Accidental Agent: Behind Enemy Lines with the French Resistance by Goldsmith John

Author:Goldsmith, John
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Bisac Code 1: BIO008000; BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Military, Bisac Code 1: HIS027100; BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Military
ISBN: 9781473887824
Publisher: Pen and Sword
Published: 2017-01-19T05:00:00+00:00

9

GROSVAL had little reason to love the Germans and, as later events proved, his cold contempt for them did not go unnoticed. Still, they could hardly expect anything else from a man whose leg had been shattered by an enemy shell in 1940.

According to the strict rules laid down by S.O.E. I should have phoned his flat before my arrival to make sure that the coast was clear. Code phrases had been pre-arranged so that if the Gestapo had raided the flat or if Grosval had had some unreliable visitor, he could have warned me. It was a standard procedure but on this occasion I felt that circumstances allowed me to dispense with it.

As it turned out the coast was clear, although it was soon revealed that I was far from out of danger.

An intense young man, whose pale, lined face betrayed the constant pain he suffered from his wound, Grosval first inspected me for injuries and then, when I had assured him that, apart from a sore and swollen ear, I was unscathed, he busied himself with the coffee pot and produced a bottle with two fingers of cognac in it. I drank the coffee before I attempted a small glass of brandy. I had no idea how my stomach would react to alcohol after the nervous strain of the previous twenty-four hours and was pleased when a warm glow spread through my body.

While I breakfasted on bread and garlic sausage, I filled in the details of my adventure. Grosval listened attentively, sometimes putting in an odd question, sometimes interpolating an ejaculation of surprise. When I reached the champagne incident he shook his head and declared that he would never understand the Germans if he lived to be a hundred years old.

Hopping into the bedroom, Grosval then started to dress, pulling on his trousers which stood against the end of his bed.

‘I always leave my false leg inside them,’ he explained. ‘It’s such a chore if you have to fit it into your pants in the morning and it’s just as difficult undressing at night. After the war I think I’ll have a false leg made for every pair of trousers I’ve got and stand them in a row in my wardrobe.’

I marvelled at the courage of the man. There could be no ledge climbing or hide-and-seek in the Rue de Rivoli for him if he were caught. And yet he was sticking his neck out further than anyone might reasonably expect him to.

Grosval told me frankly that the police were taking a lot more interest in him than they had done in the past and, although he was fairly certain that they had nothing on him at the moment, it was not a healthy situation. They regarded him as the sort of man who would be a natural enemy and, of course, they were right. It was necessary for me to take very great care.

I got the message.

Boredom, that old enemy, thrived in ‘safe’ houses. Although it was drilled into every member of S.

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