Chapter 16

The Breakout

‘Darwin Heavily Bombed in Two Raids’

T he Japanese launched an aerial attack on Darwin on 19 February 1942. Ninety-three aircraft in total. Reports stated that the damage was considerable. Waves of nausea rushed through me when I heard, and I immediately thought of my family in Sydney. Thank goodness they were safe, but for how long? It was all too awful. I opened the morning mail. There was a letter from Garrow. Henri had already left for work, so I poured myself some coffee and read my friend’s news.

Picon trotted into the room and sat by my feet. I put the letter down on my desk as Garrow’s words swirled in my head. He was sick and starving in Fort Saint-Nicolas, asking me for food. His solitary confinement had ended, and he was awaiting transfer to Meauzac. When Henri returned home for lunch, he asked me about the letter. ‘How did you know?’

‘I saw it in the mailbox this morning.’ He poured himself a small brandy. ‘I recognised his handwriting.’

I began telling him what Garrow had said.

‘I forbid you to visit him, Nannie. It is too dangerous.’ He wrapped his arms around me and held me close. ‘I could not bear it if anything happened to you.’

I knew he was right, but my conscience tugged at my heart, and I knew I’d never forgive myself if the worst happened to Garrow. ‘He’s ill, and he needs help. There’s no one else. Why do you think he wrote to us?’

Henri huffed out a sigh, then kissed the top of my head. ‘I do not approve, but if you must do something, then send a food parcel.’

I replied to Garrow, and knowing the mail was censored, I pretended to be his cousin. O’Leary wasn’t pleased and thought it was too dangerous, but he had no alternative plan. Soon, I received a visitation order.

***

I strolled through the Vieux-Port, looking up at Fort Saint-Nicolas standing cold and grey on the hill above the harbour. I’d packed a basket of goodies for Garrow—soap, toothpaste, and food. When I saw him, I caught my breath. He was a tall man, but his clothes hung from his emaciated frame, his face pale, sunken cheekbones, dark circles around his eyes.

‘Thank you for coming,’ he said quietly, his Scottish accent faint. As he opened the food parcel, a weak smile stretched across his face.

The prison official said I could visit three times a week, so I decided to do that as Garrow desperately needed building up. We didn’t speak of the escape network, but he asked after Henri. The conditions inside were just as he had described in his letter, and when it was time to leave, I assured him I’d return soon.

O’Leary was keeping his distance because of my actions. He disapproved of my work for Busch and considered my visits to Garrow a huge risk. On the days I didn’t visit, I wrote letters to Garrow, which annoyed Henri.

‘Why do you busy yourself writing letters to him? Isn’t it enough that you see him three times a week? Anyone would think you were in love with him.’

‘Oh, Henri, don’t be silly. He’s all alone. Having a letter to read every other day means the world to him, I’m sure. It would to me if I were in his place. I’m his friend, that’s all.’

Henri sighed. ‘A wonderful friend,’ he said, offering an apologetic smile.

* * *

Soon after my first visit, a Frenchman and resistance worker named Frank Arnal came to see me. He’d been imprisoned at the fort, in the next cell to Garrow, and had just been released after winning an appeal. He urged me to help Garrow appeal his sentence and informed me about a guard at Meauzac who was receptive to bribes. Apparently, more than one successful escape had resulted from that, so I asked O’Leary to see what could be done.

The next time I visited Garrow, I found out he was gravely ill at the Michel-Levy hospital, having contracted jaundice. When I visited him, I whispered news of our plan to cheer him up, and it was a relief to see a glimmer of a smile on his sallow face. At least he was receiving proper treatment. When I returned home, I told Henri, ‘We have to get him out.’

Henri stared at me blankly for a few seconds. ‘You’re doing all you can, at great risk.’

I knew Henri wasn’t sleeping well. There had been many restless nights recently. ‘I promise I’ll be careful. No heroics.’

An appeal was Garrow’s best chance, and I hoped O’Leary could arrange it. In the meantime, I continued to visit Garrow, bringing food parcels with a bottle of scotch whisky disguised with hair tonic or cough mixture labels. After a month, he was discharged and returned to his prison cell at the fort to await his appeal.

***

That summer, we heard the most awful news. Gendarmes had arrested thousands of Jews in Paris, herding them into the Vélodrome d’Hiver before transporting them away in railway cattle trucks. I could only imagine the scenes, and at the height of summer, too. Rumour had it there were no proper facilities, no food or water. Those poor souls. As I ranted about the injustice, Henri’s eyes glazed over, but it felt hopeless. What could we have done? I wept for the children, babies—all so innocent. Some adults reportedly grabbed their children’s hands and jumped to their deaths. Can you imagine feeling so afraid, so desperate, that you’d do such a thing? Damn the Nazis. Damn Hitler. It was all about resettlement, so we were told. Well, I didn’t believe that for a minute, recalling what I’d learned before the war.

I continued my double life, more determined than ever, collecting evaders from safe houses and escorting them to the foot of the Pyrenees, where the passeurs would guide them over the crossing to Spain. My latest identity papers named me as Lucienne Carlier, a secretary to a doctor. It was a useful cover.

One day, a gendarme questioned me at the Gare du Toulouse-Matabiau. ‘How is it, Madame, that you can travel so widely, given that you are a mere secretary?’

Travelling was expensive, and I always dressed for the occasion. ‘Well, you see,’ I fluttered my eyelashes and dipped my chin, ‘I am a special secretary, Monsieur.’ I raised my eyebrows, noting the twinkle in his eye. His face broke into a craggy smile, and he waved me through. It was my good fortune that some Frenchmen indulged in such guilty pleasures.

Meanwhile, Battles raged across multiple continents—Africa, Europe, the Soviet Union, and the Pacific. Meanwhile, Pierre Laval, head of government, recently announced his hopes for a German victory. It’s one thing to survive under occupying rule and quite another to sacrifice your honour, France’s honour, to appease the enemy. Collaboration was an ugliness bursting forth with willing violence, and I wondered how such people could live with themselves once the war ended.

November 1942

In the early hours of 8 November, one hundred thousand Allied troops landed in Vichy-held North Africa, at Algiers. Their commander was the American lieutenant-general, Dwight Eisenhower. Of course, the news was exciting and hopeful. The downside to this was soon revealed when the Germans marched across the Line of Demarcation two days later, unleashing an occupying force across southern France. Now, my beloved Marseille languished beneath vile swastika flags. They established their headquarters at Vichy, cloaking all public buildings with those hideous symbols; as instructed, we wound clocks forward one hour to German time, and they imposed a curfew. German soldiers mingled in the streets, cafes, and hotels, flirting with French women, pretending to be friends. None were worthy of trust.

It had been a busy few months. Garrow’s appeal had failed. In reality, his legal team had let him down, and I made sure to let O’Leary know how angry I was. They sent Garrow to Meauzac, and I tried to visit weekly. It was a long journey by train each Saturday, taking me beyond Toulouse, returning Sunday. I realised the Germans would introduce tighter regulations with more identity checks when travelling, and the risks would be considerably greater. The sooner Garrow was free, the better.

I’d told O’Leary about the guard who took bribes and of my thoughts on breaking Garrow out. ‘If I make the arrangements, will you arrange for someone to get him away from Meauzac and out of France?’

O’Leary blew out a breath, then nodded. ‘Yes.’

Each week I visited Garrow, taking food parcels, hoping to identify the guard, but failing. Eventually, I thought he might contact me, especially since he seemed accustomed to making extra money on the side. The prison was a foreboding sight. Top security with searchlights, guard towers, and enclosed with three rows of barbed wire. I needed to find the guard who might help us, as time was running out.

One day, after I’d made many visits over many weeks, I was sitting in a bistro in Meauzac when a man approached me and sat down at my table.

‘Madame, I have seen you before. You visit Captain Garrow?’

‘Oui. He is my cousin.’

He glanced around before leaning in and whispering, ‘Five hundred thousand francs and a policeman’s uniform.’

Well, that was that. I agreed in a heartbeat. I couldn’t wait to return home and let O’Leary know. All we had to do now was make the necessary arrangements.

* * *

Before the month was out, German forces surrounded Toulon. Their target was the French fleet, but the navy scuttled the battleships before the enemy could seize them. At least the Admiralty had no intentions of collaborating. There were, of course, repercussions. Travel regulations were tightened again, and diligence was vital. Our world was on fire, yet we carried on. We resisted and fanned German flames with a soupcon of French courage.

8 December 1942

I hoped Garrow was ready. Our plans to break him out of Meauzac were all in place. The guard had been bribed and was now two hundred and sixteen thousand francs richer, thanks to the joint efforts of Henri and O’Leary’s organisation. Fortunately, the guard was anti-Petain and anti-German.

Dawn’s honeyed light glowed hungrily beyond the curtains. I glanced at the clock—half-past five. Garrow would have slipped into the lavatory to pull on the police uniform, procured by O’Leary and smuggled in by the guard. A car would be waiting near the camp. At six forty-five, with the changeover of guards, Captain Ian Garrow was due to march directly past the sentry at the main gate and out of Meauzac Camp, striding down the road to the nearby woods and the car that would take him to Toulouse. O’Leary would be close by, hidden in the undergrowth, along with another two men, just in case.

I’d barely slept, lying awake listening to Henri’s occasional rhythmical snores while dreading today’s great escape. Garrow had to make it. Only a few weeks ago, he’d sent a message to O’Leary as he’d heard from a guard that he was to be transferred to Germany. The escape had come just in time, with O’Leary getting the go-ahead from England. All I could do now was wait for news and get on with my life. I needed to be seen out in public as Madame Fiocca, shopping, lunching, following my usual routine, playing the part of the dutiful French wife, at least for a short while, to avert any unwelcome attention.

* * *

After a week, news came that the escape had gone well. Garrow was in hiding and would soon be on his way to Spain. Within a few weeks, all being well, he’d reach England. The relief I felt was immense. He had a greater chance of survival now, thank God. Ian was a good man, and I wished him well.

Since the occupation of the southern zone, O’Leary had moved his headquarters to Toulouse, which pleased Henri since it kept him further away from us. Of course, I was still actively involved with courier work, and the small flat Henri had rented for me was a little hub of activity as people came and went.

The other day when I called around, the lady in the flat below caught up with me. ‘Madame, you poor woman,’ she said, much to my surprise. ‘Your cistern went at least twenty times last night, and I was so worried about you. The colic must be awful.’

I gritted my teeth. How many times had I told the evaders to only flush when necessary? ‘I’m much better now. Thank you.’ As soon as I went into the flat, I reprimanded the four men there. The last thing we needed was to stir suspicions and attract accusations. There were too many people just looking for an excuse to denounce someone. It was something that the Germans actively encouraged and rewarded. Families denounced family members, old feuds serving as catalysts to settle scores, and the financial reward was a great motivator. No one could afford to take any chances.