On Being Heroic

RHYS BOWEN: Would I be any good in a war?

My new book, THE VICTORY GARDEN, is all about women being called upon to do tasks that would have been considered beyond their ability during a time of war. They step up, don't complain, and take on the jobs the men are not coming home to do. In each of the World Wars women have shown the world just how amazing and capable they are. 

Having just been on a panel with Kate Quinn and learned about the Night Witches, who flew ten or more bombing raids every night for three years in a row, with ten minutes to reload and off again, and then thinking about her previous book, The Alice Network, about young women spies in France, I found myself wondering what use I would be in a war.

Could I be a spy? A coder? Anything brave?

I speak really good German, even a German dialect. I used to imagine myself working as a British spy, wondering if my German would fail me at the last minute when faced with a Nazi officer. When I was at university in South Germany the people in the house where I roomed called me Das Fraulein von Nordern (the girl from the north) and when I was in North Germany I was known for my southern accent. So I think I would pass in most circumstances. But would I have those veins of ice to sit calmly having a drink with a leading Nazi, while listening to his plans for a bombing raid and then rushing home to get out my radio? I don’t think so, but then I don’t know. 

I do remember once smuggling in a camera I had bought in Germany without paying the duty on it. I gave it to a German friend to carry through customs. At the last minute, in the customs hall, she lost her nerve and handed it back to me in full view of the officers. My heart was pounding as I approached the table.I made it through, my face probably bright red and looking guilty, but they didn't bother to search an eighteen year old student. I didn’t enjoy that experience!

None of us know what we are capable of until we are faced with it. When my kids were involved in competitive swimming I noticed that some swimmers were amazing in practice and everyday competition but folded in big meets. One of my daughters could pull out amazing times when it really mattered. So I guess we are all like that… some of us thrive under pressure, some don’t.

I’ve been trying to think of any times when I had a chance to be heroic. I was certainly cool enough when my kids were injured, including the time when my daughter came to me saying, “I think I’ve hurt myself” and her arm bone was sticking out at the elbow. I covered it quickly, reassured her it could be easily fixed and rushed her to hospital. They strung it up to the ceiling to pull the bone back into place and I…. I went outside to throw up!

The closest I can think of to calm under adversity was when I was fifteen, going to drama school in London and I came to Charring Cross station to find it closed.  The fog was awful that evening—a real pea souper. There had been a massive train crash somewhere down the line but nobody knew anything. I managed to telephone my parents but there was nothing they could do. My father certainly couldn’t come out in the car in such conditions. I tried to take a bus. There were none. I talked with other people at the bus stop and we decided to walk south as a group. The fog was so thick that we had to peer at street signs from a foot away to try to read them. We passed quite close to the train crash and heard the sound of ambulances through the fog. It was eerie and scary.  One by one people dropped off as they came to their part of town. I lived outside London. Fourteen miles to be exact. And the last five miles I walked on my own, getting home at 2 in the morning. My parents were frantic-no cell phones and the lines were jammed because of the train crash.  Of course now I would have found a hotel room in London and told them that my parents would pay in the morning, or even slept the night at the station, but fifteen year olds just want to get home.

So I don’t think I could be a spy. I certainly couldn’t fly fighter planes. I don’t relish thrills or danger. I am a wimp when it comes to roller coasters. I hate scary movies. But I might have enjoyed working at Bletchley Park in the war. I like puzzles and challenges. I’m not madly good at crosswords, certainly not a brilliant mathematical brain, but I could have translated from German and tried to decipher what the German words meant. The only thing I would have found really hard was that they had to sign the official secrets act. They could tell nobody what they were doing. Nobody. Could have kept this from my parents, from my spouse, for fifty years? Frankly I don’t think so!

So dear Reds and readers… have you ever had to be heroic? Do you think you could be if the time came?