Chapter 46

June 1943

It had been months and still no news from Helen. He was almost certain she would have tried to reply and he wondered what could have happened to stop her. He hated imagining her and Bobby being stuck on the island with no hope of escape. If only there was something he could do about it. Maybe he could try and find out if raids were being planned and volunteer to go. Almost as soon as he had the thought, he realised it was impossible. What chance did he have of finding out about anything secret? He wasn't in a position to know much at all, he reasoned miserably.

If only he knew they were still alive. He had heard about deportations from the island the previous year and it terrified him to think that Helen and Bobby might now be held in a squalid German camp. Just knowing they were somewhere on the island would be better than nothing.

He was on leave, staying at his mother's home for the first time in months. It felt strange being back here in the neat,1930s terraced house, with paper crosses stuck onto the windows and blackout blinds put up each evening.

It was his final day before returning to his ship and Richard was in the kitchen peeling the couple of potatoes his mother had managed to buy for their supper when the doorbell rang.

‘I'll get it,' his mother shouted, immediately going to the front door.

‘Who is it, Mum?' he asked. Sensing something had happened, he stopped what he was doing and waited for her to reply.

Her footsteps came towards the kitchen. She stood at the door holding up an envelope with the Red Cross emblem on it. His heart raced as he dared hope it might be from Helen. ‘Is that for me?'

She frowned and held it out to him. ‘It is. But it's from a Tony Le Gresley. Unusual name.'

His excitement instantly evaporated. Not from Helen then. The disappointment felt like a punch to his gut. ‘Tony Le Gresley?' He had never heard of him.

‘Who is he, son?'

‘I've no idea.' He opened the envelope and read.

Our friends next-door well. Send best. Missing loved ones and waiting for news. Hoping all fine. Please respond soonest to Ida Hamel. Your schoolfriend, Tony

He read the words several times. It didn't make any sense. Who was this guy and why was he pretending to be an old schoolfriend? Who was Ida Hamel? Could the telegram have been mixed up with someone else's?

He reread it another few times. Then it dawned on him. ‘The message is in a kind of code.' He laughed, excited and relieved.

‘Why would it be in code?' his mother asked, picking up a tea towel and drying a plate.

‘Because they have to be careful on the island.' When she shook her head in confusion, he added. ‘The Germans, Mum?'

‘I see.'

He wasn't sure she did, but the explanation satisfied her.

Richard sat at the small kitchen table and studied the message trying to work out exactly what it was meant to convey. ‘Our friends', he presumed, must be Helen and Bobby. Ida Hamel? He thought he recognised the name. Maybe he had heard Helen mentioning the Hamels in the past? He supposed she might have done if they were her aunt Sylvia's next-door neighbours. Next door. That was it: he needed to address his reply to Ida Hamel who lived next door.

But which side? Did the Hamels live at number 1 or number 3? Richard rubbed his throbbing temples lightly. He had no way of knowing and would have to take a chance, hoping that whoever delivered the telegram would hand it to the addressee regardless of whether he used the correct house number or not. If she didn't reply then he would address his next telegram to the house on the other side of number 2.

Richard's heart seemed to skip a beat as it dawned on him what must have happened. ‘This chap has contacted me on Helen's behalf,' he said, needing to say it out loud. He felt rather than saw his mother stiffen, but was in no mood to hear what she thought of his situation with the woman he loved. ‘That must have been what's happened.'

‘It all sounds very complicated to me.'

‘I've been sending messages to her aunt's home, but she's moved to the house next door by the looks of things.' Anxious to work out why, he looked at his mother. ‘I wonder why she moved, though.' Sensing it must have been something serious, he hoped nothing too dreadful had happened to her aunt. Helen adored her. She had reminisced about summer holidays staying with her Aunt Sylvia many times.

He felt his mother's hand on his sleeved arm. ‘I'm happy for you, son. Now you can contact her and let her know you're all right.'

‘I'm going to do it right now,' he said, patting his trouser pocket to check he had his wallet on him. ‘Sorry to run off like this, Mum. I'll try not to be too long.'

She pushed him gently towards the door. ‘You take all the time you need. I'm relieved to see you looking cheerful again.'

He rushed out into the street, his mind racing as he thought over the message he had just received. They were alive and, he hoped, well. Now he had a way to contact her thanks to this Tony chap, which must also mean Helen wanted to hear from him. Richard didn't think he could be happier.

He wished he had time to think of a perfect response, but having seen the date Tony had sent his telegram, Richard realised it had taken the best part of a couple of months to reach him. He wanted to reply immediately so that Helen heard from him as soon as possible, certain that hearing from him was more important than his actual message. He just hoped it wouldn't take too long to reach her.

As he hurried to the telegraph office all he could think of was what might have happened if the telegram had arrived the following day, after he had returned to base. Forcing himself not to dwell on what might have been, he struggled to come up with the most eloquent way to show his love for Helen and Bobby in a message that would be received by a supposed schoolfriend.