The Open Window

Victoria Stapleton entered the compartment from the corridor and sat in her usual seat next to the window and facing the direction of travel. She opened her capacious bag and took out the latest novel by Daphne Du Maurier. It was called 'Rebecca' and had a rather gaudy yellow cover, which was not to Victoria’s taste. She preferred anonymity in her reading on the train. She opened the book and read the first lines. 'Last night I dreamt I went to Manderlay again…' The first four words made her pause. 'Last night I dreamt… ' She lifted her eyes from the book and looked out of the window. Through the smoke streaked glass, across onto the opposite platform she saw a young couple saying goodbye. They kissed and kissed again and then he picked up a suitcase and dashed away.

The train showed the first signs of beginning to move. There were whistles and a rattling as the carriages jostled each other. The door of her compartment was flung open and the young man she had seen taking a fond farewell rushed in. Brushing her knees, he dropped his suitcase on the seat then heaved at the leather strap holding up the window. He let the window crash down. He leaned out calling and waving to his young lady who had remained on the opposite platform. He leant out further to the point at which Victoria feared for his safety. He waved and blew kisses and then, as the train curved away, he flopped back into the seat opposite her. Suddenly he leapt up again and heaved his suitcase up on to the luggage rack. He settled down, resting his head back with a smile on his face.

All this male energy Victoria found disturbing and, she had to admit, rather attractive, youthfully vigorous and happily in love. She turned to her book and tried to read. 'Last night I dreamt…' Not so much a dream but now a vivid memory triggered by the scene she had just witnessed. Another train, this time with many open windows all crowded with young male faces desperately looking cheerful, joking and shouting and calling to their wives and girlfriends on the platform. James had been a half-hidden face trying desperately to find her. She waved and called with all the others, promising to write, to wait, to love him forever. Did she say those things? The dream was fading.

The telegram had said, 'missing in action'. Why not just 'dead'? It would have been so much kinder. Missing, missing, missing, such an

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unfinished word leaving only terrible imaginings. Missing and missed. Yes, she had missed him terribly for years. And then it faded until she was left only with a sense that she was missing. Victoria Stapleton 'missing in action', not in some great battle but in the petty unsatisfying actions of everyday life, the bedroom she had occupied since childhood. She had trained as a nurse following the general cry to ‘do her bit’ but she found every wounded soldier a terrible reminder of what must have happened to James. Her language skills led to her secretarial job at the War Office, and for years now her seat on the train staring out of the window as the world passed. For the past year, added to this routine had been the care for her mother, suddenly bedridden and changed from a lively, combative woman to a cantankerous invalid.

There had been offers, ex-servicemen who stirred disturbing emotions, some not ex-servicemen who didn’t stir her at all. For a time, she lived on memories of their intense engagement and dreams of the almost marriage and gradually she slipped into an acceptance that she, alongside so many others, had lost her life in the war. Now twenty years later, another war loomed. The papers were full of the hopes for the Munich conference but at the war office they were in no doubt. They were frantically preparing for a war they knew to be inevitable.

The train rounded a curve and a gust of steam and smoke entered the carriage. She felt a sharp sting in her left eye, which she immediately, instinctively, began to rub.“I say,” the young man cried, “ I’m most awfully sorry.” He leapt up and heaved on the window strap until the widow slammed shut. “Here let me see if I can help. You shouldn’t rub it you know. Actually, I’m a doctor, well nearly a doctor. I’m just waiting for the results of my finals.”

As he said this, he gently removed her hand from her eye. He placed one hand behind her head and placed the heel of the other over the smarting eye. ”You see,” he said, ”if you rub it there is a danger that you will scratch the eye but if you just cover it the natural fluids in the eye will float the grit to the corner where you can remove it safely.”

Victoria felt she was being treated to the answer to a viva voce question. His hand was soothing. He had a strong, gentle touch. She

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realized she had not been touched so intimately by a man for many years and she had to resist the temptation to circle him with her arms.

He slowly stroked his hand towards the corner of her eye and she felt the small piece of grit leave it just as he had said. He held up his hand. “Look,” he said and she could see on the rise of the heel a tiny black speck. “There we are,” he said and he flopped back into his seat obviously pleased with himself.

Victoria looked at him for some moments then gripping her book and her bag she leaned towards him. “There is a war coming you know,” she said. He looked startled, “It will happen.”

He was flustered now. “Oh I don’t know. They’re still talking, aren’t they? I mean after that last lot who wants another one.”

The train jerked and slowed.

“No one wants war,” said Victoria, “ Wars happen whether you want them or not. I work at the War Office and I am telling you there will be a war.”

“Touch depressing, if you don’t mind my saying.” The young man had pulled himself back into his seat.

Victoria leaned further forward. “Let me give you some advice,” she said, “Marry her. Marry her before you go and give her a baby.”

“Oh I say, steady on,” he said.

Victoria placed her book in her bag and left the compartment. The train had stopped at her station and she stepped down. As she walked past the carriage, she saw the young man staring out at her. She shivered a little at her audacity, so unlike her, then she hurried on home.

She had arrived occupied as usual, with what she would find when she opened the front door. She breathed deeply then slipped her key into the lock and entered. Miss Gattis appeared immediately, and

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Victoria steeled herself for the detailed account of the vicissitudes of caring for her mother. Miss Gattis began her complaints.

"It's a French day." she complained. "I don't know how I'm to care for her if haven't the faintest idea what she's talking about."

Vicki sighed. "Thank you Miss Gattis. I'm sorry if it's been a hard day. You can go now, I'll take over."Miss Gattis had more to say. "I'm not sure I can carry on like this. I mean suppose she is saying she is ill or needs the toilet or something. How am I to know." She shrugged herself into an overcoat and made for the door.

"Same time tomorrow then, Miss Gattis'' Vicki tried to make it sound matter of fact but she dreaded the moment when things came to such a head that she didn't just threatened to leave. Miss Gattis gave a non-committal "Humph." and left.

Vicki removed her coat and placed her handbag on the hall table all the time steeling herself for what she was to face. She smoothed her dress and glanced at the hall mirror automatically pushing at her hair. She moved to the door that had once been a living room but which was now a bedroom for her mother. She opened the door. Her mother was, as usual lying in bed propped on pillows and staring into the distance. She jerked her head round as Vicki entered and then quickly looked away.

"Well, Maman'" Vicki said in a voice artificially bright. "How have you been today."

"Je ne comprends pas." Her mother said in her long-suffering voice. "Qu'est que tu disdit. ?"

Vicki sighed. "Maman. speak English please."

"Pourquoi je doisdoit parler en anglais. C'est une langue barbare. J'ai besoin dea quelque chose àa boire. Je n'ai pas bu quoi que cese soit aujourd'hui."

Vicki glanced at the half full glass by the bedside table. There was no point in arguing. "I'll get you something to drink," she said, "when you ask me in English."

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"Pourquoi en Anglais. Tu parles Française n'est-ce pas?"

"Yes mother but we are in England. We depend on English people to care for you. They don't speak French. Miss Gattis tells me you refused to speak in English at all today."

"Ah cette femme. Elle est absolument stupide. Si je parle en Aanglais elle ne me comprends pas." She coughed her racking cough and Vicki lifted her from the pillow and rubbed her back. The coughing subsided and she lowered her mother to the pillows. Her face was grey and her breath came in short gasps. Vicki, as always, could not tell how much of this was real and how much aimed at stimulating her sense of guilt.

She sighed, removed the half full glass and went through to the kitchen. She washed and filled the glass then filled the kettle and placed it on the stove. She searched for the matches to light the gas. Miss Gattis seemed to take a perverse delight in hiding them. They were tucked behind the tea caddy. Just as she struck the match there was a cry from her mother's room followed by a gurgling noise. Her first reaction was that her mother was once again trying to scare her but then there was silence. She rushed to the room. Her mother was slumped to one side hanging slightly over the side of the bed. She was gasping for breath. Vicki quick righted her, anxiety making her clumsy. Her mother opened her eyes wide then gasped once more and it was her last breath.

Vicki stared at the un-breathing shell of her mother. She tried to make sense of a confusion of feelings. The most overwhelming was that it was now over both for her and her mother, the mother who had been such a live wire, who had taken so badly to being ill and bed ridden. Then there was the flood of memories. There were happy ones, but they seemed so distant. There was the sense of her mother’s irritation at her apparent inability to get over the death of her fiancé. She had seen Victoria’s main task as setting out to find another. She never quite took in the enduring consequence of the war, the absence of men.

Victoria went to the kitchen. The kettle was boiling fiercely, such an English thing to do. In a time of crisis make a cup of tea. Her mother would have been scornful. “What is wrong with cognac?” She smiled

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at the thought. She turned off the gas and reached into the cupboard. ‘Yes,’ she thought, ‘What is wrong with a little cognac?’ She poured herself a large measure and sipped, holding it in her mouth for a few moments and then swallowing. The stinging warmth settled down into her stomach. She almost immediately felt slightly drunk. She sighed. There were things she had to do, doctor, funeral, informing friends and relatives including the massed ranks of the French side of the family. But for the moment other thoughts dominated. Her life, especially since her mother became ill had become entirely proscribed. There was a routine which she had accepted as inevitable. It had started as a sort of analgesic, masking pain, making daily life bearable. It had become a necessity in caring for her mother but now?

She walked towards the small room that had become her living room. She passed the mirror in the hall and paused. She seldom looked at herself except to check hair and minimal make up before she left the house. Now she stopped and stared at her image, the image of a woman now free of necessary routine. She looked. What did other people see? Her face, of course had aged but she could still see the smiling anxious girl, only just a woman who had called out on the station platform. She remembered the tears that had fallen down those cheeks when the news of his loss came through. But it was not a face scarred by grief. For all her youthful passion she knew that the reason that she was still single was simply the absence of a suitable suitor. Should they have taken the advice she gave the young man on the train and married, her only seventeen and what would life have been if a child had been born, fatherless now older that she had been at the time and, who knows, facing another separation and possible loss.

Now, she knew, that once the news of her mother’s death reached colleagues at the war office she might well be faced with other possibilities. Graham had appeared some months earlier, one of a number of men and some women who had begun to frequent the office, attending meetings and discussions. The office gossip was that they were from one of the secret services, but they retained an aloofness, a separation from the ordinary mortals providing services to the grandees. All, that is, except Graham. One day he had approached Victoria. She had been startled and a little flustered. He began with nothing more than pleasantries, asking about her job, her languages. On later visits he had probed further, did she visit France

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often? Did she have relations there? Eventually and utterly surprisingly he had asked her to dine with him. She had not been able to gauge whether the invitation was personal or professional. In any case she had declined, informing him of her mother’s condition. That had been a week ago and she had not seen him since. She felt foolish. He was an attractive man of approximately her age. Indeed, he was the first man she had felt positively attracted to in many years and she was disturbed by the girlishness of her emotions. Although she had made an excuse in rejecting his invitation she had never-the-less been disappointed when she hadn’t seen him again. If only the invitation had waited until after her mother’s death. This thought brought her back to reality.

The next weeks were spent making the usual arrangements. Her mother’s funeral was a surprisingly well attended affair including even a cousin Catherine, from her home village in France. Victoria knew Catherine well from the frequent visits made with her mother to attend family events or simply for a holiday. They would take the boat train to Paris and then wind their way down from Paris to a town called Vendôome and then on local railways the final one winding along quiet a quiet valley until they reached their station, Fontaine Les Coteaux written proudly in large letters on the booking office and staffed be a self-important station master. He would greet her mother as though she were royalty.

Catherine was insistent. She must come to visit. Everyone was thinking of her and wished to offer their condolences personally. In any case she obviously needed a holiday and time in a sleepy French village among friends and relations was just what she needed. Victoria agreed but was not sure how she could manage time off. They were busier than ever at the War Office.

Graham once again appeared at her desk and renewed his invitation to dinner. This time, with something of a girlish flutter in her heart, Victoria agreed. The dinner itself was very pleasant. Graham was something of a raconteur and amused Victoria with office anecdotes without ever actually saying which office. During the dinner he gently probed her about her background and especially her time in France. Over coffee it became apparent why. He was clear that they were on the brink of another war with Germany. He dismissed notions that a deal might be done, some sort of treaty and indicated that his office, whatever that was, were making preparations. They were

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particularly interested in keeping in touch with what was happening in France, the attitude of the French people, their readiness for war and so on. Victoria was fascinated and a little afraid. “What we need”, Graham said, “Is someone on the ground, someone who knows the French well, who can feedback information.”

Victoria was astonished, “You mean spy?” she said. “How could I be a spy? I’m a secretary.”“Yes,” Graham said, “Exactly, and a secretary who speaks perfect French, indeed is half native. You would have no difficultly in fitting in and actually I am not talking about espionage. Call it information gathering if you like.”“But,” Victoria hardly knew how to continue. “My mother’s home. It is a small out of the way little village near a sleepy market town. What possible use could information about what is happening there be to you.”

Graham changed tack. “Do you travel when you visit? It’s not far from the Loire valley, is it, Tours, Blois and so on.”

“Well yes. I did do a short tour of the chateaux with my mother some years ago. We hired a car but that was a holiday."

Graham looked at her. “Precisely what we need.” He said. “A French woman in her touring car. We can fund it don’t worry. and you could invite Catherine to go with you.”Victoria was shocked. She felt invaded. There had been spying. They had been spying on her. She flushed.

“Look,” Graham said, “I know this is coming as something of a surprise and rather sudden but believe me we are all going to be asked to do our bit. Yours is hardly excessively demanding, a nice touring holiday and then back here before the trouble really starts. All we ask for are some letters home so to speak and then a full debriefing when you return. And just to be clear. You remain a civil servant. Your expenses will be paid when you are abroad but your salary will be placed in a bank account for use when you return.”

Victoria was silent for some time. It had clearly all been worked out and she wondered if she actually had a choice. In one sense it was a great opportunity. She loved la Douce France Doux as they called it, gentle France and another visit to the Loire valley funded apparently

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by His Majesty’s Government sounded too good to be true. Eventually she spoke. “When do you think I should leave?”

The answer to the question it turned out was ‘almost immediately’. In what seemed like no time at all she had taken the boat train to Paris and on down, first to Vendôome and then the local train to Montoire sSur le Loir. Catherine was waiting for her in her Charette and they travelled along familiar tracks to her family house on the big estate. Her father though now well into his seventies was still head gardener and estate manager and the house was substantial.

Victoria had fond memories of her stays on the estate and she was greeted warmly both by Benoîit the father and Clara, Catherine's mother. For the first weeks she was feted by the family. Stories of her mother and her elopement with the handsome Englishman, a scandal at the time, were rehearsed and enlarged upon. Although there was some discussion about the prospect of war there seemed to be a general feeling that it would have little impact on a small market town in the middle of France. Life carried on as normal, the market twice a week, church on Sunday's, work on the estate throughout the week. The wives and washerwomen would gather at the lavoirlavage to do the weekly washing and gossip. Victoria was at a loss as to what she should report. There were concerns, not much about possibility of war but the impact of the conscription of young men and the consequent depletion of the agricultural work force. She did write 'chatty' letters to her fictional family to an address Graham has given her but she received nothing in return.

As she had been promised she had significant deposits in a local bank account and eventually she decided she must fulfil her obligation to venture further afield. She broached the subject with Catherine and her family. They were surprised and a little shocked that a single woman might propose and expedition of that sort. Victoria felt that somehow, she had inherited the slightly scandalous reputation of her mother reinforced by her being half English. After some negotiation it was agreed that she should not be alone but accompanied by Catherine and an old uncle they had in common who would be tasked with keeping them safe.

They set off eventually in a venerable Peugeot belonging to the estate. It turned out that the addition of the Uncle Georges was invaluable to Victoria's purpose. He was voluble about his hatred of

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the Germans, suspicious of their intentions and apparently ready to take up arms again himself if they so much as a set a foot on French soil. They kept up the image of tourists and visited the various Châateaux, Blois, Chaumont, Amboise, Langeais, but also because they were accompanied by Uncle Georges they could spend time in various bars and cafes on the way.

Victoria, under the guise of keeping a diary of the experience carefully recorded observations made and conversations overheard. She found that she was adept at placing herself so that she could eavesdrop on conversations. Opinions varied greatly from those who thought Hitler would not be so foolish as to invade France to those who thought war was inevitable and that preparation should be made. Even among those admitting to the inevitability of war there was a confidence that the Maginot Line would hold, that unlike in the Great War France was prepared. Occasionally there were more pessimistic voices but very few. There were also in some of the bars groups of men who spoke quietly among themselves and who were looked at with suspicion by other clients. Victoria asked Uncle Georges about them. "Fascists", he spat but would say no more. Victoria made a note.

They returned to the estate to discover that the international news had become more serious. Germany had invaded Poland. France and Great Britain had issued an ultimatum which, if not acceded to would inevitably mean war. Victoria began to make preparations to return home but events overtook her. Germany did not withdraw and on 25th September war was declared. There was a flurry of activity in the town and surrounding areas. Young men were called up. Discussions in the bars became more heated. Victoria decided it was time to return to England. The response of the family was one of horror. How could she possibly think of travelling when war had been declared. It was entirely unsafe. Catherine particularly was insistent. “What are you going back to,” she said. “Is it this man you have been writing to.” Victoria hesitated. “No,” she said, “He is just a work colleague. We are in the habit of writing to each other when we are on holiday. Nothing romantic. Nothing at all.” As she said this she realised she was letting go of something and she sighed.

“Ah.” Catherine said. “You had hopes. Is that it.”

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“No, No” Victoria smiled. “I gave up hope of that sort of thing a long time ago.”

“Yes” Catherine took her hand. “I know what you mean.”

There was silence for a time then Catherine said, “What do you have to go back to in England now your mother is dead?”

Victoria covered her face and began to weep silently. Catherine put her arms round her shoulders. “What is it, my dear? You should tell me.”

And Victoria did. She described her life after the war as benumbing, a half existence. She had some women friends but like her they seemed to be living a half-life. It was not desperation for a man, rather the feeling of being a sideline, it being taken for granted that being a secretary was all she could expect, serving, servile oh the dullness of it. And then her mother who never really understood the absence of at least a lover. She had not had such a problem. And finally, Graham. For a moment she had felt a spark, a possibility. Coming to France even though it was to somewhere she knew so well, had seemed like an adventure with the possibility of returning to who knew what?

Victoria realised she had been pouring all this out and she looked up at Catherine. “I’ve said more than I should.“ she said.

“No, No.” Catherine was quick to reply. “I thought there was something going on. But do you think this Graham might be waiting for you?”

“Oh there was talk of a debriefing when I got back to England but no more than that and I don’t know what more I could say than has already been in the letters. It still feels sort of secretarial.”

Suddenly Victoria knew that going back to England was the last thing she wished to do. She did not want to face the so-called debriefing and, more than that, Graham’s probable indifference. It would be humiliating. It would turn her into an old maid on the instant.

“You must stay with us.” Catherine said simply. “We are your family. You should be with people who love you.”

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And that is how Victoria was still there in August 1940 when the German army marched into town. They arrived with maps marked with properties they would occupy as residences. Headquarters would be in another local town. The estate and its houses were not selected. For those in the town, there was little they could do but sullenly accept that they had been conquered. An armistice had been signed which meant that the Germans did not bother to extend their direct rule beyond the Loire and Cher rivers but they settled into Montoire and the surrounding area and behaved as though they saw themselves as liberators bringing order to the chaotic French and indeed there were those in the town who seemed to accept this. In a surprisingly short space of time the presence of German soldiers causally patrolling the streets and sitting eating and drinking in the bars and cafes became the new normal. The markets resumed and for a time there was little disruption. It was true that there was less of almost everything. The German army demanded to be fed and watered but rural France was used to thin years when unkind weather failed the harvests, so they had means of coping and very soon had secret stores of which the Germans had no knowledge.

Once the Germans had conquered there could be no more letters to England. Victoria found herself in a familiar state, a bystander, a looker on at events that she had no hope of influencing. The press was now heavily censored, and she was isolated. She did do what she could to help with the work of the estate and for a time she was occupied with the apple harvest, but it was clear that she lacked the knowledge and the skills to be really useful. Eventually she decided that, since her purpose had been to observe and to record the lives and opinions of those around her then that was what she would do even though her observations could not be posted and would have to remain private. She began to wander and observe the lives around her, occasionally joining in some activity. She joined the women washing clothes, dipping the garments into the clear spring water and scrubbing and rinsing then hanging the up to dry under the lavage roof of the lavoir. They chattered. They spoke about the Germans with some surprise that they seemed quite civilized and even attractive. The younger ones giggled, and the older ones made crude remarks. Older men spat as the ‘Boche’ passed but were careful not to do it to their faces.

Victoria would walk into town with Catherine to shop, to gossip, to have a coffee in one of the bars. Inevitably they rubbed shoulders

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with German soldiers often themselves relaxing in the same bars. It was surreal. It was not the way war had been etched in their minds since the first conflagration. One of the soldiers, she thought he had some rank, but she was not sure what, could speak almost perfect French. He spoke about family holidays in the Ardèeche and of good friends he had made, swimming in the river and shooting the rapids. He asked about Catherine and Victoria but they answered only in vague terms about their family and life in the area. Victoria wrote in her note book her impressions and of the conflicting emotions when talking to an enemy soldier who was educated and loved France.

It all changed at the beginning of October. There was a sudden flurry of activity. More units of the German army arrived. Suddenly there was a strong sense of being occupied. Orders were given. The local mayor was summoned to meetings. There were patrols and sentries particularly at the railway station. The rumour began to circulate that important visitors were expected but no one seemed to know who. This was confirmed when the red carpet down the aisle of the church was removed and re-laid as a ceremonial carpet from the road into the station building.

She met the German officer in the square and tried to approach to ask what was going on, but he shunned her glancing from side to side as though afraid of being observed fraternising. He marched briskly away. Victoria's curiosity was aroused. She walked from the town towards the station trying to give the impression that she was on some sort of errand, but she could not get near. She retraced her steps passed the flower shop where the shop keeper was assembling a lavish bouquet. Victoria stopped to enquire. "Is it someone's anniversary", she asked, wondering who might merit such a display. The shop keeper, Sylvia, Victoria suddenly remembered her name, looked stressed. "No," she said, "It has been ordered by the Boche. I haven't any idea what is going on. I have been told my little daughter must be ready to present it. At that moment Améelie came into the shop. She was about seven years old and clearly nervous. "Mama," she said, "must I. I don't know what to do.""Don't worry," Sylvia said obviously trying to hide her own anxiety. "See we can practice. This lady will help us. Pretend she is the lady you have to give the flowers to."And so it was that Victoria found herself being presented with a bouquet, once again, as she thought, as a stand in, a bystander.

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A day later there was a flurry of activity. A special train arrived at the station. Half the town was out to see it arrive though they were excluded from the station itself. The mayor and his deputy walked to the station to greet whoever it was who was so important. Améeliea went with them. Food had been prepared at a local restaurant and was wheeled to the station on a cart. Then a convoy of cars arrived, driving through the town. The rumour soon spread that someone had spotted MaréchalMarchel Péetain in one of the cars. Victoria noted it all. The hero of Verdun. Why one earth would the hero of Verdun be in an insignificant little market town in Loir et Cher?

The mystery was solved with the publication the next day of special editions of the newspapers. Blazed across the front pages was a photograph of MaréchalMarchel Péetain shaking the hand of Adolph Hitler. Next to the Maréachal The Marshall was Pierre Laval looking particularly pleased with himself. At Hitler’s right hand, Von Ribbentrop. Announced in the papers and on radio broadcasts was the new regime, collaboration. France under Maréchal Marechal Péetain would work with Germany in forming a stable Europe under the Nazis. They would form common cause against Great Britain. It was this last aim that struck Victoria most forcefully.

The atmosphere in the small town and surrounding countryside changed dramatically. The rhythms of French life which had seemed so timeless were disturbed. No longer were market days the traditional opportunities to gossip and catch up with the news. Talk became guarded and fractured. A new mayor was appointed sympathetic to the new order. There were those who considered it only a matter of time before Great Britain capitulated to German demands. Others went further and blamed the defeat of the French army on the British headlong retreat. Many remained silent and Victoria was one of those.

One Sunday morning she was, as usual, preparing for church. Catherine came to her room. She was hesitant and then she spoke. “I don’t think it is wise for you to come into town today.”

Victoria looked at her sharply, though she had some inkling of what was coming.

Catherine continued. “There has been talk. Some people know you are half English. I’m afraid someone will make an issue of it.”

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Victoria was silent. “I am putting you all in danger.” she said. “I must leave.”

“No. no.” There was panic and concern in Catherine’s voice. “Where could you go that would be safer. “We have been talking about this. We must hide you. There are so many places. No one can ever search them all and on the estate many houses and caves that few know about.”Victoria knew that there was no alternative. If she left, where could she possibly go? If she stayed in the house then someone would report her and there would be knocks at the door. She agreed that hiding was the only possible route.

There then began the most extraordinary period of her life. The whole of the area was riddled with caves both natural and artificial where stone had been carved out for building. Some of these caves had been converted to houses, had been lived in for years, the ‘caves trogloadites’. It was to one of these that she decamped. It was surprisingly comfortable. A fireplace and a chimney had been carved into the rock as had ventilation holes. The front of the cave was built over like the frontage of a normal houses. Most importantly it was hidden.

To begin with she did little more that make the cave as comfortable as possible and she spend some time simply staring out of the window at a clearing and the woods beyond. Then quite dramatically her life changed. Catherine brought news of the so-called collaboration. Eighty percent of agricultural and other produce was to be sent to Germany to aid the war effort. There was curfew from ten in the evening. Men were being ordered to Germany to work in fields and factories and alongside all that was the transportation of Jewish families. Survival was the key and part of that survival was the secret growing of food in places the Germans and their French collaborators would be unlikely to find. An ideal spot was the space outside Victoria’s cave. Michel, the estate gardener helped prepare the land and gave her instructions on cultivation. He brought basic gardening equipment and soon Victoria’s hands were rough and segged from digging and hoeing. Catherine also knew of Victoria’s nursing experience and from time to time she was brought children and adults with minor wounds and ailments. She felt hopelessly

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inadequate, lacking the most basic medicines. Again, Catherine found at least a part solution. She dug out from the library at the big house a volume on herbal remedies based on local plants and plant extracts. Victoria laboured to gather and prepare.

In the mornings, Victoria would open her window and look out over here domain. In the midst of war, she was happy. This was the happiest and most productive part of her life. How her hideaway remained secret she did not know. She suspected that there were those in the local community who valued and protected her and even those who may have had collaborationist sympathies dared not expose her for fear of reprisals from her friends. She was part of life.She became increasingly aware of her inadequacy as a healer. Indeed there was so much she could not heal. She simply lacked the knowledge and modern medicines. Catherine brought here further books. Ancient volumes on anatomy and diseases. She learnt a great deal but felt increasingly ineffective. Her worst moment was when a mother brought her small boy to her. He had an infected wound on his leg but Victoria knew that it was beyond her knowledge and competence to treat it. She told the mother she must take the boy to a real doctor, but the real doctor had already refused to treat him. Apparently, there were unpaid medical bills. Without much hope she applied a herbal poultice but she heard later that he had died. It took some time for her emotions to cool, anger at the ‘médicin’ and frustration at her own lack of competence.

It all ended surprisingly suddenly. The German army was driven back and France was free. Victoria emerged into a world which locally was surprisingly untouched. There had been no battles, simply occupation and then freedom, no scars except on minds and hearts. The town had suffered a glancing blow from history but little had changed. There were recriminations and accusations though not as fierce or as drastic as those reported from the big cities. One Jewish family had been hidden, as she had been, in a labyrinth of caves and they emerged dazed and ill. Life began to return to its prewar rhythms. As she emerged she found she was facing suspicion and indeed open hostility. She was unqualified and unlicensed and practicing medicine. It was rumoured that she had killed a child with her bizarre remedies. Victoria had no intention of withdrawing and becoming bystander again. She was not the seventeen year old who mourned the loss of a fiancé. She knew herself to be capable, to be determined. She had ambitions. Did that young almost doctor on the

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train survive? She hoped so and there was a great need of more doctors.

(The meeting of Hitler and Péetain at the railway station of Montoire sur le Loir did actually take place. All other events and characters are entirely fictional)

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London 1946

Victoria had been shocked by the devastation in London. It seemed odd that she had come from a town in occupied France where the war had hardly left a mark and here, she struggled to find her bearings among the bomb sites and the men and machinery clearing the rubble. She found her old house, or what was left of it and she was grateful that they had rented and not bought. Some of the façade remained including the window of her old bedroom. It stared glassless out at the street and through it you could see shattered walls and daylight. It was an unnerving thought that if she had remained in London her life may have ended under the rubble, just one more casualty. So, she was lucky to have been away but now she was glad she was back. She had no longer felt welcome in Montoire and though there were people grateful to her for her wartime efforts, others were embarrassed and even hostile. On a whim she wrote a letter to Graham Wantage at the old contact address and was surprised to get a most enthusiastic response. He was still working in government in some capacity which he did not specify but would be delighted if she returned and they could meet. The exchange of letters had taken time, but her return home had been smoothed by letters from Graham which has eased her way through customs and immigration.

She emerged from Piccadilly Circus underground station and took a while to orientate herself. She consulted the rather old tourist map which was all she could find and made her way down Piccadilly. Graham’s instructions had been rather terse, almost an order. She was to meet him at the Berkeley Hotel on the corner of Piccadilly and Berkeley Street at one PM. There would be a table in the dining room reserved in his name. The curt instructions had made her rather nervous, wondering what he was expecting of her.She found the hotel and navigated reception through to the dining room where Graham’s name prompted an instant response and she was shown to a table for two. Graham had not yet arrived and she realised she was five minutes early. When asked she ordered a glass of water and sat down and surveyed the scene. She saw that her Montoire country clothes, which was all she had available, were not standard attire in the Berkeley and she smiled. At one time she would have been mortified and would have tried to crawl away. Now she simply did not care. Her clothes told a story and if people wanted to hear it, she would tell them otherwise they were of no consequence.

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At that moment Graham arrived at the entrance to the dining room. Victoria saw him immediately and she stood ready to welcome him. He was ushered towards the table but stopped some yards away staring at her. “Victoria?” he said. She nodded. “My goodness the war has been good to you.” And he marched towards her and planted a resounding kiss on one cheek. Victoria was of course used to the usual French greeting of bobbing heads without making too much contact. This was a real kiss and he grasped her shoulders and pulled back to take another look at her. “Well,” he said, “I would hardly have known you.” Victoria was pleased to find that she didn’t blush. She looked back at him. She couldn’t return the complement. He looked careworn and much thinner than she remembered. He seemed on edge.“Let’s sit down and eat.” He said and he gestured to the waiter and ordered soup and grilled fish without looking at the menu. Victoria was a little surprised not to be consulted and he saw her looking at him.“I’m sorry,” he said, “but there’s very little edible on menus these days so I always go for the consistently palatable. I hope you don’t mind.”Victoria indicated that she didn’t. It had come as something of a shock to find food rationed and in short supply. Even bread was now rationed. The waiter removed the unused menus and left the table. There was a moments silence then Graham spoke,“Well Miss Stapleton..Victoria, I was so pleased to hear from you. I read your report of your years in France with great interest. Most insightful. Your years in the wilderness so to speak seem to have given you a particularly acute perspective on the minutae of French life. We already knew about the meeting of Hitler and Pétain of course. They certainly made no secret of it. It was your observations of the range of attitudes, the shifts in behaviour which were most interesting.”Victoria was somewhat taken aback by this speech. When she returned from France, she found to her surprise that she was still employed in some way by, she supposed, the civil service and even more to her surprise her salary had been paid as agreed into a bank account. She was actually rather well off. She had half expected Graham to tell her that she should return the money, and she had submitted a long report to assuage her guilt.“Well,” she said eventually, “I’m glad you found it interesting. I was, I suppose, marginally useful but became just a bystander again more s when the war ended.”

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“I think you do yourself a disservice.”The soup arrived and paused the conversation. It was something brown, but Victoria was hungry. She regretted the potage des legumes which had been one of her staples in France made from vegetables she had grown herself.Graham saw her looking at the brown liquid.“They claim it is Oxtail,” he said, “Which may be rather over stating it but at least it isn’t Brown Windsor.”Victoria smiled thinking of what her French relations would make of such an offering. She dipped in her spoon and sipped. She had tasted worse since she had returned.They both ate in silence for a short time, Graham thoroughly clearing his bowl and wiping it clean with the remains of a small bread roll. Victoria ate with less enthusiasm and Graham waited until she had finished. It tested her newfound poise to continue whist he watched her.“Well Victoria,” he said eventually, leaning back as she laid down her spoon. “Tell me what are your plans and in particular, why on earth did you return to England? You can see the state we are in.”Victoria had asked herself those questions. “Well,” she began, “in spite of everything England is still my home. Until the war, France was for holidays. I did think,” she said and here she hesitated, “I did have dreams of becoming a doctor. It sounds foolish just stated like that. I told you I had become a sort of local healer in France due to the scarcity and cost of medicines and of doctors. I learnt from tomes on herbalism and then anatomy and the treatment of wounds and so on. Initially people came to me as a last resort or because they couldn’t afford the doctors and the medicine. Eventually I became established and, I think, valued. I’m sure that is why I survived. “Graham was looking at her again. “Well I must say.” He said “That is not what we expected when we sent you over there. And you did all this from a sort of cave in the woods.”“A cave troglodyte. Tuffa caves often used as dwelling places. It was not uncommon.”“It seems to have done you some good. Could you not have stayed on. A sort of wise woman in the woods.”“A witch you mean. Years ago, I would have been hanged.”“I think we’re a bit beyond that now.”“It is all in my report. The local medical establishment objected to my existence. I became frustrated by my lack of knowledge and access to medicines. I had to watch people waste away and die including children. Herbs don’t cure measles. And they were poor. The rich, of

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course, could afford doctors and hospital care not that that always saved them. There was clearly no chance of me being allowed into the hallowed halls of the medical profession. And in any case, I had a hankering to be home.”Graham looked away staring at the window. “You wrote about the boy that died, from an infected wound. That was very moving.”Victoria struggled to control her emotions. “I felt so helpless, so ignorant. He had been turned away by the doctor because of unpaid medical bills. I was so angry.”Graham did not speak. The fish course arrived and broke the moment. ‘Carrelet’ Victoria thought. It actually looked quite appetising.“The chef, would you believe, is French.” Graham said, “He does his best with what is available.”They both ate in silence for a while.

The silence lasted a little too long. Eventually Victoria broke it. I always think of you as Graham. As we agreed that was how I should address you when I wrote my letters. Is that still appropriate or should it be Mr. Wantage?”Graham smiled. “Oh, Graham is fine and I will always think of you as Victoria rather than Miss Stapleton if that’s alright. However, I think I should now tell you that Graham isn’t my real name. We were and to an extent still are obsessed with secrecy.”Victoria smiled. She was not surprised. “So, am I now going to be introduced to your real name?”He didn’t answer directly. “It has been so good to meet you again, Victoria. I can’t promise to transform you into a doctor but well we’ll see. I want you to come and meet me tomorrow, if you are free. I have someone I’d like you to meet. Here is my card. Shall we say ten AM?”She glanced at the card ‘Sir Gregory Westwell CBE - Department of Health.’“Oh.” Victoria looked at him quizzically. “Does this mean I have to curtsey or something.”He smiled. “Don’t be silly. Actually, the title is a damn nuisance, but I get into trouble if I don’t use it. I prefer Graham”“So do I.”“Well let’s stick with that then.”“And the Ministry of Health?”“Yes, I’ve been migrated. It happens to civil servants even senior ones. Actually, I asked to be migrated. I had had enough of war. So

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many sent over there and so few surviving.” His face creased into a frown. “That was why I was so pleased to get you letter.”“But.. but..” Victoria said. “I was never in any real danger.”“If the German’s had found out what you had been doing you certainly would have been.”“But those what can we call them, travelogs, they were totally innocuous.”“They weren’t innocuous they were very insightful, and you travelled and reported along what became the boundary between occupied and Vichy France. On top of that you appeared in the very town where Hitler met Pétain. I assure that is enough to put you in severe jeopardy. Still, enough of that. I will send you a letter inviting you to a meeting with me tomorrow. That will give you access. It had better be Sir Gregory at the Ministry.” He had become brisk and official.He slipped his watch out of his waistcoat pocket and flipped it open. “Look it’s been a most delightful lunch but I’m afraid duty calls as they say.”“Of course.” Victoria rose as he did.“Till tomorrow.”“Yes”He left, weaving between the tables. Victoria looked down at his card and pondered.

√√√

Victoria found Richmond house on Whitehall as instructed. Her letter of invitation was perused, and she was escorted along corridors and up stairs. They passed by a typing pool. The door was open and the busy with the clatter of typewriters resounding in the corridor. Victoria glanced in. There was one vacant desk and typewriter and for a moment she had a vision of what might be in store for her. They entered a larger office with one desk. A woman rose to greet them. “Miss Stapleton?” She said.‘Yes”“Sir Gregory is expecting you. She opened a door and Victoria was ushered in to a larger office. Graham was seated behind an even larger desk. He rose as she entered.“Victoria do come in and can I introduce Doctor James.” The room was so large that she hadn’t immediately noticed third person. A tall rather handsome man came towards her hold out his left hand. Victoria noted that his left sleeve was empty. She quickly withdrew

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her right hand and shook hands with her left. “I’m very pleased to meet you.” Dr James said. “Sir Gregory has told me something about you. I am most impressed.”Victoria couldn’t think why she should impress anyone but she smiled and said. “I’m afraid Gra..Sir Gregory hasn’t spoken of you but I’m here to learn.”“Anthony,” he said, “Anthony James but only my mother calls me that. I’m Tony to everyone else.” He glanced at his empty sleeve. “I’m not quite all there as you can see but everything else is working well.”For a moment Victoria thought this was some sort of ‘come on’ but was embarrassed to have even thought it. She also had a flashback to a railway carriage all that time ago and another bouncy doctor. Another thought she dismissed. Graham – Sir Gregory was speaking.“I suppose you are aware that we are currently in the throes of setting up a National Health Service.”Victoria nodded.“It is proving controversial. Among other things there is major opposition from the medical profession. There will have to be some sort of compromise. Tony here is charged with investigating what that compromise might be.”“What fun.” Tony said. ‘The fact is I need a partner someone to work with me on this. Apart from anything else, try as I might, I cannot write with my left hand.”Victoria bridled. “You mean you want a secretary.”“No no no..”Graham cut in. “He did say he needed a partner and that is what he means. You have a number of important qualities. You are an acute observer, you have medical knowledge, although it may have lapsed you did qualify as a nurse, you write well and succinctly. Above all you have shown that you are entirely in sympathy with the whole enterprise. No more sick children turned away because they cannot pay.”Victoria looked at the two men. Eventually she said. “So what exactly would you be wanting me to do.”Tony spoke, “It is actually difficult to be exact. It is not exactly known territory. All I can say is, from what Sir Gregory says, from your notes and letters and what I see of you now I think we can make a working partnership and the prize of a fully functioning National Health Service is very great.”“Yes” she said. “So it is.” And she knew that her life had just taken another extraordinary turn.

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