occupied nation. Their often down-to-earth recounting of their experiences gave me a great insight into the terrible psychological strains and pressures the agents were subjected to. Their
life in the field was a journey through fear and darkness, often treachery, and they lived with great loneliness. Even before their departure, and certainly once back in England, they were
isolated. They could tell no one outside the small F Section circle what they were doing, share with no one but us their doubts, their anxieties, their fears. I also realized that, in order to
carry out their difficult missions, courage was not enough. They needed more than the quick burst of adrenaline required for a ‘hit and run’ mission; they had to possess a special kind
of courage: a cold-blooded nerve which endured for days, weeks, sometimes months, even when doubt and exhaustion almost overwhelmed and drowned their spirit. They needed endurance and, usually, a
passionate belief in a cause. Living so near the edge of death, they were more aware of life than the rest of us are. Many of us tend to take life for granted. They didn’t.
The agents I met during interrogations at Orchard Court were nearly all people of unusual sensitivity, able to make quick decisions and accurate assessments of a person’s character, but
possessing the inner strength to kill or order the execution of a comrade who had betrayed them. SOE seemed to draw officers of exceptional quality who would have been considered outstanding in any
form of warfare. They were not military geniuses, who fitted neatly into the British forces’ organization charts. They were individualists, self-reliant people who preferred to operate singly
rather than in large groups, happy to be their own master and make their own decisions, rather than being obliged to obey orders made by others, which they often considered futile.
In those sessions I also learned that we each have a different pain threshold, that point at which, in spite of oneself, the body succumbs and gives in. Listening to the agents’ often
harrowing stories, I came to understand that it is easy to think, even to boast when in the relative safety of a free country, that one will never crack, never give in, never talk, never betray
one’s comrades. But no one can know their breaking point in advance. That moment, perhaps transitory but often devastating in its consequences, when, faced with terror, threats and
insinuations that one has been betrayed or that the enemy knows all the secrets anyway, a person reaches the end of his tether. His body and his spirit can no longer endure the torture, the pain,
both mental and physical, and he will crack and thereby betray not only himself, but his comrades, his fellow résistants and the cause for which he is fighting. Perhaps that is why SOE
advised departing agents to swallow the L pill if ever they were arrested, so that they would never have to discover what their breaking point might be
.
In Gestapo hands an agent who
cracked was as good as dead. I never met one who did. But perhaps they were the ones who didn’t return!
Orchard Court was not only the place agents returned to after a mission. It was also the last place they saw before departing for the field. Arthur Park’s firm handshake, his warm smile of
encouragement and his friendly pat on the back as they left Orchard Court were precious memories for many agents long after the war was over.
Departing agents were driven to Orchard Court in the afternoon prior to leaving to change into their ‘made in France’ clothes. These outfits were specially designed for them by a
Jewish refugee tailor from Vienna who had a workshop in Whitechapel. The cut of a jacket or the way a shirt collar is set or the buttons and zip fasteners are placed differs from country to
country. Had they been infiltrated into France wearing British tailored clothes, even with the original labels removed, and ‘Galeries
life in the field was a journey through fear and darkness, often treachery, and they lived with great loneliness. Even before their departure, and certainly once back in England, they were
isolated. They could tell no one outside the small F Section circle what they were doing, share with no one but us their doubts, their anxieties, their fears. I also realized that, in order to
carry out their difficult missions, courage was not enough. They needed more than the quick burst of adrenaline required for a ‘hit and run’ mission; they had to possess a special kind
of courage: a cold-blooded nerve which endured for days, weeks, sometimes months, even when doubt and exhaustion almost overwhelmed and drowned their spirit. They needed endurance and, usually, a
passionate belief in a cause. Living so near the edge of death, they were more aware of life than the rest of us are. Many of us tend to take life for granted. They didn’t.
The agents I met during interrogations at Orchard Court were nearly all people of unusual sensitivity, able to make quick decisions and accurate assessments of a person’s character, but
possessing the inner strength to kill or order the execution of a comrade who had betrayed them. SOE seemed to draw officers of exceptional quality who would have been considered outstanding in any
form of warfare. They were not military geniuses, who fitted neatly into the British forces’ organization charts. They were individualists, self-reliant people who preferred to operate singly
rather than in large groups, happy to be their own master and make their own decisions, rather than being obliged to obey orders made by others, which they often considered futile.
In those sessions I also learned that we each have a different pain threshold, that point at which, in spite of oneself, the body succumbs and gives in. Listening to the agents’ often
harrowing stories, I came to understand that it is easy to think, even to boast when in the relative safety of a free country, that one will never crack, never give in, never talk, never betray
one’s comrades. But no one can know their breaking point in advance. That moment, perhaps transitory but often devastating in its consequences, when, faced with terror, threats and
insinuations that one has been betrayed or that the enemy knows all the secrets anyway, a person reaches the end of his tether. His body and his spirit can no longer endure the torture, the pain,
both mental and physical, and he will crack and thereby betray not only himself, but his comrades, his fellow résistants and the cause for which he is fighting. Perhaps that is why SOE
advised departing agents to swallow the L pill if ever they were arrested, so that they would never have to discover what their breaking point might be
.
In Gestapo hands an agent who
cracked was as good as dead. I never met one who did. But perhaps they were the ones who didn’t return!
Orchard Court was not only the place agents returned to after a mission. It was also the last place they saw before departing for the field. Arthur Park’s firm handshake, his warm smile of
encouragement and his friendly pat on the back as they left Orchard Court were precious memories for many agents long after the war was over.
Departing agents were driven to Orchard Court in the afternoon prior to leaving to change into their ‘made in France’ clothes. These outfits were specially designed for them by a
Jewish refugee tailor from Vienna who had a workshop in Whitechapel. The cut of a jacket or the way a shirt collar is set or the buttons and zip fasteners are placed differs from country to
country. Had they been infiltrated into France wearing British tailored clothes, even with the original labels removed, and ‘Galeries
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