Sisters at War

by Milly Adams

  Adam shrugged. ‘Come one, come all. Eddie’s handed me a share of Combe Lodge, did you know?’ She did. ‘So between us, we can keep the girls safe, and Mum and Eddie aren’t going anywhere. It will sort itself out.’

  She leaned against him. It was her wedding day and she didn’t want to think of Hannah, but she shared Bryony’s half of Combe Lodge. What if Hannah and her German wanted to sell her half at war’s end? Would she and Adam have the money to buy her out?

  He kissed her now, then held her tightly. He said, ‘Don’t worry, darling. Eddie and I have talked about Hannah. We can buy her out, somehow.’

  She half laughed. ‘There you are, you are a magician.’

  Adam whispered, ‘No, but I’m not daft. I understand about the inheritance issues. We’ll handle it, as and when. Together, all of us at Combe Lodge will handle it but we have to finish the war first, and we’re by no means there yet.’

  Bryony slept against him, the worry which had nagged at her for so long, and which she had tried to block, fled into the ether. Together they could handle anything.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jersey 1944

  They heard about D-Day at Haven Farm via Uncle Thomas’s wireless, which had remained safely in the chimney, withstanding all efforts at confiscation. The Allies made no attempt to liberate the islands, because their priority was to subdue and defeat Germany in Europe; then, the islanders supposed, they’d finish off Japan.

  Food distribution was down to an absolute minimum, the electricity works, gasworks, water supply and harbour all had extra occupation guards posted. Very few soldiers were seen on the streets, which was a blessing, because discipline was fracturing beneath the knowledge of inevitable defeat. In November relief arrived in the shape of the Red Cross vessel Vega with supplies, saving the population from starvation.

  At the nursing home they were ordered to take in some of the injured German troops who were shipped from France to the Channel Islands for care, and by now Hannah was complicit in sheltering the very few escapees who had made the break. They were housed beneath the shed in the root vegetable cellar, until they could be moved on to other homes.

  When she had finally asked to be involved in mid-1943, she had said to Sister Maria, ‘One has to make a choice. I have made far too many stupid ones. Perhaps this is another, but it feels right, it feels as though my family would approve, but Olive and Thomas must not know.’

  At her desk, Sister Maria had smiled gently. ‘But my dear friend, they are already involved, they are part of the chain.’

  As D-Day became a memory, and the war appeared to be drawing to a close, the bombing of targets on the island by British planes became more frequent. Gun emplacements, and boats in the harbour or offshore were attacked. There were rumours of an underground hospital for Nazi troops. Perhaps there were more injured than appeared, and the underground hospital was full. Or perhaps it wasn’t finished. Who knew anything any more? Who had known anything much about their island over the last few years?

  Alderney was evacuated, bringing Jews, Russians, Poles and a few German political prisoners from their appalling concentration camp to Jersey. They were moved on to God knew where, but two Russians slipped away and found their way to the nursing home. Hannah’s role was to take food before lunch in a basket, a basket that contained vegetables when she re-emerged, in case any wounded soldier peered from the ward windows. While there she spent twenty minutes teaching some English, which Sister Maria deemed would be useful to the escapees, should the war end and a life in Britain become a possibility. A third escapee arrived, a Pole, who already had some English.

  As well as feeding them, Hannah piled more blankets high in the cellar to keep the underground chill at bay. When it was deemed safe by one of their guardians, the men would sneak out into the sunshine through a back entrance in the shed. The men laughed at the smell of manure, which Staff Nurse Williams, Mrs Amos, Hannah or even Sister Maria spread over the vegetable beds to distract the German patrol dogs, should they come. In addition, the nursing home inherited one of Uncle Thomas’s young dogs, which raised the alarm whenever a patrol approached, and the escapees would slip back into their cellar until the barking stopped.

  As 1944 became 1945 and a cold winter grew colder, they moved the men into the attic, because the home had thus far never been searched. If it was, then there was a gap in the eaves into which they could squeeze, and Hannah spread Aunt Olive’s lavender across the floor to confuse the dogs. In the spring the men returned to the cellar, as there was no other home able to take them, and they were scared to move at all in the attic.

  As 1945 moved into early May, the people grew thinner, even with the Red Cross ship making two return trips. In addition the troops became even less disciplined, and more dangerous. Uncle Thomas daily expected that the islands would be relieved by the British, but they weren’t. He shrugged and said to Hannah in the farmhouse kitchen, as he jiggled Elizabeth on his knee, ‘I have learned patience.’

  Aunt Olive had said, ‘Your nose is growing, because that is a fib, isn’t it, Elizabeth?’

  Elizabeth had looked closely at Uncle Thomas’s nose. ‘Yes, it’s longer.’

  Clive, who had somehow survived all the deportations and was part of the escape chain, found a tape measure in the drawer, and measured Thomas’s nose, pretending it had indeed grown longer. He showed the child the tape.

  Hannah laughed, and looked at this family sitting around the kitchen table, a family that was thinner, but happier, though content might have been a better word. Clive nodded to her, as if reading her mind. Clive lived in hope of peace, he had told her many times, but perhaps it was already here, he had taken to saying recently.

  Later that day, 4 May, he invited her to his room above the small barn. She saw that he had a sketch of her and Elizabeth on his wall. Calmly he said that one day he hoped she would love him.

  Hannah looked from the sketches to him, seeing for the first time his strength, his calmness, his containment. She said, ‘One day, perhaps I will allow myself such luxury, but it would depend on Elizabeth. She comes first.’

  He nodded. ‘Of course, I have known that for a long time, but is there hope?’

  She looked from him to the sketches again. She still taught the booming Miss Webster and the gentler Miss Sinclair, and the others who had joined their small class. One day she hoped to have time to return to her own painting. Clive’s were better than hers, much better. ‘I didn’t know you were an artist,’ she said.

  His smile was tired. ‘I have a small studio on the north coast of Somerset. I lived and painted there before all this. It is still mine. I teach too, as do you.’ He showed her his portfolio of sketches of the island at war.

  She nodded. ‘I have a lot to learn.’

  He said, ‘Perhaps I could teach you.’

  She left his loft. ‘Perhaps,’ she said. She paused. ‘There is room at Combe Lodge for a studio. One each, in fact.’

  They looked at one another, but said no more.

  On 8 May at 10 a.m., the islanders were informed by the German authorities that the war was over. At 3 p.m. a message from Churchill was broadcast proclaiming that a ceasefire had begun yesterday, and the Channel Islands were to be liberated today.

  Hannah and Sister Maria felt quietly relieved, but that was all, because they were too tired and hungry to feel anything else. They walked into St Helier with Elizabeth in the pushchair and said hello to everyone they passed.

  ‘Now,’ Sister Maria said, ‘what do we do with our three men? They don’t want to return to their homelands, especially the Russians.’

  They turned the corner. There were people in a group, shouting and cursing. Sister Maria put up her hand to Hannah. ‘Wait,’ she said.

  She glided as she always did, and the people parted for her, just as they always did. It was Cheryl. The group had cut her hair, and daubed her with something black, on to which feathers stuck. Hannah watched as Sister Maria held up her hands, her
habit falling from her wrists. ‘This really will not do. Perhaps you are angry, but start your freedom with something more worthy to commemorate this moment.’

  Cheryl ran out of the melee past Sister Maria, stopping for a moment when she saw Hannah, her face twisted by fear and rage. But then she ran on down the street, her dress, once so smart and brought from Paris by her latest German protector, ripped and torn. Her officer had left two weeks ago, or so the gossip had it, and the calls following Cheryl were asking where her pimp and racketeer, Bobby, was hiding because he had milked them for too long.

  The next day HMS Beagle arrived to accept the German surrender. They raised the Union Flag at the Pomme D’Or Hotel but Hannah, Aunt Olive and Uncle Thomas were too busy to be there, because they were trying to think of a way that the escapees could be saved from repatriation. It was then that Bobby knocked on the front door of Haven Farm. His hat was pulled down, but they could see his black eyes, and bloodied nose. He needed to be hidden, just for a day, until he could get Cheryl and himself off the island.

  Hannah shook her head. ‘Why would I, or would we?’ She indicated Aunt Olive, who was standing behind her.

  ‘Because I have papers that would let your Russians stay. Can’t help with the Pole but he should be all right cos no one’s going to send him back to have his throat slit, or that’s what they’re saying is going to happen to the Ruskies. How you get them to Britain is up to you, but you’ve got to get their English up to scratch. You see, I still have my ear to the ground. It would just be me and Cheryl.’

  Aunt Olive eased herself beside Hannah. ‘Bring the papers, and make it for our Pole as well. If Sister Maria thinks they’re good enough, you can stay in the cellar from which you stole the wine. You’ll be safe from your own people and I imagine it is from them that you are hiding.’ Bobby said nothing, just nodded and said, ‘You drive a hard deal.’

  ‘It’s the only one there is,’ Hannah insisted. Bobby hurried away, looking to left and right, pulling his hat even further down.

  He brought Cheryl and the papers after dark. Sister Maria had come to the farmhouse kitchen, and she pored over the papers, until finally nodding.

  Uncle Thomas took the two to the wine cellar, which was, of course, empty of all alcohol. He climbed down with them. Hannah followed with some food and water. She placed the food on the small table she and Aunt Olive had set up earlier.

  ‘You two will be gone in the morning.’ It wasn’t a question from Uncle Thomas.

  Cheryl touched her short, uneven hair. It was still stiff with tar. How on earth would it ever come out? Hannah wondered. Bobby said, ‘You’re right about that. We’ll be long gone.’

  Uncle Thomas hadn’t finished. ‘You will not return.’ This was not a question either.

  Cheryl shook her head. ‘Who needs a dump like this?’

  Bobby put out his hand towards her, as though to stop the words. He said, ‘We’re grateful.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Hannah said, making for the ladder up into the barn.

  Cheryl called after her, ‘We was friends once.’

  Hannah nodded. ‘Yes, once, but we were different people then and you sent me away, with a new baby. But, Cheryl, you also told me some home truths, and for that you have my absolute thanks. That’s why we’re doing this, well, partly. We need those papers too. I wish you good luck, Cheryl, and a good life.’

  She didn’t look back. Cheryl’s voice had been full of fear and desperation, and that could so easily have been her.

  Once back in the farmyard her uncle said, ‘It’s as well you’ve been working on the escapees’ English. We just need to get them off the island and into Britain, but that’s tomorrow’s problem. Come on, lass, just think, soon we’ll have food and can stop cutting down what’s left of the trees for firewood. Sick, I am, of sitting in a thousand sweaters of an evening. Clive’s brought in some salad this morning, and I asked him to dispatch one of the chickens, which he did. Your aunt’s roasting it. We’ll bring some down for Cheryl and Bobby. They need a warmer, don’t they, silly sods that they are.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  July 1945

  Combe Lodge

  At Combe Lodge, John Folkes arrived at eleven in the morning and banged on the front door. Cissie opened it, but Bryony, six months pregnant, and out of the ATA for three months, was close behind. John grinned at Cissie, and then said to Bryony, ‘I did as you said, and survived, and now, again as you said last week, I have arrived to work for you.’

  She smiled. ‘Indeed you have, and one day when rationing is finished, you may have a sweetie for surviving. You are such a good boy.’ They laughed. She pointed up the stairs. ‘You’ll have Adam’s bedroom for now but the cottage is yours once it’s redecorated. Eddie’s at the hangar. The beautiful Dragonette is almost ready, but he could do with some help – a final service, just to be sure. I took her out for a spin yesterday, but Eddie just wanted to tighten this and that. I warn you, she’s been out of action a fair old while so he’ll make you work.’

  John slipped past, and followed Cissie up the stairs. Betty came rushing from the kitchen to join them, and the two girls chattered with John all the way to the landing. Betty’s mother hadn’t survived the V2 rockets, so now there were two girls, and Sol. Frankie had returned to his parents, both of whom were fit and well. Sol’s mum had lost her mind after being buried in rubble for two nights. She might recover, but for now, as Adam and she had explained to Sol, his mum needed a bit of looking after and they needed a boy in the family to balance the girls.

  April came from the kitchen, wiping her hands on the towel. ‘I’m glad young John’s going to be your second pilot. He and Eddie get on like a house on fire, in spite of John trying to kill him.’ She raised her voice just to make sure that John heard as he bounded down the stairs. His laugh pealed out. ‘Failed, though, didn’t I? Where’s Adam?’ His overalls were suitably stained with oil, Bryony was pleased to see.

  ‘On the terrace.’

  ‘Still making progress?’

  ‘Of course he is,’ Cissie replied. John muttered to Bryony as they walked around the house together, ‘Well, I never saw your lips move.’

  Bryony laughed. It would be good to have John around. Adam was on the terrace with Eric, who was adjusting his friend’s wheelchair. She bent over and kissed her husband. ‘Hello, peg-leg.’

  ‘Hello, beautiful girl.’

  He shook John’s hand. ‘Fitted the tin one yet?’ John asked, nodding at Adam’s mid-thigh stump.

  ‘Any day now, lad,’ Adam said, ‘then I can strike my matches on it.’

  John laughed, and then set off down the path, waving. ‘Give us half an hour, Bee, then come and take her up. Am I coming to Jersey with you?’

  ‘Why not, and you can help load the Dragonette with provisions.’

  Cissie, Betty and Sol followed in his footsteps, Sol copying John’s walk, which was more a swagger.

  Bryony sat on the wall, next to the wheelchair. ‘I thought he could move into the cottage once it’s decorated. Those toddlers of Catherine and Anne took their toll but thank heavens their men survived, and they’ve found their houses in good shape now they’ve returned to Jersey. I miss them, though.’

  Eric tightened the final nut on the wheel. ‘There, that’ll have you spinning round corners on one wheel, lad.’ He patted Adam’s shoulder. Adam laughed at Bryony. ‘Not sure about spinning, a gentle trundle will do.’

  Eric joined her on the wall. ‘I gather Olive telephoned, hence the flight today. Is there any news of Hannah? Is she still on Jersey or has she gone somewhere with Hans?’

  ‘She didn’t say a lot.’ Bryony was watching Adam manoeuvre his wheelchair, puffing and panting as he brought it round to face them, knowing better than to offer to help. Geordie had also survived the magnetic mine which had bobbed up after the minesweepers had been through, but not Mick, nor several others of the crew. When Bryony had visited them in hospital, Geordie had laughed because, he said, he a
nd Adam made a pigeon pair: they had each lost a leg, Adam the left, he the right. Between them, they made a whole.

  Eric was waiting, and now she remembered the question. ‘Olive just said that all was well, that Hannah was quite the girl she could always have been, and Hans was long dead. She said that everyone on the island was very hungry. Apparently Hannah is a staff nurse and on the way to becoming a midwife. Sister Maria has had the exams accredited. We’re taking produce today, and perhaps I will see her.’

  Adam was nodding. ‘I still think I should come.’

  ‘You’re expected at Exeter, to get the stump dressed. John will come. It might be as well if I go anyway, you are still too angry.’

  Adam and Eric shared one of their looks. ‘You’re not, then, Bee?’

  ‘I don’t know what I am, but she owns half my share of Combe Lodge. I need to sort that out because we can’t buy her out yet, in spite of Eddie’s brave words.’

  ‘A bird, I should have been a bird,’ Bryony Miller whispered to herself. High above the white-capped sea her smile was one of pure joy, as she sat at the controls of Combe Airline’s de Havilland Dragon Rapide. ‘What do you think, Cissie? And Sol, and Betty? How are they doing, John?’

  John was sitting behind her, next to Adam, who had put his remaining foot down and insisted on coming, especially after he’d bribed Sylvia into dressing his stump. The rest of the aircraft was jammed full of what meat they’d been able to obtain, and fish from Barry Maudsley, butter from Mr Simes, clothes, firewood, a few bags of coal, and medicines from anyone and everyone. Apparently the nursing home had need of it all.

  Bryony’s leather jacket was undone, her overalls stained with engine oil just as peacetime demanded. She loved the sense of escaping earth, as always, and the soft purr of the engine. She laughed aloud at the thought of Eddie’s voice as they left. ‘It’s an infernal drumming and don’t be such a silly sod.’