Diana was standing on the quay, her eyes frantically searching for her husband. Robin smiled and waved at her with the arm that wasn’t broken.
It wasn’t until she read a full report in the Jersey Echo the following day that she realized just how close she’d been to becoming a widow. John Poynton described Robin’s decision to leave the boat to rescue the stranded couple, who undoubtedly owed their lives to him, as an act of selfless courage in the face of overwhelming odds. He had told Robin privately that he thought he was mad, and then shook him by the hand. It was the wrong hand, and Robin screamed again.
All Robin had to say while he sat propped up in a hospital bed, one arm in plaster, the other attempting to handle a spoon and a bowl of cornflakes, was, ‘I won’t be able to play in the final of the President’s Cup.’
A year later, Diana gave birth to a girl whom they christened Kate, and Robin fell in love for a second time.
Chapman’s Cleaning Services continued to flourish, not least because Robin had become such a popular member of the community, with some of the residents now treating him as if he were a local and not a newcomer.
The following year, he was elected a vice-president of the local rotary club, and when the head launcher stepped down, the RNLI committee voted unanimously to invite Robin to take his place. Despite these minor honours being bestowed upon him, he reminded his wife that he was no nearer to becoming a full member of the Royal Jersey, and as his handicap had begun to move in the wrong direction, he’d probably missed his one chance to win the President’s Cup and automatically become a life member.
‘You could always join another club,’ Diana suggested innocently. ‘After all, the Royal Jersey’s not the only golf club on the island.’
‘If I were to join another club, the committee would strike me off the waiting list without a second thought. No, I’m just going to have to be patient. After all, it should only be about another eight years before they get round to me,’ he said, not attempting to hide the sarcasm in his voice.
Diana would have laughed if the klaxon hadn’t sounded for the ninth time that year. Robin dropped his paper and leapt up from the table without a second thought. Diana wondered if her husband had any idea of the anxiety she experienced every time he was away at sea. It hadn’t helped when a few weeks earlier one of the crew had been swept overboard during an abortive rescue attempt.
Robin kissed his wife before leaving her with the familiar parting words, ‘See you when I see you, my darling.’
When he returned, four hours later, he crept quietly into bed, not wanting to wake Diana. She wasn’t asleep.
Robin smiled after he’d read the letter a second time. It was just a short note from the club secretary, nothing official, of course, but he was confident that it wouldn’t be too much longer before the committee was able to ratify his membership of the RJGC. What did ‘too much longer’ mean? Robin wondered. In theory he still had another four years to wait, and he was well aware that there were several other names ahead of his on the waiting list. However, Diana had told him that several members felt he should have been elected after he’d broken his arm and been forced to withdraw from the final of the President’s Cup.
Robin’s spell as head launcher on the lifeboat was coming to an end, as the job required a younger man. Diana couldn’t wait for the day when her husband would become more preoccupied with propelling a little white ball towards a distant hole than with rescuing helpless bodies from a merciless sea.
The following year, Robin opened a second shop in St Brêlade, and was considering a third, on Guernsey. He felt a little guilty because his brother Malcolm was now running four establishments on the mainland, and contributing far more to the company’s bottom line, while at the same time keeping an eye on his two children, who were at prep school on the mainland.
Robin was a contented man, and on his thirty-sixth birthday he promised Diana that he would serve only one more year as head launcher, even if he wasn’t elected to the Royal Jersey. He raised his glass. To the future,’ he said.
Diana raised her glass and smiled. To the future,’ she repeated, unaware that another man on the far side of Europe had other plans for Robin Chapman’s future.
When Britain declared war on Germany on 3 September 1939, Robin’s first instinct was to return to England and sign up, especially as several younger members of his crew had already found their way to Portsmouth and joined the Royal Navy. Diana talked him out of the idea, convincing him that he was too old, and in any case his expertise would be needed on Jersey.
They decided to leave the children at school in England, and Malcolm and his wife unhesitatingly agreed to look after them during the holidays.
When the German army goose-stepped down the Champs-élysees nine months later, Robin knew it could only be a matter of weeks before Hitler decided to invade the Channel Islands. Thirty thousand islanders had been evacuated to Britain, including his own children, and German bombs had fallen on St Helier and St Peter Port on Guernsey.
‘I’ll have to stay on as head launcher,’ Robin told Diana. ‘With so few young men available, they’ll never find a replacement before the war is over.’
Diana reluctantly agreed to what she imagined to be the lesser of two evils.
When Lord Trent phoned Robin at home and asked if they could have a private meeting at the club, he assumed the old man was at last going to confirm his membership of the Royal Jersey.
Robin arrived a few minutes early and the club steward ushered him straight into Lord Trent’s study. The look on the President’s face was not one that suggested glad tidings. Lord Trent rose from behind his desk, indicated that they should sit in the more comfortable leather chairs by the fire, and poured two large brandies.
‘I need to ask you a special favour, Robin,’ he said once he’d settled in his chair.
‘Of course, sir,’ said Robin. ‘How can I help?’
‘As you know, the ferries from Weymouth and Southampton have been requisitioned by the Government as part of the war effort, and although I thoroughly approve this decision, it presents me with something of a problem, as the Prime Minister has asked me to return to England at the first possible opportunity.’
Before Robin could ask why, Trent took a telegram from an inside pocket and handed it to him. Robin’s heart missed a beat when he saw the address: ‘No.10 Downing Street, London, SW1’. Trent waited until he had finished reading the telegram from Winston Churchill.
‘The Prime Minister may well wish to see me urgently,’ said Trent, ‘but he seems to have forgotten that I have no way of getting off this island.’ He took another sip of his brandy. ‘I rather hoped you might feel able to take Mary and me across to the mainland in the lifeboat.’
Robin knew that the lifeboat was never meant to leave the harbour unless it was answering a distress call, but a direct request from the Prime Minister surely allowed him to tear up the rule book. Robin considered the request for some time before he responded. ‘We’d have to slip out after nightfall, then I could be back before sunrise and no one need be any the wiser.’
‘Whatever you say,’ said Trent, command changing hands.
‘Would tomorrow night suit you, sir?’
The old man nodded. ‘Thank you, Robin.’
Robin rose from his place. ‘Then I’ll see you and Lady Trent on the quayside at nine tomorrow night, sir.’ He left without another word, his brandy untouched.
Robin was assisted by two young crew members who also wanted to reach the mainland, as they wished to join up. He was surprised by how uneventful the Channel crossing turned out to be. It was a full moon that night and the sea was remarkably calm for October, although Lady Trent proved to be a far better sailor than his lordship, who never opened his mouth during the entire voyage except when he leaned over the side.
When the lifeboat entered Weymouth harbour, a patrol boat escorted them to the dockside, where a Rolls-Royce was waiting to whisk the Trents off to London. R
obin shook hands with the old man for the last time.
After a bacon sandwich and half a pint of Courage in a dockside pub, he wished his two crew members good luck before they boarded a train for Portsmouth, and he set off on the return voyage to Jersey. Robin checked his watch and reckoned he should be back in time to join Diana for breakfast.
Robin slipped back into St Helier before first light. He had just stepped on to the dock when the fist landed in his stomach, causing him to double up in pain and collapse on to his knees. He was about to protest when he realized that the two uniformed men who were now pinning him to the ground were not speaking English.
He didn’t waste any time protesting as they marched him down the High Street and into the nearest police station. There was no friendly desk sergeant on duty to greet him. He was pushed roughly down a flight of stone steps before being flung into a cell. He felt sick when he saw Diana seated on a bench against the wall. She jumped up and ran to him as the cell door slammed behind them.
‘Are they safe?’ she whispered as he held her in his arms.
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘But a spell in prison isn’t going to help my membership application for the Royal Jersey,’ he remarked, trying to lighten the mood. Diana didn’t laugh.
They didn’t have long to wait before the heavy iron door was pulled open once again. Two young soldiers marched in, grabbed Robin by the elbows and dragged him back out. They led him up the stairs and out on to an empty street. There were no locals to be seen in any direction as a curfew had been imposed. Robin assumed that he was about to be shot, but they continued to march him up the high street, and didn’t stop until they reached the Bailiff’s Chambers.
Robin had visited the seat of local government many times in the past, as each new bailiff required his dress robes to be spotless on inauguration day, a ceremony he and Diana always attended. But on this occasion Robin was led into the front office, where he found a German officer seated in the Bailiff’s chair. One look at his crisp uniform suggested that he wasn’t going to enquire about Chapman’s services.
‘Mr Chapman,’ the officer said with no trace of an accent, ‘my name is Colonel Kruger, I am the new commandant for the Channel Islands. Perhaps you could start by telling me why you took Lord Trent back to England?’
Robin didn’t reply.
‘No doubt Lord and Lady Trent are enjoying breakfast at the Ritz Hotel while you languish in jail for your troubles.’ The officer rose and walked across the room, coming to a halt when the two men were standing face to face. ‘If you feel unable to assist me, Mr Chapman, you and your wife will remain in jail until there is space on a ship to transport you to the Fatherland.’
‘But my wife was not involved,’ Robin protested.
‘In normal circumstances, I would be willing to accept your word, Mr Chapman, but as your wife was Lord Trent’s secretary . . .’ Robin said nothing. ‘You will be sent to one of our less well-appointed camps, unless, of course, one of you decides to enlighten me on the reason Lord Trent needed to rush back to England.’
Robin and Diana remained in their tiny cell for nineteen days. They were fed on bread and water, which until then Robin had always assumed was a Dickensian myth. He began to wonder if the authorities had forgotten about them.
He managed to pick up snippets of information from those islanders who had been forced to work at the police station, but the only thing of any consequence he was able to find out was that German ships were docking at St Helier regularly to unload more soldiers, arms and ammunition.
On the twentieth morning, one of their informants told them that a ship would be arriving from Hamburg the following day, and that he had seen their names on the embarkation log for its return journey. Diana wept. Robin never slept while his wife was awake.
In the middle of the night, when they were both sleeping fitfully, the cell door was pulled open without warning. Two German soldiers stood in the doorway. One of them asked politely if Mr Chapman would join them. Robin was puzzled by the officer’s courteous manner, and wondered if this was how German soldiers behaved just before they shot you.
He accompanied the soldiers up the stairs. Was he being escorted to the ship? Surely not, or they would have taken Diana as well. Once again he was taken down the street in the direction of the Bailiff’s Chambers, but this time the soldiers walked by his side, making no attempt to hold on to him.
When he entered the Bailiff’s office, Colonel Kruger looked up from behind his desk, an anxious look on his face. He didn’t waste his words. The ship that was meant to transport prisoners to Hamburg has struck a rock just outside the harbour.’ Robin wondered which brave islander had managed to remove the warning lights. ‘It’s sinking fast,’ continued the colonel. The lives of all those on board will be lost, including several civilians, unless the lifeboat is sent out to rescue them.’ He avoided saying ‘my countrymen’.
‘Why are you telling me this, Colonel?’ asked Robin.
‘The lifeboat crew is refusing to cast off without their head launcher, so I am asking you –’ he paused – ‘begging you, to join them before it’s too late.’
Strange, the things that pass through one’s mind when faced with a moral dilemma, Robin thought. He knew the directive by heart. It is the duty of every member of the RNLI to go to the aid of anyone in distress on the high seas, irrespective of their nationality, colour or creed, even if they are at war with Britain. He nodded curtly at the colonel.
Out on the street a car was waiting, its door open, to take him to the harbour. Fifteen minutes later they cast off.
Robin and the rest of the crew returned to Arden Rock several times that night. In all, they rescued 73 passengers, including 11 German officers and 37 crew members. The remainder were civilians who had been selected to assist in the administration of the island. A cargo of arms, ammunition and transport vehicles was resting on the bottom of the ocean.
When Robin carried the last of the survivors back to the safety of the island, two German officers were waiting for him as he stepped off the lifeboat. They handcuffed him and escorted him back to the police station. As he walked into the cell, Diana smiled for the first time in days.
When the cell door was opened the following morning, two plates of bacon and eggs, along with cups of hot tea, were laid before them by a young German corporal.
‘Last breakfast before they execute us,’ suggested Robin as the guard slammed the cell door behind him.
‘It wouldn’t be hard to guess what your final request will be,’ said Diana, smiling.
A few minutes after they’d devoured their unexpected feast, another soldier appeared and told them he was taking them to the commandant’s headquarters.
‘I shall be happy to accompany you to the Bailiff’s Chambers,’ said Robin defiantly.
‘We’re not going to the Connétable,’ said the soldier. ‘The commandant has requisitioned the golf club as his new headquarters.’
‘Your final wish has been granted,’ said Diana as she and Robin settled into the back seat of a staff car, which brought a puzzled expression to the young German’s face.
When they arrived at the club, they were taken to Lord Trent’s office. Colonel Kruger stood up and offered them both a seat. Diana sat down, but Robin remained standing.
‘This morning,’ the colonel said, ‘I rescinded the order that you were to be shipped to prison in Germany, and issued a new directive, releasing you immediately. You will therefore be allowed to return to your home. Should you be foolish enough to break the law a second time, Mr Chapman, you will both be aboard the next ship that sails for Germany. Think of it as what’s called, in your country, a suspended sentence.’
The commandant once again rose from behind his desk. ‘You are a remarkable man, Mr Chapman. If your fellow countrymen are forged from the same steel, your nation may not prove quite as easy to defeat.’
‘Perhaps you should read Henry V,’ suggested Robin.
‘I have,’ replied
the commandant. He paused and looked out of the window towards the weed-covered eighteenth green before adding, ‘But I’m not sure the Führer has.’
The remainder of Robin’s war turned out to be something of an anticlimax, except for those occasions when the klaxon sounded and he had to pedal furiously along the seafront to join his crew at the boathouse. He stayed on as the lifeboat’s head launcher while the Germans remained on the island.
During the occupation, members of the Royal Jersey were not permitted to enter the clubhouse, let alone play a round of golf. As the years passed, the finely tended course became so overgrown with weeds and nettles you couldn’t tell where the rough ended and the fairways began. Clubs rusted in the storeroom, and there were only tattered flags fluttering on the ends of their poles to show where the greens had been.
On 9 May 1945, the day after VE day, an advance party of English troops landed on Jersey and the German commandant on the Channel Islands surrendered.
Once the thirty-six thousand intruders had finally departed, the locals quickly did everything in their power to restore the old order. This didn’t prove easy, as the Germans had destroyed many of the island’s records, including applications for membership of the Royal Jersey Golf Club.
Other forms of life did return to normal. Robin and Diana were standing on the dockside waiting to welcome the first ferry from Weymouth when she sailed into St Helier on 12 July.
‘Oh my goodness!’ cried Diana the moment she saw her children. ‘How they’ve grown.’
‘It’s been more than five years since we last saw them, darling,’ Robin was reminding her as a young man accompanied by his teenage sister stepped on to the quayside.
The Chapman family spent six happy weeks together before Harry reluctantly returned to the mainland to take up his place at Durham University, and Kate went back to Weybridge to begin her final year at St Mary’s; both were looking forward to returning to Jersey at Christmas.
The New Collected Short Stories Page 56
