Yours: An Emotional and Gripping WWII Family Saga (The Promises Between Us Trilogy Book 1)

by Angela Christina Archer

  His words as he lifted the ores and then dug them back down in the depths over and over should have made my heart sing. They should have brought excitement to my chest with the thrill of adventure. Instead, however, they only brought tightness to my stomach that made my mouth water, and as I watched those bloody ores and the boat rocked along the waves, my stomach flipped inside out, leaving only the thoughts of how badly my breakfast wanted to come back up on my mind.

  Seasickness.

  At least that’s what Dad called it. When your stomach does not agree with the motion of the waves.

  What had started out a lovely planned day between us, turned into a nightmare that left me a dizzy mess for not only the rest of the afternoon, but half of the next day as well. A memory I wanted nothing more than to forget, and yet, as I found myself years later, on another ship crossing the channel to England, one which I couldn’t ignore.

  “Here, Amelia.” Mrs. Pembroke’s voice broke my distraction as she handed me a bit of an old rag. “I dunked it into the water. Wipe your face, then see to Marjorie. Lord, I hope we arrive soon, I can’t take much more of the smell from all these sick children.”

  She wasn’t the only one. I didn’t know what was worse—the feeling of wanting to chunder every second of every minute or sitting about a bunch of children who already had.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Pembroke.”

  Although soaked with water, the bit of cotton held more grime than liquid, and it stained my hands with just a mere touch. I thought better of wiping my face or anyone’s face for that matter and I left my seat between a green looking little girl, and a little boy who was not only so comfortable riding the waves, he thought it proper to humiliate us all as he laid on the bench seat humming a tune.

  One of the jammy ones not affected by the motion of the sea, he happily sailed on the ship while those around him were miserable, tired, and missing their families.

  As I weaved through the passengers in search of another water bucket, women and children spoke amongst themselves in whispers. Young mothers with infants of their own in one arm, cradled older children not of their blood in the other, kissing their foreheads or rocking them slightly while they sat on the bench, tears streaming down their cheeks. School adventure or not, they hated leaving their parents as much as I hated leaving mine, and at six, seven, or eight years old, I could imagine those feelings were magnified. While seventeen-year-olds were preparing to leave the warmth of their family home, whether for the sake of university or perhaps marriage and a house of their own, a six-year-old wasn’t. They still needed their mums and dads andneeded their parents’ loving arms wrapped around them when they were cold, sick, or scared.

  Aside from the evacuees and the sailors on the boat, several young men were also on board. Headed to England to join the British Army, they stuck mostly to themselves. Only one, Harold Lingfield, took notice to anyone around them, and he waved to me as I approached his side of the ship.

  “I didn’t know you were on this boat,” he said. “Is Evelyn with you? What about Violet?” Before I could answer, he craned his neck behind me, searching the boat.

  “I don’t know about Violet. I haven’t seen her. Evelyn stayed behind, though.”

  “Oh, bollocks, I hope Violet didn’t stay.” He blinked and swallowed as though a lump formed in his throat.

  “Mary and Nora are here.” I pointed toward the other side of the ship, toward my friends who huddled around groups of other young children. “Perhaps they know if she stayed.”

  Harold followed my finger for a moment,then ducked his chin, his eyes focusing on the deck. “I guess I’ll go ask them in a bit. I don’t understand. She knew about the evacuation. She told me last night she would be there.”

  “Perhaps she was, and I just didn’t see her. There were so many people in the crowd. It was hard to find anyone, really. She could be on one of the other boats.”

  He shrugged as though he accepted my answer, even if his furrowed brow said otherwise.

  “So, you’re going to England to join the Army, aren’t you?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I decided to enlist last night. I hoped Henry and Ernest would come with me, but with Ernest and Ivy newly married, I think he wanted to stay with her.”

  “And Henry is staying because of his grandfather,” I finished Harold’s thought.

  “Yeah, that’s what they said.” He looked around the boat once more before ducking his chin and pointing toward the rag in my hand. “There is a bucket of fresh water over near the port side. I saw them haul it up from the side before we left Guernsey.”

  “Thank you.” I giggled a little as I looked down upon the mess in my hand. “Although I have to say, I don’t know if I wish to muck up any fresh water with the likes of this. You should just throw it away, if you ask me.”

  “Well, here, I have a handkerchief. It’s clean.” He tugged at a swatch of material from his back pocket, shaking it loose from its folds as he held it up for me to take. “My mum gave it to me this morning before I left.”

  I reached out, laying my hand over his as I eased the thin square of material back toward him. “You should keep it, then. Perhaps it will bring you luck.”

  He snorted as he glanced down at it. The handkerchief fluttered in the breeze and his thumb traced over the initials embroidered on the corner. “Maybe.”

  “Not maybe. I think it will, and I think you should keep it.”

  “Harold!” Benjamin, another boy I vaguely knew, called out. Benjamin had never been in the same class as me, but he knew Evelynas well as Henry, given how Henry was actually two years older than me, like my sister. “You’ve got to come over here. These sailors are telling stories of the war.”

  As Harold and I made our way toward him, Benjamin huddled with the others around the few crewmen leaning against the side of the boat. Smoke billowed over their heads as a few puffed on cigarettes and recounted battles they fought in or the bombed and bullet-ridden buildings they’d seen.

  “We can only see what we can from the shore,” one crewman said. “But even at that distance we can still see the smoke from the cities burning.”

  “I heard the Germans began rounding up the Jews, forcing them to wear yellow badges with the Star of David on them. Some even say they sending them to Auschwitz.”

  “What is that?” Benjamin asked.

  “A concentration camp in Poland. But we should not discuss such matters in front of a lady . . . or children.”

  I glanced around us, catching the wide-eyed gazes of children around us, the little ears soaking up every word like a parched patch of earth soaks up the rain.

  “Did you know this ship rescued soldiers at Dunkirk?” one sailor boasted. “We made,” he glanced at another crewman, “what was it, Thompson, three trips.”

  “Four,” Thompson said. His voice lowered as he answered, as though he thought as I, that this conversation wasn’t meant for the ones listening around them.

  “Four trips?” The young men from Guernsey glanced at each other, like horses biting at the bits to be let free to run across the meadow. Their eyes lit up.

  “Aye, and it wasn’t no party either if that’s what you’re thinking.” With a slight growl to his voice, Thompson skirted around the crowd, fetching a rope from the deck. “I need to get back to work.” He pointed at the other two. “I suggest you, Nowak and Kowalski, do the same. We’ve got work to do.This isn’t a bloody vacation.”

  “I got everything I needed done,” Nowak, the one who had been talking most to Harold and Benjamin said, defensiveness etched in the pitch of his voice.

  While Thompson stomped off, his shoulders hunched, the remaining crew continued their conversation with the young men.

  “You see those holes along the wall over there. Those are bullet holes. They rained down upon us far more times than I want to remember. About nearly pissed myself every time.”

  “How many planes were shooting at you?”

  “Never did get a goo
d count. They would vanish and reappear through the clouds. Plus, with the water spraying up on the deck from the waves and the men darting around wondering if we were going to live or die . . .”

  “All you could do was just listen for them,” Kowalski continued Nowak’sthoughts. “That bloody sound . . . I don’t think I’ll ever get it out of my head. Between the rumble of the engines, the hissing of the bombs, the rattling of the bullets . . . and the screaming . . .”

  “Screaming?” Benjamin asked.

  “From the scared. From the wounded. Those hit with bullets who now lay upon this deck, bleeding.”

  My mind traveled to some unknown point of time, and as I glanced around the boat, I imagined the scene of the crewman’s memory. Men lying in the very corners that the children now found themselves tucked away in. How many of them died?How many of them looked up at the sky one last time or, if they’d lived, thought of their loved ones and the chance they might never see them again?

  “Skurwielu, Germans! They should all go to hell for what they did to my country.”

  “Where are you from?” Harold asked.

  “Polania. She is my country. My home. And they took her along with my family.”

  “She was home to us both, my brother, and we will get her back. One day,” Kowalski said.

  “Did you guys fight? Were you in the Polish Army?” Benjamin glanced between the two.

  “We joined about six months before the invasion of Warsaw and we fled first to France, then made our way to England because I have cousins in London. My family lived in Warsaw before . . . before . . .” Kowalski paused, his gaze dropped to the floor of the ship. “Before the Einsatzgruppen took them.”

  “Who are they?”

  “They are the group sent in to round up the Jews. They sent some to concentration camps and murdered others in the streets. My father was one of them.” With his declaration, the young man ripped open his shirt and with one hand, dug around until he found and yanked out a gold chain from the depths of his clothes. A yellow star dangled from the necklace. “I had not been home at the time or else they would have taken me too. By the time I got home, I saw my father in the street and my neighbors told me they took my mother and sister. I don’t know where they are or if they are alive. Someone told me they took the survivors to the ghetto and left them to starve, but I never found them there.”

  “They are alive, my brother.” Nowak slapped his hand on his friend’s shoulder, giving him a slight shake. “And you will see them again soon when this is all over. Your mother, she is a fighter, and your sister? I pray for any German soldier who comes across her unpleasant side.” Nowak chuckled to himself as though hoping by doing so it would ease the pain in his friend’s eyes.

  It seemed to work—even if it was just a little, and Kowalski kissed his pendant before looking up toward the sky and uttering several words under his breath.

  Unable to hear another word, I fled the conversation. As tears misted my eyes, I darted for the side of the boat, grabbing the railing with my hands. My grip so tight my knuckles turned white. Sickness swirled in my stomach, but it wasn’t just from the motion of the sea, but of the thoughts of home and thoughts of my family. Would they murder my father as they did the crewman’s father? Would they take my mother and sister off to a camp? We were not Jewish, however; I knew my father would show little restraint to protect himself and his family should an invasion become hostile.

  And what of Henry? I doubted he would just tuck his tail or roll over as a whipped dog, allowing German troops to overtake his home. He would protect his grandfather just as any other man would their family. Would that make him another target?

  “Why did you let Evelyn and your parents stay?” I whispered to myself. “Worse yet, why did you leave? Why?”

  “Miss Stanley?” I heard a little boy ask another teacher. “Is that England?”

  With the child’s question, everyone around him, myself included, whipped around, our eyes focusing along the sight of land in the distance.

  The closer we drew near the harbor, the more shapes popped from just a deep blur of buildings and ships. A sense of hushed panic set in the women, as though being so close to something that could save us suddenly made us realize the danger of it all, and a few of them paced, ignoring the children running around them—the little tots oblivious to what was really going on, they only saw our anxiety to mean they were free to unload the pent up energy surging through their little bodies.

  I weaved my way through the crowd of women and children converging against the railing to see England. The chatter between them felt like an endless maze of words that only made it more difficult to see my way through. Voices coming at me from left and right and in front and behind, it nearly turned me backwards, and caused me to get lost. Finally, emerging from the sea of little heads, Mrs. Pembroke let out a gasp as she clutched her chest.

  “Oh, Amelia, there you are,” she said as I approached. “You had me worried.”

  “My apologies, Mrs. Pembroke. I went to find another wash rag . . .”

  “Oh, not to worry. Not to worry. I just wanted to make sure you were all right, dear.” She spun around, counting the children around her. “I’ll take these twenty if you take those twenty. Just keep them together as we disembark. I’ll lead mine off and you follow.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Although her plan sounded easy, the hours that followed our arrival to Weymouth were far from the pictures imagined inside my mind. Stuck in the harbor, we waited throughout the night for permission to make port. The long stretch of darkness seemed longer with the chill in the sea air and the little food we had to eat—sandwiches and bits of fruit our parents had packed for us. Food that vanished quickly and left us begging for more.

  THREE

  Amelia - June 1940

  With little sleep, the hours on the boat ticked by minute by minute, and each one felt like it took years. Although I nodded off from time to time, I would jerk awake from some loud noise, whether it be the cries from a child for their parents or for the fact they were cold, the whistle of another boat in the harbor, or from a crewman shouting orders across the deck. Their regard for the sleeping women and children so little, they never bothered to even try to stay quiet.

  Along with everything else, rumors also swarmed around the teachers and young mothers as to why they left us here. From them not being ready for the sheer number of us to the fact that we might return to Guernsey, the chatter only fueled a sense of dread and fear in the unknown. While more of us—myself included—were spurred with thoughts of seeing our families and hoped for the long journey home, we also knew another voyage across the channel with sick children wasn’t the holiday we would look forward too, either. Not to mention, the fretting about did little to help make sleep easier. Tired, cold, and overall in a grumpy state of mind, I almost feared for the crewman at the hands of our growing wrath.

  By the time dawn approached, and the sky became a splendor of colors, including the soft purple like the Bluebells that grew in the woods near St. Peter’s Port in the spring, I’d given up on rest, throwing it away with each plaguing yawn. Along with the sun, came warmth, and as I rested my cheek against the railing of the ship, my summer coat radiated with the heat I’d been wishing for, for hours.

  “Mrs. Pembroke, when are they going to let us off?” a little girl asked my teacher.

  “I don’t know, dear. But I’m sure they will soon. They just need some time to get things together for us, so when we disembark, we will have a warm welcome.” Mrs. Pembroke wrapped her arm around the girl, rubbing her hand down the girl’s arm. She glanced at me, giving me a half smile as she cocked her head to one side and slightly shrugged.

  Giving her the same facial candor in return, I leaned against the railing once more, focusing on the weight of the boy fast asleep in my lap. His head heavy on my legs, he curled up with his arms tucked against his chest and his hands under his chin.

  I didn’t know which
was worse. Being a young child, not knowing what was going on, and yet, still clutching to the hope and dreams your parents were on another boat behind you, or being my age and knowing such probably wasn’t the case, and while you also didn’t know what was going to happen, the overwhelming notion it could turn bad, mocked you in the back of your mind.

  I suppose to not know was worse than to know, and yet, I couldn’t help but wish—at times—for the ignorance of it all. I didn’t want to think about the war. Didn’t want to think about how just a couple of weeks ago I heard the bombs in Cherbourg, and how the sound rattled through the house, causing our dinner plates to shake on the table while we ate.

  “Do you think they will come to Guernsey?” Mum had asked Dad.

  Although he shrugged and told her not to worry, I saw it in her eyes and could feel from the tension in her body. So many had fled the island in the days that followed, and yet, some still flocked to our shores in search of a holiday getaway. It wasn’t until after more bombings in Cherbourg, did I begin to look around my room, imagining what I would take. Of course, when the time actually came, and Evelyn had woken me up to leave, I still didn’t quite believe her. I even argued with her a little at first, trying to deny it all in my sleepy haze.

  Words, I wish I’d never spoken now.

  Warped back in time, I thought of the mess I’d left in my bedroom. Blankets thrown off the bed and left crumpled in the corner instead of laid flat on the mattress as though no one had slept in them. I hadn’t seen what clothes Evelyn had packed for me, but I had seen how she’d left dresser drawers yanked open with sleeves of different dresses hanging out and the ransacked top, where I left my mirror, hair comb, and a few tiny bottles of perfume—Christmas gifts from my parents and Henry. She’d grabbed everything, throwing it all in, and as I now looked down at the bag near my feet, I hoped the bottles hadn’t broken or opened, drenching my clothes in the mix of scents.