In Farleigh Field: A Novel of World War II

The guard looked around. “He was just saying good-bye to his family last time I saw,” he said. “Oh, there he is, over there. Hold on, I’ll get him for you. Oy, Gunner Davis. More friends to see you,” he shouted.

A small, wiry man came toward them. He looked confused when he saw Ben and Pamma.

“Yes? Can I help you?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” Ben said. “Our mistake. We thought you’d be our friend. Flight Lieutenant Prescott. He also escaped from a German prison camp recently.”

“Prescott?” The man shook his head. “He’s back in England? Well, strike me pink. We all thought he was a goner.”

“No, if it was the same prison camp, he survived the breakout by playing dead, just like you,” Pamela said. “He was wounded, but he made his way back to England. He was awfully brave, as I’m sure you were.”

The man scratched his head, pushing his cap sideways. “That’s not right, miss. Lieutenant Prescott was in the same camp, but he wasn’t part of the breakout. He was taken away in a German staff car a couple of weeks before. Gestapo, I’m pretty sure. In fact, when the Jerries were waiting for us in the woods as we came out of the tunnel, I thought to myself that they’d tortured Prescott and he’d spilled the beans. So he made it home, did he? I wonder how he managed that? We thought he was a goner.”

Ben looked at Pamela. Neither of them could find anything to say.

“Thank you, Gunner Davis,” Pamela said at last. “And congratulations on your medal. Well deserved.”

Ben looked at her with admiration. No wonder people respected the upper classes. She’d just had a second devastating blow, but she remained calm, poised, gracious. Confused thoughts were buzzing around in his head. If Jeremy had been taken away from the camp by the Germans, how on earth had he made it home? Escaping from a prison camp was one thing. Escaping from the Gestapo was something else. And why had he lied about being part of the breakout? Swimming down the river? Ben glanced at Pamela. The only way he could have escaped from the Gestapo would have been if they’d let him go. Ben felt sick and cold inside. Jeremy had been his friend all his life. It was hard to believe that he’d turned traitor. There had to be a good explanation.

He collected himself. He had a job to do. “So the prime minister and all his entourage have left?”

The gate guard nodded. “That’s right.”

“And they are going to Chartwell?” Ben asked.

“That was the original plan, so I heard. But Mr. Churchill called it off because he didn’t think it was right to open up the house just for him.”

Gunner Davis was still standing nearby. “Just stopping by on their way to some garden party, I heard. Mrs. Churchill told Winston they shouldn’t dawdle, or the Westerhams would be annoyed if they were late.”

Pamela’s face was ashen white as she climbed back into the sidecar.

“I can’t believe it.” She turned away from Ben. “I thought I knew him. But I didn’t know him at all.” Then she started to say, “You don’t think that . . .” but she couldn’t finish the sentence.



Phoebe and Alfie came out of the gate and headed toward the village.

“Who do you think they are going to shoot with that gun?” Alfie asked.

“Mr. Churchill, of course,” Phoebe said. “He’s coming here today for the garden party. We were right all along, Alfie. There must be a German spy in the neighbourhood. If only we could find out who it is.”

“We can tell the grown-ups. Then it’s up to them,” Alfie said. “But the garden party should be pretty safe. They can put guards on the gate. It’s pretty bloody impossible to climb that wall.”

“Your language still hasn’t improved,” Phoebe said primly. Then she looked at him. “But I’m glad you’re with me. I wouldn’t like to have to do this alone.”

They stepped into the hedge and heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. It was a small white delivery van; it slowed to a halt beside them.

“Where are you off to, young’uns?” Jeremy Prescott rolled down the window.

“Oh, hello, Jeremy,” Phoebe said. “We’re going into the village to report something serious.”

“Serious? Not a lack of champagne for the party, surely?” He laughed. “My father already sent over six bottles.”

“No, really serious,” Alfie said. “Someone might be going to shoot the prime minister this afternoon.”

“What? Is this some kind of joke?” Jeremy was still smiling.

“No. Not a joke. It’s real,” Phoebe said.

“How did you figure that one out?”

“Phoebe overheard this morning.” Alfie moved closer to the van so that nobody could overhear. “A man told a woman she had to do it, and he gave her a loaded gun and she was very upset.”

“Good God. Really?” Jeremy was no longer smiling. “You’re right. This is serious stuff. We should go and tell the police right away.” He got out and came around the van. “Jump in. I’ll give you a lift.”

He had opened the rear door. They scrambled into the back of the van. The door closed behind them.

“Hey, don’t shut us in. It’s dark in here,” Alfie shouted, but the van was already driving off again.

When it hadn’t slowed after a few minutes, Phoebe whispered to Alfie, “I don’t think we’re going to the police station, do you?”

“No. We’d better get out of here next time it slows down. Okay?”

“Yes, let’s. I have a really bad feeling about this.”

She slid across to the door and ran her hands over it. “There doesn’t seem to be a way to open it from the inside,” she whispered. “Let’s bang and shout. Somebody will hear us.”

“But he’ll hear in the front seat. He might come around and kill us,” Alfie said.

“Oh, don’t be silly. This is Jeremy. I’ve known him all my life. He wouldn’t ever . . .” She paused. “I don’t think he’d kill us,” she said in a small voice.

The van was being driven fast, throwing the children from side to side. At last it slowed and came to a halt. They felt it shake as the driver’s door slammed.

“Now!” Alfie whispered to Phoebe. “Bang on the sides and shout. Ready, go.”

“Help!” they shouted. “Let us out!” They banged with their fists on the sides of the van.

Then Alfie noticed something. “He’s left the engine running,” he said. “We’d better hope we’re not in a garage, or we won’t last five minutes.”

“Don’t say that!” Phoebe put her eye to the crack where the doors came together but could see nothing.

Alfie gave a sudden sob. “Oh God,” he yelled. “Get me out of here!”

He hammered on the door of the van.

“Calm down,” Phoebe said primly. She put a hand on his back and felt him shaking.

“I hate being shut in like this,” he said. “Ever since the door was blown in on the bomb shelter, and we couldn’t get out and everyone was screaming, and I thought we were going to die. I’ve got to get out . . .”

Phoebe patted his shoulder. “It’s going to be all right, Alfie. We’ll find a way.”

“How?”

Phoebe looked around, trying to think of something to make him feel better. “You’re a Cockney,” she said. “Don’t people like you know how to pick locks?”