The mission was unusual: to assist in the safe transport of fifteen Jewish children. Taken from their school in Paris by their teacher, Marianne Gamzon, they were destined to be housed in many different homes in the South of France.
Marjie met up with Marianne in a Catholic church in Lyon.
‘Madame, I am Margarita Barrault – I’m called Marjie, for short.’
‘But you look so young, and this is a dangerous mission.’
Marianne was in her late thirties or early forties, petite with lovely features, especially her black-as-coal eyes.
‘Please don’t worry as I am highly trained. How old are the children?’
‘They are all ten or eleven.’
‘Oh, that’s good. I was worried they would be infants, and that would have been difficult, as they will walk a lot of the way through forests and remote countryside that has no access from the road. We do have a number of safe houses along the way, ready to take them in so that they can be fed and can get some rest. And often the farmers will take them on tractors and trailers over their fields to the next wooded area on our route.’
‘But that is marvellous. Each child will have a box in which they will have supplies for two days, but nothing more. I cannot come with you, as I have many more children in my school. I have to get them all dispatched as quickly as possible now. The round-up of the Jews is becoming intense.’
‘Will you be safe?’
‘None of us are safe. But I hope to have all the children safe by the end of the week. They are going to Christian families in the South of France, all arranged by the Chris-tian Fellowship. And contacted by London, as no doubt you were. My uncle works in the embassy in London and arranged everything.’
‘I can only say that I have been charged with the first leg of the children’s journey from here. I will hand them over to members of the Fellowship in Avignon.’
‘I will pray for you and the children, and for all the good people who are helping us, as you are all putting yourselves in extreme danger. The penalty for harbouring or helping Jews is death.’
‘I know. And I will pray that you are not taken.’
‘It is more than possible, but as long as the children are safe, that’s all that matters. Here is a list of their names. One – her name is Lysette – is not well, and she desperately needs to get to the doctor; the Fellowship are expecting her.’
‘We will take care of her. Now, the first leg is in an hour, so where are the children?’
‘They are in with the Catholic priest.’ Marianne laughed. ‘He has been teaching them a little about what Jesus means to you Christians, and about Jesus’s mother, Mary. I hope he isn’t managing to convert any of them.’
Marjie laughed, too. ‘It is good that they will be prepared a little in the faith and so, if questioned, can answer the basic questions that a Christian child would know.’
‘Yes, of course. So, what is the plan?’
‘It is best that I don’t tell you.’ Marjie smiled at Marianne to soften having to say this. She liked her and thought that if they had met in another lifetime, they could have been friends. ‘But please don’t worry. Not long ago a whole trainload of Jewish people were rescued. That mission was far more dangerous. The children will be in Avignon in a week, I promise.’
‘That is good. Thank you, Marjie. And I understand – I shouldn’t have asked. I know they will be safe in your hands.’ At this, Marianne kissed Marjie’s cheeks and looked deep into her eyes. ‘You are all so brave.’
Brave? Margie didn’t feel brave. She just hoped their mission to rescue the children worked.
As she waited for everything to fall into place, she went through the plan in her head. A truck that disposed of waste was to call for them in an hour. The priest would direct the driver and his mate to pick up a couple of deliberately stained and torn mattresses from around the back of the church. She would then guide the children to walk behind the mattresses, out of sight from any prying eyes, and help them into the truck, where there would be blankets for her and the children to lie on. The mattresses and a few cardboard boxes would be placed over them.
This part worried Marjie, since they would have to remain like that for three hours, as the truck took them near to Valence. The first safe house was just a mile across fields from where they would be dropped off. Then tomorrow they were set to start a cross-country trek.
She was comforted by the thought that many of the local members of the Resistance would be in hiding, guarding them along the way, and that André would be with her once she reached Valence. He would be able to reassure the children, as he had been training to be a teacher before he was directed to go on Germany’s forced-labour programme, from which he absconded and joined the Resistance.
Marjie sighed. She had tried to sound confident that they would save the children, but she knew the plan was precarious, especially with a sick child to care for.
Once they were on the road, a new confidence took hold of Marjie. Everything had gone smoothly so far. But after travelling a little way, she began to worry about the children, who all seemed so small and vulnerable. It was stuffy under the sprung mattresses, which were balanced on upturned crates mere inches above their faces. For long periods of time, she held up the one she was under, trying to create more air-flow around Lysette, the frail child who lay next to her, whose body felt hot and sweaty. Marianne had told her that the child’s kidneys weren’t working properly. She’d given Marjie Lysette’s medication, which was to be administered on a regular basis. Marjie had felt pity when Marianne had told her how difficult it had been to get the help that Lysette needed. That a child, no matter what her parents’ origins were, should be denied access to medical care tore at her heart.
As the journey progressed, Marjie marvelled at the children’s resilience when they relaxed and began to chat and giggle. It was as if they had been well prepared, for they all knew the risks and didn’t show any reluctance to talk about what was happening.
At last the truck came to a halt and Marjie felt the mattresses being lifted off.
‘André, thank goodness. That was terrible. I fear for the children – we need to check each one and give them all a drink.’
‘We have to get them away from the road first. Come, children. You are going on the next leg of your adventure. Hurry, climb the fence and then there is a stream across the field, and you can all paddle and quench your thirst. It is good mountain water.’
The children did as André said, except for the listless Lysette. ‘You will have to carry this little girl, André. Her name is Lysette and she isn’t well.’
André looked at the child and whispered, ‘She is very yellow. Why have they sent a sick child?’
‘André, she needs saving more than all of them. She needs medical help and she won’t get it in a hospital in Paris, where she is from; or in Lyon, where I picked them up. She is Jewish, remember?’
‘I’m sorry. What was I thinking? Of course she won’t.’ Taking Lysette, André held her close to him. ‘You’re going to be all right, little one.’
Once the children had stamped the stiffness out of their legs, they ran ahead as if this really was an exciting adventure. ‘Well, if they keep up this eagerness and mood, we are in for an easy trip, Marjie.’
‘Don’t speak too soon, for nothing is easy today.’
‘No, but we can make it fun.’ André pulled a face, which made Marjie laugh.
When they reached the water, they heard a mass of voices saying they wanted to pee. André took the boys behind a bush, while Marjie saw to it that the girls found some privacy in a clump of trees. Once they’d all splashed around in the water for a while, they set off again.
‘You will be sleeping in a lovely barn that smells of fresh hay tonight, children, but first you will sample Madame Dinlet’s delicious stew.’
As they walked, they got to know the children one by one, asking them their names and their favourite toys. Most of the children had these with them: teddy bears and knitted dolls for the girls, and wooden toys for the boys. Marjie began to relax and enjoy the assignment, but was glad when the children were all bedded down.
Sitting on a bail of straw in the farmyard, with her coat pulled around her against the intrusion of the chill of the night air, she allowed herself for the first time to think of Sibbie and Paulo. She tried to imagine what was happening to them, and wondered if Arnie had been able to get the intelligence that he needed to plan a rescue.
André came and sat next to her, his body a little closer than she liked. Marjie hitched herself along, to put a little space between them.
‘I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Marjie. I’m sorry.’
‘No – no, I . . . well, I thought you needed more room.’
André stood up and looked down at her. She couldn’t see his expression, but a feeling overcame her that made her want to be anywhere other than here. She didn’t want to hear what she guessed was coming.
‘Marjie, I want to talk to you. I want to tell you that I’m very fond of you . . . In love with you.’
‘Oh, André, I’m sorry. I like you, of course, and respect you, but I am betrothed.’
There was a silence.
‘What? Oh, Marjie, please forget I said anything. I . . . well, I should have found out. No one told me – not Paulo, Sibbie or anyone. I feel such a fool now.’
‘Please don’t. I’m very fond of you, André. But only as a good friend. I hope we can carry on as normal. None of this will affect me; if anything, I am very flattered.’
André gave a little laugh. ‘Of course. Now can I sit next to you, and I promise not to misbehave.’
Marjie giggled and felt they had ridden that little blip easily, but then André was an easy person to get along with.
‘Tell me about your fiancé.’
Sitting there as the moon came up, Marjie opened her heart. Wills came alive to her as she talked, but part of her realized how little she knew about him, and yet how much.
‘He’s a lucky man, Marjie. I envy him.’
‘There will be someone for you. And when it happens, it will be like a bolt out of the blue. Not some old school friend that you’re very fond of, and mistake your feelings for.’
‘I know, I . . . Anyway, I’m turning in, as we have a long journey tomorrow.’
‘I don’t think I can sleep. I’ll stay out here a little longer, then check on the children, before I bed down. I’m worried about Lysette.’
‘Oh, I forgot to tell you. Madame is keeping her indoors with her. It turns out that she used to be a nurse, so will take good care of her.’
‘Thank you, André, goodnight.’
Once André was gone, Marjie thought of Sibbie and Paulo. She longed to know how they were, and uttered fervent prayers that broke the shield she had put up. Slipping onto the floor, she leaned her head on the straw bail and her heart broke.
The journey was made much shorter the next day, as Madame Dinlet drove them in a tractor and trailer for many miles until they reached another safe house, some twenty miles away. She’d made several stops at farms to refuel, and bedded down with them that night in the home of Monsieur Lavet, another farmer.
Lysette had deteriorated. The concern for her life was very real.
‘I will fetch my doctor to her. He, too, is a Jew, so you will all be safe. He will know what to do.’
‘Thank you, Monsieur. Thank you.’
Holding Lysette, Marjie felt so helpless, as the child seemed to be slipping away. The other children were sitting on chairs and a variety of crates around the warm kitchen, eating large chunks of bread.
‘Poor Lysette, I know you feel poorly, but could you try to sip this water, little one?’
Lysette opened her eyes, then closed them, never to open them again. Marjie gasped at how quickly she’d been taken. Rising from the table, she calmly asked Madame Dinlet to follow her into the next room. There she found a small sitting room, with a huge sofa taking up most of the floor space, and a long low table with books on it standing in the centre.
‘Madame, she has gone.’
‘Oh no, poor little child.’
Taking Lysette, Madame placed her on the table. ‘We need something to cover her. Oh, that blanket – there over the arm of the chair – would you pass it?’
Once Lysette was covered, Marjie’s body shuddered. And she found that she couldn’t stop the deluge of tears that flowed down her face.
Madame Dinlet, too, was crying. ‘She was the reason I took this long journey. I hoped to save her. But look at her – she looks so peaceful. Maybe she is in a better place, and she is out of danger.’ Taking the cover off Lysette’s face, Madame stroked the child’s hair. ‘You came into my life for just a few short hours, little one, but I gave you my love, so take that with you.’ Turning to Marjie she said, ‘Come, you must be brave for the other children. We will tell them that Lysette is resting until the doctor comes, and then he will take her to hospital. It is good that he is a Jew, as he will see that she is laid to rest according to their traditions.’
This gave Marjie a little comfort, and she found the strength to straighten her body and go through to check on the other children. As she got to the door, André came through it. Marjie shook her head. The colour drained from André’s face and tears sprang into his eyes.
‘Take a minute with her, André. I’ll see to the children.’
The rest of the journey went well. Marjie had never felt more relieved than when she reached the house outside Avignon and met the leader of the Christian Fellowship, a kindly man who took charge of the children, with his entourage of jolly women helpers.
It was a tearful goodbye, with some of the girls clinging to her, but once she’d left them, the feeling Marjie had was one of great happiness that she’d helped just a few of the Jewish population to safety. She knew she’d done it for her Aunt Ella.
Before she could travel back to Hérault, Marjie had to put on a disguise again. It had been wonderful not to have to bother with it as she travelled across the countryside, but now she was to go by train, as she and André had to get back as quickly as they could to the safety of the camp. The leader of the Fellowship had given them the address of a house where everything would be ready for them.
To their surprise, a gendarme uniform and papers were ready for André, and a clean outfit for herself – a woollen dress that belonged to the lady of the house. It was a little big for Marjie, but she pulled it in with the belt. A drab plum colour, it had a rounded neckline with a straight skirt that fell to her calves. A headscarf and fur jacket completed the outfit, as did her disguise glasses, which she had in her bag. Combing her hair back off her face and donning a small-brimmed felt hat made her look a lot older.
Their papers declared them to be man and wife. Their story was that they had visited an uncle, but that André was on duty as soon as he arrived home, so he had taken his uniform with him.
As it turned out, they didn’t need a cover story, because everyone they met either showed no interest in them or seemed afraid of André. The few officials saluted or made some gesture to recognize him as one of their own.
‘A useful disguise, I think, Marjie. We’ll keep these outfits in good condition, as they may come in handy again.’
Marjie didn’t answer; she couldn’t. Nor could she believe what she was seeing. Her brother Monty was sitting on a bench seat on the station platform! Her first reaction was one of joy. She wanted to push her way off the train and run to him before he disappeared. But then she remembered that if she did so, she would expose herself for who she really was.
As the train pulled into the station in Narbonne, they stood up and went to the door. Marjie looked through the window, along the platform. A group of gendarmes were a little way along it, scrutinizing intently all those getting off. Looking back at Monty, she saw that he was doing the same. It’s as if he is expecting someone . . . Me? Oh my God!
Turning to face André, she whispered, ‘Don’t question me, just turn around and go as fast as you can to the end of the train. Go into the guard’s van. I’ll be just behind you. Once there, jump and then run for all you’re worth – don’t look back.’
André did as she bade him. With her heart pounding, Marjie kept up with him. The part of the train they entered at the back had a kind of balcony-like structure. Thank God the guard had alighted, because sometimes, she knew, they would lean out from there to direct the train driver by waving their flag or blowing their whistle.
André jumped onto the railway line and took off. Marjie followed him. High walls prevented them from getting off the track. Running along it, Marjie prayed that another train wouldn’t appear, and the one they had just left wouldn’t move, exposing them to those who, she was certain, would try to capture them.
‘Marjie, there, in that siding – there’s an old engine. I’ll make for that. We’ll hide behind it and you can tell me what this is all about.’
Once out of sight, they leaned heavily on the engine wheels, gasping for breath. André recovered first. ‘What’s wrong, Marjie, what did you see?’
‘My youngest brother, who is meant to be doing forced labour in Germany—’
‘Your brother? But I don’t understand. Oh, I see – of course you couldn’t risk being recognized. Well done, Marjie. But a bit elaborate, don’t you think? You could just have kept your head turned away from him.’
Marjie felt conflicted; if she told André what she suspected, she might as well sign Monty’s death warrant.
Her heart pounded as indecision divided her loyalties. Would André remain as alert as he could, if he knew the truth? Desperate to save her brother’s life, and yet to protect herself and André, Marjie frantically sought a reason why they should get away from here as quickly as possible. Suppose the driver had been looking and saw us running. Oh, what shall I do?
Making her mind up, she told André, ‘It is vitally important that I am not recognized. My cover will be blown and our safety, and that of our comrades, will be compromised. We need a plan to get away from here without being seen, because we will draw suspicion anyway – a gendarme and a woman walking on the train tracks.’
‘Yes, you’re right. Maybe you should have done as I said, because now we are in a position that it is difficult to get out of.’
Opening her handbag, Marjie took the gun from her make-up case and assembled it. This only took seconds, with all the practice she’d had. ‘Take this, André.’ Bending down, she took off her boot and accessed the bullets and handed them to him. As André took them, his frown told her that he thought her completely mad. ‘Just do as I say, André. There are times when you shouldn’t question me, and this is one of them. I am in charge of this operation until we reach the safety of our camp.’ However, now Marjie wondered if even that was safe.
André loaded the gun. Marjie accessed the knife from the inner cushion of her boot, before quickly putting it back on.
‘Now, this wall gets lower a short way along. Follow me. But keep close to the engine at all times.’
The sound of the guard’s whistle reached them, giving Marjie a small amount of relief. Had the gendarmes searched the train and allowed it to go on its way? Would she be better to hide in the old engine than risk being seen?
At that moment the gods were with her, as another train approached in the distance. Stopping her progress, she waited. Once the train approached the station, she knew the old engine would shield her if she made a run for it, but what of the passengers? Would they be too busy getting ready to get off the train to notice her? Unsure, she stayed still. Looking back, she saw that André was close behind her and thanked God that he’d decided to let her dictate what they did.
The last of the carriages was passing them now. Marjie leaned out and checked the windows: no one was in the carriage. But she darted back as the guard’s van came into view. Having just caught sight of the guard, she’d seen that his attention was taken on the other side, watching the train as it slowed into the station.
‘Now! Run!’ When they reached the shorter section of wall, she shouted, ‘Give me a leg up, André.’
As he bent and cupped his hands for her, Marjie stepped on them, her eyes fixed on the top of the wall. Grabbing it, she threw her bag over and then scrambled over the top. Below her was a deeper drop than she’d anticipated, but she bent her knees and rolled as she landed. But then she couldn’t stop rolling, as the bank sloped steeply down. At the bottom was a road that she was unfamiliar with, and across from it a row of houses. As André came over the wall, she shouted, ‘Grab my bag! Then act as if you are chasing me, but not catching me!’
Taking off, Marjie prayed that if anyone saw them, they wouldn’t raise the alarm or try to help her. Most people hated the regime that ruled them and were afraid to interfere with anything the gendarmes did. They were more likely to keep away from the window than watch the drama they thought was unfolding outside their home.
Ahead, Marjie could see that the houses came to an end and, just past them, parkland led to a clump of trees. She made a run for it.