“Your hair’s different. You’ve had it cut.”
“Mum laid down the law. I didn’t want to. Is it all right?”
“It’s okay but I prefer it longer.”
“Then I’ll grow it.”
“Don’t do it just for me,” he said hurriedly.
“Of course I will. I want it to be the way you like it, darling.” It was the first time she’d used the term of endearment and she loved the sound of it. “Shall we sit here for a bit? The ground is quite dry.”
It was an invitation to the passionate necking session that followed.
Darkness was complete by the time they returned to Les Mouettes. “You’re very late,” Sarah commented with remarkable restraint, due to the presence of David’s parents.
Sue glanced at the clock on the mantlepiece. “Oh gosh, yes. Didn’t realise the time. Sorry about that. Don’t let us interrupt your bridge game.”
“That’s all right, just this once. Now, would you like a cocoa before going to bed?”
They weren’t late again, David saw to that, but they didn’t need to be. Every day they set off on bikes with bathing suits and sandwiches, spending most of the time on remote stretches of L’Ancresse Common. David was very interested in the German fortifications. The area was alive with them; they would go into the cab of the huge radiolocator on top of a hill and wind the wheel to make it revolve; searchlights still stood on the miniature railtracks on which they had been wheeled out each night. Great gun emplacements were built against large natural outcrops of rock and covered with camouflaged netting, below which were the storerooms, arsenals and gunners’ living quarters. And all these battlements were linked by an endless network of tunnels and trenches criss-crossing the Common, hidden under gorse and bracken.
Sue, familiar with these relics of war, considered the explorations an awful waste of time and soon the pair would be lying in the bracken again, necking, surfacing only to eat and finally cool off in the sea.
And the days flew by. “Oh David, I’m going to miss you so much, I can’t bear it.”
“And I’m going to miss you, too, my love.” He was kissing her hairline, a hand feeling the shape of her breast through her cotton dress.
“Am I truly?”
“Truly what?”
“Your love.”
“Yes. Of course. You know that.”
“You’ve never actually said you love me.”
“Well, I thought it was obvious.”
She sighed. “And I love you far more than I can find words to tell you.” Her fingers combed through his hair. “Do you suppose we’ll get married one day?”
“I imagine so, one day.”
Sue sat up, suddenly. “I’m learning the care of horses, and how to cook, professionally. Then, as soon as I’m eighteen, in sixteen months, I’ll come over to North Wales, find a job doing either one or the other, and get a flat so we can be together.”
“Eh!” David gasped. “But I’ll be in university.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll make sure I’m not too far away.”
“You realise it will be years before I can think of marriage.”
“Why?” Sue was disturbed by the tone of his voice.
“Four years at university, then two years National Service, for a start. After that I’ll need to find a job and even then I won’t be earning enough to buy a house and keep a family.”
Sue’s heart sank. Not only was her dream of a home and family of her own receding by the minute, but David seemed to be trying to talk her out of the idea. “Dad always says, ‘Anyone can do anything they make up their minds to do’.”
David found a last, squashed sandwich in the bottom of the haversack and began to eat.
Sue watched and waited but he remained silent. When he had finished she asked if he’d like another swim.
“Good idea.” Suddenly he grinned and put both arms round her. “It’s not that I don’t love you. I do. But I don’t think it would be right to make plans which could prove expensive when neither of us has any money.”
“I would have, once I got a job.”
“And what happens if you get sick or . . . well . . .”
“Pregnant?”
“If we are together for years, necking like we’ve been doing, well, it won’t be long before we go all the way.”
The thought caused a wave of happiness to wash over her. She had only the vaguest idea what ‘going all the way’ would be like, but she was longing for their relationship to reach that stage. However, for now she would have to be careful not to seem too keen; David was obviously worried.
Window shopping together next day in town, Sue stopped in front of a shop full of imitation jewellery. “Look! Isn’t that ring pretty,” she exclaimed, “and only seven and sixpence.”
“Well it is only glass,” David eyed the metal ring set with a green stone without much enthusiasm.
“But it is attractive and I love the colour. Shall we get it?”
“As long as you don’t think it’s a waste of money.” He apparently did.
Sue was determined. “We can go halves. Look,” she extracted her purse from the pocket of her skirt, “Here’s my three and ninepence.”
“What makes you think it will fit?”
It didn’t. But Sue was not to be deterred. Nor did it warrant a ring box: the assistant wrapped it in a piece of tissue and put it in a little envelope. Sue hoped David might insist on paying for it all himself, but he didn’t. She picked up the tiny package and slipped it into her pocket.
“Are you going to put it on my finger?” Sue asked when they were sitting in the back of the bus on their way home.
“Okay. Where is it?”
She opened the envelope, handed him the ring and held out her left hand, indicating the fourth finger.
He smiled at her indulgently. “You want us to be unofficially engaged, do you?”
She grinned and nodded.
“Well it will have to remain unofficial for a very long time.”
Never mind. Now at last she was sure of her man. Her mate, married or not, for the rest of their lives.
*
Mary Ozanne, John’s humourless wife who had evacuated to England in 1940, and who had never had any intention of returning to him afterwards, sued him for divorce on the grounds of adultery. Edna was named as co-respondent, but the case was not contested, and just before Christmas of 1946, they were quietly married at the Greffe, Guernsey’s register office. Marie and Aline Ozanne, John’s mother and sister, were conspicuous by their disapproving absence, but Greg, Sarah and Sue were there with Greg’s great friend, George Schmit and his new wife, Gelly, who were in much the same situation. They had a reception at the Old Government House Hotel for more than fifty friends and relatives who were all delighted to see John so happy at last.
John and Edna had plans. Following the great success of the tearoom and garden at the farm, already renowned throughout the island, they intended expanding to small hotel status. More bathrooms were added and the kitchen extended, and Sue was asked to go on a short catering course in England. She was thrilled to accept. The job interested her greatly, she thought it would be good for her intended role of housewife and, not least, it meant being just a little nearer David. Her nest egg was growing, slowly. She continued to exercise some of the six horses John now kept for his riding school and was often beset by the yearning to take an instructor’s course, rather than catering – it was bound to be more useful.
On her seventeenth birthday Sue passed the simple driving test in Greg’s car, which resulted in a rise in the total of weekly arguments, but gave her parents an added lever for her to accept their rulings: otherwise she was not allowed to use the car.
“I’ve half a mind to spend my savings on a car of my own,” she wrote to David, frustrated by the situation.
“Why not?” was his response.
As though he didn’t know it would mean a longer wait for her to go and live in North Wales!
He did puzzle her, sometimes.
The catering course in London, during which she stayed with Aunt Gelly’s sister in her flat in Fulham, proved extremely successful. Not that Sue got her diploma with exactly flying colours, there were far too many distractions to be enjoyed in the big city, but nevertheless she did learn a great deal.
The ten-week intensive course ended in time for the beginning of the tourist season in Guernsey, where the alterations were nearing completion at Val du Douit. John and Edna insisted Sue should be on a bonus scheme throughout the summer, so that by the end of September her deposit account at Lloyd’s was far better than her wildest dreams.
“Thank you, thank you, darling Edna,” she squealed, hugging her.
“Not at all. Thank you! You really have earned every penny. I couldn’t possibly have coped without you!”
“Well, now that the last of the visitors have gone, Edna, do you think I might borrow Sue to help out at the stables, while young Ben is on holiday?” her husband asked plaintively. He had had to take on a boy to cover the extra time Sue was spending in the hotel.
Sue arrived next morning in jodphurs. “Who needs exercising today?” she asked hopefully. She had not had more than half a dozen rides throughout the summer.
“Thunder hasn’t been out for a few days.” John began.
“Who?”
“Oh, haven’t you met him yet? I bought him from a riding stable in the Vale two weeks ago. They said they had more horses than they needed, but I suspect they found him too skittish for beginners. You’ll need to be careful.”
Thunder, a sixteen-and-a-half hands chestnut, took some persuading to allow this stranger to mount, but was perfectly docile and responsive as they walked up the lane to gallop across the top fields. The wind was gusting to gale force, blowing a confetti of leaves from the tall elms and flattening the drying bracken on the hedge banks. Hatless, Sue’s hair streamed out in the wind, like Thunder’s black mane and tail, horse and rider enjoying every moment.
“Would you like to go down to a beach for a sand gallop, old chappie?” she asked, patting his neck and standing in the stirrups as Thunder’s gait slowed to an easy canter. It would be a fairly long ride, but she was sure Uncle John wouldn’t mind.
Thunder tossed his head high and whinnied.
“Okay. We’ll go through that gap and join the lane farther down.” Fortunately it was unnecessary to worry about gates as cows in Guernsey are always tethered and there is little fear of them wandering, so Sue and Thunder would be able to rejoin the lane below the bend without her having to dismount.
Jim Cotterill was having a hard time with the bread delivery van that morning. Three times it had failed to start so, after leaving the Queripel’s loaf on their kitchen table, he elected to coast the rest of the way down the lane in the hope of building up sufficient speed to start her in gear.
Thunder was negotiating the muddy slope from the field down onto the quiet lane when a huge, brown monster leapt round the bend at him, jerked, roared and hooted. The horse reared in fright and fell back onto his hocks as his hooves slid in the mud. Sue slipped off over his tail and rolled flat on her face while, in his frantic effort to get up, Thunder’s large, iron shoe was planted in the small of her back as he sprang to bolt away.
Until that moment the entire ludicrous incident had seemed to Sue to be happening in farcically slow motion. She had wanted to laugh as she slipped helplessly out of the saddle over his rump, and imagined Edna’s amusement when she returned with mud all over her face.
Then an agonising crash of pain in her back swamped her body, and thoughts and vision blurred through clouds of increasing darkness as she lost consciousness.
Chapter Four – Trapped
There was no question of slow motion in Jim Cotterill’s mind: it all happened so suddenly it was difficult to explain to anyone what had occurred. Admittedly, he had only been thinking about trying to spark the van engine into life when the horse slid into sight as he rounded the bend in the lane. The reason he hooted, which he wouldn’t normally do near a horse, was that he was anxious not to stall the van again as he braked and the wheels slewed off the track. Watching John Ozanne’s wild niece slide off her mount, he muttered, “serve her right” under his breath, half amused at the sight, half angry as his motor died away again. However, when he saw the animal’s iron-shod hoof smash into the girl’s back, humour and anger turned to horror. “Aw my Gawd!” he shouted, wriggling out of the van into the hedgerow, dashing across to Sue’s inert body. Better not to turn her if her back’s damaged, he thought. But she’s got to breathe. Reluctant to touch her, he drew the mass of tumbled hair back from her face, buried in mud. “Aw my Gawd!” he repeated, looking desperately up and down the lane for help, but not even the horse was in sight. Gingerly, he slid a hand under her head to lift it slightly, then seeing the mud-clogged lips drew a well-used red handkerchief from his pocket and attempted to clear both nose and mouth. He felt a faint puff of air against his fingers and gasped with relief. He was loathe to leave her lying there but after minutes of indecision he elected to hurry down to Val du Douit Farm to the Ozannes.
Edna was in the kitchen, baking, when she heard boots clomping across the yard and a voice shouting, “You there, Mister Ozanne? You there? You better come quick, it’s your niece!” and the baker almost fell through the open door, puce in the face and panting.
John was in the stables; Edna rang the emergency bell they’d fixed up from the kitchen and within half a minute he was dashing across the yard, and while Edna called St John Ambulance, John raced up the lane ahead of Jim’s fat legs.
*
Sue opened her eyes and stared at her mother in bewilderment. She began to draw a breath to ask what was happening but stopped, screwing up her face in pain. “Uh! I can’t breathe!” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Don’t try,” her father ordered. “You’re just waiting to go into X-ray to see what damage you’ve done.”
Sue tried turning to face him, but winced again. Then someone stuck a needle in her arm.
Later, Sue heard her mother saying, “You have a badly bruised back and a fractured disc, but they can’t find any sign of bone fracture. They will keep you here in hospital overnight and bring you home in the morning, if all is well.” Which manoeuvre proved equally as painful as the X-rays had been, despite the injections.
And almost as bad as the ministration of the physiotherapist. Long and sinewy, brown and bouncy, he skipped into the house a few days after her return and called her “My poppet”. She learned afterwards that he gave all female patients the same title as he was hopeless at remembering names. Two weeks after the accident he ripped the huge strapping of adhesive plaster off her back, creating even more exquisite agony, and declared, “There, my poppet! Your uncle Joe says you may now sit up with your feet over the edge of the bed, just for a few minutes.”
Listening from the hallway, Greg and Sarah raised their eyes to heaven. ‘Uncle Joe’s’ jolly visits were becoming increasingly hard to take.
Sue didn’t manage to sit up for more than thirty seconds before pleading to lie back again. “However long is this going to take?” she demanded.
“Until all the gel from inside the fractured disc has been drawn back into place or dissolved, it will continue to press against your spinal cord causing pain through all the nerves in your torso, my poppet. You listen when your Uncle Joe tells you how lucky you are that no vertebrae were broken.”
“But how much longer will I have to lie here? A week? Two weeks? I’ve got to get back to my job.”
“And what is that?”
“Partly stable work and exercising horses, and partly helping in the tearooms and guesthouse.”
‘Uncle Joe’ shook his head. “Well, the disc seems to be mending quite quickly, they usually do, which means you should be back on your feet, in the next week or so. But, my poppet, I am not satisfied that the disc itself is in its correct position.”
“Wha
t does that mean?”
“That the least jerk, or even standing on your feet for more than a few minutes at a time, could force it right out of position and put you on your back again for several months. We must not run the risk of this becoming a chronic condition. So,” he gave her a friendly wallop on the side of her leg, “No riding, no mucking out stables and no standing up for more than five minutes at a time until I tell you you may.”
“When will that be? Not another two or three weeks?”
A quiff of long, brown hair flopped over his face as he shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. You’ll have to wait a minimum of six months.”
Sue grinned up at him. “You’re pulling my leg!”
Solemnly he shook his head again. “Seriously. I mean it.”
“I don’t believe you!”
“If you want to be sure of ever leading a normal life again, my poppet, you had better start believing me,” he said, “right now!”
She did. But it wasn’t easy. She felt so trapped!
Sarah continued to feed her with an invalid cup, both desperately trying not to laugh, knowing the pain it would cause. Sarah would gaze out of the window to avoid catching Sue’s eye and consequently produce a fit of choking or spill soup down the patient’s neck. Sarah’s shoulders would start to shake, Sue would splutter, trying to laugh backwards to ease the pain and Greg would bound in from the kitchen with a stern face to tick them both off . . . with hilarious results.
It was a time of family unity and happiness. Despite Sue’s pain and frustration, she revelled in her parent’s constant, loving attention: Sarah was delighted to have total charge and control of her daughter; Richard had his big sister lying helplessly at his mercy, ever available to invent stories for his amusement; and Greg, who loved peace and tranquillity above all things, came in from work each day, no longer dreading another feud, ready to enjoy his family.
Tentatively at first, mother and daughter began to talk. In rebuilding their respective lives after the war, they seemed to have had no time to discuss the previous five years in depth; incidents had been related, glossed over and forgotten, neither willing to admit, let alone share, the other’s emotional traumas or physical deprivations. Sarah knew that Sue had had some good billets and some bad, but now she had time to probe for details she began to comprehend the loneliness and unhappiness Sue had suffered. Her eyes filled with tears, and seeing them, Sue held out her arms to hug her mother, as she hadn’t done for years.
The Guernsey Saga Box Set Page 35