The Fragile Hour (3 page)

They
had an enjoyable week together. Anna was able to wear her own civilian clothes, for Joan was looking after her personal possessions for the duration of the war, since she had no home now. By chance on their last evening together when they were listening to the radio, the BBC broadcast a recording of President Roosevelt speaking to the people of the United States. His slow, gravelly voice was clear and articulate.

“
If
there
is
any
man
who
wonders
why
this
war
is
being
fought
,
then
let
him
look
to
Norway
.
If
there
is
anyone
who
has
any
illusions
that
this
war
is
unnecessary
,
let
him
look
to
Norway
.
And
if
there
is
anyone
who
doubts
the
will
of
democracy
to
win
,
then
again I
say
,
look
to
Norway
.
He
will
then
,
in
the
besieged
yet
unconquered
Norway
,
find
the
answers
to
all
his
questions
.”

Joan
glanced at Anna, able to tell by her expression that her thoughts were with her aunt and Nils in particular. “It was a very fine tribute.”

Anna gave a slow smile. “I’ve always liked that man. He and I see eye to eye about Norway.”

When
the time came for Anna to fold away her own clothes again, she kept back one item that would be useful in the future. It was a traditional
kofte
, a thick hand-knitted cardigan such as was worn by people of all ages in Norway. Hers was in grey and white and had been knitted specially for her in an intricate pattern by Aunt Rosa’s housekeeper. She made sure that Joan did not see it go into her suitcase, not wanting to give any clue to her destination.

The
following day, after a return visit to see Major Andersen, Anna travelled to her training centre. It was in a bleak and isolated area. There were other women on the course with her, one Dutch and the others bilingual in French. She was the only one not destined to cross the Channel when the course was over.

It
was as strenuous as she had been warned. There were lessons in unarmed combat and self-defence, hours spent at a shooting range and in operating and repairing a radio transmitter. On her first parachute jump she did not release her harness in time and was dragged some distance across rough moorland before she managed it. She did not make that mistake again. The most strenuous exercise of all, apart from climbing high walls and going hand over hand along a rope strung across a river, was escaping in the countryside under real ammunition. The trainees became used to ending a day wet, cold, bruised and muddy.

While
the others were given individual briefings on France and Holland, Anna received hers from a Norwegian, who was a veteran of several dangerous sorties back in his own country. It was he who prepared her fully as to what to expect there under Nazi rule.

When
the course ended it was February. She had been encouraged all the time to think herself into the new identity and background that she had been given. Her surname was to be Larsen, which was common enough in Norway, making it less easy for any inquisitive person, German or otherwise, to pinpoint anything about her. On all the forged papers she was given she saw that the German language had priority over Norwegian on her identity card, ration book and clothing coupons as well as on a travel pass. She thought how galling it must be for the Norwegians to have their language demoted to second place.

Apart
from her pre-war Swiss watch, which was of the kind that had been available everywhere, and her hand-knitted
kofte
, one of which would have been issued to her in any case, Anna was unable to keep anything else of her own. Some photographs in a leather folder, a powder-compact that had been a gift and other small personal possessions had to be put into a box that would remain stored until her return. She demurred about the two spare keys that Aunt Rosa had given her long ago to the Oslo home and the west coast house. Since the invasion of Norway she had felt that the keys had become talismans and that by keeping them with her she could be sure of opening those doors again one day.

“
If ever questioned,” she said to the Norwegian who had briefed her, “I’ll simply say that they’re the keys of my old home and I’m keeping them for sentimental reasons.”

He
considered seriously before he gave a nod. “OK. They may help you to unlock entirely different doors in an emergency. Some members of the Resistance carry bunches of master keys and then they can get in anywhere. Now you’d better go into the other room and see the clothes that are ready for you.”

All
the garments had been made in Norway or were accurate copies, even to the labels, and included a ski outfit and boots, not for sport but for any necessary cross-country treks that might come about in her new venture. She was to pack everything in a well-worn suitcase, which she guessed had probably been brought across the North Sea by an escapee. A false bottom had been added to it for any secret papers she might carry.

At
first Anna thought that the handbag, which held appropriate Norwegian-made contents, was of crocodile skin. But closer inspection showed that it was dyed fish skin. It was the same with a pair of shoes with wooden soles that had also been provided. The ingenious Norwegians, faced with a leather shortage, were making use of natural resources wherever possible. There was a pair of stout brown leather shoes, still in a pre-war Oslo box, but these had been scuffed deliberately in order not to look new.

When
Anna, again in her WRNS uniform, stood once more in Major Andersen’s office, he congratulated her on how well she had come through the course. Another officer, who was also present, gave her a wad of Norwegian Kroner notes, for which she had to sign. Then he gave two pills into her keeping, one a stimulant and the other lethal. She would have preferred not to have received the second one, but the Major had told her that Gestapo interrogation could bring a captive to a point beyond human endurance.

Both
men shook her hand and wished her well. “As we say in Norway,” the Major added, “farewell for the time being.”

Outside
an army car was waiting for her and she was driven out of London. Contrary to her expectations she was not to be dropped by parachute into Norway. Instead she was to go by a very different route.

Chapter
Three

Rain was slashing down as Anna left the RAF plane that had brought her north to Shetland. A friendly lieutenant, who introduced himself as David Howarth, met her. Being in WRNS uniform, she gave him a salute, which he returned. Otherwise he wasted no time with preliminaries.

“
I’ve a jeep waiting. Let’s make a dash for it!”

Anna
turned up the collar of her greatcoat as they ran towards the vehicle, rain-fountains dancing up about their feet. She gave a mock sigh of relief as she slid into the passenger seat and he took the wheel beside her. “Does it always rain this hard up here?”

He
grinned as he turned the jeep onto the road. “We do get more than our fair share of rough weather, being north of Scotland. Not that I mind it myself. But you should see how beautiful the isle is when the sun shines on the cliffs and bays and skerries.”

“
I like what I’m seeing now.” She was gazing out with interest. In spite of the downpour and heavy skies there was a curious, sombre beauty to the oddly treeless countryside with a sprinkling of sheep here and there. The single-storeyed stone crofts were the only sign of habitation, but sometimes even these proved to be derelict.

“
Since I was first posted here I’ve grown deeply attached to the isle and the good-natured Shetlanders,” David continued as he drove along. “They were used to a quiet life before the war, but they’ve accepted our naval and military presence, and none would give away the secret operations that take place from here. And it’s not only us disrupting their lives, but many escaping Norwegians arrive on the east coast of the isle. It’s their first landfall after leaving home waters. Not that they stay long. They’re taken from here to London.”

Anna
glanced at him quickly. “Do you have the names of those arrivals? I’d like to look at any listed under the letter O.” She was thinking of Nils. It had often occurred to her that it was highly likely that he was an escapee, but he would have had no idea where to find her.

“
I’m sure that can be arranged. It may be a few days before you’re able to leave on the Shetland Bus for Norway and you’ll have plenty of time to peruse it.”

“
The Shetland Bus?” she queried.

He
grinned at her. “That’s the name we’ve given this route of Norwegian fishing boats across the North Sea, because they come and go so regularly on secret expeditions. I don’t know what is in the cargo you’ll be travelling with, but it could be anything from weapons for the Resistance to German uniforms for various sorties against the enemy. They return with secret agents, such as yourself, who have special information to deliver or others who need to escape and so on. The demand on these Norwegian fishermen is endless and nothing deters them, whatever the cost might be. Before the war all they ever did at sea was to cast nets.”

“
I hope the toll on these brave men is light.”

He
shook his head grimly. “We’ve had heavy casualties in men and boats. Also nobody knows how many individual escapees have lost their lives through being gunned down by enemy aircraft in the North Sea.”

She
hoped that Nils had not been one of them.

Soon
they came to the little village of Skalloway with its narrow streets, small shops and old stone houses. She was given comfortable accommodation and liked the place and the local people from the start.

During
the next few days Anna met several Shetland Bus fishermen, who were waiting between trips for passengers such as herself or for a particular cargo or even for the weather to improve. She soon heard of the dreadful gales that blew there and how seaplanes, as well as fishing boats, had been lost. She thought the weather exceptionally rough already as the wind buffeted her whenever she went out and the waves lashed at the land enclosing the harbour.

The
Skipper with whom Anna was to sail was a thin, wiry man named Skansen. He had made any number of the perilous voyages.

“
You’ll be safe enough on my boat, the
Noreg
,” he promised with total confidence.

She
did not doubt him, able to see that here was a natural leader, a man to whom danger was simply run-of-the-mill.

When
Anna was given access to the lists of escapees she ran her finger quickly down the names under O, but, although she checked again, the name of Nils Olsen was not on it.

The
rain was gusting down on the day of the
Noreg’s
departure, the clouds bruised and low. Anna changed out of her WRNS uniform for the last time. Warmly clad in a thick Norwegian sweater and trousers under borrowed oilskins and wearing a
sou’wester
, she went on board the vessel. It was about fifty feet long and everything was very cramped with the fish-hold amidships. The engine room lay aft of it and at deck level was the wheel-house and the galley. The six members of the crew had bunks below in the forecastle and the only available one for her was in the Skipper’s cabin, which lay in the stern.

Anna
went below with her suitcase. There were two bunks and also a table between opposite benches fitted into the narrow stern. It was here she would eat with the men. No concessions were being made for her as a woman and she was glad of it. These fishermen would be at the battle-front again as soon as the
Noreg
left harbour and she would be in the fight with them.

She
had been told that another passenger was expected to join the vessel and heard him being greeted as she stowed away her suitcase. When she came up on deck again he was already in the wheelhouse with Skipper Skansen.

The
Noreg
was casting off. David Howarth, who had come to the quayside with her, was waiting to see the boat leave. It was his custom and that of any fishermen on shore to gather and shout their good wishes to a fishing boat setting out on a sortie. The crew on board were in high good humour as if they were doing no more than sailing off to gather in a bumper catch of fish. They waved and exchanged joking remarks with those left behind. Anna joined in the waving. The strip of water widened between the boat and the quayside. Beyond the harbour the whitecaps warned of a choppy voyage ahead.

Anna
stayed on by the white-painted bulwark. All the crew were busy with various tasks and she was careful not to get in the way. She thought to herself there was no sound in all the world like the comfortable tonk-tonk of the diesel-engined Norwegian fishing boat. She had heard it so often on those summer holidays with Aunt Rosa and she associated it with all the little islands and skerries that studded the sea off Norway’s coast like green and gold gems. Always there was the screech of seagulls too. She looked up at those noisily wheeling and dipping overhead. It came to her how homesick she had been for the country she was soon to see again.

Shetland was slowly gliding away into the rain-mist. She was reminded of when she had left Bergen at the end of that last holiday before the war. Nils had stood on the quayside to watch her ship sail down the fjord until he was just a distant speck when a spar of land finally hid him from her sight. The old yearning for him had never left her. Maybe, if luck was with her, she might glimpse him one day from a distance. Even though she would have to keep out of his sight, at least she would know that he was alive and well.

The
swell was increasing and great fans of spray opened up as the
Noreg
ploughed on through the waves. When there was nothing more to see, Anna went below to the cabin and hung up her oilskins. Sitting down on one of the benches she took a well-thumbed Norwegian paperback from her pocket. Somebody had handed it on to her before she left and she settled down to read.

After
a few pages the youngest fisherman, Harald, who was acting as cook in the galley, brought a pot of coffee and two cups into the cabin. Anna was grateful for the hot drink. He sat on the bench opposite her to drink his own, a good-humoured youth with a mass of curls so fair as to be almost white, his eyes a bright cornflower blue.

“
I’ve made lots of these Shetland Bus runs, Anna,” he said easily after they had talked a while, “but we’ve never carried a woman passenger
back
to Norway before. There have been women refugees as well as wives leaving from there with their children to join husbands already in England, but that’s all. There must be something special about you.”

“
Indeed there isn’t,” Anna declared firmly.

He
was unconvinced. “How long have you been away from home?”

She
knew he meant Norway. “Since the summer before the invasion.”

“
That’s quite a time. It wouldn’t have suited me. I’ve got the best of both worlds — I can be home sometimes to see my family and friends as well as being in Shetland where I’ve a girlfriend.”

Anna
did not think that many would share his point of view, considering the perilous journeys in between. “Where’s your home port?”

“
Alesund.”

She
knew it well. A salty little town with cobbled streets where most of the shops seemed to sell oilskins and equipment for deep sea fishing. “I’ve taken the ferry from there over to Haroy and the other islands for summer picnics.”

She
had gone with Nils and a whole crowd of their friends. He had been an enthusiastic photographer, taking pictures of everybody and everything. It was a profitable hobby, for his work was good and he sold a wide variety of his pictures to a foreign buyer with a travel business. She had her own favourite photograph of him, which normally she carried with her, but that had had to be left behind with her other personal possessions.

“
Do you know if our landfall tomorrow will be anywhere near Alesund?” she asked.

Harald
had taken a swig of coffee and he lowered his cup. “We’ll be farther south. You and the other passenger will be landed by night at the pre-arranged place along the coast. Then we’ll stay in the fishing zone and sail into port with the fishing fleet at dawn. But it’s different every time. There’s plenty of variety.” His tone was matter-of-fact and did not alter as he put his head on one side as he tried to see the title of the book she had put down. “What are you reading?”

“
It’s one of Sigrid Undset’s.
Kristian
Lavran’s
Daughter
.”

“
That’s her best, I read it in my final year at school.”

Anna
held up the thick book with a smile. “It’s going to last me ages.”

His
eyes twinkled in wry amusement. “I bet it is! You won’t have much time to yourself once you get going with whatever you’ll be involved in when we land. You watch out for the Quislings — they’re the most dangerous.”

She
nodded. This was the name dubbed on Norwegian traitors who sided with the enemy. It had been taken from Vidkun Quisling, the leader of Norway’s small Nazi party, who had betrayed his country by welcoming the Germans.

“
I’ll be on my guard, I promise you. Do you know, I hadn’t heard of the Shetland Bus until I came north.”

“
We try to keep it secret in every way. That’s one of the reasons we all admire the Shetlanders. They can be trusted never to let anyone else know about it either.” He gave a deep chuckle. “But even they couldn’t have kept it from my mother. She guessed when I came home from my first trip. Nobody in the family can hide anything from her! She knew both my sisters-in-law were pregnant before they knew themselves! But none of the rest know about me, except my dad.”

“
Do you ever see your parents?”

“
Sometimes. I take my tobacco ration home for Dad — the home-dried substitute in Norway is foul! Mother gets coffee and whatever else I can bring. She can’t understand why tea is rationed in England and not coffee, but I told her the English drink tea all the time.”

Anna
laughed, for his mirth was infectious. “That’s right.”

“
More coffee now?” He picked up the pot.

“
No thanks. That was a big cup.”

“
It’s just as well. I’ll be serving an early supper soon. There’s a strong squall blowing up and when it’s really rough, it’s impossible to cook anything in the galley.”

As
Harald went out, another man had been on the point of coming in and they spoke in passing. Anna did not recognise the newcomer at first, for his dripping
sou’wester
was pulled down and his oilskin collar stood up. But when he uncovered his head and ran his fingers quickly through his damp hair, she saw that it was Karl Kringstad.

“
Hello, Anna Larsen,” he said casually, taking off his long oilskin to hang it up. He was like everybody else on board in wearing a
kofte
, his black and white, over a high-necked sweater. “I knew you were going to be on board.”