The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society Part 10

When Kit was born, Elizabeth kept her paternity a secret from the authorities. Not out of shame, but because she was afraid that the baby would be taken from her and sent to Germany. There were dreadful rumours of such things. I wonder if Kit's heritage could have saved Elizabeth if she had made it known when she was arrested. But as she didn't, it is not my place to do so.

Excuse my unburdening myself. My worries travel round my head on their well-worn path, and it is a relief to put them on paper. I will turn to more cheerful subjects-such as last evening's meeting of the Society. After the uproar about your visit had subsided, the Society read your article about books in The Times The Times. Everyone enjoyed it-not just because we were reading about ourselves, but because you brought us views we'd never thought to apply to our reading before. Dr Stubbins p.r.o.nounced that you alone had transformed 'distraction' into an honourable word-instead of a character flaw. The article was delightful, and we were all so proud and pleased to be mentioned in it.

Will Thisbee wants to have a welcome party for you. He will bake a Potato Peel Pie for the event and has devised a cocoa icing for it He made a surprise pudding for our meeting last night-cherries flambe, which fortunately burnt to a crisp so we did not have to eat it I wish Will would leave cookery alone and go back to ironmongery.

We all look forward to welcoming you. You mentioned that you have to finish several reviews before you can leave London-but we will be delighted to see you whenever you come. Just let us know the date and time of your arrival. Certainly, an aeroplane flight to Guernsey would be faster and more comfortable than the mail boat (Clovis Fossey said to tell you that airliostesses give gin to pa.s.sengers-and the mail boat doesn't). But unless you are bedevilled by sea-sickness, I would catch the afternoon boat from Weymouth. There is no more beautiful approach to Guernsey than the one by sea-either with the sun going down, or with gold-tipped, black stormclouds, or the Island just emerging through the mist This is the way I first saw Guernsey, as a new bride.

Fondly, Amelia From Isola to Jidiet 14th May 1946 May 1946

Dear Juliet,

I have been getting your house ready for you. I have asked several of my friends at the market to write to you about their experiences, so I hope they do. If Mr Tatum writes and asks for money for his recollections, don't pay him a penny. He is a big liar.

Would you like to know about my first sight of the Germans? I will use adjectives to make it more lively. I don't usually-I prefer stark facts.

Guernsey seemed quiet that Tuesday-but we knew they were there! Planes and s.h.i.+ps carrying soldiers had come in the day before. Huge Junkers thumped down, and after unloading all their men, they flew off again. Being lighter now, and more frolicsome, they hedge-hopped, swooping up and swooping down all over Guernsey, scaring the cows in the fields.

Elizabeth was at my house, but we didn't have the heart to make hair tonic even though my yarrow was in. We just drifted around like a couple of ghouls. Then Elizabeth pulled herself together. 'Come on,' she says. 'I'm not going to sit inside waiting for them. I'm going into town to find the enemy.'

'And what are you going to do after you've found him?' I asks, sort of snappish.

'I'm going to look at him,' she says. 'We're not animals in a cage-they are. They're stuck on this island with us, same as we're stuck with them. Come on, let's go and stare.'

I liked that idea, so we put on our hats and went But you would never believe the sights we saw in St Peter Port. Oh, there were hundreds of German soldiers-and they were SHOPPING! Arm in arm they went strolling along Fountain Street-smiling, laughing, peering into shop windows, going inside and coming out with their arms full of parcels, calling out to one another. North Esplanade was filled with soldiers too. Some were just lolling about, others touched their caps to us and bowed, polite-like. One man said to me, 'Your island is beautiful. We will be fighting in London soon, but now we have this-a holiday in the sun.'

Another poor idiot actually thought he was in Brighton. They were buying ice lollies for the streams of children following them. Laughing and having a fine time, they were. If it weren't for those green uniforms, we'd have thought the tour boat from Weymouth was in!

We started to go along Candie Gardens, and there everything changed-carnival to nightmare. First, we heard noise-the loud steady rhythm of boots coming down heavy on hard stones. Then a troop of goose-stepping soldiers turned on to our street. Everything about them gleamed: b.u.t.tons, boots, those metal coal-scuttle hats. Their eyes didn't see anyone or anything-just stared straight ahead. That was scarier than the rifles slung over their shoulders, or the knives and grenades stuck in their boot-tops.

Mr Ferre, who'd been behind us, grabbed my arm. He'd fought on the Somme. Tears were running down his face, and not knowing it, he was twisting my arm, wringing it, saying, 'How can they be doing this again? We beat them and here they are again. How did we let them do this again?'

Finally, Elizabeth said, 'I've seen enough. I need a drink.'

I keep a good supply of gin in my cupboard, so we came home.

I will close now, but I will be able to see you soon and that gives me joy. We all want to come and meet you-but a new fear has struck me. There could be twenty other pa.s.sengers on the mail boat, and how will I know which one is you? That book photo is a blurry little thing and I don't want to go kissing the wrong woman. Could you wear a big red hat with a veil and carry lilies?

Your friend, Isola From an Animal Lover to Juliet Wednesday evening

Dear Miss,

I too am a member of the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society-but I didn't write to you about my books, because I only read two-children's tales about dogs, loyal, brave and true. Isola says you are coming to maybe write about the Occupation, and I think you should know the truth of what our States did to animals! Our own government, mind, not the dirty Germans! They would be ashamed to tell of it, but I am not.

I don't much care for people-never have, never will. I got my reasons. I never met a man half so true as a dog. Treat a dog right and he'll treat you right-he'll keep you company, be your friend, never ask you no questions. Cats is different, but I never held that against them.

You should know what some Guernsey people did to their pets when they got scared the Germans was coming. Thousands of them left the island-sailed away to England, and left their dogs and cats behind. Deserted them, left them to roam the streets, hungry and thirsty-the swine!

I took in as many dogs as I could find, but it wasn't enough. Then the States stepped in to take care of the problem-and did worse, far worse. The States warned in the newspapers that, because of the war, there might not be enough food for humans, let alone animals. 'You may keep one family pet,' they said, 'but the States will have to put the rest to sleep. Feral cats and dogs, roaming the island, will be a danger to the children.' And that is what they did. The States gathered them animals into trucks, and took them to St Andrew's Animal Shelter, and those people put them all to sleep. As fast as they could kill one truckload of pets, another truckload would arrive.

I saw it all-the collecting, the unloading at the shelter, and the burying. I saw one woman come out of the shelter and stand in the fresh air, gulping it down. She looked sick enough to die herself. She had a cigarette and then she went back in to help with the killing. It took two days to kill all the animals.

That's all I want to say, but put it in your book.

An Animal Lover From Sally Ann Frobisher to Juliet 15th May 1946 May 1946

Dear Miss Ashton,

Miss Pribby told me you would be coming to Guernsey to hear about the war. I hope we will meet then, but I am writing now because I like to write letters. I like to write anything, really. I thought you'd like to know how I was personally humiliated during the war-in 1943, when I was twelve. I had scabies.

There wasn't enough soap in Guernsey to keep clean-not our clothes or ourselves. Everyone had skin diseases of one sort or another-scales or pustules or lice. I myself had scabies on my head-under my hair-and they wouldn't go away. Eventually, Dr Ormond said I must go to Town Hospital and have my head shaved and the tops of the scabs cut off to let the pus out. I hope you will never know the shame of a seeping scalp. I wanted to die.

That is where I met my friend Elizabeth McKenna. She helped the nurses on my ward. The nurses were always kind, but Miss McKenna was kind and and funny. Her being funny helped me in my darkest hour. When my head had been shaved, she came into my room with a basin, a bottle of Dettol, and a sharp scalpel. funny. Her being funny helped me in my darkest hour. When my head had been shaved, she came into my room with a basin, a bottle of Dettol, and a sharp scalpel.

I said, 'This isn't going to hurt, is it? Dr Ormond said it wouldn't hurt' I tried not to cry.

'He lied,' Miss McKenna said. 'It's going to hurt like h.e.l.l. Don't tell your mother I said h.e.l.l.'

I started to giggle, and she made the first slice before I had rime to be afraid. It did hurt, but not like h.e.l.l. We played a game while she cut the rest of the tops off-we shouted out the names of every woman who had ever suffered under the blade. 'Mary, Queen of Scots-snip-snap!'

'Anne Boleyn-thunk!'

'Marie Antoinette-whoos.h.!.+' And we'd finished.

It hurt, but it was fun too because Miss McKenna had turned it into a game.

She swabbed my bald head with Dettol and came in to visit me that evening-with a silk scarf of her own to wrap round my head as a turban. 'There,' she said, and handed me a mirror. I looked into it-the scarf was lovely, but my nose looked too big for my face, just as it always did. I wondered if I'd ever be pretty, and asked Miss McKenna.

When I asked my mother the same question, she said she had no patience with such nonsense and beauty was only skin-deep. But not Miss McKenna. She looked at me, considering, and then she said, 'In a little while, Sally, you're going to be stunning. Keep looking in the mirror and you'll see. It's bones that count, and you've got them in spades. With that elegant nose of yours, you'll be the new Nefert.i.ti. You'd better practise looking imperious.'

Mrs Maugery came to visit me in hospital and I asked her who Nefert.i.ti was, and if she was dead. It sounded like it Mrs Maugery said she was indeed dead, but also immortal. Later on, she found a picture of Nefert.i.ti for me. I wasn't exactly sure what imperious was, so I tried to look like her. As yet, I haven't grown into my nose, but I'm sure it will come-Miss McKenna said so.

Another sad story about the Occupation is my Aunt Letty. She used to have a big gloomy old house out on the cliffs near La Fontenelle. The Germans said it was in their big guns' line of fire, and interfered with their gun practice. So they blew it up. Aunt Letty lives with us now.

Yours sincerely, Sally Ann Frobisher From Micah Daniels to Juliet 15th May 1946 May 1946

Dear Miss Ashton,

Isola gave me your address because she is sure you would like to see my list for your book.

If you was to take me to Paris today, and sit me down in a fine French restaurant-the kind of place what has white-lace tablecloths, candles on the walls, and silver covers over all the plates-well, I tell you it would be nothing, nothing compared to my Vega Vega box. In case you don't know, the box. In case you don't know, the Vega Vega was a Red Cross s.h.i.+p that come first to Guernsey on 27 was a Red Cross s.h.i.+p that come first to Guernsey on 27th December 1944. They brought food to us then, and five more times-and it kept us alive until the end of die war. Yes, I do say it-kept us alive! Food had not been so plentiful for several years by then. Except for what the devils in the Black Market had, not a spoonful of sugar was left on the Island. All die flour for bread had run out by the beginning of December 1944. Them German soldiers was as hungry as we was-with bloated bellies and no body warmth from food. Well, I was sick to death of boiled potatoes and turnips, and I would have soon turned up my toes and died, when the December 1944. They brought food to us then, and five more times-and it kept us alive until the end of die war. Yes, I do say it-kept us alive! Food had not been so plentiful for several years by then. Except for what the devils in the Black Market had, not a spoonful of sugar was left on the Island. All die flour for bread had run out by the beginning of December 1944. Them German soldiers was as hungry as we was-with bloated bellies and no body warmth from food. Well, I was sick to death of boiled potatoes and turnips, and I would have soon turned up my toes and died, when the Vega Vega came into our port. came into our port.

Mr Churchill, he wouldn't let the Red Cross s.h.i.+ps bring us any food before then because he said the Germans would just take it and eat it themselves. Now that may sound like clever planning to you-to starve the villains out! But to me it said he just didn't care if we starved along with them. Well, something shoved his soul up a notch or two and he decided we could eat. He says to the Red Cross, 'Oh, all right, go ahead and feed them.'

Miss Ashton, there were TWO BOXES of food for every man, woman and child on Guernsey stored in the Vega's Vega's hold. There was other stuff too: nails, seeds for planting, candles, cooking oil, matches, clothes and shoes. Even a few layettes for any new babies around. There was flour and tobacco-Moses can talk about manna all he wants, but he never seen anything like this! I am going to tell you what was in my box. I wrote it all down in my memory book. hold. There was other stuff too: nails, seeds for planting, candles, cooking oil, matches, clothes and shoes. Even a few layettes for any new babies around. There was flour and tobacco-Moses can talk about manna all he wants, but he never seen anything like this! I am going to tell you what was in my box. I wrote it all down in my memory book.

- Six ounces of chocolate - Twenty ounces of biscuits - Four ounces of tea - Twenty ounces of b.u.t.ter - Six ounces of sugar - Thirteen ounces of Spam - Two ounces of tinned milk - Eight ounces of raisins - Fifteen ounces of marmalade - Ten ounces of tinned salmon - Five ounces of tinned sardines - Four ounces of cheese - Six ounces of prunes - One ounce of pepper - One ounce of salt - A tablet of soap I gave my prunes away-but wasn't that something? When I die I am going to leave all my money to the Red Gross. I have written to tell them.

There is something else I should say to you. It may be about those Germans, but honour due is honour due. They unloaded all those boxes of food for us from the Vega Vega, and they didn't take none, not one box of it, for themselves. Of course, their Commandant had told them, 'That food is for the Islanders. It is not yours. Steal one bit and I'll have you shot.' Then he gave each man unloading the s.h.i.+p a teaspoon, so he could sc.r.a.pe up any spilt flour or grain. They could eat that.

In fact, those soldiers were a pitiful sight Stealing from gardens, knocking on doors asking for sc.r.a.ps. One day I saw a soldier s.n.a.t.c.h up a cat and slam its head against a wall. Then he cut the head off, and hid the cat in his jacket I followed him until he come to a field.

That German skinned that cat and boiled him up in his billy can, and ate it That was truly, truly a sorrowful sight to see. It made me sick, but underneath my sick, I thought, There goes. .h.i.tler's Third Reich-dining out, and then I started laughing fit to burst I am ashamed of that now, but that is what I did.

That is all I have to say. I wish you well with your book writing.

Yours truly, Micah Daniels From John Booker to Juliet 16th May 1946 May 1946

Dear Miss Ashton,

Amelia told us you are coming to Guernsey to find stories for your book. I will welcome you with all my heart, but I won't be able to tell you about what happened to me because I get the shakes when I talk about it Maybe if I write it down, you won't need me to say it out loud. It isn't about Guernsey anyway-I wasn't here. I was in Neuengamme Concentration Camp in Germany.

You know how I pretended I was Lord Tobias for three years? Peter Jenkins's daughter, Lisa, was going out with German soldiers. Any German soldier, as long 'as he gave her stockings or lipstick. This was so until she took up with Sergeant w.i.l.l.y Gurtz. He was a mean little runt The thought of them together benasties the mind. It was Lisa who betrayed me to the German Commandant.

It was March 1944. Lisa was at the hairdresser's, where she found an old, pre-war copy of Tatler Tatler magazine. There, on page 124, was a picture of Lord and Lady Tobias Penn-Piers. They were at a wedding in Suss.e.x-drinking champagne and eating oysters. The words under the picture told all about her dress, her diamonds, her shoes, her face and his money. The magazine mentioned that they were owners of an estate, called La Fort, on the island of Guernsey. magazine. There, on page 124, was a picture of Lord and Lady Tobias Penn-Piers. They were at a wedding in Suss.e.x-drinking champagne and eating oysters. The words under the picture told all about her dress, her diamonds, her shoes, her face and his money. The magazine mentioned that they were owners of an estate, called La Fort, on the island of Guernsey.

Well, it was pretty plain-even to Lisa, who's thick as a post-that Lord Tobias Penn-Piers was not me. She did not wait for her hair to be combed out, but left at once to show the picture to w.i.l.l.y Gurtz, who took it straight to the Commandant. It made the Germans feel like fools, bowing and sc.r.a.ping all that time to a servant-so they were extra spiteful and sent me to the camp at Neuengamme.

I did not think I would live out the first week. With other prisoners, I was sent out to clear unexploded bombs during air raids. What a choice-to run into a square with the bombs raining down or to be killed by the guards for refusing. I scuttled like a rat and tried to cover myself when I heard bombs whistle past my head and somehow I was alive at the end of it. That's what I told myself-Well, you're still alive. I think all of us said the same each morning when we woke up-Well, I'm still alive. But the truth is, we weren't we weren't. What we were-it wasn't dead, but it wasn't alive either. I was a living soul only a few minutes a day, when I was in my bunk. Then, I tried to think of something happy, something I'd liked-but not something I loved, because that made it worse. Just a small thing, like a school picnic or bicycling downhill-that's all I could stand.

It felt like thirty years, but it was only one. In April 1945, the Commandant at Neuengamme picked out those of us who were still fit enough to work and sent us to Belsen. We spent several days in a big open truck-no food, no blankets, no water, but we were glad we weren't walking. The puddles in the road were red.

I imagine you already know about Belsen and what happened there. When we got off the truck, we were handed shovels. We were to dig great pits to bury the dead. They led us through the camp to the spot, and I feared I'd lost my mind because everyone I saw was dead. Even the living looked like corpses, and the corpses were lying where they'd dropped. I didn't know why they were bothering to bury them. The fact was, the Russians were coming from the east, and the Allies were coming from the west-and the Germans were terrified of what they'd see when they got there.

The crematorium could not burn the bodies fast enough-so after we'd dug long trenches, we pulled and dragged the bodies to the edges and threw them in. You won't believe it, but the SS forced the prisoners' orchestra to play music as we lugged the corpses-and for that, I hope they burn in h.e.l.l with polkas blaring. When the trenches were full, the SS poured petrol over the bodies and set fire to them. Afterwards, we were supposed to cover them with soil, as if you could hide such a thing.

The British got there the next day, and dear G.o.d, were we glad to see them. I was strong enough to walk down the road, so I saw the tanks crash down the gates and I saw the British flag painted on their sides. I turned to a man sitting against a fence near by and called out, 'We're saved! It's the Britis.h.!.+' Then I saw that he was dead. He had missed it by minutes. I sat down in the mud and sobbed as though he'd been my best friend. The Tommies were weeping too-even the officers. Those good men fed us, gave us blankets, took us to hospitals. And bless them, they burnt Belsen to the ground a month later.

I read in the newspaper that they've put up a war refugee camp in its place now. It gives me the s.h.i.+vers to think of new barracks being built there, even for a good purpose. To my mind, that land should be a blank for ever.

I'll write no more of this, and I hope you understand if I do not care to speak of it. As Seneca says, 'Light griefs are loquacious, but the great are dumb.'

I do have a memory you might like to know about for your book. It happened in Guernsey, when I was still pretending to be Lord Tobias. Sometimes of an evening Elizabeth and I would walk up to the headlands to watch the bombers flying over-hundreds of them, on their way to bomb London. It was terrible to watch, and know where they were headed and what they meant to do. The German radio had told us that London was levelled, flattened, with nothing left but rubble and ashes. We didn't quite believe them, German propaganda being what it is, but still.

We were walking through St Peter Port when we pa.s.sed the McLaren House. That was a beautiful old house taken over by German officers. A window was open and from the wireless we heard music. We stopped to listen, thinking it might be a programme from Berlin. But when the music ended we heard Big Ben strike and a British voice said, 'This is the BBC-London.' You can never mistake the sound of Big Ben. London was still there! Still there. Elizabeth and I hugged, and started waltzing up the road. That was one of the times I could not think about while I was in Neuengamme.

Yours sincerely, John Booker From Dawsey to Juliet 16th May 1946 May 1946

Dear Miss Ashton,

There's nothing left to do for your arrival except wait Isola has washed, starched and ironed Elizabeth's curtains, looked up the chimney for bats, cleaned the windows, made up the beds, and aired all the rooms.

Eli has carved a presem for you, Eben has filled your woodshed and Clovis has scythed your meadow-leaving, he says, the clumps of wild flowers for you to enjoy. Amelia is planning a supper party for you on your first evening.

My only job is to keep Isola alive until you get here. Heights make her giddy, but nevertheless she climbed up to the roof of Elizabeth's cottage to stomp for loose tiles. Fortunately, Kit saw her before she reached the eaves and ran for me to come and talk her down.

I wish I could do more for your welcome-I hope it will be soon. I am glad you are coming.