Authors: Henry Landau
The Spy Net (13 page)
The ‘White Negro’, impressed by the undoubted authenticity of Deboucq’s message from Holland, lightly dismissed Father Bormans’s suspicions; and accompanied by his daughter, proceeded to keep the appointment which in the meantime had been arranged at Madame Descamps’s house.
Coulon was the first to arrive at her house. Chatting amiably with the old lady, he waited for his victim to arrive. The bell rang. Madame Descamps hastened to the door to usher in the ‘White Negro’ of whom she had heard so much, and who by now had thoroughly aroused her curiosity and interest. In triumph she returned with him and his daughter to introduce them to Abbé Dierckx. No sooner had the ‘White Negro’ acknowledged his identity, when to her blank amazement, Coulon pulled out his gun, and arrested the three of them.
On searching Madame Descamps’s house, the Secret Police had a surprise in store for them. They discovered a number of spy reports belonging to an entirely different service, one attached to the cereal company in Holland (the cover used by the second of the British GHQ), the one directed by Major Wallinger. This patriotic old lady, in spite of her age, had for over a year been an active member of the Wallinger Service. For this service, she had also been playing the role of ‘letter box’.
The usual traps were mounted in the houses of Anna Verhegge, Madame Descamps, and in that of the ‘White Negro’, whose real name was François Pevenasse, a druggist at Charleroi. One arrest led to another until about forty members of the Biscops Service, including Abbé Anceaux of Namur, were
arrested. A number of Wallinger agents were also caught in the net.
Once again Stöber had a major spy trial on his hands. With elaborate detail a chart was displayed in the court room; it looked like a transcription of a page of ancient history. The different Biscops train-watching posts, couriers, ‘letter boxes’, and head agents were shown in a diagram, and opposite each name, the service name was shown. Deboucq was Diogenes; Pevenasse had two service names, the ‘White Negro’ and Demosthenes; Abbé Anceaux was Horace; and so on. The trial took its normal course; the Secret Police were in possession of all the evidence, and it was easy for them to reconstruct the role of each agent.
Stöber demanded seven sentences of death and secured five: Marguerite Walraevens, Abbé Anceaux, and three others. The governor-general commuted all these death sentences, however, to hard labour for life. The other prisoners were also given long prison sentences with hard labour. On the whole, all the prisoners were lucky – scores of spies had been executed in Belgium on far less evidence.
This was practically the end of the Biscops Service, or the service of the Sacré Coeur as it was sometimes known. It had functioned for more than a year before the Brussels arrests, and with its twenty-odd train-watching posts, it had rendered the Allies inestimable services. Deboucq was both a brave and a clever organiser. He was not to blame for the downfall of the service. The arrest of Marguerite Walraevens was due to pure chance; and it was the B. Service, and not he, who was responsible for the choosing of the Turnhout frontier passage that proved so disastrous. Had Deboucq been given a safe means of
communicating across the frontier, his service would probably have continued until the Armistice.
The Biscops Service is also of special interest, because on several occasions, it crossed the path of the ‘White Lady’. The explanation of this is perfectly simple. Both services had a large number of priests enrolled in it, and both of them largely recruited their members from the Belgian intelligentsia. Unselfishly, and at a great risk to themselves, the ‘White Lady’ helped the Biscops Service in ways which I have already indicated.
T
HE ‘WHITE LADY
’ was always extending itself. And with each step farther afield the safeguarding of the organisation as a whole became more difficult. It was only by strictly adhering to the principle of independent nests that it was possible to keep the service intact. Even though plans for new extensions were often submitted to headquarters in Liège for examination and action, their execution was never entrusted to existing units. A special and separate ‘flying squad’ was created in the area from which the development was to take place, and the flying squad was charged with organising the new platoon. Only after this new platoon had been working for some time, and had deposited its reports regularly at its ‘letter box’, was this ‘letter box’ connected up to one of the existing courier platoons of the ‘White Lady’.
At this time there were three of these flying squads in existence – one at Tournai, one at Arlon, and the other at Conneux. From Tournai, Lille and Douai, in the northern part of occupied France, were reached. From Arlon, the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg was penetrated. Here a train-watching post was mounted on the vitally important Trier–Luxembourg line, which together with the ‘White Lady”s post on the Aachen–Herbesthal–Liège line enabled us to control all traffic westward out of Germany to points on the Western Front between Verdun and the sea. Finally, it was intended that the Conneux Flying Squad should push down into occupied France in the direction of Charleville and Sedan. It was two young girls who planted the ‘White Lady”s flag in Charleville, and because I have their modest report before me, I am going to let them tell the story, after I have made a few introductory remarks.
To the south of Namur, in the provinces of Namur and Luxembourg, there stretches the chateau country of Belgium. Here, living on their estates abounding in fish and game, one finds chiefly the families that compose the aristocracy of Belgium. Among these families, the ‘White Lady’ had many staunch supporters, notably the de Moffarts, the de Villermonts, the de Radiguès de Chennevières, and the de l’Epines. It was here that the Conneux Flying Squad was organised. Its objective, Charleville, was not only the headquarters of the German Crown Prince, but it was also an important railway centre. It was on the strategic line Trier–Luxembourg–Sedan– Charleville–Mézières–Hirson; and, in addition, leading from it were the branch lines to Rethel, and Givet.
The families I have mentioned had friends in Charleville, but they had been out of touch since the war; even so a friend
was not always one who was willing to risk his life as a spy. It was only by sounding them out personally that a suitable chief could be found to organise the Charleville platoon. A delegate had, therefore, to be sent across the border. Two young girls, Baroness Clémie de l’Epine, and Marie-Antoinette, the daughter of the Marquise de Radiguès de Chennevière, volunteered for the job. The ‘White Lady’ wisely allowed them to undertake the mission: they knew that because of their age they would have a better chance of getting through than the older agents; and if they were caught, they might escape with a less severe sentence. They also had the advantage of being personally known to the people they intended to solicit; there would be no need for them to carry any incriminating written messages. Although considerably worried, the families of the two girls patriotically gave their consent.
Clémie de l’Epine’s family had an estate at Gedinne on the French border. Using this as a base, the two young girls started to organise their expedition.
It was no simple matter to get across the frontier. A barbed-wire fence, 10 ft high, a relic of pre-war days, separated Belgium from France in the Gedinne area, and along this fence, with the help of sentries and Secret Police, the Germans kept a strict surveillance – to prevent the passage of spy reports, all circulation between occupied France and Belgium was forbidden. It was necessary, therefore, to find an experienced guide to take them through to Charleville; in their search for one, they naturally addressed themselves to some of the many potato smugglers in the area.
I will now let Clémie de l’Epine continue the story. With true modesty, she has confined her youthful report to a bare
recitation of the facts, and has not attempted in any way to stress the importance of her mission, or the value of the results achieved. These two young girls were, however, completely successful; and the Charleville platoon, which grew out of their efforts, sent us the first reports that the Allies had received from this area since the early stages of the war:
It was necessary to find a trustworthy guide. After a search of several days during which we received several set-backs, the one being afraid, the other saying it was too far, we finally, with the aid of Lucien Voltèche, one of our foresters, found the man we wanted – a smuggler, a big strapping fellow, about twenty years of age, with a determined though friendly face, who answered to the name of Georges. For 100 francs he was willing to conduct us to Charleville, and back.
We hastily put some provisions in a sack, and at one o’clock in the afternoon, we were on our way to Charleville. In appearance we strongly resembled the women of Seraing – bare-headed, and wrapped in dirty, threadbare, hooded cloaks, which we had borrowed for the occasion. We followed each other in Indian file, Georges leading, carrying half a sack of potatoes on his back.
We arrived at a small farm, and Georges, to his disgust punctuated with appropriate remarks, had just noticed that half his potatoes had escaped, when suddenly from nowhere we heard a gruff command, ‘Halt!’ Two members of the Secret Police emerged from behind some bushes, and demanded our identity cards. We had nothing to fear – we were in Belgium. But for Georges it was different: there were the potatoes.
He was taken out of sight by the two plain-clothes men. We waited. An hour went by. Was he coming back? Would we have to return and
start
finding a fresh guide all over again? These were our thoughts, when we saw him approaching us. He was free, but minus his potatoes. Once again we were en route.
We now started climbing the wooded slopes of a steep hill, zig-zagging to avoid open spaces. After half an hour of climbing, we were in sight of the barbed wire, about 10 ft high, strands close together. But it was not here that we were to pass. We skirted the fence for some distance, until finally Georges gave a grunt of satisfaction. It was still there – some broken strands, a hole conveniently made by some smugglers, and through it we went. We were in France. Still the woods. We followed a goat track which took us down into the valley. It was now getting dark. In the distance, we saw the village of Monthermé. Soon we were in the village, and, as we entered it, we took on the casual air of one of the villagers. Georges had friends in the village, and we were to spend the night.
We arrived at a cottage. Before entering it, Georges asked our names. On the spot we christened ourselves: Marie-Antoinette became Antoinette Duval, and I, Henriette Dhust. Georges pushed the door open.
Scene: A workwoman in a light print dress, standing over a stove in a dingy room which was kitchen and living-room. ‘Where are the potatoes?’ she asked gruffly. Georges explained and we took his part. When things had calmed down, Georges took the woman over to a corner, evidently to explain our presence, for she bade us welcome, and did her best to make us comfortable. After we had had a cup of brown liquid which passed for coffee – but we were glad to get anything – she showed us to a room; it contained the only bed in the house. There were no sheets, and so we went to bed in our clothes.
It was still dark when Georges woke us; at four o’clock we were on our way. Again the woods, we climbed several hills, and finally
descended
into the valley of the Meuse. At a cottage on the water’s edge, we found a friend of Georges’, who after a parley, lent us his boat. While we anxiously scanned the river up and down, Georges rowed us across; and on reaching the opposite bank he hid the boat under the overhanging branches of a tree, ready for our return journey
.
We were glad to reach the friendly shelter of the woods again. With our arms held out in front of us to ward off low branches and to push aside the bushes, we continued our march. It had rained overnight, and soon our shoes were wet through, our cloaks sodden. Suddenly we heard voices. False alarm! It was some woodcutters. From them we learned that there was a sentry ahead, and so we made a detour to avoid him.
Like Christopher Columbus about to discover the New World, we found ourselves on the outskirts of Charleville. But for our entry we had to look respectable, and so with our fingers we straightened each other’s hair, while our friend, for this is what Georges had become by now, cleaned our shoes with a handful of grass. Finally, almost presentable, we prepared to make our entry into the town. But gone were our smiling faces. Down there, 50 yards ahead of us were two soldiers. Rouf! We were through the door of the nearest house, nearly upsetting a woman holding a baby. We apologised profusely, and explained our sudden entry; but evidently she was used to this kind of irruption, for she didn’t seem at all surprised.
We promptly realised how foolish we had been – our sudden bolt might have attracted the attention we wished to avoid. Charleville was full of soldiers, and the only chance of escaping detection was to put on a bold face, and pass as one of the inhabitants. But our unannounced entry had its utility; we borrowed a small girl, who
had
entered from an adjoining room to see what the commotion was about, and under her guidance we set out to find the house of Abbé Bierry, the friend on whom all our hopes were pinned. At his house, on hearing that he was at home, we dismissed Georges, fixing a rendezvous for eight o’clock, the same evening. It was now nine o’clock, and we had a whole day in which to accomplish our plans.
The venerable Abbé was surprised at our visit. He anxiously inquired after our families; and then, adjusting his spectacles, he gave us a look as much as to say, ‘Well, what’s it all about?’ Glad of the opening, we immediately plunged into our plans. Instead of showing us the door, which he might well have done for broaching such a compromising subject, to our relief, he immediately understood the situation, and the importance of our mission. He regretted that owing to his duties he could not play an active role himself, but Monsieur Dommelier, the editor of the local newspaper, certainly would – he had often expressed a desire for just such an opportunity. He would go and fetch Monsieur Dommelier.
Monsieur Dommelier was all that he had been described. His only regret was that we had not got in touch with him sooner. He thought that we should call into consultation Monsieur Grafetiaux and his wife, proprietors of a large pharmacy; they were patriots, intimate friends of his, and he knew they would wish to participate.
Thanking the Abbé for having started us off on the right road, we adjourned to the pharmacy, and there in the back sitting-room, after Madame Grafetiaux had kindly provided us with a change of clothing, we held a council of war. After spending several hours discussing plans, and going over instructions for the train-watchers, and the itinerant agents, we finally settled on the following organisation: Monsieur Dommelier was to be the chief of the Charleville
Platoon
, and Madame Grafetiaux was to be his assistant. Between
them they were to find the necessary agents to mount four train-watching posts at Charleville to control all troop movements passing through in the directions of Sedan, Rethel, Hirson, and Givet. In addition, they were to enrol itinerant agents to report on all German divisions moving in and out of the region. For courier from Charleville to Gedinne, it was decided that a certain Paul Martin was the man indicated for the job – to their knowledge he had guided several refugees across the frontier, and was a man with the necessary determination and courage. It was arranged that Martin, or whomever they could find as courier, should carry the first batch of reports through to Lucien Voltèche, our forester at Gedinne; and that he would indicate some hiding place in the woods between Gedinne and Monthermé, where thereafter the reports could be deposited and picked up. On our return, we would arrange for a courier from Gedinne to Conneux
.
By this time it was already six o’clock. Madame Grafetiaux prepared a good dinner to fortify us for the road; and at eight o’clock we met Georges outside the Abbé’s house. Our newfound friends accompanied us to the outskirts of the town, and there, after many fervent handshakes, and mutual wishes of ‘Good Luck!’ we took leave of them. Once again we were en route. We were tired, but we had the satisfaction of knowing that our mission had been entirely successful
.
The first part of the return journey, as far as Breaux, was over a different route; to avoid the woods outside of Charleville, through which Georges was afraid he would not find his way in the dark, they followed the course of the Meuse instead, and passed through Nouzon. Georges brought his two young charges
back in safety, though not without several exciting moments (one when they waded into the Meuse to escape the notice of a detachment of troops; another, when Georges failed to locate immediately the place where he had hidden the boat). The 60-odd miles from Gedinne to Charleville and back was accomplished in forty-seven hours – an incredible feat for two young girls travelling on foot across country, and through thick woods.
It was some time before the first reports came through. The recruiting of agents took longer than Dommelier and Madame Grafetiaux had expected. But eventually we received them in Holland. There could have been no better proof of their value than the telegram of congratulations which came back immediately from British GHQ.
The reports came through regularly for a month, and then the same old trouble, the courier service broke down. Lucien Voltèche had gone twice to the cache in the woods, and had found no reports. This was all the ‘White Lady’ knew. Clémie and Marie-Antoinette immediately volunteered to make a second expedition to Charleville, and once again they set out for Gedinne to secure the services of Georges.
