mission and that it was probable that her time as a spy was now over.
A few days later, Vivi was travelling on the train to London. As she passed through major cities, the marks of the war were everywhere. Bombed-out buildings, barbed-wire fences and posters in every station reminding people of the cost of talking about the enemy. ‘Loose Talk Costs Lives’ they warned her. So do wirelesses and antennae being left out, she thought to herself with a sinking feeling of guilt.
On arrival in London, Vivi made her way quickly to Baker Street, to where she had an appointment with her handler in the afternoon. As she walked through the streets with her gas mask over her arm, Vivi felt sick to see the destruction the ongoing bombing campaigns were doing to this beloved city. At the office, Vera Atkins, the woman who took care of all the girls in SOE and who had been her original recruitment officer, eyed her with sympathy.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she’d asked her. Vivi had nodded her head; she could tell the woman had wanted to say more. ‘You know, we’re all trying our best, Vivi. Sometimes things don’t go right. That doesn’t mean that we’re not all trying.’
Vivi nodded again and looked at her shoes. Bad news obviously travelled fast.
Going in to meet with her handler, she noticed it wasn’t Jepson, the head of the division, who she had been expecting. This couldn’t be a good sign. If he’d had another mission for her, surely she would have been ushered into his office. Instead she was met by a serious-looking man who looked up at her through a dark fringe and dark, heavy glasses. As he moved over to the filing cabinet to pull out her file, she noticed he had a marked limp, probably from the First World War, or maybe early action in this one.
‘Vivienne,’ he said, returning to his desk and looking down at her file. ‘Why don’t you tell me what happened?’
Vivi sat back. The last thing she wanted to do was relive the horrors of what had been her life over the last week under the intense gaze of her new handler. She knew she would have to tell him everything that had happened. She started at the beginning, about the work that she’d been doing and the successful broadcasts she’d been part of. It was easy to talk about that. She felt proud of her work, but her voice started to crack as she talked about the family she’d been living with and assigned to, and the night of the bombing itself.
The man wrote some notes in the file as she talked. She couldn’t manage to explain about what she’d done with the wireless. He looked up at her.
‘Why don’t you start at the beginning of the evening? Bombs can be a pretty nerve-wracking thing. Believe me, I know,’ he said, tapping his leg.
Vivi shuddered as she remembered the horrific experience but then slowly went on to outline the incident from the beginning.
‘So, it was your antenna that was still outside as the explosion happened?’ he clarified.
She nodded her head. ‘I signed off,’ she added, trying to reassure him that she’d been following procedure. ‘But then, the young girl in the house was screaming and in a great deal of pain. In my need to get to her and help her, I forgot to retrieve the aerial.’ Her voice petered off.
‘What did you do then?’
She explained how she’d run, looking for someone to help Yvette. How she’d come back to the house and seen the family being arrested. ‘I then went to the safe house, as I had been instructed. Then I came home,’ she stated flatly, fighting back the emotion.
The man waited for a second, then wrote something in his file, stamped it, and closed it shut.
‘Vivi, the country is very grateful for your service, but your actions in France give us concern that you might not be of the correct…’ He searched for the right words that would be the least offensive. ‘… calibre for missions that put you under such intense stress.’ He put down his pen and spoke in a quiet, informed way. ‘The fact of the matter is we feel you may be too emotional for the job, allowing the people around you to affect you in such a way that you don’t complete your tasks. Agents need to be detached, keep their eye on the prize, not