Do the Birds Still Sing in Hell? (26 page)

Late the following afternoon Horace was approached by one of the most senior prisoners in the camp. Sergeant Major Harris was with the regiment of the 10th Lancers. Almost to a man his comrades had been wiped out at Abbeville in France in the early days of the war.

Sergeant Major Harris asked Horace to take a walk as the rest of the men queued up for the evening ration. They walked slowly around the perimeter of the camp, Sergeant Major Harris half a step ahead of Horace with his hands behind his back.

The Sergeant Major stopped and looked around. Horace took that as his cue to stop too.

‘Not too many Huns around here, Greasley, are there?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Good. What I want to talk to you about is rather sensitive.’

Horace felt he knew what was on the Sergeant Major’s mind.

‘I know all about you, Jim Greasley, and I know what you’ve been getting up to.’

Horace felt like a ten-year-old schoolboy waiting outside the headmaster’s office. Horace was waiting for a lecture, for six of the best. But the tirade never came.

‘I know how many times you’ve escaped and what it is you’ve been doing.’ He gave a little grin and Horace had to concentrate hard to keep his face straight.

‘And I know all about the rabbits too, and the extra bits and pieces you put in the pot for the chaps.’

The Sergeant Major placed a hand on Horace’s shoulder and squeezed gently.

‘Do you have any idea what you have done for the men’s morale?’

Horace opened his mouth to deliver an apology, but the Sergeant Major continued.

‘You’re a hero, Greasley. You give a glimmer of hope to the poor wretched souls in here.’ He smiled again. ‘Me included. You’re giving a stiff two fingers to Jerry every time you break out of here and the effect you are having on the men is magnificent.’

The Sergeant Major seemed to pause for a second or two, as if he was choosing his words carefully. ‘You realise that it is the duty of every prisoner to try and escape and make it back to England, don’t you?’

Horace wanted to say yes, wanted to tell Sergeant Major Harris that it was the first thought that crossed his mind as soon as he broke from the cover of the camp. He wanted to tell him how Rose would be bringing him a map and money too, and that a compass and clothing would follow soon. He wanted to tell Sergeant Major Harris how he’d begged the escape committee for help and that he wanted to get back to England, he really did. The next sentence from Sergeant Major Harris’s lips stunned him.

‘I don’t want you to make it back to England, Greasley.’

‘What, sir? I… I don’t understand. I was…’

‘I want you to stay put, continue what you’re doing. The war is all but over; you’ll be home quick enough.’

‘But, sir…’

‘That’s an order, Greasley.’

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

H
orace continued his meetings with Rose. They made love on a regular basis and continued with their forays into the surrounding villages to supplement the prisoners’ soup pot. The map and money and the other items were seldom mentioned and never materialised. Rose continued supplying the details of the events of the war as they were relayed over the airwaves. Horace lapped up the information voraciously but felt a profound frustration that he couldn’t hear the information first hand, detail by detail.

It was summer of 1943, the fourth Horace had spent in captivity. Deportation of Jews from the Warsaw ghetto to Treblinka extermination camp had begun, even as German civilians were being evacuated from Berlin. Rome had been bombed by the Allies for the first time and by the end of August Italy was drawing up plans to surrender. It all seemed to be going well for the Allies but the Germans showed no signs of letting up their offensive. In a worrying development, scientist Wernher von Braun briefed Hitler on the V2 rocket and the project was approved as a top priority.

Horace and Rose lay completely naked on top of the rug
that had been stored for so long in the back of the small church. Rose lay with her head on Horace’s chest, breathing lightly, slowly recovering from her exertions. Horace stroked her hair, trying to control his own breathing too. Both were bathed in perspiration from the unusually sultry evening. Horace studied the beautifully formed small of her back as it blended perfectly into her buttocks. He stretched down and caressed her backside. She purred with approval. In one swift movement, Horace reached under her hip bone and flipped Rose onto her back, then lay over her with his arms supporting his weight. Rose was taken by surprise as the wind was knocked from her lungs.

‘That’s a little rougher than I’m used to, Jim, but if you want to make love to me again then I submit.’

It was a pleasant thought, but the last thing on his mind.

‘Can you get me a radio, Rose?’

‘A what?’

‘A radio.’

‘I heard you, Jim. I heard you the first time.’

‘Well, can you?’

Rose reached across for her underwear and began to dress herself. Horace followed suit as he pulled his trousers from the back of the pew. Rose was thinking; he didn’t want to interrupt her thoughts. After a few minutes she spoke.

‘Impossible, Jim.’

Horace’s face fell. ‘But why?’

Rose pulled her light cotton dress up over her thighs and began fastening the buttons. His eyes were drawn to her firm young breasts.

‘The Germans confiscated every radio in the village nearly a year ago.’

‘But your father has one, you listen, you bring me…’

‘Yes. It’s in the attic of our house, Jim, and it’s the size of a
small horse, built into an old dresser. It’s not as if it will fit in my purse.’

Horace tried to hide his disappointment. He had seen the same radio sets in the upmarket furniture stores around Ibstock and in Leicester city centre. They were built into sideboards and desks, each one taking at least two men to load it into a furniture wagon for delivery to the wealthier families in the area. He wanted to push Rose further, ask if it were possible to get a smaller model, but he realised that the villages in Silesia were more backward when it came to technology than his home town in Leicestershire. Even if the radio was a more manageable size – one that Rose could carry on her own – it was simply too much of a risk to ask her to board a train in German-occupied Poland, on a train heading in the direction of Allied prisoner of war camps. Jesus… how could he be so stupid?

‘Not to worry, Rose – it was just a thought. Let’s go rabbit hunting.’

The two lovers dressed and walked into the forest hand in hand in the direction of the village. The roof of the forest gradually disappeared as they neared the village and the stars that hung high in the sky illuminated their way like tiny seeds of light.

They’d perfected their craft and targeted different villages at random. They had been lucky and hadn’t been caught, but Horace felt that their luck would run out soon. They’d pillaged the surrounding villages for months now and the local rabbit population was dwindling rapidly. There had even been fights and arguments among the civilian workers in the camp suspicious of each other, wondering whether there was a thief in their midst. It was almost comical, and Horace had had to control his laughter on more than one occasion. The prisoners were above suspicion. How on earth
could they be responsible? They were under lock and key every single night and there were no signs that any of them had escaped.

As they neared the edge of the wood the dim lights of a few cottages shone through the branches of the trees. Rose turned and faced him.

‘I could smuggle the parts in for you.’

‘What?’

‘The radio parts. If you tell me what parts you need to build a radio I could try and get them for you.’

The following morning Horace had requested that Jimmy White – a sapper from the Isle of Wight – meet him in the barber’s quarter. At first, Jimmy White had declined the offer but was told in no uncertain terms by a superior officer to report. A little after ten, Jimmy sauntered in, mumbling that he didn’t need a damned haircut, he’d only seen Horace two weeks ago. He sat down in the chair, still moaning.

‘I don’t know what your fucking game is, Jim. I like a bit of length on my hair. Jesus, fuck! I went long enough when those bastards shaved it to the wood. Now it seems you want to do the same.’ Jimmy White looked into the broken, makeshift mirror and caught a look in Horace’s eyes that told him he hadn’t been summonsed for a haircut.

Jimmy White smiled and waved his forefinger at the mirror. ‘You’re fucking up to something, Jim Greasley, aren’t you? I might have known. I’ve been hearing rumours about you; it wouldn’t surprise me if they were true.’

‘Nice weather we’re having lately, sir.’

‘C’mon Greasley, stop pissing about.’

‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.’ Horace grinned. ‘Something for the weekend?’

Jimmy White sat in the chair and although Horace’s scissors were poised at the ready, they were never called into
action. Horace kept up the charade for a minute or two then decided he’d wound the man up enough.

‘I hear you’re a bit of a radio ham, Jimmy.’

‘I knew it,’ Jimmy White exclaimed. ‘I knew you didn’t bring me here for a haircut.’

Horace grinned. ‘Absolutely right. I brought you here to build a radio.’

Jimmy White’s mouth fell open. ‘You’re fucking mad. Build a radio? You’re fucking crazy.’

Horace pulled at a strand of Jimmy White’s hair and snipped at it with his scissors.

Jimmy pulled his head away. ‘I’ve heard the stories; you escape from the camp at night and raid the villages, pinching rabbits and hens. You’re a fucking nutter. And now you want to build a bloody radio?’

‘That’s right. I’ll get you the parts.’

‘So, it’s true? It is you that escapes?’

‘Correct.’

Jimmy White rose from the chair, began pacing the room.

‘Impossible. It’s just not possible, I’m afraid.’

‘Anything’s possible,’ stated Horace. ‘They said it was impossible to break out of here but I’ve managed it 57 times.’

Jimmy White whistled. ‘Fuck me.’

‘I’d rather not, thanks.’

Jimmy White shook his head. ‘You don’t understand, Jim. I’d need valves and a transistor, a capacitor and a resister, an amplifier and primary and secondary winding units and earphones. Then I’d need some solder and some wiring and if it were possible to get all that in here, where would we put it and more importantly, when and where would we listen to it?’

Horace spoke. ‘Write me a list. You’re to move into the prison staff quarters tomorrow night. Colin Jones has agreed to swap with you.’

‘No, Jim, I won’t. It’s impossible, you’ll get us all killed.’ He was shaking his head in exasperation. ‘And what about a power source? Ain’t you forgotten Jerry turns our electric off at 11?’

Horace placed his scissors into their small wooden box and turned to face the stunned man. ‘Get your list together and let me worry about the power source. All you need to worry about is brushing up on your radio skills.’

‘Aren’t you listening, Jim, you nutter? I ain’t coming into your billet and I ain’t building no fucking wireless.’ Jimmy White threw the barber’s protective gown to the floor and stormed towards the door, grabbing it and flinging it against the wall. As he left he turned around and pointed a stiff finger in the direction of Horace. ‘And that’s fucking final.’

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

‘
I
must be bloody mad,’ Jimmy White mumbled as he walked into the prisoner of war staff quarters towards a smiling, grinning Horace Greasley. ‘I’m telling you, Jim, you won’t be able to get a hold of those parts.’

‘Welcome to the Grand Hotel Shanklin, James. Make yourself at home.’

‘Stupid cunt.’

Horace pointed to the empty bunk. ‘Your suite, sir. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable.’

Jimmy White mumbled something indecipherable and threw his meagre possessions wrapped up in flannelette onto the bed.

‘Breakfast is at 7.30 with maid service around ten.’

‘Silly bastard.’

Although Horace didn’t know it, Jimmy White was in awe of him. He now knew first hand that Jim Greasley was the prisoner responsible for bringing the meat and extra vegetables into the camp. He owed him a huge debt of gratitude as he’d managed to gain a little of the weight that had fallen from his bones over the past few years and like the
other prisoners, he’d welcomed the news Jim had delivered about developments in the war.

Jim had refused to name his source but there was a rumour that he’d formed a relationship with a German girl in one of the villages. It was too preposterous for words and of course Jim had always denied it. Jimmy White supposed he’d heard the information about the war second hand, listening in to conversations as he’d cut the guards’ hair.

And now here he was, Jim Greasley, claiming he could somehow get his hands on a selection of radio parts and he had the know-how to hide them and a power source to tap into. It wouldn’t work… it just wouldn’t work… an impossibility.

It took 14 visits to Rose before every part needed to assemble a radio had been neatly stacked behind a loose panel above the shelf that Horace slept under. The final component had been a capacitor that Rose had really struggled to get hold of. Rose never disclosed her source. Horace had asked her one evening, but she’d flatly refused to tell him. The average Silesian villager was right behind the Allies, she’d explained, and securing the parts hadn’t been nearly as impossible as Jimmy White had imagined. Rose also explained the danger she was placing everybody in and the very real possibility that the Germans would find out about the radio. Horace and his partners in crime would be tortured to reveal their providers and Rose could not take the chance of placing her suppliers in danger if one of the prisoners were to crack.

Horace understood. He did not ask again.

The week before the capacitor came into the camp Horace had managed to rig up the power supply.