5: Short Life of Jean Legrin

COLEMORE never disclosed the means by which he escaped from Maidstone Jail, he said he could not do so without incriminating friends of his. Van Drom in person picked him off an unfrequented beach in Kent at two a.m. of a moonless night, and landed him in Holland. This was in July, 1939, he having served only six months of his two years' sentence, and already it was more than obvious that the Germans were stoking up the fires in Europe and that very soon the pot would boil over.

"I ought to be in the Army," he said to Van Drom. "I am more than willing to join the Army. But if I go back to England for the purpose all that will happen will be a return to Maidstone Jail, and a fat lot of help that'll be to the country. They'll even have to board and lodge me, which they're spared at the present. Fancy me a bouche inutile sewing mail-bags for the duration. I'll bet the war would be over before I'd served my time."

"Cheer up," said Van Drom. "At least your country will fight when the time comes. Mine is cowering trustfully in the shadow of Nazi promises and will be instantly gobbled up when it suits them."

"I'd join your Army if only they'd promise to fight," said Colemore thoughtfully.

"Even that inducement," said Van Drom, laughing, "won't persuade them to abandon neutrality, I fear."

"Ass!"

"Oh, quite. But the French will fight. They'll have to. If you must join an army, why not join the French?"

"If I had some suitable papers," said Colemore slowly.

"That can be arranged. Since my country will not fight," said Van Drom, "there are those of us who are making a few preliminary arrangements against the time when the Boche comes. The production of passable identity papers is of primary importance."

Colemore nodded. "There's another point. Being an Englishman, I've never done my year with the colours as boys do in countries which have conscription. I can shoot, but arms drill----"

Van Drom laughed. "You are--how old? Thirty-one. You would have done your year at eighteen. How many men, d'you suppose, remember their arms drill after thirteen years? Besides, there are several Frenchmen about still in Sluys, we will get one of them to give you a little coaching. The thing is simple."

It was. Calling-up and identity papers were produced, and Colemore found himself Jean Legrin of the 105th Chasseurs, now mechanized. He joined his regiment at Amiens in the middle of August 1939 and found himself the subject of highly intensive training. A fortnight later war broke out, but Hitler kindly allowed him another six months to familiarize himself with his weapons before hostilities really began in earnest. Van Drom had underrated his countrymen, for they fought like fiends against hopeless odds, treachery and sabotage when the Low Countries were invaded, and the 105th Chasseurs went into Belgium to try to stop the flood. At the end of May they were swirling round on the northern edge of the famous gap between Arras and Cambrai with the Germans pouring towards Boulogne between them and the main French forces. The retreat to Dunkirk began.

By the twenty-eighth of May, Colemore---Jean Legrin, that is---no longer mechanized since his armoured car had been attended to by the Luftwaffe, was trudging wearily in the general direction of England. He had lost touch with his unit, nobody gave him any orders since there seemed no one there to do so, and he had a sinking conviction that he was being left further and further behind. There was always the Luftwaffe, and soon he saw other Germans as well. Lines of tanks and lorried infantry all going his way on all the roads. Jean Legrin took to the fields.

Two days later he was in a wood near Hazebrouck, dodging from tree to tree and miserably chewing a turnip, when he came upon a wounded British officer lying hidden under a clump of bushes. He was obviously badly hurt and, equally obviously, would not be there much longer in any sense that really mattered. Colemore gave him a drink of water and the officer, who happened to be a major, revived slightly and addressed him in French; not very good French at that.

"Don't bother," said Colemore gently. "I'm as English as you are. Have some more water. I wish I'd got some brandy. I'll go and see if I can scrounge something, even vin ordinaire would be better for you than this."

"Not worth while," gasped the major. "Don't leave me."

"All right, I won't."

There was a short pause, and the major said, "No. You'd better go on. No sense---stopping here to be captured."

"I might just as well stay here as go on," said Colemore. "I think we're both well left behind."

The major closed his eyes and Colemore waited, there was a certain relief in having a good excuse to sit still. Those weary miles----

He was almost asleep when the major spoke again. "If you're English, why are you in that uniform?"

"Because I'm in the French army."

"Dashed good reason," said the major feebly. "Tell me---some other time----"

He shut his eyes again and relapsed into unconsciousness, and this time Colemore really did fall asleep. When he awoke it was almost dark and the hand he still held in his was quite cold.

He sat up quickly and thought things over. It was plain that his chances of escape were practically non-existent, and the lot of a French poilu prisoner was not likely to be a very happy one. He would be better off in Maidstone Jail. He would probably be slightly better off if he'd been a British Tommy, at least he'd be herded with his own kind. The idea came to him slowly that he would be better off still as a British officer---a major, for example.

There followed a period of activity upon which Colemore never allowed his mind to rest; in one way the gathering darkness made the distasteful job more difficult, in another it made it easier to carry through. At last it was done; an unwounded but exhausted officer of the British Army staggered away between the trees and a dead French poilu lay still under the rhododendron bushes. Colemore went on till he could go no further and then dropped to the ground and slept the sleep of total exhaustion.

When he awoke it was broad daylight. He sat up and rubbed his face with a handkerchief he found in one of his pockets, the result was scratchy discomfort since he had not shaved for five days, but he felt better.

"Well, that's that," he said aloud. "Jean Legrin is dead, God rest his soul. Now, who am I?"

He examined the gold identity disc upon his wrist which had made him feel such a grave-robber, though it could not be left behind. It announced that he was Aylwin Fortescue Henry Brampton, Major; and his religion was that of the Church of England. He turned out his pockets which contained all the usual things except letters. Apparently Major Brampton did not receive, or did not cherish, letters.

"Pity," murmured Colemore. "It might have been a help to know something about myself. Am I a bachelor or a married man with six children? Married men with children usually carry photographs to war, it will be simpler if I am a bachelor. I am pretty well off, judging by a gold cigarette-case, ivory pocket-knife, and so forth. Haven't I even got a girl-friend?"

His military identity card added nothing to the information on the disc, also it bore a photograph which did not resemble Colemore in the least, so he buried it. He soon wearied of an unprofitable search, there was a more immediate need pressing upon his consciousness; breakfast. Coffee, hot rolls, bacon and eggs, toast and marmalade. Even another turnip would be better than nothing. It seemed that the best plan would be to give himself up, presumably even the Germans fed their prisoners occasionally.

He got to his feet, feeling curiously weak in the legs and a little light-headed from lack of food, and trudged wearily on till he came to a road. At the moment it was empty, but a few minutes later two despatchriders came storming along on motor-cycles. Colemore stepped into the road and held up his hand with a commanding gesture; the motor-cyclists stopped.

"British officer," said Colemore briefly. "Want to surrender." He spoke in English merely because it did not occur to him to speak German, his mind was not working very capably.

"Another prisoner," said one rider to the other in German in a bored voice. "I don't suppose this fool can speak our language either. All the trouble they give!"

This annoyed Colemore. Very well, if it was giving trouble he'd keep it up.

"Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" asked the other rider, and Colemore merely stared at him.

"Told you so," grumbled the first. Turning to Colemore he added, "Wir--we not can take."

"Must," said Colemore peremptorily. "I am your prisoner." He staggered and clutched at the handlebars to save himself from falling; the despatch rider promptly knocked his hands away and the other covered him with a revolver.

"Stand up!" barked the first, and the second said, "You can take him on your carrier. Mine's full."

"Damned if I will. This is wasting time. You--" to Colemore--"sit down there and give yourself up to somebody else. I don't want you."

"No use talking like that, he doesn't understand you," said the other. "Listen. Something coming."

A noise, which Colemore had thought was merely inside his own head, grew rapidly louder and a column of light tanks came fast down the road. The despatch riders signalled them to stop.

"Prisoner just given himself up," they said. "Can you take him on? We can't."

The tank commander stuck his head out and called upon his Maker to witness that he was sick to death of prisoners. "Hundreds of them. Thousands of them. Millions of them," he said lyrically. "All over the place. This is a fighting unit, not a--" something--"peripatetic prison camp. I've got to report to Hazebrouck, not play about giving free rides to the accursed English."

"Shoot him, then," said the despatch rider.

"Can't do that, it's against orders. Much as I'd like to. Damned nuisance."

"Take him to Hazebrouck, then. You can dump him there. Here! Stand up, you----"

But Colemore had collapsed in a heap in the road. When he came to himself he was uncomfortably sprawled on the top of the tank with a rope through his belt to keep him from sliding off. He saw above him the corner of a large house with a smashed gable-end, and the tank came to a stop. Somebody untied the rope and he fell off.

He was hauled to his feet, cuffed, marched across the road and pushed into a room where there was a bench, so he sat on it. Unmeasured time passed, and somebody brought him a bowl of soup and some bread, never had any meal he had ever eaten tasted so good. He was feeling almost cheerful when a German officer, with escort, came to interrogate him. They started, naturally by searching him, and the gold cigarette-case, ivory pocket-knife and other small treasures were laid out on a table. In reply to questions he gave Major Brampton's name, rank, and regiment, but when asked about the whereabouts and destination of his unit he replied with perfect truth, "I don't know."

The German scowled. "I suppose you will tell me next that you've no idea where you saw them last."

"Yes," said Colemore ambiguously.

"Where are they now?"

"I don't know."

"Did you run away from them, or did they run away from you?"

"Neither," said Colemore. "What is more, you know perfectly well you have no business to ask me such questions and I decline to answer. You have my name, rank, and regiment and that is all you are entitled to ask."

"You are impertinent," said the German, "and if it were not that your whole army is so totally defeated that details no longer matter, I would make you regret it. Learn this, we Germans do not obey laws, we make them for subject races to obey. Take him away."

The escort closed in, but Colemore said, "My things, please," indicating the little heap on the table.

"You may have your handkerchief, give it to him, Schultz. The other things are much too good for a prisoner."

So Colemore was marched away and the last he saw of Major Brampton's cigarette-case was in the hands of the German officer. Colemore remarked to himself that it didn't matter, it wasn't his anyway.

There followed a long journey on foot, in lorries and by rail, during which he wondered whether there would be any other officers of Brampton's regiment in the prison camp to which he was being sent, and what would happen when they realized he was an impostor. It would not help matters if he told the truth and said he was Anthony Colemore; the whisky case was sufficiently recent and notorious for them to recognize that name at once. An escaped jail-bird masquerading as a brother officer---no. Some other story must be presented.

By the time he reached the camp he had five different explanations, all convincing, ready for use according to the circumstances in which he found himself, but none of them were wanted. Brampton had been acting as liaison officer far from his own unit, and no other officer from his regiment was captured at that time or sent to that camp. One or two of the elder men there looked at him rather askance when he mentioned the name of Aylwin Brampton; Colemore wondered why, scenting some scandal. He had the sense to keep quiet and unobtrusive, and gradually came to be accepted as just another fellow-prisoner.

Major Brampton's arrival at his particular Oflag was reported in due course by the German authorities to the British, a procedure which made Colemore nervous; he had not thought of that happening when he changed identities with the late Major. He looked forward with considerable anxiety to letters from home, possibly legal papers to be signed, even a power-of-attorney to enable someone or other to carry on his affairs in his absence. In due course a letter came. It was headed "Rock Hall, Rook's Nest, Yorkshire;" he looked at the signature which was merely "Lena."

"My dear Aylwin,

"I am sure you will believe me when I say how immensely relieved I was to hear that you are safe and sound although a prisoner-of-war, and not even, apparently, wounded. Tom Moggett came home with a story of your having been so severely wounded that you were not likely to live, and after five months had passed without a word from you I assumed that this story was true, and a memorial service was held for you at Rook's Nest on October the 11th which I considered a suitable and appropriate date. ('I wonder why appropriate?' thought Colemore. 'My birthday, perhaps?') It was very well attended, considering all things. ('Considering what things, for heaven's sake?') After which, I thought it best to consult my solicitors with a view to getting things settled up, as a state of uncertainty is always so inconvenient, but they strongly advised me to wait for more definite proof one way or the other, pointing out that the power-of-attorney you gave me would cover most contingencies for an indefinite period. ('Cold-blooded female!' snorted Colemore. 'Who the devil is she? My sister'). As the only contingency not covered is very unlikely to arise, I assented, and it is as well I did.

"The last thing I should ever wish to do, Aylwin, is to reproach an unhappy man in your miserable condition, but I do feel I owe it to myself to protest against your inconsiderate silence. The unfortunate estrangement between us does not relieve you from the obligations of common courtesy towards your wife. However, I do not wish to labour this point, and will only add renewed assurances of my relief that you have been spared. I shall be very glad to hear from you as soon as possible; I know many people whose relations were taken prisoner during the retreat and they have all had letters, or postcards, or both, from them long ago. It puts me in an invidious position to have to admit that I have not heard from you. I am sure you will understand this.

"If there is anything you want which it is possible for me to send you, please let me know and I will do my utmost to fulfil any wish you may express.

"With my best wishes for a speedy end to this dreadful war and hoping that you are well and as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, believe me.
"Yours affectionately,
"Lena."

"Well, well," said Colemore, digesting the letter gradually. "Poor old Brampton, and what a cat! Wasn't she in a rage too! I suppose it did make her look rather an ass, having a memorial service--not so wasted as she thinks, by the way. Contingency not likely to arise? I have it, she means her marrying again. What a--well, I don't wonder they were 'estranged,' I wonder he didn't brain her with a chair-leg. What a letter to write to a poor prisoner and captive, I don't think Brampton would answer it. I'm sure I shan't anyway. Raspberries to Lena."

So Colemore made no attempt to reply. Nine months later came another letter, much shorter, a striking mixture of plaintiveness and exasperation. He did not answer this one, either; the years passed on and he heard no more, though he still wondered sometimes what the "all things considered" were which would keep people from attending that memorial service. Presumably the same as had caused some of his fellow-prisoners to look coldly upon him when he first arrived.

Indeed, it was not until three-and-a-half years later, when he was persuasively interviewed by the same German who had called upon Tanner, Nicholls, Little and Abbott, that light began to dawn. The grey-haired officer with the chip off his right ear had been very polite, even apologetic. It was most unfortunate that his identity had not been discovered sooner. It was deplorable that the nephew of Sir Oliver Brampton, that enlightened Englishman, that true friend of the German Reich, now being victimized by the British for his opinions--that his nephew should have been allowed to languish in a prisoner-of-war camp for over three years. It was in-the-highest-degree-lamentable.

"These things will happen," murmured Colemore, and on pretence of hitching up his trousers pinched himself to make sure this was not a dream. So this was why Colonel Vaughan-Mordaunt had looked as though he smelt something nasty when----

"Shall we now speak German?" asked his interviewer.

"I don't speak German," said Colemore, and looked him straight in the face.

"But---in private---between ourselves----"

"Not at any time. I never could," said Colemore firmly.

"No doubt you have your reasons," said the German. "Wise reasons. Your fellow-prisoners----"

Colemore sighed impatiently and the German tried another tack.

"Since you insist, that shall remain secret," he said. "Reverting for a moment to your unfortunate and infinitely-to-be-regretted imprisonment, the Reich is anxious to make every reparation in its power----"

"Not even the Reich," said Colemore sadly, "can give me back the wasted years." He was beginning to enjoy himself.

"Alas, no. Nevertheless, what can be done shall be done. Listen, I have a proposition to make."

The German unfolded at considerable length the part which the distinguished Major Aylwin Brampton had it in his power to play in the unfolding drama of the Reich's inevitable triumph. "We are---I speak frankly to a man of your standing and discrimination---desperately short of reliable and intelligent agents in England. The rank and file, the letter-boxes, the messenger-boys if I may so express myself, we have these. It is the heads of departments, the managerial staff, the directors, who are so deplorably lacking."

"Nasty blow," said Colemore sympathetically, "when they swept up the British Union of Fascists."

"Very awkward. Yet their usefulness was dubious because their sympathies were known."

"What about mine?" said Colemore, in a spirit of genuine enquiry which the German took for sarcasm. After all, if one has to play a part it's always as well to run through the script if the producer will let you.

"You had the superior intelligence not to appear publicly attached to any of your uncle's enthusiasms. None but a few of us, in the inner council of German Intelligence, knew of your real convictions."

"Yet you kept me in jail for nearly four years," said Colemore bitterly. The German began to apologize again, but the prisoner cut him short.

"How do you propose to start operations?"

"You will, if you follow my advice, take a short course at one of our training centres for intelligence work. Believe me, you will find it helpful. Then," said the German triumphantly, "you will escape and make your way to England. We will help you, of course. Every facility---you shall be landed on the English coast from a submarine----"

"Oh no, I won't," said Colemore. "The English aren't asleep, you know, especially along the coasts."

"There are places," said the German. "That surprises you, but believe me, it is frequently done. You will be met on arrival and looked after."

"My escape will be much more convincing if I find my own way across."

"No," said the German obstinately. "These are the orders and even the highest of us in Germany have learned to obey. That is why our Germany is so great."

Colemore dropped the argument and the interview came to an end. Two days later he was transferred from his prison camp to Liesensee, where he made the acquaintance of the other four Englishmen, Little, Abbott, Nicholls and Tanner. They told him frankly that they were all in this with the one aim, to get home again, and that they were going to give themselves up immediately upon landing. Colemore himself had other views. If the Germans themselves introduced him into their spy-ring, well, so much the worse for them.

The five who were going to England had, of course, to look perfectly ordinary in the matter of dress when they arrived. No foreign cut or alien cloth for them. Their measurements were accurately taken by a fellow-student who had been a tailor in the days of his innocence, and these were sent to an English tailor in Berlin. The English tailor himself had naturally been consigned to an internment camp long before, but well-trained assistants remained to clothe the Nazi bosses in mufti of the best London cut. Even the Nazis admit that London can cut a suit. In due course the garments came, were fitted, altered where necessary, and finally delivered.

"These are beautiful suits," said the Nazi officials enviously. "Even our leaders have none better than these."

"It's an excellent fit," said Abbott, regarding himself with pleasure. "I've never had a better, even in England."

"They'll pass in a crowd," said Colemore, looking critically at his overcoat lapels. Tanner shook himself comfortably into his; he said nothing but the strain in his expression relaxed a little as though already he felt himself halfway home.

"To look at you," said the Germans, "one would say that you were a manufacturer of munitions at least, if not a Secretary at one of the more important Ministries. No ordinary man can obtain clothes like these."

"They are quite every-day suits for England," said Nicholls bluntly.

Colemore strolled thoughtfully away. His plan seemed to have become not easier, but a trifle less impossible.

He had the luck one day to find a party badge lying on the path where someone had dropped it. He let his handkerchief fall over it and picked up both together. One never knew, it might prove to be of use.

Finally, they were issued with temporary identity cards to last them until they left the Continent. The cards bore their photographs and a full description of them; on the outside was printed "On Special Service for the Reich."

Colemore counted his blessings. Not much money, but an imposing suit with creases down its trousers, a Nazi party badge, and a Special Service card. The card would be better if it had not the name of Aylwin Brampton inside, but it was written in an odd shade of purple ink and he could see no way of altering it.

A few days before the end of the course he had another interview with the grey-haired German.

"We regard you as the leader of this party," he said. "These others, though they will be extremely useful, are not of your intellectual calibre, Major Brampton. You will reassure them if they appear nervous. You will remind them, if they waver, of the fate in store for those who betray the Reich. And I may as well add, that what will be done to them will be as a gently rocking to sleep compared to what will happen to you if you fail us," he added, and his lip lifted like a wolf's.

Colemore thought it wiser to ignore this, and the German unrolled a large-scale map of the south-western coast of England.

"You will all be landed about here," he said, pointing at Bridport. "Not all in the same place, but singly; all within a few miles of each other. There are five suitable spots, here----" his pencil pointed them out. "Singly, you can be landed easily, the whole party together would increase the risk. The landings will be made on the night of January the eighth. The tides and the moon will then be suitable. You will be met on landing by a man who will say, 'How far have you come?' You will reply, 'Forty-seven miles as the crow flies.' Then he will say, 'But it's sixty-three miles by road.'"

"Forty-seven, sixty-three," repeated Colemore.

"Good. You will all be taken separately to a house near London where you will meet again, and it is then that I look to you to establish your mental supremacy over the other four and encourage them to maintain their purpose."

"Our purpose, you mean."

"Our purpose, it is well said. I can see, Major Brampton, that your services will be invaluable to the Reich and you will find Germany not ungrateful."

Colemore wished the German would not talk so exactly like a leading article in Das Reich. He made one attempt to obtain the address of the house near London. "Suppose anything goes wrong and I am not met on landing," he said. "Where do I make for?"

"Nothing will go wrong."

"But the man might have a heart-attack, or get run over on his way to the beach."

"Then another will take his place."

"It certainly seems as though you have plenty of your people about," said Colemore, with a laugh.

"Messenger-boys, as I said before, messenger-boys. You will meet no one of importance until you reach the house of which I spoke. Then you will receive detailed instructions."

"It is well," said Colemore solemnly.

Three days later they were all five conducted to Berlin by train, a crowded local train. They had two guards with them but they were quite friendly, and the party was a cheerful one.

"Quite an end-of-term feeling about it, isn't there?" said Abbott.