The German Nurse

by M. J. Hollows

  ‘And you have not seen Mr Le Page since he stepped foot back on the island? You are certain.’

  Jack stared at the officer, wondering how many times they would go through the same questions, with Jack giving the same answers. They had no way of knowing whether he had seen Henry or not, and nothing they could charge him with.

  ‘I’m certain,’ he said. ‘I haven’t seen Henry since before the British forces evacuated the island. I had no idea he was back, and I had no way of knowing.’

  The officer sighed, matching the cadence of the storm, then shuffled the papers in front of him. It was not the first time that the interrogation had gone like this, but the German’s manner had changed. He slouched in his seat and his eyes looked as weary as Jack felt. He ran a hand through his hair and gave Jack another long look. ‘All right, enough,’ the German eventually said. ‘Enough of this. I believe you.’ He sighed and stood up, stretched and went to the door. He opened it and spoke to the officer outside. ‘I’m satisfied that he is either stupid, or knows nothing.’ He spoke in English, apparently for Jack’s benefit.

  Jack stayed silent, not sure whether this was just another trick in the interrogator’s arsenal.

  ‘You’re free to go.’ The German stood and opened the door, leaving it ajar for Jack to leave. Jack didn’t hesitate. Outside, the sun hurt his eyes, but at least he was free. He had only been in that room for a few days, but it had felt much longer. He breathed in the salty sea air of St Peter Port and closed his eyes. If that was how they treated prisoners of war, then what did they have in mind for the Islanders and the Jews? He didn’t know it then, but he had been one of the lucky ones.

  *

  Later on, Jack was by Vazon Bay to the north-west of the island. He was enjoying the air and the smell of the freedom. He had asked for specifically cycle duties after all the contact he’d had recently with the Germans, and luckily the inspector had agreed. His night shift beat had led him to the area, but it had been uneventful and it was time to go home.

  Waves slapped against the cliffs, throwing up white foam. It was always like this in the autumn during the tail end of a storm, as the cold took over and brought the risk of ice, but there was something even colder about this year. Jack couldn’t tell whether it was the temperature, or something about the island itself. Probably both. He wouldn’t be surprised to find bits of ice floating by the shoreline, like cold winter jewels. If he had any way of making them last, he would collect them for Johanna.

  Jack was on his way home, and he went to pick up his bicycle from the wall he had propped it against, when a change in the sound of the waves caught his attention. There was a boat out in the spray, its prow pointed directly at the beach. It was unusual to see a boat so close to the north of the island, so Jack watched on, mesmerised.

  The boat crashed against the sand as it ran aground on the beach. Jack hesitated as he took a step towards the vessel. He wondered whether the occupants had become lost, landing on the beach by accident, or whether it was another intended raid by the British. He didn’t think they would attack during the day, but given what happened with the previous raids, he wouldn’t put it past them to try a different method. A few other people nearby looked up at the sound, including a couple of German soldiers who were on patrol. They glanced between each other, before they too marched towards the beach to see what was going on.

  Now the men were standing by the boat waving at their new-found audience. There were smiles on their faces as their arms waved back and forth enthusiastically. They shouted, but at first it was lost on the wind. As Jack instinctively moved closer the words became clearer, they were singing the Marseillaise.

  ‘Hullo!’ one of them shouted over the singing in a heavy French accent. ‘C’est Anglais?’

  The two soldiers pushed past Jack, leaving him on the road to look after them. As they marched down the beach they raised their rifles at the men by the boat whose waves were slowing. They quickly stopped waving and started shouting in French. They moved about the boat trying to get it going again, pushing against the hull, trying to dislodge it from the sand, but it was no good. He couldn’t move it on his own.

  A German shouted ‘Halt!’ as the crack of a rifle rang out. The round hit the water by the boat, missing its occupants by a few feet. It had been a warning shot, but it was clear that the next one wouldn’t be. The Frenchmen’s hands went into the air as they signalled their surrender. The resignation was clear in their eyes. He could only imagine what it must be like to escape one occupation only to find themselves in another. Sailing to England was treacherous, but in the recent storm, it was a miracle they had survived. They must have lost their way to end up so far off course. They hadn’t really got that far at all.

  The Germans shepherded them into a group at the end of their rifles, never once letting the weapons drop. It took a minute or two before they were all standing together on the beach, their hands on their heads. Jack couldn’t help but watch, his gaze fixed on the poor men as they were marched up the beach, a completely different welcome than the one they were expecting. The Germans would take them to their headquarters and interrogate them. As a policeman he may even be called in to help find out what they were doing there, but he thought that was clear: they were trying to flee occupied France. If Jack tried to help them, he too could be arrested. As the soldiers walked back past him, he sighed, taking one last look at them, before going on his way.

  *

  Jack was busy clearing leaves with a rake from the garden at the back of the house, collecting them into a hessian sack. He hadn’t had time to tend to the garden for a few weeks and the autumnal fall of leaves had piled up. They had been blown around by the storms and it was a difficult task to collect them all, so he stopped and went to get himself a drink.

  There was a knock on the front door. Three hits, evenly spaced and equally weighted.

  Jack had to take a breath to calm his nerves before he opened the door. ‘Good afternoon,’ the German said, bringing his feet together in attention. He waited outside, but it was clear he wanted to be granted entrance. He stank of gun grease and leather polish. Jack wouldn’t let the man in until he knew what he wanted. No German soldier had ever set foot in this house.

  ‘How can I help you?’ he asked, trying to feign politeness. He had got quite a lot of practice as a policeman.

  ‘I’m afraid I am here to confiscate your wireless machine. We are attending to each house in the area and making sure that all wireless sets have been collected.’

  The man’s English was stuttering and overly formal, but Jack understood him well enough.

  ‘Why?’ was the only word that escaped his lips.

  ‘On orders of the kommandant. The wirelesses are too easily used for sedition.’

  Jack scoffed without thinking, tutting as his mother emerged in the doorway to the front room.

  ‘They are my orders, sir. I cannot leave until I have fulfilled them. If you would assist—’

  ‘Yes, yes. I know.’ Jack waved a hand in frustration. ‘If you’ll give me a minute.’

  He shut the door as the German started speaking again, not caring what else he had to say. They had been expecting this order to come, but he had at least hoped for some warning. He followed his mother into the living room and walked over to the wireless set to unplug it. It was heavy, but he wouldn’t ask the soldier to help carry it. His mother’s eyes followed the wireless from its stand to the door. When the door was open again, he dropped it into the soldier’s waiting arms and smiled inwardly as the man struggled under the weight. Jack slammed the door shut again, chuckling at his own small act of defiance.

  ‘What do we do now?’ his mother asked on his return, as he sat down on the chair next to hers.

  ‘We could talk?’ He flashed a smile, but her face clouded over as she leant back in her chair. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I was just thinking of your father
.’ She opened her eyes again, but they were distant. ‘He would have been proud of you and the man you’ve become. Sometimes you look just like him. And other times you remind me of myself.

  ‘Of course, there were no such things as wireless sets back then, but your father would have loved it. “New technology!” he would have said. He loved how technology opened up new options.’

  She drifted off into quietness, looking into the fire. A log cracked in the heat, filling the silence between them. Despite his mother’s mood, Jack thought he would try his luck.

  ‘Why is it that you never talk about Dad? What happened between you two?’

  She looked at him, then placed her hand on his chin. There were tears in her eyes.

  She sighed heavily, the movement racking her fragile body. ‘It’s too difficult to talk about him. Even thinking about him makes my heart ache. Sometimes even looking at you reminds me of him and breaks my heart all over again.’

  At her words Jack pulled back from her hand. The implication that his very existence brought her pain hurt him deeply and he didn’t know how to respond.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her voice wavering. ‘I didn’t mean … It’s not your fault. I’m proud of you, so very proud.’ She paused. ‘But what happened to your father broke me, almost completely. When they took him it was only my shock and the support of your grandparents that got me through.’

  ‘You don’t need to say any more, Mum. We’ve all been through a lot recently.’

  She smiled through her tears. ‘I do,’ she said. ‘You deserve to know. But I can’t tell you everything. Not yet. War killed him, and I’m worried that it will be the death of you too. Especially consorting with that woman!’

  He had never really understood her dislike for Johanna, but it was starting to become clearer. She was worried that he would come to harm by being with Johanna, because she was a Jew.

  ‘Mum, I’m safer here than I would be if I was involved in the war.’ He wanted to reassure her. ‘It isn’t like the last one. There’s no fight left for us. I’ll just keep doing my job and staying out of their way.’

  He had to be careful, because she was already on the edge of a mood that could take her for days. When they came on it was like a black cloud settling as sadness permeated her soul. But he carried on, feeling that the time was right.

  ‘And I really wish you wouldn’t be so mean about Johanna,’ he said. ‘She’s a good person, a nurse, and you would like her if you got to know her.’

  ‘Hmphh,’ was the only response he got. It was the first time he had tried getting through to her about Johanna, and for once she appeared satisfied in a way with his words. Rather than undoing his work he changed tack.

  ‘If you would tell me what happened to Dad, then I could make sure I avoided it.’

  ‘I can’t. I just can’t. I will tell you what happened another time. Please.’ Her appeal was desperate.

  He knew that if he pushed her now then it could be dangerous. She had tried things before. As it was, he would have to keep an eye on her for the next few days anyway. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, but he had experience of how she usually reacted to these moments in their lives.

  The loss of the wireless had hit her hard. He supposed that it was a sort of escapism for her, or that the regular messages from the BBC gave her a sense of routine, and a sense of hope. He would have to help her find another coping mechanism now.

  This was just the start, the first of many intimidations by the German authorities. So far they had been doing it subtly, but in time there would be harsher rules to make sure the Islanders knew exactly who was in charge.

  There was a storm coming, and this time it wasn’t just the weather.

  Chapter 14

  24 December 1940

  The wind buffeted and pushed Jack as he walked towards the house. The grey skies pressed down, throwing the islands into a gloom he wasn’t sure they would ever get out of. The storm that had been threatening for the last few days had finally hit them. He wrenched the front door of the house open and it strained against him in the wind. His long coat whipped over his shoulders and then back again. The rain stung his face. He wrestled the door shut behind him, blocking out the roar of the wind. It was far from the snowy, white Christmas Eve that everyone always seemed to wish for.

  Pools of dirty water formed around his boots, but he would only be here for a moment, before heading back out into the storm. He pulled his long coat off and hung it up on the metal hanger by the door where it could drip and add to the puddles by the door. The coat’s wax was aged and cracked, and the rain had got through in parts to drench his underclothes. He shuddered and rearranged his trousers, peeling them away from his sodden legs. He would have to see about getting some new waterproof clothes if this weather kept up, especially if he was required to patrol in it. No doubt the Germans had already bought up every last piece of waterproof clothing. They had bought everything else. He put a hand against the package in his coat pocket to check that it was still there, then went through to the living room.

  His mother sat next to the fire in her usual chair, reading a newspaper. As he entered, she looked up at him and a smile broke out on her face, bringing a light to her eyes that he didn’t see as often as he liked.

  ‘You look like a drowned rat,’ she said, laughing.

  He couldn’t help but laugh back as he ruffled his hair, dislodging another pool of water from his head and shrugging apologetically at his mother. ‘It’s a bit wet out there,’ he said.

  ‘If you start shaking it off like some kind of dog, then I will spank you. I don’t care how big you are!’ She smiled, like she used to when he was a child. Maybe it was the festive spirit, or he had just caught her in a good moment. ‘Be careful though, you’ll catch a cold if you carry on like that.’

  ‘I should probably put some dry clothes on.’

  He headed for the stairs, but before he made it two steps she spoke again, ‘You may want to read this first,’ she said.

  As he looked back she proffered him the newspaper. He trudged across the living room, dripping more water on the floor, but for once she didn’t seem to mind as he reached for the folded paper in her hand. It was the familiar Guernsey Star and the front page, as they often did now, contained a letter from one of the Germans, a Colonel Schumacher from the German Feldkommandantur in Jersey. Jack had never met the man, but their office was responsible for the running of the occupation in the islands and it would no doubt be serious. He read on.

  He held his breath as he realised it was about Henry Le Page and his family. Jack and the other Islanders had been waiting to find out what had become of his friend, the man the Germans had arrested as a soldier, only to later work out that he was a spy. And then, despite promises to the contrary, round up his family and close friends as co-conspirators. Jack had been lucky to avoid being implicated, either by his position as a policeman, or because of the lies he had told, he wasn’t sure, but he felt an equal measure of relief and guilt that he hadn’t been sent off to prison in France with the others. The colonel went on to say that they had proven the guilt of all the prisoners without doubt. That they were spies and collaborators all.

  ‘Oh no,’ he said, the words escaping his lips before he could stop himself. He sat down on the arm of the chair, not trusting his legs to support him. He wondered what they would do to Henry and his family now. There was quite a bit of detail on what the Germans thought Henry had got up to when he had returned to the island. No doubt they would charge them with treason or whatever they called fighting against the Reich and go for the most severe of punishments. He felt another wave of guilt in the pit of his stomach and looked up at his mother to see her reaction. Oddly, she smiled at him.

  ‘Keep reading,’ she said and nodded at the newspaper.

  It took him a few seconds to find his place through the blurriness that pulled at the corners of his eyes. The next line made him stop again. The sentences for all of those in Germ
an custody had been commuted. They weren’t going to be punished!

  ‘That’s great news,’ he said, jumping up and walking across the room. ‘Great news. They’re sending Henry to a POW camp, but that’s better than we expected. At least they should look after him there and he can see out the war without getting into trouble again.’

  He looked at his mother and finally understood her good mood. Occasionally a piece of good news could bring her out of one of her darker moments, even if it was good news for someone else. It seemed to give her some sort of hope for the world, as if everything was going to be all right after all. ‘They’re going to let the others come home. The attorney general, Henry’s family, all of them. Isn’t it great?’

  There was a look of genuine happiness on her face that warmed Jack’s heart. He simply nodded, not wanting to shatter that rare moment. He wondered whether the French sailors would be sent to POW camps as well, but there had been no news.

  ‘A wonderful Christmas present for the island,’ she continued. ‘They’re also going to give all the wireless sets back.’

  They’d be able to listen to the BBC again, and with luck they may even get a chance to listen to the king’s speech tomorrow. A knocking sound came from the direction of the front door. It was so faint that at first Jack wasn’t sure if he hadn’t imagined it. He hesitated, torn between going to see who it was and enjoying his mother’s happiness. Who could that be, he wondered, fearing the worst. ‘Who is it?’ he asked his mother who was busy smiling to herself and had resumed reading the newspaper. ‘Who would we be expecting on Christmas Eve, apart from Father Christmas?’

  ‘Why don’t you answer it and find out?’ his mother replied, still smiling.

  He gave her what he hoped was a suspicious look and went to the door. The weather still battered about and he kept a firm hold of the handle as he opened it to make sure that it didn’t catch on the wind. There was a figure outside, just as sodden as he had been only minutes earlier. They pushed past him into the hall without saying a word and he shrugged, shutting the door behind him. He would have to get used to people calling unannounced, and he couldn’t very well leave them on the doorstep in that weather. He turned to the figure, wondering who they were, but too polite to ask. Peeling a wet hood of a coat from their head a mass of curly red-brown hair became visible. His heartbeat raced in his chest. Sudden recognition dawned.