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The Long Man

by Pauline Furey

438 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #02-1021; ISBN 1-55395-306-1; US$22.95, C$26.00, EUR18.57, £13.00

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about the book      about the author      sample excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book Much has been written about World War Two and the events leading up to its onset in September, 1939, but the characters featured in The Long Man are so diversified they offer five entirely different aspects of similar events during that time. As well, an intriguing tale is interwoven with historic fact. The fear of detection is a constant companion to Janine Parke, an experienced agent and civilian pilot working for British Intelligence. She is torn between her loyalty to England and her native France when Nazi occupation threatens both countries. Of her clandestine operations, she can tell no one. Claude Simone, a Parisian Jew, has partnered Janine for some years, and poses as an Englishman named Ben Boniface in the village of Long Bottom (fictitious) where they both live--he, renting a room at Mallory Cottage and she, residing with her husband, son, and daughter on their estate named Flint House. Claude is coerced into becoming a double agent by a German named Beatrix Dierick in order to guarantee his parents' safety in Paris. While normally intolerant of children, he nonetheless becomes fond of Kate Hawkins, a ten-year-old who has been evacuated from London to Mallory Cottage and who has an extraordinary talent for drawing. He is extremely concerned when she sketches a good likeness of Dierick. Of his clandestine operations, he can tell no one. Yvonne Parke, Janine's daughter and also an experienced pilot, is ferrying operational aircraft for Air Transport Auxiliary when she is approached by members of the Free French in London to carry out a mission for them in France. Prior to her involvement with the Free French and due to an arrangement made by Ben Boniface, she takes the family's river boat to Dunkirk in order to rescue entrapped British and French soldiers from the beaches there. But of her clandestine operations, she can tell no one. David, Yvonne's brother, is shot down and badly burned during the Battle of Britain. During the long months of treatment, Kate sends him amusing letters and drawings which are greatly instrumental in promoting his recovery. With weakened hands he is unable to return to a fighter squadron but instead joins a Special Operations squadron involved in the delivery and retrieval of British agents in France. Of these duties, he can tell no one. Kate's youthful misconceptions offer innocent humour, yet her unusual involvement with the Parke family creates the link that draws the five characters and the network of the plot together. As well, the reader will experience the often concealed terror of a child suffering through the duration of a dreadful war.

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About the Author Since The Long Man incorporates some of this author's personal childhood experiences in England during World War Two, the fictional accounts offered in the novel ring true. In the late 'forties and early 'fifties, when Europe and the Middle East were still struggling to their war-torn feet, she travelled extensively through these regions working for a British airline and thereby conceived the idea for her first novel, The Faldetta. America beckoned in 1956 and, still associated with the civil aviation industry, she moved to New York. Later she married and lived some years in Asia and Europe but now makes her home in the temperate climate and extraordinarily beautiful scenery of Northwest America.

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Excerpt #1

p. 44-47

She looked upwards and saw high gray stratus corrugating the dark sky. A blend of palest pink still lingered at the western horizon. No breeze disturbed the surface of the river as it flowed like dark syrup on an ebbing course toward its mouth at Newhaven, seven miles to the south.

"Perhaps we should think seriously about this," Yvonne said, hoping Toby would rise to the bait. "The boat has never been to sea, you know."

"It doesn't look any less seaworthy than those in front," Toby said. "Let them decide at Newhaven. As for us, we'll be home in a couple of hours."

She could not argue with that.

"They're calling this rescue mission Operation Dynamo, you know," Toby said. "It's been in progress for several days. I do wonder why the enemy hasn't tried to stop the small rescue boats leaving the English coast, but I suppose they're concentration on larger ships and the trapped soldiers on the other side. His eyes widened as he looked forward.

"We're off!" he said, licking his lips.

Yvonne scanned the darkness, hoping for a glimpse of Ben. Nothing stirred on the bank.

"We'll have to go without him," she said. "All we have to do is follow the other boats."

Toby looked apprehensively toward shore, biting down on his thumb nail.

"Well--I don't know--he said he'd be here," he said.

But Yvonne was already pulling in the lines. It seemed to her now that perhaps lending the boat might make a tiny contribution to the rescue mission. The least she could do was take it as far as Newhaven.

The engine turned over immediately and ran smoothly. Easing the bow toward midstream, she followed the boat in front carefully keeping an estimated fifty feet away from the vague outline of its stern. The four river craft moved without running lights to acknowledge the blackout, or radio contact to avoid detection from any enemy short-wave radio that might succeed in interception. The boat was veritably blind until Yvonne's eyes accustomed themselves to the darkness. Only then did the restriction in her throat lessen.

"Ben will be at Newhaven, I'm sure," she said to Toby who stood silently beside her. "His delay must have been caused by something important."

But Ben did not meet the boat at Newhaven. Yvonne jumped ashore the minute they were moored and searched the Newhaven-Dieppe ferry wharf for any sign of him.

"I'll see if I can find someone in authority who can tell us who'll take over the boat," Toby said. "At the same time, I'll see about an allocation of water and fuel for them."

During the down river run Toby's confidence had noticeably grown and Yvonne was thankful that she could now rely on his help. He had been alert for the swing bridge at Southease and had pointed out the village of Piddinghoe, hoping that Ben may be waiting there to jump aboard.

"He's not here," she panted, having completed her search along the wharf. "Any luck with a substitute crew?"

Toby shook his head. "All naval and Coast Guard personnel are in Folkstone. All available civilians are already aboard other boats. They've suggested we wait with our boats for further instructions."

"Does that mean we have come all this way for nothing?"

She could hear Toby breathing in the darkness.

"Ben thinks the boat is seaworthy," he said, at last.

"I've never had the opportunity to test her," Yvonne said, watching the silent preparations going on around her. "I suppose there's only one way to find out."

"Right. Well, that's what we'll do then if they can't find anyone else."

"Right. After all, Folkstone isn't that far. Is it?"

"Look, Yvonne. We'll be with the other boats. If anything happens, they'll be there to help."

"Yes, Toby. But did it occur to you that the three boats we came down river with are also only river boats."

"Then...we're all in the same boat!"

"Literally!"

Toby looked at her bright hair. "I'm not sure what the reaction will be come daylight when they see that you're...a woman."

She had not thought of that. Diving her hands deeply into the pockets of the duffel coat she found a wool hat. "This should do the trick," she said.

Toby did not look too sure about that, but once every obstinate curl had disappeared from view he said they might get away with it.

"I don't see the ferry, Toby. But look! There are other boats coming in on the west side of the river mouth. I think there's going to be quite a fleet of us."

"Indeed there is. I heard that the ferry went over to Dunkirk from Dover on May 27th. One of the first to operated under Stuka attack..."

"Where did you hear that?" She had not meant to snap.

"Ben. He said the rescue operations are taking place at night now to avoid these aerial attacks."

He gripped the top of the gunwale and scanned the dock yet again.

"Where the devil is the man," he muttered. "He's had plenty of time to get here, especially now that we've had to wait around like this. It's getting late."

He looked up as a large fishing boat chugged past them.

"That's the Miss Julie. I was told this would be our lead boat. It looks like we're getting ready to leave." He glanced at his watch. "It's well after midnight."

They both knew that Ben would not come now.

As Yvonne released the mooring lines, she thought about her first solo out of Croydon. While there had been no doubt in her mind she could pull it off successfully, her stomach had felt like a cannon ball. She suffered the same symptoms now as she envisioned the coastline between Newhaven and Folkstone. They would have to stay fairly far out to avoid seaweed beds and shoals, but close enough in to avoid defensive mines.

She smiled at Toby as they pulled out and joined the other boats that were already following the Miss Julie toward the river mouth, and drew confidence from his reassuring grin.

"This is where we find out what kind of stuff Summer Solstice is made of," Yvonne said. "We're about to go to sea!"

It occurred to her then that her helmsmanship and seamanship were also about to be put to the test.

As the pale light of dawn hovered at the eastern horizon, she and Toby took stock of the boats around them dimly outlined in a morning mist. At first count they estimated an approximate thirty craft of all shapes, sizes and categories. Their crews matched the general motley array, comprising white-haired men, school aged youths, ruddy-faced commercial fishermen, and a sprinkling of young boat owners who had not yet been called to service. Yvonne saw no other women. On the starboard side of the fleet she saw the black outline of a tug fussing along and, silhouetted ominously both forward and aft, the unmistakable shapes of mounted machine guns.

"Is that our only defence?" she asked Toby.

He nodded, ruefully.

The swell of the Channel brought the boat to life. Miss Julie struck out toward Seaford followed by her brood of mismatched Samaritans. This courageous leader would be the first to perish if the fleet encountered a mine.

Excerpt #2

p. 54-57

"This is a makeshift chart," Toby said. "Obviously we won't have any trouble since we'll simply go along with everyone else. But it does indicate the mines along the Ruytingen Bank and the general areas we are to aim for, and those to avoid. We're supposed to try for the inshore channel midway between Dunkirk and Gravelines."

"Then what?"

"We pile on as many men as we can and deliver them to the destroyer which is waiting offshore. Then go back and get some more and do the same thing again." Toby looked concerned. "Look, Yvonne. This sort of thing will probably go on all night if we don't get hit by gunfire...I'll understand completely if you decide against it." He hesitated. "Of course, I shall go in any case."

"Then so shall I."

The need for Ben's assistance was again in focus, but the day went by with no sign of him. At sunset the converted Isle of Man steam packets moved out and other craft followed suit. Summer Solstice rocked in the backwash of the pleasure boat Eastbourne Belle as she got underway, churning up the water.

Once again they approached the entrance to the harbour and as Toby turned the bow toward the east, the incessant thud of distant guns reached them. But the activity immediately around them affected Yvonne far more deeply. She saw hundreds of small boats joining them from all points of the foreland. Some were much smaller than theirs and far less seaworthy. Toby pointed toward the mouth of the Thames as they passed Margate well to port.

"Look! Many river boats, Hopper barges, dredge holders, and, would you believe, a Yangtse gun boat?"

This was no small rescue mission. Hundreds of boats in a great armada converged into a wide gauntlet with every face at every helm looking grimly toward Dunkirk. What an incredible concentration of concern for the men trapped on the beaches, Yvonne thought. This must be history in the making and damned if I'm not part of it.

It seemed in no time at all the dusk closed in and the gun flashes illuminated sudden erratic outlines of boats, faces, clouds, wakes and bow waves in jerky cinematographic movements. Toby suddenly grabbed her arm.

"Quick! Get down!" he hissed. "E Boat!"

She crouched beside him and helped to hold onto the wheel. A zip of mini explosions streaked across the top of the dodger accompanied by a burst of staccato shots. A bright searchlight swept the forest of boats, and another burst of bullet sprayed in a semicircular radius.

"Can you reach the throttle," Toby shouted. "Open her up! Full out!"

Yvonne stretched her arm up and fumbled about, sobbing with frustration when she could not reach.

Toby raised his head high enough to see what was going on. "It's veered toward the west. Those behind us will catch it now. Bastard! Nobody can outrun him. He can pull an easy forty knots."

Yvonne cautiously rose, testing her legs for stability. She stood up, stiffening her knees to keep them from shaking.

"How do you know about E Boats?" she said at last.

"I was in the last war. Navy. Aboard small craft, actually."

"Toby! You could have told me!"

"I'm a much older man now. I wasn't sure..."

With heavy gunfire growing steadily louder toward the east they continued without further incident. The beaches came into view and in the intermittent flashes they could see patterns of strange black lines looking like dark, irregular snail trails. Before Yvonne could comment on them, something exploded on their starboard side, rocking the boat alarmingly. The engine faltered as the boat wallowed dangerously and debris rained down upon them.

"Someone struck a mine," Toby shouted as they scrambled to their feet.

"How can we avoid doing the same thing?" Yvonne croaked.

"We can't. Just keep heading for the beach, Yvonne...and pray. I'll keep an eye out for floating obstacles."

As she took the helm, something distracted her out on the water.

"Toby. There's someone alive out there!"

"Can't stop! Too risky!

"But we must! Don't you think what we're doing is already too risky?" Something moved feebly in the water about ten feet off the port bow and Yvonne yelled frantically.

"Please, Toby. We must." She slowed the engine abruptly.

"All right. But we'll have to be quick." Toby leaned over the side seeking the casualty with a boat hook.

"Can't bring him in alone," he gasped. "You'll have to help."

She scrambled down beside him and together they pulled the floundering man on board. Toby immediately rushed to the helm and brought the engine back up to full throttle. Other boats were rushing past them oblivious to the damaging debris threshing about in the foam.

Yvonne looked down at the prone figure on the deck and knelt to turn him over. She felt the warm stickiness of blood on her hands and saw the dark, saturating stain on the front of his clothes. He opened his eyes and tried to smile, emitting a strong odour of alcohol. It was the "Tally-ho" man.

"Damn silly, i'n'it?" he whispered thickly, his voice barely audible through the bedlam. "Came all this way for nothing."

She undid his shirt to see if there was anything she could do about his wound and saw a shining mass. The vicious injury had laid his intestines bare and blood welled rhythmically amongst them, obviously from a severed main artery. She reeled back, jerking her head away from the dreadful sight.

"Tally-ho!" the voice whispered.

She forced herself to look at his face as he lifted his chin and tried to wink. The eyelid stayed half-closed and the eye behind it stared blindly up at the night sky.

"Oh, Toby. We don't even know who he is," she said through dry lips.

"Take the helm for a moment," Toby shouted.

She obeyed and when she glanced behind her a moment later, the man was gone.

"We'll need space for survivors," Toby said, trolling a canvas bucket for water.

She could hear him washing down the deck in the same manner the commercial fishermen did after a catch and prayed that she might soon wake up from this horrific nightmare.

Ahead the dark hulk of a large ship loomed up, illuminated by gun flashes. Small craft hovered about the fantail like ducklings around a mallard, awaiting their turn to unload the human cargoes. Even from a distance, Yvonne could see the wide eyes and white faces of the soldiers as they jumped onto the Jacob's ladders and cargo nets strung from the fantail and gangway and down the sides.

"I think they said that HMS Malcolm would be standing by," Toby said. "She's a destroyer with the capability of moving out at a good clip. We'll be delivering the men there."

Coming out from the beach a Folkstone pleasure boat, loaded with men and sitting perilously low in the water, churned along toward the English shoreline.

Something hit the water about fifty yards ahead and sent up a plume of spray.

"We're within range of shore artillery," Toby shouted. "Keep down. There'll be shrapnel."

He changed his course slightly to overtake a small motor boat. Yvonne marveled at his transformation. He exuded confidence and capability. The earlier qualms had disappeared and Toby Mallory was behaving like the hero he was. She ducked down, raising her head just enough to peep over the side. Another explosion to starboard. Closer this time, again rolling the boat and disrupting the engine. A third shell fell behind them, instantly blowing the little motor boat they had just passed to bits. Splintered segments of polished wood rained down on the cabin and cockpit of Summer Solstice. There would be no point in searching for survivors this time.

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Catalogue Information

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