An Island at War

by Deborah Carr

  ‘You need to be sensible and find a way to overcome your differences with the captain.’

  Estelle was shocked by the change of subject. ‘What? How could you say that? Why think of that now?’

  ‘I’ve noticed how he seems to be avoiding you. When you enter the room, he makes an excuse to leave, saying he’s got reports to write, that sort of thing.’

  ‘He does?’

  ‘And he’s not the only one. You’re barely in the same room as him before you find a reason to go and do something in your room, or out in the yard.’ Her grandmother stood. ‘Because no matter how pleasant and well-mannered he is to us, Estelle, we have to remember he is a Nazi Officer.’ Estelle went to argue, but her grandmother raised her hand to stop her speaking. ‘As much as I agree with you and I can’t believe these words are even coming out of my mouth, we don’t know when we might need him. I think you need to repair your –’ she struggled to come up with the word – ‘friendship with him. And soon. This is about survival now, my love.’

  Estelle stood and, with a laugh, pushed her chair back under to the table. ‘I can’t see us needing him for anything. And, anyway, as you said, he is a Nazi Officer. If he can shoot a young man on an order, he can turn us in for something. Not that either of us have done anything to warrant him reporting us.’

  ‘Apart from listening to the BBC on the wireless, hiding the tractor in the barn and the secret supplies of food we are hiding for neighbours. But it’s all beside the point. Please. Do as I ask, just in case.’

  In case of what? But Estelle didn’t like to ask. She was more convinced than ever that her grandmother was hiding something from her but, in the end, it wasn’t Estelle who instigated a conversation with Hans, but the other way around. And just at a time when Estelle, though she was too proud to admit it, needed him the most.

  A few days later and Estelle was irritated that wood had now been rationed on the island and that anyone wanting to cut firewood, even on their own land, needed a permit. The restrictions were getting tighter and she was beginning to feel like they had been at the mercy of the Wehrmacht for far longer than a year.

  She turned on the radio that evening as she sat down in the sitting room where her grandmother was knitting.

  ‘Listen, Gran,’ she said, leaning closer to the wireless, excited. ‘The BBC is appealing for people to put ‘V’ signs – V for Victory – in as many places as possible. As an act of resistance and to boost morale. Isn’t it brilliant?’ The thought of taking part, being a part of something that would connect her to a larger campaign of resistance beyond the beaches of the island inspired her. She just wasn’t sure where, or how she would do it and get away with it.

  ‘Lovey, I don’t want you doing anything silly now,’ Gran said, her knitting forgotten for a few seconds. ‘We must be especially careful having the captain living here and we both now know for certain that he will carry out his orders, don’t we?’ Estelle nodded. ‘I couldn’t bear it if you were arrested and thrown in prison. You don’t want to be deported to France, do you?’

  She didn’t, but she also couldn’t sit back and not get involved in this movement.

  Over the proceeding days, she heard more and more whispers from friends and neighbours about V signs having been left around the island in various different ways.

  She wanted to do the same thing. Here she was, growing food on her farm, which, for the most part, kept the Germans fed, being polite to them, even, obeying their commands, and for what? She wanted to be doing something more like others who were out there facing the enemy and trying to stop them. She felt useless and frustrated. But could she, in some small way, make her own mark? Show the Nazis she wasn’t a pushover. That she wouldn’t make life easy for them.

  It was a damp evening. She had worked hard all day, yet again, on the farm and was completely exhausted. She didn’t know how she was going to keep up with all the jobs she needed to do and was relieved that David Bisson and two of his schoolfriends were helping her out. She was in a daze, transfixed by her grandmother’s knitting needles clicking away so effortlessly when her eyes focused and she suddenly noticed something strange in the pattern on the pullover she was knitting.

  ‘Are you’re trying something new with those different colours?’

  Her grandmother didn’t answer for a while and then stopped when she reached the end of her next row of stitches. She held up the knitted panel and gave Estelle a secretive grin.

  ‘Can you spot them?’

  ‘What?’ Estelle looked at the russets and browns in the stripe across the panel. She wasn’t sure what her grandmother meant. Then she saw it. Estelle bit her lower lip and giggled. ‘Gran. Those are Vs, aren’t they?’ she asked, keeping her voice low. You never knew who was listening these days.

  Her grandmother’s lips slowly drew back into a wide smile. ‘You can see them? Are they too obvious?’ She frowned slightly and studied the work hanging from her needles. ‘It’s difficult for me to tell because I already know they’re there.’

  Estelle shook her head slowly. She was in awe of her grandmother’s actions. ‘No. In fact, I wasn’t sure why you were using two colours that were so alike, but now I know they’re there, I can see them.’

  Her grandmother began knitting again, the click click click of the needles amusing Estelle until she laughed in delight, in awe of her grandmother’s quiet act of rebellion. ‘I’m very proud of you, Gran.’

  Then she asked, ‘Who is that pullover for?’

  Her grandmother stopped what she was doing and tilted her head to one side. ‘It’s not a pullover, it’s the back of a cardigan. I thought the colours might suit you this autumn?’ She smiled at Estelle and the younger woman’s mouth dropped open. ‘Really? Oh, I’d love to wear it. Thank you.’ She would be proud to do so. ‘Now what can I do? I have to find something that I can do.’

  Estelle decided to take a piece of chalk with her whenever she went out. She would need to keep the chalk hidden, in case she was stopped. There were reports in the paper of serious repercussions for locals leaving V signs in all sorts of places and warnings that the Jerries were becoming more determined to track them down and punish those caught with fines and prison sentences.

  It wasn’t long, though, before Estelle had the opportunity. She was on her way to visit one of her grandmother’s friends in Trinity, with a basket of vegetables and some milk, when she realised how quiet the area was. Not a single soul was out and there were no houses nearby except for a fine house that Estelle knew had been taken over by one of the more senior Wehrmacht officers. It was the perfect place. This was the home of an islander – and now invaded and tainted by the enemy. There were granite pillars either side of the large entrance. Glancing around and thankful to see that she was alone on the road, she stepped off her bike, her breath coming in light pants, as if she had been running.

  She quickly kicked off her left shoe and took the small piece of white chalk from the place where her little toe had been pressing against it for a week. If she saw someone she would drop a small stone she had kept in her pocket for this purpose. At least then, if she was caught, she could pretend to have stopped to remove the stone from her shoe and no one could argue with that.

  Before she could change her mind, she pushed the chalk deep into the granite and scrawled a large ‘V’ on the right-hand pillar. It must have been ten inches in height and Estelle was terrified but thrilled to have finally done something in retaliation. She stepped back, unsure whether to chance repeating what she had done on the other pillar, when she heard the sound of a car approaching. Trying not to panic, she threw the chalk into a nearby bush and slipped her foot into her shoe, hurriedly mounting her bicycle and pedalling off at a wobble. Estelle pedalled as fast as she could, desperate to get away from the property, just in case anyone caught up with her. Her heart was pounding as her mind raced with the consequences of her actions. What would happen if she was caught?

  Estelle rode home, the rush of adr
enaline making her feel heady and more alive than she could recall feeling since the Occupation began – or, if she was honest with herself, since she and Hans had argued. Pedalling along the road, she relished the warmth of the sun on her skin and the cool sea breeze blowing through her hair. For a few minutes, it felt good to be alive.

  ‘You’re looking pleased with yourself,’ Mr Gibault shouted as she cycled passed and waved to him. His comment took away some of the euphoria she felt. She couldn’t let on what she had done. No matter how triumphant she felt.

  Arriving home, she ran upstairs, to change out of her summer dress and sandals and into her father’s old work overalls with a small sleeveless vest underneath. Tying her hair back with an old ribbon, she then went downstairs, pulled on her boots and went back out into the yard.

  Since the Occupation had begun, many islanders had complained that their animals had been stolen and Estelle, not wishing to give anyone the chance to do the same to them decided that now was the time to move their chicken coop down from the area behind the barn closer to the house, where she or her grandmother could keep an eye on it. First though, it needed to be cleaned.

  She let the chickens out, smiling as they ruffled their brown feathers and noisily ran to the bank at the side of the yard. Then, taking a bucket to the tap in the yard, Estelle turned it on and waited for the water to fill up. As she watched the bucket fill, she smiled to herself as she thought of the V she had left behind on the pillar. V for victory. This was her own small victory – a clear message to the enemy that her spirit hadn’t been – and couldn’t be – broken. Just as she reached out to turn the tap off, someone grabbed her right arm and pulled her around.

  ‘What on earth do you think—’ she shouted, coming face to face with Hans. It was the first time she had seen him this close up for months. He stared down at her, his mouth tight and eyes narrowed. She didn’t know what could have annoyed him and frankly didn’t care. All she knew was that his grip was hurting her.

  ‘Let go of my arm.’ She shrugged him off. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ She rubbed her muscle lightly, certain there would be a bruise where his fingertips had held so tightly on to her.

  He seemed unable to speak for a moment. ‘What is the matter with me?’ he asked, sarcasm dripping from his question. ‘You ask me this?’

  She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to answer, so kept quiet. They were so close to each other. She could see the lines of his face – new ones, that hadn’t been there before, and he’d lost weight.

  ‘Look, I don’t have time for this,’ she snapped. ‘If I’ve done something to offend you, then tell me. Otherwise, please leave me to get on with my work, Captain.’ She felt cornered and that was something she wouldn’t stand for, not even from a Nazi – not even from Hans.

  His eyes widened and his mouth opened, as if he was going to say something further. Then he closed it again and, turning on his heels, marched off to the farmhouse. Estelle stared after him. The Hans she thought she had known would never have acted in such a manner. He rarely showed such emotion, always so polite and controlled… apart from the last time she had spoken to him, her conscience reminded her.

  Focusing her mind on the task in hand, she returned to her work and was halfway through cleaning out the first part of the chicken coop when the back door to the farmhouse flew open and Hans marched out again. This time, he was wearing an old pair of trousers and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Estelle was still smarting from him grabbing her arm so roughly, so decided to ignore him and see what he did next. She continued scrubbing the floors and walls of the coop while several of the nosier chickens clucked around her.

  She heard his footsteps coming up behind her and sensed by the slowing of them that his anger was diminishing, which was a relief. Finally, he stopped next to her. She could hear his breathing but waited for him to speak before acknowledging him.

  ‘Miss Le Maistre,’ he said, then, ‘Estelle.’ When she didn’t react, he added. ‘I must speak with you. Immediately.’

  Now he had her attention. Trying not to show her irritation, Estelle sat back on her heels and, with the back of her hand, wiped away a tendril of hair from her face. ‘Yes, what is it?’ She looked up at him and, as much as she was still annoyed with him, she didn’t like to see him in such a state. What on earth could be the matter?

  He glanced back at the kitchen. ‘Would you walk with me, so I may speak with you in private?’

  Estelle followed his gaze to the house and spotted her grandmother standing at the kitchen window, surreptitiously watching them as she washed something in the sink.

  ‘Fine.’ She stood up and brushed the dust and muck from her legs. ‘I’ll just need to wash my hands, but we can walk that way.’ They went into the barn and Estelle used the tap to wash her hands as well as she could. Then, wiping them on her top she gave him a nod.

  She led him up the pathway at the furthest gable end of the barn to the house and then around the back.

  ‘Here is good,’ he said, stopping.

  She crossed her arms in front of her chest. ‘Well, go on, then. Tell me what’s bothering you.’

  His eyebrows lowered into a frown and once again he seemed angry. ‘I saw you,’ he said through clenched teeth.

  Her stomach dropped – the car engine – but she feigned ignorance. ‘Where?’

  ‘It’s not so much where, as what you were doing that concerns me.’

  Not wishing to admit to anything in case she was wrong, she asked, ‘Oh, really. And what was I doing?’

  ‘You have put me in an impossible position, Estelle.’

  ‘Why?’

  He closed his eyes and she could see he was battling his inner conflict. Then opening them, he looked directly into hers, and said. ‘I know it was you.’

  His hands clenched into fists and she noticed the muscle working in his jaw as he struggled to contain his temper. ‘I saw you, cycling away from that sign you left. That V sign.’

  ‘Ah …’

  ‘That is all you have to say?’ He lowered his head close to hers and, in a quieter voice, said, ‘Do you not know how much trouble you could be in for carrying out such an act, Estelle? If you’re not thinking of yourself then what about the people who lived nearby.’

  ‘But I made sure there were no neighbours and I know no one was watching me because I checked, first.’ As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realised what she had done and closed her eyes. Thank heavens others weren’t relying on her to keep secrets, she was too honest by half. And more than a little stupid, she thought, irritated with herself for not keeping her mouth shut.

  He shook his head slowly. She wasn’t sure why he seemed so disappointed in her admission, especially as he’d already said that he knew what she had done.

  ‘Please, you must not do this again. If I saw you, then my driver could have done. Thankfully, he was looking in his rear mirror at me and speaking as I watched you cycle around the bend in the road. By the time he looked to the front, you were out of sight. Why would you do such a reckless act?’

  ‘Why do you think?’ She stood up straighter and stepped closer to him. ‘Because I feel completely trapped and helpless in this situation that is none of my doing. I want to – I want to feel that I’m doing something, however small. Something more than just meekly bowing and scraping to my enemy.’ Hans winced as if she’d just slapped his face again. She groaned. ‘Look, I know it was a silly, reckless thing to do, but it felt so good at the time.’

  ‘Would it feel good to be arrested, too? I do not think it would. What you have done is considered sabotage. There will be severe consequences for you if you are caught, and for others if you are not.’

  If she was caught? But no one had seen her except him. Was he saying he was going to turn her in? Estelle couldn’t bear the thought of others suffering for her actions. All she had thought was that she needed to do something in retaliation. They had murdered her father. Imprisoned her sweetheart. She
needed to show she wasn’t weak and powerless. She had been foolish, and for what? To be able to hold her head up when others boasted about their own acts of resistance.

  ‘The island is too small for you to be able to escape justice,’ Hans continued. ‘Your actions left me with the impossible choice of handing you into the local police myself, or sparing you, which would, inevitably, lead to repercussions for other people.’

  Not quite understanding, Estelle asked, ‘What will you do?’

  He raised his hands, palms upward in a hopeless gesture. ‘If they do not catch the culprit – you –then all neighbours in the area will have their radios confiscated.’ He watched her silently for a few seconds while she processed his words. ‘You know as well as anyone how difficult that is for people. How all of you here on the island feel disconnected from everywhere else. At least with their radios, they can hear voices from far away and may not feel quite so detached. What would you have me do?’

  He was right, she realised with horror. She had put him in an impossible position. Accuse her and take her in, knowing that to do so would devastate her grandmother, a woman he respected, not to mention what might happen to her, or turn a blind eye and allow others to suffer and lose their only lifeline to the outside world.

  ‘Estelle? If you are unable to answer my question, I shall put it another way. What would you do if you were me?’

  It was impossible. She hung her head miserably. ‘There is no right answer,’ she said quietly, close to tears for inadvertently causing so much trouble. ‘I must do what’s right and turn myself in.’

  ‘No, you won’t.’ He stared at her without speaking for a moment. ‘Thankfully, for you, I respect your grandmother too much to put her through the ordeal of losing you.’

  ‘But what about the neighbours?’ she asked close to tears.

  ‘The V sign has gone. It was never there and no one is going to be punished.’ It had gone? But that would mean Hans had… Estelle was still struggling with her feelings of relief and guilt when he added, ‘You must not do anything like this ever again. I am very serious. The mood in the Wehrmacht is not as positive as when we first invaded the islands. Acts of sabotage like yours will not be tolerated. I hope you understand how close you came to being arrested.’ His face clouded over with something that she thought could be shame. ‘Estelle, I do not know how long I will remain here, or if, like others, I will be sent to the Eastern Front. If I leave, I will not be able to help you should you do anything else.’ He shook his head, frustrated. ‘I am going against my country by warning you. Covering for you. My loyalty to my people. I hope that if the situation was reversed, you would do the same for me.’