Page 18 of The Dark of the Moon
There were some boxes of paper too, the squared kind we used for decoding, along with some bundles of pencils and some packs of punched cards. He also gave me a copy of theEinscatalogue, saying, ‘They probably don’t need this, but it’s all part of our gesture of goodwill. Where they are, in Vichy France, supplies will be hard to come by, so I imagine the rest of this will all be of use. Among others at the château, you’ll meet a man named Marian. Please give him this from me, with my compliments.’ He handed over a pouch of pipe tobacco, which I tucked into my bag. ‘Keepyour wits about you and see what you can learn from them. If they give you anything to bring back with you, make sure you deliver it straight back here to the Cottage, won’t you? If I’m not here, you can entrust it to Mavis.’
There was a knock at the door. ‘The driver’s here,’ said the girl. She gave me a smile and a nod, and I wondered how much she knew about where I was going. Possibly more than I did myself, I imagined.
Once the boxes had been loaded into the boot of the car, the driver held the door open for me. It was a beauty, a maroon-coloured Packard 6, and I felt like royalty being driven in it. We swept out of Bletchley Park on to the country lane beyond and were soon bowling southwards, towards my destination. ‘Have you been to Tangmere before?’ asked the driver, glancing at me in his rear-view mirror.
‘Yes. Once. I delivered a plane there.’ I remembered the approach to the small airfield, swooping over the South Downs to land the Oxford I’d been flying, pulling up beside an array of Spitfires that stood at the ready along the runway.
We made careful small talk about the weather and how pleasant it was to be driving through the countryside on a sunny May afternoon. ‘Beats my usual runs up to London,’ the driver said. But mostly we were careful to avoid talking about anything our jobs usually involved, conscious of the need for discretion.
At last, we reached the small village of Tangmere, a cluster of ordinary-looking red-brick cottages, and pulled up in front of a guard house, just before the gates of the airfield. An officer in RAF uniform came over and I showed him my papers.
‘Pull over and unload in front of that cottage there, please,’ he said to the driver.
I got out of the car, stretching to ease the stiffness from my legs, before being shown inside. Tangmere Cottage, tucked behindan ivy-clad wall, would be my base for the next few days. And then it would be time for me to leave, to deliver the Baby to the south of France and rendezvous with the French and Polish intelligence teams.
I met my ‘minder’ the next morning in what must once have been a sitting room in the cottage. Now it had been turned into an Ops Room, with two telephones on a desk in front of a large map of France on the wall. Red pins were stuck into it in places, more densely in some patches than in others. The man I met introduced himself as Major Tony Bertram and explained he’d be briefing me with everything I’d need to know to prepare for the mission ahead.
I was to be flown to the south of France, to a secret landing site, where local Resistance fighters would meet me. They’d help carry the cargo and take me to a local château where my reception committee would be waiting. Although my French was pretty rudimentary, I knew my Polish and the ability to understand the work of the cryptographers were more important. I was quite excited at the thought of staying in a French château.
I’d remain there until the return flight could be arranged. ‘That will depend on the situation on the ground,’ Major Bertram said, ‘as well as the moon.’ He gestured to the map on the wall behind him. ‘This shows the latest intel we have on the areas most heavily affected by flak. The pilots need to fly low, through the safest corridor possible, navigating by moonlight while avoiding detection by the Germans and using landmarks to find the way. I believe you were once a ferry pilot, Miss Buchanan? Then you will know how it goes. In this case, though, they fly by night and only during the two weeks either side of the full moon. We don’t fly during the dark of the moon.’
I looked at him in surprise. His words reminded me of the poem Ben had sent me. The cogs in my brain whirred, then clicked into place. ‘What aircraft do the pilots use?’ I asked.
‘Lysanders. Lizzies can fly low enough and slow enough to land on the makeshift airstrips that the Resistance identify for us, unmarked fields and meadows mostly, so the Germans don’t suspect what’s going on when we drop in agents.’
‘And when you say drop . . . ?’
He smiled. ‘Don’t worry, you won’t have to use a parachute. It simply involves climbing down a ladder once you’re on the ground. The pilot won’t hang around, though. It’s a speedy turnaround. We’ve adapted the planes to make it quicker. You’ll get the chance to have a practice before you leave, once the Lizzie arrives. The Special Duties boys are based further north but fly into Tangmere when there’s a job on. You’ll be in good hands. They’re the best of the best.’
I couldn’t be absolutely certain, but I had a growing suspicion I now knew what Ben was doing. Hope surged within me. What if he turned out to be the pilot flying me to France? I’d love to see the look on his face. But I realised that even if I was correct in supposing him to be a member of the Special Duties squadron, the odds of his having been assigned to this particular mission were fairly long. So I tried not to let my imagination run away with me and to stay focused on the job in hand.
‘Just one other thing,’ said Major Bertram. ‘We’ll need to have a code for you, for sending word when we’re coming to get you. We usually ask our agents to learn a short rhyme or a poem, something memorable so you don’t need it written down anywhere. I can lend you a book of poetry, if you like, so you can choose one to learn.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ I said. ‘I already have one that I know off by heart.’ I pulled the folded sheet of paper from mypocket with the poem Ben had sent me. The major glanced at it and nodded.
‘That will do very well,’ he said. ‘Do you know how a poem code works, Miss Buchanan?’
I’d read about them at Bletchley Park. ‘Yes. You’ll use a particular word or line to create a cipher. And as I’ll know which words you’re using from the poem, because you’ll send me that in numerical form, I’ll be able to decode the message you’ll send me. I’m assuming you use double transposition codes?’
He laughed. ‘We do. I should have known you wouldn’t need much instruction on this aspect of the mission.’
‘When will I be off?’
‘That depends a bit on the weather. We’re coming up for the start of a moon phase tomorrow, but we need a clear night over the target area. I’ll check first thing in the morning once we have a better picture. But we’ll only really know when that phone rings.’ He pointed to one of the phones on the desk. ‘If it’s no-go, we’ll get the message “C’estoff”. Ideally, though, we want to get you there as soon as possible, because the plan is to extract you again before the end of this moon phase. If the weather doesn’t play ball, you’ll be stuck there for a couple more weeks until we can get back to you during the next fortnight either side of the following full moon. Now, if you’ve no further questions, you have the rest of the day at your leisure. You might like to go for a walk. The Downs are quite lovely at this time of year.’
He pointed me in the direction of a track that would lead up on to the escarpment. The path was tucked into a narrow fold in the hills, heady with the smell of wild garlic that grew in exuberant abundance beneath a canopy of oak branches. After nearly an hour’s climb, I emerged on to the top. It was a beautiful day, the sky overhead untainted by vapour trails or clouds, and the sunshine sparkling on the blue sea. I was reminded again of the words of thepoem Ben had sent me ... The poem that had now become the lifeline to bring me home again.
The light of the sun
On the water by day
Is a pathway that leads me to you.
And as I stood there, catching my breath, gazing out across the green fields to the coastline beyond, I thought of the next lines:
The dark of the moon
In the night that we face
