*
The sea war continued with the sinking of lone ships, but convoys seemed less vulnerable. The ground war was silent after the Finnish ceasefire. Bertie came over on leave bringing a very nice young girlfriend with him.
He was relaxed and reassuring. ‘As Chamberlain said a couple of days ago, Hitler has missed the bus by not taking advantage of his military superiority last September.’
‘How does that relate to Goering’s broadcast threatening a decisive blow against Britain and France?’ Greg asked him over Sunday lunch at Val du Douit. ‘He says Germany will create the world’s greatest empire!’
‘Fat, pompous fool!’ Hubert exploded.
But they were all shattered a few days later when German troops invaded Denmark and neutral Norway.
Bertie was ordered back to camp immediately. British forces fought alongside Norwegians to stem the German advance; naval battles raged assisted by German and British aircraft.
‘The Norwegians will never give in,’ Marie declared, pounding furiously at the dough on her kitchen table.
‘I don’t see what use all those snow-covered mountains could be to Hitler or anyone else,’ Aline added for good measure.
‘Well,’ said Mrs Queripel, wiping her wet hands on her pinny, ‘Mr Littlejohn says it’s only a stone’s throw from there ter ’Olland. ’E reckons this is only the beginning.’
‘And just what does the Laurence’s butler imagine he knows about it?’ demanded Marie, incensed.
Within a month she had her answer when Germany invaded the Netherlands.
*
‘What’s on your mind, sweetheart?’ Greg reached out for Sarah’s hand across the dining table. ‘You’re very quiet. Baby uncomfortable? You are huge. I can’t believe you’ll go another six weeks.’
‘Yes, it is a weight to carry around. But it’s William who’s on my mind at the moment. Remember his last letter?’
‘You mean his worry about Annemarie and his in-laws being of Jewish origin?’
‘I know everyone says Hitler can’t break through the Maginot Line, but now it looks as though he is ignoring it and simply going round the north.’ She stared at the map printed in the newspaper beside her. ‘The BEF are with the French helping hold back the invaders, but supposing they can’t stop them? Just supposing they sweep down through northern France? They could be in Cherbourg in a week.’
Greg spread his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘There’s nothing we can do at the moment. At least that idiot Chamberlain has gone. We must listen to the news tonight and hear what Churchill has to say.’ Not that he expected the new Prime Minister to wave a magic wand over William’s problems.
A great many people were uncertain what to think. Not so Marie. Pencil and paper on the kitchen table, she wrote extensive lists: Flour, sugar, tinned butter and cooking fat; tinned meats, bottled fruit, jam, Marmite and Bovril, chocolate and tea. ‘We’ll use the small bedroom over the stairs,’ she decided. ‘Aline, you and Mrs Queripel can start clearing it out today.’
‘But it’s perfectly clean, Ma . . .’
‘I know that,’ Marie snapped. ‘I want all the furniture out. You can put it in the spare double room, for now.’ She picked up her lists and headed for the door. ‘Hubert? Are you there?’ She needed to be driven in to Town to place in person her massive order for siege stores.
*
Reactions in Guernsey to the German advance had varied from panic to total indifference . . . until the final debacle at Dunkirk. While Mr de Garis had been worrying sick that the Germans might sink a cargo of his tomatoes, his next-door neighbour had crawled along each greenhouse path happily wielding a rabbit’s foot as was his custom, to make sure the tiny yellow tomato flowers were pollenating. But suddenly the drama of May 6th brought home the gravity of the situation.
There were serious meetings amongst Members of the States, the island parliament, regarding the military position of the island . . . whether it should be maintained as a stronghold, to be pulverized by enemy bombardment if Hitler so wished, or, in view of its total lack of military significance, it should be demilitarized, come what may. Several Members refused to waste time discussing such things, when everyone with any sense knew that Hitler’s army would never get this far.
When Le Riches’ sent a lorry with Marie’s vast order and Hubert saw the sacks and boxes piled in the hall waiting to be carried upstairs he was furious. None of the family, Aline, John, Mary and even Marie herself, could remember seeing him so angry.
‘This is so unpatriotic!’ he stormed. ‘Just because we have the money, does not make it fair to deprive the poor of their share. It’s to go back!’
‘Never!’ Marie drew herself up to her full four foot ten. But she capitulated to a degree and half the goods were returned.
There were those of her family who would come to regret that decision.
Meanwhile, Sarah followed the enemy advance with growing trepidation. Repeatedly she tried to telephone William, but was unable to get a connection until June 8th when Rommel was already approaching Rouen. She had really given up hope and was going through the motions as a final gesture when, to her astonishment, a voice answered.
‘Oui? Oui? Qu’est que vous voulez?’
‘William? Is that you?’ But she knew it wasn’t.
‘Non. Non. Ees vis Sarah?’ M Rosenburg’s broken English crackled down the line.
‘Yes, Monsieur. Is my brother there, or Annemarie?’
‘Non, non. Vey ’ave depart. Toutes . . . er . . . all of vem.’
‘Where to?’
‘Je ne sais pas. Sud, possiblement.’ Pause. ‘My wife come wiv me to make vair fings safe. Comprennez?’
Yes. She understood. ‘If you hear from him . . . hello? Monsieur . . .?’ The line was dead. So, William and his wife and daughters had fled, leaving almost all they possessed in their home, in hopes that they could reach safety and his in-laws would take care of their belongings until their return.
*
Greg was sick with worry. Everywhere, people were debating whether to go or stay but he knew that he and Sarah had no option. The baby was due within the next week, and there was no way he could send her off to cope alone; she would probably give birth on the ship! Of course he couldn’t leave his parents or the tomato crop. His father was now totally incapable of doing anything for himself, and was proving a terrible trial to his succession of nurses. And Alice only made matters worse. While Mina, their antique maid, crippled with her rheumatics, hobbled about the house more useless than her employers. Greg found himself on constant call to sort out their daily problems, placating the new nurses and maids, and paying them off when he failed. Maureen helped as often as she could, but too frequently Greg had been faced with taking meals cooked by Sarah to Les Marettes and literally spoon-feeding his father. The old man should have been put into a home long ago, but Alice wouldn’t allow it. And Andrew, who seldom lifted a finger, refused to back Greg’s argument.
Blissfully unaware of the problems, Suzanne played with young Toby, taught him tricks and showed him off to her friends when they visited at week-ends. She dressed him up in dolls’ clothes and wheeled him out in the old pram from the garage.
Toby loved every minute of it.
*
‘Hello? Hello? Who is there?’ Sarah shook the telephone receiver, stared at it, and put it back to her ear. ‘Hello?’
There were hisses and crackles and finally a faint voice came through, as though from Mars. ‘Sarah?’
‘Yes!’
‘It’s me, William!’ Though the voice was scarcely audible he was obviously shouting. ‘Can you hear me?’
‘Yes. Just,’ she shouted back. ‘Where are you?’
‘At Dielette. You know it?’
‘Yes.’ Not true but she’d find out where it was. ‘Are you coming over?’
‘We want to but there is no boat. Would it be possible to send someone for us?’
Greg might know, but he had left for w
ork ages ago. Who could she ask? Think about that later. Now, all she could say was yes . . . after all, what was the alternative? Apart from the unthinkable. ‘Yes, I will. How will they find you?’
‘There is a beach down by the breakwater. We will . . .’ more crackling ‘till dark . . .’ and the line went silent.
‘William! William!’ she yelled.
‘Number please,’ said the local operator.
‘I was talking to my brother. He was calling from France. We were cut off.’
‘France! My word, he was lucky to get through at all. I’m afraid there is nothing I can do to help you.’
‘Never mind.’ Sarah replaced the receiver and sagged heavily against the wall, head spinning. Where, in heaven’s name, was she going to find someone prepared to fetch them? Well, at least it was a brilliantly fine morning.
She looked at the hall clock which said ten-fifteen, and reached for the phone again.
Chapter Six – LES CANONS DES ISLES
‘Mina? Can you get Mr Gregory to the phone please? That’s all right, I’ll wait . . . No, I’ll hold on. It’s very urgent.’ Sarah gritted her teeth. ‘No, Mina. It’s not the baby. Please will you hurry.’ She tried not to think of the distress in William’s voice . . . his whole life collapsing round his ears. The waiting lasted hours, till she heard Greg’s voice.
‘What is it darling?’ his voice was thick with worry.
‘William.’ She explained the frantic phone call.
‘Leave it with me. I’ll get back to you,’ Greg said, not having the faintest idea what he could do, but as soon as she hung up he got the operator to put him through to George at the boatyard. ‘Well? Do you know anyone who could go and get them?’
‘I can only think of two people. You and me,’ George told him. ‘You can’t ask anyone else at a time like this.’
‘I’m not asking you, either. Your boat’s far too small.’
‘I’ll borrow my father’s motor boat. We’ll be there in about three hours. That is if you get your skates on, or we’ll miss the tide here at the Bridge.’ George talked calmly, as though the decision had already been made.
Greg removed his tomato-stained beret and scratched his scalp. Well, in a way the decision was already made. If, as George said, one couldn’t ask anyone else, and one certainly couldn’t just leave William and his part-Jewish family to the mercy of the Krauts, there was no alternative. ‘Okay. I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
‘Make it fifteen and bring a flask of tea and some orange squash,’ his friend instructed. ‘Better grab some grub, too.’
Greg knew before phoning back to Sarah, that she would have a fit.
‘You are not serious!’ she wailed. ‘You can’t, Greg!’
‘Just put the kettle on for some tea. I’m on my way.’
Andrew opened his mouth to protest as Greg waved goodbye, and closed it again as his young brother gunned the engine of the family Wolesley.
While Greg scrubbed the black stains off his hands, Sarah threw rugs into the back of the car, and placed a tomato basket of food and drink on the seat.
‘Good girl.’ Greg gave her a hurried kiss and wedged himself behind the wheel. ‘Now no silly fussing and worrying. We’ll be back before dark.’
George was standing on the jetty by the outer pool, the engine of the gleaming white yacht with polished wood superstructure, idling at the foot of a long, vertical ladder. He took the basket from Greg and carefully they climbed down, boarded, stowed the gear and cast off.
There was a small chart table in the saloon. Greg hunted through the stacked charts till he found the west coast of the Cotentin Peninsula. Clear of the harbour heads, Greg took the helm while George got to work with dividers and parallel rule to plot the course.
The seasoned sailor looked at his watch and at the pennant on the masthead to gauge the wind. ‘We should be there before two,’ he said, emerging into the cockpit, adding, ‘Hopefully before the Huns.’
Greg grimaced at him, stepping aside from the helm. ‘That’s all we’ll need. But Sarah has had the radio on constantly and says they are still only at Rouen.’ At that moment they heard aircraft overhead, their heads swivelling up in alarm. ‘Don’t worry, they’re ours.’ And they both smiled nervously with relief, knowing the next lot might have black crosses on the wings and blow them out of the water.
‘Perhaps we had better do a dummy run along the beach first, before going into Dielette,’ George muttered. ‘No point sailing straight into the arms of the enemy.’
Greg agreed, though he didn’t believe they could tell if the place was overrun while remaining out of range of fire.
There was a brisk following wind giving a choppy surface, but the sun was warm. The men threw aside their caps and jackets and sat drinking bottled beer Greg had found in the galley. It might have been a delightful daytrip . . .
Several times Greg asked himself what the hell he was doing here. There had been such horrendous stories of Nazi brutality to their civilian prisoners, and this plague was advancing on them by the hour. What was going to happen to the islands, to his wife and family? According to the island newspapers, the British Government were assuring the local politicians that there was no threat to the islands: the Germans would have no interest in them as they held no strategic importance. But could one depend on that? Sarah was in no condition to attempt a getaway, with the baby due at any minute. Dear God, he should never have left her alone. William should have been allowed to sort out his own problems . . . shouldn’t he?
*
William was trying. The car had blown a tyre just a couple of miles north of Dielette, and inevitably, the spare was in the garage being repaired. He hadn’t chosen the little fishing village as his destination, but it was the end of the road for his tired and frightened family. He and Annemarie had carried Marivonne and Sarah, but little Josette had had to walk as long as her six-year-old legs could keep going. There had been frequent stops for drinks and other matters, Annemarie bravely holding back tears as she tended her daughters. Once in the village they had headed straight for the harbour, looking for a boat, any sort of boat, and someone willing to take them the twenty-odd miles to the island. The old salt he questioned on the breakwater said that all the boats were gone, sailing off down the coast away from the Nazis—obviously true, there wasn’t a boat in sight. William left his womenfolk sitting on the beach while he hunted unsuccessfully for a public phone, and in the end he had walked into a large, unlocked house and calmly picked up the receiver from a tooled leather desk and given the operator Sarah’s number. Of course he hadn’t got through, not for over an hour, and by some miracle no one came into the house: the obviously wealthy owner had fled, presumably.
He hadn’t the faintest idea if Sarah could help, and they were cut off in mid-sentence before any plans could be made. Though she tried once more, the French telephonist had failed to get another line through to the island before she, too, fled. So he had no idea if anyone would or could come for them. Hurrying back to the beach he supposed it was a bit much for him to have even asked Sarah to help.
Annemarie’s face was white and terrified as she looked up at him, silently questioning.
He gave her a big, confident smile and hugged Marivonne as she hurled herself at him. ‘I’ve spoken to Sarah. She’s trying to get someone over to fetch us.’
‘Es’ ce que possible?’ his wife asked cautiously.
‘My sister can work miracles. She is that sort of person. I said we’d be waiting here. Now, how about something to eat? I managed to find the boulangerie and got some bread.’
*
‘Are you there?’ The question with which Marie always answered the telephone.
‘Ma, it’s me, Sarah. I’ve had a call from William . . .’
‘About time. Where is he? What is he doing?’
Sarah told her, adding, ‘So you’d better get Mrs Queripel to make up the spare beds.’
‘Hmm.’ Marie had not received her s
on back into the house since his betrothal to the French girl. However . . . ‘Yes. Well, there wouldn’t be room at your place. But I’ve heard there are several French boats arriving here with refugees. How is the island going to feed them all?’
*
A rattling old bus came down from the main road into the village, and William watched in alarm as other people from the beach area scrambled up the bank with their bundles and boxes, trying to force their way on board. A horse-drawn haycart followed and quickly it too filled and departed, followed by bicycles and handcarts. Annemarie tugged at his sleeve, eyes wide with fear: they were the only people left in sight!
William looked at his watch. ‘It’s too soon. They couldn’t get here yet.’ He patted her hand. ‘At least it is summer and not raining!’ He bent over the food basket, ostensibly to remove the sand scattered over everything, but in reality to conceal from his family the dread which he knew his face betrayed. He should have got them onto that bus.
‘Papa! Papa, regarde tu! Un jolie petit bateau!’ Josette jumped up and ran to the water’s edge.
They all turned to watch the yacht motoring across the bay. William gave it a forlorn wave, but Annemarie became quite excited, waving her coat frantically. ‘Regardez! C’est Anglais!’
The Red Ensign was clearly visible. ‘By gosh you’re right. Yet why is it going north? Must be returning to England.’ But even as he spoke he saw it slowly turn, coming closer to shore.
*
There was not a solitary person in sight as cautiously they approached the breakwater.
‘Is that a good sign or bad?’ Greg asked, binoculars firmly set in his eyesockets.
‘Your guess is as good as mine. I imagine if there were Krauts around they would be patrolling the breakwater.’
‘All the boats are gone. Maybe those we passed an hour ago were from here. There are a few people on the beach,’ he added as they left the high granite wall astern. ‘Wonder what they’re doing there?’
‘They don’t show any interest in us?’ George asked.
‘They’re not looking this way . . . ah, just a minute . . . yes, they’re waving . . . it could be them. Look!’ Greg handed over the binoculars.
The Guernsey Saga Box Set Page 12
