by Deborah Carr
‘I do not know Jersey as well as I would like,’ he said, hands clasped behind his back as he walked. Estelle wondered if he was this stiff in stature when he was with his family in Germany.
‘Have you been for many walks on the island, Herr Fischer?’ Gran asked.
‘No, but I believe I should take more when I have the time. It is a small island, but beautiful.’ They walked on for a few strides when he asked, ‘You have always lived here, Frau Woods?’
‘Yes,’ Estelle heard her grandmother say. She tried to hide her shock. It was a lie. Why would her grandmother give him false information?
There was an awkward silence until he then asked, ‘You were born here, too, Fräulein Le Maistre?’
‘Yes, I was.’ She couldn’t understand why he was asking such questions. Then again, she wasn’t sure why she should be surprised by him acting in such a way, she decided. He always seemed to be nosing around and trying to find information about them.
A military car drove along the lane and the three of them went in single file. It slowed and the driver wound down the window. He spoke rapidly at Herr Fischer in German, before giving a knowing snigger and driving off. Estelle managed to catch her grandmother’s eye. She seemed to be sending her a warning to be careful, but it wasn’t necessary. Estelle was more than aware that she needed to be alert around this man.
As they walked on, he manoeuvred himself between them. After a few more minutes, as he casually pointed out birds, asking the English names of them, he slipped his arm seamlessly around Estelle’s waist. She stiffened and he smiled down at her, unconcerned and without missing a step. His grip on her tightened so she couldn’t pull away or stop walking.
‘I will be leaving you in the next few weeks and I thought that maybe you would accompany me to a dance one evening, Fräulein Le Maistre.’
The blood drained from her face. ‘Thank you, Herr Fischer,’ she said, desperately trying to find a way out of his invitation without appearing rude or insulting him. ‘I, er, well, that is, I don’t socialise. I never have liked to venture out in the evenings, to be honest.’
‘Then you must make an exception for me.’
Her stomach clenched in fear, as his hand rested heavily on her side just above her hip. ‘I would in normal circumstances,’ she said, remembering too clearly the advice Hans had given her – she had to be careful of rebuffing his advances. ‘But I am engaged,’ she lied. ‘I don’t think it appropriate that I accept another man’s offer of an evening out.’
‘She’s right,’ her grandmother said. Estelle looked across at her and could see she was forcing her mouth into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘It wouldn’t really be appropriate.’
‘I am not asking you, though, am I, Frau Woods?’ he snapped. He stopped walking. ‘I am asking Fräulein Le Maistre. If she is old enough to be engaged, then surely she is old enough to answer for herself? No?’
Estelle could see he was furious with her attempted refusal. Her head pounded with the pressure of finding a way out of this difficult scenario that seemed to be escalating only too quickly. She desperately didn’t want it to get out of hand. Whatever they said next could determine the rest of the time he lived at the farmhouse. He had the power to make their lives hard, if not, in fact, impossible.
‘I would accept your kind offer,’ Estelle said, keeping her voice as light as she could manage. ‘But I didn’t think your authorities liked soldiers to fraternise with the local women?’
He blinked rapidly as he considered her words. Estelle heard the sound of a car engine approaching and the next thing she knew it slowed to a stop next to them.
‘Oberleutnant Fischer,’ said a voice that sounded very like one she had longed to hear for the last few months now. ‘May I offer you a lift.’
Herr Fischer’s hand dropped from her side. His eyes lingered on Estelle for a moment longer and she could sense his annoyance at being interrupted.
The voice from behind her spoke again. ‘Herr Fischer. Now.’
Estelle’s heart pounded with relief. She hadn’t imagined she had heard Hans’s voice – it was him. She turned to look at him.
‘It’s good to see you again, Captain.’
Thirty-One
Estelle
June 1942
Hans had been back at the farm for two months but despite their excitement that his return would mean the departure of Herr Fischer, it seemed that the other officer would be staying with them for a few months longer. Estelle noticed that even Hans was less relaxed around the Oberleutnant and she longed for the vile man to finally leave the farm and move on. At least now, both she and her grandmother felt safer with Hans back at the farm. His seniority to Herr Fischer helped keep the dreadful man in his place, but he still tended to appear when Estelle least expected him to, and questioned her grandmother relentlessly.
It was a warm, humid day and by the time Estelle reached town, to visit Antoinette, she was feeling sticky and uncomfortable. The two friends decided to take a stroll.
‘It’s far too hot to stay in this house,’ Antoinette grumbled settling Louis in his pushchair.
Estelle asked for a glass of water to quench her thirst before leaving. ‘I’ve bought us some apples. We can take those and eat them sitting down in the shade somewhere, if you like?’
There seemed to be more soldiers on the streets than the last time she had visited St Helier, but maybe, Estelle thought, she was imagining things. Antoinette slowed her walking and Estelle did the same, unsure why.
She looked at her friend, concerned. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘I’m not sure.’ She indicated the thickening of the pedestrians further up the road. ‘I think something might be happening and I’m worried about taking Louis there, if it could be dangerous.’
Estelle understood. There was a definite atmosphere that was impossible to miss. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll go ahead to have a look while you wait here for me.’
She walked on, her hearing alert to anything she should be aware of. As she drew closer, she heard the shout of a German order and a dog snarling. Estelle hesitated. No one was speaking. Usually, when something was happening, whispers would pass through the crowd and she would be able to pick up some information, but not this time. Everyone appeared to be transfixed by some horror she had yet to witness.
Estelle walked on nervously. Something was very wrong, but she couldn’t fathom out what it might be. She reached the back of a row of locals and manoeuvred her way forward so that there were only a couple of people standing in front of her. She didn’t want to be conspicuous, just in case something happened.
Another order was barked out in German and Estelle looked to her left. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw what was causing such horrified attention from the other locals. Coming down the street were men and women and others that seemed no more than children. Most appeared to be wearing nothing more than sacking, their dirt-ingrained feet shoeless. Some were barely able to walk, hobbling on the tarmac and all of them were near starvation. This was like nothing she – or anyone on the island – had ever seen before. Estelle could barely comprehend what was going on.
For the first time, she spotted a soldier, then a second one, both holding tightly to dogs on thick leads. The dogs’ teeth were bared, pulling at their leads to reach the poor people making their way along the road. A whip cracked. Estelle gasped. What was this? Where had these people come from? She didn’t recognise any of them as locals. Had they been brought over from the Continent? But why?
The islanders stared in horror. Then, suddenly, as if someone had given a silent signal, a few women broke away from the watching crowds and ran forwards. Each held out a piece of bread or whatever food they could retrieve from their shopping bags to the starving people in front of them. Estelle pushed forward too holding her bag with one hand and pulling out the three apples she had been saving with the other. She managed to hand two apples to two prisoners and then went to pass the third
apple to a young girl. Their eyes locked and Estelle’s heart broke to see such haunted sadness mixed with gratitude. She wished she could whisk the girl away somewhere safe.
She gasped when the girl dropped the apple and both bent to retrieve it. Estelle’s hand had almost reached it when a whip snapped down on to the girl’s back causing her to cry out in pain. The next thing Estelle knew, a large hand slammed into her chest and pushed her roughly with such force that she tripped backwards. She braced herself for the inevitable pain when she hit the ground, but someone grabbed hold of her at the last moment and helped her to her feet.
She was too stunned to mutter more than a brief thank-you but watched the wretched souls wending their way painfully down the street.
‘You won’t be able to help them,’ the man who had caught her said. ‘Not unless you want to be punished for doing so.’
Estelle watched the last of them limping away. ‘Who are they?’ she asked to anyone who would listen.
It was a few moments before a women replied. She was wiping her eyes with her sleeve. ‘Prisoners, someone said. To build the fortifications.’
Strangers in the shocked crowd were comforting each other and parents holding more tightly on to children.
‘But they look so badly cared for,’ Estelle replied horrified that those she had just seen were mostly barefoot, some only wearing sacks instead of clothes. ‘How will they ever have the strength to do anything at all, let alone be used for such hard labour?’
Estelle returned to where Antoinette was waiting.
‘You’re crying,’ her friend said, resting her right hand on Estelle’s left arm and stroking it lightly. ‘What happened up there? I heard shouting but didn’t dare move any closer to look.’
Estelle explained what she had witnessed. ‘I thought we were luckier here than in France or the rest of Europe not to have the nastier Jerries, but these men were brutes. They’re not at all like the first ones who came over, they’re much, much worse. I saw one whip a young girl and her only crime had been to try and take an apple from me.’ A sob rose in her throat and before Estelle was able to suppress it, she cried out. ‘I’m so sorry. I can’t seem to help myself.’
Antoinette pulled her into a hug. ‘Let’s go back to my house. I don’t really feel like taking a stroll now, anyway, do you?’
Estelle shook her head, unable to speak.
That afternoon, back at the farm, she recounted what she had seen to her grandmother, stopping several times to catch her breath or wipe the tears from her eyes. ‘It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen, Gran. The state of those poor people and the way they were being forced to walk with dogs and whips, it was barbaric. They were starving and in so much pain.’ Estelle closed her eyes unable to push away the vision of the grey faces of despair that she had watched earlier.
Her grandmother hadn’t spoken since her arrival back at the farm. ‘We need to find a way to help them, but how are we supposed to do that?’ she said now.
Estelle shook her head in despair. ‘I’ve no idea. I was trying to think how while I cycled home.’ She stared at her father’s old coat hanging from the hook on the back of the kitchen door and then to his boots, the dried earth still stuck to them. ‘What would Dad have done, do you think?’
Gran shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but I do know he wouldn’t have stood for it.’ She patted Estelle’s shoulder. ‘We will find a way to help them, lovie. But I imagine the punishment will be severe if we’re caught. We need to be careful and clever. We won’t help anyone if we get ourselves into trouble.’
That night, Estelle made an excuse not to join her grandmother, Hans and Herr Fischer for their meagre dinner. The thought of being able to chew and swallow in front of men who represented the sort of behaviour she had seen in town that day was not something she would be capable of doing. She took a bowl of vegetable soup that her grandmother had made her and a cup of their ersatz tea to her bedroom. Estelle had just reached the top of the stairs when Herr Fischer walked out of his room and stopped in front of her, so she had to step past him to get to her bedroom door.
‘You were in town earlier,’ he said, pointedly, as she went to close her bedroom door. Estelle stiffened to think that yet again he had been watching her without her knowing. ‘You must not try to assist those prisoners, Miss Le Maistre. There will be serious repercussions if you do.’
Unable to help herself, Estelle snapped back, ‘You mean the poor souls who were paraded through town and treated with such brutality?’
He studied her for a moment before giving a slight shrug. ‘They are Russian slaves. They are nothing and you must not involve yourself in them being here.’
‘But someone said they were prisoners from the Spanish Civil War. Political dissidents. I don’t understand.’
‘It is not for you to understand.’ When she stared him down, he added, ‘They are brought here from Spain, Holland and other European countries to work for Organisation Todt. They are nothing.’
She had no idea who the organisation was that he mentioned and was disgusted to hear him describe people as ‘nothing’. He reached out suddenly and stroked her cheek with his right hand. Estelle recoiled in disgust before spinning round and slamming her bedroom door in his face.
The following morning, Estelle was sweeping the yard when she heard footsteps coming up behind her and turned to see Hans walking up to join her. He was frowning. ‘You retired early last night. Are you well?’
She nodded. ‘Quite well, thank you. I was a little tired last night, that’s all.’
He stared at her until Estelle stopped what she was doing and stood up facing him. ‘What?’
‘There is more, I can tell.’
She looked around her and stepped to the side to see past him. The last thing she needed was Herr Fischer creeping up on them and listening in to what she had to say.
‘Estelle, please tell me,’ he said, his voice encouraging and gentle. ‘I will keep whatever you tell me between us, but I know something has happened to distress you and I wish to help you, if I am able to do so.’
Estelle picked a piece of straw from her pullover and twisted it around her forefinger as she thought back to what she had seen the day before and relayed her experience to Hans. He listened without speaking, waiting for her to finish patiently.
‘It was horrific,’ she said, her voice cracking with emotion at the memory. ‘I don’t understand how the soldiers on the street could simply stand there without stepping in. They just let those bullies whip and hit those poor people.’
‘It sounds terrible. But the soldiers probably did not step in because the men with the dogs and whips were not from the Wehrmacht.’
Estelle didn’t understand. ‘But they had uniforms on.’
‘Not really. Not like ours,’ he countered.
‘Then who are they and why are they here? I don’t understand.’ It didn’t make any sense. Surely, the Wehrmacht were in charge of everyone on the island, so why would they put those guards in their place?
‘Those guards are from the Organisation Todt.’
‘Herr Fischer mentioned that name last night. What is it?’
Hans frowned. ‘When did he speak to you last night?’
‘When I went up to bed.’ She shook her head. ‘What is Organisation Todt?’
‘The OT. I’ve heard it said that most of them are men who were refused by the Wehrmacht. They, and the prisoners you saw with them today have been brought to here to build fortifications across the islands.’
‘You mean like down in St Ouen’s bay, where the holiday camp used to be, near the Martello tower?’
He nodded. ‘Yes and at other strategic points around the island. The Channel Islands are the closest place in Europe to England and they need to be defended should your military decide to come and take you back.’
‘They won’t do that,’ Estelle said bitterly. ‘They abandoned us.’ Then again, she thought, even if they did decide to step in and defend them a
gain, it would probably only end in bloodshed of unarmed locals, so maybe they were better off on their own.
‘I am not supposed to say anything, but I trust you to keep this between yourself and Frau Woods. Anyway, you will soon see enough to work it out for yourselves.’
The thought of their beautiful island becoming a fortress for the Nazis was devastating. To think now that the very landscape she and the islanders had grown up on was being altered.
‘We are not encouraged to stand in their way,’ Hans continued. ‘For any reason. I am sure you can imagine how difficult that is for many of us. Their brutality shocks most of us the way it does you, Estelle.’
‘I believe you. But how these poor souls are treated is… it’s inhumane!’
She might believe him, but she wasn’t so certain that some of his brothers in arms would be as upset as Hans to see what she had done the previous day. Especially, Herr Fischer.
‘Estelle, I–’
‘Hauptmann Bauer?’ When Hans didn’t reply Herr Fischer shouted once more. ‘Hauptmann Bauer? Wo bist du?’
Hans stared straight ahead and Estelle could see the muscle working in his jaw. ‘I must go. Please, Estelle, promise me that you will not do anything. The punishment for anyone helping those prisoners is most severe.’
Estelle shook her head. ‘I won’t,’ she said, trying to reassure him as best she could. She wondered if he knew that given half a chance she would break that promise in a heartbeat. How could she stand by and watch such suffering without doing anything?
Thirty-Two
Rosie
July 1942
I’m so excited, Essie. I’ve been pestering Aunt Muriel to let me cut my hair. After all, I’m now fourteen. Today, it finally happened. It’s a lot curlier than I had expected, but it’s just below my shoulders and she’s shown me how best to arrange it. It’s going to take me a little time to get it right I think, but I’m looking forward to trying. She had also been saving her coupons to buy me a summer dress because I’ve grown rather a lot and my other two were way too tight. It’s not completely new but I’m finally feeling less like a little girl and more like a grown-up and I love it.