An Island at War

by Deborah Carr

  Aunt Muriel and I were frightened in case we had lost the flat, but it was untouched. We were the lucky ones that day.

  Fourteen

  Estelle

  Estelle’s chance of taking back some control from her oppressors came sooner than she had expected when, the following day, a patrol car arrived at the farm.

  ‘What do they want with us?’ Gran grumbled, peering over the sink where she was washing the breakfast dishes and out of the open kitchen window.

  Estelle wished for the first time that Captain Bauer was still at the farmhouse and not out. She ran over to stand next to her grandmother to see who was outside.

  Estelle groaned as a German in his immaculate uniform strode purposely up their garden path. She took a deep breath to calm herself as much as she could manage.

  They stood still and stared at the front door, waiting for him to knock. Finally, there was a loud rapping on the wooden door.

  ‘I’ll go and see why he’s here,’ Estelle said, determined to show her grandmother that she was capable of dealing with their uninvited guest.

  Her grandmother didn’t look very happy with the idea, but Estelle rushed out of the kitchen across the hall to the front door before she could argue. She took a deep breath and, pulling her cardigan sleeves down from her elbows to her wrists, cleared her throat and opened the door.

  ‘Do you want something?’ she asked, glowering at him, happy to show her distaste.

  ‘I am told that we may buy eggs from this farm. Yes?

  She wasn’t sure who by but didn’t dare argue. ‘Is that so?’ Would they be collaborating if they sold eggs to Nazis? Then it occurred to her that they didn’t really have much choice.

  ‘I’ll ask my grandmother,’ she said, her tone more pleasant than before. ‘Wait here for a moment.’

  Estelle hurried back to the kitchen and explained what he wanted from them. ‘What should I do?’ she asked, aware that Gran would have to approve the sale of the eggs, especially to one of the soldiers.

  ‘They’ve requisitioned a lot of our produce, but I haven’t heard about selling to individual soldiers. I don’t suppose we have much choice,’ she said, a look of resignation on her face. ‘Just to be sure. We don’t want them to single us out. You never know where that might lead. I’d rather they barely knew we existed than cause them to find reasons to give us a hard time,’ she said, half to herself.

  Estelle moved her weight from one foot to the other, anxiously waiting for Gran to give her permission.

  She puffed out her lined cheeks. ‘Go on, then. Ask him to bring some sort of container with him next time.’

  Estelle returned to the front door. The young soldier listened as she explained what her grandmother had said. His face lit up. He reminded Estelle of a small boy who’d been given permission to have a treat.

  ‘I’ll pop some in an old basket, but if you could bring your own container next time that would be better.’ She went into the kitchen and a thought crossed her mind. She smiled to herself as she deliberately ignored the freshest, largest eggs they had and instead chose the smallest, least appealing ones from the basket in their pantry. The ones that had been there a good long while. She handed them to him. ‘There you go.’

  ‘Thank you, sehrgut. How much do I owe you?’ he asked.

  Estelle told him, he paid, gave a quick nod and left. She watched him walk away. All right, so he wasn’t going to know that she had given him the smallest eggs but maybe from now on she could keep some back to go rotten. Slip a couple of bad ones in for any other Germans who might find their way to their farm. They had to start somewhere, she reasoned, and, although small and perhaps inconsequential, this felt like her first act of resistance. She quite liked the feeling of power it gave her.

  Estelle then went down to the greenhouse and began picking tomatoes to take to the parish grocer to sell, as she usually did twice a week.

  As she worked picking the juicy ripe bright red tomatoes and carefully packing them into a wooden tub, she thought back to Captain Bauer. His manners were impeccable and he had kept pretty much to himself since he had moved in. She wondered if in any other world they might have been friends. He was handsome with his tanned skin, navy eyes and blond hair and it made her sad to think that two people who, through no fault of their own, were on opposing sides of a war and never able to be relaxed with each other. Then she thought of Gerard and her father and shook her head, irritated with herself for acting so foolishly. He was the enemy, never mind how polite he might be. She was being utterly ridiculous and letting herself and, she thought horrified, Gerard, down by allowing such unwarranted thoughts to enter her mind.

  She felt something drip on to her foot and, looking down, saw a splash of bright red on her shoe. It made her think of the blood her father would have spilt when he had been shot. She noticed the tomato in her hand and realised she was holding it a little too tightly.

  Fifteen

  Rosie

  September 1940

  I think of how you and Gran are every day, Estelle. It must feel like you’re imprisoned on the island right now. I long for this war to end, so we can all see each other again. I can’t believe I’ve never noticed before now how bright the colours are at home. Even the grey clouds in Jersey seem to make the green of the fields brighter in contrast. I didn’t think I could but I’m slowly settling in and getting used to living in London now.

  I was out buying fish and chips for our supper the other night ready for when Aunt Muriel arrived home from work and the bombing began. Everyone was running in different directions trying to get to a shelter, or home. A lady grabbed hold of me and told me to go with her. She dragged me into a house and before I had a chance to be scared she took me down a cellar where several other people were that I recognised as stallholders from the market in Shepherd’s Bush.

  There was a lady with a little baby that screamed until it fell asleep. Poor little tot looked exhausted. There was a boy a few years younger than me with his terrified dog. He said the dog was a Jack Russell and his name was Geoffrey. Don’t you think that’s an odd name to give a dog? It made me think of Rebel and how frightened he would have been to have all that bombing going on around him. We were so scared we were all quiet at first but we then managed to talk a bit and I found out that the woman who took me down to the cellar was the boy’s mum.

  The whole house shook several times and bits of plaster rained down from the ceiling, getting in our hair. I was worried about Aunt Muriel, but I prayed quietly that she was safe somewhere, probably in the shop basement where she works.

  There was an older lady. She’s got a loud voice and I could tell that everyone in the cellar loved her. She introduced herself to me and said her name was Queenie. I really liked her. Even though we could have died at any minute, she told some of us stories and laughed a lot. I couldn’t help smiling. I really liked her and when the all-clear sounded and we were leaving the building to return home she asked me where I lived. I told her I was staying in my Aunt’s flat in Coulter Road and she said that if I was ever in trouble to come and find her either on her stall in the market or in her flat, which was on the ground floor of the building where we were sheltering. It made me feel a bit better to know that I knew another adult to turn to in London if I ever needed one. She reminded me a little of Mrs Le Marrec, not because she looked like her, but because she was kind and wore a similar cat brooch on her dress.

  It was such a shock to see all the black plumes of smoke rising from the burning buildings and the debris on the streets. I know I should be getting used to this sort of thing by now, but I can’t seem to be able to. I noticed smoke coming from the same direction as Aunt Muriel’s flat, so I ran back as quickly as I could hoping the house was still there. Only the other day, a house round the corner lost the entire front. You could see the pictures hanging crocked on the walls and the bedspread from one of the upstairs rooms hanging down where the floor had been torn apart. It was really sad. Thankfully, the
building where our flat is was untouched and soon after I got there Aunt Muriel arrived.

  Aunt Muriel helped me send you a telegram. We could only do a few words, so I hope it makes sense. I was trying to be cunning and send you a coded message, but I got a little confused. I’ll make sure that I spend time planning my next one, just in case I have to do that one with little notice, too. More than anything, if I can’t send you any further messages before then, I’ll be hoping you all have a safe and happy Christmas. It doesn’t feel like Christmas will ever happen. And Christmas, when I’m not on the farm, just won’t be the same. Will Father Christmas even know how to find me? What will happen to him with the bombing, I’d hate to think he’d get shot down.

  Sixteen

  Estelle

  October 1940

  Estelle was wrapped up warmly in her father’s old jacket against the drizzly morning weather. It had been four months now since she had last seen her father or sister and she desperately needed to find a way to make contact with Rosie. Having a German living in their home was inconvenient and she hated not being able to speak freely with her grandmother as she had always felt able to do. Her grandmother was also outside this morning, sweeping the yard. They had been discussing ways of getting a telegram to Rosie and Muriel in London.

  The front door opened and the captain stepped outside and raised his hand in a welcome. ‘Good morning. Not a very pleasant one, today.’

  ‘Good morning, Captain,’ her grandmother replied, nodding.

  Estelle turned to her grandmother and said, ‘I had better get on back up to the top field. If you go and work out what twenty-five words you want to include in our telegram to Aunt Muriel and Rosie, I’ll cycle into town later to the post office to see if I can send it.’ She looked directly at the captain before going on. ‘I’m just glad the authorities saw sense and now allow us more words. The twelve that we were originally restricted to were far too few to say anything worthwhile.’

  He stood in silence, unwilling to rise to Estelle’s pointed remarks, which only frustrated her further. ‘Of course the last time we tried to send a telegram, we were turned away. The post mistress told me that they are only allowed to accept and send two hundred and twenty telegrams every so often and I had just missed out.’ She swallowed to clear her throat and stop herself from tears forming with the frustration she had been feeling since then.

  ‘I am very sorry to hear this.’

  She stared at him, desperate to say that she blamed him. Blamed him and his stupid leader for taking her sister away from her. From stopping them from even being in touch. ‘All the islanders are in the same position. It’s not just us.’

  Gran patted her hand. ‘Leave it now, lovey, there’s nothing we can do.’

  Estelle caught the captain watching her. ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked barely able to hide the sarcasm in her voice.

  ‘I…’ He hesitated briefly. ‘I would like to help you.’

  She looked at her gran unsure what he meant or how she should answer. Her grandmother gave her hand a gentle squeeze to let her know she would reply for them. ‘How can you help us?’

  ‘I could take your message and arrange for it to be sent for you.’

  ‘No.’ Estelle didn’t want his help.

  He widened his eyes in surprise. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Estelle, love,’ her grandmother said quietly, and Estelle knew she was trying to warn her to hold her temper.

  ‘I only wish to be of some help to you both. I know how it is to be parted from family for many months.’ He looked questioningly at Estelle.

  ‘Estelle? What harm could it really do?’

  She could tell by her grandmother’s expression that she wanted to accept his offer of help. Who was she to refuse something that would make her loved ones so happy? She turned to the captain. ‘All right then. We will accept your help.’

  The following afternoon, Estelle walked into the kitchen after feeding the animals and was pulling her boots off when Captain Bauer arrived home.

  ‘Did you have a good day today?’ he asked, looking, she thought, rather pleased with himself.

  ‘The same as it is most days,’ she said, standing with one socked foot on the wooden boot jack and resting the other heel in the ‘V’ of the wood her father had carved years before for the purpose. ‘You?’

  ‘I did, as a matter of fact. I am happy to tell you that I was successful in arranging for your telegram to be sent.’

  Estelle pulled her foot back out of the boot and sat on the nearest chair. ‘You did?’

  Gran entered the kitchen, then, holding a laundry basket of clean, freshly dried sheets. ‘Did I just hear you say that you sent our telegram, Captain Bauer?’

  Estelle couldn’t mistake the excitement shining in her grandmother’s eyes.

  ‘Yes, Frau Wood. I do not know how long it will take to reach them but, hopefully, it will not be too long.’

  Estelle watched the captain speaking to her gran – it was clear that he took pleasure in her grandmother’s delight. Perhaps he wasn’t so bad, she thought, despite her feelings towards him. Then, again, maybe he was just telling them he had sent their message so that they would trust him? Only time would tell.

  Seventeen

  Estelle

  Christmas Eve 1940

  The captain was turning out to be a pleasant house guest, Estelle had decided, feeling conflicted by the thought. He had always been polite but his help with sending their telegram had led to her attitude towards him softening slightly and he had taken to spending an hour or so in the living room with them after supper before he respectfully retired to leave them to their evenings. He was always up early and out of the bathroom before Estelle got up and, on the whole, kept out of their way.

  The long winter nights had set in and the biting cold and continuous rain dampened an already dwindling mood both on the farm and the island. It was to be the first Christmas of the Occupation and Estelle’s first Christmas without Rosie, Gerard and, of course, her father. His seat at Christmas lunch would remain empty now for ever. But would Rosie’s and Gerard’s? It was a prospect Estelle tried her hardest to push to the back of her mind.

  Determined to try to keep positive, she had gone up the ladder into the attic space on Christmas Eve and was grumbling to herself as she rummaged around looking for the right boxes she needed.

  ‘Where are those ruddy decorations,’ she moaned, opening what must have been the tenth or eleventh box only to discover she still hadn’t found the family Christmas box.

  ‘May I be of some help?’ Captain Bauer asked from the ladder, giving Estelle a shock.

  She stood upright and smacked her head hard against one of the beams. ‘Bloody hell!’ she cried out, wincing, placing her palm against her head.

  ‘Miss Le Maistre,’ he said, horrified. Then, climbing the last few rungs of the ladder to join her, he asked, ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘No, no,’ she said, leaning away from him, too embarrassed to admit that her head felt like she had just split it. ‘I’ll be fine. It was just a bit of a knock, that’s all.’

  He crawled towards her, not looking at all convinced by her protestations. She wished he would leave her and her pounding head alone so that she could gather herself.

  The captain studied her face and reached up, then taking her hand gently by the wrist he pulled it slowly away from her head and frowned. Estelle looked down shocked to see blood on her fingers.

  ‘Oh, I’ve cut myself.’ She wasn’t sure why she said something so unnecessary, but before she knew it dizziness overcame her, and everything went black.

  The next thing she knew, she was lying on her bed, her head resting on a folded towel and her grandmother sitting on the edge of her eiderdown next to her. It took a moment for Estelle to recall the last few minutes before she had passed out.

  ‘How long was I out?’ she asked, wincing at the pain caused by the sound of her own voice in her head.

  ‘You are awake.’
Captain Bauer came into the room, another damp towel in his hand. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t wish to intrude.’ Seeing the stricken look on his ashen face reminded Estelle what a fool she must have made of herself in the loft

  She didn’t know what to say, so closed her eyes, hoping it would help dispel the throbbing in her head.

  ‘Please accept my sincerest apologies,’ the captain continued.

  ‘What for?’ her grandmother asked. ‘You were the one to carry her down.’

  He blamed himself, Estelle realised. ‘Don’t apologise,’ she murmured. ‘I should have been more careful.’ Her head pounded painfully, she closed her eyes again. ‘Please don’t feel badly,’ she continued quietly, hoping the pain wouldn’t increase if she kept her voice low. ‘It really was my own stupidity.’

  ‘You are too kind, Estelle. I am at fault and it is unforgivable.’

  She opened her eyes, squinting at him. ‘Captain, that’s enough. I’m fully aware how low those beams are, I’ve been up there hundreds of times and should know better.’ She reached out for her grandmother’s hand. ‘Gran, I think the captain has probably had a bigger shock than me. Maybe you should offer him a drink of some sort.’ She gave him a sideways glance and smiled weakly to show she was teasing him. He smiled back shyly and looked down.

  ‘Please, will you not call me Hans now?’

  She felt her grandmother’s weight lift off the side of the mattress and suspected she was giving his request some thought. ‘All right, then. Hans, why don’t we leave Estelle to lie here quietly for a while and I can make us both some tea.’