The Ten-Bob Traitors: Wilkinson at War, #2

By RCS Hutching

Clarence Wilkinson and Jenny Matheson make some unofficial enquiries about the wellbeing of a soldier based at Overton in Hampshire who although only slightly injured in a road accident has been posted to Wales to convalesce. It is 1941 and the young man's father believes that he is not being told the whole truth by the military authorities. The discovery of an excellently forged ten-shilling note points to the possibility of the existence of a Nazi counterfeiting operation in the Overton area. Jenny goes undercover as a school secretary at the girls' boarding school adjacent to the military site while Clarence follows a line of enquiry by the murder of an army deserter in Hackney who was in possession of a substantial quantity of the brand new forged notes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: RCS Hutching
• Release date: Jan 6, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224293575

RCS Hutching

I am English and live in East Sussex, England. For additional information please visit my website.

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Author’s Notes

Although the main characters, events, and some of the locations referred to in this book are fictional there are certain aspects which are historically correct.

Additional Notes (mainly for non-British readers)

Ten-bob is slang terminology for ten shillings in pre-decimal British currency. Its modern-day equivalent is the fifty-pence piece.

Snide was (and maybe still is) underworld slang for counterfeit currency.

For the purpose of this story, I have placed the introduction of the new ‘mauve’ wartime ten-shilling note in 1941 rather than the correct year of 1940.

R C S Hutching  

Prologue

One evening in March 1935 PC Robert Stallybrass had less than half an hour left before he clocked off duty at Hackney Road Police Station. There were still several days to go until the clocks were put forward to signal the arrival of British Summer Time and so at 6 pm, Albert Way was in shadowy darkness with the street lighting barely providing a helpful path through the gloom.

To call it a street was to exaggerate it’s significance when it was no more than a shallow cul-de-sac of no more than a dozen buildings on either side. A brick wall at the end served to hide the downward slope of the railway embankment at the foot of which lay the disused track of an old railway spur. At street level, the remaining three active shop premises had closed for the day and stood silently in the darkness. Outnumbering them were the boarded-up windows of those other former trading outlets whose owners had one by one given up the unequal struggle to earn a living in such a run-down environment. Only two dimly glowing lights could be seen in the windows of the living quarters on the upper floors and blocked gutters, untended for many months, caused a faintly unpleasant odour of decay and dampness to hang in the air.

Nighttime in Albert Way was not somewhere that encouraged casual visitors which suited PC Stallybrass very well. He always finished his duty by taking a routine stroll down one side of the street before stopping for several minutes in the murkiness at the end to enjoy a quiet smoke. He then completed his beat with an equally leisurely walk back up the opposite side of the street before making his way to the police station. The combined lack of effective lighting and pedestrian traffic occasionally served to attract those who were keen to indulge in clandestine assignations of a romantic nature even in such a built-up area of London but the unrelenting dinginess of Albert Way discouraged all but the most ardent souls, of which there were none in evidence that evening.

PC Stallybrass, being familiar with the locality and the habits of its occupants, was therefore surprised to catch sight of the barely visible figure awkwardly sitting on the sill of the boarded shop window on the opposite side of the street. It was unusual, to say the least, and on a dry evening, there was no prospect of the individual sheltering from the rain. Probably just a tramp, was his first thought, once in a while he had needed to move on similar individuals who usually reeked of beer or whatever alcoholic substitute they had managed to obtain.

It was a mild evening with the dimensions of the cul-de-sac shielding it from the light breeze and a quiet word from a burly officer of the law would be sufficient to set the person off to wherever they usually passed their nights. Stallybrass wasn’t a hard man and had it been one of those evenings when the rain poured down he would have had a quick authoritative word and let the subject remain sheltered from the elements - this was not such an evening and he stepped off the kerb and made his unhurried way across the narrow street. Unlike many of his colleagues at the station, he felt sorry for the itinerant creatures who were often the unhappy casualties of social deprivation or experiences endured in the recent past when the world had gone to war.

He half expected the man to lurch upright and stumble off into the evening shadows when he called in a not-unfriendly tone, Alright, old lad. Unless you are ill, I think you should move along to somewhere more comfortable. Sometimes the target of such a suggestion responded with a torrent of foul-mouthed abuse and tottered off rather than risk a serious confrontation, while others simply shrugged and obediently went on their way. In this instance, the policeman’s challenge was ignored and the person remained in the half-seated position seemingly oblivious to the presence of the advancing guardian of the law. Maybe the offer of a cigarette would persuade him to do as requested, he thought and then muttered in annoyance when he reached the shop doorway and his boot encountered something sticky.

All part of the hazards of a beat in his local area he mused before his thoughts were diverted as he noted with surprise that the man appeared to be quite well dressed. The hunched figure was clad in what appeared to be a good-quality overcoat and sat facing across the few feet of the doorway with his left profile towards him and Stallybrass pulled from his trousers pocket the small torch that he always carried.

The fellow seemed to be sound asleep despite his precarious perch and it was when the constable stretched out his arm to give the immobile figure a shake that he saw a dark line visible above the coat collar. A step closer and he could see that the true length of the cut was partly obscured by the man’s head which drooped forward onto his chest. Now, in close proximity to the corpse, Stallybrass was able to discern the dark red stain on the front of the overcoat which glistened in the wavering torchlight and a downward glance confirmed that the substance now adhering to his boots was not caused by an incontinent canine.

His shift was not going to be over in the anticipated thirty minutes and the eagerly anticipated evening meal would be long delayed.

Chapter 1 – A Friend in Need

On 21st June 1940 the steam turbines of SS Viking generated a trail from its twin funnels as the ship and its precious cargo sailed from St Peter Port, Guernsey towards what was seen as the safer welcoming destination of mainland Britain. Unwilling to remain on their home island with the certainty of forthcoming occupation by German forces following Petain’s surrender of France to the Nazis four days earlier, those on board included 1,800 schoolchildren accompanied by a selection of teachers and parents. Although only one week later a small Luftwaffe bomber force attacked the island killing thirty-four people, the short voyage of SS Viking was mercifully not interrupted by the enemy and the passengers safely disembarked at Weymouth.

The wartime authorities efficiently arranged for the dispersal of the children to schools where they could continue their education. For many there was not only the shock of being uprooted from all that was familiar but also the daunting experience of grappling with life in large towns and understanding local dialects and customs - very much foreign territory. Those fortunate to find themselves in more rural surroundings with lesser populations still faced the task of settling in and coming to terms with the reality that their new location was likely to be home for the foreseeable future.

Not everything went like clockwork, of course. Possessions were sometimes misplaced or people became lost and found themselves allocated to an entirely different school or town than originally intended, sometimes due to a simple clerical error. Bearing in mind that it was only a few weeks after the harrowing yet successful evacuation from Dunkirk and the return of several hundred thousand weary troops from the British Expeditionary Force together with remnants of the fragmented allied armies, there were comparatively few serious errors that could not be rectified.

By the early months of 1941, Britain was still firmly locked in confrontation with Nazi Germany. In May 1940 Hitler had authorised unrestricted submarine warfare and despite the resilience of the RAF during the Battle of Britain later that year, the threat of invasion hung over the isolated country like an oppressive dark cloud. The homeland military forces having sustained a dreadful mauling in France were short of equipment and the enemy air force - the Luftwaffe - continued to attack the civilian population of Britain's cities with nightly air raids that became known as ‘The Blitz’. It would not be until December 1941 that the United States would be propelled into active armed assistance following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour. During those dark days, the German leadership explored and encouraged a multitude of measures it felt would assist in defeating the solitary obstacle to complete European domination. Such measures included not only air raids and submarine warfare aimed directly at mainland Britain but also clandestine operations of a less obvious nature put into effect by the German military intelligence service known as the Abwehr.

Counter-intelligence and other more basic measures were employed by the beleaguered island in addition to the conventional efforts made by the three armed services. The blackout being observed throughout the country in early 1941 although an essential part of the defence against the nightly air raids caused many accidents, particularly in heavily populated towns and cities. Neither did those living in the countryside escape the inconvenience although, if familiar with the local country lanes, the dangers posed late at night were far less.

***

The two off-duty soldiers were the last of the evening's customers to leave The Red Bull public house and being fully acquainted with the straightforward route back to their camp were undaunted by the two-mile walk ahead of them. The night was illuminated only spasmodically by a pale winter moon which fought a losing battle against the endless banks of cloud drifting slowly across the country. On either side of the lane along which the two men strode, the farmland was obscured by a cloak of darkness that lay unbroken by even an occasional gleam of light from the few scattered farm buildings.

They were not drunk and apart from the faint creak of branches stirred by a light breeze, the sound of their hobnailed boots was the only accompaniment to their desultory conversation. Their way was well known to them and the lack of visibility presented no handicap - they would simply follow the lane and take the first left-hand turn which a half mile further on led to the guard post at the entrance to their camp.

The faint noise on the night air of an engine was the first intimation that something was approaching and with the breeze to their backs, it was subdued and only slowly filtered into their minds. Vehicle noises were not unusual in any way and with the use of masked headlights now mandatory, there was no telltale glare to indicate the distance of the oncoming vehicle. One of the pair said, We had best move over - it sounds as if he’s coming fast, and was already heeding his own advice when the dark shape swept around the bend. Their reactions were not quick enough and before they could avoid the speeding vehicle it had struck one of them full-on and side-swiped the second, sending him headlong into the ditch. He lost consciousness and by the time his senses began to return was only vaguely aware that the lorry must have halted. His scrambled thoughts registered the sound of running feet on the road surface which suddenly halted several yards from where he lay. The sound of laboured breathing was followed by the words, Oh, shit and after a short pause the sound of running feet was repeated followed by the sound of a door slamming shut. As the injured man lay in the dark ooze of the ditch the notes from the engine gradually receded into the night.

***

Do you feel like visiting The Half Moon tomorrow? The speaker was a man in his early forties who hugged more tightly against him the hand his companion had inserted as she held his arm. From behind his glasses, he shot a nervous sideways glance at the woman as if he could not believe she was actually there. This was not entirely fantasy as the reality was that Clarence Wilkinson's mind was in a perpetual state of disbelief when it came to the presence of Jenny Matheson in his life. Younger than him by almost sixteen years and part of what he thought of as 'the young set', she had become not only a valuable part of his working life months before but since barely a few weeks earlier also now shared almost every waking and sleeping moment of his existence. We can drive down to Gadwell on Saturday morning instead of tomorrow evening. As promised, I have asked if we can start the buying process before the lease ends and the response has been positive. The owner is keen to relinquish his remaining asset south of the border, he added, in reference to their rented house in the Sussex village. He pictured the house and its surroundings as they hurried along to the Whitehall bus stop in the gloom of the late Thursday afternoon of January 1941 - the contrast with murky London was stark.

That will be nice, Clarence but much as I love our Gadwell house, I'm just as comfortable tucked up in bed with you in St John's Wood. Her answer both pleased and embarrassed him. Despite living together since late November, he was finding it exceptionally difficult to shake off the gnawing feeling of guilt which inevitably assailed him whenever she blithely referred to bedroom activity in the general course of conversation. It made him wonder, uncomfortably, if others thought of him as an older man taking advantage of a young woman. If his companion knew that his thoughts still strayed into those areas she would have been furious. She credited herself with having already successfully broken down many of the more archaic attitudes arising from his Victorian upbringing as the son of a country vicar. Such concern would, in her eyes, be tantamount to him thinking of her as gullible, naive, and worst of all, promiscuous. In other words exactly in tune with her mother’s view.

They sat downstairs on the bus to avoid the smoke-laden atmosphere of the upper deck and spoke little before alighting only two minutes' walk from her small flat. Unworldly though he may have been in his knowledge of some aspects of the modern female, Clarence’s education on the subject was undergoing a rapid and pleasurable, if sometimes baffling, updating process. He was very aware of how much her tenancy of the St John's Wood flat meant to her, symbolising as it did her freedom from the stifling, censorious presence of her mother and the strangely antiseptic air of suburban Uxbridge. It represented a personal haven which carried both good and bad memories - but crucially, memories that were forged solely from her own journey, not that of her parents. They reached the top of the concrete stairs and arm in arm turned onto the long open walkway along which were ranged the front doors of the four first-floor flats. Blackout precautions were still strictly enforced and so they were unprepared for the dark shape that appeared to suddenly materialise from the gloom surrounding Jenny's front door. Clarence automatically slowed their pace and moved in front of his companion but as the distance to the shadowy figure decreased a familiar voice reached his ears. It's alright, Clarence. It's me, Bert - Bert Troughton.

Within fifteen minutes, they were drinking tea, with Bert sitting on the settee while Clarence and Jenny occupied the easy chairs. I'll wait 'til you can both 'ere the story, Bert had insisted when asked the reason for his visit and finally the awkward silence was broken with their visitor self-consciously trying his best to moderate his cockney accent. I didn't know when I would see you in The Half Moon again and I wanted to ask for some ‘elp, so I asked your old landlady and she gave me this forwarding address. Sorry if I'm intrudin', he added, suddenly aware of what was clearly a settled domestic arrangement despite them not being married.

You're not intruding, Bert. I will help if I can. What is the problem? Clarence answered.

It's my boy, Les. He's in the 2nd Battalion, Middlesex Regiment. Missed Dunkirk, thank God, and has been on duty down in Hampshire. A week ago one of the lads on leave from his unit called to say Les and one of ‘is mates had been in a road accident. He paused and took a mouthful of tea before continuing, They, him and his mate, were on their way back to camp after having a couple of beers in the local village. Apart from moonlight, it was pitch black out there in the country but they were following a lane they were familiar with and the village pub is only a couple of miles from their camp. Now according to the lad who visited me, he had been working in the camp sick bay when Les and his mate were brought in. Les had bruises and a busted arm but his mate was dead, killed outright he heard someone say.

Hold on a minute, Bert. Clarence interrupted with a wave of his hand, You said this was a road accident, and surely Les will be back home for a few days' leave if his injuries are as you have said?

Bert shook his head, No, Clarence, that's just it. We've heard nothing official-like from his unit and the day after it ‘appened he was posted to somewhere in Wales for further examination and recuperation - it's just a broken arm, for Gawd's sake. I'm not stupid, something's not right. War is war and accidents happen, so why all the shenanigans?

Did your informant say anything more?

Bert replaced his cup and nodded vigorously, Les told him they were about arf way 'ome when an army lorry, a Bedford, one of the small ones, came racing round the bend and ploughed into them. He caught a glancing blow which broke his arm, knocked him half unconscious and he fell into a ditch but his mate took the full impact and was killed. Lying in the ditch he was sure he heard the lorry stop and someone get out, run to his mate and then back again before driving off. Les and the other chap's body weren't found until a farm tractor came along when it was getting light in the morning. That's what the lad who called on me said that Les had told him.

So Les is saying that not only did one of our lorries cause the accident, the driver then drove off leaving one man dead and another seriously injured? Jenny's voice betrayed the incredulity she clearly felt.

Bert nodded. When I contacted the regiment I was pushed from one person to the next until an officer came on the line and told me that Les was doing perfectly well but had been transferred to a unit in Wales for light duties and recuperation. No more information could be given at that time for security reasons. He looked pleadingly at Clarence and said. Something's not right and if Les is in some sort of trouble we've a right to know. I know you're something to do with the War Office and hoped you could find out what's going on.

Did your visitor say anything else about where he was stationed - you said it was somewhere in Hampshire, how do you know even that? Clarence asked.

"No, but Les’s last letter mentioned that he bumped into his Auntie Ruby when he was last on leave. It sounded as if he was referring to when he came home to us in London, but Ruby is my wife’s younger sister and she lives in Whitchurch. All the lads know of harmless