Code Name Verity(51)

Stupid question really.

I have reached the point in this account where, unavoidably, I am going to have to talk about myself before Ormaie. And I don’t want to.

I just want to go on flying and flying in the moonlight. I dreamed I was flying with Maddie, in the five minutes or however short a time it was when there was a lull next door and I actually fell asleep. In my dream the moon was full, but it was green, bright green – I kept thinking, We’re in the limelight! But of course limelight is white, not green – chemical lime, not citrus. This was like the light in Chartreuse liqueur, like the Green Flash, and I kept wondering, How did I escape? I couldn’t remember how I got out of Ormaie. But it didn’t matter, I was on my way home in Maddie’s Puss Moth, I was safe and Maddie was alongside me flying confidently, and the sky was quiet and full of the beautiful green moon.

God, I’m tired. I truly shot myself in the foot again and am now being forced to regret it. I have been put back to work till whenever they run out of people to keep an eye on me. Can’t decide if this is good news or bad, as I don’t mind the infinite supply of paper, but I also forfeited my cabbage soup tonight and I didn’t sleep much the past couple of nights either. (I do wish they’d GIVE UP on that wretched French girl. She is never going to tell them anything.)

What happened was that when they brought me in this morning, poor Fr?ulein Engel was sitting at the table with her back to the door, busily numbering my countless recipe cards, and I frightened the living daylights out of her by braying in a deep, stentorian voice of command and discipline, ‘Achtung, Anna Engel! Heil Hitler!’ She catapulted to her feet and threw herself into a salute that must have nearly dislocated her shoulder. I’ve never seen her look so white around the gills. She recovered almost immediately and smacked me so hard she knocked me over. When Thibaut picked me up, she smacked me again just for the sheer hell of it. Wow wow wow is my jaw sore. I suppose they are not planning another phoney interview.

I can never decide if it is worth it. It was a truly hilarious moment, but all I seem to have achieved this time is a totally unexpected collusion between Engel and Thibaut.

Did I call them Laurel and Hardy? I meant sodding Romeo and Juliet. This is flirting, à la Gestapo underlings:

She: Oh, you are so strong and manly, M’sieur Thibaut. Those knots you tie are so secure.

He: That is nothing. Look, I pull them so tight you cannot undo them. Try.

She: It is true, I cannot! Oh, pull them tighter!

He: Chérie, your wish is my command.

It is my ankles, not hers, which he is binding so tightly and with such masculine charm.

She: I shall have to call you in tomorrow morning as well, to do this task for me.

He: You must cross the cords, so, and knot them behind –

Me: Squeak! Squeak!

She: Shut up and write, ya wee skrikin’ Scots piece o’ shite.

Well, no, she did not use those exact words. But you get the idea.

Something is Up. They have stepped up the pace a bit – not just with me. They are relentless with the Resistance prisoners. An inspection due, perhaps? A visit from von Linden’s mysterious boss, the dreaded SS-Sturmbannführer Ferber (I picture Horns and a Forked Tail)? Perhaps he’s making an inquiry into von Linden’s work here; that would explain why v.L.’s got to get those notes of his in order. Trying to make himself look good.

Desperately trying to marshal my own thoughts in narrative order. I am very tired and (shall I be melodramatic about it?) rather ‘faint with hunger’ – in fact I don’t know if it’s hunger I am faint with, but I am very hungry and feeling quite light-headed (I have not been allowed any more aspirin since the episode with the cognac). Perhaps Engel has given me concussion. I am going to make some lists to try to get through the next bit.



The weather at Glasgow was so dreadful that day that no one would take off and everyone was stuck there. I took the train back, but Maddie had to wait for a gap in the clouds. And sodding Glasgow still wasn’t finished with me so I had to go back in

Feb. ’43 Oakway Glasgow Who cares?

Mar. – 5 flights, various, all in southern England, 2 at night

April –

Oh –

RAF Special Duties, Operational Cross-Country

I did take the train to assignments too, more often than I flew. And Maddie taxied other people besides me, who in all likelihood were not doing the same work as me. But those flights I’ve just listed are the flights that count. 15 flights in 6 months. Maddie took the secrecy more seriously than I did – I was never sure how much she guessed. (Turns out, not much. She just genuinely took it seriously. After all, she started as a Clerk/Special Duties.)