The Guernsey Saga Box Set

by Diana Bachmann

  Lying in bed in the darkness, one arm across Greg’s well-defined ribs, Sarah allowed herself a grim smile. Perhaps an exchange of photos would not be a good idea: the folks over there would be shattered to see how those who stayed were shrinking to skeletons. She couldn’t help but feel alarmed at how much weight Greg had lost: always a heavily-muscled sportsman, he had tended to overweight as his sporting activities lessened—he had even attempted to lose a few pounds before the war. But this was past being funny. He rolled over towards her, jabbing a bony knee into her shin, making her wince. She was becoming skinny herself: Greg had actually called her Spider Woman last week.

  *

  Apart from having to switch from tomatoes to growing as many vegetables as possible in the greenhouses for basic consumption, both for themselves, and to satisfy the German demands for food quotas, Greg had a great many other worries on his mind. One of them being his brother’s home. He and Sarah had cleaned it after Andrew’s unscheduled departure, and left it securely locked up, but there had been two break-ins recently: probably by people looking for abandoned tinned foods—which he had already commandeered. He had repaired the window and changed the locks both times, but it was obvious that all his brother’s and sister-in-law’s belongings were at risk. So leaving the toddler with Daisy, Sarah had gone with him to pack up all the crockery, cutlery, glasses and ornaments. Pictures were wrapped and stowed in tea-chests, clothes packed into cabin trunks and linen sorted, folded and tied in bundles ready to be taken by handcart and stowed in the attics at Les Marettes. Furniture was a bigger problem: it also had to be transported, some to the back of the packing shed but the more valuable pieces to be distributed in both Les Marettes and at the bungalow. It was sad to see the place so bare . . . soulless and silent, like so many other homes.

  Chapter Nine – EXILES

  ‘Hello Auntie!’ Suzanne waved frantically from the train window as it pulled into the station.

  Aline was on the platform talking to a soldier in a smart uniform. An officer. ‘Ah! There is my niece. Excuse me.’ She hurried down the platform. ‘Suzanne dear! Lovely to see you!’

  The schoolgirl tumbled down the steps into her aunt’s arms and wrapped herself eagerly round the elegant camelhair coat. Aline might not be her very favourite aunt but it was wonderful to see a member of the family for the first time in three months.

  Aline disengaged herself, checking that the girl’s hands hadn’t left marks on her coat. ‘Grandma and Grandpa are over the bridge on the other platform. We have our luggage with us and we are all going off to Cornwall to spend Christmas with your Uncle William.’

  Suzanne’s face glowed with excitement. ‘Lovely! And will Auntie A.M. be there, and my cousins?’ It sounded as though Christmas 1941 could be a much nicer Christmas than last year.

  ‘Of course. But we must hurry. We don’t want to miss the next train.’

  Grandma and Grandpa were sitting on a bench seat surrounded with cases and Suzanne hurled herself at them. ‘Why are we going to Uncle William? Are you coming back to this place after Christmas? I wish I had a bicycle, Meggie’s mother says she can have one next term. Have you had any more letters from Mummy? I wish I could see a photograph of baby Richard.’ Her grandparents had to wait till she ran out of breath before they could get a word in.

  Once aboard, Hubert sat watching the cold English countryside, its bare trees and empty brown fields rolling past the dirty carriage window, and thought how wet and bleak it all was . . . almost as bleak as the row upon row of blackened terraced houses that lined the approach to each station. Unlike Marie and Aline, who daily grumbled and criticised everyone and everything, he seldom voiced a complaint, but he hated it all nevertheless. He and Marie had holidayed in England many times over the years, visiting friends and relatives, staying in London hotels for shopping and theatres . . . and hurrying home after their week or fortnight, thankful to return to all things familiar. On those occasions the mainland had been relaxing, amusing, entertaining; now there was nothing but hassle and worry.

  Hubert leaned his head back against the cushioned headrest and closed his eyes. Just for a moment he allowed himself to believe he was back in his own armchair in the sitting-room at Val du Douit, home of generations of Ozannes; the gramophone was playing, Marie was knitting and the children were gathered round the fire reading or doing their school homework.

  He could hear his wife, daughter and granddaughter talking quietly in the background, briefly adding to the comforting illusion . . . Well, perhaps the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour might prove a blessing in disguise. With the Americans involved at last, the end could well be in sight.

  The train jerked and juddered, waking him to the reality of another soot-blackened station.

  ‘Had a good nap, Hubert?’ Marie asked, smiling. She was worried about him, knowing how he fretted, living as they were like fish out of water.

  He smiled back, nodding. ‘Yes, thank you. It’s the motion of the wheels, you know. Makes one drowsy.’

  ‘Yes, it does,’ she agreed, aware that it had no such effect on herself. Nor on Aline, but her grandchild looked tired, naturally so, having been travelling for four hours before joining them. She wondered what it would be like at William’s place. Because if it was good enough she had it in mind to see if the three of them could stay there in Dorothy Soames’ house. It sounded big enough for them all.

  Aline’s eyes were fixed on the window but she had not noticed the rain. She was recalling the rather good-looking army major she had been talking to while waiting on the platform for Suzanne. He was quite obviously interested in her, and she was trying to fathom what it was about her that had first caught his eye. Was it her hat? She was very pleased with it, a smart, slightly military-looking trilby style which hopefully covered most of her grey hair. Or was it her figure, which compared very favourably with Betty Grable’s?

  She wondered what it was going to be like staying with Cousin Dorothy and William and his brood. This idea of Ma’s didn’t sound too good: stuck out in the country would probably mean a dearth of attractive company.

  ‘Hubert! Is this our station?’ Marie asked.

  ‘No. Next one. We can start getting our luggage down, now.’ He got up and reached for the first bag in the overhead rack, the train lurched and he fell heavily against the door to the corridor.

  Marie was on her feet immediately. ‘You all right?’ she grabbed his arm and pushed him onto the seat.

  ‘Yes. Yes, don’t fuss me!’ He pulled his arm away and glared at her, glared at the evasive bag and slowly got back to his feet.

  However, when they finally arrived at their destination, Marie found she had something else to worry about, too.

  The three adults were shocked when William met them at the station; like his brothers he was a short, thickset man, though unlike John he had a thatch of dark, wavy hair which was now heavily streaked with grey. And he seemed a lot thinner, almost gaunt. Still his smile was as wide and sincere as ever, as he hugged the women and Suzanne in turn and pumped his father’s hand in a double grip. ‘It’s so good to see you,’ he told them repeatedly while an ancient porter loaded the luggage onto a trolley. ‘I can’t believe you are really here!’

  Annemarie was waiting at the front-door with Josette and Marivonne at her side and the two-year-old Sarah in her arms.

  All past quarrels forgotten, Marie greeted her daughter-in-law affectionately, and delivered kisses to each of the young granddaughters.

  Suzanne had forgotten Josette was only eight and Marivonne six, feeling a pang of disappointment that her cousins weren’t nearer her own age.

  Dorothy was waiting in the drawing-room. ‘Thought I’d let you get your family greetings over first,’ she explained. ‘William, why don’t you take the cases upstairs to their bedrooms out of the way, then, Annemarie, I think we could all do with a cup of tea. The children can help you.’ Orders given, she turned to the guests. ‘Would you care to go upstairs to freshen up firs
t?’ Polite commands all round.

  For once, Marie felt lost for words.

  ‘Funny set up,’ she whispered to Hubert, later, in the privacy of their bedroom. ‘What do you make of it?’

  ‘Make of what?’ he asked, bewildered. ‘I can’t say I’ve noticed anything out of the way.’

  Marie’s breath hissed out through her teeth. Men! She’d have a word with Aline, later.

  *

  ‘Shall we go outside and explore, now the rain has stopped?’ Suzanne suggested to Josette and Marivonne.

  Marivonne, a diminutive six-year-old with a mop of unruly brown curls, glanced sideways at her sister with anxious eyes. Tall, blonde and skinny, Josette’s face was solemn as her head shook, very faintly.

  ‘Why not? It won’t be too cold with our coats on.’

  Josette shook her head again. ‘We would have to ask Auntie Dot.’

  ‘Well let’s go and do that. Where is she?’ Suzanne persisted. The rain had continued for two days and she was longing to go out and have a look around.

  Her cousins stared at her in alarm.

  ‘Shall we play Snakes and Ladders?’ Josette said, almost willing the visitor to agree.

  ‘No, not again! We played that all day yesterday.’ It was hard to understand why the little girls wanted to stay indoors.

  *

  After the shopping expedition to Lostwithiel for Christmas presents, and an orgy of crepe paper and string, Christmas Day was full of laughter and fun and by the time Boxing Day dawned the three children had lost their shyness and reserve with each other.

  ‘Jolly good thing you were with us for Christmas,’ Josette mumbled to Suzanne as the girls bent their heads over a jigsaw puzzle.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It meant we were able to have our meals in the dining-room with you all.’

  ‘And got more to eat,’ Marivonne piped up.

  ‘Shhhh!’ her sister held a finger to her lips, eyes swivelling to the door.

  ‘There, that bit of yellow is part of her dress.’ Suzanne pressed the piece into place, then stared at Josette. ‘Don’t you usually eat in the dining-room?’

  ‘No. In the kitchen.’

  ‘P’raps Auntie Dot likes it better in the kitchen.’

  ‘She never eats in the kitchen. She always has her meals in the dining-room,’ Marivonne said.

  ‘What? All by herself?’

  ‘’Cept when she has visitors. Then we have to wait till they’ve all finished.’

  Suzanne shrugged and turned her mind back to the puzzle . . . until later, when she went for a bracing walk with her grandmother and Aunt Aline and the subject of meals was mentioned.

  ‘There’s something odd about William’s girls, I find,’ Aline was saying. ‘They are so quiet at mealtimes. Never say a word.’

  ‘Funny you should say that,’ Marie nodded. ‘I thought the same myself. Heaven knows, one doesn’t want children’s chatter all the time one’s at table but those two aren’t normal.’

  Suzanne was listening. ‘They’re all right. It’s just that they’re not used to eating in the dining-room. Auntie Dot always has her meals in there by herself.’

  The two women stopped in mid-stride.

  ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Marie demanded.

  The child frowned at her. ‘Josette and Marivonne told me they always have to eat in the kitchen. They’re only allowed in the dining-room because we are here.’

  ‘Well!’ Aline stared at her mother, then asked Suzanne, ‘Do you think they ever eat with their parents?’

  ‘Oh yes. All the time. They all eat together in the kitchen, when Auntie Dot has finished her meal.’

  It was Marie’s turn to say ‘Well!’

  Back at the house in a strange armchair, Hubert’s thoughts were running on similar lines. This was a beautiful, well-kept place of Dorothy’s, and considering the rationing, the food over the holiday had been sumptuous. But there was a coldness in the atmosphere. Not like the Christmases they used to have at Val du Douit. Roll on next year when they’d all be back in Guernsey, everyone converging on the family home, hugs of greeting, exchanging loving presents and kisses. The sigh came up from the depths of his soul: how to get through the coming months till they could return?

  *

  Dorothy had gone out and William was seated at the baby grand, filling the sitting-room with a Chopin Etude, when Marie broached the subject of Hubert, Aline and herself moving into Dorothy’s house to live with them. She was shattered by his negative response. ‘Well! I would have thought you’d welcome the idea of your family staying here, providing Dorothy agrees, that is! But as you obviously don’t want us . . .’

  ‘Oh Ma! Stop it, please!’ William’s hands dropped to his knees, his face turned heavenwards in a silent plea for patience. ‘I am sure Annemarie and I, and the girls, would love you to stay but . . . you see it’s Dot . . .’

  Marie cooled down a little. ‘I can see there’s something odd going on. Why haven’t you told us about it?’

  ‘Because it would sound like a complaint, and that wouldn’t be fair on Dot. We are very lucky to have this place to live and work, in the circumstances.’ He put an arm round his mother’s shoulder. ‘Don’t say anything, will you?’

  ‘About what? You haven’t told me anything, yet! Now come on,’ she drew away, facing him arms akimbo, ‘tell me why, for instance, you all have to eat in the kitchen when we’re not here while madam eats in the dining-room? Being waited on by Annemarie, no doubt.’

  William frowned. ‘Who told you?’

  ‘Your girls told Suzanne. And, I gather, when she has guests you can’t eat till after they’ve finished. Is that right?’

  ‘There wouldn’t be room on the kitchen table till after their meal has been served.’

  Marie drew herself up, bosom quivering. ‘And you let your wife be treated like a servant? What’s got into you, William Ozanne?’

  William spread his hands in anguish. ‘Ma, you don’t understand. We are not in a position to call the shots; Dot is. This is her home and if we want to live here it has to be on her terms. Where else would I get a job paying enough to cover all we get in this house? Believe you me, we’ve discussed it, endlessly. But the fact is that Dot doesn’t care for children, never having had any herself, so we have to keep them out of sight as much as possible. But you do see, don’t you, that it would make things very awkward—’

  ‘If we stay and rock the boat!’ Marie finished off. ‘The thing is, are you happy with the situation?’

  William gave her a wry smile. ‘No. But we are content to weather it out till the war is over. Hopefully it won’t be too long. Tell you what, how about Pa trying to find a place nearby for you to live, possibly in Lostwithiel?’ He couldn’t honestly say he liked the idea; much as he would welcome having family in the vicinity, the chances of Ma resisting the temptation to adjust the situation with Dorothy to her way of thinking, were minimal.

  Mollified, his mother sat on the window seat. ‘Play a little more if you have time,’ she begged. His music was so reminiscent of happier times.

  Annemarie was amazed at the constant help her mother-in-law offered in the kitchen, even with the most menial tasks, until William explained. Poor darling girl, she was working so hard, and with the toddler to look after as well. Also he knew she was so very frightened for her Jewish parents and her brother Louis: she had heard nothing from them since leaving France two years ago. He drew her into his arms, ignoring the flour on her hands. ‘You are a very beautiful, capable and sensible woman, my love, and you are handling the situation with great forbearance.’

  She frowned up at him. ‘What is this . . . forbearance?’

  ‘Patience? Tolerance? Uncomplaining?’ he sought a word she could translate.

  ‘Oui! I understand. Like you tolerate working all day and half the night, toute semaine, for less than the cost of one pair of shoes for Marivonne. Vis is forbearance, n’est pas?’

  In answ
er he kissed the tip of her nose.

  *

  Andrew had found a job in Scotland, working on Lord Rothsay’s Estate, after evacuating from the island. Then, early in 1942, the Estate was taken over by the military, and Andrew was summoned to his lordship’s study to be told that there would no longer be any need of his services. ‘Pity, but there it is. We cannot stand in the way of the army, can we?’

  Andrew inclined his head. ‘No sir.’

  ‘Any idea where you’ll go from here?’

  ‘None at all, I’m afraid. Frankly I don’t know where to begin looking.’

  ‘Fellow I know has just lost one of his commercial travellers. Joined the navy a couple of weeks ago. Wine and spirit merchant. Interested?’

  ‘Yes indeed. I mean, I’d join up myself, but apparently they think I’m too old.’

  ‘Aha! Have met the same problem mesself! Look, I’ll get hold of this fellow and see if he is still needing someone. I’ll let you know.’

  Between them, his lordship and the wine merchant came up not only with a job, but with accommodation as well. It was on the outskirts of town and Maureen soon found herself a job in a nearby canteen.

  ‘We can’t complain about our luck,’ she remarked to Andrew, soon after they were settled in. ‘Moneywise, we are reasonably comfortable. And I love this cottage.’ It was very pretty, with dark beams and bottle glass windows. ‘And a spare room for Sybil when she gets leave.’

  ‘Hmm. Yes,’ Andrew grunted, adjusting his lower dentures with his tongue. He agreed he shouldn’t complain, all things considered, but he could not overcome the sudden pangs of resentment when he thought of Les Marettes, now entirely in Greg’s hands. Supposing anything happened to the old folk? In his absence Greg would feel free to sell the place, do whatever he liked. He really should have stayed to protect his inheritance.