This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.

The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.

This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.

Unfortunately, no politicians, estate agents or lawyers were injured or killed in the writing of this story, and no one else was either.

If you enjoyed it, then please Email me and tell me. If you hated it, Email me and lie.

I will always welcome contact.

tanya_jaya@yahoo.co.uk

The legal stuff.

This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.

Fortune’s Soldier

Chapter One. Trapped.

Jamie was afraid, very afraid.

He was hot, tired, cramped and afraid.

He was also stuck in a cupboard, dressed in his British army battledress, with seven German soldiers billeted a few feet away on the other side of the cupboard door.

He knew that he was lucky, in a way, as he was still alive and free, if one could call it that. Most of his company were now prisoners of war, or dead. Arnhem had been definitely one bridge too far!

Jamie gently eased the cramped muscles in his legs. He bit his lip to stop himself from crying out, gently massaging his calves with his fingers. Gradually the excruciating pain eased, so he was able to relax. He had been in the cupboard for two days so far, and it was doing his head in. He could hear the guttural German voices just a few feet away. Every now and again he could smell their food or tobacco smoke.

His Sten gun was on the floor of the cupboard, along with his steel helmet, Webley pistol, water bottle and small pack. He had spread out his jump smock and battledress jacket on the floor to give him a little comfort. Several pair of women’s shoes were piled up one end. He had stripped down to his vest, as the temperature inside the cupboard was very uncomfortable.

It was quite a big cupboard, but not quite big enough for a man to lie down on the floor. He couldn’t stand, but he could sit, almost getting his legs straight. It still had the previous female owner’s clothing hanging on the rail. A small set of shelves at the far end held her underwear and accessories. He had moved the hanging clothes up to the far end, so he was almost able to sit in comfort.

It was also pitch dark.

His mind was starting to play tricks on him, as time was deceptive in this small dark place. He noticed that there were vents in the ceiling, without which he may well have asphyxiated some time ago.

He spent the time going over events in his past, just to take his mind off his present circumstances. However, the complete darkness caused him the most distress.

At first, it wasn’t too bad, as he could see the luminous hands on his Swiss watch. After several hours, even they lost their shine. As a result, he lost all track of time, unable to tell whether it was day or night. Only the movement of the Germans gave him a clue, but they were not reliable as they were prone to turn out at a moment’s notice, so he never knew what time of day it was.

He was nineteen and a newly commissioned Second Lieutenant in the Cameron Highlanders. He had left school at eighteen, when his father, Brigadier Sir William Cameron had arranged for his son to be called up to his regiment, so within a few weeks he found himself selected for the Officer Training Unit.

He was five foot six, wiry, lean and slim. He had his mother’s ice blue eyes and ash-blond hair, and he knew it was rather too long, but he just had not had time to get a haircut with this operation coming as spontaneously as it had.

Curling over his ears and collar with a long fringe, he had always tried to wet it before parades, tucking the surplus up into his Tam O’Shanter. (Highland Soldier’s beret)

His father had been somewhat disappointed as his only son had taken after his elegant and somewhat slender wife, but the lad showed remarkable tenacity to compensate for his lack of physical bulk. He had developed fast reactions and a ready wit, well able to talk his way out of most situations before his antagonists realised what was happening.

Commissioned just after his nineteenth birthday in the preceding February, he was now a subaltern in the family regiment. There had been a Cameron in the regiment since it was originally founded. He felt it was hardly the time to tell his father that he actually would rather have joined the RAF.

A quiet lad, slightly built, but with a lively smile and who genuinely cared about people, he found he was quite popular with his Jocks (other ranks), even if his nickname was ‘the wee laddie’. At least he hoped it was ‘laddie’, and not ‘lassie’!

It wasn’t that he had a gung-ho attitude, for he was far too reserved for that. It was his good-humoured humility, absence of arrogance and genuine concern for his troops’ welfare, which won him the respect and admiration of his men. Quite simply, he was a nice young man who commanded respect through grace and not through arrogance.

Having been in the Officer Training Corps at his public school, which, in turn, had been part of the Home Guard, so he was more than able to take on the role for real.

He had volunteered for airborne training, so on the 17^th September 1944, within a few weeks of completing his parachute training, he found himself part of the British First Airborne division, floating above the Dutch town of Arnhem, a few feet below his parachute.

There follows a brief historical account of the battle for Arnhem. If you are not interested, skip forward to the next marker.

The airborne drop at Arnhem (the attack was code-named Operation Market Garden) was a plan to end World War Two early. The idea for an airborne drop on Arnhem came from Field Marshall Bernard Montgomery.

Montgomery's plan was relatively simple. He believed that the most obvious crisis the Allies would face attacking into Germany was crossing the Rhine. Intelligence reports had already come in stating that the nearer the Allies got to the River Rhine, the more fierce the Germans defence was getting.

Montgomery reckoned on dropping a large airborne force into Holland which could then serve a number of purposes. It could mop up German resistance in Holland but more important, it could attack outflank the defences put up by the Germans along the Siegfried Line the and then attack German defences behind the River Rhine and assist an Allied crossing of that river. While the American General Patton continued to advance in the south towards Germany, the airborne attack would assist in an attack in the north of Europe. Both armies would then squeeze what was left of German resistance in the middle.

'Monty' planned for an airborne assault to capture five bridges in Holland to secure the roads that the Allies needed to convey their armoured divisions and supply vehicles. Two of these bridges were over canals (the Wilhelma and Zuid Willems Vaart canals) while the other three bridges were over rivers. These rivers were the Maas where the bridge crossed at Grave; the Waal where the bridge crossed at Nijmegen and the Neder Rijn at Arnhem. Here, at Arnhem, the capture of the bridge was vital, as the Neder Rijn was over 100 metres wide at this point.

The plan had its critics most notably in the American camp who believed that the supplies needed for the attack would be taken away from their drive towards the Rhine. Initially, Eisenhower, supreme commander of Allied forces in the west, called the plan a "pencil-like thrust". General Bradley, commander of the US 12th Army Group called it a venture "up a side-alley". However, an event quickly gave Montgomery's plan more momentum.

V2 rockets had fallen in London. Quite clearly, these posed a far greater problem to the British government than the V1's, which frequently went off target or were shot down. The V2's were in a different category. The Allies knew they were being fired from the coast of northern Europe so any successful attack into Holland and beyond would greatly ease this problem until all the launch sites were destroyed. The War Office gave 'Monty' its backing. Even so, Montgomery found that he could not get the promise of supplies that he needed for Market Garden. On September 11th, 1944, Montgomery told Eisenhower that, despite the support of the War Office, the attack would have to be postponed due to lack of vital supplies. 'Monty's' tactic worked and Eisenhower immediately flew his chief-of-staff to Montgomery's headquarters to see what supplies he needed.

The Allied Airborne Army comprised of four divisions; two British and two American. Linked to it was the Polish Independent Parachute Brigade lead by Major-General Sosabowski. The two most senior American commanders were Major-General Gavin of the 101st Division and Major-General Maxwell Taylor of the 82nd Division. Both men were knowledgeable in airborne warfare. The British First Airborne Division was lead by Major-General Urquhart. He was an unusual choice to lead the Airborne Division as he had never parachuted before, never participated in a glider landing and got airsick. He, himself, expressed his surprise when he was appointed commander of the division.

The First Airborne Division had not taken part in D-Day. It was kept in reserve and had remained inactive after June 1944. A number of planned operations were cancelled at the last minute because they were not needed due to the success of the British armoured columns on the ground. By September 1944, the First Division was "restless, frustrated and ready for anything". Urquhart said that it was:

"battle-hungry to a degree which only those who have commanded large forces of trained soldiers can fully comprehend."

The First Division was given the task of capturing the bridge at Arnhem and holding it. The 101st Division was to capture the ZuidWillemsVaart Canal at Veghel and the WilhelminaCanal at Son. The 82nd Division was to capture the bridges at Grave and at Nijmegen.

The attack had to be planned in just six days. Urquhart's First Division faced two major problems; the shortage of aircraft and the belief that the bridge at Arnhem was surrounded by anti-aircraft guns that would make a landing by the bridge itself too difficult.

The Americans were given the priority with regards to aircraft. The capture of the bridge at Arnhem would be pointless if the Americans failed to captured their targets. Therefore, the Americans would be carried to their targets in one lift whereas the attack on Arnhem would be done in three separate lifts during the day. Any night time landings were considered too dangerous.

This posed a major problem for Urquhart. His first force would have the element of surprise and, if the German resistance was minimal, would hold the bridge and secure any landing zones for the gliders. However, any subsequent landings would be after the Germans would have had the time to get themselves organised.

Intelligence reports also showed that the flak around the bridge itself was heavy. This was confirmed by RAF bomber crews who encountered the flak on their regular flights into Germany. Urquhart decided to make his landings to the west away from the bridge even though he knew that this was a risk. If the German resistance was stronger than anticipated, there was the chance of the first landing not even getting to ArnhemBridge and taking out the flak. British Intelligence reports indicated that the German presence in Arnhem was minimal. It was believed that the Germans only had six infantry divisions in the area with 25 artillery guns and only 20 tanks. German troops, in an Intelligence report of September 11th, were said to be "disorderly and dispirited". A similar report was made on September 17th.

However, reports from the Dutch Resistance indicated otherwise. On September 15th, the Dutch had informed the British that SS units had been seen in the Arnhem area. The First Airborne Division was given this information on September 20th - three days after the attack on the bridge at Arnhem had begun. By which time Jamie had been in the cupboard for two days.

Operation Market Garden began on Sunday morning, September 17th, 1944. Luftwaffe fighters bases had been attacked as had German barracks based near the drop zones. A thousand American and British fighter planes gave cover as the gliders and their 'tugs' crossed the North Sea and headed over mainland Europe. The greatest fear was from flak and Intelligence estimated that the loss of gliders and transport craft could be up to forty percent. As it was, very few of the 1,545 aircraft and 478 gliders were lost.

The 82nd Division landed without major problems around Grave and Nijmegen. The 101st Division was equally successful and by nightfall, the Americans and British armoured corps had met up in Eindhoven.

However, by the 18th September, fog had played its part. The glider and tug flights that were due to cross on the second day could not do so. This affected the 82nd Division in that Gavin had fewer men to attack the bridges at Waal - especially the road bridge that had held out for three days during the German attack on Holland in 1940. This bridge only fell in the evening of Wednesday 20th after a combined American/British attack. With this bridge captured, the 30th Corps armour could race to Arnhem to relieve Urquhart's First Airborne Division there.

At Arnhem, the British met much stiffer opposition than they had been lead to believe. The IX and X SS Panzer Divisions had re-grouped at Arnhem - as Dutch resistance had warned. Both groups comprised of 8,500 men lead by General Willi Bittich. These were not the poorly equipped German troops low in morale that British Intelligence had claimed were stationed at Arnhem. Bittich - a highly regarded general in the Waffen SS - sent the IX SS Division to the British landing zones immediately. The X Division was ordered to Nijmegen to stop the 2nd Army group advancing on Arnhem. Bittich was confident of success:

"We shall soon be able to discount the threat of the British north of the Neder Rijn. We must remember that British soldiers do not act on their own initiative when they are fighting in a town and when it consequently becomes difficult for officers to exercise control they are amazing in defence, but we need not be afraid of their capabilities in attack." Bittich.

The men from the IX Division quickly created a formidable defensive line to stop the British advancing to Arnhem. The British faced a number of serious problems in the landing zone. Nearly all the vehicles used by the Airborne Reconnaissance Squadron were lost when the gliders carrying them failed to land. Therefore the advance into Arnhem itself was delayed but also had to be done almost entirely on foot. The job of the Reconnaissance Squadron was to move off in jeeps etc. in advance and secure bridges and roads. This they could not do after the loss of their vehicles. The maps issued to officers also proved to be less than accurate.

The British paratroopers came under German fire. Only the 2nd Battalion lead by Lt. Col. Frost moved forward with relative ease but even they were occasionally halted by German fire. Frost's men were the most southerly of the British units and the Germans had covered their route to Arnhem less well than the other routes the British were to use. When Frost got to the bridge at Arnhem, he only had about 500 men. He secured the northern end of the bridge and the buildings around it but he remained heavily exposed to a German attack across the bridge as the British had failed to secure the southern end of the bridge. Around Arnhem, British troops, engaged in combat with the SS, took heavy casualties. By now, the Germans were being reinforced with Tiger tanks.

Despite being short of ammunition and with no food or water, Frost's men continued fighting. A German who fought in the final battle for the bridge wrote:

"(The fighting was) an indescribable fanaticism...and the fight raged through ceilings and staircases. hand grenades flew in every direction. Each house had to be taken this way. Some of the British offered resistance to their last breath."

The 2nd Army failed to reach Arnhem. In the final drive - just 10 miles - from where the 2nd Army was to Arnhem, the SS fought with great skill seriously delaying the forward momentum that the 2nd Army had previously developed. Those British troops who remained in the Arnhem area were caught in land that the SS called 'The Cauldron'. A decision was made to withdraw. Those soldiers that could be evacuated were but many wounded were left behind. In all, over 1,200 British soldiers had been killed and nearly 3,000 had been taken prisoner. 3,400 German troops had been killed or wounded in the battle.

Why did the plan fail?

The speed with which Bittich organised his men and his tactical awareness were major reasons for the Germans victory. However, British Intelligence had ignored Dutch Resistance reports that the SS were in the region. When the men landed they found that their maps were inaccurate regarding the layout of the roads in the Arnhem area. Another major problem was that the radios issued to the men only had a range of 3 miles and they proved to be useless when the various segments of the British army in the area were spread over 8 miles. Such a lack of communication proved a major handicap to the commanders on the ground who rarely knew what other commanders were doing or planning. The landing was also planned to be spread over three days so the Airborne Division was never up to full strength.

Montgomery's plan was a sound one. As Churchill commented: "A great prize was so nearly within our grasp."

End of Historical account.

The second thing to go wrong, and far more personal for Jamie, was the wind. He had been the last out of his aircraft, so that small gust of wind that caught his canopy pushed him eastwards across the river and landed him on the wrong side! At that time, he was oblivious about the first balls-up. Indeed, he and the rest of the small airborne force were still relying on the bulk of the allied forces to come and relieve them in a day or so.

It took him just minutes to realise he was completely alone and trapped with twenty-six German infantry divisions and two Waffen SS Panzer divisions all around him in the darkness. Fortunately, in the initial stages of the local action, the Germans were as confused as he was, so as they went into action against the bulk of the British who were on the other side of the bridge, he was able to find a bolt hole in which to hide.

His original intention was to make for the bridge as planned. Assuming it was in British hands, he still felt that was his best move. However, as he crept through the streets, he realised that the sheer amount of enemy armour and soldiers was far in excess of what had been anticipated by British commanders. He never got anywhere near to the bridge, but he could hear what was going on.

German tanks and soldiers were everywhere, so Jamie wisely hid, in the hope that things would quieten down so he could meet up with his comrades. Once the advancing allies arrived, he could evade the retreating Germans; hopefully making contact with the division once more.

There had been sporadic small arms fire coming from the bridge, which was growing in ferocity and depth. As the clanking of German tanks added to the din, he decided that perhaps the bridge was not the best place to aim for after all. He hoped the glider troops would make it in time to assist the small detachment of paratroopers who were obviously fighting for their lives. He felt a pang of guilt, as he should be there with them!

He hid in a shed, eventually dozing as a new day dawned.

He watched from a small woodshed as scores of his comrades were marched to the rear under German guard. He was shocked at their appearance. All were tired and filthy, and many seemed wounded. Feeling guilty and afraid he was tempted simply to surrender, but then he imagined his father’s reaction to his giving up without a fight, so he stayed put.

He was intelligent enough to realise that the Germans were going to have to retreat eventually, so he simply had to wait.

He was right, but it wasn’t happening very quickly.

Much of the local populace had evacuated as the fierce fighting was causing considerable collateral damage to the town. Homes were rapidly abandoned by the civilian population, with most of the inhabitants leaving the bulk of their possessions behind.

Jamie knew he was too close to the bridge, so as the Germans moved up more armour and supporting infantry, he wisely decided to move further away from the centre of activity. Keeping to building lines and rolling through gardens, he eventually found a small house a fair distance away from the bridge, where he could easily gain access to the river. He knew that if he could just get into the river, he could float down stream and then he should reach the allied forces.

The house he selected was empty, but the water was still flowing from the tap in the kitchen so he drank deeply, filling his water bottle. He had a small pack of dry rations and one bar of chocolate. He had his Webley pistol and his .9mm Sten sub-machine gun. He knew his respite was to be short lived, so he planned to locate a bolthole, just in case. He would need water and a container for body fluids. Not that he intended to be in the bolthole for that long, but it paid to be prepared.

He found what he was looking for in a back bedroom. It was a cupboard, used as a wardrobe as the previous lady of the house.

It was set into the wall, with the floral wallpaper covering it. It was only the fact it had been left open that caused Jamie to realise it was there, so neat was the wallpaper. A single latch was cunningly recessed into the door, so if one didn’t know it was there, one would never find it. He removed the latch so the door was completely hidden.

He found a large glass jar with a lid, just in case he needed to pass urine whilst incarcerated. He planned to retain any solids, unless it got too much, but then another similar jar was available. He hoped to avoid using it.

He lay on a bed fully dressed and dozed off, exhaustion and fear knocking him out.

He awoke to the sound of people in the street outside. He gathered up his kit and made for his bolthole. He was just in time, as he then heard the voices downstairs - German voices!

He opened the wardrobe and, as he had already placed his kit carefully on the floor, all he had to do is get in and pull the door closed behind him. The latch was now on the inside, so there was no way access could be gained from the room, unless by force.

He managed to get everything and himself into the cupboard seconds before the first inquisitive German entered the room.

He breathed a huge sigh of relief, hoping they would just seek loot and then move on. After an hour his heart sank, as they were making themselves at home. They had taken over the house as a temporary billet.

He eased his aching bones and grimaced, biting his lip again to stop himself crying out in pain. He was so pleased he had stocked up with water, but even that was running out, and he limited himself to a mouthful every hour. He had not eaten anything for fear of having to take a shit. The large glass jar lid now held about a pint of his urine.

Raucous German laughter and the sound of some music gave him a little opportunity to move. The cramps in his legs were bad, and he never recalled experiencing pain quite like it in his life.

He cast his mind back to his schooldays. It was the only relief he could make for himself.

“Well played, Jamie. Good effort lad!” said the headmaster, as the boy ran from the rugby pitch with the rest of the first XV.

Jamie grinned, as he felt pleased with himself. Although not a large chap, his small and wiry stature enabled him to function as a very efficient scrumhalf. His speed and reactions were much quicker than most of the lumbering forwards, and his kicking was second to none.

They had just won the last match of the season, against FettesCollege, their major competitor amongst all the Scottish schools. Jamie managed to score the winning try, which he converted.

His father had even managed to take time off from his busy schedule to come and watch. He had shouted himself hoarse as his son’s team succeeded in allowing Glenalmond to squeeze victory in the closing stages of the match.

Brigadier ‘Mad Bill’ William Cameron was so proud of his son. He had been somewhat disappointed when the boy had taken after his late wife. Ellen Simmonds had been a slender and delicate girl when they had met just after the First War. She was so graceful and elegant that he had been smitten totally by the delightful girl.

She in turn had been overwhelmed by the gallant and highly decorated soldier who claimed her hand with such an old-fashioned manner. Her father was delighted, as he was not keen on her other admirers, young men of dubious reputation who had avoided fighting for their country whilst others had gone off so bravely.

They had married in the small church in their village in Hereford. Never had the locals seen such a sight as a dozen Highland officers with swords raised to form an arch outside the church, with the regimental piper playing his pipes as they did so.

However, as a regular soldier, he soon found himself posted overseas and Ellen had not taken well to some of the more hot and unpleasant climates that they found themselves. She had had three miscarriages, finally returning to England without him when she found herself with child for a fourth time.

It was 1924, and Will was a newly promoted Major. Although India was considered a good posting, Ellen did not want to go through yet another pregnancy without her mother in attendance. She also hated India with a passion. She just could not cope with the arrogance and superior attitudes of the British army wives.

Jamie was born in February 1925, and his father was unfortunately unable to return for another year after the birth. When finally Will managed to get some home leave, he was surprised at his wife’s deterioration.

Childbirth had virtually made her into an invalid - not so much physically, but psychologically. She was the unfortunate victim of post-natal depression before it was really a recognised disorder.

Jamie was destined to be an only child, so his grandparents looked after him more than his mother. Her parents were quite elderly, but had some old-fashioned ideas about children and what was acceptable and what was not. However, they lived in a large country house in Wiltshire with a huge garden and private grounds, in which he could lose himself. He became very good at amusing himself and keeping out of harms way.

His lonely childhood was cut short when his father sent him to Stancliffe Hall prep school in 1936. It was a small and pleasant school, which he adored. The headmaster, Hugh Welsh, was a progressive man, who believed that a happy child learned better than an unhappy one.

Ellen Cameron died after a bout of influenza compounded by pneumonia in 1936, when Jamie was eleven. A distant and rather unhappy woman, she had never really been close to her son. Jamie was, therefore, not as deeply affected by her death as was his father, who experienced severe guilt over her demise.

It was during the funeral that Will observed how much his son resembled his late wife, both in physical appearance and in mannerism and attitude.

Not that Jamie was miserable, in fact he was a cheerful boy with a super smile and wonderful sense of humour. Will recalled Ellen in the early years when she was a fun loving girl who was always cheerful even in the face of severe difficulties.

Jamie wasn’t the large built young man for which Will had hoped. In fact, he was rather too delicate for a boy. Many of the elderly female relatives would venture an opinion that he should have been a girl for he was such a pretty and graceful child.

In September 1938, Jamie progressed to TrinityCollege, Glenalmond, the same school Will and his father had both attended.

An austere public school set in lovely, but rather isolated surroundings, amongst the heather-clad hills of Perthshire, its whole outlook was not the same as the bright and cheery Stancliffe Hall. It was a tough school, which firmly believed that characters were built through physical endurance and hard work.

However, at 13, Jamie was a gifted rugby player and a very bright student. He was well able to adapt to the new school, yet he found life very different to his prep school. He may have survived, but he did not exactly enjoy the experience.

As Jamie moved his position in the cupboard slightly, taking care not to make any noise, he recalled his public school with little enthusiasm. His education had been sound and he played rugby to the highest levels. However, he had not been particularly happy.

Never really sure why he had felt so out of place, he had just existed through his time there with a feeling that his life was going down the wrong road. A popular boy, but never one of the ‘in-crowd’, Jamie had few good close friends. His disquiet was complete, when within days of leaving school, he was informed of his imminent enlistment into his father’s regiment.

Despite not exactly being the most military minded, he had succeeded in obtaining his sergeant’s stripes in the OTC cadets. His feeling of not belonging continued when he went through basic training and then during his officer training.

The war had arrived when he was only fourteen, so the school saw profound changes from 1940 onwards. The younger masters left to join the services and rationing started to bite. The food was pretty awful before, so with the rationing, the food became almost inedible.

Petrol shortages cut the travelling to play matches to a minimum, and the blackout made the place particularly creepy in winter. With no ambient light from any centres of civilisation, it was a dark place anyway. With no lights at all, the accidents with cars and cycles multiplied enormously.

Sounds of a female laughing startled Jamie out of his daydream. He didn’t know whether it was night or day outside, and was not even sure how long he had been locked away.

The woman was Dutch, Jamie was able to understand the Germans, as he could speak German, but he had no clue about Dutch.

The sounds changed and Jamie realised that she was having sex with one of the soldiers. She made a lot of noise, gasping and shrieking with pleasure. Finally, he heard the satisfied grunts of the soldier as he concluded his business.

To Jamie’s horror, the woman then ‘entertained’ three other soldiers, one after the other.

In the end he was bored and slightly disgusted, as well as curious and perhaps a little envious.

His sexual experience was precisely nil!

He had been away at all boy boarding schools since he was eight. Even in the holidays, his life with his grandparents had been about as exciting as a Benedictine Monk.

With the exception of a few female cousins who more resembled horses than humans, he had hardly had any opportunity to mix with the opposite gender at all.

He was aware of the theory, as with all public schools, there were so many resident experts, all voicing their opinions as to methods, approaches and functions, but he felt thoroughly confused and inept at dealing with women.

However, there had been a couple of young men at the school who were obviously attracted to young boys, rather than the expected and acceptable attraction to girls.

Jamie was not one of them, although he found it intriguing that they existed, so he was uncertain as to where in the scheme of things he fitted. He did not feel he belonged anywhere in particular.

He was rather embarrassed, as although he appeared to be equipped as his contemporaries, albeit somewhat smaller, he was at a loss to comprehend why he did not seem to have the same physical responses as they seemed to. As they discussed such technical activities as ‘stiffies’ and ‘wanking’, Jamie would invent similar experiences, whilst in reality he didn’t have the faintest idea to what they referred.

He knew the theory, but his experience was that his equipment just didn’t work. However, he didn’t know how to inform anyone, and didn’t wish to peak to any doctor about it in case his father would be ashamed of him.

After he left school, he had spent some time with his grandparents before going to the regiment. Those times he mixed with girls, he found himself out of his depth and unable to make much headway with them. Besides, with the scores of American servicemen, with their money and fancy ways, few girls had time for a tongue-tied self-conscious young man, who was not even in uniform yet.

As a young teenager, he actually related to girls quite well, but as soon as sexual interests came into the arena, he seemed to just fade to the sidelines. It was as if the girls did not see him as a contender.

The woman finished servicing the Germans, he heard one soldier paying her, for he counted out some money as if for a child. He heard his slightly inebriated voice counting slowly and loudly. The woman was Dutch and did not speak German, so he treated her like a deaf imbecile.

Silence reigned for a short while, so Jamie fell asleep once more.

Jamie awoke with a start.

There was a lot of shouting and noise in the house, so he was terrified that he was about to be discovered. He grabbed his Sten-gun, holding it ready.

There was much movement and cursing in German. He was grateful he had chosen German as a subject for School Certificate. Although not quite fluent, he could understand perfectly what the Germans were saying, and he knew he could more than make himself understood if needs be.

They were moving out. An NCO was trying to gather up his platoon, which was billeted up and down the street. The man had found another section with a woman, probably the same one, Jamie thought ruefully, so was raising merry hell. The woman was screaming and he was threatening her with the military police.

Jamie had absolutely no idea what he was going to do. Even if he managed to get out of the cupboard, he had no idea where the enemy was, he had no idea where the allies were, and neither could he speak Dutch.

He didn’t know if he was in a curfew zone, or whether special papers were required. He didn’t want to be a POW, but then he definitely didn’t want to be shot.

He could speak good German, but as a foreigner, and French almost fluently. His best bet, therefore, would be to disguise himself as French worker, to try to bluff his way back towards the allied lines. His French was much better than his German, courtesy of his French Grandmother, so he started to formulate some plans. He needed to focus his mind on something, as he was in danger of going mad in the cupboard.

He remembered his training. They had told him that the Germans had recruited foreign workers to go all over the occupied zone. Anyone with skills was transported to where they could be of some use. Many Dutch and Norwegians ended up in the German Legion fighting the Russians on the Eastern front. If he should become separated from his unit, then he had to evade the Germans and their allies to attempt to make contact with the resistance. Unfortunately, he did not know whom to trust. With the front line in a state of constant flux, he just hoped to find somewhere to wait and let the Allies come to him.

He knew his French was excellent, and he was able to speak it with a southern accent. For not only did his grandmother help him by speaking it much of the time, but her sister, his great-aunt, lived near Menton in the fashionable south of France. He spent many summers at the villa and so he had managed to improve his language skills whilst spending time there. It was the only time he came into contact with a girl with whom he had progressed beyond simply speaking. Janine was a pretty, dark haired beauty. She was the daughter of his great-aunt’s housekeeper, and had been a year older than he.

He had met her whilst wandering the orchard to the south of the villa. He had been fourteen, it was August 1939, and, as always, he was in a bit of a daydream.

She had been up a tree helping herself to some apples. He had walked past unaware of her presence. She had thrown an apple at him, and he had turned round, startled.

“Bonjour,” she had said.

He looked around and had still failed to see her.

“Hoy. English. Opp ’ere,” she had said in broken English.

He saw her then and smiled.

“I’m not English,” he had said.

She jumped down, showing an indecent amount of leg and knickers in the process.

“Oui, you are. I ’ave, er, seen you. Votre grande-tante, she live in the big ’ouse, an’ you lives, avec, wiz her.”

He had smiled at her broken English and switched to French.

“I am staying with my great-aunt, and I am Scottish, not English,” he said.

She smiled, obviously relieved to speak her own language.

“It is the same thing, isn’t it?”

“No more than calling you Belgian or Algerian. Just because we speak the same language does not make us all the same country.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. So the Welsh and the Irish are different too?”

“Absolutely.”

That had been the start, but unfortunately the war had prevented the pair from getting to know each other any better. Had the war not come when it did, he might have gone beyond that one sneaky kiss they had shared when they had said goodbye.

However, his French was also improved by an excellent teacher in his prep school, as well as a close friend of his grandparents. Yvette was a charming Frenchwoman, who had married an English Officer after the First War. They had settled in rural Wiltshire, and had three children.

She had been a close friend of Jamie’s mother, so was invaluable in helping to bring up the boy. Her own children were considerably older, yet she adored the small English boy with the sad smile.

Jamie smiled as he recalled the many happy times he had spent with Yvette, who always insisted that only French was spoken in her house.

The Germans eventually went quiet, and he hoped they had gone. He eased his legs and found the latch in the dark. He put his ear to the wood and strained to hear anything to give him a clue of whether someone was on the other side.

Hearing nothing, he gently eased the door open, just a crack. Dim light came in and even so, it made him screw his eyes shut.

The door opened a few inches and then stuck. He pushed a little harder and it gradually opened enough for him to get his head round.

A spare bed had been erected in the room and was tight up against the door.

He managed to extricate himself and his kit. He slowly checked the house, with his Sten at the ready. It was empty, but had been left in a real mess.

He was very stiff, but it was such a relief to be out of his self-made dungeon.

He stretched his arms and legs, enjoying sensations he had for so long been deprived.

It was night and Jamie checked his watch. It was half past two in the morning. The Germans had left in a hurry, for he found half a loaf and some wine. He drank the lot and then wolfed the bread down. He felt so much better now he was able to move freely.

He went back upstairs and emptied his jar into the lavatory. A familiar rumble caused him some alarm. He looked out of the window and saw two Tiger Tanks roll past the house. He could see the German helmets in the nearby streets, and could identify an army digging in for a major assault.

He went back into his bedroom, where he decided to get rid of his uniform. Giving up any ambition to rejoin his unit, he now decided to put his plan into action.

Standing in his underwear, he searched the house for male clothing. There was none.

There was enough female attire to clothe several women for several months, yet nothing for a man. There was plenty of makeup and even a blonde wig.

He could find no identity cards for anyone, male or female, so he was seriously worried. Once again, he considered just giving himself up. At least the war couldn’t go on that much longer. They kept saying it should be over by Christmas. Mind you, they had been saying that since 1939.

Left with no other choices, Jamie made a decision. He pinned up the blackout curtain, and lit a couple of candles he found under the sink in the kitchen. He stripped off all his clothes and dressed in a one-piece corset and bra, which had stocking supports attached to the bottom end. He rolled up some socks and placed them into the bra cups. He wedged his small member between his legs and put on a really tight pair of knickers to keep it hidden.

There were a few stockings left in a drawer, and he rolled a pair onto his legs. Then he noticed the amount of fine fair hair he had on his legs. The Germans may like hairy women, but he wouldn’t convince anyone he was a girl like this!

He then took them off again, and shaved his legs, using his safety razor and cold water. This time, the stockings went on smoothly, looking much more convincing.

He had not yet really started beard growth, but he shaved in some cold water none-the-less. Using the makeup, he put some eyeliner round his eyes, powder on his nose and face, and a little rouge to his cheeks. The lipstick was very red, yet he applied it with a steady hand and looked at the result in the dim light. He smiled as he was thankful now that he had been chosen to play a girl in plays more than once, due to his slight frame and ‘pretty’ looks.

He had been teased about his ‘girly-looks’, and it hadn’t helped that he had the most wonderful eyelashes. He had been so teased, that one day he took a pair of scissors and cut the offending lashes. Much to his disgust, his lashes had grown back quite rapidly and were even more luxurious!

There was a little tub of blue, so he dabbed a little above each eye.

He tried to brush his own hair into some semblance of a feminine style. No matter what he did, it looked stupid, as he knew it was far too short.

The wig was a good one, but quite tangled. He teased it with a brush, until it looked more presentable, and then put it on. The hair came down to his shoulders and was a surprisingly good match for his own colour. Using a couple of hair clips, he attached it to his own hair, hoping that the wind would not increase and unmask him at the wrong moment.

He noticed some nail varnish, so he shaped his nails with a file and painted them. He put a full-length slip/petticoat on, slipping on a floral dress he found in the wardrobe. He discovered a fawn jacket that went reasonably over it. Shoes proved to be a problem. There were no shoes without heels of some sort. Three pairs fitted him, yet all were high-heeled. He put the most comfortable pair on.

There was a small battered suitcase under the bed, so he filled it with spare underwear, stockings, shoes, dresses, skirts and blouses, two cardigans and a night dress. He placed all the makeup into a handbag, together with some Dutch Guilders and a hairbrush. He found a towel in the airing cupboard and put that into his case.

He went and admired himself in the mirror. The disconcerting figure stared back at him.

He stood for many moments lost in wonder at the transformation that he had undergone. He knew that he felt strange and that it itself upset him. For the strangeness was not because he felt odd, rather that he felt almost at home in these unfamiliar clothes.

The girl was pretty and utterly convincing. At least she was to him, and at this moment, he needed her to be.

He felt nervous and afraid. Somehow, he liked what he saw and, not for the first time, this caused him extra confusion and consternation.

The first time had been the when he had to don girl’s clothes for a play at Glenalmond. He had been fourteen and a treble in the choir. His feminine appearance had meant he was forever being selected to play girl’s parts. However, at the public school, when sexual awakenings were going on all around him. It seemed more complex and rather difficult. He had to play opposite a large eighteen year old in a musical comedy. He had found wearing girl’s clothes alarmingly pleasant. Not in any sexual sense, but it was almost as if it were more natural for him to be a girl, rather than just look like one. Once he got over the embarrassment, he found he took to the role naturally, and even found that the feminine gestures and mannerisms were second nature. The reviews were all very complementary, but he was teased for some months about it. If he hadn’t been such a good rugby player, he would have found it all very difficult.

For some strange reason, if one was a good rugby player, then one could be forgiven all manner of ills! Even having had to play a female role in a play.

He hadn’t had time to dwell on the feeling, but they asked him to repeat the experience in two more plays before the end of his time there. The last time had only been a couple of years ago, and he had experienced a degree of sexual thrill from being a girl.

It wasn’t the clothes that gave him the thrill, it never was. It was simply that he liked being a girl. It felt so right! He could never talk about this to anyone, but he was so consumed with guilt and shame he hardly dared even think through what he actually did feel.

The guilt he carried after that was still burdening his soul, so he dared not even think about it for the feelings the memories evoked.

The ‘girl’ wrapped a headscarf around her head, in gypsy fashion, with the tie behind the head, rather than below the chin. This was partly to keep her hair in place and partly to give the impression of being a refugee rather than a prostitute.

He wrapped his uniform in a blanket and buried it under the shrubbery the small garden. He was tempted to keep his Sten gun and Webley, but knew if caught he would be shot immediately. He took his dog-tags from around his neck and looked at them in his hand.

To keep them and to be found with them, meant POW camp at best, or being shot as a spy at worst. Not to have them meant that he might have difficulties identifying himself later to the allies. He made his decision, and hurled them as far away as he could.

He didn’t look to see where they landed.

It was just after dawn when the new Jamie ventured forth, creeping down the street towards the outskirts of the town. He just had to get out of the town and then try to head south and west.

He kept to the edges of the street, along the building line and was careful about crossing the road. He felt a strange thrill from the clothes. The unfamiliar stockings were amazingly pleasant, and even the restrictions on his private parts seemed to make him appear more ‘normal’. He found he seemed to naturally adopt feminine mannerisms and gestures. He smiled, as he found it easier if he imagined that he was his mother.

He had adored her, despite the fact that she had always been distant and somewhat strange. An angelic creature in some ways, yet even now he was unable to think of her without feeling melancholy.

There were a few civilians, scuttling hither and thither, all looking fearful and furtive. Few gave him a second glance and those who did, for any length of time, tended to be male, and they smiled shortly and moved on, dropping their gaze. However, there were a great many soldiers about, all German, and all eyed the girl with open and frankly admiring glances.

Several wolf whistles were directed his way and he caught more than one complimentary remark as well as some openly obscene suggestions.

Certainly, his confidence received a boosted, as no one seemed to think he was anything other than that which he purported to be. His face was reddening as some of the suggestions left little to the imagination.

He had managed to get out of the town, and for about a mile further on before a shout alerted him to the fact his presence was just called into question.

“Hält, der ist Sie?”

since 08/16/05