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CHAPTER FIVE

Listening

After the pigeon was released, Margaret and Marie sat by the radio in Lichtervelde listening intently. Every night at the assigned time they clutched pencil and paper, determined not to miss a word as they tuned their radio to try to pick up the erratic crackle of a signal. The elder sister, Marie, may have been more cautious but both were now committed. Their father, who had passed away, had been ambitious for all his children, including his daughters, and had ensured they had private lessons in French in addition to their native Flemish. That meant they could scan broadcasts in different languages for some sign that distant London knew they were there.

That the two sisters pressed their ears to the radio to make out the words was itself an act of resistance. The BBC’s broadcasts provided a reassurance to those living in occupied Europe that they were not alone. The broadcasts encouraged them to defy the invaders and parodied the propaganda spouted by the Germans. For that reason, the Nazis hated the BBC for its subversive influence. Almost every member of the population listened. A German officer given the accurate time by a little girl on the street asked how it was possible she knew it was a quarter past seven when she had no watch. She replied, ‘Don’t you see? There is no one on the street. They are all listening to the English radio.’

When the Nazis raided a house in Belgium, one of first things they would do was check what frequency the radio was tuned to. The penalties for being caught were severe, especially if the Germans wanted to make an example of someone. The headmistress of an Antwerp girls’ school was sentenced to five and a half years for permitting her pupils to listen to the BBC.

The Germans also did their best to jam the signal, which was why one of the items in the Columba questionnaire was about audibility. Responses saying which wavelength provided the best listening quality were hugely useful for the BBC’s technical staff. The broadcaster’s European Intelligence Director told MI14 that Columba was of ‘the utmost value’ thanks to the immediacy of its messages – often they provided feedback within a day or two of a programme’s broadcast, faster than a letter might arrive today. ‘Everything interests us but speak clearly and loud,’ wrote one person in a Columba message, echoing the kind of encouragement BBC broadcasters continue to receive.

There was audience feedback not just in terms of reception but also of editorial content. ‘My wife would like to kiss the well-known speakers, as they are so patriotic,’ one writer from Pas-de-Calais in France said enthusiastically. A pigeon message from Brittany said a wife was cheered up by hearing her husband speaking from London and they wanted him to know. Sometimes there was frustration married with the enthusiasm. The V for Victory campaign started by the BBC in its broadcasts to Belgium caught on like wildfire. It led to the daubing on walls of a flurry of signs in what seemed like every village, as well as on the chalkboard held up by the Debaillie family in their picture with the pigeon. Churchill himself joined the act with his trademark two-finger V for Victory sign. The campaign encouraged ordinary people to feel they could resist, even if only in a small way.

The downside was that it created an expectation amongst many that victory and a British return to Europe must be imminent. ‘You have announced your coming too long now. It would have been better to have done it and said nothing,’ one person wrote in frustration. But the BBC did not only support the war effort by broadcasting news and information. It had a direct operational role in the clandestine world of espionage.

The greatest prize for those brave enough to send a message via Columba was the possibility that for a brief few seconds they would become the stars of the BBC broadcast by receiving an acknowledgement on the messages personnels. When this was required, a British intelligence officer would ring up the BBC and identify himself with a codename – rather bizarrely, for Belgium this was Napoleon Bonaparte and for the Netherlands Bing Crosby. He would then ask for a specific phrase to be broadcast, such as ‘here is a message for Adolphe – the wine is warm’ – which was meaningless to everyone else but acted as a coded signal for a particular group. The messages could be used to signal an upcoming drop by parachute, to establish the bona fides of an agent by proving they were in contact with London or to signal that a person – or information – had arrived in London. It was the last function that Columba used – offering the chance for an acknowledgement that a pigeon had arrived to be broadcast using a code provided by the writer.

For all those listening, the messages were a sign that somewhere out there were people taking risks who were in touch with Britain. For Columba message writers there would have been a real but clandestine thrill in knowing that a code-phrase they had scrawled on rice paper and attached to a pigeon was suddenly being read out from London.

Leopold Vindictive’s message had asked for a response on the Dutch and Belgian BBC radio news as soon as possible. They did not have to wait long. The stunning intelligence haul had left the Columba team in London knowing they had something special on their hands. On 15 July – only three days after Michel had set the bird free – Marie and Margaret heard the answer to their prayer.

‘Leopold Vindictive 200, the key fits the lock and the bird is in the lion’s cage.’ The acknowledgement was sent that day on the Dutch, Belgian and French BBC news services – all three to make sure. Now, in Lichtervelde, the band of friends knew that the crazy plan had worked. The pigeon tended by Michel had successfully crossed the Channel with their treasure.

The relief, joy and excitement were overwhelming. But the family may also have understood there was a cost. Their codename had just been broadcast across northern Europe. Thousands in Belgium would have heard it, and among the listeners would be the German secret police, hunting for resisters. The chase to identify a new band of spies had begun.

There was, though, another sign that their pigeon had got through. Towards the end of the message, they had mentioned a German radio station at Ichtegem, near Wijnendale, which consisted of a camouflaged wooden shed and two aerials. This was bombed by the British, creating what was described as a magnificent fireworks display. Not only had the intelligence got through but it was making a difference. From being powerless, it must have almost seemed as if the RAF were at the Belgians’ beck and call, and that the Belgians were forward air controllers calling in air strikes to the targets they selected.