Vignette: The art of Jean-Pierre Gibrat—The Flight of the Raven

One day, if I write a spy story set in Nazi-occupied Paris, with a bright young heroine named… Maybe her name doesn’t matter, but I would definitely write a scene where she escapes over the rooftops exactly as Jean-Pierre Gibrat’s heroine, Jeanne Cadrieux, does in Gibrat’s two-volume bande dessinée titled Le Vol du Corbeau (The Flight of the Raven).

Jeanne is shown (extreme left) on the cover of volume 1 of Le Vol du Corbeau, clinging perilously to the side of a building, high above Paris. Those white gloves will get awfully dirty, Jeanne!

She is shown on the cover of volume 2, no gloves but still with the red beret. She is aghast at what she has done. And she has good reason. She has just shot a German soldier with his own rifle.

Le Vol du Corbeau is the sequel to Gibrat’s earlier bande dessinée Le Sursis which starred Jeanne’s sister, Cécile. [See my post of 29 July 2012, tagged under Gibrat].

Gibrat is the unquestioned master of setting. Volume 1 of Le Vol du Corbeau mostly takes place on the rooftops, among the chimney breasts of Paris’s ubiquitous mansard roofs. Volume 2 is set largely on the river, aboard one of the Parisian barges that sail up and down the Seine.

The story in a nutshell:

Volume 1 of Le Vol du Corbeau begins with Jeanne in jail. She has been reported for black market (marché noir)  activities and the police have searched her apartment and discovered a cache of weapons. Jeanne is working for the French Resistance.

While the local police chief ponders whether or not to hand her over to the Gestapo, a burglar named François Michaud is tossed into Jeanne’s cell. François helps her to escape, and the two of them flee over the rooftops.

François then takes her to his friends who own a barge, and they sail from Paris.

Complication of Volume 2: A German soldier is stationed aboard the barge. Further complication: Jeanne shoots him when he tries to force himself upon her. What to do with the body?

It’s never good to tell an ending. Please read the book. It’s well worth it. [Only available in French, I believe]. Those who would like to see Jeanne and Cécile reunited will not be disappointed. Likewise, those who would like to see Jeanne and François become lovers.

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This week in the War, 2–8 September 1940: destroyers for bases

On 3 September 1940 (the anniversary of Britain’s entry into WWII), Britain signed an agreement to receive 50 WWI destroyers from the United States. Some American and British sailors are shown here inspecting depth charges, with destroyers in the background.

At the time, Britain was sorely pressed to keep open its Atlantic life-line, although it has been argued that the destroyers also served Britain’s political aim at of pushing the neutral USA into slowly shedding her neutrality. Roosevelt complied—but it was a dangerous game for him to play during an election year.

In exchange, the USA leased British naval bases in Jamaica, Saint Lucia, Trinidad, Antigua and British Guiana. Bermuda was not part of the deal, but was added in at about the same time.

The US built an air base in Bermuda, naming it Kindley Field (left). Postwar, it was handed back and developed into Bermuda’s present-day International Airport (right).

 

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This week in the War, 26 Aug–1 Sept 1940: London on alert

This week in the war saw the first all-night alert in London, 26 August 1940. The Luftwaffe launched a number of night attacks on the city that week. The picture to the left shows one of the platforms of the London underground railway system (the ‘Tube’) being used as an air-raid shelter. A few years later, the citizens of Berlin would be using their Untergrundbahn (U-Bahn) for the same purpose.

Another option for taking cover was the Anderson shelter, provided as a corrugated-iron ‘kit’ that one could put together before sinking it into the back garden and heaping earth overtop. British factories were producing them in the tens of thousands. Contrary to practice, the one shown here is not buried below ground.

For people without a garden, there was the Morrison shelter, which was a steel cage, table-sized (in fact designed to function as a dining table) with a height of 2 feet 9 inches. During air raids, the family was meant to take refuge beneath the ‘table’. Apartment dwellers were out of luck. The Morrison was heavy and intended for use on the main floor.

Both shelters were named for British politicians: John Anderson (Lord Privy Seal—entrusted with organizing air raid precautions), and Herbert Morrison (Home Secretary).

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In the news: The ship’s bell

The chips are down. If Microsoft co-founder, Paul G. Allen, gets his way, he and his ROV-equipped yacht will soon set sail to recover the ship’s bell from HMS Hood. [FYI: ROV = Remotely Operated Vehicle].

HMS Hood, one of the last great British battlecruisers, was commissioned in 1920. She was the pride of the Royal Navy when she engaged the German battleship Bismarck on 24 May 1941.

Plunging fire from Bismarck penetrated the Hood’s armoured deck, causing her powder magazine to explode. The battlecruiser sank with almost all on board. A midshipman and two rating survived.

The bell pictured on the right is from the battleship HMS Rodney, which took part in the hunt for the Bismarck and was present at her sinking on 27 May 1941.

For more information on HMS Hood and the Bismarck see James Daly’s Daly History Blog post: Brothers in the Hood and Christopher Chant’s Aviation and Military History post: Operation ‘Rheinubung’ .

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This week in the War, 19–25 August 1940: Stalin settles a score

On the evening of 20 August 1940, the same day that Winston Churchill made his historic ‘Never in the field of human conflict…’ speech before the British House of Commons, a man armed with an ice pick entered a house in Mexico city and struck down the occupant.

The assailant was an agent of the Soviet security service (NKVD), a man named Ramón Mercador. The victim was Leon Trotsky, the great revolutionary. He died the following day from his wounds. (The picture above shows him flanked by friends and was taken in Mexico in 1940).

Trotsky had been a major figure in the Bolshevik Revolution and, afterwards, took control of the Red Army. The rise of Joseph Stalin led to Trotsky being expelled from the Party and sent into exile. The majority of his family were killed and most of his supporters were executed in Stalin’s purges of the 1930s.

To the British, who were at war and embroiled in a desperate air battle, and to Americans, who were in the midst of a presidential election campaign, Trotsky’s murder was of little consequence. Stalin had settled a score with an old rival. Maybe Hitler took notice. (He worried, with good reason, about assassination).

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This week in the War, 19–25 August 1940: Never in the field of human conflict…

This week in the war, Tuesday 20 August 1940, Winston Churchill rose in the House of Commons to give his most memorable speech of the war. “Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few,” he told his listeners.

He was speaking not so much to his fellow MPs as to the newspaper reporters present in the House, and through them to the people of Great Britain and beyond, particularly to the United States of America.

He was conveying the message that Britain had triumphed in the air war and would continue to fight on. Thus she was a good investment. Future support from America—arms, raw materials, loans—would not be wasted.

Churchill was accomplished orator with a keen sense of history. His words evoked the spirit of Agincourt, and the British archers who had stood firm against the French knights (“We few, we happy few,…” were Henry V’s words through the pen of Shakespeare), and also the spirit of the days of the Armada when sailors such as Drake and Raleigh had defeated the might of Spain. The victory of Fighter Command in the Battle of Britain was to assume an equivalent mythical status, one that has persisted in the minds of the British public, even until the present day.

The Battle of Britain continued through into October. By then, the Luftwaffe was concentrating its efforts on bombing London and other British cities—and mostly at night. Daytime raids were proving too expensive.

The Blitz was under way. It was to continue until May 1941.

 

 

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This week in the War, 12–18 August 1940: Eagle Day

Like every boy who grew up in England, not too long after the war, I loved to read the boys comics: Beano, Dandy, Hotspur. Particulary Lion. The latter featured the weekly adventures of make-believe World War II RAF pilot, Paddy Payne. The Battle of Britain was recent history. Most boys of my age had a model aeroplane or two—carved from wood, of course—likely a Spitfire, or a Hurricane.

Paddy Payne, bless his heart, was the quintessential Battle of Britain pilot.  (I would never have used the word quintessential, back then, of course). Paddy was smart and daring. Probably handsome. He was ‘sporting’ in the sense that the English use the word. In short: he was a decent fellow. A ‘good egg.’

The rotten Nazi pilots who tried to shoot him down used phrases like “Die, Englander pig-dog!” But when Paddy opened fire, emptying several hundred rounds from his Spitfire’s Brownings into the cockpit of some wretched Messerschmitt, he’d say something like  “Cop that lot, chum!”

School-boy slang was de rigeur in the RAF of Battle of Britain days. Hardly a surprise, since many of the pilots had been at grammar school only a few years earlier, cramming for their Latin tests and roughing it up on the rugga pitch. A successful encounter with enemy planes was a ‘wizard show.’ One didn’t crash ones aeroplane; one ‘pranged ones kite.’ Crash-landing in the English Channel was ‘ditching in the drink.’ These, and phrases like them, were absorbed into the fledgling vocabularies of the readers of the Lion.

Of course, the Battle of Britain was not a ‘piece of cake’ or a series of ‘wizard shows’ but an historical event full of tension and high drama that spanned, roughly, July to the end of October 1940. The outcome altered world opinion—in America, in Britain, even in Germany and particularly in Hitler’s mind—as to how the war would now progress. That said, some of the pilots—for example RAF ace ‘Sailor’ Malan who is pictured above—showed some characteristics of the fictional Paddy Payne and became household names. [The South-African-born Malan usually went by his nickname of ‘Sailor’ rather than his given name, which was Adolph. He survived and returned home at the end of the war].

To do justice to an event such as the Battle of Britain in a book (let alone a blog post) would be a daunting task. Remarkably, historian Neil R. Storey has written a fine and impressively concise book about the Battle of Britain, 50 pages, or thereabout, with numerous illustrations.

Storey’s account details the various phases of the battle, beginning with the Luftwaffe settling into its newly captured airfields in France and other occupied countries (Phase 1) to sustained raids on British cities, mainly London and mainly at night (Phase 5).

This week in the war saw the start of Phase 3: attacks against RAF Fighter Command airfields in southeastern England. They began on 13 August, Eagle Day (Adlertag in German), when close to 500 hundred German bombers and twice as many fighters crossed the English coastline. Given the Luftwaffe’s battle experience and overwhelming strength, Goering expected the fight to be over in a matter of days. He had not anticipated the RAF’s level of organization, the effectiveness of Radar, and the quality of pilots and machines. Day after day, the Hurricanes and Spitfires of fighter command took to the skies and inflicted losses on the Luftwaffe often around 2 to 1, in comparison to their own.

 

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This week in the War, 5–11 August 1940: Italians invade British Somaliland

This week in the war, 5 and 6 August 1940, the Italian army captured crucial positions in British Somaliland, Britain’s colony in the Horn of Africa.

The invasion force was 24,000 strong and included artillery, air support, and light and medium tanks. The assault was launched from bases in Italian East Africa.

The British could call on 4,000 troops, including the Somaliland Camel Corps and the Nyasaland (now Malawi) King’s African Rifles, but had no armour and little artillery.

Despite being reinforced, the British were pushed back and forced to evacuate by sea. They were getting used to it! (Dunkirk, Norway,…). The evacuation was largely unopposed because, some say, Italy was interested in negotiating a peace treaty with Britain. Hitler had had the same idea. (See my post of 18 July 2012 An end to the war?).

Britain, of course, had worries closer to home. The Battle of Britain was well under way and about to enter phase two: the Luftwaffe’s attack on RAF airfields.

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In the news: Curiosity and the ingredients for life

In the early hours of this morning, NASA’s Martian rover Curiosity touched down on the Red Planet to tackle a question that has fired the imagination of the public at least as far back as H.G. Wells’s War of the Worlds: Did life exist on Mars?

Curiosity (a full-scale lab model of which is shown above) is a mobile laboratory, designed to wander the Martian landscape testing for carbon, nitrogen, phosphorus, and other chemicals essential for life.

Wells’s vision was Curiosity in reverse, with (markedly unfriendly) Martian tourists arriving here on Earth and stomping around our planet in their gangly long-legged rovers.

Born into Victorian England, Wells’s life spanned two world wars. Gifted, cantankerous, and with a social conscience, he is particularly remembered for his science fiction writing and his ability to foresee the future, as in his The War in the Air (1908), or The World Set Free (1914) which anticipated nuclear weapons, or The Shape of Things to Come (1933) which predicted that a world war would start in 1940 through a conflict between Poland and Germany.

As for the Nazis: They did not like Wells one bit. Not since he had Germany thrown out of Poets, Essayists & Writers. (Wells was the International President of PEN, at that time). Small wonder that the SS entered his name in their ‘Special Search List G.B.’ (Sonderfahndungsliste G.B.) for arrest when and if Operation Sealion was successful. Wells was in good company. The list included politicians such as Winston Churchill and Charles de Gaulle, and writers such as C.P. Snow and Virginia Woolf.

Was Wells right about Mars? Curiosity is unlikely to uncover Martians of the Wellsian evil octopus variety—but maybe it will uncover some kind of life, albeit primitive, and show that Wells’s idea of one hundred and fourteen years ago held a tiny microbe of truth.

 

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This week in the War, 29 July–4 August 1940: Invasion 1940

This week in the war, on 31 July 1940, Hitler called a meeting of senior naval officers. He decided that the success of his proposed cross-Channel invasion of Britain, Operation Sealion, would depend upon Germany winning the air war over England—what would later become known as the Battle of Britain. The following day, he ordered the Luftwaffe ‘to crush the British air force by every means available’.


Two books, both with the same title but written roughly fifty years apart, one by Peter Fleming (1957), the other by Derek Robinson (2005), present somewhat different perspectives on Hitler’s Operation Sealion.

Most people in the British Isles believed that Hitler fully intended to invade their country. The past six weeks had seen their expeditionary forces ousted from Norway and then from France. The British Expeditionary Force (BEF) had been forced to abandon all of its equipment at Dunkirk.

But the British knew (and their leaders were quick to reinforce the fact) that the last successful invasion of the British Isles had been in 1066 by William the Conqueror and, prior to that, by the Romans. Napoleon had tried and failed. The Spanish had launched an entire armada, and failed. All of Britain’s European neighbours (save Switzerland) had been invaded in the past hundred years or so—but not Britain. This Punch cartoon of July 1940 shows Hitler standing outside the British stronghold, vainly demanding its surrender.

In hindsight, one might agree with Peter Fleming, and dwell on the fact that Britain had been drained of arms and men, sent overseas—and not only to France—but to the Middle East, to India, and to fortresses such as Gibraltar, Malta, Hong Kong, and Singapore. Fleming quotes a report from the British Chiefs-of-Staff: “Should the Germans succeed in establishing a force with its vehicles in this country, our Army forces have not got the offensive power to drive it out.”

Or, one might side more with Derek Robinson, who focuses on the overwhelming superiority of the Royal Navy, and considers Britain’s chances (regardless of the outcome of the air war) to have been better than many accounts of 1940 suggest. Robinson writes: “Churchill knew that, without the Royal Navy, Germany would have at least attempted an invasion. Fighter Command could not sink a ship or even seriously damage one. Air power was irrelevant to a night crossing.”

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