大象传媒

My ex-Foreign Legion friend, the Dutchman Sergeant Lagas (see 'Christmas in hospital') was now a member of the Free Netherlands Forces. He was one of many foreign nationals thrown up by the tide of war who wished to join the Allied cause. All were vetted. One such, a Pole, was sent to Brigadier Rabino in his capacity as Banking and Currency Adviser, British North Africa Forces. He came to our new Rue Michelet office with a strange tale to tell.

This Pole had fled to France after the invasion of his country in 1939 and thence to Algeria. When Germany took over 'Unoccupied France' Marshal Petain's Vichy Government began rounding up foreign citizens. The Pole was arrested and sent to a concentration camp on the borders of the Sahara. The French, like the Germans, set up these camps which had been invented by the British during the South African wars. Before his arrest the Pole had swallowed the piece of paper bearing the combination-numbers of his safe deposit box in the Banque de l'Algerie.

After the Allies landed in North Africa nearly all those imprisoned by the Vichyites were released. Poles were our allies. This one wanted to join the Free Polish Army and, ipso facto, was entitled to his assets.

My Brigadier suspected that the box might contain more than the Pole had declared (contraband articles, perhaps). He called me in and told me to escort the man to the Bank's safe-deposit and supervise the opening of his box. The bank manager (coldly furious) led us down to the vaults where, amid the tiers of wall-safes, one bore a card with the word 'Bloque'.

This was removed and my Pole dialled the combination. No result. He tried again - many times. Then he turned to me, his mouth working, sweat on his face. 'I have forgotten the numbers. Oh God, I have forgotten!' He stood there, baffled. Then he dropped to his knees, crossed himself many times and began babbling. I knew about three words of Polish but I gathered that 'Our Lady' was being invoked.

He ceased, crossed himself a further four or five times, got up, went to the safe-deposit, dialled the numbers again and - hey presto - it opened! While he was making his slobbering thanksgiving I examined the contents. Nothing to worry my Brigadier... a modest quantity of gold Napoleons (most French peasants kept a store of such in an underbed sock to cheat the tax-man), jewellery, but not too much and no handsome solitaires.

Miracle! I had just seen a miracle! Nothing of the sort. I had seen mental concentration brought to its peak by religious credulity. I was 31 years old. Today, in 2005 I am more tolerant, less dogmatic. Many odd experiences, many seeming 'coincidences' have dulled the edge of my cynicism. Coincidences worry me.

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