1916
WAR NEWS LATEST!
BRITISH LAUNCH GREAT DRIVE ON 20-MILE FRONT ENEMY TRENCHES TAKEN IN TREMENDOUS SMASH
‘This is all crucial information.’ Isabelle took the papers from Charlotte. ‘You and your daughters are extremely observant, plus your notes are clear. And you seem to have gone beyond the call of duty, giving me more detail than I expected.’
‘The girls sketched, though they kept those papers tucked under the picnic blanket, and as trains passed they made notes on anything they observed until it was quite late to be sitting on the bank of a meadow overlooking the railway line,’ said Charlotte. ‘While they were sketching, I decided to take a short walk along to the point where I could look down and see the tracks diverge – and from that junction I could ascertain the onward direction of certain trains. It’s all in our notes.’
Isabelle nodded. ‘Were you seen by the Germans?’
The woman looked from Charlotte, to Cecily, to Elinor. Charlotte cleared her throat.
‘A German officer was out for a stroll and stopped to talk to us. I had just returned to the girls and saw him in the distance while I was laying out a picnic, so we were able to conduct ourselves without drawing attention to any ambiguity of purpose – and a German train had already passed.’
Isabelle frowned. ‘Tell me what happened.’
‘Well, he approached us and seemed to enjoy studying the girls’ drawings. He said he had once been an art student and also had daughters who loved drawing. I offered him some water – fortunately he declined and went on his way.’
‘But, Mama,’ said Cecily, ‘he reminded us to be home before curfew.’
‘And he didn’t mention your choice of location to spend a Sunday afternoon?’ asked Isabelle.
‘Only that it was a perfect sunny spot,’ said Charlotte.
‘And you conversed in which language?’ asked Isabelle. ‘I know all three of you are fluent in German.’
‘We spoke in French,’ said Cecily.
Isabelle turned to Elinor. ‘Did he speak to you?’
‘No. And I didn’t speak to him.’
The woman nodded, addressing all three De Witt women. ‘Be seen around the town sketching in other locations. I’ll tell you when I want you to return to observing the trains.’
‘Isabelle—’ Charlotte leant across the table towards the visitor. ‘Who receives the information we’re providing? You never told us, specifically.’
Isabelle was silent, then pushed back her chair and walked to the kitchen window to stare out at the garden. Charlotte, Elinor and Cecily looked at one another and waited. Elinor thought Isabelle reminded her of her mother. Charlotte would stand by the window, sometimes with her hands steeped in a bowl of hot water, as if she found both the garden and the warmth soothing in some way. A moment later, Isabelle turned around and took her place at the table.
‘I am the only person who knows that you three women have assisted me. By the same token, you only know me. However, I am in contact with others, chiefly but not exclusively women and girls who are also gathering information and taking on similar tasks. But they only know me; they do not know one other, and they have no knowledge of your part in any plan to thwart the enemy.’
‘It’s like Chinese whispers,’ said Elinor.
‘A little. But understand this – and you must pay attention to what I am saying – if you are arrested while about this work and interrogated, the risk of you having enough information to reveal a whole web of resistance across our country is diminished. Being in the dark about anyone else – with the exception of me – is a means of employing ignorance to protect the chain of activity. And don’t worry, I can look after myself.’
Charlotte, Cecily and Elinor offered no response, so Isabelle continued.
‘The precaution has been taken ever since one of our founders was arrested and detained by the Germans, and though he did not reveal a thing to the enemy during his interrogation, which was brutal, we realised the risk involved in one person having so much knowledge.’ She looked at each De Witt in turn. ‘That man paid with his life, shot by the Germans – they knew he had information, and to be frank, I believe his refusal to speak under the most terrible circumstances undermined them. Make no mistake, you must understand that this is dangerous work. Many are engaged in it, and every single contribution is invaluable. We are at a most crucial juncture in the war.’
Elinor looked at her mother and sister. Neither spoke, but she fidgeted in her chair. She raised her hand. ‘Yes, but, Miss … Isabelle, we’ve given you our pages of observations, but where do they go?’
‘You’re not in school now, Elinor; you don’t need to raise your hand.’ Isabelle’s smile was brief. ‘To answer your question – the information gathered goes to the people who are furnishing the necessary funds to keep us going, which enables us to continue this vital reconnaissance. They are the ones who are in a position to use any intelligence provided by our resistance work – and they use it well. Everything you do is for Belgium.’
‘But who are they?’ Elinor pressed, despite hearing her mother clear her throat again, a warning to be quiet.
Isabelle smiled. ‘Good girl – you have a right to ask. If you are risking your life, you should know. The Germans have a broad idea of who is receiving information, but they don’t know how we are either obtaining or transferring it. Suffice it to say that it is for Britain and her allies – they are in the midst of a tremendous push against the Germans. And beyond that I will add no more. Remember what happened to Nurse Cavell.’
Silence descended once again. Yes, they all knew what had happened to Edith Cavell, the British nurse who had offered a means of escape for lone Allied soldiers separated from their army. She had been assassinated by firing squad, a warning that anyone engaging in resistance against the German military would meet the same fate.
Following Isabelle’s departure, Elinor remained at the table with her mother and sister. They were silent until Charlotte spoke. ‘I’ll put the kettle on for some tea.’
‘Mama, aren’t you always the British lady? You’re so British that when you’re worried, you make a cup of tea and your accent changes.’
Elinor stared at Charlotte, then Cecily, knowing her sister was spoiling for an argument, as if she had a stick in her hand and was tormenting wasps in their nest.
Charlotte had no immediate response, but seemed to take her time placing the kettle on the stove and opening the dampers to boil the water. Satisfied that the water was heating, she turned to her daughter.
‘Cecily, it’s tea because it’s all we have to warm us, and to do the serious thinking needed at this very moment in this household, we need something to do with our hands, and clutching a cup of hot tea is as good an idea as any. And I, for one, am thirsty.’ Charlotte glared at Cecily. ‘I might also add that you were born in London, my dear, so you too might as well have a target on your back. Tea will help you bear it.’
Well, that shut her up, thought Elinor, who was soothed by the rhythm of Charlotte’s tea-making – the warming of the pot, the single level scoop of tea leaves, the water now boiling poured onto the leaves then stirred. The teapot lid was slotted into place and the padded cotton cosy pulled over the top while the brew grew stronger. The single scoop was not enough for a hearty cup of tea, so Charlotte took her seat once more while she waited until the liquid resembled something she would want to drink – until the colour was akin to the tea she would have made at home in England, when she was a girl.
‘So, what do we want to do?’ asked Charlotte. ‘Shall we withdraw our assistance or do you wish to continue in full knowledge of the danger?’ She sighed. ‘I don’t think we had a complete appreciation of the threat before, but I will tell you now that the appearance of the German officer scared the wits out of me. I thought we would be discovered.’
‘Oh, he was so involved in talking about his daughters, he wouldn’t have guessed,’ said Cecily.
‘He might have,’ said Elinor. ‘He might have known all the time – someone on that train might have reported that three people were on the bank overlooking the railway line, sitting there with pencils and paper, so he came out to see for himself.’
‘Yes, but just him?’ countered Cecily. ‘For goodness’ sake, Linni – he would have brought soldiers with him.’
‘But what if he wants to continue keeping an eye on us, so he can capture us when … well, when he can get more than just we three?’
Having delivered her question, Elinor sat back, folding her arms as she watched the colour drain from her sister’s face. Cecily was beginning to get on her nerves. Charlotte cleared her throat – Elinor noticed she had been doing a lot of throat clearing lately, as if framing her sentences was an act for which she had to brace herself.
‘Yes, quite,’ said Charlotte. She stood up, lifted the cosy from the pot and poured tea into three cups. She added a splash of milk to each cup – just the day before she had swapped green beans with a neighbour for a quarter pint of the precious liquid – and passed a cup of tea to each daughter. She took her seat again, sipped her tea and coughed. ‘Shall we wait for a week or so? Perhaps at this juncture it’s best if we just take each day as it comes, which means school for you, waiting in lines and looking after the house and vegetable garden for me.’
‘What if we see the German again?’ asked Elinor.
Charlotte nodded. ‘I believe we might. As I said, we simply go about our business. If we do that, no one can fault us.’
‘He didn’t ask for our identity cards, so I think he doesn’t know about Isabelle,’ said Cecily.
Elinor wondered how her sister could be so dense – but perhaps it was her fifteen-year-old brain confusing her. After all, she’d heard her mother call it ‘that age.’ Perhaps that’s what had happened; her mind had become thick with distraction.
‘Ceci,’ said Elinor, staring at her sister. ‘I don’t for a single minute think her name is Isabelle, and we don’t know her surname. I’ve not seen her before she came to us here, and Mama had only seen her once in passing before they met in the market. And what’s more, I wonder if that German didn’t ask for our papers because he knows who we are.’
‘Girls—’ Charlotte began.
‘Mama,’ Elinor went on. ‘I think we have to do what we can to help Isabelle, or whoever she is. I don’t want to do nothing when I could be doing something – just like Papa. That’s why he’s not with us – because he chose to do something, to fight the Germans. If what we do can help the British beat them out of our country, then I’m not going to be scared of them and what they can do to me.’
Charlotte raised an eyebrow and looked from Elinor to her older daughter.
‘Ceci? What say you?’
There was a pause of several seconds before Cecily replied. ‘Linni’s right.’ She sighed, then her smile was sudden. ‘Yes, my little sister is right. Let’s see what Isabelle asks us to do next.’
Elinor thought that Cecily didn’t really want to admit that her little sister was right – but she hated to look fearful in front of their mother.
The sisters continued to attend classes at the convent from Monday to Friday, though now lessons in what was called ‘Caring’ were added to Cecily’s timetable. When Cecily described the lessons, Elinor thought it sounded not only boring, but really common sense once you’d sat through a session or two. There was the looking after of children, the dressing of wounds, keeping a clean house, and of course the care and management of the spirit through constant prayer. Elinor wondered if the nuns had grasped that when daughters lived in a house with no servants, they already knew a thing or two about cleaning, about the treatment of white linen before washing, and about the dressing of wounds, though Cecily told her the nuns weren’t stopping at a simple cut earned while pruning roses – she now knew how to treat a bullet wound. The revelation spurred Elinor to wonder what else the nuns might be doing when they weren’t trying to prepare young girls for womanhood, though Cecily seemed to have a lack of curiosity regarding the lives of nuns.
‘So what did they say about a bullet wound – and how would they know?’ Elinor sat back against her bed pillows, put her finger on the page she was reading in her book and stared at her sister.
‘Oh, it was nothing really. Sister Jeanne-Marie said that because of what’s been happening in our country, people can be wounded even by accident, so we should know how to help them.’
‘But how do they know about bullet wounds?’
Cecily put down her own book. ‘For goodness’ sake, Linni, how do I know? I mean – they’re nuns. Nuns are everywhere, aren’t they? You know – they treat people’s illnesses and then give them a dose of the Bible at the same time.’
‘Ceci!’ It wasn’t what her sister said that shocked Elinor, but the insouciant way she expressed herself.
‘You ask too many questions, Linni. I—’
‘Girls, I want you to come down to the kitchen.’ Charlotte De Witt poked her head around the bedroom door.
‘But it’s late,’ complained Cecily.
‘Isabelle is here,’ said Charlotte. ‘She wants to see you both.’
The sisters looked at each other, scrambled out of bed, put on their dressing gowns and followed their mother downstairs. As before, Isabelle was seated at the kitchen table. The heavy linen curtains were drawn, but to make sure not a sliver of light leached through, Charlotte took clothes pegs from a drawer and secured the places where one curtain met the other.
As soon as the women were seated, Isabelle began.
‘Before I describe the task I must ask of you, I will tell you that I would not be making this request if I had any other choice. However, I believe you can do this, though it is not without danger.’ She looked at Charlotte, who nodded for her to continue. ‘Extreme danger,’ she added.
The assignment described by Isabelle was not one of gathering knowledge, but of sabotage. It demanded swift action and cool heads.
‘Charlotte, I think this is one assignment your daughters must complete without you, given their youth and ability to move with speed. I will wait with you until they return.’
‘But—’
‘Mama, we can do it – I know we can,’ said Elinor. ‘We’re both really good runners – remember when Papa used to race us alongside the river, to see who could get to the bakery first?’
‘Time has passed, Linni.’
‘Exactly,’ said Elinor. ‘We’re older – and this job must be done.’ She looked at Isabelle, who was frowning, as if surprised by the younger daughter’s willingness to take on the task. Turning to her sister, Elinor reached for Cecily’s hand. ‘We will have a good story – that Cecily …’ She pulled away her hand and rubbed her temple as if to stimulate her thinking. ‘Yes, that’s it … if we’re stopped, we’ll say … we’ll say that it’s a local custom for a young woman to float a letter down the river to her lover if he’s away from home, hoping that the message from her heart reaches him.’ She grasped Cecily’s hand again. ‘And we’ll say that Ceci misses Peter so much, she just had to write the letter and I said I would go to the river with her.’
Charlotte seemed perplexed. ‘Who is Peter?’
‘Mama, Peter is nobody. I just made him up,’ said Elinor. ‘It’s part of the … of the story we can tell.’ She looked at her sister, who appeared to be blushing. ‘Ceci?’
‘Yes, I think Linni is right – it’s a good story.’ She stared at her mother as if to persuade her, then towards Isabelle. ‘We’ll do it.’
Isabelle lost no time, at once taking a map from her pocket, which she spread across the table. ‘You know this point where the train crosses the river—’ She tapped the map with her forefinger. ‘The bridge is not high here, as the river is narrow and shallow at this point. You proceed in this direction, and there are points here where two lines of track meet. Our information indicates that a train carrying significant ordnance and soldiers will cross those points in about one hour and five minutes. Here’s what you must do to effect the derailment. It’s simple.’
‘What about the guards – won’t they be on the bridge?’ Charlotte leant across the table towards Isabelle.
‘That is why this part of the railway line is best – it’s away from the bridge, and there is a path here.’
‘We’re familiar with the path – that’s where we used to walk with Papa and Polo,’ said Elinor. Isabelle nodded. ‘Yes, I know.’
Elinor saw her mother frown, heard her clear her throat to speak, but she was quick to interject with a question. ‘Where do we find what we need to make the train go off the rails?’
‘Elinor, always jumping right in.’ Isabelle smiled, and pointed to the map again. ‘There’s a very old oak tree right here, and—’
‘Where we used to climb,’ said Elinor.
‘Good, you know it. At the base of the tree there is a sort of little cavern where the roots rise up.’
‘Where Papa said the fairies lived,’ added Elinor, now barely aware of her mother’s growing uneasiness.
‘You will find a number of thick metal plates there. They are not light, but they are manageable.’ She tapped the map. ‘You take them to this point, and you lay them across the track here, here and here on both sides. Then you leave. You do not wait to watch, you just leave. Is that clear?’
Elinor nodded, looking at Cecily, who stared at Isabelle and said, ‘Yes. We understand and it’s perfectly clear.’
‘Your mother and I will expect you home in—’ She consulted her wristwatch. ‘About forty-five minutes from now, at half past ten. Now then, Cecily, pen the letter to your boy, just in case you need to use it. Both of you, dress in the darkest clothing you have to hand, and once you reach the path, roll your skirts up from the waist so you can move with speed. Wear your lace-up boots, tie your hair back and you will not need a hat – it can come off and be left behind. Walk close to walls as you make your way along the street, though fortunately you are close to the path.’
‘Isabelle – Isabelle, wait. Let’s stop for a moment. My daughters are not trained for this kind of work – isn’t there anyone else?’
‘If there were, I would have asked them.’
‘Mama, do not worry,’ said Elinor. ‘Make up the stove, open the dampers and put the kettle on at a quarter past ten – then you’ll have a nice cup of tea for us at half past, when we return.’
‘I don’t know how you can see in the dark, Linni – you must have been a cat in another lifetime,’ said Cecily, walking behind her sister along the rough path.
‘Shhh, and just follow me, Ceci. Don’t say another word, and if you trip, just keep your mouth shut!’
‘I just want to remind—’
‘Shh!’
Five minutes later, Cecily spoke again. ‘I’m getting used to the dark now – I can see my way quite well.’
‘Good. We’re almost at the tree.’
Elinor turned to Cecily, reaching for her sister’s jacket to pull her closer as she whispered in her ear. ‘Let’s stop, I want to listen.’
The girls were still and silent. Elinor nodded. ‘I can’t hear anything. Now to the tree.’
Elinor had only a vague awareness that her sister was following instructions without dissent, without complaining that she was the eldest. But Elinor wasn’t doing this to gain her sister’s approval – she was doing it for Papa, so that he could be proud of his daughters. Reaching the tree she touched Cecily’s arm, moved around the trunk to the cavernous roots and knelt down. Cecily stooped beside her as she rolled her sleeve and reached into the roots, hoping a rat wasn’t inside.
‘I’m touching the metal plates, Ceci. I’m going to pass them to you,’ said Elinor. ‘But let’s not talk again until we’ve done this.’
Despite the darkness, she could feel Cecily nodding accord.
Trying not to rustle fallen leaves as she pulled each metal plate from its hiding place, Elinor handed them one after the other to Cecily, who made a pile just beyond the tree. They were some twenty-five feet from the railway line.
The daughters of Thomas De Witt lifted two plates each at a time and situated them along the railway track, following Isabelle’s instructions to the letter. The task complete, Elinor took her sister’s arm and they walked back to the path, the river snaking along on the opposite side.
At first they continued on at a slow pace, their steps measured as they removed themselves from the site of their act of sabotage. After another two minutes had passed, without communication, they picked up speed, until they were almost running. In a finger snap, Elinor stopped and reached for Cecily’s arm, pulling her into a ditch.
Cecily was about to complain, perhaps even scream, but Elinor clapped her hand over her sister’s mouth.
A group of drunken German soldiers ambled along the path, handing a bottle back and forth to one another as they passed the hiding De Witt sisters. From the ditch, Elinor counted four men.
How long were they in the ditch? Was it five minutes? Ten minutes? Elinor thought about the elasticity of time, that a watched clock never moves, that fear transforms every second into an hour, and that seconds and minutes blend with sound in a way that could lead to confusion, to poor judgment. She was afraid of having poor judgment, afraid that she might be the one to make a bad decision.
When the only sound was the rustle of a gentle breeze in the tree fronds overhead, Elinor took Cecily’s arm and helped her to her feet. Elinor chose another path to the house, a shortcut her father had shown her in what seemed a lifetime past. The girls fell into their mother’s arms only two minutes beyond the anticipated time of their return.
Isabelle’s smile was brief. ‘Tell me everything, from the moment you left the house.’
Elinor was alone with Isabelle, her mother having taken Cecily to the washroom to hide her embarrassment at having lost control of her bladder while she was in the ditch watching German soldiers pass, their heavy boot-swaddled feet only inches from her face.
Isabelle nodded as Elinor recounted their progress, and described finding the metal plates and positioning them on the railway line.
‘You have both done very well.’ The woman paused, not taking her eyes off Elinor when Charlotte and Cecily returned to the kitchen. ‘Were you scared?’
Elinor nodded. ‘Yes. I was scared we’d make a noise, terrified that we might not hear the soldiers if they came for us, or that we would make too much clanking with the metal plates – they were heavier than we thought they would be.’
‘Good girl,’ said Isabelle. ‘I worry more about people who claim to have no trepidation. A healthy measure of fear will be your greatest protector.’ She drew her attention away from Elinor to Cecily as she sat down. ‘And do not be embarrassed, dear Ceci – a physical reaction to fear has happened to the very best of us.’ She grinned. ‘I know grown men who will only wear brown trousers when they are on an assignment.’
Elinor looked at her mother, at the concern writ large across her face.
‘I’ll pour us a cup of tea,’ said Charlotte
Isabelle pushed back her chair. ‘Not for me, Charlotte. I must go. There will be soldiers on the street soon enough. Have your tea and then brush every last scrap of mud or dust from your boots. Attend to your coats and make sure there is nothing along the hem of your skirt to suggest a recent walk.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘In fact, forgo the tea and do it now. Lock the door behind me, and when your tasks are complete, go to your beds.’ The house-to-house search began even before dawn, though sunlight was just beginning to break through when Isabelle’s words came true, not with a gentle knock at the door, but with a determined banging. Elinor, still in her dressing gown, stood up and held out her hand to stop her mother.
‘It’s best I go. I’m the youngest. You and Ceci stay with your breakfast.’
The German soldiers were not as mature as Elinor imagined they would be. Why had she thought the men who came for her would be her father’s age? Before they had a chance to speak, she addressed them in German.
‘Why are you here, banging on our door? We’ve only just got out of our beds.’
‘We’re searching all houses,’ said the soldier who seemed to be more senior.
Elinor made a point of leaning out of the door to look along the street. Soldiers were everywhere, banging on doors. Neighbours were in their front gardens, some ready for work, others wearing their night clothes, all at gunpoint.
‘Why? What do you think we have here?’ asked Elinor.
‘Will you get out of the way, or do I have to push you?’ The first soldier stepped forward.
Elinor held up her hand. ‘Wait! Let me make sure my sister and mother are clothed – we are three women alone, and we don’t receive men in our house as a rule.’
She made her way along the narrow hallway towards the kitchen and stood in the doorway. In a loud voice, she spoke in German.
‘Put your dressing gowns on – there are a couple of soldiers come to search the house – oh no, Mama, I don’t think they have time for tea, but I’ll ask them.’
She returned to the soldiers and stood aside for them to enter, though she whispered to the first soldier, ‘Don’t accept her tea – it’s terrible, very weak.’
The search lasted ten minutes. The contents of wardrobes were pulled out and left on the floor, the soles of boots lined up against the back door were checked and clothing hanging from a line in the scullery inspected.
‘Would you like tea?’ asked Charlotte, as the soldiers passed through the kitchen in the direction of the front door.
The first soldier smiled at Elinor before turning to Charlotte, snapping his heels together and declining the offer, with thanks, yet he lingered in front of Cecily on his way to the door. Looking Cecily up and down, he flicked his finger under her chin and smiled. Elinor thought it more grin than smile, more something a man would do to a woman over whom he had some control. It was not a mark of youthful flirtation, but a show of power. She had not seen this behaviour before and feared her own observation at that moment – but it spurred her to make a silent vow that she, her mother and sister would do all they could to arm themselves against their obvious weakness; the vulnerability of being female.
At lunchtime, while Sister Louise was serving a watery potato and leek soup, half-filling bowls to feed the many assembled girls whose stomachs rumbled as they queued in the dining hall, a number of soldiers marched into the convent to shepherd everyone outside into the street at gunpoint. Townsfolk were lined up around a place where two nuns and two old men from the town were standing, hands and feet tied. Soldiers patrolled those gathered, poking women and children with their bayonets – there were no young men in the town, only the elderly, the infirm, women and little boys. As the four prisoners refused a blindfold one by one, Elinor grasped her sister’s hand, and then, finding the comfort not sufficient to still her heart, she wrapped her arms around Cecily and felt her need returned as Cecily held her tight.
The firing squad did their work with speed and efficiency. The bodies of Sister Jeanne-Marie and Sister Hildimar fell to the ground, blood oozing across their starched white habits, their dead limbs entangled with those of a man who had once been a teacher of geography at the boys’ academy. The remains of another man slumped down across them – from birth he had been unable to hear or speak, but was held in great affection by everyone in the town.
An officer walked across the square to stand before the dead. Lifting a loudhailer to his mouth, he said, ‘Consider this a warning.’ He did not need to elaborate, but threw the loudhailer to the ground and walked away. Elinor recognised him as the same officer who had once studied art in Germany, the proud father of two daughters at home, sisters who loved to sketch.