An Island at War

by Deborah Carr

  Twelve

  Estelle

  Estelle hoped her grandmother would be back at the farm by the time the officer returned with his belongings. She kept herself busy by cleaning out the chicken coop. ‘Get away, Dotty. And you two, Clover and Cilla,’ she hissed, waving her wet brush at them to keep them from going back inside before she was finished.

  The house had felt strange and too empty without her father and sister around, though she much preferred that option to now having to share their space with a Nazi. ‘Well, I’ll be damned if I’m going to let this German be too comfortable in our home.’. Turning her thoughts to what to prepare for their meal tonight, Estelle took a colander out to the storeroom at the side of the house, grateful to be in a position to make their measly rations more substantial by growing her own potatoes and vegetables. What would their enemy eat? She had to remind herself he was just a man. A man who would need to eat and drink just like they did. She wondered what he would be like to live with. He hadn’t seemed too bad from what she had seen but she could never forget that despite his smile he was still a Nazi, and she hated Nazis. They would soon find out what it was like to live in close proximity to one and she wasn’t looking forward to it.

  Estelle left the vegetables on the worktop and hurried upstairs to wash and change. She was brushing her hair when it dawned on her that with only one bathroom in the house she would have to share it with the captain, and she didn’t want to be in the bathroom when he returned. Estelle also didn’t want him to think that she had made an effort just for him, but knew her grandmother would expect her to show that however difficult life was for them right now they still had pride in themselves.

  She returned to the kitchen and grabbed her grandmother’s pinny, tying it around her waist to protect her clean skirt. She had just finished peeling a small pan of potatoes when a knock on the front door disturbed her. Rinsing her hands, she dried them on the hand towel hanging over the bar in front of the range cooker, wishing Gran was with her. She noticed her hands trembled as she reached behind her in an attempt to untie the pinny.

  ‘For pity’s sake,’ she moaned through gritted teeth when all she managed to do was to knot the ties even tighter.

  Her hands struggled with the cloth as she twisted the pinny round to better get at the knot. Then there was another knock on the front door and Estelle could feel herself getting hotter by the second. Unable to free herself of the pinny, she rushed to answer it.

  Opening the door, Estelle found Captain Bauer standing there, his expression serious and a bag at his feet. He looked younger than she had realised earlier and appeared surprised to see her. She realised it was probably because of her flustered state. She glanced down at the pinny twisted around her. Mortified, her face reddened further and she couldn’t think what to say.

  He looked down at the tangled knot of ties. ‘Allow me.’

  Estelle stared at him in surprise as he turned her around and proceeded to work on the knot.

  In silence, he undid the cords and handed the released apron to her. Taking it from him, she wasn’t sure what to say.

  ‘Good evening, Miss Le Maistre. Are you ready for me to bring my belongings into your home?’

  She wanted to say that there would never be a point in her life when a Nazi would be welcome in this house but, remembering his authority, she nodded and stepped back. She realised she couldn’t recall his name. ‘You did introduce yourself but…’

  He didn’t seem surprised. ‘I am Captain Hans Bauer of the Wehrmacht.’

  ‘That’s a bit of a mouthful,’ she said, shocked when his eyes widened and she realised she had spoken the words out loud. ‘Sorry, I mean, do I address you as that, or is there a shorter version?’ She knew she was pushing her luck by being cheeky and that her grandmother would not approve, regardless of who she was addressing, but Estelle was too irritated by having this tall, broad-shouldered man – who, at a guess was probably only a couple of years older than her – about to move his things into her dear father’s bedroom.

  He seemed a bit disconcerted. ‘Please, you may call me Hans while I am in this house, if you like. Captain Bauer, when we are in public.’

  Estelle had no intention of ever being too familiar with this man. She studied him in silence, staring into his navy eyes, his blond hair combed back from his face. He was immaculate, like all the other Jerries she had seen before him, and maybe back in Germany the girls thought him handsome, which she, secretly, had to admit he was. However, he was still a Jerry and stood for everything that had torn her life apart in the past few months.

  ‘No, I think Captain Bauer will be fine.’ It was best to set the boundaries straight away, she decided. This captain couldn’t get too comfortable. ‘Shall I show you up to the room?’

  She wasn’t sure but he seemed a bit deflated. He gave her a nod and motioned for her to lead the way. Estelle walked up the stairs. It was a weird sensation having a stranger – a male stranger, at that – following her up to the first landing. She stopped outside her father’s bedroom door. She still found it hard to believe this was happening and a fist of rage clenched in the pit of her stomach.

  She pushed the door open a little too forcefully so that it slammed against the bedroom wall and light flooded out of the large room into the hallway. ‘This will be your room while you’re billeted with us.’

  He strode right in and placed his bag on the floor, standing with his hands on his hips as he studied the room. He walked over to the window and stared outside for a few seconds before turning to her.

  ‘Thank you, this looks very comfortable.’

  ‘It should do,’ she said, ‘it’s the best room in the house.’

  ‘You have given me the best room?’ He seemed surprised.

  ‘It’s my father’s bedroom. That is, it was. Until he was killed at the harbour in June.’

  They stood in silence. Estelle dared the young officer to say something.

  ‘By a German pilot,’ he finally admitted, not tearing his gaze away from her, but so quietly she almost thought she had imagined it.

  Estelle needed him to know what his people had done to her family. Now he did, she turned to leave. ‘I trust you have everything you need.’ Without waiting for him to reply, she added, ‘Your towels are over there.’ She pointed to a wooden towel rail in front of him. ‘And the bathroom is the next room along after this one. There is only one bathroom, so we’ll all have to share.’

  She didn’t know why she needed to elaborate this point in particular but maybe it was because she wanted to get across how inconvenient it was to her and her grandmother that he was staying with them.

  ‘I wasn’t certain whether there would be a bathroom inside the house.’

  Estelle was aware that a lot of the farms still didn’t have the luxury they had of a pleasant bathroom. ‘My father had one put in when my grandmother came to live with us. He thought it only right as a man living with all women.’

  ‘A man of sense.’

  ‘My father is none of your concern.’

  He studied the room and his gaze settled on a picture. Estelle blushed and walked towards it. ‘I’m sorry, I forgot to remove this.’

  He waved for her to stop. ‘Please do not feel you must take it down. Did your mother draw this?’

  She could understand why he would think such a thing, especially as she had told him this was her father’s bedroom. She reached out and lifted the framed drawing of an evening dress she had done in memory of her mother’s birthday one year. Her father had loved it and said it made him happy to think of Estelle designing dresses for her mother who, he knew, had she lived, would have been delighted to wear one of her daughter’s designs. ‘No, this is my design for my mother. She died when I was seven.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  Estelle held the picture to her chest. ‘It was a long time ago now.’ She looked at the empty nail poking out of the wall. ‘I’ll replace the picture with something else, unles
s you have something you wish to hang there.’

  He smiled. ‘There is no need to replace the picture.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll leave you to settle in.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Le Maistre,’ he said, looking over at her. ‘That is very kind of you.’

  She stared at him, trying to gauge if he knew that being kind was the last thing she was trying to achieve. ‘My grandmother insists on good manners.’

  His expression was not of amusement, but something else. Something that seemed to say that he appreciated her spirit. Well, he could go to hell. She had no intention of impressing this man in any way at all.

  It was then that she heard the back door close announcing her grandmother’s arrival. ‘We eat supper at six-thirty.’ Leaving the room, Estelle closed the door quietly behind her, her heart pounding.

  As she walked along the landing, Estelle could hear her grandmother humming, though she had no idea what she could find to be cheerful about. She took the framed drawing to her room and slid it into one of her clothes drawers before going downstairs to join her.

  Closing the door behind her to allow them to speak without being overheard, she whispered, ‘He’s here.’

  Her grandmother spun round as if surprised to see her there. ‘Oh, it’s you?’

  Estelle frowned. ‘Yes. Did you hear me? He’s here.’

  Her grandmother’s mood seemed to slip. ‘Already?’

  ‘Yes. He arrived a short while ago. I showed him up to… his room. He liked it.’

  ‘As he should do.’ She picked up the pinny Estelle had left lying on the back of the chair and tied it around her own waist.

  ‘I didn’t lay the table in the dining room,’ Estelle said, unsure where her grandmother wanted them to eat their meal. Whenever they had a guest to dinner, they always ate in the dining room. Estelle found it rather oppressive with its old-fashioned heavy dark wood furniture and red walls, so never minded when they ate in the kitchen. It was much brighter and cosier in there with the heat emanating from the old iron range her father had refused to replace. This man, though, wasn’t an invited guest. His presence had been forced on them.

  ‘I don’t see why we should heat another room,’ Gran said. ‘We can have our meals in here. Unless he dictates otherwise, of course. I’ve seen these Jerry officers in town. Buying up all the stocks of champagne. They seem to like the finer things.’ She moved the pan on to the heat for the potatoes to cook. ‘I see you’ve peeled the spuds. Well done, my love.’

  ‘I didn’t have time to buy in more meat for him so we’ll have to divide the pork I had already between the three of us.’

  Pork was a real treat since the war began. Her grandmother took a knife and cut down an onion hanging from the wall in a platted row. No doubt the German was expecting to be well fed. A farmhouse like theirs, unlike many on the island who didn’t grow their own produce, would have been sought after as a billet, Estelle was sure. She thought back to her brief meeting with the captain that day in the meadow. Had he known she lived here, or was it just a coincidence that he ended up being billeted with them?

  Captain Bauer joined them in the kitchen five minutes before supper was due to be eaten. As she had expected, he was punctual and wore his uniform. He automatically assumed he was sitting at the head of the table, which Estelle found infuriating, but a quick sideways glance from her grandmother stopped her from reacting in any way.

  The three of them ate their meal in awkward silence. For once, the creamy Jersey potatoes didn’t seem as pleasurable to eat as they usually did. She sneaked a peak at the captain to watch this stranger sitting so stiffly at their table. He caught Estelle’s eye and she instantly looked away, mortified to have been caught looking at him.

  ‘This meal is delicious, Frau Woods. Thank you.’ He cleared his throat and focused on eating another mouthful of food. ‘You live on a beautiful island. You are very lucky to have been born here.’

  Estelle opened her mouth to speak but she caught her grandmother giving her a warning glare and decided against telling him how much they did love their island, especially before he and his cohorts arrived to take it over like cuckoos in a very beautiful nest.

  ‘I was born in England, Captain, but I’ve lived here for many years now.’ Her grandmother replied, formally.

  The small talk turned to safer topics like the weather and he asked what produce they grew and which animals they kept. Estelle didn’t volunteer any information. She decided to let her grandmother do the talking.

  Apart from them exchanging a couple of sentences, the only sound in the kitchen as they ate was the movement of cutlery against the plates as they cut through their food and the occasional sound of one of them swallowing their water.

  Supper over, Estelle was relieved when the officer thanked them, asked for a glass of water to take up to his room, and bid them good night.

  She and her grandmother washed the dishes in silence before sitting sat back at the table.

  ‘I don’t know about you but I found that exhausting,’ her grandmother whispered. ‘Isn’t it bad enough that they’ve come here, without forcing us to have one of them sleeping under our roof, too? Two women alone with a strange man; it isn’t right.’

  Estelle couldn’t have agreed more. How were they going to be able to spend every morning and evening with this man?

  Her grandmother frowned and stared at her wrinkled hands. ‘I don’t imagine I’ll ever feel at home with him in this house.’

  Thirteen

  Rosie

  London, 16 September 1940

  It’s been really hot here in London, Essie. Aunt Muriel says it’s stifling and that’s the right word for it. I miss the sea breezes that we are used to but barely notice and being able to walk down to the beach at Grevede Lecq with our swimsuits and towels on hot days and swim in the sea. I must stop going on about how much I miss everything about home. Aunt Muriel said it will try and help me settle in better if I focus on what I do like about living here rather than what I don’t. Right now, though, I can’t think of much.

  I’m getting used to seeing the silver barrage balloons floating high above us now. They’re almost fish-shaped and are at the end of a long metal rope. They’re there to stop German planes flying low over London and they wind them closer to the ground during dog fights so our pilots don’t get their planes caught in them. I saw a dog fight yesterday when two German bombers crashed after they were shot down by the RAF. Lots of people were cheering and I was, too. One man said he thought there must be fifty Spitfires flying around in the sky above us. I saw a German bomber fall to bits as it came down. I even watched as a German pilot bailed out. I wanted to stay to see more but Aunt Muriel made me go with her to the shelter, so I missed the rest.

  I have to not show how scared I am whenever I hear bombers flying overhead. They’ve bombed London every night for the past week, apart from one. It’s the most frightening thing I’ve ever experienced, Estelle. I wanted to go to Trafalgar Square and see Nelson’s Column and the huge lions, but on our way there the sirens started screaming and we had to run to the nearest shelter. Glass from broken windows and bricks and stone were crashing to the road all around us. I clung to Aunt Muriel’s jacket so tightly that she had to prize my fingers off her to take my hand and drag me into a nearby doorway for shelter. My entire body was shaking. I was sure we were going to die horribly.

  The first day it happened, Aunt Muriel treated me to tea at a Lyons Corner House. The waitresses there are called Nippies, because they nip here and there very quickly. Don’t you think that’s funny?

  I was frightened when a fire engine raced passed us during another raid on our way home, it was swerving to miss the bombs that had exploded in the road. I saw something I wish I could forget but doubt I will ever be able to. It was a man, he was running past where we were standing when a flame from one of those bombs, incendiaries, I think Aunt Muriel called them. It set his clothes on fire… the screams. I can still hear them and I still
feel sick every time I think of him and what happened. People ran past him screaming and crying. We didn’t know what to do. I’ll never forget his screams, Estelle. It was like being in a nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from.

  Aunt Muriel pulled me from the doorway shouting at me to run as fast as I could. We darted between falling bits of building and hot shrapnel. I stumbled once, but thankfully Aunt Muriel was holding very tightly to my hand and pulled me forward.

  In the end, although we’re not supposed to go down to the Underground, we bought penny tickets like lots of other people and went down anyway. We had nowhere else to go but people said it’s the safest place to be during a bombing raid. We stayed down there all night. It was hot and smelled disgusting because we were all crammed together on the platform and we were forced to go to the lavatory in corners. The whole place shook when a bomb landed somewhere nearby. I shook the whole time and couldn’t sleep a wink.

  The next day, we made our way home passing people some who had blood and dust covering parts of their clothes and bodies. We walked most of the way and caught a bus for the last part of our journey to Hammersmith. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sight of those smouldering buildings. Some houses and flats had their entire front walls missing. It was like the family had only stepped into another room. In one the table still laid and pictures hanging on the wall. It was so sad to think that those had been people’s homes hours earlier.

  There was so much glass crunching under foot I was scared a shard would pierce my shoe, but it didn’t. The air was very smokey. Aunt Muriel kept saying, ‘Look at poor, dear London, Rosie.’ She pointed out where the worst of the fires and smoke was and said it was the direction of the docks and then she cried but tried to hide it. The poor docks had such a hammering, Estelle. It’s heart-breaking to see the devastation and it made me think how frightened Daddy must have been to be caught by that plane when they bombed our docks.