A Wartime Odyssey
A W ARTIME O DYSSEY
T HEY DROVE STEADILY FOR hours on narrow, winding roads and then stopped at a rustic village to stretch their legs and eat the food they had brought. Oliver also filled up the gas tank using the petrol cans stowed in the Singer’s boot. The curious locals stared wide-eyed at the exquisite vehicle and the three strangers inside it.
They later passed a downed German Junker aircraft that children were playing around. They had to stop several times to allow military columns of men and equipment to pass, and there were many detours and slow travel over damaged roads. A few hours later they stopped once more to stretch their legs near a Yank encampment that was next to a POW camp. There, German prisoners of war worked on the farms and also in the mines and quarries in support of the Allied war effort.
At the encampment young women from the surrounding area were gathered around the security fence. Smiling American soldiers tossed boxes of chocolates and packages of nylons and cartons of cigarettes to the excited women, while a guard at the gate watched, smoked, and grinned.
When Charlie saw the German POWs, he moved closer to the outside fence and glared at some of the men, who stared silently back.
When Molly drew next to him he said, “They look like ordinary blokes.”
“I guess they had to fight for their country, too.”
“I s’pose. But that don’t mean I got to like ’em,” replied Charlie.
The darkness had long since fallen as they detoured around yet another bomb-strafed road. They had already passed numerous military checkpoints where the papers provided by Bryant had allowed them safe passage, but with each stop the scrutiny and questions had increased.
Oliver explained, “The closer we get to the coast, the nearer we come to some very sensitive military installations. The Home Guard maintains a heavy presence around here. And there are considerable coastal defenses employed: trenches with field guns, anti-tank cubes, pillboxes, fields of concertina wire, and mines in the water, of course.”
“Fightin’ a war seems quite hard,” observed Charlie.
“And just imagine if all that ingenuity and money went into peacetime pursuits,” said Oliver, right as a soldier stepped into the road blocking their way.
Oliver slowed and then stopped the car. He rolled down the window, his papers at the ready.
Another soldier joined the first one as they approached, their features tense, their weapons at the ready.
Oliver said, “These papers will explain everything.”
He handed them to one of the soldiers. He barely glanced at the papers before passing them back. “Got to turn around. No one’s allowed past here at the moment, not even Churchill.”
“But the papers—”
“Turn around. Now. Or else you’ll have a problem, sir.”
Molly leaned across Oliver and said, “My mother is a patient at the Beneficial Institute in Cornwall. She doesn’t have much longer to live. I must see her.”
“I’m very sorry about your ma,” said the other soldier sincerely. “But we have our orders. There’re military actions going on past this point.”
“Is there really no way we can be let by?” asked Oliver. “We’ve come all the way from London.”
“Not unless you can convince us of your trustworthiness. And a bit of paper and a story about a dying mum ain’t going to do that, mate,” said the first soldier.
Molly sat back, looking helpless.
Oliver reached into his pocket and took something out. “Will this do?” He handed one of the soldiers his George Medal.
They both looked at it. “You got this?” said one.
“From the King, yes.” He held out his ARP warrant card. “I’m an air warden. I… it was awarded for bravery. Though I was just doing my job, like you are.”
“Well done, mate,” said the soldier, handing it back. He looked through the window at Molly. “Lost my mum last year. Got leave, though, and said my goodbyes to her.” He looked at the other soldier. “What do you think?”
The man shrugged and nodded.
“Okay, good luck to you then,” said the first soldier, waving them on.
As they drove off, Oliver said, really to himself, “First time I’m happy I won that thing.”
“We go left at the next road,” said Molly, reading off the dim interior light.
Later, Charlie saw the signpost first.
“The Institute’s that way,” he said, pointing to the left.
“Indeed it is, Charlie, good eye,” said Oliver.
They drove on as the rain started to fall.
Oliver said, “My word, the place is really right on the water. You can see the Channel over there through the trees. And just across the water is France.”
“I heard ’a the White Cliffs of Dover,” said Charlie. “I know they’re on the Channel. My gran went there once on holiday and told me ’bout them.”
“Yes, but they’re clear on the other side of the country, southeast of London, across the Channel from Calais,” replied Oliver. “It’s said that every British soldier going off to fight looks back and sees the white cliffs as his last glimpse of home. And when he comes back it’s his first sight of England.”
“ If he comes back,” said Charlie curtly.
They reached an open gate set on stone posts, turned down the lane, and drove on. They rounded a bend, and sprawling before them was their destination.