Do they Shoot Spies? - Teaching English Through Stories

Do they Shoot Spies?
Well, I’ve done a few stupid things in my life but this really takes the biscuit.
It was the summer of 1971. I had found myself stranded on the platform in Budapest station. There
were crowds of people bustling around. Some were sleeping on the platform in their sleeping bags
and blankets. I had been there for one day. I had joined the long queues at the ticket offices, and like
everyone else, I had been told that there were no trains going to Austria or any other western
country.
I sort of knew what was going on. I had talked with a Polish family. They had told me about the
attack on Czechoslovakia by the USSR. Apparently, two days ago tanks had entered that country.
“The reason you can’t get out of here is because of the invasion of Czechoslovakia,” they had said.
“They have closed the borders to all countries.”
So here I was sitting on the concrete floor of the station, surrounded by bags and people. There was
nothing to do but wait. It could have been interesting. There were people from all over Eastern
Europe. Talk to them. Find out about their story. Help would come. Waiting patiently would have
been the sensible thing to do, but unfortunately being sensible was not a trait I seemed to possess.
“There is a ticket window selling tickets over there. They are selling tickets for the local trains,” the
Polish family told me. I couldn’t sit around any longer. I went over to the window. “Give me a ticket,
any ticket.”
I got on this a train. Slowly it made its way through the countryside stopping at every little station.
Eventually, it came to the end of the line. I got out. It was a small town. Grey uninspiring buildings
faced me. I slowly walked along the street. I walked up the hill and there at the top of the hill an
amazing sight greeted me. Down below I could see armoured vehicles making their way in a column
along the road. There were tanks with very large guns. They had a red star on them. The column
snaked away into the distance.
Then it happened. The sound of the siren, wheeeeeeeeeeee! Two cars pulled up next to me. One
person grabbed me. They threw me into the car. Down the hill we went. We arrived at this building
which appeared to be a police station. They shouted something at me. Then took me down this long
corridor, opened the iron door and pushed me into this tiny room.
I sat on the wooden bench. “Oh dear, What has happened?” I said to myself. “I must have stumbled
across a section of the invasion force. This is not looking very good.”
It must have been two or three hours later when the men in long coats and high boots returned.
“You come now,” they said in their broken English. Into the car I went again. Round a few blocks we
went until we came to this new office building. “You out,” they commanded. This building was a bit
different. There was the smell of polished wood. Everywhere were statues. A gold balustrade
followed the magnificent stairs upwards. Into the lift we went. We came to the top floor. I was
marched across the room to a very large desk surrounded by book cases where a small man, who
was wearing spectacles, sat. He was writing. Eventually he looked up. “You English?”
“Yes,” I replied
“No speak English. No like English.” He continued writing. “You big trouble,” he said. The men in
coats approached. What should I do?
“Je parle Francais.”
“Ah. Vous parlez Français.”
“Oui, un petit peu.”
“Trés bien. Trés bien. C’est que la raison pour visiter cette ville?”
The little man’s face was changed now. He was happy that I could speak some French. He wanted to
know why I had come to his town. I seemed to be in hot water. What should I say? Seconds passed.
It is true that I had studied Botany at university but the answer I gave was not true and why I said it, I
think I will never know.
“Je suis un student, student Anglais. Le but de mon visit j’étudie les fleurs. Je veux étudier le
manifique flore de cette région. (I am an English student and I have come to study the beautiful
flowers of this region)
I’m sure the little man’s glasses slipped a bit. His face changed. He got up from the desk, walked
over, and threw his arms around me and said, “student anglais. Trés bien. Vous étudiez les fleurs de
cette région. Fantastique. C’est la première fois student Anglais étudie les fleur ici. Moi aussi, étudie
les fleurs. Ici les fleurs tres belle. Je suis trés heureux. Bien venue. (you are an English student who
has come to our region to study the flowers. This is the first time we have had an English student.
This is wonderful, I am very pleased. I also study flowers) Un moment, ....ah, ici ma collection de des
fleurs pressé. Regardez. (just a moment. Here is my collection of pressed flowers. Please take a look)
And so he showed me his collection of pressed flowers. He was very excited to have found a
comrade in arms. He then turned to the men in long coats and said, “Allez, vite! (Off you go. We
don’t need you anymore.) Je suis le Maire de cette province. Voulez vous boire le caffé avec moi? (I
am the mayor of this province. Would you like to have a coffee with me?)
After coffee and after looking at his collection of plants he then asked me where I was going to stay
for the night. He summoned his chauffeur who took me to this very nice hotel in the centre of the
town. All expenses paid.
And that was it. I stayed two nights in this first class hotel and ate the best of the local food. I then
returned to Budapest and was able to buy a ticket out.
But who were the men in long coats? Why was I taken from that room with the iron door? And how
did I come up with that ridiculous story of studying the flowers?
What did they think I was doing on top of that hill? Was I a holiday maker?
No, they must have suspected me of being a spy, a foreign spy! Who else would be watching the
invasion from the top of a hill?
Are spies not shot in the time of war?