The White Dove

By Ted Witham

Emily Louise Renoir is the West Australian-born widow of Viscount Renoir from Marseille. The murder of her husband and their involvement with the French Resistance in 1942 forces her to flee through Spain and Portugal to England. She is followed doggedly by Lance Fuller, her neighbour on the Kojonup farm, who is bitter because he believes Emily's farm should belong to him after his father was killed in World War I and his mother had to sell to Emily's father. Emily initially discounts his claim to the farm, but, after her father's funeral in Kojonup, accepts the way in which Lance's claims are resolved. She returns to England to join the SOE, where her talents are enthusiastically welcomed.
The novella is told in the present (1942-3) with flashbacks to growing up in Kojonup in the 1920s and 30s.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ted Witham
• Release date: Oct 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9780959139549

Ted Witham

I grew up on a farm near Tambellup in the Great Southern of Western Australia. I am married to Rae with two wonderful adult children, three grand-daughters and a grandson. I am a retired Anglican priest, having worked in the Diocese of Perth as a school chaplain and a parish priest. I was Executive Director of The Churches' Commission on Education (YouthCARE WA) for five years, and a lecturer in Religious Education at Murdoch University. I am professed as a Third Order member of the Society of St Francis. I served as Provincial Minister for the Australian Province from 2005 - 2011, My short stories and poetry have appeared in STUDIO, QUADRANT and other journals in Australia, the US and UK. My hymns with a Franciscan twist are found at https://franciscanhymns.wordpress.com/.

Book preview

Title: The White Dove: A Novella/Ted Witham

ISBN 978-0-9591395-4-9

Published by Ted Witham at Smashwords

Copyright Ted Witham 2019

Email: [e-mail]

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Table of Contents

Marseille – Toulouse 405 km : October 21, 1942

Lance Fuller’s Letter

Le Chambon-Sur-Lignon, Department Of Haute-Loire, France

September 20, 1942

Toulouse October 21, 1942

Marseille, Pension Monaco, Harbour Area

October 3, 1942 (19 days earlier)

Toulouse – Saint Girons 100 km

October 22, 1942

Couvent Franciscain, Saint Girons

October 22, 1942

Saint-Girons – Esterri D’aneu 160 km

October 22-23, 1942

Saint Girons – October 22, 1942

The High Pyrenees – 60 kms From Esterri D’aneu

To Portugal

October 23-24, 1942

Safe House in Portugal

October 24, 1942

Porto Harbour, Portugal

November 8, 1942

Andorra La Vella, Spain – Geneva, Switzerland – Raf Speke, England

October 25, 1942

Guildford Airport, near Perth, Western Australia,

December 15, 1942

St Bernard’s Catholic Church, Kojonup

Western Australia

December 16, 1942

Special Operations 2, London,

January 6, 1943

Bletchley Park, near Milton Keynes, England

March 5, 1944

Creating The White Dove

More by Ted Witham

MARSEILLE – TOULOUSE 405 KM

OCTOBER 21, 1942

‘La Milice à 300 mètres, Madame.’ In the rear-vision mirror Max watched his employer, who appeared relaxed, siting up straight on the back seat of the black and white Peugeot 601 Eclipse. Madame la Vicomtesse Emily Louise Renoir was a well-known society figure in the south of France. Max knew that her soft face and strong brown eyes could never be his.

Past Max’s chauffeur’s cap, Emily caught sight of two men ahead dressed in their blue trousers and brown jackets; one held a British Sten gun loosely in front of him, his superior fingered the grip of a Luger pistol in its holster. Emily shuddered: The Resistance had taught her about these weapons in the last few months. It was not information she had enjoyed acquiring, although the maquis had praised her warmly for the speed of her weapons training.

She tensed as Max slowed the car from 120 km/h.

‘We’d best stop. Look at the size of the barrier,’ Max advised. Emily agreed. The white plank blocking the road did look solid. She was also glad for his rapid French. After dreaming in English, she needed to be thinking in clear French.

As the car slowed, she sat regally on the soft red leather of the back seat projecting her dignity as a recently bereaved Vicomtesse.

The car stopped. Max wound down the driver’s window. The Sten milicien leaned in, the strong stale smell of French tobacco preceding his face.

‘Vos papiers,’ he ordered curtly.

‘Monsieur,’ Madame Renoir said coolly from beneath her elegant dark glasses and nodded to her driver. Emily hoped that the shaking of her legs beneath the cashmere travel blanket was not visible to the milicien.

Max handed over a manila folder with two identity cards and her pass to travel to Toulouse. As Madame and driver had rehearsed, the letterhead of the chief of police, as if by accident, was prominent among the papers. The milicien scrutinised the letter of Monsieur le Chef, which gave permission for Madame Renoir to drive to Toulouse to grieve the sudden death in Paris of her husband, the wealthy and influential Vicomte Jean-Laurent Renoir with his sister, Mademoiselle Renoir.

Emily fingered the garnet rosary folded into her rug. They had just passed Montpellier and were two hours out of Marseille on their five-hour trip to Toulouse. Emily breathed a fervent prayer that their journey would not end here just as they had turned away from the coast into the low mountains of the Héraut region.

The senior milicien circled the car. Emily watched him. She saw Max’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel. The commandant leaned in through the driver’s window.

‘Bonjour, Madame Renoir. Thank you again for the soirée last Saturday. My deepest condolences on the death of Monsieur le Vicomte.’ He tapped the folder in his colleague’s hands. Under the cashmere rug, Emily jumped. The commandant continued: ‘You do have the intention of returning to Marseille?’

Emily smiled, ‘Most assuredly, Monsieur le Colonel. I will be, of course, spending the night with the sister of my late husband.’ It’s not quite a lie, she told herself. I will be back, but maybe not for some time.

The commandant nodded to his colleague. The papers were returned to Max, the white barrier removed, polite au revoirs exchanged, and the car waved on its way.

Emily released her breath, but her legs, under the travel rug, still shook.

The papers did not disclose that four centimetres behind her hid Wing Commander Robert Kendell DSC. The Eclipse 601 is unique in its cunning design enabling the hard top to fold into a 15-centimetre