Mrs. Jermyn broke in.

“You two will have such a lot to say to each other. And, Violetta, you must be hungry. There’s nothing much in trains these days. Now I am going to have something sent to you. Come into the little sitting room. Then you can talk … I think you two would like to be alone.”

There were tears in her eyes and I saw that she was desperately trying to control her feelings and be practical.

“Thank you, Grandmother,” said Jowan. “That would be good.”

He was holding my hand tightly, as though he would never let it go.

I was happy. I had never been so happy in my life. If only I could rid myself of the terrible fear that I was dreaming and this might not be true.

There was so much to tell. Jowan insisted that I start first, so I related what had happened since that tragic day when I had been forced to admit to myself that he was not one of the survivors from Dunkirk. I explained how I had worked for a while in the Priory, which had been turned into a convalescent home for soldiers, and afterwards in London in the Ministry. I told him about the air raids in which I had been involved—not an uncommon occurrence for people who lived in London—and how I had been recuperating at Caddington when his grandmother had telephoned to tell me he was back. He listened intently.

“We heard little scraps of information—which were often exaggerated to make it really bad. We were told that London was in ruins, together with the airfields and the docks. We didn’t believe it, of course.”

“I want to hear about you, Jowan. I want to know everything.”

“I want to tell you everything, Violetta … every little detail.”

“We have a long, long time to talk.”

“First I will give you the bare bones,” he said. He told me how he and his company had been trying to get to the coast. They knew the Germans were in control and there was nothing they could do but get back home and build up new strength in order to be ready for the enemy when they came to attack Britain.

“There was not much chance of getting to Dunkirk,” he said. “The enemy were too numerous. Our company was surrounded. We were somewhere near Amiens when we were all taken prisoner. We knew what that meant. My corporal, Buster Brown, was with me. He is sharp-witted, a wiry little Cockney. He is a good cook and could work all sorts of miracles with our meager rations. He had a way of disappearing and returning with a couple of chickens. He’d concoct some dish with them, which was a luxury after tinned fish and meat of slightly mysterious origins. He admitted he raided farms for the chickens, and he used to say: ‘Well, what’s a bit of nicking? Ain’t we saving them from the Hun? Small price to pay for that and you’ve got to feed the boys that lay the golden eggs.’

“He was a great character and I never saw him disconcerted in any situation. He had always been my special servant and I often thought how different life would have been without Buster Brown.

“Well, we were surrounded and put in lorries. There was a great deal of confusion in the dash to the coast, and the gathering up of small groups of prisoners was left to young and inexperienced men newly arrived on the battle scene. We were close to a small deserted château which was probably intended to serve as a temporary prison, but perhaps because we were not a large company and there were more pressing matters to occupy the German headquarters, we remained there. In most cases there would have been some notification that we were prisoners of war but there are occasions in such times as we were living through when those matters are overlooked.

“Life was not too bad in the beginning. We had periods of exercise, strict rules of course, and not very adequate food, but most of our company were housed in the château and we were among our own people. We planned our escape continually. We knew there would be no early release. We were aware that the French were beaten and that we had lost much of our equipment and would concentrate on getting our men out. We did not know how fortunate we had been in that evacuation.

“Well, we started building our tunnel. It lent a spice of adventure to the days. We each had a turn at it. It was an arduous business—most would have said it was a hopeless task—but we lived on hope in those days. We had our little concert parties, and the Germans looked on at us in bewilderment. There was complete misunderstanding between us. They were amazed by our hilarious laughter at the jokes—usually jibes against them—and the amateur efforts of our ‘artistes.’ What amused us so much was that it was during these concert parties that the larger part of our tunnel digging was in progress.

“This went on slowly. Imagine our dismay when we thought we were near completion—that must have been over two years’ work—to find that we had come out on the wrong side of the wall and were still inside the castle! But we were resilient. We kept going. We made plans for our final success. We arranged how people should escape—not all at once, but two by two. We would have a rota. That was how it went.

“We kept a certain discipline amongst ourselves. We had to stay cheerful and hopeful. Someone had a pack of cards and we played some evenings; but the cards became dogeared and having only one pack was constricting.

“It was the tunnel which was the great excitement. And then there came the Normandy landings. We were not sure what was happening, but everything had changed. The attitude of our guards was different. They were jumpy, nervous. There was less food. There would be occasions when the guards were almost lax and others the opposite.

“We knew something was going on. Some of our men had a smattering of German and they picked up one or two things through eavesdropping. So we learned that the Allies were now in France. You might have thought that, after waiting four years, we could wait a little longer to be released. But it wasn’t like that. The fervor to be free had increased. We had more opportunities to get on digging the tunnel and we seized them.

“Then … it was completed and this time it came out outside the château. Several of the men escaped and we believed they had got safely away. We only went two at a time, but it was not long before absentees were noted, in spite of the slackness of control. A guard was set at the top of the tower to keep watch throughout the night. At any movement they would shoot immediately. Sometimes during the night we would hear shots and wonder if those who were attempting to escape had got away. We were never told, of course.

“And then it was my turn. I was to go with Buster Brown. He looked upon me as his protégé. He reminded me of a nanny I once had. He thought I needed looking after and there was no question of one of us going without the other.

“Violetta, I shall never forget that night. The watch was in position and there was a crescent moon which shed enough light to reveal our escape at any movement, I feared. We preferred the moonless nights, of course, and clouds were welcome; but on this night the sky was cloudless.

“We could take little with us and we had no money; but we did have a little food which we had been storing over the days and which was given to those who were attempting to escape.

“We got through the tunnel—not the easiest of feats, for it was very low and in some places too narrow for comfort—but we were agile and determined. Then there was that glorious moment when we emerged into the open—no longer prisoners, but, for the first time in more than four years, free men.

“The searchlight moved quickly over the expanse of grass outside the château. We crouched on the ground when the light came our way.

“It was not easy. I heard the shots ring out and I was aware of a sudden burning pain in my arm. I thought, I’ve had it. This is the end. Then I heard Buster whisper, ‘Keep still. Flat on the ground. Don’t move a muscle.’ I obeyed and the searchlight passed over us and went on.

“‘Now,’ whispered Buster, and with a tremendous effort, for I was beginning to feel faint, I rose and ran. Buster was pulling me on. ‘Get a move on, sir,’ he whispered. ‘Want the Jerries to get us?’

“We crouched in the bushes. I was aware of the searchlight and that we were beyond its range.

“‘Cor Blimey,’ said Buster. ‘That was a close ’un. Thought it was goodbye, home and beauty. Come on now, or we’ll miss the boat. Got to get going.’

“My sleeve was wet. I touched my arm and my hand came away red with blood.

“‘You’d better go on, Buster,’ I said. ‘I think I might …’

“‘Don’t talk tripe, sir. Begging your pardon,’ said Buster. ‘Course I’m not going on without you. Who’d look after you? We’re going to make it. They’ve had their bit of fun. They won’t come after us now. They’re kidding themselves it was a fox they saw. Makes life easy that way.’

“He was half dragging me along with him. I was beginning to feel rather vague. We were on a road and I saw the lights of a lorry in the distance. Buster dragged me into a hedge until it had passed. Then we went on. I hardly knew what was happening; I think I must have been delirious. Buster told me later that I kept asking where I was and saying, ‘Where is Jermyn’s? Where’s the Priory? I’m coming home.’ ‘You was saying your own name over and over again,’ he told me, ‘and talking to some bird called Violet … or something like that.’

“I think he must have carried me, which would have been awkward as I am considerably taller than he is. He probably dragged me most of the way. We had great good luck because in a field he found a wheelbarrow. He was very good at improvising and I had seen him make good use of the oddest things. Now the wheelbarrow proved to be a carriage for me. It was easy just to push me along. I think that wheelbarrow probably saved our lives. He would never have gone on without me. He’s a marvelous fellow, old Buster. He was as clever as he boasted he was. He used to say he could get round anyone, from commanding officers to the shyest bird. He saw himself as a powerful manipulator of everything, including women. I used to call him Casanova Brown. He had never heard of Casanova, but he was pleased when he realized the implication.

“In any case, I shall always believe I owe my life to Buster Brown.

“We came to a house, some way back from the road. Buster took a chance. He told me afterwards he thought I would pass out if he did not get me somewhere quickly. I was losing a lot of blood and he couldn’t push a wheelbarrow in daylight.

“The house had been a farmhouse and was set in the midst of several acres; there were some chickens pecking round, a pig in a sty, and a donkey in a field. This I discovered later, of course, for I was not in a state to notice anything at this stage.

“When the door opened I was faintly aware of a woman speaking rapid French, of which I might have understood a little if I had been in a better state of health. Buster’s knowledge of the language did not go beyond ‘Ooh la la.’

“However, he must have managed to convey to her that he had escaped from the château, that his friend was wounded, and that he needed help.

“What good luck we had that night! Marianne, as we later discovered her to be, had an intense and abiding hatred of the German invaders. They had shot her husband before her eyes and if she had an opportunity of harming them in any way she would eagerly have taken it.

“We also learned that she had helped others from our company to escape to freedom. She took in the situation at once—our clothes, our state, Buster’s sign language, my blood-soaked sleeve—they all told the story.

“Briefly, she took us in. She attended to me first; she bandaged my arm, got me into a bed, and gave Buster a hunk of rye bread and something which bore a resemblance to coffee.

“I think I was delirious. I was not sure where I was and most of the time thought I was in the Priory. Buster slept well on the floor beside my bed.

“He said afterwards: ‘I knew that Marianne was a good ’un. Some might have took us in and then given the alarm. Not this one. She’s going to get her own back on the Hun, and his enemies are her friends.’

“Well, Marianne was indeed a ‘good ’un.’ She was so good to us and without her I could not have survived. Through everything she did, she showed her hatred of the enemy. Otherwise she was a placid sort of woman, good-looking in a rather blowsy, dreamy way—except when she was giving vent to her hatred of Germans. Then she would look fierce and mutter what she would like to do to them.