I have been interested in female spies of World War 2, since I was young. Their bravery is utterly astonishing to me. The risks they took, and all too often, the horrendous ends they met, make me question if I could ever have been so courageous. Of course, the answer is NO! I don’t possess even an iota of their courage.
Violette Szabo and Odette Sansom are two of the most famous, both having films made of their stories. The books about their wartime experiences are more realistic than the films, but truly inspirational to read. I have recently found out about Virginia Hall, an American who worked for both British and American intelligence in France during the war. Known also as ‘the limping lady’, she became famous all over occupied France, and even the brutal Klaus Barbie, was determined to capture her. She managed to evade him, and successfully established spy networks throughout France, despite her wooden leg, named Cuthbert, being a great source of pain to her.
NO ESCAPE
It wasn’t immediate – the realisation that she was beautiful. To begin with, she was just another human amongst the throng of people. Nothing unusual brought her into focus, nor did anything specific command attention. But as she stepped forward and smiled, this simple action, changed everything about her. It was as though she lit up, and a glow of energy surrounded her. Her brown eyes, wide with curiosity, gripped something within me and I wondered how I had not spotted her earlier.
“Name?”
“Brigitte Lavigne.”
She unfolded her papers and gently pushed them towards me with a steady hand.
I stared at the photograph; expressionless eyes and non-descript features, this surely was not the same person? And yet as I looked up and studied the woman, Brigitte, who stood before me, I could see it was. I once again looked at the photograph, through squinted eyes, as though searching for a soul or secret to escape…but…nothing.
“Hmm.” I inwardly berated myself for allowing the noise to escape, and clasped my lips firmly shut, to avoid any further.
“Is there a problem officer?” She lent her head to the left. Red lipstick framed her perfect row of teeth.
I puffed out my chest, I would not be rushed, instead I continued to swap my stare between her papers and that smile.
“What’s in there?” I nodded towards the case at her feet. It was battered and ready to fall apart.
“This?” She gently kicked it, “Just my clothes, off to stay with my aunt. She’s just had a baby, you see, and needs help.”
“And you are going by train?”
She nodded and checked the time on her watch.
“You are in a hurry?”
“Well only if I want to catch the next train, otherwise I have to travel this evening and my aunt, well she will worry of course.”
Her papers said she was 21, but I would have said younger, perhaps. “Well then, on you go.” I held out her papers and smiled.
“Thank you.” Her eyes betrayed her with a trace of relief, as she slightly-too-keenly snatched her papers back. It could have been mistaken as a normal response. She wanted to catch her train, was in a rush, maybe slightly scared of my rank. But to the trained eye, used to the lies and mannerisms which accompany them, the giveaway was in the smallest of gestures. The ones which we are unable to control.
I allowed her to walk away, just far enough for her to breathe that heavy, freeing sigh of relief, and then I turned around. “Brigitte?”
Her shoulders scrunched up as she stopped still. I slowly marched towards her.
“Perhaps I could take a look in your case after all?” I spoke gently, little more than a whisper, and ran my finger along her cheek. I hoped this was not what I suspected, that for once my instinct was wrong, but weary by years of experience, I already knew the outcome.
She flashed the smile again, but her energy was gone. Her eyes also devoid of their sparkle and promise.
“But of course, it’s really only women’s things, nothing exciting.” Her lips hinted at a quiver. So slight, it would be missed by others and for a moment, my mind wandered to the suite at my hotel, and how Brigitte would look beneath my sheets.
“Back over there.” I pointed to the front of the line where we began and lifted her case. “This feels a little heavy for just clothing.” I led her by the elbow and placed the battered case upon the hastily erected table.
With a sigh, her arms dropped to her sides. “I really will miss that train, there’s nothing to see, really…”
I opened the two sprung latches, and as described, a bundle of knickers and stockings sat within.
“See I told you. That’s all I have.” Her eyes pleaded with me, and she rested her hand on the crook of my tunic. “Just women’s things.”
Again, my brain working at speed, already knew what would happen next, that beneath the clothing, was a transmitter. She was working for the enemy. “Keep them moving,” I commanded. The line of people awaiting our check point, began snaking further away, as my men stopped to watch my search unfold. “We don’t want to be here all day. Keep them coming.”
I stood and stared into her dark eyes which seemed to beg for mercy. I smiled at her and put on my gloves. “Please close your suitcase. I’m sorry you've missed your train, you must come with me now, I insist. You must not hang around here, waiting, not with that case so full of…”
Her once defiant eyes now brimmed with tears, an empty smile still framed with perfectly applied lipstick. She struggled to keep up with my long strides as I rushed to my car and ushered her inside. This was the best part. They were always so co-operative when they begged for their lives. Sometimes I toyed with keeping them, giving them a new ID and maintaining them as my mistress. It never worked out that way, because they wanted to kill me, once they realised placating me was fruitless. They soon turned from alluring beauties to murderous banshees.
A shame and a waste, so many beautiful women, sacrificed in the name of spying.
Comments