The Child Left Behind (22 page)

She was right, they had, and that was because Robert would make the best bread and cakes for
the German officers. It maddened her that the best of everything went to people like that when half the town was starving. But she couldn’t refuse the flour, not when she had seen the children crying with hunger.

Suddenly a voice spoke in her ear. ‘The news is that you are no lover of the invaders of our country.’

Bridgette turned slowly and looked at the smallish man beside her. He had quite a sallow complexion, black hair, a small black moustache and deep dark brown eyes. ‘Who are you?’ she asked.

‘I am known as Charles.’

‘Charles who?’

‘Just Charles,’ the man said, and then: ‘You have not answered my question.’

‘No, I am no lover of the butchering Germans,’ Bridgette said vehemently. ‘I have made no secret of it. My husband died on the beach at Dunkirk and news of his death caused me to miscarry our baby and so I hate them all with a passion.’

‘So you will help us?’

‘Who are you talking about?’

‘Those who oppose the oppressor.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Making life difficult for the Germans in our town,’ Charles said. ‘There are groups set up, but they are fragmented at the moment and we need more organisation. Communication is the key and yet we dare not use the telephone. We need a messenger. Could you be that messenger?’

Bridgette felt excitement burn inside her. The thought of hitting back at the Germans raping and pillaging her country filled her with exhilaration. This would be a blow for Xavier and her baby. ‘Yes, I could do that.’

‘It is very valuable work.’ Charles said. ‘And we have found that girls have less trouble going about the town than men or boys.’

Bridgette had to agree that that was true. ‘The soldiers try to flirt and make suggestions sometimes,’ she said with scorn. ‘They are despicable.’

‘We all know that,’ Charles said. ‘But to win a fight like this we have to be clever. Play along with them and never show them the disdain you have for them. You think you can do that?’

‘Of course I can,’ Bridgette said. ‘For my husband and baby, and for love of France I can do anything, but I live with my in-laws and they are no longer young. I cannot put them in danger without first asking them if they wish me to do this.’

Charles nodded. ‘Meet me tomorrow,’ he said, ‘same time and same place, and give me your answer.’

Bridgette told Marie and Maurice that night as they sat around the table and they listened without interrupting.

When she had finished, she said, ‘I will quite understand if you do not wish me to be involved in this. It could be dangerous—for you, I mean, as well as me.’

‘If you are prepared to take the risk, then so am I,’ said Maurice.

‘And I,’ said Marie. ‘But one thing I must say. Lisette must not be told because she has enough on her plate with the children and now Edmund’s sick mother.’

Bridgette nodded. ‘The fewer people that know, the better,’ she said. ‘I shall not tell my mother either. She will only worry.’

‘We will do plenty of that too,’ Marie said.

‘I will do more than worry,’ Maurice said. ‘I will also make you a beret with a secret pocket to carry those messages and so skilful will this beret be that they will have to take it apart totally to find the hidden compartment.’

‘Oh, Maurice,’ Bridgette cried delighted, ‘how lucky I am having in-laws like you and Marie.’

Bridgette never knew when she might be asked to do something for the Resistance. She never saw anyone. Instead, a note or letter would be slid underneath the shop door with details of where she was to take it and who she was to give it to. ‘It is better that you know nothing,’ Maurice said one evening when she queried this. ‘What you don’t know you can’t tell.’

‘But I wouldn’t tell anyway,’ Bridgette said. ‘Surely you know that, Maurice?’

‘I know that sometimes the Gestapo have ways of making someone talk,’ Maurice said. ‘I hope and pray that you shall never be put to that test.’

Bridgette, though, felt totally confident as she made her way across the town, because she knew that she wasn’t suspected at all. Any that saw her now would imagine she was a great friend of the German solidiers, for she would flirt with them and tease them and they wouldn’t even imagine that such a girl might have important letters or documents hidden in the beret that she wore at a rakish angle. She had some barbed remarks about her behaviour by some in the town though, and even Lisette had expressed surprise, but Bridgette was unable to say a word in her defence.

She returned home from shopping one day in mid-March, to find German officers in the shop, and she wondered if they had found out about her after all. Marie saw the trepidation on her face and said quickly, ‘Ah, Bridgette. There you are at last. Take the shopping upstairs, will you, and then perhaps you can make coffee for our customers?’

Customers, Bridgette thought, and so it couldn’t be anything to do with her activities. And she had been asked to make coffee for them. She would have preferred making it with ground glass, or at the very least spit in their cups, but she knew she could do neither of those things.

Later, Marie said, ‘They just came in to buy clothes and hats for their wives and daughters back in Germany. They want them in time for Easter.’

‘And you served them as if they were valued
customers?’ Bridgette said, as if she couldn’t believe it.

‘Bridgette, all customers are valued just at the moment,’ Marie said. ‘Germans are virtually the only ones with money to spend today. I know that you haven’t taken wages for some time, but even without that, we are living on our savings and they are running out fast, especially since we bought the coal for last winter. We cannot afford to turn away business. How will it help if we all starve to death?’

Bridgette knew that Marie spoke sense. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, suitably chastened. ‘I spoke out of turn. You could hardly refuse to make things for the German officers, anyway.’

She wondered if she should look for a job, for there was not enough work for both her and Marie in the shop. She knew she should help her mother in the bakery shop, for she looked positively ill at times, but if she helped her, she would not be paid, and at that moment she needed a wage each week.

There was plenty of work about because so many working men had answered France’s call to arms and were now incarcerated in POW camps in and around Germany. The only problem with factory work was that most of them were now making war-related goods. Bridgette felt now that that was helping the Germans win the war.

She knew she had to do something. The dress shop had a flurry of orders from many of the German officers as Easter grew nearer, but these
would probably dry up again when Easter was over. So, not wishing to be a burden on the Laurents, she took a part-time job in a café bar in the town.

Before April was over, Edmund’s mother, who had been ailing for some weeks, took a turn for the worst and was dead before the doctor arrived. After the old lady was buried, Marie said that Lisette wanted to move back in with her parents until the war was over.

Bridgette was surprised. ‘Don’t you want to stay where you are,’ she asked Lisette, ‘so Edmund will have a home to come back to?’

‘And when will that be?’ Lisette said. ‘I haven’t even any idea where he is.’

‘I wouldn’t worry too much until you have reason,’ Bridgette said. ‘Edmund might even be in the Free French army under General de Gaulle.’

‘How on earth do you know about that?’

‘Your father can get the BBC World Service on the wireless,’ Bridgette said, ‘and I translate it.’

‘Aren’t you forbidden to listen to it?’

‘Of course, but no one takes any notice of that,’ Bridgette said. ‘And you get to hear proper news about this awful war. Sometimes de Gaulle speaks too, urging France to stand firm, and seems convinced that Germany will be defeated in the end.’

‘Do you think that?’

‘I’d like to think it,’ Bridgette said. ‘Who knows, though, really?’

‘You are good for me, Bridgette,’ Lisette said.
‘You stop me feeling sorry for myself. You don’t mind me coming to live back here, do you?’

‘No, why should I?’ Bridgette said. ‘It will be like old times, with the added bonus of the children to make us smile.’

On 7 December 1941 the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and America was in the war. This put the damper on the whole Laurent family that Christmas. Altogether it was a poor Christmas. The children had no presents to open and it was hard to raise anyone’s spirits, although they tried for the children’s sake.

It would have helped if they had anything in the way of festive food, but there was none of that either. In fact, studying the children that day, Bridgette thought them listless. Their faces were thin and white, and she knew that they were neither getting enough food, nor the right kind of it. Yet she regularly got up from the table still hungry so that the children should eat their fill.

Lisette had noticed this too. The day after Boxing Day, she left the house sometime that afternoon without telling a soul where she was going. When she returned some time later she had savoury sausages, crusty bread, butter and cheese in her shopping bag. Marie looked at the delights on the table with stupefaction.

‘I used the last of my savings,’ Lisette said. ‘I will be able to replenish them for I have taken a job in Dupont’s factory, near the tile factory where Xavier worked. The wages are good and they also
give you tickets to exchange for certain basic foodstuff in the shops.’

She looked at Bridgette. ‘I will be making shell cases. I do understand how you feel about jobs like this, but my first priority has to be getting enough money to feed and clothe the children.’ Then she looked at her mother. ‘Will you take care of Leonie through the day and take Jean-Paul to and from school?’

‘You don’t really have to ask that question,’ Marie said. ‘We will help you all we can.’

‘And I don’t work full time, don’t forget,’ Bridgette said. ‘I can easily take a hand with the children.’

‘And you won’t mind that?’ Lisette said. ‘After all, I’m helping the enemy.’

‘All you are doing is caring for your children the best way you know,’ said Bridgette. ‘And really, that is all that matters. I know my stance might be very different if I’d had a baby to consider.’

‘So you’re not offended?’

‘No. Not at all,’ Bridgette told Lisette sincerely.

‘I’ll tell you what offends me,’ Marie said, getting to her feet and scooping the shopping into her arms. ‘And that is good food going to waste. Let us make a feast today to celebrate Lisette’s good fortune in getting a job.’

With Lisette’s money added to the family pot, there was more food in the house but little coal to be had by anyone in those cold bleak days of late 1941 and early 1942. It was sometimes hard to keep warm and find warm clothes, especially for the growing children. Knowing this, Yvette sent Lisette a big parcel of clothes that her boys had grown out of, to adapt for Jean-Paul and Leonie. Bridgette told her mother all about it the next time she called.

‘Aunt Yvette is just as kind as she ever was,’ she said. ‘She has sent lovely jumpers that we can unravel to knit up again.’

‘I didn’t know you could knit,’ Gabrielle said.

‘I couldn’t,’ Bridgette admitted. ‘Marie taught me.’ She smiled as she went on. ‘She told me knitting is a very French activity, that it is reputed that Parisians sat knitting while Madame Guillotine did her work during the Revolution. They never told us that in our history lessons. Anyway, it all saves
money, and that is important just at the moment with food the price it is.’

She sighed. ‘You know, despite the hours Lisette works at the factory, and the money I bring in too, there is only just enough food. I still get up from the table some days nowhere near full, but it is the same for everyone. In fact, Maman, you are the only one that never talks of any deprivation.’

‘That is because it doesn’t affect us,’ Gabrielle said, adding bitterly, ‘your father’s hand in glove with the German Command. Oh, I am not talking about the best cakes and bread that go their way. Maybe he had to do that—he told me he did, anyway. But it’s other things now.’

‘What sort of things?’

‘Well, German officers are always here,’ Gabrielle said. ‘They see we go without nothing. In the evening they bring German beer and whisky, and your father produces wine. He and Georges play cards with them and they drink together like they are the best of friends. You will never see Georges being sent away to a labour camp, more’s the pity. But the worst thing is that they betray their own people.’

‘Surely not?’ Bridgette exclaimed. ‘Bad as they are, I’d never have thought of any Frenchman betraying his own.’

‘I didn’t want to believe it either,’ Gabrielle said with a sigh. ‘But I had suspected them, and one night I listened outside the door and heard Robert tell them of the Pasquiers harbouring a Jewish family.’

‘He told them that?’ Bridgette said with distaste.
She remembered hearing of the Pasquiers’ house being raided in the early hours of the morning and the family dragged away, even the almost blind and arthritic grandmother. Then the poor, bewildered and frightened Jews had been pulled from their hiding place, a party of five, including two young children.

‘Remember the whole Pasquier family were shot the next day as a warning to the rest of the town?’ Gabrielle said.

Bridgette nodded. ‘I remember. Did you hear what happened to the Jewish people?’

Gabrielle shook her head helplessly. ‘Does anyone ever hear what happens to Jews today? They might have been transported to Germany or else disposed of some other way. No one seems to care. The officers talk about them as if they are some subhuman class of people, and Robert and Georges are just the same. They have told on other people too. Georges creeps about and spies, and they don’t even care if the information they give the Germans is accurate. The lad they had for cutting telephone wires, for example, had nothing to do with it. Recently, Georges told the Gestapo the names of two young men he said had set fire to a fuel dump, and they were both shot.’

Bridgette knew about that, just as she knew those men hadn’t been involved at all. ‘How do they live with themselves?’ she burst out.

Gabrielle sounded desperate: ‘I can’t understand either of them. Yvette is worried that Raoul might
become embroiled in some of these subversive activities. And if he does she knows that Gerard will follow suit.’

‘The Resistance, you mean?’

‘What else?’

‘Do you really think them subversive?’ Bridgette asked. ‘Isn’t it justified to hamper the aggressor who has taken over your country? We can’t all just roll over.’

Hearing the way Bridgette spoke and witnessing the fire in her eyes, Gabrielle whispered fearfully. ‘You’re not mixed up in it too, are you?’

‘Maman, you know better than that,’ Bridgette said. ‘If I was, I could hardly tell you.’

But Gabrielle knew her daughter, and when Bridgette left that day she trembled in fear for her. If Robert or Georges had a hint of what she was doing, they wouldn’t try to save her, but take great glee in dripping that information into the ear of a Gestapo officer. If that happened and they stood Bridgette up against a wall and shot her, Gabrielle knew her reason for living would be gone. However, she promised herself, before she took her own life she would endeavour to take at least Robert with her, even if she had to wait until he was asleep before she stabbed him through the heart.

One balmy, sultry evening in mid-July 1942 Bridgette found Charles waiting for her as she left work. She hadn’t seen him for some time, nor had
she had messages to deliver for a fair few weeks. However, she knew better than to greet him because she didn’t know who might be watching, especially as most of the customers in the café bar were Germans.

He let her pass, and only fell into step beside her when they were well clear of the bar. Even then, their words were muted for there were many people out in the streets that fine evening.

‘De Gaulle has set up a new organisation in London,’ Charles said. ‘He has sent in agents and they have been in communication with Resistance groups all over this area. He said we should all join together, even with the communists, so that our attacks could be more effective.’

‘Makes sense,’ Bridgette murmured.

‘Yes,’ Charles said. ‘But to do more damage we need explosives and guns. They are sending a planeload over tomorrow night.’

‘Where will it land?’ Bridgette asked. The airfield at the other side of town was in German hands.

‘That is not your concern,’ Charles said. ‘There will be a truck waiting for you in a small road off St Marin du Laert behind the
jardin public
at midnight. We need as many people as we can get. Can you be there? Can you get out without being seen?’

The Laurents were always in bed by about half-past ten, and even though Bridgette shared a bedroom with Lisette she didn’t think it would be a problem sneaking out without her knowing, for
Lisette was often worn out with the work in the factory. Sometimes she would seek her bed not long after the children and be heavily asleep when Bridgette went up.

‘That shouldn’t be much of a problem,’ Bridgette said.

‘Wear dark clothes and black your face,’ Charles said. ‘And move carefully through the streets. Remember there is a curfew from ten o’clock.’

‘I’ll remember,’ Bridgette promised. ‘And I will be there.’

‘Good enough.’ Charles melted into the shadows as Laurents’ house came into view.

Bridgette was filled with exhilaration at the thought of the delivery of explosives. When they had those, they would really show the Germans what they were made of, she thought. She had to hide her excitement from the family and didn’t fully succeed because they all remarked on the good spirits she was in.

Before Lisette went to bed the following night, she went through Xavier’s things, which were packed up in boxes in the wardrobe. She found a pair of trousers that she knew would do for her with the legs rolled up and a belt around her waist, and a dark jumper, and she left them ready so that she could slip them on quickly when the time came.

The following night, Bridgette dressed silently in Xavier’s clothes. She crept downstairs, pulled her beret over her head to cover her hair and then
stopped at the coal shed to blacken her face before slipping through the gate and out into the streets.

It was very quiet, the only voices guttural German ones, and the only other sound the tramp of patrolling soldiers’ feet. Bridgette took care that she was neither seen nor heard as she sped through the darkened streets. Once she reached the
jardin public
she kept to the shadow of the trees till she reached the other side. Charles was waiting for her. He put his finger to his lips and they made their way to the truck in silence. There were five men besides Charles and the driver. Bridgette was the only woman. Though a few were familiar to her, she wasn’t told their names and they weren’t told hers, and as soon as they were all aboard, the truck moved off.

They travelled for about half an hour before stopping. Two men met them. They had been using torches to signal to the plane circling just above them that it was safe to land. Bridgette watched as it made its descent and rolled bumpily across the grassy field. Speed was then essential, but so was care, with the explosives, but soon all were unloaded from the plane. As it took off again the Resistance group began stowing the ammunition in the truck.

Bridgette didn’t ask where they were going to store it all. In this organisation, suspicion would rest on anyone considered too inquisitive, and no questions would be answered anyway.

She was tired once she reached the Laurents’
house and ready to seek her bed, but remembered to wipe her face around with a flannel and hide the clothes she took off in the wardrobe before she climbed into bed and fell into an exhausted sleep.

The next morning she had trouble opening her eyes, but when she did, it was to find Lisette already up and getting ready to go to work.

Seeing that Bridgette was awake Lisette said, ‘Where did you go last night?’

Bridgette, completely nonplussed, played for time. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked. ‘Nowhere.’

‘Don’t give me that,’ Lisette said. ‘You crept out of here last night at a quarter to twelve; I lit the lamp and looked at the clock after you left. The only thing I do know is that, dressed as you were, I wouldn’t have said it was a romantic liaison you were making for, so what was it all about?’

‘Lisette, it really is better if you know nothing.’

Lisette shrugged. ‘Maybe. But I do know. At least, I know you crept out last night. That is such an odd thing to do, isn’t it? And so it’s not unreasonable to ask where you went.’

‘It’s unreasonable in occupied France,’ Bridgette said quietly.

Lisette looked at Bridgette with eyes full of astonishment but also trepidation. ‘Are you part of the Resistance movement?’ she asked, almost disbelievingly.

‘Look, Lisette, I shouldn’t really speak of it.’

‘You don’t have to,’ Lisette said. ‘I can read it
all over your face. And if you want to know, I think that it is terrific and if I hadn’t the children to think about, I would do the same. So what have you done so far and what were you doing last night?’

‘I shouldn’t be telling you any of this,’ Bridgette said. ‘Anyway, I have done little but deliver messages.’

‘Do Maman and Papa know what you are involved in?’

‘Of course,’ Bridgette said. ‘I live in their house. However I feel about things, I would do nothing that might bring risk to them without asking their permission.’

‘Well, they obviously gave it.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Bridgette said. ‘In fact, your father made me a special beret with a secret compartment in it.’

‘Good for him,’ Lisette said. ‘But I bet they didn’t know about last night. So what was all that about? You weren’t delivering messages at that time of night.’

Bridgette sighed as she swung her legs out of the bed. ‘No, I wasn’t. And really you mustn’t breathe a word of what I am going to tell you.’

‘I’m surprised you even have to ask,’ Lisette said.

Bridgette told her all about the ammunition brought in by plane.

‘Was that the reason for the elaborate disguise?’ Lisette asked.

Bridgette nodded. ‘We had to wear dark clothes. I even blacked my face.’

‘Yeah, I can see that.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘You missed a bit,’ Lisette said with a smile as she tossed Bridgette a handkerchief. ‘You have a sooty smudge by the side of your nose. If I were you, I would remove it before the children catch sight of it.’

It was better that Lisette and her parents knew about her involvement, Bridgette thought, as the summer and autumn gave way to the icy blasts of winter. She was becoming increasingly involved in more active work. They never asked her anything, though, and she told them very little, for it was safer that way.

They did worry, because they knew what her fate would be if she was caught. ‘Shooting would be the very least of it,’ Marie said to Maurice one night as they lay in bed. ‘I couldn’t bear to think of Bridgette being tortured. The screams of the poor people the Gestapo hold in that place can sometimes be heard all over the town, and they strike fear into the most stout-hearted.’

There was nothing Maurice could say that would comfort his wife. She knew as well as he what fate lay in store for Bridgette and she had accepted that risk to avenge the death of Xavier and the baby she had so longed for.

Bridgette, though, never felt even the slightest bit afraid, whatever operation she was asked to do. Charles said she had nerves of steel, but she
knew that those nerves were strengthened by bands of hatred. These bands were tightened when she helped set fire to fuel dumps, or disabled military vehicles, tampered with railway signalling, or shinned up a telegraph pole to cut the wires.

She was taught to lay charges, mainly on railway tracks for the stations were too well guarded. Bridges to were strongly defended and it was extremely risky setting any sort of explosive charge there. But one icy night just before Christmas they managed to destroy a strategically important bridge by killing the sentries posted there first.

After each operation, the Resistance cell would go to ground and lie low. The response from the outraged Germans was swift as they took townspeople in reprisal. They rounded up members of the Communist Party first, but soon any man would do to stand against a wall and shoot. This frightened and intimidated people, as it was meant to, for every boy and man was at risk.

It did bother Bridgette that these usually innocent men should pay the price for Resistance acts of sabotage, but Charles was angry with her when she said this.