Kit found himself once more on the move, with the motley band of young men who had picked him up. They lived in the forest in a makeshift camp that could be struck and raised whenever danger loomed. Most of the boys were réfractaires, escaping forced labour with little experience of fending for themselves. It was no holiday camp, living in rough shacks and tents, with few regular food supplies and poor hygiene. Discipline did not exist at first. They would forage, then steal chickens and livestock, raiding remote farmhouses and demanding supplies. Robin Hood and his merry men they were not. There were divisions and cliques within the group.
At first, Kit observed and said little, aware he was an extra mouth to feed and crippled by his injury. He had nothing to offer in physical terms, but his years as a padre with unruly squaddies taught him that what was lacking here was respect and purpose. One night, as they sat around the firepit, he decided to ask them, straight out. ‘Are you going to sit out the war here? Must your families go without in order to support you? What is there to show for this shadowy life? Are you real resisters, or not?’ No one spoke, sipping their stolen wine, staring at him with suspicion. One boy looked towards the others before speaking.
‘What is it to you? Old man, we took you in and fed you, what have you done for us?’
‘I take your point and I thank you for sheltering me but if we are to be effective as opposition to the occupation here, it’s time to take up arms, to make life difficult for the enemy, to attract new recruits and to train ourselves until we are a force to be reckoned with. Then we can all hold up our heads and demand supplies from locals.’
The boy laughed, shaking his head. ‘Easy for you to talk… you can hardly walk, and where do we get weapons to fight the Boche? We are farm boys, not soldiers. We fell lumber and make charcoal. Better to stay hidden, I say.’
Kit could see they were unnerved and unsure of how to be useful. ‘There are other ways to fight than with guns,’ he offered. ‘Railway lines and signal boxes can be destroyed, anything to disrupt supplies, help refugees escape across into Spain, make life uncomfortable for the enemy. When the war is won, you want your families to be proud of your actions. Stealing chickens and lounging about in the woods is hardly action.’ Kit could see embarrassment on their faces, so he continued. ‘There has to be order and discipline, as in any army. You will have skills and the tools of your trade. To be a good unit, we must work together, not bully and fight each other. We need a cook and a provision master, a fitness instructor, a uniform of sorts, even if it is only a beret and armband. If we don’t respect ourselves, who will then respect us and be prepared to risk everything to join us?’ Kit prayed they were taking notice.
‘You make it sound easy. We’re surrounded by field troops and our own police searching for us.’
‘But you know the terrain better than they do. Let that be our defence. In Scotland we called it fieldcraft. There are families who will help shield us, just as you once protected me. I can lodge with them and pass messages. I have my exemption card. Who will notice a limping old veteran, a recluse who lives in the hills? That’s what I can offer, till my leg is mended. We must take the precaution of never using our real names. I will be known only as Bruce. Security is key, because there may be men, eager to join us, who are not who they seem to be; spies ready to betray us.’
‘How come you know all this stuff?’ Interest was now rising.
‘Did my bit in the last war,’ Kit said. ‘Do you see my point? It would mean a different way of doing things, from now on.’
Kit knew he was asking these inexperienced boys to come out of hiding and risk their lives. Did he, a stranger, have the right to ask this of them? As the embers cooled and the flies began to bite, Kit lay on his groundsheet, staring up at the leaves. His ankle was stronger now. He might be able to attempt a crossing, should the chance arise, but now that he had outlined this plan to the boys, he could not walk away. It was up to him to lick them into shape, but how he would do it without carrying a gun, he had no idea. There had to be a way.
*
Flora quickly recovered from her bout of nausea and was sent back to the cells to join the other illegal women. Juliette hugged her, relieved that they were together again. ‘I’ve news. We won’t have to stay here long. Someone told me to contact the Joint. I thought she was crazy but there’s an organisation called the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee in Barcelona. They’re on the lookout for children and separated families like us and they visit prisons to pick up detainees.’
Flora smiled with relief for her friend. ‘And I’ve got good news, too,’ she replied, patting her stomach. ‘Would you believe I’m having a baby and at my age? All these years I’ve yearned for such a gift…’
Juliette smiled. ‘I did wonder, when you were so sick and dizzy. I’m so glad for you.’
‘I’ve asked to be sent to the British Consul in Barcelona. I can’t stay here now. Our baby can’t be born in this place. I never thought we’d end up arrested, but perhaps it was meant to be.’ She looked round. ‘Where are the children?’
‘Out playing in the yard. That’s another thing – they were brought back here,’ said Juliette. ‘This committee will take them to a home for unaccompanied children, where safe passage from Spain to America can be arranged. Do you realise, if we hadn’t come here, Flora, I’d never have known about all this? Perhaps I will hear good news about Tomas. I have to know where he is, too.’
The following days were bearable, if only because they didn’t have to worry about food and lodging. They waited and waited, until one morning Flora was ushered to the warder’s office. A dapper young man was standing by the desk, holding her old passport. ‘Mrs Lamont, I’ve come to escort you to the consulate in Barcelona for an interview. Please gather your things. My car is waiting.’
‘But I must say goodbye to my friend. We made the journey together, and the children, too.’ She looked to the wardress for her permission.
She nodded. ‘Ten minutes.’
It was a tearful farewell. Ruth clung to her skirt. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll find out where you are living, I promise.’ Flora was shaking as she clung to her precious charges, one by one.
‘Are they sending you back into France?’ Juliette asked.
‘I hope not,’ was all Flora could say. She must think first of her baby’s safety. It changed everything. If only Kit could hear this exciting news. Surely it could only be a matter of time before he, too, crossed into Spain. She couldn’t think of leaving here until they were together again.
As she sat in the consul’s car, staring out over the sandy tracks leading to the coastline in the distance, Flora wondered what the diplomat would make of her perilous journey and the truth of her relationship with a man who was presumed dead.