An Island at War

by Deborah Carr

  She hated this cold weather, especially now that they had little heat in the house. Estelle grabbed the clothes she intended wearing for the day and pulling on her dressing gown crossed the hall and locked herself in the bathroom. She couldn’t be too careful. She had no idea when Herr Fischer would return and the last thing she needed was for him to walk in on her.

  She cleaned her teeth as best she could. Then, after running a small amount of cold water, she took off her father’s old woollen socks, which she had begun sleeping in to keep her feet warm, and washed before hurriedly drying herself and dressing. She had just returned to her room when she heard Herr Fischer arrive, so stayed where she was and did her best to not make any noise. His footsteps came to a halt outside her door and she held her breath, not daring to move a muscle. Minutes later, she heard him go back down the stairs and out of the door. She stayed to the side of her window so she couldn’t be seen from the yard and peered out to make sure he had actually left.

  After sharing an egg with her grandmother, she decided now was the best time to pay Mr Gibault a visit. She wanted to see if he had anything at all to sell them that they could possibly eat for their supper that evening. How different it was now to last year when the old man’s shelves had been full to the brim. It was bitterly cold, yet again. Estelle wrapped up well buttoning up her coat as high as it would go. Gran had knitted her new mittens and Estelle was relieved they hadn’t ever got round to throwing out old clothes before the war. The material and wool were proving to be very useful now that everything was so scarce. Her shoes were worn and the boots she wore when she wasn’t working could do with new soles, but there wasn’t the money or the material to replace them. She pulled the hat her grandmother had made to go with her mittens knitted for her from an old jumper of Rosie’s and picked up her purse and basket.

  ‘I’m off to Mr Gibault’s now, Gran,’ she shouted, waiting for a reply.

  ‘If he doesn’t have what you need and you’ve got time, why not walk up to Mrs Gould’s shop and see if she can help you?’

  Estelle assured her she would and then left the house out of the back door, crossed the yard and went up to the chicken coop.

  ‘Have you got a treat for me this morning, Clara?’ she asked of their one remaining hen. She bent to stroke the brown feathers hating that they had been forced to give the others away to the Germans for their table. They had been lucky enough to be able to share an egg for breakfast this morning, but Estelle was hoping to find the second one she’d noticed earlier before Herr Fischer returned and saw what she was doing.

  There was one egg, so she carefully picked it up and placed it on to a clean pair of socks she’d put into her basket for that reason. She didn’t chance doing anything so daring while Herr Fischer was in the house because she knew he would be watching her, like he usually did.

  Not that she was expecting there to be anything much to buy at Mr Gibault’s, but the villagers had begun bartering when they had something they didn’t need in exchange for something they wanted, or could use. Mr Gibault always did his best to help feed his customers, but it was becoming more difficult. He did though occasionally allow Estelle to swap one or two eggs for something that might take her fancy. She suspected he was giving one of the eggs to his aged mother, who, Estelle couldn’t help noticing seemed to be deteriorating more each time she saw her.

  She walked quickly to try to keep warm and had just entered the shop when she noticed Herr Fischer’s car passing through the village, presumably returning to the farm. He could only have been gone about ten minutes. Why would he need to return to the farm so soon after leaving? Either he had forgotten something, which she doubted – he seemed to be meticulous with his preparations before leaving each day – or maybe, he was hoping to catch her out. Or catch her alone. Had he expected her grandmother to be the one to do the shopping today? She had been doing it for the past few days, so it was likely.

  ‘You all right there, Estelle love?’

  She turned away from the window and nodded. She was glad to be alone in the shop with the kindly shopkeeper for once. ‘Yes, thank you, Mr Gibault.’

  He indicated to her basket. ‘You seem to have a pair of socks in your basket, Estelle. Does that mean you’ve forgotten to put away some of your laundry, or maybe you have an egg for me today?’

  She laughed and placed her basket down on to the wooden counter. ‘I have an egg. Only one, I’m afraid. Gran and I shared the other for our breakfast this morning. It was delicious.’

  ‘Hmm,’ he said carefully, lifting the precious egg from its sock nest. ‘You’ll need something just as tasty in return for this. Did you have anything in mind?’

  Estelle shrugged. ‘Maybe if you have any slices of bacon, or ham?’

  He tapped the side of his nose. ‘I have bacon. I can let you have a couple of rashers. How does that sound?’

  ‘Perfect. Thank you.’ She giggled. ‘One of these days, we’ll have bacon and eggs to eat at the same time.’

  ‘Won’t that be nice.’ He took the egg to his storeroom at the back of the shop and brought back two thin slices of bacon. ‘I dream of eating a big roast lunch with all the trimmings. You know, thick gravy and as many roast potatoes and Yorkshire puddings as I can cope with, together with perfectly cooked beef.’

  Estelle’s mouth began watering at the thought. ‘I dream of a cream tea, with scones, jam and thick Jersey cream. Oh, and chocolate. I’m desperate for some chocolate, and a vat of tea.’

  They laughed together and Estelle relished the moment.

  ‘Right, let me see. I can give you one candle and a pound of fish for your weekly household ration.’ She nodded and handed him her ration book. ‘There’s not too much else here at the moment, I’m afraid,’ he said, apologetically, as if it was his fault he couldn’t supply his customers with the food he had been able to before the war.

  ‘Please don’t apologise. We’re luckier than most on the farm. The Jerries take a huge chunk of our food and we’ve only got one hen left, so she’s more precious to us than any jewellery ever has been.’ Estelle patted her hat, relieved to wear it and that it covered her greasy hair. ‘I’m longing to have some shampoo, or even soap. I think I miss those things most of all,’ she admitted.

  ‘You’ll have them again one day,’ he said, giving her a reassuring smile.

  ‘Do you really think so though?’ When her hair wasn’t clean and she couldn’t find soap anywhere in the shops it made her feel less like a woman. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have a long luxurious soak in a bath.

  ‘I do, young Estelle. Just do your best to hang in there.’

  She hoped he was right and not just giving her false hope. It had been almost eighteen months now since the soldiers had invaded the island. Nothing seemed to be getting better, only worse and according to the news she picked up from the BBC on her crystal set, things were also getting worse for the allies all over the world. She said as much to the kindly shopkeeper.

  ‘Ah, but I think that’s where you’re wrong,’ he said, tapping the side of his nose with a finger.

  Estelle was confused. ‘What do you mean? Have I missed any good news then?’

  ‘The latest gossip is that the Americans will now have to enter the war. After the bombing of that harbour in Hawaii.’ He folded his arms across his chest. ‘What’s more, I have a feeling it will happen.’

  Estelle felt a sense of hope, something she could barely recall feeling seeping into her. ‘Do you really think so?’

  He nodded. ‘I do.’

  She bit her lower lip thoughtfully. ‘Then maybe we might be able to fight back and send these greenfly packing.’

  He laughed. ‘Greenfly. That’s the nicest thing you’ve called them yet.’ He took a piece of paper and wrapped her fish before placing it in her basket. ‘I think that the tables might have turned. Or, at the very least, have cause to start turning. We’ll have to pray that it’s the case.’

  The bell jangled
and the shop door opened. Two women walked in, chatting to one another.

  ‘Right. Enough chat,’ he said. ‘Here’s your candle. I suggest you keep a couple of tins because it seems that we’re going to need them to make lamps in the not too distant future. Cut one in half and try to buy some paraffin from the chemist when you’re next in town,’ he whispered.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, gratefully, as she paid for what she’d bought. She dropped her change into her purse and placed her ration book in afterwards before closing it. ‘You’ve been ever so kind, Mr Gibault. I appreciate you taking the time.’

  ‘Your dad and I were friends since we were toddlers and it’s what he would want me to do. You take care now.’

  ‘I will, Mr Gibault. Thank you.’

  Thirty

  Estelle

  April 1942

  Christmas came and went and Estelle was relieved when it was over. She had expected the previous Christmas to be bad but thanks to Hans and his thoughtful decorations and sending their telegram for them, it hadn’t been nearly as bad as it could have been. This year though they had the Oberleutnant and neither she nor Gran felt inclined to do more than hang up Rosie’s star. The only saving grace was that he had left them mid-afternoon to attend celebrations with other German officers. She couldn’t help wondering how many more Christmases they would face under occupation.

  Christmas had morphed into a freezing January and February, which was followed by a bitterly cold March. One season blurred into the next with food becoming ever scarcer if that was possible. But April had brought something far worse… Her grandmother’s friend, Mrs Green, had been deported with a group of other women from the Jewish community earlier in the month and hadn’t been heard of since. No one would tell them where the ladies had been taken or how to contact them. Her grandmother’s mood took a downward turn.

  Hans had been away for months now and she wasn’t sure if he would ever be returning. The only news to boost their morale was the knowledge that the Americans had now joined the war.

  Mr Gibault had been right when he had said this would happen after the terrible bombing at Pearl Harbour. As always, when there was a massive boost to the local morale, it was down to something dreadful happening against the enemy. But the consequences would be felt by the islanders, as some of the Germans would turn their frustrations on them. Only now, when things were worse, could the locals see it was much easier to live alongside cheerful officers and they might even have said they missed the days of the early months of the Occupation when excited young German soldiers smiled and waved at them as they shopped in town. At least then, the islanders hadn’t known that almost two years later they would still be controlled by the Germans or that things could become so much bleaker than they had been.

  Everyone on the island now knew that the Germans were working hard to fortify Jersey, building concrete bunkers across the headlands and above the beaches and installing massive guns like canons to defend the island from any attempts to rescue to take them back by the Allies. Estelle discovered for herself how large scale the operation was when she rode on her bike down to St Ouen’s Bay and saw that Chateau Plaisir, the holiday camp on the edge of the shore overlooking the wide bay, had been requisitioned and demolished.

  Her grandmother hadn’t left the farm in months now and Estelle was determined to raise her spirits. Back at the farm, she found her in their small washroom at the back of the house. It was a small brick extension that had probably been something else years ago, but since Estelle’s childhood had been where they kept the copper to heat the water and wash their laundry.

  ‘Gran,’ she said running over to take the heavy sodden bed sheet from her grandmother’s hands. ‘That’s far too heavy for you.’

  Her grandmother glared at her and snatched the sheet from her grasp. ‘I’ll thank you not to presume I’m in my dotage yet, young lady.’

  ‘Maybe not, but that water must be freezing and your hands are bright red.’

  ‘I’m almost done, then I can hang this outside on the line.’ She gave Estelle a half-smile. ‘You can hang it up for me, if you like, you’re taller than I am.’

  Estelle stood and watched as her grandmother tried her best to clean the once-white sheet. It was strange to think how the only time she had thought of soap flakes before the war was when she had to carry them back from the shops and the box was heavy. Would they ever have the luxury of being able to wash their sheets in soap flakes or detergent again?

  Her grandmother looked up at her questioningly. ‘Is there a reason you’re hovering over me while I see to the laundry?’

  Estelle feigned innocence and grinned. ‘Sort of. I thought it would be a nice idea if we went for a bit of a walk together.’

  ‘Where?’ She handed Estelle one end of the sheet and began twisting her end in the opposite direction to remove as much of the excess water as possible.

  ‘Anywhere. The village would be a good start.’

  Her grandmother stopped what she was doing and stared at her. ‘Why?’

  Estelle didn’t bother to fib as Gran always saw through her whenever she tried to hide something. ‘You haven’t been out for a while and I thought it’d do you good.’

  ‘I’ve been out into the garden. But I’ve not been further because it’s so cold and miserable.’

  Estelle didn’t believe her. ‘That’s never stopped you before. Admit it, you haven’t ventured out anywhere for far too long and I don’t think it’s good for you. For anyone. Come with me to the village and maybe we can have a walk along the lanes. I know there’s nothing much to see by the way of flowers, but it’s a sunny enough day and I’m sure we’ll both feel better for doing it.’

  Her grandmother watched her for a few moments. Estelle didn’t like to point out that the sheet was dripping on to the floor and on to her grandmother’s boots. ‘Fine. You hang this up then and I’ll go and fetch my coat.’

  Estelle nodded, happy with her grandmother’s reaction.

  Half an hour later, they set off out of the back door. The weather had brightened up a little, which was a relief, at least. Estelle didn’t mind the cold, especially when it wasn’t windy or raining.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve come out with me,’ Estelle said as they turned left out of the driveway and on to the lane.

  ‘I am too now that we’ve got going,’ her grandmother said, smiling as she linked arms with Estelle. ‘I sometimes feel a little claustrophobic at home, or even out of the house knowing that we have to watch everything we do and say now.’

  Estelle heard a car and turned to see Herr Fischer’s driver pull into the yard. He slowed down briefly before continuing to the farmhouse. ‘That was close. A couple of minutes later and we’d have to pass our house guest before leaving.’

  ‘Horrible man,’ her grandmother murmured almost under her breath.

  Estelle knew her grandmother liked to keep her feelings mostly under wraps. When she had asked her about it a few years before, she said that she believed everyone was entitled to their own opinion and that she didn’t like to foist hers on anyone else. Estelle was sure that her reason for doing it now was so that she could give Estelle a chance to speak up about the Oberleutnant, especially knowing how Estelle found it increasingly difficult to live with Herr Fischer.

  ‘At least with Hans, I never felt he was constantly watching me. And waiting for us to make a wrong move.’ Estelle replied.

  She spotted three ducks flying past and pointed to them, smiling. ‘Look Gran. Aren’t they lovely?’

  Her grandmother put her right hand up to shield her eyes against the watery sunshine and grinned. ‘How wonderful it must be to have wings and the freedom to go where you want whenever you choose.’

  Estelle wished she could be like those ducks, spread her wings and fly off to visit Rosie right now, or Gerard. Or better still, bring them back to her. But, then again, would she want to put those she loved through this ordeal? Living with the enemy. Powerless to fight back.


  She felt her grandmother’s arm stiffen. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Can you hear footsteps?’ her grandmother whispered, her voice shaky and her eyes scanning the surrounding land.

  Estelle listened and could hear them quite clearly by the sound their heavy boots made as each step made contact with the road. She turned her head nervously, horrified to see Herr Fischer walking quickly up the lane behind them. ‘It’s Herr Fischer,’ she murmured, keeping her voice low. ‘He’s trying to catch up with us.’

  Without saying anything further, they stopped and turned to face him. ‘Herr Fischer,’ Gran said, sounding more polite than Estelle knew she felt. ‘Are you wanting to speak to us about something?’

  He looked rather red in the face while they waited for him to reach them. ‘Ladies,’ he said, bowing his head slightly. ‘You are out for a stroll, it seems?’

  The women exchanged glances before nodding. ‘Yes,’ Gran said. ‘We thought we’d make the most of the better weather. You?’

  ‘Me?’ He looked a little dumbfounded. ‘I wish to join you. You do not mind, I hope?’

  Neither dared look at the other. Estelle knew without seeing her grandmother’s expression that she would be trying to appear relaxed about the prospect of his company.

  ‘We don’t mind, do we, Estelle?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Estelle lied. ‘Good afternoon, Herr Fischer.’

  ‘Gut afternoon.’ He went to walk on. ‘Shall we?’

  They did as he asked and Estelle wished now that they had left early enough not to have been spotted by him.