by Deborah Carr
Her grandmother watched her, a thoughtful expression on her pale, lined face. ‘We all feel as you do and there’s nothing wrong in that. We have to find ways to cope as best we can, Estelle. When we’re not busy looking after the farm, we need to concentrate on keeping an eye on our neighbours, looking out for each other, especially those living on their own or with bigger responsibilities than ours. In the last war, when I was living in London, we stepped in to take care of those devastated by the loss of loved ones, like my mother after my brothers were killed on the Front.’
‘I’m so sorry, Gran. It must have been a dreadful time for you then, too.’
Gran took a sip of her drink. ‘War is an ugly thing in so many ways.’
They were quiet for a moment, before her grandmother continued, ‘Most of all though, my dear, we need to remember always that this will pass.’
Estelle hoped so with all her heart. ‘Really? You’re certain it will?’
‘I believe so. I have to and so must you. This vile war that keeps us imprisoned on our island and Rosie apart from us will end at some point. We will see her again. We must remember that.’
Estelle resolved to try to do her best to be positive and that they would be a family once more, albeit a smaller one. ‘One day, we might even look back on this and be proud of the way we came through it,’ she said, inspired to be strong whenever she could.
‘That’s my girl.’ Her grandmother withdrew her hand and cupped her mug. ‘You see? It’s all about how we perceive what’s being done to us.’
It was. Estelle nodded, grateful for her grandmother’s uplifting and reassuring words.
‘Even if it might be the end of the world as we’ve known it so far, my love. Things will get better. They might have to get a lot worse before that happens though and that’s when we’ll need to dig deep and find the strength to keep going.’
The following morning, Estelle rose early, pulled on her worn overalls that had once belonged to her father and tied her hair up in an old scarf to keep it out of her face. Then, going down to the kitchen, she ate her breakfast quietly dreading the long dark mornings that would be upon them in only a few months’ time. She rubbed her lower back where it ached, relieved that she would finally finish digging up the last of the potatoes that morning. She didn’t think she had ever been so weary despite falling into an exhausted sleep each night. She was relieved that David Bisson had agreed to come and help her again in the field this morning. With his help the back-breaking work could be done in half the time.
She completed the rest of her chores feeding the chickens and three pigs and looked forward to taking Rebel for a long walk. First, though, she needed to go into the village to Mr Gibault’s store to collect their weekly rations.
The bell jangled as she walked in and went to stand at the back of the short queue. Two women she recognised as sisters stood in front of her and were chatting about the escape of three Frenchmen from the island two week’s before. ‘I heard that they used a boat and left from Rozel,’ one of them said quietly.
‘I heard the same thing,’ the other said. ‘Apparently, the poor devils only arrived on the island just before the German forces having hoped to escape from Normandy.’
‘What bad luck. I’m glad they got away. If only they’d taken down a few of those Jerries before they left though. Give us a few less to deal with.’ She seemed to notice Estelle standing behind them for the first time and gave her a nod.
The first of the women reached the counter. Estelle watched Mr Gibault as he waited for the woman he had been serving up until then to close the door behind her so that only the two women and Estelle were left in the shop.
‘Ladies, you really need to be more careful about the things you say.’
‘What do you mean?’ the first one asked. ‘We’re only speaking the truth.’
‘That’s as maybe and if you want to risk ending up in prison then carry on. Don’t you know that you risk being locked up for saying such things? Anyone caught trying to escape will be shot? Those men were successful but others haven’t been.’
The sisters looked at each other before apologising.
‘Just remember: you never who is listening. Please, be more careful in future, especially in my shop.’
The women left and he smiled at Estelle. ‘Now, young lady, what can I do for you?’
Estelle opened her mouth about to speak when a teenage boy entered the shop and without bothering to close the door behind him walked right up to the counter and handed a small brown-paper bag to the shopkeeper. ‘My dad said to give this to you,’ he said, before turning and running out again without waiting for Mr Gibault to reply.
Mr Gibault bent to place the packet down behind the counter before clearing his throat and addressing Estelle, pointedly ignoring her enquiring look. ‘Is it your rations you’ve come for?’ he asked as if nothing had just happened.
Having taken her shopping home, Estelle fetched Rebel and went for a walk. She took the back lanes and ended up on the headland at Grosnez overlooking the Channel, the islands of Guernsey, Herm, Jethou and Sark in the distance. She thought back to when she was little, before Rosie was born, when her father occasionally brought her here and pointed out each of the other islands to her. They had been such special times, just the two of them.
She wondered about the other Channel Islands islanders and whether they were facing the same harsh realities as they were here in Jersey. She spotted a couple of German soldiers chatting several hundred yards away from her, so stepped back out of sight. Their rifles slung over their shoulders, their deep voices animated and that to her sounded mocking. They appeared so at home on the island, as if it was theirs now, which, she supposed, it was.
Rosie wouldn’t recognise our island right now, Estelle thought. Not now the hated swastika flew from almost every building in town and soldiers paraded through the streets, their goose stepping noisy from their heavy jackboots.
Estelle pictured the swastika flying from Buckingham Palace, the thought making her shiver with dread. Was her life now a preview of what was going to happen on the mainland? She desperately hoped not. Then she might never see her sister again. The Germans had marched across and taken the whole of Europe and now the Channel Islands. The next stop was the mainland, unless Churchill and the British Armed Forces found a way to stop them.
Rebel moved a little too far from her and she pulled on his lead to bring him back to her hiding place. It wouldn’t do to be caught here. She heard the guttural sounds of the uniformed men as they laughed at something, patting each other on the back. How she hated them.
Was this how it was to be, she wondered, a fist of fear clutching at her insides. Never to walk the St Helier streets again without coming across a German uniform, not being allowed down to the golden sands of the beaches to paddle without being given permission and having to watch for mines and barbed wire. Never knowing freedom again? She reminded herself that she had assured her grandmother that she would try to be positive.
Right now, though, she just wished she could go back in time, just a few months to when life was happy, her father was still alive and Rosie was getting on her nerves by asking her to take her down to the beach, or the pictures. They had lived with the fear that the war might reach them on their quiet, peaceful shores, but never truly believed it actually would.
The two soldiers were coming closer, leading Estelle to crouch lower by the edge of the gorse disturbing a fat bumble bee who flew off to find a more peaceful place to work. She shaded her eyes from the glare of the sun and peered across the Channel, praying that the invaders would not reach Britain and her sister.
She loved Jersey desperately, but that was when she had every opportunity of leaving for a trip away, or to visit England, if she had wanted to, or go on the ferry to St Malo in France with her friends. Now, though, she felt isolated and was unable to leave if she chose to. She thought of Gerard and knew that if he had still been on the island and free he would
find a way to fight the enemy somehow. To feel like she was at least trying to do something to undermine them. She recalled the strange incident in Mr Gibault’s shop and odd whispers about small pockets of resistance and in that second decided that she was going to do what she could. The thought made her feel much better and, when she was sure the soldiers weren’t looking her way, she whispered to Rebel before hurriedly making her way back to the main road.
By the time she reached the farm and strode towards the yard, there was already a grey car with its Nazi insignia parked outside her home.
Eleven
Estelle
Jersey
A uniformed man, who she presumed must be the driver, was leaning against the vehicle. He spotted her and straightened immediately, no doubt frightened that she might report him to whomever was inside her home. Rebel growled at the soldier and Estelle pulled him away and broke into a run towards the house. She almost lost her footing as she saw her gran through the living-room window, looking dressed to go out, showing a German officer in through the hallway.
Estelle tried to collect herself. Her grandmother would want her to be composed and polite regardless of how flustered she might be. She took a deep breath and smoothed down her unruly hair, recalling how her gran was always telling her and Rosie to sit up straight and mind their manners growing up. Appearances mattered to Gran when they had visitors, whoever they happened to be.
Then, as calmly as she could manage, Estelle unclipped Rebel’s lead, allowing him to go ahead, and walked through the front door into the hallway. She pulled the sleeves of her cotton cardigan down from her elbows and buttoned it up. Her summer dress was a little shabby, but she couldn’t do anything about that now. She glanced down at her dusty, worn leather shoes and decided that this was the best she could do.
She immediately heard a deep male voice, his German accent strong, and felt how strange it was to hear in her own home, to hear any man’s voice, who wasn’t her father or Gerard, or one of the farmhands they’d employed before they’d all gone off to fight. Estelle stopped at the hall doorway and caught her grandmother’s eye. Rebel was sitting next to her, his body so close he was touching Gran’s side. Protecting her.
With barely a movement, her grandmother conveyed that she should enter. Estelle did as she expected, passing behind the officer to stand by her grandmother’s side. He was standing very straight, his uniform immaculate, as they always seemed to be, and his cap under one arm. Her grandmother looked as if she was dressed to go out somewhere, wearing her hat and with her coat folded over one arm across her lap, Estelle noticed. She clearly hadn’t been expecting visitors today.
The German must have heard her come into the room because he immediately stopped speaking before giving her a brief nod. With a shock, Estelle realised it was the soldier from the meadow who had warned her not to go there alone. She hadn’t forgotten those eyes and the horror and indignation she had felt at what he had implied.
‘This is my granddaughter, Estelle.’ Her grandmother said, looking at her. ‘This is…’ she didn’t seem able to recall his name and looked up at the well-built young man, who seemed to be in his mid-twenties. ‘Please, introduce yourself,’ she said.
He turned to Estelle, and said, ‘I am Captain Hans Bauer of the Wehrmacht.’ He tilted his head to one side and seemed to be waiting for her to reply. ‘But I believe we have already met.’
‘You have?’ Gran asked sharply, narrowing her eyes at the captain before giving Estelle a questioning look.
‘I was out walking in St Peter’s Valley. It was nothing.’ Estelle replied quickly. She noticed the officer looking a little surprised.
He gave Estelle a tight smile. ‘I have been explaining to your grandmother that I am to be billeted here at your farmhouse. I am told that you have a younger sister who no longer lives here and, therefore, you have a vacant room.’
Estelle did her best to hide her shock. She had heard about other families having to give up their spare rooms and how nerve-wracking it was for them to have to watch everything they said and did in their homes. To lose that place of comfort was a horrifying thought. For some reason, she had thought they were too far away from St Helier, living in the north-west of the island, to have to do the same. How naïve of her to think that they could avoid becoming involved with these men.
The horror must have been evident on her face because he continued: ‘I am aware that this is not going to be favourable to you both, but we must arrange billets for many soldiers now across the island.’
Estelle recalled his almost perfect English and hoped that when the time came for him to discover they had two bedrooms lying unused since her father’s death that another soldier would not then also come to live with them. She wondered how long she and Gran had to prepare for this uninvited guest to move in. Didn’t they have enough to deal with? Had they not been punished enough? When he didn’t elaborate further, she decided to ask him.
‘When do you plan to move in, then?’ She was irritated that they had no choice.
Her grandmother stiffened but didn’t want him to get the idea that just because they were two women living alone they were able to be pushed around.
‘I will be moving in this evening and will require dinner tonight.’
‘Oh, will you?’ her grandmother snapped. ‘Then I’ll expect you here no later than six-thirty. We don’t like to be up too late in this house.’
Estelle knew her grandmother was being contrary. She might like an early night but she was perfectly aware that Estelle never retired to her room earlier than ten-thirty most nights.
‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘That will suit me well. You will be paid for my room and meals of course and I will expect my laundry to be taken care of. I hope that is acceptable to you?’
It made little difference if it wasn’t, Estelle thought angrily.
When the two women just stared back at him, he placed his cap on his head, gave a final curt nod, turned and left the house. Neither Estelle nor her grandmother spoke, waiting until they had heard the car engine start and disappear down the driveway. Estelle then moved over to the window to look out, just to be certain one of them hadn’t stayed behind, and then went to close the front door.
Returning to the living room where her grandmother was now sitting in her favourite armchair, one hand covering her mouth, Estelle crouched down in front of her.
‘Are you all right?’ Gran. ‘Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I think we need to decide which room to put him in, don’t you?’
Estelle was confused. ‘But I thought he’d have Rosie’s room.’
‘No, he should have your father’s room.’
Estelle hated the thought of the officer taking over her father’s room. He had been murdered by German bullets and now one of them was going to be staying in his room. ‘Daddy would turn in his grave,’ she said, without thinking.
Her grandmother glared at her. ‘What would you suggest, then? Rosie will be back, Estelle, and, like it or not, your father will not. I can’t bear to think of that little girl going through all she is now in London and having to return and sleep in the same room that a German officer has occupied for however long he’s here. Can you?’
Estelle shook her head and got to her feet. ‘No, but, then again, the thought of one of them sleeping in Dad’s room is horrible, too.’
‘I agree,’ Gran said, rising up from the chair slowly. ‘But we’re not in a position to do much about it. Now, unless you’d like to move your things into your father’s room before this evening, I suggest we go and clear out all your father’s things and make it ready for Captain Bauer.’
They made an immediate start deciding that for the time being they would store her father’s belongings in Rosie’s bedroom, until they could sort through them and pack away whatever they decided to keep in the attic. Estelle stifled a sob as she caught a faint waft of her father’s scent from one of his old pu
llovers she was folding before placing it into a case to put away. Had he really only been dead for less than three months? It felt like a lifetime ago since she had last been able to give him a hug. She had barely had enough time with all that had happened since then to be able to sit and grieve properly for him.
‘Right, I’m going to leave you to finish off this room while I visit Mrs de la Haye. Her boy was one of those who were sent away with Gerard and she’s finding it hard to cope. I said I’d take her some of my rock cakes today. You’ll find the rest in the cake tin after you’ve finished in here.’
Estelle finished making the bed. She would rather not have been left to make the room nice for the captain but didn’t dare argue with her grandmother. For someone who was only four foot seven, Marnie Le Maistre could be fierce.
Estelle picked up the clock from on top of the chest of drawers and stared at it, an idea coming to her. She moved the dials, turning back the clock one hour to Jersey time. It was a small retaliation, but a satisfying one to think their uninvited guest might be late.
Her thoughts returned to her grandmother and her visit to Mrs dele Haye. So that was why she was dressed to go out when Estelle had arrived home to find her grandmother with Captain Bauer.
It was only when she had placed the clock back on to the chest of drawers that it occurred to her that her grandmother had taken rock cakes to Mrs de la Haye just three days before. And her grandmother never made rock cakes twice in one week, not since rationing had come into force and their flour and butter supplies had been reduced so much.
‘Where have you really gone?’ Estelle murmured to herself. Her grandmother was hiding something, she was certain of it. But what could someone her age, someone who had spent the past twenty years living peacefully on a farm in St Ouen, have to hide? She didn’t know, but she had every intention of discovering what it was.