Lafayette’ or ‘Printemps’ sewn in their
place, it could have betrayed them. When they got to the flat, their new outfits would be waiting for them. After changing, their uniform and their personal effects were packed into a suitcase and
placed in a locker to await their return – or, should they not return, to be sent to their next of kin. In 1943, when things began to ‘hot up’ for SOE, and more and more agents
were being trained and sent into the field, the facilities at Orchard Court, though considerable, became rather strained, and the overflow of agents was taken to another SOE flat, at 32 Wimpole
Street.
Towards the end of the afternoon, Buck or Vera Atkins would arrive at Orchard Court to accompany the departing agents, now togged out in their new clothes, to Tempsford or Tangmere. If they were
flying from Tangmere, on arrival they would be taken to Tangmere Cottage just across the lane from the airfield (there were similar facilities at Tempsford, a converted farm named
‘Gibraltar’) and given a slap-up dinner with wine flowing freely – but not too freely – after which they would be taken to a small hut on the airfield. Here they were
searched to make sure they had not left something compromising in a pocket. Every possible precaution was taken before the agent climbed into his flying gear to make absolutely sure that during the
journey down from London he had not inadvertently slipped into one of his pockets a box of Swan Vesta matches, a cigarette end with ‘Player’s Please’ written on it or a London bus
ticket. It seems unbelievable but even the turn-ups on men’s trousers were unfolded and carefully brushed in case they had collected some British dust between Orchard Court and the
airfield!
This procedure completed, they were given their new identity papers, ration cards, work permits and a sum of false ‘French’ (made in England) money. A small suitcase was crammed with
temporary rations, tins of food, cigarettes and chocolate, which could also be used for bargaining, since such luxuries were almost unobtainable in France. Their ankles were bandaged to cushion the
shock on landing, and they were helped into their cumbersome flying suits. They were like an enormous eiderdown, because inside the planes it was not only dreadfully noisy, but also terribly cold.
The suit was very heavy since there were about twenty pockets containing a trowel with which to bury their parachute and flying suit on arrival, a small compass, maps of the area for which they
were destined, a first aid kit, emergency rations and, for the men, a hand gun and a dagger. Women agents rarely carried guns, though, like the men, they were given a sharp double-edged knife
– for silent killing, in case their grip on an enemy throat was not strong enough. The parachute was then fixed in position, the helmet adjusted, and they were finally ready to leave –
looking like the Michelin man!
When the departing agents arrived at the plane, a Whitley, Halifax or Hudson, often walking the few yards which separated them from the plane with great difficulty because of their cumbersome
outfit, the pilot would be standing beside the cockpit, waiting for them. Introductions were made, but no names were exchanged, except perhaps the codename which each agent had been given. As he
climbed into the plane, an agent left his ‘real self’ behind him. The pilot was the only member of the crew, except the despatcher, whom they met or with whom they had any contact. Nor was
their departure the glamorous take-off sometimes depicted in films or on the television. There was a large hole in the fuselage of the plane into which the agents put their head and shoulders: they
were then pushed from behind until they disappeared inside, and crawled on all fours to the front of the plane, where sleeping bags were waiting for them. They were advised to try to sleep, since
the journey could be long. Sometimes there was only one
place, it could have betrayed them. When they got to the flat, their new outfits would be waiting for them. After changing, their uniform and their personal effects were packed into a suitcase and
placed in a locker to await their return – or, should they not return, to be sent to their next of kin. In 1943, when things began to ‘hot up’ for SOE, and more and more agents
were being trained and sent into the field, the facilities at Orchard Court, though considerable, became rather strained, and the overflow of agents was taken to another SOE flat, at 32 Wimpole
Street.
Towards the end of the afternoon, Buck or Vera Atkins would arrive at Orchard Court to accompany the departing agents, now togged out in their new clothes, to Tempsford or Tangmere. If they were
flying from Tangmere, on arrival they would be taken to Tangmere Cottage just across the lane from the airfield (there were similar facilities at Tempsford, a converted farm named
‘Gibraltar’) and given a slap-up dinner with wine flowing freely – but not too freely – after which they would be taken to a small hut on the airfield. Here they were
searched to make sure they had not left something compromising in a pocket. Every possible precaution was taken before the agent climbed into his flying gear to make absolutely sure that during the
journey down from London he had not inadvertently slipped into one of his pockets a box of Swan Vesta matches, a cigarette end with ‘Player’s Please’ written on it or a London bus
ticket. It seems unbelievable but even the turn-ups on men’s trousers were unfolded and carefully brushed in case they had collected some British dust between Orchard Court and the
airfield!
This procedure completed, they were given their new identity papers, ration cards, work permits and a sum of false ‘French’ (made in England) money. A small suitcase was crammed with
temporary rations, tins of food, cigarettes and chocolate, which could also be used for bargaining, since such luxuries were almost unobtainable in France. Their ankles were bandaged to cushion the
shock on landing, and they were helped into their cumbersome flying suits. They were like an enormous eiderdown, because inside the planes it was not only dreadfully noisy, but also terribly cold.
The suit was very heavy since there were about twenty pockets containing a trowel with which to bury their parachute and flying suit on arrival, a small compass, maps of the area for which they
were destined, a first aid kit, emergency rations and, for the men, a hand gun and a dagger. Women agents rarely carried guns, though, like the men, they were given a sharp double-edged knife
– for silent killing, in case their grip on an enemy throat was not strong enough. The parachute was then fixed in position, the helmet adjusted, and they were finally ready to leave –
looking like the Michelin man!
When the departing agents arrived at the plane, a Whitley, Halifax or Hudson, often walking the few yards which separated them from the plane with great difficulty because of their cumbersome
outfit, the pilot would be standing beside the cockpit, waiting for them. Introductions were made, but no names were exchanged, except perhaps the codename which each agent had been given. As he
climbed into the plane, an agent left his ‘real self’ behind him. The pilot was the only member of the crew, except the despatcher, whom they met or with whom they had any contact. Nor was
their departure the glamorous take-off sometimes depicted in films or on the television. There was a large hole in the fuselage of the plane into which the agents put their head and shoulders: they
were then pushed from behind until they disappeared inside, and crawled on all fours to the front of the plane, where sleeping bags were waiting for them. They were advised to try to sleep, since
the journey could be long. Sometimes there was only one
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