Vera's Valour (2 page)

“The camp ain’t entertaining ladies tonight, miss. There’s no weekly camp dance, only a big, hush hush army exercise that’s had everyone dancing about all day.”

“Ha, ha, very funny! Now listen. I’m Colonel Parkington’s wife - and I must see him.” Vera produced her identity card and the official looking pouch from her bicycle basket and held it up for the soldier to see.

“Sarge!” bellowed the sentry over his shoulder, “Come ’ere will yer?”

The sergeant came out of the guardhouse and blinked at her. “Blimey! It’s Mrs Parkington isn’t it?”

“It is. I need to speak to my husband. It’s important.”

“Well, ma’am, I don’t know where you’ll find him. The camp’s been like a busy ant hill all day with soldiers and vehicles coming and going - ”

“Just ring the camp commander’s office and say I’m here if you please, sergeant.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She heard the sergeant’s boots as he crunched away into an inner room, then she overheard him give the order, “Jock, ring the commander’s office and say Parkie’s missus is here with an important message for him.”

After a few minutes the sergeant came back to her. “Sorry, ma’am. Colonel Parkington left the camp a few hours ago.”

Vera frowned. “Where did he go?”

“Not allowed to say, ma’am - even if I knew.”

“Well, let me talk to someone who will be able to tell me.”

“There’s been a lot going on all day.” He tapped his nose. “Everyone’s preparing for the invasion.”

Vera almost stamped her foot as she raised her voice. “That’s exactly why my husband may want this pouch, sergeant. I must get it to him.”

“If you give it to me, I’ll do my best to see it gets it.”

Vera huffed. “I must give it to him
myself.
That way I’ll know he’ll get it as soon as possible.”

The sergeant could see she meant business, and said. “Okay. Ride up the road ahead, turn right and you’ll see the sign to the commander’s office. And may I suggest you put your bicycle lamps on, Mrs Parkington?”

Vera thanked him, but ignored his warning about her bicycle lights because what could she do to put them on until she could buy some batteries?

* * *

The whole camp seemed strangely deserted.

Soon she was explaining why she’d come to an army secretary. He was a courteous older soldier, no doubt a volunteer, who told her, “Colonel Parkington left here at around four this afternoon, ma’am.”

“And where is he now?”

“On the way to the south coast, I should imagine.”

Vera scowled at him. “Forget your imagination. I want to know the facts. You can see this pouch has,
Top Secret
, clearly printed on it. Colonel Parkington needs to have it as soon as possible.”

“Leave it with me. I’ll see he gets it.”

“If I leave it with your imagination – he may get it by Christmas. He needs it
now
. Please get on the phone and find out where he is.”

The bespectacled secretary looked offended as he said, “Sit down, ma’am. I’ll see what I can find out.”

Vera was about to say, don’t take all day about it, when she realised the lights were on in the Nissen hut, and the windows looked black. Outside the daylight was going. The day was over.

But her search for Geoff wasn’t. That, she realised, had only just begun.

He rang several numbers asking for Geoff’s whereabouts and it was after awhile he said to Vera, “I’ve been told Colonel Parkington on his way to Selsey.”

“Selsey? Where’s that? I suppose I’ll have to get there.”

“Come and look at this map. Selsey’s near Chichester, in Sussex. It’ll be a long way for you to ride your bike!”

Somehow this flippant remark made Vera’s blood boil, “Oh, I’ll get there. And I’ll find him,” she retorted.

Surprised by her vehemence, the secretary said, as if anxious to get rid of her, “Try the transport station. They may have a truck going there.”

But, a little later, when Vera approached the huge hanger, usually crammed full of vehicles, it was empty. No sign of anyone.

“Hello, are you lost?”

Hearing a woman’s voice, Vera swung around to see a couple of young uniformed girls approaching her.

“Yes,” Vera admitted, “I need transport to Selsey, and there doesn’t seem to be a car or truck anywhere on the camp.”

The girls looked at each other. One said, “Everyone left today – except us.”

“You mean - there’s no way I can get to there?”

The girls looked at each other again. “Well, we’re going tomorrow morning. We’re going to drive a NAAFI van.”

Vera brightened. “Can I go with you?”

“How do we know you are not a German spy?”

Vera smiled and took out her military indentity card she used when she had to visit military camps for her work. “I’m Vera Parkington, Colonel Parkington’s wife, and I have something I must give him.”

The girls smiled. “Oooh! So your Parkie’s wife are you? He’s a real heart throb.”

Not, thought Vera, all the time! But she smiled thinking of her beloved husband.

Then the girls relaxed. One said, “I’m Susie Salter and she’s Doreen Thornhill. We’re NAAFI girls.”

Vera then remembered their uniforms, and smiled broadly. “We are like sisters,” she said determined to be friendly, “because I do similar work – providing meals for people who come to the British Restaurants.”

The ice was broken between them and for Vera it was a great relief to find two young women like herself who soon understood her problem: the necessity of getting the message to Colonel Parkington as soon as possible.

They were soon walking over to the NAFFI canteen and there Vera ate a plateful of sausage and mash and they were able to discuss how they were going to smuggle her down to Selsey, because, as Susie put it, “Our manageress, Dulcie Swanton, is a right tarter. She might not let you thumb a lift with us. She’d frighten Hitler!”

Vera just hoped she wouldn’t meet this dreadful manageress, Dulcie Swanton - although, Vera herself was quite capable of sending shivers down many people’s backs.

CHAPTER THREE

“WHAT’S the name of this engineering wizard we’re supposed to be picking up?”

The SOE soldier with his rifle at the ready, and lying on his belly in a Normandy field late at night, replied, “Colonel Parkington.”

His companion, whistled. “He’ll need to be a wizard with this French coast crawling with Germans. What’s his mission?”

“Believe it or not, Churchill dreamed up the idea of the invasion troops bringing their own harbour with them – a floating dock, and they’re going to put the ruddy thing somewhere along this coast so they can get the supplies in after the invasion troops are ashore.”

“Whew! Dream on.”

“Well this Parkington fella thinks its possible - that’s why he’s coming to wave the thing into place.”

“If he lives to see it.”

“If any of us live to see it. The whole invasion seems dicey to me.”

The two soldier’s attention was taken up the sound of a low flying aircraft and soon three parachutes could be seen floating down to earth. Trained in special services work the two soldiers quickly made their way to the drop zone, and in a short time were able to locate the men who’d been flown into France from an airfield in England.

Hurrying the new arrivals to a nearby village and a safe house, they left the Royal Engineers with some agents.

Colonel Geoff Parkington was visibly shaken after his first parachute jump, and required some brandy kindly offered by the French agents to help him recover.

“I wouldn’t feel quite so apprehensive about this massive project if I had the papers I was told were going to be sent to me before I left,” he told his second in command.

“Geoff, you’ll see it the job’s done OK, I know you’ll get around any problem we face.”

Geoff Parkington groaned quietly. He was frankly, scared. The huge floating dock was going to be on its way soon after the invasion took place. He’d used up all his courage to make himself do the parachute jump - and still felt wobbly after doing it. He was haunted by a past mistake in an engineering job, which had cost a soldier his life. He had a bad cold, and the weather was atrocious - rain, rain, rain. Would it ever stop?

The French coast was well defended by the Germans – and they were excellent fighters – and soon the RAF would be dropping bombs everywhere. The chance of being killed or injured was . . . well, he didn’t like to think of the likelihood of it. And deep in his heart he regretted he hadn’t been able to bid his beloved wife, Vera, goodbye, because he’d had to hurry away immediately when he’d been ordered to go to France and prepare the Mulberry B dock landing area.

The only comfort he could think of was that British engineers had done a brilliant job, making Mulberry, and it should work well as Churchill had foreseen. And Vera was a courageous lady who would not go to pieces when she learned that he had gone off to France to help with the invasion.

Geoff Parkington smiled as he envisaged Vera sitting comfortably in her armchair in their cottage with a cup of tea in her hands, and their two dogs snoozing by her feet. And he hoped she would forgive him for his bad temper over the past few months when he’d been working so hard on Mulberry.

* * *

Actually, Vera was far from the their cottage, and dogs - and from being comfortable, as she tried to sleep on a makeshift bed the Naffi girls had rigged up for her in their hut.

Nevertheless, she did sleep eventually, and was woken by Susie offering her a cup of tea.

“Rise and shine, ducky. We’ll be on our way soon.”

Stiff, and feeling unwilling to go anywhere except back home, Vera gulped down the tea, and after visiting the wash room she scrambled into her clothes.

She found the two NAFFI girl friends ready for her to be boarded into the back of the mobile canteen van.

Soon she was being trundled in the van out of the camp and starting the long drive down to the south coast.

Hours of being seated on the floor of the van, with her bicycle propped up by her,

was not comfortable time for Vera, who was shunted about as the van stopped and swerved and sometimes backed – and not being able to see where they were going was unpleasant too.

During the long hours of travelling, there were a few stops, when the girls were able to unlock the van to allow her to get out and stretch her legs – but they were always mindful of being caught with a stowaway.

* * *

They were in a vast, noisy army camp and Vera was amazed to see so many army personnel milling about wearing various, mostly khaki, uniforms. And huge dumps of ammunition and petrol cans - and other stores were stacked everywhere.

“Come on,” said Susie, “I’ve managed to scrounge a meal ticket for you. But slip my spare jacket on and you’ll pass as a NAAFI gal.”

Vera didn’t argue, she was in need of some sustenance.

In the long queue waiting for her meal Susie and Doreen did their best to hide her and in the crowd of service personnel. And because there was an air of excitement about the coming invasion, the chatter was loud, everyone wondering about their part in the Allied landing, and glad to laugh at a joke to hid their apprehension. So Vera was unnoticed.

The girls were returning to the NAAFI van, ready to start off again, when a loud female voice assailed them. “Salter. Thornhill. What are you up to?”

“Oh!” exclaimed Susie, “that’s our manageress.”

A square shaped older NAFFI woman shouted at them as she marched towards them. “What are you doing with a bicycle in your van?”

Seeing Doreen and Susie struck like frightened rabbits as the manageress’s piercing eyes shot at them, Vera owned up saying, “It belongs to me.”

“Who is she?” Dulcie Swanton swung around to give Vera a look that suggested she was something the cat brought in.

But Vera was quite up to her. Fishing out her identity card Vera held it up for the manageress to see saying, “I am a supervisor from the Ministry of Food.”

Vera had the card snatched from her and it was scrutinised. Then Vera herself was examined. “Why are you wearing a NAFFI jacket?”

“Well, as I have to get to Selsey with a message for Colonel Parkington, and your girls kindly offered me a lift. I thought I might be useful as an extra pair of hands, serving tea, and meals.”

“What makes you think you can do our job?”

“Well, I am a Cordon Blue chef.”

“And you are always saying you need more cooks,” added Doreen.

Dulcie Swanton was dumbstruck. “Certainly I can do with some expertise with the cooking – but we’re not serving officer’s lunches.”

“I feed people in the British Restaurants,” Vera told her boldly, “so I know how to prepare good, plain meals. I’ve been doing it for some time.”

Now it was Miss Swanton’s turn to look abashed. “Well I suppose you think we have a kitchen prepared when we get to the coast – we haven’t.”

Vera replied, “That ‘s where I might be of some help to you. I can assist you to set up a canteen kitchen.”

“What about that message you have for the colonel?”

“I will, of course, have to deliver it to him as soon as possible.” Vera went on to explain her urgent need to get the military pouch to her husband.

The outcome was that Vera spent the next part of her journey to Selsey being driven in the mangeress’s van as a passenger. And having their catering work to discuss they soon became much more friendly.

* * *

It was dark, and raining heavily, when they arrived at their destination. Going towards the camp Vera was staggered to see the amount of supplies piled up everywhere ready to be taken over the channel by ships and boats and onto the Mulberry dock into occupied France.

The importance of her husband’s work hit her forcibly. “I must get to the command office and see if Geoff is there,” she explained to the Dulcie.

And, Miss Dulcie Swanton, who’d been much impressed by Vera’s knowledge of catering, and organizing kitchens, drove immediately around to the office so that Vera could make enquires.

Eventually Vera was shown into a room full of maps and clusters of busily talking officers. A tall gangling officer came to speak to her.