Page 67 of Tides of Resistance
There was an exchange when Alain was asked to show his papers and fishing permit. Then she heard his voice filter through the planks, speaking loudly to warn her. ‘Today’s catch is stored below. You’re welcome to check.’
This was followed by the sound of one set of heavy boots tip-tapping on the steep ladder and descending into the hold. Lizzie opened her eyes, which had been screwed tightly shut, and the beam of a torch illuminated the confined space. Her cramped muscles screamed out, but one slight move and she could alerthim to her presence. Her chest was tight, and her senses roared in her head as she held her breath, not daring to breathe for fear he would hear her.
The light swept overhead across the deck planks and around the cramped space, and the boots stopped dangerously close to where she cowered behind the tall crates hidden in the shadows.
Alain had warned her they might very possibly check the hold for stowaways or contraband as he had a permit for fish only. When during the journey, he showed her where to hide, he warned, ‘Don’t breathe. Don’t move. The stench is horrible for anyone not used to it, so they won’t stay down here for long.’
Lizzie released a shuddering breath she could not hold any longer, but froze as she heard him abruptly stop poking the fish crates and the torchlight swept around the hold again, beaming into the nearby corner.
Had he heard her?
Her heart pounded so hard she thought it would be a miracle if he didn’t hear it banging.
Please God. I promise I will do anything you ask of me if you just save me from being caught by these monsters and let me complete my mission.
Lizzie pleaded urgently, as much for distraction as for solace. In the paralysing fear, all that was left to her was her silent communion with God.
The soldier made a gagging sound and muttered to himself.
The stench was evidently getting to him, and she lay there as the noise of his hands checking the crates stopped and his boots retreated. She heard him hastily climbing the ladder, calling out in German that all was clear.
Relief coursed through her, but Lizzie didn’t move in case it was a test. She was grateful to breathe freely again, even with the harsh smell permeating her nostrils. The crackling sounds of a radio and then clipped German commands floated below deck.
She heard, ‘Patrol boat 5 to harbour,’ followed by muffled exchanges she couldn’t decipher before the merciful sound of the engine spluttered to life and the hull vibrated as the steady chug of the boat resumed.
Alain asked if she was alright from the top of the ladder.
‘You can stretch and move for a few minutes, and I’ll call down when you need to get back into position. We don’t have long before mooring.’
Lizzie unfurled her cramped limbs and stood slowly, stretching and walking around the hold. The overalls Alain had given her to protect her clothes were smeared in slime and fish scales, which made her queasy. She took a few tentative steps up the ladder without showing her head and inhaled the blasts of fresh sea air.
Alain warned her to get out of sight again, and she climbed back into her fishy prison. Soon, the boat lurched to a stop, and she guessed they had moored at St. Helier harbour.
She wondered how it looked now and was sorry she couldn’t see. In her mind, she replayed the scene where her family had said goodbye to her father when he was called urgently to London by the War Office. They had followed soon after, and her memories of the harbour were of tears and painful partings.
Alain was a regular at the harbour and had told her the riskiest part of the journey would be at the checkpoint, which they’d already passed through.
A Jersey-accented voice speaking in a combination of English and French drifted down to the hold. ‘Bonjour, Alain, back again already?’
Alain replied in broken English. ‘Yes, not the best day, but I’ve got two crates ready to unload. I brought them up on the deck to save the workers the trouble.’
‘It can’t always be a good catch, I suppose,’ replied the chatty Jerseyman.
‘True, I’ll see if my luck improves with a round of night fishing before I head home.’
Lizzie heard more stomping feet and the sound of crates being shifted and hauled about. More voices rang out, and she lay there rigid, unmoving, in case one of them had the bright idea of coming down to the hold.
It seemed like hours until the engine fired up and the boat rumbled out of the harbour, to the rhythm of Lizzie’s frantic heart. They still weren’t clear of imminent danger until they passed the patrol boat checkpoint again, and she clutched her hands together and waited.
Only when she heard a loud German voice, say, he recognised Alain, ‘Das ist der französische Fischer,’ followed by a brief horn blast as the boat puttered back out to sea, did she release her pent-up breath.
Ten minutes later, Alain called down to tell her it was safe, and she emerged into the stiff breeze and stared at the Jersey coastline silhouetted in the darkness as they made their way towards Portelet.
The moon glowed in the black sky sprinkled with a blanket of glittering stars. The small boat hugged the coast, Alain using his years of experience to navigate around the rocks and reefs. He cut the engine and used oars to propel the vessel into what he called the Secret Cove.
Lizzie knew of it too, but she had a different name for it. Her family referred to the tiny cove as Lizzie’s Cove because she used to beg her parents to take her swimming there when she was little. It was where she had learnt to swim, and when Alain said he planned to drop her at the Secret Cove, she knew exactly where he meant.
Lizzie’s Cove was tucked beneath overhanging rock and hidden by the headland, and its very existence was camouflaged by the tides twice a day. The entrance was narrow even for thesmall boat, so it didn’t show up as a viable landing point on a defence map. They both agreed this was the only way they could make it into Portelet without a high risk of alerting patrols.
