Sea Gem, page 33
He nodded seriously. ‘There’ll be informers and collaborators here as well as many who favour the Germans for one reason or the other. I repeat my warning because if anything happened to you, heart of my hearts—’ His voice stopped; clipped short as he took her in his arms again.
Mary saw his eyes were violet, soft and glowing in the dim light. She laid her head on his chest. Oh! How many times had she wanted to be able to do this in the past half year. He smelt so strong with the slightest tang of tobacco and dried sweat.
He ran his hands down to her breasts and fondled them, murmuring more to himself than her.
‘I wish I had more time,’ he groaned. ‘I don’t think I’d be shot this time!’ he sighed. ‘What a waste this all is.’
‘You need a shave,’ she whispered, feeling his stubble.
‘I’d like to grow a beard but regulations won’t allow!’
‘I should hope not!’ she protested. ‘A beard indeed. You’d look just like a pirate!’
‘But a lovely one, you must admit,’ he told her as he thrust his head between her breasts then, reluctantly, straightened to look at his watch.
Mary felt gorgeously light-headed. She knew her nipples were erect and her thighs were nearly jelly.
‘I have to make tracks,’ he sighed heavily. ‘And surely it’s time you were on the way home? What about the curfew and patrols?’
Mary chuckled. ‘The Germans are so methodical and regular that I can set my watch to the patrol’s arrival!’
She looked at the clock. ‘Another fifteen minutes before the local patrol comes. Time for you to slip away and me to cycle home. It doesn’t take me long normally, though I might have to walk part of the way in this fog.’
Very slowly, still holding hands, they went down to the darkened shop, moving quietly towards the back entrance.
‘You carry your pistol, I hope?’ he hissed.
Mary nodded as she quietly slid the bolts, opened the door casually and peered out, straining her ears.
‘All clear,’ she whispered.
Victor turned for one last kiss. ‘If ever you have to use that pistol, get rid of it straightaway. Don’t keep in on your person or anywhere at home or the shop.’
Mary nodded, suddenly terribly anxious for him, biting her lip but trying to show a brave face.
His right hand touched her left cheek. ‘My sweet Catherine.’ Then he was gone. She craned her neck and watched him pad down the rough track, peer up the road in both directions and vanish, melting into the night as quietly as a cat.
Slowly Mary locked the back door and went back to the flat to check nothing was out of place. Her heart was thumping and she realised she strained to hear shots but the night was dark. For a few seconds she was reluctant to go. She could still feel his presence and she wanted to stay treasuring it but the time was moving on. With a heavy heart, she fetched her cycle from the back, opened the front door and slipped out, locking up quietly with the well oiled locks.
The fog had thinned, so switching on the hooded lights to comply with the German blackout regulations she started pedalling. The fog lingered in patches and darted fingers at her. The night was silent and ghostly, almost macabre but she pedalled steadily, Margaret’s letter tucked between her breasts.
When only a few hundred yards from her home she halted silently to listen. There was no sound anywhere. It was as if she was the only person left alive on earth and a shudder ran through her. She looked at her watch again. She was late so she unfastened the valve cap and let the air out of her front tyre before retightening the valve head.
With the feeble headlight she started to walk, not briskly but as if very weary. She crunched up the drive to the house and saw a figure loom at her then another. It was a worried Raoul with William at his heels.
‘I was getting worried,’ Raoul told her in a gross understatement. He had been nearly out of his mind, made worse by William hovering around.
Mary panted with feigned exhaustion. ‘It’s been a long walk with a flat tyre,’ she complained bitterly thrusting the cycle into Raoul’s hands. ‘Can you see to it for me?’
Raoul caught a look in her eyes and nodded quickly. His instinct warned him the flat was deliberate. He would ‘mend’ the tyre that very night before the Germans could show any interest in it.
‘Your son was getting worried like me,’ he told her trying to appear casual.
‘And so were we, Frau!’ one of the German officers said. ‘It’s a raw night!’
Mary wondered if there was a question in the words and decided to attack at once.
‘That’s true,’ she agreed coolly. ‘That’s why only a fool or someone with a flat tyre would be out in it!’
She turned to William. There was something bubbling inside him. She went to tighten her lips but restrained herself. She must act naturally.
‘You look pleased with yourself, son?’ she prodded.
‘I’ve been engaged to do translation work,’ William boasted eagerly. It was rare for him to display emotion but he was highly thrilled at having been approached and the pay was generous too.
Mary pursed her lips thoughtfully, aware all four Germans were now interested spectators.
‘Have you?’ she replied casually. ‘Well, that’s all right just as long as you do not neglect your glasshouse work. Food production is of vital importance, isn’t it?’ she asked turning to the officers.
They broke into a chorus of agreements which William could not miss as his mother’s barb also registered. She would not fuss just as long as he did not rock her particular boat.
‘I’m tired. I want a hot drink, my supper and then I’m going to bed,’ she announced and walked up the stairs in her occupied home. At least, nothing had been damaged. The officers were meticulously careful with faultless manners. Indeed, in other circumstances, it would have been pleasant having them as guests.
She itched for the privacy of her room to read the precious letter. Once in it, she locked the door carefully and rammed two bolts home, which Raoul had installed for her. First she skimmed through the lines which were so dreadfully short then she went back to luxuriate in very word.
‘My dear Mother,
This letter has to be done at top speed because, only an hour ago, Uncle Victor turned up and told me he would see it reached you but questions were forbidden. I am well and incredibly happy though I miss my lovely island so much it hurts. I miss you too. There is so much I’d like to tell you especially about darling Michael. We managed to sneak a day together only last week but I don’t know when I’ll be able to see him again, damn this war. As soon as it ends, we are going to marry, come back to Guernsey and hurry to make you a grandmère. I love driving though I had some problems to start with. I nearly stripped the gears from the first lorry until I got the hang of double declutching. Why didn’t you teach me that? I thought I’d end up on a fizzer! Now I have the hang of it all and love it, though the blackout can get dicey at times. However, I’ve not dented a lorry yet, though that is more by good luck than judgement. I must close this short note now. Do give my love to all those close to me—if you think this wise. Don’t forget what I said about William. Watch that odious brother of mine. With luck he might even break his neck on the boot scraper if he comes in drunk. Much love, Mother, until we meet again on our dear little island.
MARGARET
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
She read the letter three times then hugged it to her breasts, feeling her heart swell with love while tears hovered. Where could she hide it? Every place on which her eyes landed had to be rejected because any Germans who searched would be thorough. Finally, in desperation, she slipped it right at the bottom of the rubber bag where she kept her very personal toilet articles. Let them look there and get embarrassed.
Mary slid between the sheets that night with heart soaring then plummeting in turns as she thought about Margaret’s letter. Then her mind switched to Victor who was somewhere out in the night defying the Germans. When she did fall asleep she had a rare dream that changed into a violent nightmare, so realistic it awoke her, sweating and trembling with horrified fear.
To start with, the dream was shapeless, as something nebulous ghosted in and out of her mind until a dark form showed. This began to expand and approach ever nearer until it reached a size of grotesque proportion. It hammered at her subconscious mind as something unspeakably deadly which concerned only her and which was of the most vital importance. She opened her mouth in her sleep and screaming soundlessly, thrusting out her hands against the strangling evil but its advance was inexorable. From the centre of its black shape emerged two equally spaced red holes that threatened to engulf her and she felt the most appalling peril. Suddenly there were two bangs and she woke with a jerk, covered in sweat, her heart hammering a tattoo.
One hand shot to her mouth as she gazed around, wild eyed with fright, but she was alone. The door was firmly bolted. Only one inch of window was open and, without a drainpipe, there was no way anyone could climb to the third floor to molest her. Mary slumped back on the pillows but her heart continued its erratic thunder, only very slowly quietening down. The evil had been so vividly intense, so realistic that she was more frightened that at any time before in her life.
What did it mean? From where would this danger come? She was rarely conscious of dreams, her sleep was usually unbroken, but this had been so genuine, such a nightmare that she rose, opened the window and sat on a chair looking out at the night. She forced herself to go back over every ghastly image because if dreams were sent to warn, then dear God, she must recognise the peril.
She saw the dawn touch the sky with fingers of gold and felt washed out, fit for nothing. With luck there might be a little tepid water and a bath would wash away the horror. Certainly she did not wish to face sharp-eyed William looking anything other than normal.
* * *
Life fell into a dull period in which they all lived quiet lives geared to the occupiers. William thrived, indeed blossomed, because the Germans had found his linguistic skills excellent. Very gradually he did less and less work at the glasshouses and Mary and Raoul did more and more under Raymond’s supervision.
Mary thought a lot about Margaret and her heart ached for her girl because she too must be fretting about Michael. She worried about Victor, wondering where he was and what he was doing. When the bad days came she spent hours working with the plants, glad of the mind-numbing labour. She also had a good reason to visit the shop at least twice a week for her accounts needed regular attention. At other times she talked a lot with Amelia, concerned about food.
It was true the Germans brought quite a lot of their own rations but they had commandeered so much that the islanders were already starting to feel the pinch. She and Amelia poured over the various ad hoc recipes and advice in the censored papers. They studied the adverts carefully as a system of barter began to take place.
‘It says here that rice pudding can be made from potatoes and toothpaste from ground-up cuttlefish,’ Amelia told her one morning as they stood in the Ozanne cottage, trying to learn about improvisation.
Mary snorted. ‘With all the beaches mined and the Germans grabbing the fish that are caught, we’ve little chance of getting hold of cuttlefish!’
‘Soap can be made from ivy leaves and wood ash,’ Amelia continued reading aloud unabashed.
Mary considered. ‘Well, we can try that at least,’ she agreed. ‘There’s all that ivy at the back here.’
‘I don’t fancy this though,’ Amelia told her pulling a face. ‘Coffee can be made from lupins and chips fried in white vaseline! Ugh!’
Amelia was now a rotund body with bright, twinkling dark eyes and still adored Raoul. She never mentioned the sons who had gone off to war but Mary knew her heart must ache for them. Having no news was one way to deflate public morale and lower resistance.
‘Now that’s helpful,’ Amelia cried, referring once again to two lists which had been passed on. ‘We can dry cabbage stalks for the fire because one day we are going to have no proper fuel—and conkers as well.’
‘Right,’ Mary agreed briskly. ‘We’ll save anything which can be burned and Raoul can see to drying it. Then we’ll bring it indoors and lock it up. How are you with food rations from—them?’ she asked nodding her head up the lane.
Amelia shrugged. ‘I can’t steal so much now,’ she replied, eyes twinkling. ‘I think they have become suspicious of the food that was going.’
‘Don’t run risks!’ Mary told her with alarm.
‘Look!’ Amelia cried with excitement turning to the one sheet newspaper. ‘Someone wants a pair of men’s wellingtons size 9 in exchange for soap powder. I’m sure there’s a pair in the loft.’
‘Try and get flour or sugar instead but, if not, settle for the soap powder,’ Mary advised.
They had fallen into the habit of storing everything in the loft of the Ozanne cottage and making sure someone was always there in case of theft. Mary had a gut feeling that food and fuel were soon going to become top priority.
‘Let me know if you see any more items wanted and I’ll go through my goods. God!’ she cried. ‘What a state we are in! We are bartering like tribal savages instead of civilised people, thanks to be the damned Germans!’
Mary walked home in a thoughtful mood. Her four officers had gone and been replaced by others who were slightly older. So had the fine young men who had initially come to the island. This was significant, she knew. Now that America was in the war and Hitler had to fight on two fronts, the crack troops were too good to leave on tiny islands in the Channel. Not that the number of the occupiers decreased. Mary had calculated they had, if anything, increased significantly. The 319 Infantry Division arrived under Major-General Muller plus even more horses. Some were splendid animals for the officers to ride but, Mary knew, horses ate a lot of food. What would happen to them when the hay and oats had all gone?
Her walking was restricted now as the coves and sands had been laid with mines and patrols were regular. Enormous concrete fortifications were slowly being erected, great grey blots which fouled the landscape.
The island’s occupation was peaceful because the islanders could do nothing but obey, though they did this in typical Guernsey fashion. Which meant being, awkward, slow, deaf or simply feeble minded, depending upon the German order in question. A few commando raids took place, which caused fury from the occupiers and apprehension to the islanders. The Controlling Committee worked hard ensuring that no islander jeopardised his neighbours with acts of sabotage.
William came and went. His glasshouse work was almost non-existent though Mary did see him occasionally discussing matters with Raymond. He had found his niche at last, working with relish as a translator. Sometimes he was in St Peter Port and, at other times, Mary had no idea where he went. She had always felt it prudent to keep a wary eye on him. With the German work this was difficult.
It was a time of limbo when German propaganda could have undermined the islanders’ morale except for their sneak listening to the truth of the BBC. Mary wondered when Victor might return. It was many months now and her collection of papers had become substantial requiring a number of hiding places in the flat.
He came out of the blue the following autumn, again picking a time when Alice had left to go home and Mary was on the verge of locking up. Her heart missed a beat, then resumed with increased pounding as he pretended to buy something from her. Luckily the autumn evenings were starting to draw in, which meant the blackout was required. While she closed it he went upstairs and Mary felt a niggle of worry, despite her pleasure at seeing him. Where was his usual bounce, saucy look and exploring hands? He had not even kissed her. She checked both doors were locked, then flew up the stairs after him.
In the flat she rushed to him and he opened his arms to her but, even as they kissed, Mary sensed something was different. He was again dressed as a fisherman with crumpled smelly clothes, worn and patched trousers and an old beret on his head.
‘Victor!’ she whispered. ‘What is it?’
He pulled her down to the settee with him, half turning to her, holding one hand.
‘Later,’ he said. ‘Any food? I’m ravenous and here’s another letter for you and, yes, Margaret is thriving and now has two stripes on her arm!’
‘Oh Victor,’ she breathed, then hastened to make a meal from the emergency rations she kept in the flat for the purpose. ‘The food isn’t what it used to be,’ she told him nervously. ‘No gauche I’m afraid!’
He eyed her. ‘Like that, is it? Anything will do to fill a hole,’ he joked, though this fact registered and would be reported back.
While he ate some very coarse dry bread with a thin, runny jam made from surplus tomatoes, she hastily read Margaret’s letter. It rang full of hope and happiness, though she noted it was a number of weeks old. She came and sat with him again, taking one of his hands in both of hers, looking at him tenderly.
His face was harsher with tiny crow lines around his eyes. His hair had more frost, yet he was only a little older than herself. He held himself differently and seemed very tense.
‘Tell me,’ she asked in a gentle voice.
‘Jenny is dead!’ he said harshly.
‘Oh no!’ Mary cried, aghast. ‘What happened?’
‘She was on leave and went to Bristol. James had arranged to have a day off school. There was a sneak raid—it was after the Bristol blitz—and she took shelter in a building. It had a direct hit. We had nothing left to bury!’
‘James?’
He took a deep breath. ‘Somehow they became separated and went into different shelters. James survived in his. Nicole has taken it badly. She’s had a nervous breakdown.’ He paused. The doctor had held a lengthy discussion with him. In his opinion, the girl’s death had precipitated something in Nicole’s mind which had its roots elsewhere. Victor knew what that was with a guilty lurch but he kept a neutral expression on his face and the doctor was too harassed to probe too deeply. There could be a cure but it would take time and patience and anything untoward could inflict a further breakdown. Victor had wondered whether the doctor was telling him, in an oblique way, that Nicole’s mind was now unstable and would remain so. However, he had no intention of discussing this with his love right now. As usual, his time was limited.
Mary saw his eyes were violet, soft and glowing in the dim light. She laid her head on his chest. Oh! How many times had she wanted to be able to do this in the past half year. He smelt so strong with the slightest tang of tobacco and dried sweat.
He ran his hands down to her breasts and fondled them, murmuring more to himself than her.
‘I wish I had more time,’ he groaned. ‘I don’t think I’d be shot this time!’ he sighed. ‘What a waste this all is.’
‘You need a shave,’ she whispered, feeling his stubble.
‘I’d like to grow a beard but regulations won’t allow!’
‘I should hope not!’ she protested. ‘A beard indeed. You’d look just like a pirate!’
‘But a lovely one, you must admit,’ he told her as he thrust his head between her breasts then, reluctantly, straightened to look at his watch.
Mary felt gorgeously light-headed. She knew her nipples were erect and her thighs were nearly jelly.
‘I have to make tracks,’ he sighed heavily. ‘And surely it’s time you were on the way home? What about the curfew and patrols?’
Mary chuckled. ‘The Germans are so methodical and regular that I can set my watch to the patrol’s arrival!’
She looked at the clock. ‘Another fifteen minutes before the local patrol comes. Time for you to slip away and me to cycle home. It doesn’t take me long normally, though I might have to walk part of the way in this fog.’
Very slowly, still holding hands, they went down to the darkened shop, moving quietly towards the back entrance.
‘You carry your pistol, I hope?’ he hissed.
Mary nodded as she quietly slid the bolts, opened the door casually and peered out, straining her ears.
‘All clear,’ she whispered.
Victor turned for one last kiss. ‘If ever you have to use that pistol, get rid of it straightaway. Don’t keep in on your person or anywhere at home or the shop.’
Mary nodded, suddenly terribly anxious for him, biting her lip but trying to show a brave face.
His right hand touched her left cheek. ‘My sweet Catherine.’ Then he was gone. She craned her neck and watched him pad down the rough track, peer up the road in both directions and vanish, melting into the night as quietly as a cat.
Slowly Mary locked the back door and went back to the flat to check nothing was out of place. Her heart was thumping and she realised she strained to hear shots but the night was dark. For a few seconds she was reluctant to go. She could still feel his presence and she wanted to stay treasuring it but the time was moving on. With a heavy heart, she fetched her cycle from the back, opened the front door and slipped out, locking up quietly with the well oiled locks.
The fog had thinned, so switching on the hooded lights to comply with the German blackout regulations she started pedalling. The fog lingered in patches and darted fingers at her. The night was silent and ghostly, almost macabre but she pedalled steadily, Margaret’s letter tucked between her breasts.
When only a few hundred yards from her home she halted silently to listen. There was no sound anywhere. It was as if she was the only person left alive on earth and a shudder ran through her. She looked at her watch again. She was late so she unfastened the valve cap and let the air out of her front tyre before retightening the valve head.
With the feeble headlight she started to walk, not briskly but as if very weary. She crunched up the drive to the house and saw a figure loom at her then another. It was a worried Raoul with William at his heels.
‘I was getting worried,’ Raoul told her in a gross understatement. He had been nearly out of his mind, made worse by William hovering around.
Mary panted with feigned exhaustion. ‘It’s been a long walk with a flat tyre,’ she complained bitterly thrusting the cycle into Raoul’s hands. ‘Can you see to it for me?’
Raoul caught a look in her eyes and nodded quickly. His instinct warned him the flat was deliberate. He would ‘mend’ the tyre that very night before the Germans could show any interest in it.
‘Your son was getting worried like me,’ he told her trying to appear casual.
‘And so were we, Frau!’ one of the German officers said. ‘It’s a raw night!’
Mary wondered if there was a question in the words and decided to attack at once.
‘That’s true,’ she agreed coolly. ‘That’s why only a fool or someone with a flat tyre would be out in it!’
She turned to William. There was something bubbling inside him. She went to tighten her lips but restrained herself. She must act naturally.
‘You look pleased with yourself, son?’ she prodded.
‘I’ve been engaged to do translation work,’ William boasted eagerly. It was rare for him to display emotion but he was highly thrilled at having been approached and the pay was generous too.
Mary pursed her lips thoughtfully, aware all four Germans were now interested spectators.
‘Have you?’ she replied casually. ‘Well, that’s all right just as long as you do not neglect your glasshouse work. Food production is of vital importance, isn’t it?’ she asked turning to the officers.
They broke into a chorus of agreements which William could not miss as his mother’s barb also registered. She would not fuss just as long as he did not rock her particular boat.
‘I’m tired. I want a hot drink, my supper and then I’m going to bed,’ she announced and walked up the stairs in her occupied home. At least, nothing had been damaged. The officers were meticulously careful with faultless manners. Indeed, in other circumstances, it would have been pleasant having them as guests.
She itched for the privacy of her room to read the precious letter. Once in it, she locked the door carefully and rammed two bolts home, which Raoul had installed for her. First she skimmed through the lines which were so dreadfully short then she went back to luxuriate in very word.
‘My dear Mother,
This letter has to be done at top speed because, only an hour ago, Uncle Victor turned up and told me he would see it reached you but questions were forbidden. I am well and incredibly happy though I miss my lovely island so much it hurts. I miss you too. There is so much I’d like to tell you especially about darling Michael. We managed to sneak a day together only last week but I don’t know when I’ll be able to see him again, damn this war. As soon as it ends, we are going to marry, come back to Guernsey and hurry to make you a grandmère. I love driving though I had some problems to start with. I nearly stripped the gears from the first lorry until I got the hang of double declutching. Why didn’t you teach me that? I thought I’d end up on a fizzer! Now I have the hang of it all and love it, though the blackout can get dicey at times. However, I’ve not dented a lorry yet, though that is more by good luck than judgement. I must close this short note now. Do give my love to all those close to me—if you think this wise. Don’t forget what I said about William. Watch that odious brother of mine. With luck he might even break his neck on the boot scraper if he comes in drunk. Much love, Mother, until we meet again on our dear little island.
MARGARET
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
She read the letter three times then hugged it to her breasts, feeling her heart swell with love while tears hovered. Where could she hide it? Every place on which her eyes landed had to be rejected because any Germans who searched would be thorough. Finally, in desperation, she slipped it right at the bottom of the rubber bag where she kept her very personal toilet articles. Let them look there and get embarrassed.
Mary slid between the sheets that night with heart soaring then plummeting in turns as she thought about Margaret’s letter. Then her mind switched to Victor who was somewhere out in the night defying the Germans. When she did fall asleep she had a rare dream that changed into a violent nightmare, so realistic it awoke her, sweating and trembling with horrified fear.
To start with, the dream was shapeless, as something nebulous ghosted in and out of her mind until a dark form showed. This began to expand and approach ever nearer until it reached a size of grotesque proportion. It hammered at her subconscious mind as something unspeakably deadly which concerned only her and which was of the most vital importance. She opened her mouth in her sleep and screaming soundlessly, thrusting out her hands against the strangling evil but its advance was inexorable. From the centre of its black shape emerged two equally spaced red holes that threatened to engulf her and she felt the most appalling peril. Suddenly there were two bangs and she woke with a jerk, covered in sweat, her heart hammering a tattoo.
One hand shot to her mouth as she gazed around, wild eyed with fright, but she was alone. The door was firmly bolted. Only one inch of window was open and, without a drainpipe, there was no way anyone could climb to the third floor to molest her. Mary slumped back on the pillows but her heart continued its erratic thunder, only very slowly quietening down. The evil had been so vividly intense, so realistic that she was more frightened that at any time before in her life.
What did it mean? From where would this danger come? She was rarely conscious of dreams, her sleep was usually unbroken, but this had been so genuine, such a nightmare that she rose, opened the window and sat on a chair looking out at the night. She forced herself to go back over every ghastly image because if dreams were sent to warn, then dear God, she must recognise the peril.
She saw the dawn touch the sky with fingers of gold and felt washed out, fit for nothing. With luck there might be a little tepid water and a bath would wash away the horror. Certainly she did not wish to face sharp-eyed William looking anything other than normal.
* * *
Life fell into a dull period in which they all lived quiet lives geared to the occupiers. William thrived, indeed blossomed, because the Germans had found his linguistic skills excellent. Very gradually he did less and less work at the glasshouses and Mary and Raoul did more and more under Raymond’s supervision.
Mary thought a lot about Margaret and her heart ached for her girl because she too must be fretting about Michael. She worried about Victor, wondering where he was and what he was doing. When the bad days came she spent hours working with the plants, glad of the mind-numbing labour. She also had a good reason to visit the shop at least twice a week for her accounts needed regular attention. At other times she talked a lot with Amelia, concerned about food.
It was true the Germans brought quite a lot of their own rations but they had commandeered so much that the islanders were already starting to feel the pinch. She and Amelia poured over the various ad hoc recipes and advice in the censored papers. They studied the adverts carefully as a system of barter began to take place.
‘It says here that rice pudding can be made from potatoes and toothpaste from ground-up cuttlefish,’ Amelia told her one morning as they stood in the Ozanne cottage, trying to learn about improvisation.
Mary snorted. ‘With all the beaches mined and the Germans grabbing the fish that are caught, we’ve little chance of getting hold of cuttlefish!’
‘Soap can be made from ivy leaves and wood ash,’ Amelia continued reading aloud unabashed.
Mary considered. ‘Well, we can try that at least,’ she agreed. ‘There’s all that ivy at the back here.’
‘I don’t fancy this though,’ Amelia told her pulling a face. ‘Coffee can be made from lupins and chips fried in white vaseline! Ugh!’
Amelia was now a rotund body with bright, twinkling dark eyes and still adored Raoul. She never mentioned the sons who had gone off to war but Mary knew her heart must ache for them. Having no news was one way to deflate public morale and lower resistance.
‘Now that’s helpful,’ Amelia cried, referring once again to two lists which had been passed on. ‘We can dry cabbage stalks for the fire because one day we are going to have no proper fuel—and conkers as well.’
‘Right,’ Mary agreed briskly. ‘We’ll save anything which can be burned and Raoul can see to drying it. Then we’ll bring it indoors and lock it up. How are you with food rations from—them?’ she asked nodding her head up the lane.
Amelia shrugged. ‘I can’t steal so much now,’ she replied, eyes twinkling. ‘I think they have become suspicious of the food that was going.’
‘Don’t run risks!’ Mary told her with alarm.
‘Look!’ Amelia cried with excitement turning to the one sheet newspaper. ‘Someone wants a pair of men’s wellingtons size 9 in exchange for soap powder. I’m sure there’s a pair in the loft.’
‘Try and get flour or sugar instead but, if not, settle for the soap powder,’ Mary advised.
They had fallen into the habit of storing everything in the loft of the Ozanne cottage and making sure someone was always there in case of theft. Mary had a gut feeling that food and fuel were soon going to become top priority.
‘Let me know if you see any more items wanted and I’ll go through my goods. God!’ she cried. ‘What a state we are in! We are bartering like tribal savages instead of civilised people, thanks to be the damned Germans!’
Mary walked home in a thoughtful mood. Her four officers had gone and been replaced by others who were slightly older. So had the fine young men who had initially come to the island. This was significant, she knew. Now that America was in the war and Hitler had to fight on two fronts, the crack troops were too good to leave on tiny islands in the Channel. Not that the number of the occupiers decreased. Mary had calculated they had, if anything, increased significantly. The 319 Infantry Division arrived under Major-General Muller plus even more horses. Some were splendid animals for the officers to ride but, Mary knew, horses ate a lot of food. What would happen to them when the hay and oats had all gone?
Her walking was restricted now as the coves and sands had been laid with mines and patrols were regular. Enormous concrete fortifications were slowly being erected, great grey blots which fouled the landscape.
The island’s occupation was peaceful because the islanders could do nothing but obey, though they did this in typical Guernsey fashion. Which meant being, awkward, slow, deaf or simply feeble minded, depending upon the German order in question. A few commando raids took place, which caused fury from the occupiers and apprehension to the islanders. The Controlling Committee worked hard ensuring that no islander jeopardised his neighbours with acts of sabotage.
William came and went. His glasshouse work was almost non-existent though Mary did see him occasionally discussing matters with Raymond. He had found his niche at last, working with relish as a translator. Sometimes he was in St Peter Port and, at other times, Mary had no idea where he went. She had always felt it prudent to keep a wary eye on him. With the German work this was difficult.
It was a time of limbo when German propaganda could have undermined the islanders’ morale except for their sneak listening to the truth of the BBC. Mary wondered when Victor might return. It was many months now and her collection of papers had become substantial requiring a number of hiding places in the flat.
He came out of the blue the following autumn, again picking a time when Alice had left to go home and Mary was on the verge of locking up. Her heart missed a beat, then resumed with increased pounding as he pretended to buy something from her. Luckily the autumn evenings were starting to draw in, which meant the blackout was required. While she closed it he went upstairs and Mary felt a niggle of worry, despite her pleasure at seeing him. Where was his usual bounce, saucy look and exploring hands? He had not even kissed her. She checked both doors were locked, then flew up the stairs after him.
In the flat she rushed to him and he opened his arms to her but, even as they kissed, Mary sensed something was different. He was again dressed as a fisherman with crumpled smelly clothes, worn and patched trousers and an old beret on his head.
‘Victor!’ she whispered. ‘What is it?’
He pulled her down to the settee with him, half turning to her, holding one hand.
‘Later,’ he said. ‘Any food? I’m ravenous and here’s another letter for you and, yes, Margaret is thriving and now has two stripes on her arm!’
‘Oh Victor,’ she breathed, then hastened to make a meal from the emergency rations she kept in the flat for the purpose. ‘The food isn’t what it used to be,’ she told him nervously. ‘No gauche I’m afraid!’
He eyed her. ‘Like that, is it? Anything will do to fill a hole,’ he joked, though this fact registered and would be reported back.
While he ate some very coarse dry bread with a thin, runny jam made from surplus tomatoes, she hastily read Margaret’s letter. It rang full of hope and happiness, though she noted it was a number of weeks old. She came and sat with him again, taking one of his hands in both of hers, looking at him tenderly.
His face was harsher with tiny crow lines around his eyes. His hair had more frost, yet he was only a little older than herself. He held himself differently and seemed very tense.
‘Tell me,’ she asked in a gentle voice.
‘Jenny is dead!’ he said harshly.
‘Oh no!’ Mary cried, aghast. ‘What happened?’
‘She was on leave and went to Bristol. James had arranged to have a day off school. There was a sneak raid—it was after the Bristol blitz—and she took shelter in a building. It had a direct hit. We had nothing left to bury!’
‘James?’
He took a deep breath. ‘Somehow they became separated and went into different shelters. James survived in his. Nicole has taken it badly. She’s had a nervous breakdown.’ He paused. The doctor had held a lengthy discussion with him. In his opinion, the girl’s death had precipitated something in Nicole’s mind which had its roots elsewhere. Victor knew what that was with a guilty lurch but he kept a neutral expression on his face and the doctor was too harassed to probe too deeply. There could be a cure but it would take time and patience and anything untoward could inflict a further breakdown. Victor had wondered whether the doctor was telling him, in an oblique way, that Nicole’s mind was now unstable and would remain so. However, he had no intention of discussing this with his love right now. As usual, his time was limited.
