Heronfield Read online

  Praise for Heronfield

  The course of six years is spanned here, from the beaches at Dunkirk, to the liberation of the Concentration Camps in Germany...The characters are so incredibly realistic that it is extremely difficult to put Heronfield down. It wouldn’t be possible to write a story about the bravery of the soldiers or the Resistance without making sure that the reader is aware of just why they were so brave and this is put across tactfully, but still gives the reader an idea of the horrors faced by these people.

  Heronfield is not a book you should let slip by. It is an amazing read.

  Rachel Malone , Historical Novel Society Indie Reviewer

  Heronfield

  By

  Dorinda Balchin

  Published by Dorinda Balchin

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2012 Dorinda Balchin

  Cover Design© Lorna Gray www.saltwaydesign.com

  All Rights Reserved

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  MAY - JUNE 1940

  JULY 1940

  AUGUST 1940

  SEPTEMBER - OCTOBER 1940

  NOVEMBER - DECEMBER 1940

  JANUARY - APRIL 1941

  SEPTEMBER - OCTOBER 1941

  OCTOBER - DECEMBER 1941

  JANUARY - APRIL 1942

  MAY 1942

  JUNE - JULY 1942

  AUGUST 1942

  SEPTEMBER - DECEMBER 1942

  JANUARY - DECEMBER 1943

  JANUARY - MAY 1944

  JUNE 1944

  JULY - AUGUST 1944

  SEPTEMBER - DECEMBER 1944

  JANUARY – MAY 1945

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  MAY - JUNE 1940

  1

  Tony felt as though he were fighting against a sea tide as he tried to make his way east. The narrow hedge-lined road was crammed with a heaving mass of humanity, all heading west, pushing and jostling the young man, slowing his progress to a crawl. He saw old men and women, young mothers with children at their skirts and babes in their arms, all moving at a maddeningly slow pace in the crush, weariness apparent in every movement and dull fear in their tired eyes. Everyone carried bundles of their most treasured possessions - a few photographs, money, clothes, food. Many pushed handcarts ahead of them, all their worldly possessions in a muddled heap and their homes left far behind. A lucky few rode on farm carts, drawn by horses which should have been at work out in the fields. But although it was less tiring for those who rode than those who made their way on foot, they could go no faster, the road was so thronged with people that it was impossible for the carts to pass them. The few motor vehicles were reduced to a crawl, until they reached a place where the weary refugees could step aside for a moment to let them pass. Yet with all that pressing mass of humanity there was no noise, save for the shuffle of feet and the rumble of wheels and, infrequently, a baby's hungry cry.

  Tony and his companions, a lieutenant and three privates from the beleaguered British Expeditionary Force, had joined the road from a narrow country lane some half a mile back.

  "We'll never rejoin our company at this rate." Private Watson, a veteran of the Great War, re-adjusted the Lee Enfield rifle on his shoulder. "We never had this trouble on the Somme."

  Private Phillips smiled grimly. "'Arf of France weren't tryin' to go t'other way at the same time, was they, mate?" He was a short man in his early twenties, who had joined up when Hitler invaded Poland. He had never been far from home before, let alone in the middle of a war, but he was taking it all very calmly. "What we needs to do is find an easier route."

  "That's true, but a route to where?"

  Lieutenant Briggs shrugged at Watson's remark. "I don't rightly know, private. The last I heard was that we're falling back towards a place called Dunkirk. No doubt we'll be launching a counterattack from there."

  Tony brushed a stray lock of wavy brown hair from his forehead. He stood up on tiptoe and tried to see over the heads of the people in front of him. As far as he could see, the road was like a column of ants at a summer picnic. He turned to Briggs, who was trying to force his way past a hay cart laden with household goods.

  "I'm afraid I don't know this area of France too well, so I can't lead you overland. I know Dunkirk is somewhere on the coast, but I don't know its exact location. Still," he stepped aside to let an old woman pass, her only possession a small bag of bread and cheese, "it would be better to get off the road or we'll never get anywhere. Why don't we just go into the fields next to the road and walk along beside it?"

  Briggs nodded. "My thoughts exactly. Who'd have thought it would come to this so soon? It’s only eleven days since the Germans launched their attack, and we seem to be completely outmanoeuvred." He led the way over a ditch, then through a narrow gap in the hedge which bordered the road. His companions followed close behind.

  They found themselves in a field of newly sprouted wheat, bright green in the warm spring sunshine. A gentle breeze passed in waves across the fields, as though in obscene parody of the fleeing mass thronging the road on the other side of the hedge.

  "What the hell happened to the bloody Maginot Line? That's what I'd like to know. I thought it was supposed to be strong enough to hold back the enemy for months, if not years."

  Briggs turned to the man who had spoken. "As far as I can tell, Smith, they just went round the ends."

  "Bloody 'ell!" Phillips spat into the hedgerow. "That means the whole German army is runnin' around 'ere in France. No wonder we're retreatin’."

  "Enough of that talk, Phillips. This is a strategic withdrawal, not a retreat. Now, let's get moving."

  Briggs led the way, with Kemshall at his side. Their pace was swifter now that they had left the road, the hedges and walls that they had to cross from one field to the next barely slowing their brisk pace. They had been moving along in this manner for almost half an hour, when the muffled drone of airplane engines could be heard, approaching from the east.

  "Ours or theirs?"

  Briggs shrugged at Tony's question. "Have to wait and see."

  As the sound of the planes drew nearer, the people on the road halted their shambling progress to turn and gaze heavenward, eager to identify the approaching machines. Three black dots in the sky, flying in a V formation, approached swiftly. They were still too far off for the men on the ground to see their markings, but Briggs had seen that ominous shape before, when he and his companions had become separated from the rest of their company.

  "Stukas!" He turned towards the men behind him as he shouted. "Into the hedge!"

  As one man, the three soldiers leapt for the relative safety of the newly leafed hedgerow while Tony, untrained in military matters, hesitated. Briggs pushed him as he passed. "Come on! Run!"

  As they hit the ground and rolled beneath the hedge, Tony saw the planes bank and plunge into a steep dive. The sirens fitted to their undercarriages produced a terrifying scream. It was echoed by hundreds of human voices, as the refugees on the road panicked. Those at the edge dived for the comparative safety of the ditches. Most milled about in total confusion, unsure of what to do or where to go. The screaming of the planes rose to a terrifying pitch as the Stukas swept along the road, machine guns blazing. Cries of pain mingled with the sounds of fear. As Tony watched in horror from his hiding place, he saw a boy, no more than f
ive years old, who had become separated from his parents. His cries of "Mamma! Mamma!" rang out shrilly. Tony would have rushed to his aid but for the spouts of dust which reached out ahead of him, the impact of bullets which raced along the road and intercepted the frightened child before the Englishman could do more than climb to his knees. Screams of pain filled the air as the small body was spun around by the impact of the bullets, then crumpled and fell to the ground.

  The Stukas were climbing high now after their first pass, and began to execute a tight turn. Tony felt a restraining hand on his shoulder.

  "You can't do anything to help those people! The planes are coming back! For God's sake, get down!"

  Tony looked up. The planes had completed their turn and were beginning to dive again. Bullets whistled in all directions, and many of those who had failed to find shelter in the ditches and hedgerows now fell, screaming. The initial panic was over, the only sounds were the high-pitched screaming of the planes as they swooped in, the thud of bullets and the cries of the wounded. As the planes passed overhead Tony saw a carthorse rear up in the traces. Blood poured from its neck and back as it keeled over and lay screaming in the dirt, kicking ineffectively. The cart it had been pulling turned over, crushing the family who had been sheltering beneath it. Tony felt sick.

  He closed his eyes as the planes climbed once more, and found he was praying.

  "Please God, let it be over. Don't let them come back."

  But his prayers remained unanswered. The planes turned and swooped once more. This time the chatter of machine guns was replaced by the whistle of bombs. One fell close by. Tony felt the earth shake a moment before the heat of the shock wave hit him. Shrapnel flew everywhere, and he crouched low to avoid it. Another stick of bombs fell ...crump...crump...crump.… Tony buried his face in last year’s leaf mould and covered his head protectively with his arms. His terrified mind retraced the events which had led to his being there, in the midst of so much death and destruction, seeking safety in the memory of people and places that he loved.

  2

  The family gathered around the radio in the drawing room, intent on the voice which issued crackling and hissing from the speaker. It was a Sunday morning, and the first time the family had all been together since the eldest son, David, had joined the Royal Air Force. Sir Michael Kemshall stood with his back to the warm September sunshine, which flooded through the window. His hands were clenched tightly behind his broad back, and sweat stood out on his brow and the balding patch on his head. His thoughts were many miles, many years, away, on the bloody battlefields of Flanders where he had fought as a young man. He silently prayed that his sons would be spared the need to fight for their country as he had done. Louise Kemshall, Sir Michael's pretty French wife, seemed to have aged little in the twenty-three years of their marriage. She sat with her slim hands folded in her lap; fair hair framed her strained features as she listened to the radio and prayed for her two sons. David Kemshall stood beside the fireplace. At twenty two, he was a tall slim man with dark hair reminiscent of his father at that age. His RAF uniform lent an air of threat to the uneasy family gathering. He gazed across the room at his brother, Tony, who was two years younger. He was leaning forward with barely concealed eagerness to hear the words from London.

  It was two days since the German army had invaded Poland. Now, on Sunday September 3rd 1939, the whole nation waited to hear what the Prime Minister, Mr. Neville Chamberlain, was about to say.

  "I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room at Ten Downing Street..." The voice that issued from the crackling speaker and spoke directly to thousands of homes sounded tired but not defeated. "This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final note, stating that, unless the British Government heard from them by eleven o'clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us."

  Louise’s hands clenched tightly together as she held her breath. Her eyes darted to her two sons, then swiftly away again so that she need not meet their gaze.

  "I have to tell you that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany."

  Tony watched his mother close her eyes, as though in pain. He knew she was thinking of her two sons, who would have to fight. His heart went out to her. She had lived through one war and lost people she loved, so her fear was understandable. Yet he felt this war would be different. Underlying his sorrow for his mother was an upwelling of excitement and anticipation at the thought of going to war. The family listened on in silence.

  "You can imagine what a bitter blow it was to me that all my long struggle to win peace has failed..."

  David unconsciously straightened to attention as the words of the Prime Minister amplified the expectant silence in the room. His mind was on his squadron. He needed to rejoin them as soon as possible, leave or no leave; this is what they had been preparing for for so long, and he was ready. Sir Michael looked across at his firstborn son, already in uniform and willing to fight for his country. A mixture of a fathers pride and anxiety was apparent in his gaze. The voice on the radio continued.

  "We have done all that any country could do to establish peace. The situation in which no word given by Germany's ruler could be trusted, and no people or country feel themselves safe, has become intolerable..."

  Sir Michael stared at the dust motes dancing in the sunlight with unseeing eyes. He felt strangely detached. His sons would be going away to fight as he had done in his youth. Yet his home was still so peaceful, everything apparently unchanged, belying the fact that his country was now at war and nothing would ever be the same again. He closed his eyes, slowly coming to terms with the changed world.

  "We have resolved to finish it. It is the evil things which we shall be fighting against - brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression, and persecution... and against them I am certain that the right will prevail."

  The Prime Minister finished speaking. The three men stood to attention as the National Anthem began to play whilst Louise sat numbly in her chair, barely hearing the music as her troubled mind envisaged the bloodied and broken bodies of her sons, lying lost on some Godforsaken battlefield. As the Anthem came to an end, Sir Michael walked slowly across the room, switched off the radio and turned to face his family. There was silence as the full import of the words which they had heard registered for each of them. Then Sir Michael spoke.

  "Well, this is it then. After all the talk of appeasement, we are at war again." His gaze took in his two sons, his hopes for the future. His voice choked with emotion at the possibility of losing them. "May God go with you both, and bring you safe home at the end of this."

  But nothing happened. David was recalled to his squadron where he flew endless training flights. A Law of Conscription was passed, enabling the Government to call up all men aged eighteen to forty-one when the need arose. The grounds of the house were defaced with the construction of the obligatory air-raid shelter, and the family carried their gas masks at all times. Sir Michael would never forget his experiences of mustard gas in the trenches. He prayed fervently that nothing so horrific would be unleashed upon the citizens of England in their homeland. Still no attack came, and the Government sent no aid to Poland. By the end of September it was all over. Poland was now a part of the Third Reich. England was at war, but no one seemed to know what to do about it.

  The winter passed. The Kemshalls listened intently to the news of the British Expeditionary Force being sent to France. Yet no battles took place, none of the expected air raids materialised. They began to join with the rest of Britain in talking of the Phoney War. There was a cautious optimism in the air; surely it would all soon blow over and no Englishman would be called upon to fight. Tony, like many young men of his age, was filled with frustration. He desperately wanted to fight, wanted to take part in heroic deeds, like those he had heard and read about in his childhood. But the opportunity never came. He continued at univ
ersity with the other undergraduates, eager for something, anything, to happen to relieve the boredom of lives which had promised so much excitement in September and delivered nothing. As spring progressed, lives began to return to normal. Tony reconciled himself to the inevitable fate of completing his university studies before joining his father in the family engineering business.

  Then it happened.

  In April, Germany invaded Norway and Denmark. There was little that Britain could do to oppose them. On 10th May 1940, Hitler turned his attention to the west, and threw his war machine into Holland and Belgium. The thoughts of Britain turned to the government, the resignation of Chamberlain and the appointment of Churchill as his successor. But not so the Kemshall family at their country home just north of Marlborough. Here all thoughts turned to France, to Louise’s mother, Madame Chanterelle de Thierry, and her home in Saint Nazaire. Old and alone now, unable to face the decisions which war might thrust upon her without the support of her family, she needed someone beside her. As David’s squadron was on standby, Tony volunteered to travel to France to be with his grandmother until the situation was resolved.

  The young man set out the following day, his uneventful journey slowed by troop movements once he reached mainland France. Madame de Thierry was glad to see him, although she thought the concern behind his visit was totally unnecessary, and said so in her usual brusque manner, which belied the warm heart and nature Tony loved. Then the news began to come in from the Front. The Germans were sweeping through France at an amazing speed. There seemed little that the French and British forces could do to oppose them. Tony’s concern grew with each passing day. Finally, against all her protests, he managed to get his grandmother onto a ship bound for England. Only the promise that he would bring her home again as soon as it was safe finally persuade her to leave the country house, which had been home since her marriage fifty years before. She had been a young woman in that house, loved her husband, mourned him and their son, grown old there. She had not deserted even in the darkest hours of the war with Germany, the war which had brought so much pain and loss to her family, yet also much happiness in the form of Michael Kemshall. Tony decided not to travel with his grandmother but headed east towards the fighting, to see what was happening and if there was anything he could do. Somewhere out there were the adventures he had dreamed of, which might be waiting for him just around the next bend. He met up with Briggs and his companions three days later, and headed east with them, in search of the remainder of their company, and adventure.