‘A little out of your league, Frau Euler,’ Frau Hoffman said with a hint of a sneer. I was startled. I hadn’t heard her come up behind me.
I agreed with her at once, nodding my head as if I was in a Punch and Judy show.
She looked dreamy. ‘I was widowed, you know.’
This was unexpected. ‘Iron Drawers and Iron Jaw’ I’d named her in my mind. I didn’t know what to say but I soon realized I was not required to say anything.
‘It was in the early days of the war. He was a pilot, you know, just like your husband. They don’t last long, Frau Euler, so be prepared.’
She moved to another machine and touched it almost with affection. ‘But love can come again even to the most unlikely of us.’
Unwisely I offered my opinion. ‘I don’t think I will love any other man than Michael.’
‘You may never have the choice.’ Her tone was hard, she was Iron Jaw again in an instant. ‘Now get out of this office, you have no business to be here. Don’t you realize you could be regarded as spying? We break ciphers here so that we can bomb the enemy, the arrogant British, into oblivion.’
I looked as dumb as I could and apologized, shaking my head at the machine as though it was beyond me, as indeed it was. I retreated hastily and set off for the farmhouse on my bike.
I was fuming. How dare Frau Hoffman sneer at my homeland, my people? We were all human but then she had no humanity in her. This was a side of the German people that was beyond me.
It was a long ride home, giving me a chance to think. I would try to make my radio work somehow. Now I could take discarded pieces home from work, at least I had some important pieces of equipment. I would make contact with home—now I would be a spy, though unofficial and untrained, with a glad heart and a clear conscience.
Thirty-Nine
Hari looked around the bedroom of Mrs Buckley’s lodging house and knew it was her home at least for a month or two until she got a place to rent. Until now she’d stayed in a small room at the Bletchley Mansion but it had been temporary accommodation only. Her own house in Swansea was locked up though Hari was fully aware that at any time the building could be bombed and burnt to ashes, but now she was calmer she knew one day she would go back even if only for her father’s sake.
The room at the lodging house was nicely furnished but very floral, floral bedspread, floral curtains, even flowers on the lampshade. It was clearly what Mrs Buckley thought a well-brought-up lady required.
Hari unpacked her case and put away the few more essential clothes she’d brought: plain dark skirts, white blouses and a few good sweaters in case it got cold in the nights. She put her underclothes and stockings in the bedside drawer.
She washed at the small sink in the corner of the room and, once dressed, explored the landing, finding three single toilets and one very old bathroom with a big contraption fastened to the wall that she took to be the gas boiler.
Supper was at ‘seven prompt’ and Hari obediently went down the stairs and followed the sounds of voices to the dining room.
‘Miss Jones, please come and sit down. I’ve put you alongside another lady worker at the old BP buildings.’
‘I’m Babs.’ The girl at her side had a cheery face, dark hair turned back in a sort of roll and Hari felt conscious of her own free-flowing mane of unruly curls.
‘Hari.’ She took the proffered hand and decided that tomorrow morning she would tie back her hair into a bun before she went to work at the Park.
‘What do you do at the Park?’ Hari asked.
‘I work in hut six. You’ve been working on signals haven’t you?—But I understand you’re to come in with us. Don’t worry, it’s not so bad, there’s a lot of us civvies and no slave-drivers to irk us. So long as we do our work we’re left to our own devices.’ Babs had a very cultured voice.
Mrs Buckley could obviously see that Hari was impressed. ‘Babs went to Girton,’ she said proudly. ‘Most of my guests are from Cambridge colleges.’
‘Well, I’m not,’ Hari said. ‘I went to an ordinary grammar school in Swansea, didn’t even get to university, the war put a stop to that. In fact, I’m wondering what use I can be to anyone in hut six, it’s all beyond me.’
‘You must be very bright to be sent here,’ Babs said. ‘I’d rather someone bright and quick thinking than the somewhat stereotypical boffins you get at BP. I’ll give you a lift in tomorrow if you like.’
Hari nodded eagerly. ‘Thanks, it will be nice to have moral support.’
One of the other girls stifled a laugh. ‘That’s not what we’d call our Babs, is it girls? Good-time Barbara is more like it.’
‘Oh, shut up, Cicely,’ Babs said good-naturedly.
‘That will be enough of that silly gossip, young ladies’. Mrs Buckley’s voice was stern but there was a twinkle in her eye as she ladled out the soup.
In the morning, Hari was up early, anxious not to be late for breakfast and certainly not wanting to miss her lift to work. The dining room was quiet: everyone seemed subdued, even Babs; early morning blues perhaps. There was no sign of Cicely.
Hari looked at Babs questioningly and the girl shook her head. ‘Cicely’s chap is a pilot. He didn’t come back last night.’ Her voice broke. ‘She was out there last night counting the planes over and when there was one missing, she just knew… she just knew.’
Hari picked at her breakfast and thought of Michael, wondering where he was now, how had the Germans treated him, was he all right? She remembered the one night they’d had together when he’d made tender love to her, made her a woman, his woman. Now he was somewhere she couldn’t reach.
With a dart of guilt she remembered that Meryl, her little sister, was in Germany too. Together they would both survive, she was sure they would, wasn’t she?
The grounds of Bletchley Park were beautiful this morning and now she’d been away from it for a night she saw it with fresh eyes. It was an old country house and looked grand and solidly imposing. Small huts were built around the grounds. Hari was grateful that Babs was there to point her in the right direction for hut six.
‘I’m glad you’re in hut six with me,’ Babs said, drawing the car to a noisy halt. ‘You’ll listen when all the others just want to talk about themselves.’ She smiled, her teeth were very white; she was a fine, healthy-looking girl. ‘The work is not too difficult, don’t worry, I’ll ease you into it.’
The first thing Hari noticed was how untidy the hut was. It was a long room with a series of tables to the sides and centre. At one end stood a cupboard, the doors half open. Overhead were strip lights rather high to the ceiling, one window shed some daylight.
Pieces of discarded sticky tape were spread across the floor in small strips; girls were already working, sat at machines, absorbed in whatever they were doing.
‘Morning,’ Babs said, and one or two of them waved a distracted hand in greeting. ‘Come and sit at my machine with me—’ Babs touched Hari’s arm—‘and don’t look so worried, this is well within your capabilities, you’ll see.’
Uneasily Hari perched on a chair and stared at the unfamiliar machine. She clearly wouldn’t be working on signals in here. What on earth did Colonel Edwards have in mind for her now? Since she’d told him she was probably staying in England he had changed his plans for her.
‘No!’ His voice had been stern. ‘I will be needing you here. You must come back to help me, I’m getting too old for all this, didn’t I tell you?’
‘I’ll explain.’ Babs voice brought her attention sharply into focus. ‘Don’t look so puzzled.’ Babs had seen her bewilderment. ‘Some of our clever blokes have found the key for today,’ she said cheerfully, ‘now it’s up to us to decrypt the words on to our machines.’ She tapped the metal surface of the cipher machine with her elegant finger.
‘Sounds simple then.’ Hari’s sarcasm made Babs smile.
