Page 31 of The Dark of the Moon
When I regained consciousness, it was Janina who told me they had operated. They’d set up a makeshift theatre in one of the bathrooms, and a surgeon who could be trusted to keep shtum had been summoned. With the assistance of Bolek, some chloroform had been procured to put me under for the amputation, as well as a precious supply of morphine, which kept me afloat as I swam in an ocean of pain in the days that followed. I drifted in and out of consciousness but there were no dreams, as far as I can remember, just a realisation every now and then, whenever I surfaced, that Janina was there. She’d talk to me, urging me to keep going, not to give up. But it was Ben’s voice in my head that stopped me from making that walk into the trees.
‘Hold on,’ Janina said. ‘They’ll be coming for you soon, Eveline. The moon is growing again. Just a few more days and they’ll be able to get through. And when we’ve got you out safely,we are going to leave too. We’re going to head to Spain. Thanks to you, we’ll be able to get to Britain now. And when we do, when all this is over, you and I will go and have that tea at The Ritz. You promised me, remember? Stay with me now. Stay with me.’
A tear trickled down my cheek. I was going to die in a place where no one knew my real name. My body would be buried in an anonymous grave – as, I assumed, Jim Elliot’s must have been – with nothing to say who I really was.
I thought of Amy and Teddy. I tried to reassure myself that I’d be with them, the ones who had gone on before me. I remembered standing at Teddy’s grave on the hill above the cold waters of the Firth of Tay, planting the white heather there, from the garden at my family home, how that had helped me still feel a connection with him. But Amy was lost forever, without a place where anyone could go to feel nearer to her. It would be the same for me. Once the Poles had left the château, who would there be to remember where I lay? The name Eveline would mean nothing to Ben or my family in Scotland, or anyone else who came afterwards to look for me.
I realised then how important it is for those who are left behind to have a place to go to remember those who’ve been lost; a place where we can feel that connection and honour our dead.
It was late, the room in darkness, when the pair ofmaquisardscame with the stretcher. They lifted me on to it with such careful gentleness it brought more tears to my eyes. I was as weak as a wet paper bag. I was carried downstairs to where the Poles waited in the hallway. Each of them shook my hand and wished me luck, thanking me, saying, ‘Powodzenia, Eveline.Dziekuje.’
Janina waited by the door. She leaned over to hug me, the fullness of her belly making it awkward. Her face was as wet with tears as mine was. ‘Remember,’ she said. ‘Tea at The Ritz. I’ll see you there.’
‘Come with me now,’ I said, clinging to her hand.
She shook her head. ‘There’s no room in the plane. But we’ll follow soon, I promise.’
Then I was carried through the woods to the edge of the lavender field, where more shadowy figures waited in the light of the half-moon. Moments later, I heard the unmistakable sound of a Lysander’s engine in the distance and three of the Resistance fighters stepped forward with their torches to mark out the landing strip among the silver furrows. The plane landed, turned, rumbled back to where we stood. The prop blades glinted as they continued to turn in the moonlight, ready for a quick getaway.
I tried not to cry out in pain as the stretcher was manhandled up the ladder and hurriedly lifted into the passenger compartment, where a man was waiting. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Very glad to meet you, Miss Buchanan. I’m an RAF medic, here to take care of you until we can get you to the hospital back home.’
The plane was already moving down the furrowed field, gaining speed, and then I felt the familiar surge as we broke free of the gravity that held us earthbound and the release as we lifted off into the night sky and were airborne.
As the medic busied himself, fixing up a makeshift drip and filling a syringe with some blessed pain relief for me, the pilot’s voice came through the intercom.
And I wept again as I heard Ben say, ‘It’s all right, Philly. We’ve got you, now. I’ve got you.’
Dawn was breaking when we landed at Tangmere, where an ambulance waited alongside the runway. Major Bertram was there, ready to help the medic lift me on to a trolley. But before they could do so, Ben had climbed down from the cockpit to gather me in his arms and hold me. Resting my head on his shoulder was the best medicine by far for all I’d been through. He came with me in the ambulance, never once leaving my side on the short journey to the hospital in nearby Chichester.
‘Don’t you have a plane to put away?’ I said, smiling through my tears as I clung to his hand as if I’d never let go again.
Very gently, he brushed a strand of hair away from my eyes with his free hand, letting the palm rest alongside my cheek. ‘Don’t worry, our Lizzie’s being taken care of,’ he replied. ‘And now I need to make sure you are too.’ Then the ambulance was stopping, the back opening. But Ben kept hold of my hand the whole way as the trolley was wheeled along the corridor to the ward.
My rehabilitation took months. In spite of the makeshift conditions under which my leg had been amputated in France, they’d managed to do a pretty good job. The doctors repeatedly told me how lucky I was, that it was the care of the French surgeon and my Polish friends who’d saved my life. So, even on the days when I had to struggle through the pain and frustration of physiotherapy, and the indignity of trying to adapt to wearing a prosthesis, I was still grateful to be alive at all.
Once they’d cleaned up my wound and just as soon as I’d had a few days in the hospital to recover, Major Bertram came to see me. ‘You’ve probably heard the news already,’ he said. ‘The Americans have invaded North Africa. In response, Germany has abolished thezone librein France, occupying the whole of the country.’
‘What news of the team in Cadix?’ I asked.
‘They got out. But it was cutting things a bit fine. At present, they’ve split up into smaller groups and are still on the French sideof the Pyrenees, as far as we know. But at least they’re a lot closer to Spain now. As soon as Bolek’s people can arrange guides to take them through the mountains, they’ll be making the next stage of their journeys. Things are pretty hot there just at the moment, as you can probably imagine. The Nazis have been clamping down hard on any Resistance activities, in retaliation for the invasion of Morocco and Algeria.’
‘There was a woman called Janina who was about to have a baby,’ I said. ‘Is there any news of her?’
‘Yes, there is,’ he said. ‘I remember seeing something about that in the intelligence report. She and her husband got as far as Toulouse when she went into labour. She’s had a baby girl. Mother and daughter doing well. They’re in a safe house, staying put for the time being until she and the baby are strong enough to attempt the journey through the mountains on foot.’
I felt a surge of conflicting emotions – joy that Janina and Jakub’s baby had arrived safely, but concern that they weren’t yet out of France, that there would inevitably be another delay, which would put them at greater risk.
‘You did a great job, Miss Buchanan.’ Major Bertram noticed my worried expression and tried to reassure me. ‘Without the money and papers you managed to get to them, they wouldn’t have got as far as they have. They’re not home and dry yet, but at least they have a chance. Don’t worry, the powers that be here are still doing everything they can to get them safely to Britain.’
Ben visited me at the hospital every day during the dark moon periods when he wasn’t flying. He’d come down from the base on his motorbike and stay in one of the RAF cottages in Tangmere so he could be close by. He was there to push my wheelchair, to bundle me up in blankets so that we could go outdoors into the crisp winter air and I could lift my face to the weak sunshine. He was there to encourage me to take my first few steps without mycrutches. And he was there to cheer and reward me with a hug on the day I managed to walk the length of the ward unaided.
I slept well during those fortnights. But I tossed and turned through the anxious nights either side of the full moon when he was away, continuing to fly the Lysander missions into France.
As the weeks went by, I slowly regained my strength and, as I did so, I thought more of Janina, Jakub and their newborn daughter. I hoped they were growing strong enough too to make the journey on foot into Spain, although I knew it was very unlikely they’d be able to carry their baby through the mountains in the middle of winter. There’d be deep snow on the high passes now. The route was fraught with danger at the best of times. But every day they remained in France increased the risk of them being arrested. I was desperate for news of them, but, although I repeatedly asked Ben to check with Major Bertram, there was no word yet.
It was January before any more news of the Poles finally came through. There were no details, but we heard two groups of four had left Toulouse on the fourteenth, and a party of others were expected to leave a week later. I breathed a small sigh of relief, praying that Janina and her baby daughter would be able to make the dangerous journey safely and that one day soon I’d hear they’d arrived in Britain.
One cold, bright day in February, during a new moon period, Ben and I were married in the church at Tangmere, right beside the airfield. Back in Dundee, my mother was now too infirm to make the trip and my brother Frank couldn’t leave her or the factory, but they’d sent me some sprays of the white winter heather from Teddy’s grave. My friend Jess came down from Bletchley and, to my delight, Agnieszka arrived in style in a Spitfire that she was delivering. She’dmanaged to wangle it with Miss Gower at White Waltham, she told me. All the Attagirls sent their congratulations, along with a case of champagne gleaned from heaven knows where. My long white dress disguised my wooden leg, and I managed to walk up the aisle on Major Bertram’s arm with scarcely a limp. I carried a posy of holly and ivy, which I’d picked from the churchyard, with the sprigs of white heather tucked into it.
