Sibbie’s heart leapt. ‘Paulo has written to me!’
‘Yes. Here it was, in with my letter from Mama. Aunt Mags had it delivered by courier. But oh, Sibbie, things are not good.’
Sibbie held her breath.
The past two years at the RAF station had flown by. Both Sibbie and Marjie had graduated with a first-class degree in languages and often practised, having a whole day when they spoke only in German or Polish, and at other times in French, so that Sibbie could keep up her excellent accent and Marjie could enjoy speaking her native tongue.
As soon as they could, after leaving school, they had joined the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force – WAAF for short – as by then Marjie was unable to return home and war was raging around the world. Marjie’s dual nationality had meant that she was readily accepted.
And now, after a short training period, they were working as plotters, attached to RAF Digby, a small station in Lincolnshire. Sibbie enjoyed the work. She threw her heart into deciphering the plots that came through to them, and knew the exhilaration of getting the expected raids spot-on, as early warning to the nearest airfields was invaluable. But even though she knew the importance of her work, she didn’t feel challenged.
They were on their break, and Marjie had taken a detour to the postroom before joining Sibbie on the flat roof above the stuffy Ops room – a favourite place of all the staff, no matter the weather, and on this late September day it was showery and the air held a chill.
The general idea, during the ten minutes they took as a break, was for staff to skip or do some rigorous exercise, to relieve the tension of bending over the large plotting table for hours on end, but most simply walked up and down, enjoying the views over the countryside – and a cigarette, if they were smokers. The roof was littered with discarded butt-ends.
Two Canadian squadrons of Hurricanes were stationed on the base, and Sibbie found it exciting to see them taking off and landing. Even the noise they made sent a zing of exhilaration through her. She wanted to be part of that action. Not flying, but actually doing something – taking an active role in fighting this bloody war. Not showing others where that action was likely to be.
‘Oh, Marjie, it’s not terrible news, is it?’
‘It – it’s Randie. He’s missing.’
‘Oh no! Oh, Marjie.’ The silence that fell held all their fears, because in that moment the reality of war hit them. Wanting to comfort Marjie, and needing comfort herself, Sibbie reached out. Marjie almost fell into her arms.
‘It’s unbearable to think about. It’s the not knowing. Is – is he dead? Captured? Oh, Sibbie . . .’
Sibbie couldn’t answer. A picture of Randie, a quiet young man just a few months younger than herself, came to her. To imagine him fighting – wielding a gun and charging – was difficult. He was more at home with his head in a book, sitting under a shady tree once his work was done. She couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again.
‘I’m sure he’s been captured, Marjie. Oh, I know that’s bad, but at least he would still be alive, and might escape or outlive the war and come home. There’s always hope – we must never lose that.’
Marjie didn’t answer. Sibbie felt her body trembling. Hardly daring to, but needing to know, she asked, ‘And Freddy? Is there any news of Freddy?’
Like Marjie, both of her brothers, Freddy and Randolph, had dual nationality and had been conscripted into the Allied forces under the command of the British, following the German occupation of France and the dissolving of the French army.
‘Freddy was by Randie’s side when they were ordered forward. Mama says he wrote that there was heavy fire between the German line and theirs, when their officer ordered them to move forward. They had adequate cover from field guns, but despite that, many fell. Some he knew were taken prisoner, and a hundred or more were killed. Mama received an official letter saying that Randie was “missing in action”. She says, like you, that we must hold on to hope, as the night Freddy volunteered to go on burial duty, he and his fellow soldiers searched the bodies, but Randie wasn’t amongst them. Freddy then made enquiries about all the injured, and Randie wasn’t listed there. He told Mama that he was certain, after that, Randie must have been taken prisoner.’
‘There, you see. He’s alive, I’m sure of it.’
They fell into silence again, clinging onto each other. All the while their other, as-yet-unopened letters lay between them . . . It was almost too painful to open them, even though they seemed to live from letter to letter at times, hungry for news of their loved ones.
The news Sibbie had, when she eventually opened one of her letters, was a further blow to her. Her brother Billy had been conscripted, much to his delight, and was soon to be deployed – heaven knew where. The whole world seemed to be on fire, and soldiers could find themselves sent to France, Africa or the Middle East. But Billy, more than any of them, was ready. And this worried Sibbie. His last letter was full of bravado, as if he was going to win this war single-handed.
Aunt Betsy’s girls, Daisy, Florrie and Rosie, whom Sibbie looked on as her sisters, were safe, though. Much to their chagrin, they hadn’t been dispatched to foreign places, but were nursing in various hospitals in and around London and Kent. They loved their work and spoke of the value of taking care of the wounded who were shipped to them day after day, but all secretly harboured a desire to work in field hospitals right at the heart of the action. Sibbie longed to be with them.
Marjie broke into her thoughts. ‘Mama says that they didn’t know where Paulo was until his letter came. Aunt Ella had been going half-mad. It appears that he received a notice that he was to be conscripted into the Service du Travail Obligatoire.’
‘What? Isn’t that the service that is forced to work in Germany?’
‘Yes, Mama says it is terrible, and that young men are never heard of after they go. I am ashamed that my people in the South of France are collaborating with Hitler.’
‘I know, but tell me, where did Paulo go?’ Even as she asked, Sibbie’s desire to read the letter he’d sent her burned into her heart, but she suppressed the longing, wanting to hear out Marjie and to comfort her.
‘He just disappeared into the night, but they now know that he joined the Maquis, a Resistance movement.’
‘Oh, Marjie, no! And Aunt Flors dares to put this in a letter to you?’
‘No. Well, not in so many words. Before I left for England, Mama told me that if war did break out, she would communicate in code. It’s complicated, and something she learned during her war. It involves misspelling, so that you are alerted to a sentence being in code. Here, look.’
Taking the letter, Sibbie read: The eldest of Ella’s pigons has flowen the nest.
‘See: it is the bad spelling of “pigeon” and “flown” that tells me this is code. Ella’s eldest is Paulo – he has gone.’
Next, Sibbie read: He did not like the confines of the enclosure and would not work alongside the other birds. We heard that he has gone to Monsiuer Marqs’s coop. But our youngest bird will do whatever is asked of him and is ready to fly our coop when asked.
‘Code again, and this time it tells me that Paulo has joined the Maquis, the underground movement. See: “would not work” and “gone to Monsieur” – which she spelt wrongly – “Marqs’s coop”, which tells me it’s the Maquis group. And then “our youngest”, meaning my brother Monty, “will do whatever is asked of him” – means that he is willing to go to Germany, if called. Oh God, Sibbie, it just gets worse and worse. Poor Mama cannot express how she feels, but I know that her own heart, and Papa’s, must be breaking. Look, here she has written: “We are well, but often sit with the river flowing from the heart of the villag.” Code again, shown by the misspelling of “village”. So I decipher, this doesn’t mean they sit next to the river, but that through their hearts flows a river of tears.’
‘I’m so sorry, Marjie. It is all so awful for you – and for me, as I love them all dearly. Oh God, Paulo is in such danger!’
They fell silent again and held hands. In the distance they could hear a plane take off, followed by another, and then the sky above them darkened as they were encased in the roaring sound of the engines. Their eyes followed the craft travelling south, indicating that even more bombing was expected in the London and Kent regions. Had she thought her dear Rosie, Daisy and Florrie were safe? Please, God, don’t let any of the hospitals they are working in take a hit. And please take care of all of our families.
When the bombers had passed over, Sibbie realized that she and Marjie were clinging to each other as if their life depended on it.
‘Marjie, I know that letter brought sad news, but the coded messages are so clever. Look what she wrote, before her talk of birds: Life here goes on as normal. The grapes were good this year, though our hobby of keeping pigeons isn’t helping, as when they fly around, they peck the grapes, which annoys your papa. They don’t have pigeons, do they?’
‘No. And that is something that also alerted me there was a coded message to come. But now I fear that Mama will have to be even more careful, because with Paulo not answering the call to work in Germany, they will be looking for him, unless Aunt Ella has a reason for his whereabouts. And I’m thinking that part of their looking might be to intercept any mail.’
‘Yes, I can see that, but the code itself is brilliant. Your mama has even typed it, which makes it more authentic, as the misspelling could be typing mistakes. I think we should practise it. Write notes to each other. It will be fun to see if we always get the message. Then, if ever we need it, we can use it to communicate in secret.’
‘Do you think such a time will come? I can only think we will want to ask each other if we are going to the village “hop”. Ha, I still find that so funny – as if we are going to hop around the village, like this . . .’
Marjie let go of Sibbie’s hand and did a hop, skip and dance around the roof. She looked so funny that Sibbie burst out laughing. ‘One way to keep warm,’ Sibbie said and then joined in; and before they knew it, they were bent double, their laughter soaring into the now-still air.
A flock of birds took off in squawking protest. Marjie stopped laughing and looked heavenwards. ‘They too have flown the nest.’ With this, her tears spilled over.
Sibbie walked over and held her. Her own heart was heavy with unshed tears. She just clung onto Marjie, both giving and taking comfort.
It was hours later that Sibbie got the chance to open her letter. When she did, she was filled with joy and sadness at the same time.
She and Marjie were back in their billeted home, with Mrs Parkinson, a bright little widowed lady of around sixty who, not having any children of her own, was like a granny to all the village and was always busy knitting, or organizing fund-raising events and making sure the village children had all they needed.
Sitting on her bed, placed next to Marjie’s, Sibbie lay back. Marjie had her eyes closed and didn’t open them as Sibbie opened Paulo’s letter, wondering as she did so how it had ever reached her. Her imagination showed her Paulo hiding out in the forests of Hérault, or even in the hills and mountains that surrounded it. Did he have shelter and food?
Her heart ached at the notion that he might not have. The envelope containing the letter seemed to resist being opened, but she knew this was caused by her impatience and not wanting to spoil anything about this precious gift, by tearing it.
Sibbie, this is written very quickly and with a deep hope in my heart that you are well and safe, as I am.
In these terrible times that have disrupted all our lives, I have to speak out and say how I feel about you. I want you to know that I have loved you ever since I met you. At first as a kind of cousin but, as I grew older, my feelings deepened with every visit you made, until now there is an ache in my heart that compels me to tell you.
On your last visit we had no time alone, but I felt that you had feelings for me. Is it possible that you do? It is important for me to know, as the knowledge will sustain me and help me through all that we face.
Please keep safe, my darling, and don’t take up any occupation that will put you in danger. Then I will know that one day we will be together.
I love you, my darling Sibbie. It is the thought of you that keeps me going. Write back soon.
Paulo x
As Sibbie clutched the letter to her breast, she felt the racing of her heart as it pumped a feeling of great happiness through her veins. Paulo, oh Paulo. Paulo loves me!
Without opening her eyes, Marjie asked, ‘Good news or bad?’
‘Good. Oh Marjie, Paulo is in love with me! I can’t believe it, and yet I can, as I knew it was destined to be. But I am so afraid for him.’
Lifting herself onto her elbow, Marjie looked keenly at Sibbie. ‘I’m happy for you, Sibbie; and for Paulo, that at last he has spoken out, as we were all sure of how he felt, but he would never confirm it. But forgive me if, at this moment, I cannot help but ask if he says whether he is safe, or if he mentions Monty or gives any indication of what life is like for them?’
‘No, nothing. Just his declaration of love for me. But it wouldn’t be easy for him to say anything.’
A deep sigh from Marjie spoke of the anguish they both felt for their family.
‘I thought they would all be safe. I thought Marshal Pétain would stand firm against Hitler’s regime and mobilize the French army and swell its numbers to fight back, but he is a traitor!’
Sibbie knew of what Marjie was speaking. At first, when the invasion of France happened, they had both taken comfort from knowing that Hérault was part of Vichy, the declared Free Zone in the South of France. And Marjie had been really happy to know that its government was under the leadership of Marshal Pétain. But now, with Pétain hanging on Hitler’s every word, the Nazi regime was really in charge. Life for their family was unsafe, as they would be looked upon as the enemy. British citizens, and especially Jews, were in a very dangerous position.
‘How can Pétain behave as he is doing? He was a hero in the last war. He fought the Germans! It doesn’t make sense. There is no Free France, because of Pétain and his wretched appeasement and bowing down to Hitler.’
‘I know; he’s imposing some very harsh regimes on his own people. It’s frightening.’
‘Sibbie, I haven’t liked to say, but I’m so worried about Aunt Ella and Paulo and Lonia. I know they aren’t practising Jews, but . . . Oh, Sibbie, what if Aunt Ella’s background is found out? What will happen to her, and to Paulo and Lonia? They say that all Jews are being deported to camps. But no one knows what is happening to them after they have gone.’
The joy that had filled Sibbie turned to ice-cold fear. Yes, she’d pondered this before, but it had never struck her as it did now. ‘It’s terrifying. Oh, Marjie, why didn’t Aunt Ella and Uncle Arnie get Paulo over here? They were thinking of doing so. They should all have come before this happened, as we all knew it was on the cards.’
Marjie left her own bed and climbed onto Sibbie’s. Tears were flowing down her face, and her body trembled. ‘I’m so afraid, Sibbie. Somehow it has dawned on me how dangerous the situation is for our family. Aunt Ella’s because they are British Jews; and Mama and Papa because they are British and it’s possible that they will be looked upon as sheltering Jews, which is against the law. Oh God, we have to do something! I know what we are doing now is vital work, but there must be something more that we can do?’
Putting her arm around Marjie, Sibbie felt a dread in her heart that she’d never felt before, and it forced her to voice what she’d been thinking for a while now. ‘We could apply to be considered for a more active role. We could be doing all sorts of things with our languages. Perhaps undercover work? Surely the government has secret agents working in France. We would be especially useful working in the Vichy area, as we know it so well.’
‘Yes, you’re right, there must be agents gathering intelligence and helping the Resistance. But how do we apply, and to whom? They must know all about us, because when we applied to join the WAAF we filled in forms that gave our backgrounds. And at the time the interviewing officer was really interested in the fact that I had dual nationality and could speak four languages.’
‘I had a similar reaction, too, when I said yes to the question about speaking any foreign languages. So why weren’t we offered something where those skills would be useful?’
‘Maybe they didn’t see the right kind of person in us. I mean, perhaps we didn’t show our true spirit?’
Sibbie thought about this and knew Marjie was right. They must have come across as two young women who were merely capable of working in the background. ‘We need to show them our mettle, Marjie.’
‘But how?’
‘Why don’t we ask permission to volunteer for the local home-defence unit in our time off? Or ask for further training in combat – anything that will show that we are ready to do more.’
Filled with enthusiasm as their ideas began to develop, they chatted long into the night about the possibilities of future roles for them.
By the time they settled down, Sibbie knew that a change had occurred. She and Marjie were no longer just two WAAFs doing an important but mundane job; they were two strong young women ready to take on the world and to right the wrongs. Part of her yearned for it to happen, but another part recognized the danger that their intentions would place them in. But I’m ready. I’m truly ready. I need to do more. I need to be out there. She’d always known this, and now it was time to make it happen.