An Island at War

by Deborah Carr

  The thing is, Estelle, that I don’t know how much longer I can take all this. I need one of Daddy’s bear hugs and for him to tell me it’s all going to be fine. More than anything, I need to know this awful bombing will stop and I’ll be back on the farm again with you all.

  If we are lucky enough to be together again, I promise to behave and not be so annoying. I wish I had realised how lucky I was before all this happened. Now I don’t know if I’ll ever see you and Granny again. I love you both and miss you so very, very much.

  Twenty-Three

  Estelle

  1 June 1941

  One of the unexpected bonuses of Hans keeping out of their way was that Estelle and her grandmother had more opportunity to illegally listen to the BBC on the wireless. Not that the news had cheered them at all. They had just listened to the reports of the devastation London had suffered the previous nights before. The Luftwaffe had been out in force.

  ‘They said that it’s one of the worst bombing raids over London yet,’ Estelle murmured, terrified for her sister and aunt. ‘I do hope they’re all right.’

  ‘As do I. But there’s no point in harping on about it. Muriel is sensible and knows London better than anyone, she’s lived there her entire life, after all. She’ll look out for Rosie and do her level best to keep them both safe, you mark my words.’

  Estelle knew her grandmother was right and that it was pointless worrying about them, but that didn’t stop her from doing so. She noticed her grandmother’s hands trembling as she read the Evening Post. ‘What’s the latest in the paper tonight, Gran?’

  ‘Nothing good.’ She finished reading and then handed it over to Estelle.

  Once again, she saw on the front page that another Order had been given, this time it was concerning Jewish residents on the island. ‘Any person having at least three grandparents of pure Jewish blood shall be deemed to be a Jew,’ she read out loud, getting more affronted by each sentence. Estelle shook her head. ‘It says here, “A grandparent having belonged to the Jewish religious community shall be deemed to be of pure Jewish blood. Any person having two grandparents of pure Jewish blood…”, and it goes on and on. Gran, these poor people.’ Estelle felt sick at the thought of locals being singled out in such a way. ‘This is disgusting.’

  Her gran leant over and took the newspaper from her hands. ‘It is appalling. I don’t think I can even stand to have this in my sight.’ She folded the paper, shaking her head, and stuffed it out of sight. ‘I’ve been worried about you.’

  Estelle could tell she was trying to change the subject. The article they had just read was clearly affecting her more than she let on but Estelle didn’t want to push her grandmother when she was looking so tired. ‘You have?’

  ‘Yes. You’ve been working hard over the past few weeks and I haven’t noticed you going out anywhere apart from to the shop,’ her grandmother said, clucking disapprovingly. ‘It won’t do you any good to dwell on things. It’s time you popped into town and paid your friend Antoinette a visit. I’ve knitted her little boy a sweater, although I’ve done it a little large because I’d rather it too big for him to grow into than too small and impossible for him to wear.’ She pointed to the sideboard.

  Estelle looked in the direction of her grandmother’s finger and saw a blue sweater that looked the perfect size for a small child. ‘Thank you, Gran. I know she’ll be very grateful for you thinking of her.’

  ‘Yes and I’m sure she’d welcome a few veggies from you, too. Take enough so she can give some to her mother and grandmother.’

  Estelle gave her grandmother’s idea some thought. Despite her assurances to her grandmother and Mr Gibault that she was fine, the incident in the shop had shaken her and made her feel anxious.

  Estelle put together a basket of a few potatoes and tomatoes, and some carrots that she’d been growing secretly in the hedgerows surrounding their land. The authorities were extremely strict about what farmers grew and commandeered the majority of it to feed their soldiers. She suspected Hans might have worked out what she was doing but he never mentioned it.

  ‘I’m off now,’ she called from the front door, before going to the barn to collect her bike. It was a warm, sunny day and Estelle set off.

  When she reached town and neared The Parade, she heard the distinct sound of jackboots stamping their way in unison before she saw the rows of proud Nazis marching along the wide road. Estelle dismounted from her bike and pushed it along. She wondered what they could be showing off about now. Probably displaying their strength after the horrific bombings in London a few days earlier. How she hated them and their grey uniforms and tin helmets as they goose-stepped over streets that her ancestors had proudly walked along.

  She heard a woman shout out but quickly the local bobby took her arm and said something quietly to her as he pulled her away from the crowd. Poor lady, Estelle thought, knowing how much she also wanted to scream in the soldiers’ faces and tell them all what she thought of them. For the first time in her life, Estelle felt claustrophobic living on the island, feeling that there was nowhere to go. No way to escape.

  She pushed her bike in the opposite direction and looked forward to seeing her friend again. Antoinette knew what it was like to miss someone. The thought of Antoinette missing her husband, Paul, made Estelle feel guilty, though. If she was truly honest with herself, she hadn’t wanted to give Gerard much thought recently. Her head had been so full of what had happened with the French men, the cruelty of François Scornet’s execution and the thought that Gerard could end up facing something similar was always in the back of her mind.

  She neared her friend’s home on Hue Street, unable to shake off a sense of being watched, but, each time she stopped and turned round, no one was there– or, if they were, they weren’t looking at her. She was being ridiculous, she thought, as she spotted Antoinette standing at the front door to the tiny terraced house she lived in with her mother. Estelle waved at her friend, smiling. It was good to see her again and she wished she had made the effort to come a few weeks before.

  ‘You’re here, finally. It’s been too long,’ Antoinette said, her smiling face belying that she was teasing.

  ‘Yes, I know. Sorry,’ Estelle said, kissing her friend on both cheeks. ‘Now, where can I put my bike? I don’t want it pinched. I’ve heard that many are going missing.’

  Antoinette pushed her front door open. ‘I think it’ll be safest in the hallway. It’s only narrow in there, but we can just about pass by.’

  Estelle pushed her bike inside with a little difficulty. The basket kept getting in her way, so she took it off and handed it to Antoinette. ‘Here, take this, will you? What’s in there is for you, anyway. I’ve bought a few bits and some extra for your gran, too. There’s also a jumper in there for little Louis that Gran knitted for him.’

  ‘That’s so thoughtful of her. Please thank her for me. I’m desperate for clothes for him, he grows so quickly and there’s so little around to buy.’

  Estelle could hear happy garbled chatter going on in the next room and assumed it must be Louis. ‘It’s getting worse, isn’t it? But I heard that Summerland takes in old cast-off clothes and remodels them to make smaller outfits to sell on to people. Have you tried there?’

  ‘They do,’ Antoinette replied, smiling, as she led her friend into the room where little Louis was playing in his pen. ‘In fact, I’ve got a job there. Now that Paul is away, I need to bring in some money and Mum was only too happy to look after little Louis for me when I’m at work.’

  Antoinette bent to kiss her little boy on the top of his head as he played in the small wooden playpen. He raised his arms wanting to be picked up, but Antoinette picked up a battered looking wooden car from next to his foot and handed it to him instead. It looked homemade and with love, causing Estelle to speculate that it was something his father had carved for him before leaving the island. How many children must there be who had been made fatherless by this war? Would Louis’s father ever retu
rn? She hoped so. The thought reminded her of her dear Papa and how different life would be to have his comforting presence during these dark days.

  Antoinette walked back to the door they’d just come through, before turning to face Estelle. ‘Would you like a cup of tea? It is rather weak, I’m afraid, but it’s just about drinkable.’

  Estelle shook her head. She didn’t want to offend nor did she want to take any of her friend’s valuable ration of tea. ‘A glass of water will be perfect, thank you.’

  Antoinette nodded and left the room to go to the kitchen. Seconds later, there was a whoop and she came back into the room holding up a rock cake that Estelle recognised as one of her grandmother’s.

  ‘Is this from your Gran?’

  Estelle smiled. ‘She must have slipped it into the basket when I wasn’t looking. She knows how you always loved sampling her rock cakes whenever you came to the farm to see me.’

  Antoinette smiled. Estelle was pleased to see her friend’s cheerfulness return and made a mental note to thank her grandmother for her thoughtfulness when she returned home.

  ‘This is such a treat,’ Antoinette called back from the kitchen, before re-entering the small living room with a tray – which she placed on to the small coffee table in front of them – containing two glasses of water and two plates with the half a rock cake on each. ‘I love your gran for doing this,’ she said, handing Estelle her plate.

  Estelle took a bite, aware that there would be less sugar in it. She didn’t mind, though. This rock cake was much smaller than before the war but was a welcome reminder of normal times, pre-Occupation times, when life seemed so carefree. With the increasing rationing they were all experiencing, she knew that Gran’s stocks of things like the few raisins she could taste wouldn’t last and that the time was coming when treats like these would be a thing of the past.

  The two sat, eating in silence until the thunder of marching started up again. It was so forceful that the house seemed to tremble in their wake.

  ‘They like to make themselves known, don’t they?’ Estelle remarked, relieved that she didn’t have to put up with hearing them marching past her front door like this.

  ‘There are so many of them now,’ Antoinette said, thoughtfully. ‘And I think that although most of them were fairly pleasant when they first arrived, it was because they only thought they were stopping here for a brief summer break before heading across the Channel. Now they know that’s not happening any time soon, they seem less impressed to be in Jersey and letting their resentment of us known. Don’t you think?’

  Estelle agreed. ‘They don’t seem to be nearly as determined to try and fit in with the locals as they did last year. Either they’re tiring of us, or it’s dawned on them that none of us want any part of what they’re doing.’

  Antionette finished her water. ‘I wouldn’t say none of us. There are some girls who are enjoying having strapping young Adonises prancing around, exercising on the beaches and being charming.’

  An image of herself walking through town on Hans’s arm suddenly popped into Estelle’s head unwanted and she felt a surge of disloyalty towards Gerard for having such a thought. What was wrong with her?

  ‘I don’t know if they don’t understand the seriousness of what they’re doing or if they’re just making the most of today without thought to the consequences later on,’ Estelle pondered.

  ‘By later on, I presume you mean when this is all over?’ Antionette replied.

  Estelle nodded.

  ‘We don’t know if that will happen next year – which I very much doubt, the way the war seems to be going – when we’re sixty, or ever? Who’s to say those girls aren’t the clever ones?’

  Estelle gasped. ‘You can’t honestly mean that?’

  Antoinette sighed heavily. ‘No, I don’t. I’m grateful I have a husband to love, even if he’s been taken away. But I won’t judge those girls as harshly as some are doing. I don’t think any of us should.’ She gave Estelle a pointed stare. ‘Do you?’

  Estelle became lost in thought: Who was she to judge? She could never be intimate with a German but was that because she had Gerard. She thought of Gerard’s sweet face. She had loved him for as long as she could remember and had always assumed they would spend the rest of their lives together, but the Occupation and heavy burden of grief had taken their toll. She wasn’t the same girl any more. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t forget Hans’s face so close to hers that dreadful night when he had stormed off. The memory still stirred strange emotions in her that she couldn’t quite place. Was it because he was the enemy? He had looked hurt by her criticism of him. Hurt one minute and seemingly wanting to kiss her the next. And if he had kissed her…? Would she have dared kiss him back?

  ‘Estelle?’

  She realised Antoinette was waiting for an answer. ‘No, I think it’s very easy to judge someone without knowing all the facts,’ she said, finally, aware how much of a hypocrite she was being. Hadn’t she done exactly that?

  Twenty-Four

  Estelle

  August 1941

  Estelle walked into the kitchen one evening in early August. As soon as she opened the door, her grandmother spun round, her mouth open in shock, the plate she was drying slipping from her hands and crashing on to the tiled floor.

  Estelle rushed forward. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’

  Her grandmother’s breathing was shallow and her whole body was shaking. She looked as if she was about to pass out.

  ‘Come and sit down,’ Estelle said, taking her by the shoulders and leading her to a chair, which she pulled back from the table, before pouring her a glass of water. ‘Here, drink this.’

  Her gran blinked then, as if noticing Estelle for the first time. ‘I’m fine, my love.’

  She didn’t look it, Estelle thought as she crouched down to carefully pick up the pieces of the broken plate. Taking the dustpan and brush she swept up and disposed of the smaller fragments of porcelain. As she washed her hands, it occurred to her that the broken plate was one of the last few plates that her mother and father had been given as a wedding present. Estelle realised that her gran must be in a bad state not to have commented on breaking it because she was the one who had always made a fuss when Estelle or Rosie used any of the four remaining plates, saying how precious they were to their parents.

  ‘Are you going to tell me why you had such a shock when I walked in? I know something’s frightened you, I can tell by your reaction, so please don’t bother trying to deny it.’

  Her gran shook her head and attempted to smile, but failed pitifully.

  ‘Gran, I told you, I’m not going to let you get away with not telling me. Wouldn’t you be hurt if I kept something important from you?’

  Her gran stared at her and after a few moments nodded. ‘Yes, I would.’

  ‘Right. We’ve only got each other now, here on the island, for as long as this damn war lasts, so we need to be able to confide in one another. Tell me what’s upset you. Please.’

  Her grandmother seemed to be struggling to explain. ‘Take your time. There’s no rush. It’s just the two of us here.’

  Her grandmother clasped her hands together. ‘You saw that new order in the paper a couple of months’ ago. The one about people having to declare if they are Jewish?’

  Estelle nodded.

  Her grandmother gave a slight shrug and seemed to make a concerted effort to straighten up. ‘It’s upset me, that’s all. Haven’t you read about those poor people having to wear yellow stars on their coats, losing their businesses and being treated like pariahs these past few years. All over Europe. And not just those who are Jewish, either.’

  ‘Yes, and I agree it’s horrific. The Jewish community haven’t been made to wear yellow stars on their coats here now, have they?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Her grandmother stared at her momentarily and then rested her right hand on Estelle’s left. ‘I have a friend who’s Jewish, Mrs Green. She live
s in Roseville Street in town and she had to register two months ago. I’m concerned for her, that’s all. I was deep in thought when you came in and hadn’t been expecting you then. Just a silly old lady lost in thought. Nothing more.’

  Estelle had never heard her grandmother mention a friend by this name, but she was obviously in too much of a state for her to question the point now. ‘You’re certain it wasn’t anything else?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Estelle wasn’t sure if she believed her. ‘You’d tell me if it was, wouldn’t you?’

  Her grandmother rested her hands on her slim hips and tilted her head slightly. ‘You know I would.’

  Comforted by her reassurance, Estelle smiled. ‘This is Jersey. If they haven’t made those who’ve registered over here wear the Star of David yet, then maybe they won’t? They’ll be treated better here, surely.’

  Her grandmother sighed heavily, as if the weight of the world were on her shoulders. ‘I don’t know, my love. I hope you’re right.’

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts.

  Her grandmother smiled sadly. ‘Never in my years did I imagine we’d end up like this. Thinking too of Rosie and Muriel and how long it’s been. The separation is hard to bear.’

  ‘Hopefully, this will be the last time this happens to the Channel Islanders.’

  ‘Yes, let’s hope so.’ Her grandmother finished her water and studied Estelle’s face. ‘I’ve been concerned about something.’

  Estelle wasn’t sure she would like what her grandmother was about to say. She had that determined look on her face she used when she was about to broach a difficult subject.