Light of the Moon by Elizabeth Buchan

Author:Elizabeth Buchan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atlantic Books

An hour later, Evelyn wheeled her bicycle around to the back yard of the farmhouse. At her approach, geese in the field behind set up an indignant noise. Evelyn hid the bicycle behind a piece of machinery, picked her way through the yard covered in droppings and feathers, and knocked at the door of the house. It was opened by an old lady dressed in a pinafore which had lost all its colour. When she saw Evelyn, she removed the cigarette hanging from her mouth and beckoned her inside. Evelyn took a deep breath before entering.

The room was filthy and in it hung the sweet, sickening stench of tomcat. Dust and grime lay in piles in the corners and the windows were opaque with grease. Evelyn let her breath out cautiously. She knew from previous visits that it would take a minute for her stomach to settle.

The farmer was sitting by a brown Bakelite radio, the dial already tuned to the BBC frequency. Evelyn was offered the second chair, which she accepted. The farmer’s wife stood behind them.

At the suggestion of Georges Bégue, a wireless operator operating in France who was being hounded by radio detection vans and Vichy police, a novel system of ‘personal messages’ which was now well established had set up with the BBC. These messages functioned as signals: an agent listened to the radio for his prearranged phrase – ‘le scarabe d’or marche’, ‘le bébé s’appelle Napoleon’, and then moved into action. The scheme saved wireless transmission time and reduced the danger for wireless operators.

‘It’s time,’ said her host, and poured out a glass of Pineau. Evelyn refused and asked if she might be allowed to switch on the radio. The farmer consented. Evelyn turned it on and static buzzed around the room.

‘The jamming must be bad today,’ said Evelyn, feeling obliged to apologise for the BBC.

‘Bloody Boches.’ The farmer stroked his unshaven cheek with his finger. Years of dirt had encrusted into numerous runnels under the skin. Evelyn turned back to the wireless. She had grown fond of both him and his wife. Elderly and poor they might be, but they had never refused her entry and never once indicated that they knew what would happen to them if they were caught listening in to the BBC.

She leant over and placed her ear to the front of the radio. It was smooth and cold. The jamming screeched, grew worse, and miraculously died down. The bell-like tones of the BBC announcer came through. ‘Voici quelques messages personnels.’ Evelyn held up her hand. ‘Le scarabe d’or ne marche pas sur la route . . . Angèle m’a donné sa main . . .’ The couple looked at her, intent and expectant. Evelyn shook her head. Nothing so far. ‘Le bébé Poisson est adorable . . . ‘Please, she prayed. Please not tonight.

‘Au clair de la lune . . .’

Evelyn sat up. The signal had come. If the phrase was repeated on the seven o’clock news that evening, the pick-up was on.

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