An Island at War

by Deborah Carr

  Estelle didn’t think she had ever felt so ashamed. She knew him well enough to be aware of how important his loyalties were. Now he was turning his back on everything he felt honour-bound to follow and he was doing it to keep her safe. Whatever she may have thought of him these past months, he was a loyal man. Only this time, his loyalties were towards her.

  Twenty-Five

  Rosie

  September 1941

  We’ve just returned from sending you all another telegram. Aunt Muriel and I are very grateful to the Red Cross for setting up the message system and allowing us to be able to contact you. We couldn’t say much, as usual, because you can’t with only twenty-five words, but it’s enough to know that we are able to let you know we’re fine and send our love to you. I’ll wait anxiously for your reply, but don’t expect to receive it for a few months. But at least I’ll know one is coming.

  You’ll never guess what? Even though Aunt Muriel insists that Canadian soldier is just a friend, I caught them kissing a few days ago! It wasn’t anything like the kisses in the pictures, I have to say. I can’t help thinking it’s funny and rather nice that he’s called a French name like Pierre and one we might hear in Jersey yet he comes from so far away. It made me feel a little homesick at first, but now it makes me feel a little closer to home. I know that probably seems odd, but it is how I feel.

  I love his funny accent and he’s very kind and brings us little gifts each time he comes to call or invites us out for tea. She says that he’s here to help defend Britain. I wish the Canadians Daddy and his friends helped rescue were able to stay in Jersey and help defend you all, too. Maybe Daddy wouldn’t have died?

  I worry about you and Gran so much now that you are by yourselves at the farm. I hope you’re both safe and, although I can’t imagine you would ever use Daddy’s gun to defend yourself, if you weren’t, I feel better knowing you have it. I hope you never have to defend yourself. I wish I could bring Pierre and his soldier friends and Aunt Muriel and sail over to rescue you and Gran. I wish more than anything that we could be together again.

  Twenty-Six

  Estelle

  October 1941

  Estelle finished her ersatz tea, which this time she and Gran had made out of bramble leaves, dried carrots and peapods. They didn’t dare waste anything now that supplies coming into the island from France were so unreliable. They made a pact not to moan about their lack of comforts and knew through the news that they were luckier than a lot of people on the mainland to still have their home.

  ‘We can enjoy proper tea again when this is all over,’ Gran reassured her at least once a week. Estelle suspected she was trying to reassure herself more than anything.

  She noticed how thin her grandmother was becoming. Like everyone else, worry was never far away from her mind. She washed out her cup as she watched Hans being driven away. There had been a bit of a stalemate between the two of them since their confrontation behind the barn. Estelle still felt guilty for his kindness towards her and her grandmother and that his cleaning away the V sign meant that others hadn’t suffered. And it was a relief not to have to read anything about repercussions in the Evening Post.

  She was grateful to him for his consideration, for risking his own safety by removing her act of resistance and not turning her in, but a little embarrassed that her attempt had been such a failure. She dried her cup and hung it up on the hook on the wall. The wind was still howling outside from the previous night’s storm. She had been waiting for this moment to be able to go outside and check on any damage to the barn and their fields, as well as to collect in as much wood from debris that she could in case their farm was checked by Germans for any fallen trees. The soldiers needed fuel as much as the islanders and knew to look for it after storms, no doubt suspecting that locals would make the most of unexpected supplies.

  She wrapped her scarf around her neck and buttoned her coat as high as it would go before pushing her feet into her boots and going outside. She hoped to find a decent amount of wood to hide in the barn so it could dry out. They needed all they could lay their hands on to heat the house for the coming winter. She believed her father would be proud of her efforts in looking after the farm and her grandmother, especially now that fuel was rationed as well as the fish, milk and potatoes of the previous few months.

  Mr Gibault was warning the villagers that he’d heard talk from older farmers who were able to read weather signs through observation to crops, soil or even the birds of this being an exceptionally cold winter, and she had a horrible feeling he was right. As she walked passed the barn and up the slope to the field behind it, Estelle recalled the conversation in the village store earlier that morning when she had gone to buy their rations.

  ‘And how could old Mr Le Blond know what the weather’s going to be like weeks from now?’ Chantal asked, scowling as she placed her meagre rations in her basket.

  Estelle had heard some of the older farmers repeat their sayings in the past and although she would never disrespect any of them by questioning their comments, she was also interested to know more.

  ‘For a start,’ Mr Gibault said, handing her back her ration book, ‘haven’t you noticed the extra pinecones on the trees recently?’

  Estelle hadn’t but waited patiently in the queue to hear more.

  ‘I can’t say I’ve had much time to notice those sorts of things, Mr Gibault,’ Chantal sneered. ‘Not with little ones to clean up after. Is that it, or was there more?’

  Mr Gibault glanced at Estelle and pulled a face. ‘Chantal, all I know is what I was told and as I’m a shopkeeper and not a farmer, I choose to listen to the reason of those who know the land and nature better than I. I think you should take the advice you’re given and do your best to prepare for a cold winter.’

  ‘It’s always cold during the winter, Mr Gibault.’ She pushed her ration book into her bag and rested her hand on her right hip. ‘And was there any more to back up this weather forecast, then?’

  He waved Estelle forward to the counter. ‘Only that there are far more berries on the bushes. Now that’s something even I’ve noticed.’

  Estelle wasn’t sure if she had noticed anything about an increase in the number of berries but watched Chantal’s reaction with hidden amusement.

  ‘And the berries are ones we can eat, are they?’ Chantal asked in a sarcasm-filled tone.

  ‘You can, if you wish,’ he said with a grin, ‘but I think Mr Le Blond was meaning the berries as being extra food for the birds rather than us humans.’

  ‘Really?’ Chantal said, sarcastically, as she turned and walked towards the door, stopping and addressing him again before leaving: ‘Well, as I’m not a bird, I think that information is completely useless. Good day, Mr Gibault.’

  The brass bell jangled furiously as Chantal opened the door before walking out and slamming it closed behind her.

  ‘Now,’ Mr Gibault said, wiping his hands on a tea towel he had hanging from his belt, ‘what can I do for you, young Estelle?’

  Fishing had been banned in September the previous year and fish was now rationed, each household only being allowed a pound of fish per week from May. Milk was rationed to half a pint from October and, worst of all, the use of radios had been outlawed and everyone ordered to hand theirs in. Everyone suspected it was to keep islanders from knowing what was going in the outside world and who was winning the war.

  Estelle knew that her grandmother was finding it upsetting not to be able to hear the news from the BBC and she felt the isolation from the rest of the world so much harder now that there wasn’t even the most tentative connection with it. She had even quietly paid her friend Antoinette money to give to a young boy she knew who was secretly making up crystal sets for the locals.

  Today was the day they could collect theirs and Estelle couldn’t wait to try it out. Estelle wasn’t sure if her grandmother would approve but was happy to take the chance and had already decided to hide it in Rosie’s room.

 
Estelle was lucky to live in such an old house, which had been extended this way and that over the last two centuries, with small outhouses like the washhouse where they did their laundry and the old pig sties that had never been used in her lifetime but where they now stored old bits of machinery and tools.

  One of the things her grandmother had insisted they had done when the island had first been occupied was to search every room in the house and their outbuildings, looking for ideal places to hide items. They might need to store away food, or precious jewellery – not that she had much of that – and it had made them feel more secure to know that they had made a few plans, just in case.

  Cycling home with the crystal set hidden in the basket of her bicycle, Estelle had to hide her panic every time a soldier passed her by, or even when she saw a car coming in the opposite direction. She still had a feeling that she was being watched some of the time when she left the farm and it wasn’t helped by soldiers constantly stopping and searching the locals now, just for the hell of it. She seemed to be stopped more often than not and wasn’t sure if it was because she had a guilty look on her face or simply because she was a young woman. The latter, her grandmother said.

  She cycled up the lane and, not bothering to put her bike away in the barn, for once, she stepped off it, resting it against the granite façade of the farmhouse. She collected her purse and the crystal set from the basket and quickly went inside, running upstairs without bothering to take off her scarf, coat or outdoor shoes. Estelle ran up to the attic and into Rosie’s room, where she pulled back the small bookcase and revealed the secret compartment where she had planned to store it.

  ‘There,’ she murmured satisfied with where it was hidden, for the time being at least. She decided she would come up here to listen to the set when Hans was out and her grandmother was in the kitchen, or knitting in the living room. That way, no one would be near enough to hear her footsteps on the squeaky wooden floorboards in the bedroom.

  She thought she heard a sound outside. In fact, she was sure of it. She doubted it was her grandmother because she had gone to spend a few hours with Violet Le Marrec, to keep her company. If it was Hans returning, he’d be suspicious to find her up here and still wearing her coat.

  She quietly closed the bedroom door, her heart thumping, and ran downstairs to the kitchen. Estelle peered out of the window but didn’t see a car so relaxed slightly. Then, something caught her eye. She saw the hint of a shadow moving across a small part of the yard. There was someone there, after all, but who?

  ‘My bike!’ Why had she not thought to put it away before now? Estelle wanted more than anything to stay inside and lock the doors, but she had no way of replacing her bike if it was stolen. She had heard many tales of locals losing theirs when the Germans had decided to requisition or simply ‘borrow’ them, and knew that they could be sold for much more than they had been worth before the war. It was her only mode of transport and if she wanted to keep her bike safe then she needed to be bold, force herself to go outside and lock it away in the barn. Or, she could bring it inside until her grandmother or Hans returned home and then, when she had someone else with her, she could take the bike and store it away properly. Yes, she decided, that’s what she would do.

  Estelle pushed her feet into her boots and told herself not to be such a baby. She pulled open the back door and stepped outside, slamming straight into a hard body. She shrieked and closed her eyes. It was what she feared – that the officer from The Parade had finally come back for her. She was desperate to run back into the house, but her legs refused to obey her brain and she just stood there, shaking.

  Two hands gripped the top of her arms and held her. ‘Estelle, it’s me.’

  She hoped she wasn’t conjuring up Hans simply because she was so frightened, but when he said her name a second time, she peeked up at him, relieved to see it was actually him.

  ‘Oh, it is you,’ she said, breathless with relief. ‘You gave me such a fright.’ Now she knew she was safe, her irritation with him bubbled over. ‘Why were you creeping around the farm like that. You almost frightened me half to death.’

  He frowned down at her and then pointed to where she’d left her bike.

  ‘Blast. My bike’s been stolen,’ she shouted, furious with herself for being so careless. ‘I’m such an idiot. I knew I shouldn’t leave it there, but I—’ She remembered at the last moment that the crystal set was a secret from Hans, instantly breaking off her sentence.

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘Did something happen, Estelle?’

  She could feel her cheeks reddening and hoped he couldn’t tell in the darkness. For once, she was grateful it was winter and that the light faded earlier. ‘I, er, don’t remember.’

  He didn’t look convinced. ‘Your bike is safe. It is why I was here, ‘creeping around’, as you put it. He mimicked her local accent and Estelle laughed.

  ‘Well, that’s a huge relief. Thank you.’

  ‘It is my pleasure.’ He gave one of his brief nods. ‘You should know that it is dangerous to leave your bicycle outside. Someone could borrow it from you without asking and might not return it.’

  ‘I do know. Mainly one of your lot. I’ll try to remember not to do it again.’

  ‘Good, because I won’t be here to put it away next time.’

  Estelle’s smile disappeared. Had she heard right? ‘Why not? You’re leaving us?’

  He nodded. ‘I am going home, Estelle. To see my family. We are usually given leave twice each year but I didn’t have any last year because it was too difficult for me to make the journey home and return in time. This year, my mother is unwell and I am being allowed to go for longer.’

  Once again, she was reminded that he wasn’t so different from her and the islanders. What must it be like to be so far from home when you knew your mother was sick? ‘I’m sorry to hear about your mother. Will she be all right?’

  ‘We think so. She has had to endure a long operation and I will be able to help on the farm while I am there. I am lucky they are allowing me to do this.’

  ‘They must value you.’

  ‘I do not know about that, but I am grateful.’

  Estelle knew she should be happy for him to be able to visit his family, only someone entirely selfish wouldn’t be. So, why, then, was she so upset? ‘I’m happy for you,’ she said, meaning it. ‘How soon do you leave?’

  ‘In two days. But there will be another officer billeted here while I am away. He is… Well, he is awaiting somewhere to become available elsewhere but asked if he could take my place here while I am away. I had no reason to refuse. I will need to bring him here tomorrow, so we will both be here for one night. Is that too difficult?’

  ‘No, that’s fine,’ she said, relieved to know that Hans would be with them for any first awkward encounters. ‘We can put him up in Rosie’s room for the night.’ She made a mental note to remove her crystal set and anything of great importance that belonged to Rosie into her own room. She was glad that Rosie wouldn’t know that a Nazi officer would be sleeping in her bed for the time being. Even Hans being with them was still a little strange. Occasionally, she was able to forget his allegiance to the Wehrmacht and think of him just as a pleasant houseguest, but would it be the same for this officer.

  ‘What is he like, this new officer? Can you tell me anything about him?’

  Hans thought for a moment. She could see he was struggling to decide what to say but, in the end, he shrugged. ‘He is very different to me. A little older and harsher in his manner, perhaps. Hopefully, I won’t be away too long and then he will be moved to another place.’

  What an odd thing for Hans to say, she thought. She knew he was excited to be returning home, so must not like the new officer very much. ‘He isn’t very friendly, then, this man?’

  Hans shook his head. ‘No, not very.’ He stared at her thoughtfully before turning away.

  An icy shiver ran the length of Estelle’s spine and she suddenly knew without asking exac
tly who the officer would be.

  Twenty-Seven

  Rosie

  October 1941

  I can’t believe it’s almost sixteen months since we last saw each other Estelle, but it feels much, much longer. Last night, I dreamt I was back at the farm. I was lying in the grass in the top meadow and laughing as you and Gerard pretended to waltz in front of me. There was a breeze and I could smell the saltiness in the air. The grass was dotted with daisies and buttercups and you and I were wearing matching daisy crowns that Gerard had made for us both. It was a lovely dream, Estelle. I was woken by a seagull making a dreadful din and when I came round I realised it was someone outside the flat hooting their car horn. It was horrible waking to discover I wasn’t with you in the field and it’s made me grumpy all day.

  I really miss the Jersey autumns. It gets very airless here for some reason and I miss the salt in the air coming off the sea during the high winds that we sometimes get this time of year. Oh, Estelle, there’s so much I miss from home. You, Gran, Daddy, of course, but we’ll both be missing him but I also miss my friends, Rebel and the other animals. I miss my bedroom and my things. They might not be valuable to anyone else, but my shell collection in the basket on my dressing table and the opaque glass that I’ve collected over the years from the beach and that driftwood Gran hates me keeping in my room. I just wish this would just hurry up and end and then we can be together again and I can nuzzle the back of Rebel’s furry head.