Peulevé's leg injury had now completely healed, but being parachuted into France again was out of the question. The alternative was to travel by Lysander, a single-engined, high-wing monoplane originally used for coastal reconnaissance and as a spotter for artillery units. ‘Lizzies’ were slow and heavy but had the significant advantages of being very strong and capable of landing on short grass airstrips, making them ideal for SOE's clandestine operations. They were adapted for special operations by adding a passenger ladder to the side of the fuselage and a long-range fuel tank underneath, though limited cabin space behind the pilot's seat still meant that only two agents (or three at a push) could be accommodated per flight. Peulevé was to be flown to a field near Angers in northwestern France, from where he would make his way to Paris to meet one of de Baissac's contacts, André Grandclément (Bernard). As leader of the Organisation Civile et Militaire (OCM) movement for Bordeaux and the south-west, Grandclément's substantial network could then pass him into the Corrèze to meet with its Resistance leaders.
September's full moon had already passed when Peulevé arrived at Orchard Court to report for the final time. Accompanied by his conducting officer, André Simon, he made his way into the small courtyard below where he met two other F Section agents, a 32-year-old, dark-haired, Swiss woman with striking features, Yolande Beekman (Yvonne), and Harry Despaigne (Ulysse), who had been involved with CARTE the previous year; they were also joined by a gruff, serious-looking, Alsatian Lieutenant named Henri Derringer (Toinot) and his French conducting officer, both from RF Section's headquarters at Dorset Square. With the six of them squashed into two waiting staff cars, they made their way out of London towards Tangmere.
Just a few miles from Chichester, RAF Tangmere was used by 161 Squadron as a forward base for Lysander operations, enabling pilots to make the best of the aircraft's limited range. As was customary for agents travelling on this route, both cars stopped at the Spread Eagle hotel at Midhurst where Peulevé and his fellow agents spent an hour in the cellar bar, helping themselves to a few large whiskies before carrying on. Arriving at the station in the early evening, they were shepherded into an ivy-covered brick building opposite the base's main entrance; discreetly shielded by tall hedges and entered via a back door, the eighteenth-century Tangmere Cottage was used specifically to house the Squadron's pilots and agents being ferried to and from France. As on the eve of his first mission they were all treated to a lavish dinner, although the Commanding Officer's generosity with his best claret could not help but remind Peulevé of the disaster that had beset him and de Baissac after the same hospitality at Tempsford.
As they readied themselves to leave, the conducting officers checked every inch of the agents’ clothing for any sign of English origin before issuing their kit, which in Peulevé's case included his cipher keys and silks, wireless crystals, nearly a million francs hidden in several large tins of digestive and kidney powders, a stiletto and a revolver, along with a flask of rum and a thermos of coffee for the journey. His ‘L’ tablets had been already sewn into the lapels of his suit in London, and a wireless set would be supplied later via Grandclément's network. Though he would only be carrying a single suitcase, Beekman and Despaigne were also issued with cases containing new ‘B2’ wireless sets, lighter than previous models but still bulky items in the cramped rear of a Lysander
The pilots for this flight were Wing Commander Bob Hodges and Flying Officer Jimmy Bathgate, and the operation, code-named ‘Milliner’, was to land at a designated field between the villages of Le Vieux Briollay and Villevêque, just a few miles north-east of Angers. Walking out to the two waiting aircraft, Beekman was to accompany Despaigne, with Peulevé and Derringer in the second. Bathgate did not inspire confidence in his passengers, telling Peulevé that he would be following Hodges’ aircraft as he was not familiar with this particular landing ground (Bathgate was a relative newcomer, having only joined the Squadron the previous month after transfer from Transport Command). However it was a clear night, and once both aircraft were airborne they quickly passed Selsey Bill and were over the Channel. Flying low over the French coast to avoid radar detection, they hedge-hopped over the fields of Normandy, watching the flickering lights from blacked-out villages pass by in the darkness.
They encountered more cloud as they flew deeper into France, but Peulevé thought he recognized a more distinct silhouette through the rear of the canopy and warned the pilot on the intercom. Taking steps to shake off any possible pursuer Bathgate banked and climbed steeply, and a few seconds later Peulevé reported that it had disappeared, though the evasive manoeuvres had directed them away from Hodges and they were now in danger of becoming lost. Making contact using his VHF radio, Hodges told Bathgate that he would switch on his landing lights as a means of signalling to the wayward Lysander and after a few nervous minutes Bathgate sighted him once again, circling over the torchlights of the reception committee below, arranged in a mirrored ‘L’ shape.
Prior to an air operation those organizing the reception would be given a specific Morse recognition signal to flash up at the incoming aircraft (on this occasion it was ‘SC’). After confirming that the code was correct and answering with the pre-arranged reply of ‘RA’, Bathgate hurriedly told his passengers to prepare for landing and began making his approach, steeply descending over some tall trees at the threshold of the field and landing parallel to the long upright of the L on the improvised grass runway. At 12.45 am both Lysanders were safely on the ground but were vulnerable every minute they spent waiting, and with the engines still running Peulevé and his companion quickly slid back the canopy and scrambled down the ladder while the reception committee unloaded the luggage. As soon as they were all out no fewer than six agents were waiting to board for the return flight, including one of SOE's most successful organizers, Ben Cowburn (Germain); John Goldsmith (Valentin, an agent previously attached to the CARTE circuit); and Rémy Clément (Marc), who worked for one of F Section's most controversial figures, Henri Déricourt.
Born in 1909, Déricourt had begun his aviation career as an aerobatic pilot before joining French postal courier Air Bleu in 1935. After the armistice he continued to fly civilian aircraft in and out of the unoccupied zone until 1942, when he managed to escape to England via Gibraltar, having been secretly offered the chance of a job with the airline BOAC; on arrival he enlisted with the RAF instead, and in November was transferred to 161 Squadron. Whilst at Tempsford he met André Simon and before the end of the year SOE had taken him on for the job of Air Operations Officer, his task being to find and manage secret landing grounds for F Section's Lysander operations. Code-named Gilbert, he was dropped close to Orléans in January 1943, and by mid-March his small FARRIER circuit had achieved its first successful action, receiving two aircraft at a field near Poitiers. He continued to ferry agents in and out of France through the summer, with ‘Milliner’ being FARRIER's twelfth pick-up operation that year; however, what Peulevé and the group did not know was that Déricourt had been in collusion with the Gestapo for some time. Although the nature and circumstances of Gilbert's relationship with the Germans has been the cause of much discussion, it's clear that mailbags bound for London containing circuit reports and other correspondence were intercepted with his help. Déricourt was also aware that Parisian gangsters working for the Nazi security services were secretly trailing agents from his landing grounds, in order to gain intelligence on the networks they were to join.
Within five minutes of their arrival the Lysanders had taken off again, leaving Déricourt to briefly introduce himself and request each of them to hand over their pistols as a security measure, in case they were stopped by a German patrol. He then told the group that they would be making their way along the vineyard paths using bicycles to reach the main road, where they would wait until the early morning when the curfew would be lifted. Unfortunately Beekman had never ridden a bicycle before and had to accompany Déricourt on a tandem. Peulevé was completely nonplussed, finding it impossible to believe that after all the training undergone through SOE's schools, an agent would not be able to ride a bike.
After securing their suitcases on racks they moved off, and after an uncomfortable and wearisome journey of several miles the group at last collapsed into a circle, all of them reaching for their rum flasks. As they caught their breath Déricourt began enquiring about a consignment of francs he was expecting, but unfortunately nobody had been given any money to deliver. This oversight caused him to explode with rage, ‘expressing his grave doubts as to the sanity and parentage of those safely ensconced in London’,1 though the rum eventually mollified his invective. They continued to wait in the field by the road until six o'clock, when they were able to resume their journey towards the town of Angers. Along the way they had to overtake a column of German soldiers, and on first sight of the enemy Beekman was so nervous that she lost her balance, causing her to drive the tandem off the road and into a hedge. The sight of her legs in the air met with whistles and shouts from the soldiers, though an NCO came to her aid and helped her back onto the bicycle, making a point of resecuring her suitcase that had slipped off the rack; only later did she mention to the group that it had contained her wireless set.
Arriving at Angers, they sat in a bistro opposite the station drinking acorn coffee while Déricourt gave them instructions to take the seven o'clock train, making it clear that they should travel separately. He also arranged to meet Peulevé, Despaigne and Beekman again the following morning at the Café Monte Carlo off the Champs Elysées, where he would brief them on any relevant news concerning their circuits and destinations (Derringer was to make his own way out of Paris, to begin a RF circuit in the Vosges mountains in eastern France). The group having split up to board the arriving train, Peulevé clambered into a busy carriage and squeezed into the only space left in the corridor; feeling the exertions of the previous hours he sat on his suitcase and dozed off with his head on the window. On two occasions he was asked to move aside by passengers wishing to pass; only half-awake, he absent-mindedly mumbled ‘sorry’ in English, though thankfully it passed unnoticed and he completed the rest of the trip without incident.
Arriving at Gare Montparnasse in the afternoon, he gave his luggage to a porter to carry to the entrance, in order to bypass the ‘economic control’ which inspected Parisians for black market goods brought in to supplement their meagre rations in the city. Walking out of the station, Peulevé waited for the porter to appear; when he failed to do so, he went back inside to see his opened case sitting on the counter of the control and he was asked by the inspector to explain why he was carrying so many tins of stomach and kidney powders. Unfazed by the situation, he replied that in these days of rationing he had become a victim of acute dyspepsia and bladder trouble, and so always carried a good supply of remedies. Taking one of the large tins containing several hundred thousand francs, the inspector shook it, looked inside, and smelt the powder. Satisfied with his search, he checked Peulevé's papers and let him go. Having been subjected to so many spot-checks during his first mission, he showed no signs of apprehension when questioned by a policeman, and casually made his way towards the exit.
Looking for a hotel for the night, he was faced with another security consideration – although it was easiest to take a room some-where close to the station, these were obvious targets for German searches in the pursuit of any Frenchman on the run. However, he was very tired, and walking across the street he entered a small hotel which appeared unremarkable, until he recognized the sound of a BBC French Service news bulletin emanating from under the counter. There were serious penalties for playing such broadcasts and Peulevé was taking a risk even standing in the hallway, let alone staying there as a resident. However, in the same moment a woman appeared and asked what he wanted.
Showing him a modestly furnished room upstairs, she returned a few minutes later asking him to fill in a fiche (hotel registration form), which he knew would very likely be checked by the local police later that evening. Having filled out his details according to his false identity the woman returned and, glancing at his suitcase, commented, ‘One can see that you have come a long way, Monsieur. Have a good night's sleep.’ It was obvious that despite SOE's best efforts the case bore signs of English provenance, and it occurred to Peulevé that it was possible that other agents might have stayed there and had perhaps even been arrested; yet the fearlessness of the hotelier playing her radio at full volume left him feeling strangely secure. Taking the precaution of placing his revolver under the pillow he soon fell asleep and despite a fitful night did not receive any German visitors. Waking early the next morning, he checked out and went to meet Déricourt as planned.
Walking through the streets of Paris in 1943 was an unnerving experience for anyone who had known the city before the war. After the invasion many affluent Parisians had left for the southern unoccupied zone, reducing the population to just one million, a third of its pre-war size. Civilian motor traffic had also disappeared from the streets owing to the scarcity of petrol (making it possible to drive the length of the city in ten minutes), being replaced by the use of bicycles and vélo-taxis (rickshaws), directed by German road signs that stood on every corner. Unlike those in the country who might have access to local produce, city dwellers also had to queue for everything, while increasing numbers of laws sought to constrict their ability to do the simplest things: travelling, shopping or using public services were now activities controlled by detailed regulations, with special restrictions being imposed on Jewish citizens. The police could also instigate rafles or round-ups, suddenly cordoning off an area without warning and deporting all men who could not prove their exemption from the STO.
Passing through this sombre imitation of the capital, Peulevé was quickly reacquainted with the familiar feeling of being in the midst of the enemy, walking past soldiers dressed in all varieties of uniform and rank, knowing that he was always only a hair's breadth away from arrest. Although he was well aware of a constant need to stay alert, he couldn't help feeling a certain sense of equivocation when considering the purpose of his mission:
All the training in the world would never make me the detached, semi-human, cold plumber sent to do that job. I saw Germans in the street that looked just like any British soldier, enjoying a spot of leave, taking a beer in a bistro, strolling around the streets of Paris like a lot of tourists. It had been drummed into me that every dead one was a trick to us, and as I walked passing them that morning towards the café from which I had to make my contact, I thought that it would have been so much nicer if I could have gone up to some of them and introduced myself as another foreigner enjoying the sights to be seen in the City of Lights. But even our mild British brain washing made all of them appear as monsters and with a gloating pride I walked passed them thinking that the least corporal could get instant promotion by just grabbing me and hustling me into the nearest Gestapo centre.2
Perhaps these ponderings had the effect of slowing down his journey, for he arrived late at the café and found it deserted. Considering Déricourt's association with the Germans, this may have been fortuitous; certainly Despaigne, who had arrived on time, had been shocked when Déricourt started to bombard him with questions about the details of his mission, though he had no intention of supplying him with any information. It may have been that he and Beekman were under German surveillance as they left the café, though it made little difference to the fate of their circuits. Despaigne successfully made contact with DETECTIVE in the Carcassonne area and would live to see France liberated, but Beekman was not so fortunate. Joining the northern MUSICIAN circuit based around St Quentin, she and her Canadian organizer Gustave Biéler (Guy) were arrested four months later when a local German D/F team finally closed in on the source of her wireless signal. Deported to Germany, she was executed at Dachau concentration camp in September 1944 along with three other F Section women agents, Madeleine Damerment (Solange), Eliane Plewman (Gaby) and Noor Inayat Khan (Madeleine).
Using the café's telephone, Peulevé rang one of the contact numbers he had been given in London, letting it ring three times before hanging up, then ringing again. Giving the pre-arranged password, he received instructions on how to find the address and was told to arrive at seven that evening for dinner. Taking the Métro (one form of transport that had remained relatively unaffected by the occupation) he arrived at 2 Avenue Champaubert, just a few hundred metres south of the Eiffel Tower in the fifteenth arrondissement, the address of an ex-French Army major named Marc O'Neill (despite his surname, O'Neill was French by birth, his family having emigrated from Ireland in the eighteenth century). Operating under the false name of Marc Blatin and code-named Tyrone, O'Neill had originally been responsible for the OCM's Parisian operations and now was running a sizable SCIENTIST sub-circuit, assisted by another of de Baissac's W/T operators, an impetuous young Glaswegian engineering student named Marcel Défence (Dédé). More importantly for Peulevé, he was also the letter box through which he would contact O'Neill's colleague and old friend André Grandclément. However, as soon as Peulevé entered the flat it became obvious that something was seriously wrong, and in an agitated state O'Neill explained that the Gestapo had arrested Grandclément at the Café Monte Carlo on Avenue de Wagram earlier that day, just minutes before he had planned to meet him.
This was an important coup for the Germans and a great loss for SCIENTIST. The son of a famous French admiral, Grandclément had seemed destined for a military career but was forced to retire from the Army after contracting tuberculosis in 1934. Despite his weakened constitution André still managed to return to his unit and served with distinction during the German offensive at Sedan in May 1940; returning to Bordeaux after demobilization, he then set about creating a Resistance group named ‘ Le Groupe Ouest’, which he constructed using his job as a travelling insurance agent as cover, arranging secret meetings with hundreds of ex-officers based in the Gironde and several neighbouring departments. Agreeing to incorporate his following into the south-western division of the OCM movement in 1942, it was only a matter of time before his organization came to the attentions of SOE, and initial contact was eventually made through the organizer of the Paris BRICKLAYER circuit, France Antelme (Renaud), who suggested a meeting with Claude de Baissac at the beginning of the following year.
A partnership between Grandclément and de Baissac promised the supply of British resources to several thousand OCM members, and a substantial force for SCIENTIST to mobilize in the event of a possible Allied landing later that year; agreeing to work together, de Baissac began to concentrate most of his efforts on arming Grandclément's men. Contrary to London's directive to form small coordinated bands of résistants able to carry out sabotage actions on local targets, SCIENTIST's OCM alliance soon created a huge underground army of more than 20,000 men across south-western France, and by August 1943 it had received over a 120 supply drops, delivering 7,500 Stens, 300 Bren machine guns, 1,500 rifles and more than 18,000 pounds of explosives.
Such high levels of activity were bound to attract attention and Grandclément's name was eventually given away by a group of résistants arrested in mid-July. Although he was in Paris at the time, Grandclément's wife Lucette had been visiting Bordeaux and was also taken by the Gestapo; a raid on their apartment in turn led to the discovery of a photograph of her husband, along with a list of his OCM and other Resistance contacts, loosely disguised to resemble an index of André's business clients. The real nature of these names quickly led to perhaps as many as 250 arrests across Bordeaux,3 and Grandclément's identification and subsequent arrest in Paris now left O'Neill with no option but to disappear before the Germans arrived.
This sudden change of circumstances left Peulevé with a difficult choice. His only route to the Corrèze was through the OCM network in the south-west, and continuing with the mission would mean risking contact with ‘blown’ (exposed) contacts that may well be under surveillance by the Germans. The alternative was to abandon his objectives and return to England, either by air, across the Channel or through Spain again. For another agent this decision might have been a simpler one – even though leaving France would be difficult, to become entangled in a collapsing circuit was asking for trouble.
Yet thoughts about this being the ‘last chance to wipe the slate clean’4 preyed heavily on Peulevé's mind – were he to turn back now, the sense of failure would be unbearable. Though he knew it ran counter to his training Peulevé felt that he must press on and began discussing alternative travel arrangements. O'Neill had had contact with Charles Corbin, a middle-aged police inspector working with SCIENTIST's new organizer Roger Landes, now using the code name Aristide. (Landes had arrived in October 1942 as a replacement W/T operator for Peulevé and took de Baissac's role after his return to London in August.) If Peulevé could enlist the help of Landes in Bordeaux, there might be a possibility of finding a way into the Corrèze before Grandclément's organization was completely compromised.
Taking the train for Bordeaux, he would now have to move very cautiously to avoid any traps that the Gestapo might set. Eventually reaching his destination at six the next evening, he wearily walked out of the Gare Saint-Jean and saw a young man being stopped by a German soldier, who asked him to open his suitcase. Suddenly pulling out a pistol, he shot the guard and made a run for the tram leaving a few yards in front of the station; two other soldiers started to fire at him, but he managed to board it unharmed. As the tram carried the résistant away from the scene it appeared that he had got away successfully, but a few minutes later the conductor found him dead, slouched in one of the seats. It turned out that his case contained a wireless set that he'd just transported from Paris; having been stopped he decided to take the German with him before swallowing his ‘L’ tablet to avoid capture. The guards on the tram had been changing at that moment – had he not taken his own life, he would have stood a good chance of getting away.
This commotion was enough for the Germans to round up everyone in the vicinity and question them thoroughly. Already on edge due to the sudden change in his plans, Peulevé did his best to hold his nerve as he explained that he was a purchasing agent exporting goods to Germany, and produced several documents to prove his story. Combined with his elegant attire and some fast talking, this was enough to satisfy the interrogator and with great relief he was waved on and swiftly walked away from the crowd.
One of the addresses that Peulevé had been given in London was that of the Café des Chartrons, overlooking the River Garonne on the Quai des Chartrons; run by a man called Bertrand, it served as a letter box for the SCIENTIST circuit. However, since de Baissac's departure the café had come under Gestapo surveillance and Peulevé was about to walk straight into their trap. Landes, who had been informed of Peulevé's imminent arrival, was planning to intercept him at the train station before he got to the café, which he knew to be blown. Unfortunately there was some confusion over the date of Peulevé's arrival, which meant Landes having to keep a more or less constant lookout to save him from certain disaster. Luckily he was able to recognize his old training partner as he walked away from the station and moments later also ran into Alain Boyau (Alain), an OCM liaison agent who had by chance been travelling on the same train, though the latter decided to return to Paris immediately after hearing the news about Grandclément. For the second time that afternoon Peulevé had evaded capture, but it was now evident how dangerous his journey to the Corrèze was going to be.
Thankfully Landes had always been very conscious of the risks to his personal safety and only contacted those he thoroughly trusted. He called on a particularly reliable couple to hide Peulevé, taking him to a safe house run by François and Marguerite Faget, a family of black market wool merchants at 29 rue de Guynemer, in the suburb of Cauderan. Landes told him that he would be in touch once he had consulted Corbin to arrange his onward trip out of the city, but before Peulevé could leave SCIENTIST was to be dealt a significant and ultimately fatal blow.
Following his arrest, Grandclément had been escorted back to Bordeaux and placed in the hands of Hauptsturmführer Friedrich Dhose, the SD chief for the Bordelais area. He skilfully played on Grandclément's right-wing outlook, persuading him that France faced a serious communist threat now that the Russians were pushing the Wehrmacht back towards Germany. Although his allegiance was to the OCM, Grandclément had also forged links with a number of FTP groups, and it was these that Dhose concentrated on, suggesting that his work with the Resistance gave implicit support to their aspirations of a Soviet-dominated French state. He then offered a deal: were he to collaborate and provide the locations of SCIENTIST's arms caches, Dhose would agree to the release of his wife, being held at Fort du Hâ prison in Bordeaux, and many of the OCM members already under arrest. Grandclément appeared to have been taken in by the idea that he could work with the Germans and still remain a patriot, agreeing to give details on over 130 arms dumps across the south-west region.
Allowed to leave Gestapo headquarters alone on the morning of 24 September, Grandclément went to see Corbin with the intention of gaining support for the creation of new ‘maquis blancs’, dedicated to fighting communists rather than Germans. Although W/T operator Marcel Défence had recently returned to Bordeaux and was staying at the house (he had become besotted with Corbin's daughter Ginette since his arrival in April), Grandclément insisted on seeing the more senior Landes, and he was quickly summoned. Standing in front of his small audience with his shoulders stooped, the slight and sickly-looking Grandclément began to explain how the Germans had forced him to give up information about Landes’ operations, and it soon became clear that his future plans to collaborate would be disastrous for SCIENTIST, threatening to destroy months of work; yet according to Défence he also pleaded with the British agents to return to England immediately, as the terms of his pact would not be enough to save them from the Gestapo. Landes knew that the safest option would be to stop Grandclément before he could act and had taken the rare precaution of arriving armed for this meeting. However, although he drew his pistol, Aristide hesitated to pull the trigger in the presence of Corbin's wife and daughter, and Grandclément walked away unscathed. It was to be a decision that he would later regret and marked the beginning of a desperate race between him and Dhose, each trying to reach SCIENTIST's arms caches before the other.
During this turmoil Landes was relieved to have another experienced SOE agent around and Peulevé's counsel was a valuable source of support in this volatile situation; yet the risks were increasing daily, and he was in great danger whenever he left the Fagets’ house. Though it made sense to get out of Bordeaux as soon as possible, a route into the Corrèze would firstly require the help of one of Grandclément's OCM lieutenants, Roland Girard. At the end of 1942 Girard had been sent to build up relations with Resistance leaders in the Corrèze and establish an OCM influence in the area, employing two agents de liaisons, Jean Charlin and André Noël.
At the end of September, Corbin arranged for Peulevé and Landes to meet two of Jean Charlin's men, who were apparently willing to help but also had requests of their own to make. Peulevé's first impressions of them inspired little trust and it soon became obvious they were collecting substantial amounts of money from local people, loaned on the understanding that the British Government would reimburse them after the war. These loans, like the one Peulevé took from the Jewish family in Perpignan, were supposed to be acknowledged via the BBC's French broadcasts using a phrase selected by the payee; however, they had no means to radio London and so were anxious for help to legitimize their actions. Conferring with Landes, Peulevé agreed that there was no evidence that their money had been used for Resistance purposes. Nonetheless, he would need to string them along until they had led him into Brivela-Gaillarde, the town where de Baissac's Corrèze contacts were based. Despite his misgivings, Peulevé had little choice but to follow these guides if he was to continue his mission, and took a train for Brive in the first week of October.