. Damn it, I am French. I know how they think – including you, I wouldn’t wonder – well, at least a little,’ turning bright pink, she suddenly remembered he was her commanding officer and that due respect should be shown.
In an uncanny way, Philippe’s being in France – somewhere – engendered a feeling of his presence even if he could not be contacted until she returned to Paris at the end of April. Before her lay twenty days of searching, noting and constant vigilance. Fear was now her only and constant companion – to be contained by her will.
‡
Violette could see the devastation Rouen had suffered. From aerial photographs and intelligence she had studied back in London, she knew that the right bank directly facing the quais and the Seine, plus part of the left bank, had been destroyed in 1940 by the French to prevent the advancing German army making use of fuel and other materiel.
The French had also blown up certain strategic points to the west, on both banks, that would have been useful for the enemy. Since then, she knew from reports and all Philippe had told her, there had been continuing sporadic damage to the town.
As Violette walked along she noticed that most of the bridges spanning the Seine had been bombed, including Pont Corneille. Much of the area between the cathedral and the quais had been reduced to rubble. Across the way, the Germans had constructed temporary link bridges in place of those damaged beyond repair. From time to time, these were bombed too, only to be rebuilt by the Germans before being bombed again by the Allies. She watched for a while as pede
strians and cyclists crossed the bridge. Some cyclists hung on to the military and civilian trucks to save pedal power, even though it was verboten. Few cars other than military vehicles were in evidence.
Strolling across the town centre via rue Grand Pont, Violette checked to see if she was being followed. She did not believe she was, but it was best to put her training into practice. She must not leave anything to chance. After all, it was not just her life in the balance. It had been a longish walk but pleasant enough and very instructive. The scenes she had witnessed did nothing to improve her confidence; she felt quite anxious and the stress and strain were tiring. She now wanted nothing more than to find a room, to bathe in a warm, bubbly bath, crawl into a warm bed and feel a little bit safe.
Violette sat under the large awning of a café-bar in rue Louis Ricard, which led down to the cathedral, not far from Gare Rive Droite. She quietly observed the armed soldiers patrolling the streets, a few Gestapo and Miliciens strutting around, pulling people off the streets, sometimes at gunpoint, sometimes shouting harshly, pushing them into the backs of trucks and hauling them off to one of the interrogation centres. She was used to the bombsites of London but this really frightened her. It was infinitely more savage than Paris. She began to understand just how dangerous would be her work. And how solitary.
An old waiter approached her: ‘Bonjour Mademoiselle, vous voulez?’ he asked without ceremony, indicating the plats du jour – a choice of two meals chalked on an ardoise, a slate board. She ordered her lunch of omelette aux tomates (made from powdered egg and not very appetising) and salade verte along with a carafe of water. She was decidedly hungry and thirsty after her journey and enjoyed the small meal. As she ate, Violette felt the stress and apprehension of the train journey begin to fade.
She noted she was not far from the Frontsammelstelle, the German regrouping point for newly arrived German recruits. It was interesting that a lot of them were either very young or rather old for recruits. Many could be no older than fifteen or sixteen and the older ones well into their fifties. Violette mentally squirreled away this information on German morale and military might for later debriefings by her superiors in London. As she left the café, the scene that met her eyes was charming and quaint. The cathedral stood out as a splendid landmark, and the river flowed calmly towards Le Havre and the English Channel.
The Germans defended the river and Channel very strenuously – these arteries were important links for operations and supplies. At Le Havre, they operated a base where ships and subs were repaired and renewed. The port, also harbouring German installations for communications and energy, was heavily guarded at all times.
The pall of German occupation hung over the hustle and bustle of Rouen. And yet life went on; Violette watched a group of children skirmishing at a corner, laughing and crying out in great glee over some favourite game. Many of the Rouennais in the streets were business people going about their affairs, while straggling Easter holidaymakers returned to their homes with prizes of food lying in wicker baskets or tied in scraps of brown paper tucked securely underarm. Soldiers, in happy or sombre mood going on or returning from leave, wended their way to and from the main station, knapsacks thrown carelessly over shoulders. She also saw eyes darting from girl to girl, whistles and shy stares, the beginnings and endings of affairs. Some girls stood sadly by, deprived of their German soldier-protector, afraid now of repercussions and being dubbed collabos horizontales, or Jerry-bags.
Violette observed German Sicherheitsdienst (SD)36 soldiers checking identities alongside the Gestapo, while German motorised vehicles bullied their way through the lanes. She saw a few remaining Jews wearing the yellow star on their clothes hurrying through the narrow streets. They were not sent to extermination camps since their work could not be continued by others.
The plight of the Jews saddened and angered her. Many of her friends were Jewish, and a few years before she had met Étienne, she and a young Jewish man, Manny Isbey, had fallen in love.
His sister, Polly, told me how they had delighted in Violette’s sweet personality and spent many pleasant fun-filled afternoons in the Isbey household. But Manny’s parents forbade the couple to marry and wanted Manny to marry a Jewish girl. Violette and Manny had been truly in love, deliriously happy, but it was not to be. He immigrated to New Zealand with his family and had a fulfilled and successful life. In 1978, he was elected as Labour MP for Papatoetoe; a great labour rebel in politics who stood up for the indigenous people at all times. He always kept Violette’s photo close, with her words of love to him on the reverse. His sister said that he always regretted his decision to follow the advice of his family, although he had a fine marriage and family of his own and very much loved his wife.
‡
The recent history of northern France and Belgium was something Violette knew quite well from living as a French girl and hearing tales of war and politics from her French extended family. A successful escape line from Belgium had been established to help crashed Allied airmen avoid capture by the Germans. This line extended from the northern end of France, through Picardy and Pas-de-Calais to Rouen and the surrounding areas of the Seine-Maritime (Seine-Inférieure at the time), all the way down to the south, over the Pyrenees into Spain and across to neutral Portugal, and then by boat or plane on to England and safety. It was a hazardous journey of over 4,000 miles. Safe-houses were found and kept ready, guides instructed and food and clothes supplied in greatest secrecy. Violette had already been helpful in this during her times in France in 1939 and 1940, working alongside Tante Marguerite so intelligence could be passed to the Belgian Section in London.
By April 1944, the war had been going for over four years. It was to be expected that the people of Rouen, like everyone in England and the rest of Europe, were, by now, weary of war and winter. Depots and strategic installations as well as the Rouen quays on the Seine were bombed time and again by the Allies. The Allies were kept informed through the various networks, including Philippe’s Salesman and Hamlet circuits,37 of repairs completed so the new installations could be damaged again. Kept under strict curfew and travelling restrictions by the Germans, citizens in the zone interdite were checked and rechecked by Gestapo and Milice. They went short of food, often living in homes that were barely more than rubble. The Germans were getting more vicious by the day. It was not good.
‡
Violette carefully went over in her mind what Colonel Maurice Buckmaster, head of the French Section of SOE, had told her about the reports – some of which came from Philippe and others from other agents and the French Résistance itself – on the effects of war to date on Rouen and Le Havre. As she gazed about her, Violette recalled a conversation she had had with Buckmaster telling her that she would be entering very much the most dangerous place in France and that she needed to remember that when the Germans entered Rouen on 9 June 1940, the destruction of that lovely old town was started by a major fire lasting four days. And then the centre of Yvetot had also been set on fire and Le Havre was occupied on 13 June.
Violette knew much about that, as she explained, from her Belgian friends and that as many details as possible would be useful, as she should be able to participate in any conversation just like a girl who had lived there all her life.
Buckmaster, not particularly liking the reference to the Belgian Section to which he had almost lost Violette, was well into the swing of his recitation, saying that Rommel had managed a 250-kilometre trek without firing a shot but, on 10 June, Cherbourg fell and, one month later in the French parliament on 10 July, twenty-one of the thirty-two Normandy deputies voted to give full powers to Pétain and Vichy. ‘Two-thirds of the blighters! Bloody stupid and they should’ve known better,’ Buckmaster grumbled. But between May and December 1940, the British had bombed Le Havre twenty-three times and a further twenty-seven times the year after in an attempt to stop the Germans embarking from there. It was a well-equipped port and well defended by the Germans making it extremely dangerous f
or the Allies.
Violette had then jumped in, wanting Buckmaster to realise she had some background knowledge too, saying that in late February 1942, they had sent a commando team to the Bruneval radar station, north-east of Le Havre, which they very successfully raided. But with the successes came defeats. In mid-August an Allied raid had turned into a disaster, with close on 1,200 dead and 2,000 taken prisoner of the 6,000 Canadians and British who were put ashore at Dieppe. Later, in November, Violette could not help but add – clearly relishing this nugget of information – that Monsieur Duchez, a painter from Caen, had succeeded in stealing the German plans for the entire Atlantic Wall from their office. She was sure that stuck in enemy’s throat!
Buckmaster nodded, with a taut smile of approval. He did think she was one of the most stunning young women he had ever come across. To himself, he added, ‘What on earth were the instructors thinking in their rather damning reports? Particularly on her intelligence. Fools! Bloody fools the lot of ’em! She’s perfect for the part. Let’s hope she damn well survives!’
‡
‘Buckmaster’s a cold fish, isn’t he?’ Violette had remarked to one of her fellow agents, Harry Peulevé, one evening a few days after that meeting, as they chatted and danced at the Studio Club in Kensington. The club was the favoured haunt for pilots and officers of all ranks and nationalities serving in the Allied forces.