Louis by Derek Haines (reading comprehension books TXT) 📕
Excerpt from the book:
No one wants to be a spy. Circumstances create spies. For a young innocent boy, there was no choice. He was born to be a spy. This is the story of Teremum who begins life in Cairo and becomes my friend Louis in a small country town in Australia sixty years later. It is a story I have been wanting to tell for more than forty years. A story of a man who lived, and then disappeared from all memory. I felt this was unworthy of a man who had sacrificed his life for what he believed to be right. Not that he always was, but in his heart he lived a life true to his morals and an understanding of a side of life we will never know. Two world wars shaped his life as they did for many others. However Louis moved through them, between them and after them as a chameleon. Ever changing and ever re-inventing himself. He was a man of secrets. Both in his work and in his life. He was a man who had few friends, but a plethora of faceless enemies. Above all he was a human who lived an extraordinary life. A life that should not be forgotten.
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- Author: Derek Haines
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/> Morning arrived early as it always does in the military. The noise of men, vehicles, horses, ships and orders woke Charles at five-thirty. Mr. Huntsmith was already dressing.
“Good Morning to you young Charles,” Huntsmith smiled. “Breakfast?”
“Yes Sir,” Charles mumbled as he struggled from his bed and waited for his balance to be returned for the new day. It took a little longer than normal today.
HMS Jupiter was a battleship. Battleships do not look pretty. Charles could not believe how big it was. How many guns sprouted from her deck. He ate his breakfast of bread and weak tea and continued to look in awe at the ship through the open window. It looked like an iron monster. It had two towering masts and two enormous funnels belching smoke and steam. All in a colourless grey that had the look of an old kitchen stove. At four hundred feet long, its size was overwhelming. Its side was embellished with ladders, wires, ropes, handles, life boats and chains. Men worked on the deck and masts and resembled ants in comparison to the size of the vessel. Charles ate slowly as he absorbed the enormity of the ship, and the thought of traveling aboard such an evil looking monster. Alan Huntsmith had normally traveled P&O passenger liners and was not looking forward to his voyage either. He knew they had nearly two weeks of discomfort to look forward to.
After breakfast, Huntsmith suggested a walk to Charles to help clear their bodies from the fatigue of the truck ride from Cairo and the late night arrival. They walked along the harbour dwarfed by the enormity of the fleet docked along the wharves. From time to time, Huntsmith had to shepherd Charles to avoid being overrun by soldiers, sailors, horses, carts, trucks and labourers. The port was bustling with the urgencies of war. As a large ambulance arrived and was about to disgorge its ugly cargo of wounded, dismembered and maimed bodies onto a hospital ship, Huntsmith again decided to shepherd Charles on a new course towards a small stand of shack-like shops selling their wares of fruit, bread, writing paper, used books, fake antiquities and whores. The heat of the day was starting to rise from the cement and sand as the sun started its work of baking all beneath it.
“Do you have everything you need for your voyage Charles?”
“I believe so Sir.”
“Do you have writing paper for letters?”
“No Sir.”
“Just a minute then.”
Huntsmith disappeared into the shop as Charles waited outside. Standing close to the window so as not to be in the way of passing men, and also to have the security of keeping Mr. Huntsmith, who was talking to the shopkeeper inside, in his view. After a few minutes, Huntsmith returned with a paper sack and handed it to Charles.
“There you are young man. Letters for you to write.”
“Thank you very much Sir,” Charles politely replied before looking inside at the contents of the sack.
Sheets of almost white paper were wrapped in a brown paper band. It looked like almost one hundred sheets to Charles. Also in the sack was a pen fashioned with hieroglyphics on its stem and a bronze coloured nib. There was also a small bottle of ink. It looked like it was black, but Charles was not sure as he had not removed it from the sack. It might have been dark blue he thought. Looking at the paper and thinking how beautiful the paper was in his blank book his mother had given him. He thought about his mother for the first time since last evening. His thoughts were broken by Mr. Huntsmith starting off to continue their walk. Charles followed.
They arrived back at their barracks shortly before lunch. Time to wash the morning sweat from their faces and hands. There was a letter waiting on Mr. Huntsmith’s bedside table. It was the order for Huntsmith and Charles to embark the HMS Jupiter that evening 18th August at 18.00 hours. The order did not state when they would sail. Huntsmith was not looking forward to the voyage, but thought at least they did not have to wait around for days in the heat of Port Said. The sooner the voyage started, the sooner it would be over. Huntsmith told Charles over lunch of the news. Charles readied himself for the next stage of his long voyage. From childhood.
If the exterior of the HMS Jupiter was uninvitingly ugly, its bowels were worse. Two small bunks embedded into the hull towards the stern of the vessel would be the quarters for Huntsmith and Charles. For Charles there was enough room to lie straight. For Huntsmith, it was an awkward squeeze for his lanky body. He could feel the ribs of metal below his inadequate kapok mattress. When they boarded, they were guided to their quarters by Sub-Lieutenant Middleton. It felt as if they were climbing down to a bottomless pit as they wound their way down ladders, narrow metal corridors, railings and narrow grated metal walk ways. All the time bypassing sailors working at all levels of the ship. To Charles, it resembled what an ant nest must look like deep underground. After tossing their belongings into their respective bunks, they were shown to the small galley, only a mere 15 feet away, that would be there only other authorised area on the voyage. In between was a small door to the shared and rudimentary toilet facilities.
Charles was still awe struck by the immensity of the HMS Jupiter, while Huntsmith was beginning to dread the long voyage locked in the bowels of a floating tin can. He wished he had travelled P&O, more dangerous or not. The heat inside the ship became almost unbearable as the next morning matured towards noon. The small port hole that allowed air into their confined area was inadequate for equatorial heat. It took Huntsmith a lot of arguing with Sub-Lieutenant Middleton to allow him and Charles to ascend to the deck during the afternoon for some fresh air. With the ship docked, no air moved through the ship. Huntsmith argued that they were passengers, not prisoners. Middleton finally relented after consulting his commanding officer. As they needed to be accompanied, Sub-Lieutenant Middleton needed to assign a midshipman which took a few hours to organise. They were finally allowed one hour on deck. Until the ship sailed, they would be allowed one hour both morning and afternoon. Once the ship sailed, they would both be confined to quarters for their own safety.
Following their one hour on deck the following morning they returned to their quarters and Middleton informed them that the Jupiter would be sailing at noon. Barring the unforeseen circumstances or new orders they should arrive in Plymouth in thirteen days.
Luckily for them, there were no new orders or unforeseen circumstances except for a two bouts of sea sickness for Charles in rough weather. They disembarked onto Plymouth dock on 2nd October 1916.
Huntsmith decided to book a hotel room for two nights before departing for London. He was exhausted from the voyage, and although Charles did not complain, he knew Charles was also, and would benefit from a short rest, fresh air and decent food before the last stage of his journey. He arranged for a telegram to be sent to the Master of Dulwich College, advising him of Charles’ expected arrival on 5th October and sent another to his commander at the Secret Service Bureau advising his arrival for de-briefing on 6th October. He was very impatient to finally retire. His years with the Royal Navy and Admiralty had been wonderful years, but since being transferred to the new Secret Service Bureau following its creation in 1909 in association with the War Office, he had enjoyed his work less but was happy he had survived his sometimes unpleasant tasks of the past years. He realised he and Charles had something in common. Apprehension.
〜〜〜〜〜〜
Dulwich College was truly Edwardian regardless of the fact that George V had been on the throne since 1910. It was an institution with its roots in Empire, religion, academia and discipline. For Charles, his first days were traumatic. Adjusting to a strict regime designed to instil discipline and self-reliance in very young boys. When he cried, he made sure it was when his face was hidden deeply in his pillow at night. He was developing his ability to keep his emotions in check and hide his true feelings from the world around him. The Master of Dulwich, Mr. George Smith knew who Charles Albert de Villiers was. He understood the responsibility he had been entrusted with. As an link operative for the Secret Service Bureau, he knew how important the education of Charles was to his government. He would have a special interest in ensuring Charles’ stay at Dulwich was successful. A matter of six years, before the responsibility moved to Oxford.
Hidayah
Hidayah woke the morning after Teremun’s departure. She had slept fitfully and her eyes felt the after effects of a night’s crying. Red, sore and puffed. Her tears had stopped, but her sadness remained as an empty sensation in the pit of her stomach. Breathing deeply as she rose from her bed to start her first day without Teremun. Looking in her mirror, her long hair showed the signs of a night of tossing and turning and fighting with a pillow that would not surrender and offer comfort. Tangled and twisted with clumps pointing at unnatural angles. She took her hair brush and started work on repairing the damage the night had done. Brushing in slow determined strokes in time with her breathing, concentrating on nothing except regaining her composure for the coming day.
Finally, after washing and dressing, she tied her hair in a bun as she always did, and took one last deep breath. Ready to start her day.
The house maids, Hana and Ni'mah had started their day as normal, but with clearly fewer smiles and less enthusiasm. Breakfast was ready for Hidayah as usual, and Hana and Ni'mah had already started on their cleaning and tidying duties. Without Teremun creating work for them, there was less to do. Hana went upstairs to attend to Hidayah’s bedroom. Apart from the normal daily pleasantries of greeting each other for the new morning, there was little talk. All three were lost in their thoughts.
At ten o’clock the door bell rang. Hana answered the door. It was Abdul-Majid Ali. Hana knew he was from the Sultan’s office and immediately invited him in to wait for Hidayah. She also knew that his arrival may bring news of the future for herself and Ni’mah. After making him comfortable in the modest salon she went to inform Hidayah.
“Good Morning Sir,” she greeted him in English.
“Good Morning Madam Al-Fayyoumi,” he responded in equally good English. “We have much to discuss this morning.”
“Yes, I understand,” she replied politely. “Would you like tea before we begin?”
“Thank you, that is very kind,” he answered.
Before Hidayah had beckoned Hana, Ni’mah was already preparing the tea.
Hidayah and Abdul-Majid Ali politely discussed the weather while tea was being prepared. Both wanted to get to the subject of the meeting as soon as possible, but good manners and protocol demanded that it must wait until the tea had been served and the weather had been fully discussed.
“Milk or lemon Mr. Ali?
“Lemon thank you.
The awaited topic of conversation waited while the cups of tea were stirred and teaspoons duly placed on the saucers beside the cups.
“You have served the Sultan well Madam Al-Fayyoumi,” Ali remarked.
“Thank you Sir,”
“The Sultan understands the difficulty of the departure of young Teremun. But I am sure you
“Good Morning to you young Charles,” Huntsmith smiled. “Breakfast?”
“Yes Sir,” Charles mumbled as he struggled from his bed and waited for his balance to be returned for the new day. It took a little longer than normal today.
HMS Jupiter was a battleship. Battleships do not look pretty. Charles could not believe how big it was. How many guns sprouted from her deck. He ate his breakfast of bread and weak tea and continued to look in awe at the ship through the open window. It looked like an iron monster. It had two towering masts and two enormous funnels belching smoke and steam. All in a colourless grey that had the look of an old kitchen stove. At four hundred feet long, its size was overwhelming. Its side was embellished with ladders, wires, ropes, handles, life boats and chains. Men worked on the deck and masts and resembled ants in comparison to the size of the vessel. Charles ate slowly as he absorbed the enormity of the ship, and the thought of traveling aboard such an evil looking monster. Alan Huntsmith had normally traveled P&O passenger liners and was not looking forward to his voyage either. He knew they had nearly two weeks of discomfort to look forward to.
After breakfast, Huntsmith suggested a walk to Charles to help clear their bodies from the fatigue of the truck ride from Cairo and the late night arrival. They walked along the harbour dwarfed by the enormity of the fleet docked along the wharves. From time to time, Huntsmith had to shepherd Charles to avoid being overrun by soldiers, sailors, horses, carts, trucks and labourers. The port was bustling with the urgencies of war. As a large ambulance arrived and was about to disgorge its ugly cargo of wounded, dismembered and maimed bodies onto a hospital ship, Huntsmith again decided to shepherd Charles on a new course towards a small stand of shack-like shops selling their wares of fruit, bread, writing paper, used books, fake antiquities and whores. The heat of the day was starting to rise from the cement and sand as the sun started its work of baking all beneath it.
“Do you have everything you need for your voyage Charles?”
“I believe so Sir.”
“Do you have writing paper for letters?”
“No Sir.”
“Just a minute then.”
Huntsmith disappeared into the shop as Charles waited outside. Standing close to the window so as not to be in the way of passing men, and also to have the security of keeping Mr. Huntsmith, who was talking to the shopkeeper inside, in his view. After a few minutes, Huntsmith returned with a paper sack and handed it to Charles.
“There you are young man. Letters for you to write.”
“Thank you very much Sir,” Charles politely replied before looking inside at the contents of the sack.
Sheets of almost white paper were wrapped in a brown paper band. It looked like almost one hundred sheets to Charles. Also in the sack was a pen fashioned with hieroglyphics on its stem and a bronze coloured nib. There was also a small bottle of ink. It looked like it was black, but Charles was not sure as he had not removed it from the sack. It might have been dark blue he thought. Looking at the paper and thinking how beautiful the paper was in his blank book his mother had given him. He thought about his mother for the first time since last evening. His thoughts were broken by Mr. Huntsmith starting off to continue their walk. Charles followed.
They arrived back at their barracks shortly before lunch. Time to wash the morning sweat from their faces and hands. There was a letter waiting on Mr. Huntsmith’s bedside table. It was the order for Huntsmith and Charles to embark the HMS Jupiter that evening 18th August at 18.00 hours. The order did not state when they would sail. Huntsmith was not looking forward to the voyage, but thought at least they did not have to wait around for days in the heat of Port Said. The sooner the voyage started, the sooner it would be over. Huntsmith told Charles over lunch of the news. Charles readied himself for the next stage of his long voyage. From childhood.
If the exterior of the HMS Jupiter was uninvitingly ugly, its bowels were worse. Two small bunks embedded into the hull towards the stern of the vessel would be the quarters for Huntsmith and Charles. For Charles there was enough room to lie straight. For Huntsmith, it was an awkward squeeze for his lanky body. He could feel the ribs of metal below his inadequate kapok mattress. When they boarded, they were guided to their quarters by Sub-Lieutenant Middleton. It felt as if they were climbing down to a bottomless pit as they wound their way down ladders, narrow metal corridors, railings and narrow grated metal walk ways. All the time bypassing sailors working at all levels of the ship. To Charles, it resembled what an ant nest must look like deep underground. After tossing their belongings into their respective bunks, they were shown to the small galley, only a mere 15 feet away, that would be there only other authorised area on the voyage. In between was a small door to the shared and rudimentary toilet facilities.
Charles was still awe struck by the immensity of the HMS Jupiter, while Huntsmith was beginning to dread the long voyage locked in the bowels of a floating tin can. He wished he had travelled P&O, more dangerous or not. The heat inside the ship became almost unbearable as the next morning matured towards noon. The small port hole that allowed air into their confined area was inadequate for equatorial heat. It took Huntsmith a lot of arguing with Sub-Lieutenant Middleton to allow him and Charles to ascend to the deck during the afternoon for some fresh air. With the ship docked, no air moved through the ship. Huntsmith argued that they were passengers, not prisoners. Middleton finally relented after consulting his commanding officer. As they needed to be accompanied, Sub-Lieutenant Middleton needed to assign a midshipman which took a few hours to organise. They were finally allowed one hour on deck. Until the ship sailed, they would be allowed one hour both morning and afternoon. Once the ship sailed, they would both be confined to quarters for their own safety.
Following their one hour on deck the following morning they returned to their quarters and Middleton informed them that the Jupiter would be sailing at noon. Barring the unforeseen circumstances or new orders they should arrive in Plymouth in thirteen days.
Luckily for them, there were no new orders or unforeseen circumstances except for a two bouts of sea sickness for Charles in rough weather. They disembarked onto Plymouth dock on 2nd October 1916.
Huntsmith decided to book a hotel room for two nights before departing for London. He was exhausted from the voyage, and although Charles did not complain, he knew Charles was also, and would benefit from a short rest, fresh air and decent food before the last stage of his journey. He arranged for a telegram to be sent to the Master of Dulwich College, advising him of Charles’ expected arrival on 5th October and sent another to his commander at the Secret Service Bureau advising his arrival for de-briefing on 6th October. He was very impatient to finally retire. His years with the Royal Navy and Admiralty had been wonderful years, but since being transferred to the new Secret Service Bureau following its creation in 1909 in association with the War Office, he had enjoyed his work less but was happy he had survived his sometimes unpleasant tasks of the past years. He realised he and Charles had something in common. Apprehension.
〜〜〜〜〜〜
Dulwich College was truly Edwardian regardless of the fact that George V had been on the throne since 1910. It was an institution with its roots in Empire, religion, academia and discipline. For Charles, his first days were traumatic. Adjusting to a strict regime designed to instil discipline and self-reliance in very young boys. When he cried, he made sure it was when his face was hidden deeply in his pillow at night. He was developing his ability to keep his emotions in check and hide his true feelings from the world around him. The Master of Dulwich, Mr. George Smith knew who Charles Albert de Villiers was. He understood the responsibility he had been entrusted with. As an link operative for the Secret Service Bureau, he knew how important the education of Charles was to his government. He would have a special interest in ensuring Charles’ stay at Dulwich was successful. A matter of six years, before the responsibility moved to Oxford.
Hidayah
Hidayah woke the morning after Teremun’s departure. She had slept fitfully and her eyes felt the after effects of a night’s crying. Red, sore and puffed. Her tears had stopped, but her sadness remained as an empty sensation in the pit of her stomach. Breathing deeply as she rose from her bed to start her first day without Teremun. Looking in her mirror, her long hair showed the signs of a night of tossing and turning and fighting with a pillow that would not surrender and offer comfort. Tangled and twisted with clumps pointing at unnatural angles. She took her hair brush and started work on repairing the damage the night had done. Brushing in slow determined strokes in time with her breathing, concentrating on nothing except regaining her composure for the coming day.
Finally, after washing and dressing, she tied her hair in a bun as she always did, and took one last deep breath. Ready to start her day.
The house maids, Hana and Ni'mah had started their day as normal, but with clearly fewer smiles and less enthusiasm. Breakfast was ready for Hidayah as usual, and Hana and Ni'mah had already started on their cleaning and tidying duties. Without Teremun creating work for them, there was less to do. Hana went upstairs to attend to Hidayah’s bedroom. Apart from the normal daily pleasantries of greeting each other for the new morning, there was little talk. All three were lost in their thoughts.
At ten o’clock the door bell rang. Hana answered the door. It was Abdul-Majid Ali. Hana knew he was from the Sultan’s office and immediately invited him in to wait for Hidayah. She also knew that his arrival may bring news of the future for herself and Ni’mah. After making him comfortable in the modest salon she went to inform Hidayah.
“Good Morning Sir,” she greeted him in English.
“Good Morning Madam Al-Fayyoumi,” he responded in equally good English. “We have much to discuss this morning.”
“Yes, I understand,” she replied politely. “Would you like tea before we begin?”
“Thank you, that is very kind,” he answered.
Before Hidayah had beckoned Hana, Ni’mah was already preparing the tea.
Hidayah and Abdul-Majid Ali politely discussed the weather while tea was being prepared. Both wanted to get to the subject of the meeting as soon as possible, but good manners and protocol demanded that it must wait until the tea had been served and the weather had been fully discussed.
“Milk or lemon Mr. Ali?
“Lemon thank you.
The awaited topic of conversation waited while the cups of tea were stirred and teaspoons duly placed on the saucers beside the cups.
“You have served the Sultan well Madam Al-Fayyoumi,” Ali remarked.
“Thank you Sir,”
“The Sultan understands the difficulty of the departure of young Teremun. But I am sure you
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