An Island at War

by Deborah Carr

  Estelle went inside while Hans went to speak to his driver. She was glad to find her grandmother in the kitchen, already heating some water for their drinks. She must have heard them arrive and then listened to what Estelle had suggested. Estelle placed the basket on the drainer and took out four cups and saucers.

  The men came inside. ‘We are unable to stay for many minutes,’ Hans explained. ‘We have much to do today, but a warm drink for both of us is very welcome.’

  ‘You gentlemen take a seat. These drinks will be ready in no time at all.’

  Estelle sat at the table. ‘Can you tell us about the prisoners, Captain Bauer?’

  Hans seemed happy for her to act more formally in front of his driver. ‘They went missing while working at a quarry some miles away to the north of the island early yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘Where are you going to start your search for them?’ her grandmother asked, placing their drinks in front of them on the table.

  ‘The OT have been searching for them since yesterday afternoon and, to be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if they hadn’t di…’ his voice tailed off.

  ‘Go on, please,’ her grandmother urged, handing Estelle her cup and sitting down to join them.

  Hans thanked her and, taking off his gloves, placed them neatly on the table, in such a way as to keep the mud on them from touching the table. Then seeing her grandmother look at his muddy gloves, quickly removed them from the table and rested them on his lap. ‘Last night was very cold. They have little by way of clothing to protect them from the weather and we believe they might have perished during the night.’

  ‘It wouldn’t’ be surprising,’ her grandmother said. ‘It has been particularly cold and the prisoners I’ve seen on the island seem to be extremely under-dressed and malnourished.’

  Estelle watched Hans lower his gaze to his cup. She could see he was embarrassed – and so he should be! Although, she truly believed it wasn’t his fault that the OT treated these people so appallingly. Hadn’t he explained to her how he and the other Wehrmacht soldiers had very little say in how things were done and were even encouraged not to become involved.

  ‘Where will you be conducting your search?’ Estelle asked, willing him to say somewhere out in St Mary, or St John, or one of the other parishes away from St Ouen. They needed time to move Ivan to another safe place. She didn’t even know who had suggested he come here, if anyone. She heard Hans say something and tried to focus on his words. ‘I’m sorry, what was that?’

  ‘We will begin in St Mary. We don’t know of course that they are coming this way, but other search parties are working from where they were last seen towards Trinity and to the east.’

  Hans drank his tea in silence and a short while later placed his hands on the table. ‘We need to leave. Please do not make food for me this evening, Frau Woods. I am unsure what time I will finish tonight.’

  Estelle struggled to hide her relief as she listened to her grandmother reminding Hans not to forget to fetch his coat from his room.

  As soon as the soldiers left, Estelle sat with her grandmother at the table and rubbed her eyes. She was so tired although probably more from worry than lack of sleep. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know. My friend is in town at the moment so I think the best course of action would be for you to go to the shop and pass a message on to Mr Gibault.’

  ‘Mr Gibault? Why?’ She thought of the kindly shopkeeper who looked after his bedridden mother so well.

  ‘He will know who to speak to. Go now and make sure no one overhears you. If there is someone else there say you’ve forgotten your purse and return later. Do you understand?’ Estelle nodded and went to pull on her coat and hat. ‘Remember your gloves this time. You’ll draw attention to yourself if you’re not dressed accordingly. We don’t want any soldiers to pick up that that your mind is elsewhere. Remember they will be watching us even more now that two slaves have gone missing. If they don’t find them, and we know that they won’t find Ivan if we have anything to do with it, then they will know he’s being sheltered and we’ll all be under suspicion.’

  Estelle shivered at the thought. She wound her scarf around her neck, picked up her gloves and grabbed her purse slipping it into her basket and covering it with a handkerchief. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  She walked as fast as she could to the shop telling herself over and over to remain calm and not show how terrified she was of being caught. She joined the back of the queue and decided to stay there unless anyone else came in after her. She had to wait for Mr Gibault to serve several customers before they were the only ones in the shop, then began to explain to him what had happened. Estelle could see by the expression on his face that he understood the urgency of the situation.

  ‘I don’t know how quickly I can arrange for someone to come for him,’ he said keeping his voice low.

  The shop door opened and she knew without turning around by Mr Gibault’s change of expression and the heavy sound of jackboots that a soldier had just entered. Estelle knew she had to say what she needed to know, while she still had the chance. Who knew what would happen if she didn’t arrange something now?

  ‘I will prepare for tonight,’ she said in Jèrriais, keeping her voice level, knowing the German soldier would not understand the local patois.

  Mr Gibault smiled at her looking more relaxed. ‘Yes, return to your grandmother and prepare for tonight. We’ll do what we can. Right, you’d better give me your ration book so that I can sell you this butter.’

  Estelle took her ration book from her basket. The soldier walked up to the counter and leant against it, smiling at Estelle. ‘Guten tag, Fräulein.’

  She smiled at him, enjoying the fact that she and the shopkeeper had made arrangements right under his nose. Mr Gibault handed her the butter and her ration book and told her how much she owed in English. As soon as the exchange had been made, she thanked him using Jèrriais once again and left.

  Back at the farm, Estelle hurried out to the barn to do her best to explain to Ivan that he would be moved tonight. She also gave him a bag with two apples and bread inside should he need it during the night.

  Estelle thought that he understood the gist of what she was saying. Then she bid him farewell and returned to the house to wait. Before she left, his frail hand reached out to touch her arm and as she turned to him he placed his hand together as if in prayer.

  ‘We should go to bed,’ her grandmother said. ‘We don’t want to be caught up when Hans returns. I don’t want to find out whether he would arrest Ivan – or us. I’d rather not know.’

  Estelle agreed. She would have liked to check on their secret guest once more but couldn’t go outside without breaking curfew. She took Rebel to sleep in her bedroom so she could quieten him and stop him from barking if he was alerted to anyone coming for Ivan.

  She heard Hans return just after midnight. Had they caught the other prisoner? Any questions would have to wait until morning. At about two-thirty, Rebel’s grumbling woke her. Something was going on outside.

  ‘Shush, Rebel,’ she whispered, stroking his head and creeping over to her window to peek outside. She pulled the blackout blind back slightly but the temperature was so low her breath frosted up the window. She wiped the glass with the back of her sleeve and held her breath while she peeked outside once again. Nothing moved in the yard. Rebel made another sound. ‘Quiet, boy,’ she whispered. ‘Lie down.’

  Estelle turned back to look outside again and squinted as she tried to make out if anything was happening. The moon was full so the timing couldn’t have been worse. The barn door opened slightly and she watched as a shadowy person disappeared inside before closing it. Moments later, the door opened again. A man who she didn’t recognise, probably because he had a hat pulled low over his face and a scarf wrapped high around his chin, glanced up at the windows. Estelle gasped and stepped back. She didn’t want to unnerve them. But either he hadn’t seen her or knew she wa
s friendly because, seconds later, he led Ivan out of the barn. They scampered around to the back of the barn and she presumed they would go from there across the fields to someone else’s home.

  ‘Stay safe, Ivan,’ she whispered, before moving back from the window and returning to her bed. She lay down under her covers her heart pounding rapidly as she listened as hard as she could for any movement from Hans’s bedroom. There was none. Had Ivan been whisked away without him noticing? She hoped so, very much.

  Thirty-Five

  Estelle

  March 1943

  Estelle was sweeping out the barn a few months later when she moved several hay bales near the back by the tractor they had stored away at the beginning of the war. As she lifted one of the bales, she spotted a spoon and thought back to when Ivan had rested in their barn for a couple of days. He had never been caught, at least not as far as she or Gran were aware. They had been upset to learn though that the other man who escaped with him had been found dead the day after Ivan left the farm. She had asked Hans how the search had gone, anxious in case he gave her bad news about Ivan. Any joy she felt at him not being found was masked by her sadness that the other man had perished in the freezing November weather.

  She hoped Ivan was well wherever he might be. Estelle wondered if she would ever come across him again and if she did whether she would recognise him after months of better treatment and a reasonable amount of food. ‘The less you know the better,’ her grandmother had insisted.

  ‘You are sad today, Estelle?’ Hans asked covering the solid ground underfoot with his large strides as he came up to join her by the barn. She quickly hid the spoon in her pocket and turned round to him to give him a weak smile.

  ‘I was thinking of my sister Rosie and how much I miss her. It’s almost three years now since I’ve been able to hug her.’

  After a few seconds of indecision, Hans carefully stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. Estelle stiffened slightly, she didn’t know how she felt about being comforted by him. She put her hands against his chest to push him away.

  ‘I know how it feels to miss someone. I’m sure you will see your sister again.’

  Estelle listened to Hans’s deep voice, so full of caring. She was exhausted. It had been so long since she had been held like this and without fully realising she allowed herself to relax into his arms for a fraction of a second.

  Then, frightened that someone might see them together like this, she pushed him gently away from her, thinking of Gerard and how he would feel if anyone ever told him they had seen her in the arms of a German soldier. How could she be so disloyal? She was no better than a Jerry bag, she thought bitterly.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said as she moved away from him. ‘I know you mean well and, if the circumstances were different, I think we could be good friends.’

  His face fell and his arms dropped to his sides. ‘You do not think of me as your friend now?’

  How could he not understand how complicated this was?

  She clasped her hands together. ‘What I mean is that I do think of you fondly. You are a good and kind person. I know that to be true. But you must also know that there has to be some sort of divide between us.’ When his expression didn’t soften, she added. ‘For appearances sake, if nothing more.’

  Hans nodded slowly and Estelle relaxed a little.

  They looked at each other for a moment. Estelle wondered if she might ever meet up with Hans after this was all over. What would it be like to see him in his own world with his family and going about his business just like any ordinary man?

  ‘Why do you smile?’ he asked, looking a little confused.

  ‘I hadn’t realised I was,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s probably because I was trying to picture you in your life before the war.’

  He gave her a wistful sigh. ‘I enjoyed my life very much then. Although of course there were signs that this might happen for a long time before the war began. It used to worry me that I would be forced to leave my home and my job.’

  ‘And now, do you long to return to that life?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘I can’t speak of such things. This is the way things are. I cannot be disloyal to the Reich and so I must continue to do my work as an officer for as long as it is expected of me.’

  And there was the soldier again. Obeying orders. ‘We all have a role to play in this, don’t we?’

  He nodded sadly. ‘Yes, we do.’

  Thirty-Six

  Rosie

  7 August 1943

  It’s been a while since I wrote in my diary. I have to admit that for a few months now it’s made me miserable thinking about writing something for you to read when we don’t really know if we will ever meet again. The longer the war goes on, the more it feels like it will never be over. I hid this note pad from myself in the lower shelf of my chest of drawers under my winter pullovers. I thought it was better if I forgot about you and Gran for a while and tried to make the best of this strange new life.

  Something has happened now that I can’t share with Aunt Muriel and I don’t think Queenie would want to listen to me going on about, so I thought the best thing to do is write it down. Aunt Muriel’s friend, Pierre and his infantry division have been sent away. Well, his unit has been sent away. She hasn’t heard from him for over a month. Although she insists she’s fine whenever I ask, the other day I turned on the radio and Vera Lynn began singing ‘We’ll Meet Again’. Aunt Muriel shouted at me to turn it off and get on with my homework. I was upset at first because she never snaps at me, but then I realised how worried she really was about Pierre.

  We popped in to visit her friend, Lynne earlier today and I heard them whispering a siege in Sicily, where she thinks he must be and I know she’s frightened for him that he might be killed if he hasn’t been already. More and more deaths are reported in the newspapers every day. Oh, Estelle, I wish you were here so I could speak to you about this. I don’t know to say Aunt Muriel or how to make her feel better. So many men aren’t coming back.

  I miss you so much, Essie.

  Thirty-Seven

  Estelle

  June 1943

  Estelle wasn’t sure if she was being ridiculous but the summers seemed hotter and the winters much colder since the island had been under occupation. It had been so hot for the past couple of days that the last thing she had felt like doing was to traipse to Violet’s house on an errand for her grandmother. But she wasn’t going to let their lovely neighbour down simply because she was feeling lazy and all she wanted to do was lie in a bath filled with cold water. Ideally she would have preferred to walk with her costume and towel under her arm down the hill to Greve de Lecq and swim in the sea. She closed her eyes and tried to recall the joy of diving into the cool water. Of course, even if she did have time, the beaches were still blockaded with barbed wire and covered in mines.

  Estelle had spent far too long at Violet’s helping her with chores around the house and she had been heading home dangerously close to curfew when her bicycle got a puncture. She knew a patrol would be along any minute and these days the soldiers, weary from the lack of food on the island and the long years away from home, were becoming even more severe with locals caught breaking the regulations. She also couldn’t risk being a woman out alone at night with bored and homesick soldiers roving the deserted lanes.

  Hiding her bike on the side of the road, she ducked and entered the nearest field. She needed to keep off the road if she didn’t want to be seen.

  She climbed through the hedge, breathless but knowing that she would soon be safely inside the farmhouse as she could run across the two fields that separated them and their neighbour. She ran the length of the field. Soil seeped into her shoes between her toes, it was cool and felt rather comforting. She would have liked to take off her shoes and run barefoot but didn’t dare waste the time. It wasn’t long before she could see the lights of the farmhouse in the distance turning out one by one as her grandmother went through the house put
ting up the blackout blinds.

  ‘Almost there,’ she whispered, pushing herself to keep running. She spotted what she thought was a bird but realised it must be a bat. Then another. They swooped past her and Estelle ducked but her next step landed at an angle and her knee twisted to the side sending a shooting pain through her leg. She fell to the ground. ‘No, please,’ she hissed, trying to stand but unable to put any pressure on to her leg. She had to reach the house in the next seven minutes or she would be breaking curfew. She tried to hop, but it was no use in the soft ground. Trying once more, she fell again, frustration coursing through her.

  She glanced at her watch. ‘Three minutes.’ She had to find a way to get back to the house. If she couldn’t run or hop, then she would simply have to crawl, she decided. Seconds later, she realised that was a stupid idea when she tried to put pressure on her knee. ‘Idiot.’

  Tears of frustration ran down her face. Estelle grabbed hold of a branch in the hedge and pulled herself to her feet. She would just have to hop. It might take longer but if she was lucky the patrol would come a little later and not find her in the field. Why, she thought had she worn her yellow summer dress? The moon was waning but still bright and if anyone was to pass she would stick out like some sort of beacon.

  The next moment, she spotted a torchlight scanning the surrounding field and someone coming closer. She dropped to the ground hoping if it was a soldier on patrol he hadn’t seen her yet. Her heart pounded so loudly that she was sure it could be heard and would give her away.