The Guernsey Saga Box Set

by Diana Bachmann

  George looked and handed them back before promptly reducing speed and turning the helm. ‘That was a man and woman and two children—as far as I could see. If it’s not them, we can at least offer whoever it is a lift.’ The boat listed to starboard. ‘Better prepare the davits to lower the dinghy.’

  George elected to row ashore. ‘You’re so darned heavy you’ll practically sink before getting anyone else aboard,’ he remarked, which was no less than fact. Greg was all of fifteen stones.

  The family on the beach had assembled their gear at the edge of the water, waiting for their rescuers. ‘George! I didn’t dream it was you,’ William called. ‘Boy, is it good to see you!’

  ‘No Kraut pals with you I hope,’ George responded.

  ‘Not yet. But we can hear gunfire.’

  The dinghy scraped on the shingle. ‘I’ll have to make two trips. Annemarie and the children first, you and the gear second.’ George waded up to them, painter in hand.

  Annemarie, who had removed her shoes in readiness, waded to the tiny craft with the baby, while William carried Josette and George swung Marivonne over his shoulder.

  Greg reached over the stern to grab the two little girls before relieving Annemarie of the baby and helping her aboard. The young woman was openly crying and he put an arm round her as George rowed off for William. ‘There, there. No need to worry now. You’re all safe,’ he said, comfortingly.

  She shook her head. ‘Oui, oui. I understand. But it is for my parents and my brovver I am sad. I do not know what will ’appen to vem.’

  Nor did he. In fact he dared not think. Instead he showed his sister-in-law into the saloon and told her to make herself and the children comfortable. ‘We’ve brought you some tea and some food, look.’

  Annemarie smiled a thank you, knowing she couldn’t swallow a thing.

  The moment the dinghy was slung up on the davits and the anchor raised, George gave the engine full throttle, heading west.

  Annemarie remained tense, especially when aircraft roared overhead, even though they were British. But Josette and Marivonne were thrilled with their adventure, and had to be restrained from climbing onto the cabin roof for a better view.

  William stood in the wheelhouse with George and Greg. ‘What is the general situation? We haven’t heard any news for days.’

  ‘You know that Rouen fell on Sunday, the same day as Norway capitulated.’

  William’s eyes closed, his head shaking wearily. ‘Oh God! Where will it end?’

  ‘And the following day Italy declared war on Britain and France,’ Greg added.

  ‘That was to be expected. Mussolini’s been fawning over Hitler for some time,’ George remarked.

  ‘What is the general feeling in the islands? Are people evacuating?’

  ‘There are more differing opinions than pebbles on the beach,’ Greg told him. ‘In the long run I’d say everyone is going to have to make up their own minds. No one, not the Governor, the Bailiff or Winston Churchill has a clue how to advise us. Meanwhile, life goes on as normal. The mailboat comes and goes daily, and the cargo boats are still collecting the tomatoes. Thank goodness. Long may it last,’ Greg spoke with feeling.

  ‘I think I will try to get Annemarie and the children to England on the mailboat as soon as possible. They can always come back when things improve.’

  ‘If they improve,’ George grunted. He had little faith that anything was going to hold back the German advance, and even if the islands were not invaded, there would be terrible shortages until it was all over.

  Hubert was on the jetty to meet them as they coasted into the outer harbour. And for the first time in living memory, he demonstrated affection for one of his sons, clasping William against him, briefly. ‘Good to see you, boy. Thank God you all made it.’

  Even Marie greeted them all enthusiastically as they staggered wearily into the house at Val du Douit.

  *

  The States of Deliberation, Guernsey’s noble government, duly deliberated on the situation . . . and dithered. Some were worried about the tomato exports, which annually topped 35,000 tons. The island economy was going to be hit hard enough with the loss of tourist trade; without the abandonment of the tomato crops, one Deputy observed.

  ‘That’s rubbish,’ another declared. ‘Why, Jersey is still advertising in the English papers for tourists to come and enjoy wartime holiday breaks.’

  Some of the members laughed at the idea, adding that the more people who remained on the island the more mouths there would be to feed when supplies were cut off. Others derided the idea of ‘yellow rats abandoning the sinking ship’.

  Notices were printed and posted up in shop windows: DON’T BE YELLOW.

  *

  William discussed his problems with his parents. ‘I cannot risk Annemarie remaining here on the island,’ he kept saying.

  ‘Bah! Why not?’ his mother argued. ‘The Jerries aren’t coming here. For one thing the British won’t let them, and for another, there’s nothing here for them.’ She couldn’t imagine being proved wrong on both counts.

  William was anxious to avoid family rows and simply shrugged and walked away, but when Paris fell two days after their escape from France, he hurried into Town to buy tickets on the next mailboat. ‘We’re going to Pa’s cousin in Cornwall,’ he told Sarah on the telephone.

  ‘Does she know this?’

  ‘I’ve written saying we’ll be there the day after tomorrow. We’ll only stay until we can find accommodation and I can get a job,’ he added. ‘Have you considered coming, too?’

  ‘No. Greg can’t leave Andrew alone to do all the work in the greenhouses. And anyway, I’ve got a bit of high blood pressure and the doctor is keeping a close check on it. I might have to go into hospital before the baby comes.’

  ‘Well, I don’t suppose we’ll be gone for long. Churchill will soon get things moving.’ Having adopted France as his home, he was embarrassed to discuss the French failure to hold back the Germans, as his brother John claimed, leaving the British troops surrounded on the beach at Dunkirk in May.

  Sarah didn’t doubt Churchill’s capability, but the whole situation did alarm her . . . sufficiently to raise her blood pressure even further . . . and worry the doctor who ordered her to bed.

  *

  Rommel entered Cherbourg on 18th June, 1940.

  Suddenly the authorities were aware that the German forces were only eight miles from Alderney, part of the Bailiwick of Guernsey. Arguments raged in both London and St Peter Port: should the islands be defended or demilitarized? In Whitehall, the self-confessed military experts reiterated quite categorically that as the islands were of no strategic importance there was little point in defending them and thus inviting an enemy attack. On the other hand the Home Office pondered on whether or not the population of all the islands should be evacuated.

  Finally Whitehall decided to demilitarize . . . evacuating only military personnel. And as a gesture of goodwill the British Government also offered to evacuate any civilians who wished to leave.

  Greg felt physically sick with worry when he arrived home at lunchtime on the 19th, and read a copy of The Star, praying that Sarah was strong enough to face the headlines:

  ISLAND EVACUATION

  All Children to be Sent to the Mainland Tomorrow

  Mothers may accompany those under school age

  REGISTRATION TONIGHT WHOLE BAILIWICK TO BE DEMILITARIZED

  Various instructions were printed under different headings: Immobilization of the Guernsey Militia and Voluntary Defence Force . . . The handing over of weapons . . . Car curfew . . . Coal restrictions . . . A report on the arrival of more boatloads of refugees fleeing from France . . .

  But it was the column headed INSTRUCTIONS TO PARENTS which most concerned Greg and Sarah:

  ‘Parents of schoolchildren are to attend their schools at 7 pm tonight to notify their willingness or otherwise for the evacuation of their children . . .’

  Suzanne! Sarah’s eye
s were wide with horror and swam with tears. ‘Can we let her go without us?’

  ‘She’ll be with the school. And when you’re fit enough you can go across with the baby to join her.’ Greg patted her hand and felt utterly useless.

  ‘We’ll have to let her choose whether she wants to go or not.’ Then another thought struck her. ‘What should she take?’

  ‘There’s a list here in the paper. Look.’ He tried to turn his head away so she would not see him wipe his own eyes.

  After a list of clothing required, the instructions continued:

  ‘Parents of children to be evacuated must take them to their school tomorrow, the 20th June, 1940, by 9 am for final instructions.’

  All colour drained from Sarah’s face. ‘I wonder what John and Mary are doing? Shall we phone them?’

  Mary answered: she was in tears. ‘Joseph will be with the school, but I’ll have to go with Charles and Margaret. John says I must go without him. He won’t leave the farm.’ She paused to blow her nose. ‘I’ve got a friend here who says she won’t go without her husband, but then her children are all school age. They can go without her but I don’t think they want to. Oh dear oh dear! What is one to do?’

  Sarah phoned Felicity next. ‘We’re all going,’ she said. ‘Gus and my brother intend to join up. Gus will leave me with his parents in Wiltshire. Can’t say I like the idea, but I don’t know what else to do.’

  In a way it was comforting: the knowledge that everyone in the island was agonising over the same problems did lessen the pain a fraction, though it offered no help in the solution.

  ‘I’ll get some lunch on.’ Greg went into the kitchen.

  ‘Not for me. I couldn’t eat a thing.’ Suddenly all Sarah’s strength drained away and she staggered back to bed.

  Greg eyed the shepherd’s pie Maureen had made for them . . . and didn’t argue. Instead he went back to the bedroom. ‘Can you manage a cup of tea?’

  She gave a feeble nod.

  ‘I’ll go into Town and collect Suzanne from school. Do you want me to talk to her or wait till we get back home?’ Greg stood at the foot of the bed, shoulders sagging.

  ‘Whatever you want to do,’ Sarah muttered.

  He dreaded the thought of the decisions facing them in the next few hours.

  When Greg had given her a cup of tea and left, Sarah tried to concentrate on practicalities. But it wasn’t easy. Nothing seemed real. It was unbelievable that this newspaper lying on her bed, wasn’t some silly, practical joke. A very sick joke. Life had always been so sweet, happy, well-ordered. These things couldn’t happen in Guernsey! But it had already happened to William and Annemarie Ozanne and their daughters. It was all very well expecting people to make the decision whether to go or stay, but how could they decide when they had no idea how long the war would last? Weeks? Even months? One supposed the children would be reasonably looked after by their schoolteachers.

  Sarah’s tea grew cold while she tried to focus her mind on assessing the pros and cons.

  She picked up the newspaper again. If Suzanne did go off tomorrow with The Ladies’ College she would have to take this list of clothes. They were all in the dirty clothes basket! Drat! She slid her ungainly bulk off the bed and padded barefoot into the bathroom to sort them out. Better do them by hand . . . She filled the kitchen sink with hot water from the Ascot and sprinkled in the soapflakes. Her movements were in slow motion, like sleepwalking. Everything was unreal.

  *

  ‘Ooh! Yes please!’ Suzanne was predictably delighted with the prospect of such an adventure. Never having crossed to the mainland, she couldn’t wait to start.

  Then her smile faded. ‘I can take Toby with me, can’t I?’

  Greg shook his head. ‘No, sweetheart.’

  ‘Why?’ her voice rose an octave.

  ‘Because if everyone in your school takes all their pets there won’t be room for the children on the boat! And there’d be the most awful fights between the cats and dogs.’

  Which tempted Suzanne to change her mind about going, after all. But the offer of adventure was too strong. ‘Okay. But you promise you’ll let him sleep on your bed? He’ll be so lonely, otherwise.’

  ‘You demon! All right, we’ll see.’ Which they both knew meant ‘unlikely’. ‘Now finish your tea, quickly, so you can help Mummy with your packing.’

  *

  When Suzanne was finally in bed, with Toby curled up on her feet, Sarah and Greg came in and Sarah handed her daughter a little box. Inside was a silver locket on a chain.

  ‘But this is yours, Mummy!’

  ‘I want you to have it. And I want you to promise me you’ll never take it off. Inside is your name and address, just in case you get separated from the other girls, or lost.’

  ‘Why can’t I just tell them?’

  ‘We . . . ell, you might be asleep . . .’ that sounded ridiculous ‘or they might speak a different language . . .’ How could you tell a child that it might be the only way to identify her if she was injured by enemy bombs . . . or worse?

  They lingered at her bedside, loathe to put out the light and leave the room. Loathe to relinquish sight and sound of their adored only child in these last, precious hours.

  But of course the separation was only going to last for two or three weeks . . . Wasn’t it?

  Later, when she had her emotions more or less under control, Sarah got out of bed again to phone her mother. ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked. ‘Still planning to stay?’

  ‘I really don’t see the point in dashing off to the mainland, myself, but your father is worried about our money. He went down to the bank this morning and arranged for everything to be transferred over there. He says if by any chance the Huns do get here, the first thing they’ll do is empty the banks. As you know, I don’t think they will come, but it’s better to be safe.’

  ‘So you’re going?’

  ‘He’s got three tickets, for Aline and ourselves, for the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘What about the house? Who’ll look after it? And all your stuff?’ Don’t think about them leaving, about Val du Douit empty and abandoned; just concentrate on practical details.

  ‘John will be around.’

  ‘But you can’t leave all your valuables there if the house is empty and you can’t take them with you.’

  ‘I’ve buried them.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve packed all the silver cutlery and smaller bits into biscuit tins and buried them in the front garden in the borders.’

  The picture in Sarah’s mind of her mother doing just that suddenly struck her as ludicrously funny. ‘That should give the hydrangeas a good colour next year!’ she laughed. Then she began to cry, silently.

  ‘Next year? Huh, no wonder you laugh. Don’t you worry, I don’t intend spending Christmas anywhere but in my own home, thank you!’ Marie was laughing too . . . or was she?

  *

  None of them slept. Suzanne was too excited for one thing, and sensing something strange in the atmosphere, Toby kept crawling up over the covers to lick her face. She wondered which of her friends would be coming with school, and which book to take.

  Sarah lay very still so as not to disturb Greg, but her mind was full of plans. She would pack clothes for Greg and herself and the baby, and maybe some extra for Suzanne, so that as soon as she was able to travel they could go over and join their daughter in England.

  Greg was lying very still trying not to wake Sarah. His mind was running along similar lines, about preparing to leave once he’d found someone to work in the greenhouses in his place, and had persuaded Andrew to look after the old folk. Another worry on his mind was Suzanne’s dog. There was no way they’d be allowed to take Toby with them, but they couldn’t abandon him to starve and he knew Andrew wouldn’t even consider having him at their place. If there was no alternative, he might have to put the poor little devil down. Suzanne would never forgive him if she ever found out! Well, humans were more importan
t than dogs; he had to face up to it. Better go to the chemist tomorrow and get some prussic acid, just in case.

  Marie hadn’t even bothered to get undressed. She sat in her little sewing room, which had been her mother-in-law’s sitting-room till old Florence had died, ferreting through her jewellery box, making two piles, one to stay and one to take. And then she would go through her secret hoard of money, then tackle the boxes of family letters, photos and memorabilia. There was no time to waste going to bed! And she made a note to phone Sarah back in the morning to tell her to help herself to some of the tins of corned beef in the bedroom/larder. It was only after it was all delivered that she remembered Hubert had a strong aversion to it.

  Hubert lay in the darkness calculating the possible income from his mainland investments, bolstered by the arrangements he’d made earlier in the day with the National Provincial. There would be ample enough for them to rent a decent place for themselves until such time as they were able to come home . . . the only question was how long a lease to take. The longer the lease, the lower the rent, but on the other hand it would be infuriating to take a three month lease and find themselves paying out for weeks after they got back!

  Aline’s nocturnal thoughts were centred on her suitcase, and she decided to fill it mainly with jewellery and cosmetics. It would be amusing to buy a completely new wardrobe in London . . . or wherever there were no bombs dropping.

  John Ozanne crept softly out of the bedroom, hoping Mary wouldn’t wake up, and went downstairs to light a pipe. Mary had spent the past twenty-four hours fussing around with piles of tinned food, writing instructions about what he was to do with it which he intended to ignore. What really worried him at the moment was what might happen to the island. In his own, quiet way he was fiercely patriotic and a loyal monarchist, had highly approved the States of Guernsey’s pledge to the King immediately war was declared. He would have enlisted in the British Army along with several of his friends had he not felt obliged to remain on the farm for the foreseeable future. Theirs was a milk herd, and milk was an essential food, especially important if communications with the mainland should be threatened and supplies cut. However, through all the current worry, panic and chaos there was one possibly pleasing factor—one he was trying not to admit even to himself—the prospect of a little personal freedom . . .