‘Crumbs! A bit of a crush. Richard! No!’ Sarah grabbed the toddler as he chased an elderly cat round the table. ‘Poor Skittles. She’s a very old lady.’ She turned to her brother. ‘Where is Beer?’
‘Didn’t you know. He went the way of all flesh a couple of months ago. Those two cats were on the ark with Noah, remember.’
‘Yes. They must be all of sixteen years old.’
Greg and Sarah were installed in the room she had once shared with Ethel, and it amused her to ponder on Ma’s reaction if she knew her eldest son was regularly committing adultery in the fourposter in the Ozanne master bedroom.
She went into the kitchen to offer Edna some help next morning, while Greg took Richard for a walk. ‘I’ve brought some potatoes and a few late tomatoes. And we can have the conger George caught on Thursday before coming to play bridge. It’s a lovely big piece. I baked it yesterday morning so it will only need heating up.’
Edna peered into Sarah’s pyrex dish. ‘Wow! It’s huge. I have a small hen plucked but it will keep till tomorrow. Let’s have this for lunch with fried potatoes and toms. And it seems there must have been a very strong wind in the night, up in Les Blanches Pierres orchard.’ She gave Sarah an old-fashioned look. ‘I found enough windfalls to make an apple pie.’
‘Oh yes?’ Sarah grinned. ‘And what did you use for the crust?’
‘I bartered some of the apples for half a pound of so called flour which I’ve had to sieve thoroughly to get the worst husks out.’ Both women were trying to make a joke of the food crisis; it helped the endless effort not to give in to acute anxiety.
A high chair was produced from the attic for Richard, so he could sit at the table for the birthday-celebration lunch. Greg uncorked the elderberry wine and Edna dished up the meal.
John raised his glass. ‘Here’s wishing Pa a happy birthday.’
‘Let’s pray he is home again for the next one,’ Sarah added. ‘I wonder what they are doing today?’
‘Probably lunching out at an hotel,’ John surmised. ‘He and Ma used to enjoy going to the theatre too, years ago. I wonder if the theatres are open over there.’
‘Can’t think why not, considering ours are thriving here. Did you go to see the Regal Players last week?’ Greg asked.
John looked at Edna. ‘Did we?’
‘No. We saw the Noël Coward one they did last month. Last week we went to see the Crazy Gang; have you seen Syd Gardner? That man is a born comedian, should have been a professional. And Ozzie Martin played the piano. Remember he used to play at Ma’s parties here, at Christmas?’
They were sitting round the table, later, forcing themselves to drink revolting parsnip coffee, when they heard a horse’s hooves approaching at a canter.
Sarah rushed to the window, and exclaimed, ‘It’s Arabella Laurence. She’s in a mighty great hurry. I’ll go and let her in.’ She ran to the front door, Greg following.
The Gaudions had not seen the Laurences since the start of the Occupation; the three stood in the hallway staring at each other, mouths open, before finally giving way to gales of laughter.
‘My God it’s Cassius of “the lean and hungry look”!’ Arabella boomed at Greg. ‘Didn’t recognise you for a moment.’
Greg adopted a serious expression as he eyed her up and down. ‘Then the problem is mutual. I have seen more meat on a leg of mutton bone after my dog has finished with it.’
John came out of the dining-room faking a frown. ‘I’m sure Mrs Laurence didn’t come down here at full gallop just to swap insults. What’s the problem?’
Arabella looked around. ‘Mind if we sit?’ She marched unbidden into the dining-room, pulled out a chair and sank onto it with a sigh. ‘The opportunity to laugh is so rare, nowadays, one must not pass up the chance. However, yes, John, there is a problem. In fact several; so many that one hardly knows where to begin.’
The others returned to their chairs, Sarah trying not to show how appalled she was by the woman’s appearance. Gaunt, yes: that she understood, but the dishevelled hair, the grubby jumper under a torn jacket, filthy jodhpurs . . . and black finger nails! What had happened to the proud, autocratic society woman?
‘We are to be deported.’
Edna clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh no! All of you?’ She had heard the rumour about deportations of all men born in Britain, plus their families, but no one knew where they might be sent, or, for that matter, if they would ever be seen again.
‘Yes. We are devastated. Well I mean, it will be bad enough for Peregrine and Littlejohn and myself, but I dread to think what will happen to Polly and Belle. From what one used to hear on news bulletins they are likely to be treated as “non people”.’ She leaned her elbows on the table, pushing the dirty fingernails into her hair. ‘I think we three may survive, but . . .’ she shook her head ‘. . . it will kill Polly. And I suspect Belle will die of fright, if nothing else. She’s a sensitive creature in her way.’ When she looked up her eyes were swimming with tears. ‘Goddammit! I may not have been the best mother in the world to the girl but I can’t bear to think of her ending up in some ghastly prison camp.’
Instinctively, Sarah did the unthinkable: she got up and put her arm round the once-proud shoulders. ‘Let’s try to think this through logically. Here,’ she handed Arabella a handkerchief and waited while it was used extensively. ‘Could you swallow a cup of dreadful parsnip coffee?’ Arabella nodded and Edna poured. ‘Now, are you absolutely sure you have to go?’
‘Absolutely,’ Arabella asserted, stuffing the sodden hankie into a pocket.
‘Well in a way one can understand the Germans wanting to take the able-bodied English people, but do they want to be burdened with anyone who has Polly’s problems?’ Sarah asked.
‘What are you suggesting? That we leave her here on her own? Impossible!’ She picked up her cup and drained it in one.
Everyone else was silent, watching and listening.
Sarah looked up at Greg and raised a questioning eyebrow.
He gazed back, uncomprehending, until Sarah mouthed the name Polly pointing first at herself, then northwards.
He got the message, shrugged, and gave a reluctant nod.
‘She needn’t be alone,’ Sarah said. ‘She, and Belle for that matter, could come and live with us.’
John and Edna rolled their eyes at each other.
Arabella looked old, tired and pathetic as she smiled up at Sarah. ‘You really are awfully decent, you know. But their names are on the list and I can’t see Jerry removing them. However, that’s not why I came down here. What we were hoping, John, is that you might find one or two chaps to help us pack up some of the more valuable pieces we managed to get out of the house before the Germans moved in, and store them in your barns or somewhere. If we ever make it back, it would be too awful to find the enemy had purloined the lot.’
‘Of course we’ll help,’ John assured her. ‘I’ll get the Batiste twins to give a hand.’
‘They’ll do for the tougher things, but I’ll come and give a hand with your china if you like,’ Edna added.
‘You’re so kind. All of you.’
‘Well I think you and your husband should try to get Polly’s name taken off that list,’ Sarah persisted. ‘I’d be quite prepared to go with you to German headquarters and tell them I’ll take responsibility for her . . . and for Belle, too. If you want me to.’
Arabella bit her lip.
‘It’s worth a try, isn’t it?’ Greg said.
‘I’ll go back and see what Peregrine has to say. I’ll ring you, if your phone is still working.’
Sarah nodded. ‘We’ll be here for the next couple of days.’
‘Good. So sorry about getting weepy. Never could stand wet females!’ She got up and attempted to smooth her jacket. ‘Afraid I look a ghastly mess. This is my hen-feeding outfit you know. ’Bye for now. I’ll be in touch.’
‘Bye bye,’ Richard called from amidst his pile of building blocks on the floor.
‘Poor thing!’ Edna exclaimed as the sound of the horse’s hooves clattered out of the yard. ‘Can you imagine her feeding hens?’
Greg grimaced. ‘She was such an impossibly arrogant creature when they first arrived here, remember?’
John grinned at him. ‘Ma soon put her in her place!’ Then he turned to his sister. ‘But you’ve really let yourself in for it, haven’t you?’
Sarah raised her hands in surrender. ‘Yes. But what could I do? I certainly couldn’t think of any alternative, at that moment.’
‘I can’t think of one now,’ Edna admitted. ‘Not without making our relationship public.’ She gave John a coy smile.
‘There isn’t one,’ Greg said. ‘Now, shall we clear the table? It’s nearly four o’clock.’
*
The Germans had made it clear to the Guernsey authorities right from the start that the civilian population would be respected and well-treated, providing that the new rules and regulations were observed. As there would need to be considerable liaising on behalf of the islanders, a local administrative board was appointed for the purpose. It was a thankless task. Some of the civilian population reckoned the board members were being too soft in their negotiations, while others loudly voiced the opinion that they shouldn’t be negotiating at all, neither faction aware of the degree of cleverness, deviousness and acting ability required of the members to achieve all they did. It was a constant balancing act, conceding a little here, to gain a bit more there knowing, for example, that if they pressed too hard for a higher food ration per head for civilians in ratio to occupying forces, the Germans could, instead, reduce it out of hand.
After endless enquiries, Sarah was given the name of a board member who might go with her and the Laurences to appeal on Polly’s behalf. The worried Guernseyman warned them they were on a useless mission, but he agreed to try and help after Sarah’s forceful entreaties.
The German officer and his lieutenant were charming, and much to the surprise of the appellants he agreed to remove Polly and Belle from the deportation order. ‘The Wehrmacht have enough problems on their hands without us sending people to the camps who need specialised attention.’ He spoke excellent English but with a very clipped, gutteral accent. ‘Mrs Gaudion, you will be held responsible of course and will be required to ensure these two women report to this office once a month. Is that understood?’
‘Of course. That will be no problem,’ Sarah agreed.
‘That was amazing,’ the board member commented as they walked together into the street. ‘I’ve applied on behalf of a dozen others and been refused every time.’
‘The main problem is going to be feeding the five thousand,’ Sarah told Greg when she arrived home.
As though he didn’t know! ‘Sweetheart, just promise me one thing. That you won’t collect any more lame ducks?’
‘Tell that to Daisy! I came home from a walk with Richard this morning and found a queue of Todt workers by the back door.’
‘What! Why?’ Greg was startled. ‘And you didn’t tell me?’
‘I thought you’d be mad. Anyway, apparently yesterday while I was out shopping, one of these pathetic creatures knocked on the door and begged for food. I’d made some vegetable soup and left it on the stove, and the silly girl gave him a bowlful. So he brought all his pals round today for a helping.’
‘That girl is so dim! Where is she? I’ll have a word with her.’
‘Don’t be cross with her. She was trying to be kind.’
Greg opened the door and shouted, ‘Daisy! Where are you?’
‘Here Mr Gaudion. You want me?’ She was carrying a bag of potatoes, her cap was over one ear and her stocking was laddered.
‘Daisy, have you any idea how dangerous people can be when they are starving?’
Her eyes widened and her empty hand flew to her mouth. ‘Is it them men you’re on about? I only gave soup to one of them.’
‘I know. But those people are desperate. Some of them are so starved they are dying and they might do anything, anything to survive.’ Seeing how terrified she looked, Greg gave her a smile. ‘I don’t want to frighten you, but you must realise that they might even go so far as to hit you over the head to keep you quiet while they ransack the house for all the food they can find.’
‘Ooh!’
‘We all feel very sorry for them, but do you realise there are thousands of them in Guernsey? We cannot feed them all, and if we are kind and give food to one or two, well . . . you saw what happened. It could be dangerous. So don’t do it again, will you?’
‘No, sir!’ She backed out of the door clutching the potatoes to her chest.
‘Now where were we?’ Greg sat back in his chair, stretching his long legs in front of him.
‘Discussing the feeding of lame ducks.’
‘When are Polly and Belle arriving?’
‘In the morning, before Arabella and Peregrine leave. John is bringing them.’
‘I’ll get some more veggies in from the vinery tonight, after dark.’ Greg was breaking the law. Like all food producers, he was obliged to sell a vast proportion of his crops to the Germans, a fact much resented by the local community. ‘Why grow food to feed the Huns?’ some people demanded, while others argued ‘Why cut off your nose to spite your face? The more food we produce, the less we starve.’ Which was true. However no one wanted to feed the Germans, so Greg had decided to keep two separate ledgers—one ficticious to take to the depot for the Germans to see, and the other, a true record, to show Andrew when he returned. Of course it was risky and worried Sarah to death, but it meant providing not only more for their own table, but also for friends and neighbours who lacked the opportunity or ability to grow vegetables for themselves. Greg refused to accept more than the Germans paid, despising the profiteers who were enriching themselves on the black market, robbing the elderly and helpless.
Growing, in itself, was difficult enough: the lack of fertilisers, and chemicals for pest control, the problems of mixing crops which required varying degrees of heat, light or shade. Potatoes were disastrous under glass as they drained the soil of all nutrients to the detriment of subsequent crops. Also, there was the difficulty of retaining sufficient stock to supply seed for the following year. When you are struggling to survive on short rations, it is not easy to leave cabbages and cauliflowers to go to seed, tomatoes and beans on the vines to become dry or overripe, or trays of seed potatoes lying, shrivelling, waiting for the eyes to shoot; because as hope springs eternal, one cannot believe it possible that the situation won’t have improved dramatically by next year. Nevertheless, throughout the summer and autumn Greg had set aside seeds and seed potatoes, which he stored in the attics at Les Marettes.
Sarah had put Richard to bed and was attempting to make Toby’s dinner smell vaguely palatable, when Greg came in . . . empty handed. ‘Where have you put the veggies?’ she asked.
‘I left them where they were. I was at the bottom end of number six when I heard a pane of glass smash in one of the other houses. I sneaked in and found some beggar cutting down a string of onions.’
‘No! You didn’t go after him I hope!’
‘Never gave it a second thought: just ran at him. Well the moment he saw me he dropped the onions and bolted . . . out the way he came in. Lucky for him he was just a little fella and could squeeze through, which was more than I could. And I was damned if I was going to smash any more panes, so I let him get away.’
‘And our veggies for tomorrow?’
‘Thought I’d better leave them where they were in case the chap or his pals were hanging around, watching. I just boarded up the hole and came back in.’
‘Good. We can wait.’ Sarah picked up the teapot. ‘Want a cup of tea?’
Greg eyed her suspiciously. ‘Made from what?’
‘Bramble leaves. Do you know, Mrs Sykes was telling me that someone is selling real tea for twenty-five pounds per pound.’
‘That is disgusting! However, I get the
message. Okay, I’ll have some of your bramble.’
‘And do you want to put any milk in it?’
‘I’ll have it without.’ Adults were now rationed to a quarter of a pint of skimmed milk per day, but Richard’s ration was so little in relation to his needs, that both Greg and Sarah supplemented it from their own.
‘What’s for supper?’
‘Cabbage and swede with a cheese sauce.’
‘We’ll need to make sure the bedclothes are well tucked in or they’ll be blown off.’ He put an arm round her, hugging her against him as she poured the tea. ‘And for dessert?’
‘You can have one slice of bread with some of my carrot jam. Now when you’ve drunk that you can go and tell your mother the meal will soon be ready.’
When he had gone, Sarah flopped onto a chair and yawned. She was constantly tired nowadays—they all were. Everyone complained of lack of energy but what was bothering her most at the moment was the very thought of coping with the extra work and responsibility, the extra mouths to feed when Polly and Belle arrived. And what a weird assortment of humanity they would be: Alice, ancient, deaf as a post and a trifle touched in the upper storey; Daisy, sweet and willing but daft as a brush; Richard, now going on two-and-a-half, lively as a cricket and with the appetite of a horse; Polly, sweet, lovable who smiled constantly and trusted everyone implicitly and Belle, big and black, the shy, sensitive capable nursemaid. And finally themselves . . . Greg, a huge strapping giant she had married thirteen-and-a-half years ago, now a gaunt and greying shadow of his former self, and herself much the same, skinny with little left of her once glossy brown hair amongst the predominating grey.
Wolfgang, as they had nicknamed their German house guest, had stayed with them only nine months. His departure had been a source of great relief and considerable speculation as to its reason: had he been posted to the Russian front? Promoted to bigger and better billeting? Or had he suffered a grave disappointment that, apart from a courteous nod in response to his ‘Gutentag’ as they passed on the stairs, no one had given him the least encouragement to become ‘one of the family’? Whatever the reason for his going, it did leave Edward’s old room vacant again, ready for the two women from the Laurence household to move in.
The Guernsey Saga Box Set Page 21
