The German Nurse

Chapter 2

20 June 1940

Jack awoke with a start, the faint light of morning framing his curtains but failing to give a sense of time. The dream he had been having disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and a trickle of sweat ran between his shoulder blades. The anger he had felt upon waking subsided, almost forgotten. He knew it was aimed inward, but he couldn’t remember why he had been angry with himself. He pulled the alarm clock off the side of his bed, noting that it was roughly five minutes before he had set it to go off. As usual it felt worse waking up earlier than intended, even though the extra five minutes wouldn’t have made any difference.

He dragged himself out of the bed, barely sitting up as he did so. His sheets had been kicked to the floor during the few hours of unbearably hot sleep he had managed to grab. He pulled on some clothes, not caring that he had worn them the day before. It didn’t matter anyway, as he would head to the police station to collect his uniform before going on duty. First he wanted to see Johanna, and she wouldn’t care what he was wearing. He wasn’t happy with the way they had left things the previous evening. He needed to speak to her, to assure her that he wanted her here, that he would do everything in his power to care for her.

Jack climbed down the stairs, careful with each step. He knew the creaks and groans, but sometimes an unexpected noise would betray him. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs he could just make out the faint murmur of his grandparents either talking, or snoring in their room, and he was careful not to disturb them. His mother would likely already be stirring; she didn’t sleep well and it was even worse in the summer heat. She was prone to night terrors, all her fears playing through her mind while she tried to sleep. He didn’t have time to check on her, especially if he wanted to find Johanna before work. The front door clicked softly open as he turned the handle. He picked up his boots with one hand, thumb and finger clasping them together, so that he could put them on outdoors.

As soon as he was outside a gust of wind caught the door and its hinges squealed as it slammed shut behind him. He winced – so much for not disturbing his family. He had been meaning to fix those hinges for some time, and now they would be angry he had disturbed them. He didn’t have time to worry about it now. The sun was just coming over the horizon, its warm glow slowly spreading across the island, and he had a lot to do before it had fully risen.

*

The Royal Hotel he was looking for was one of the main hotels in St Peter Port, near the harbour with easy access to the ferry and the shops. Prior to the war it had been one of the locations in which people had come to stay when they travelled from the mainland or Europe to experience the beauty of Guernsey. The businesses would surely be struggling to make ends meet, and he wouldn’t be surprised if some of the proprietors joined the evacuation to try to find a new life on the mainland.

Now, the hotel was a scene of furious activity, as staff piled wooden crates that were normally used for groceries by the entrance. At this time of morning it would have been strange to see so many people at work, were it not for the current circumstances. Whether the staff had volunteered to help, or had been forced to by their employers, Jack didn’t know, but he hoped it was the former.

‘I’m looking for Johanna?’ he asked one of the porters as the man dropped another crate on the pile. He waved Jack in the direction of the kitchen behind him and carried on his work without saying a word. As with a number of hotels on the island, the kitchen was in a lower ground floor, accessed by the side of the building allowing easy access for unloading supplies, and there was an almost steady stream of volunteers going back and forth. He dodged one of them as he stepped down the stairs to the main kitchen. There were more people inside working at counters, some in silence, others busy talking amongst themselves. The kitchen smelt strongly of breads, cheeses, and pickles.

He recognised her straight away, even from behind. It was the way she stood taller than everyone else and worked with a practised efficiency. It struck him that it was similar to the very first time he had laid eyes on her. He smiled to himself as he walked up behind her. She was working on her own at one side of the kitchen, away from the comings and goings of the regular staff.

‘Johanna?’ She turned and her smile made him weak at the knees. He had expected her to be angry, but as usual her anger had diminished as quickly as it had come. Her temperament was fiery, and he would not have her any other way. It had taken him a while at first to stop himself thinking that she hated him. In time she had shown him more love and passion than anyone else ever had.

‘Jack,’ she said, still smiling up at him and revealing perfect, white teeth. ‘What are you doing here?’

He stepped closer to her, wanting to take her hands in his, but she was busy working, making sandwiches for the evacuees to take with them on their journey to the mainland.

‘I wanted to say … to say.’ He hesitated despite running the words through his head over and over again on the way to the hotel. The lack of sleep was playing with his mind and he wondered if he was doing the right thing.

‘Yes?’ she asked, looking up again and nodding at him to continue. Her curly hair had been tied up and there were bags under her eyes that spoke of a lack of sleep. The whites of her eyes were red, which made it look as if she had been crying. He second-guessed himself again. Would she really appreciate what he was trying to say? He convinced himself that her smile was genuine; there was a warmth there despite her tiredness.

‘I wanted to say that I don’t want you to leave the island,’ he said, finally blurting out the words in a torrent. ‘I don’t want you to leave, not without me. I want you to stay here with me, and I will give everything to look after you.’

He couldn’t gauge her reaction. Was it shock? His heart thumped heavily in his chest, and he felt sick. He thought about walking away and forgetting everything he had said, to save himself from the embarrassment. But he could never walk away from her; he didn’t have it in him.

‘Oh, Jack,’ she said, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. ‘You should have been a poet, not a policeman.’ He wasn’t sure if she was gently mocking him or not. She wiped away the tears with an index finger, then cleaned her hands on a nearby tea towel. ‘The only thing that makes staying on this island bearable is the thought that I will be with you. Even if most people treat me like an enemy. I’ve been through worse.’

She tried to smile again, but another wave of tears took over. As always he wondered what it truly was that had happened to her in Germany, but he knew not to push her on the subject.

With a sudden rush of confidence, he took hold of her, wrapping his arms around her. Her head rested against his chest. It felt natural, as if she was perfectly built to fit into that space, like a piece of a jigsaw. As if God had made them for each other. The smell of her hair was overwhelming. He closed his eyes, breathing her in. ‘I’m going nowhere,’ he said. ‘Not while you’re on the island. When the war is over we’ll be allowed to go to England or wherever we want and live out our lives in peace.’

They stood together like that for a few minutes, savouring the moment. Opening his eyes, he spotted the clock on the wall and gasped. ‘Look at the time!’ he said, loosening his embrace. ‘I have to go.’

Johanna laughed, and let go of him. ‘Bah, you’re always running away from me, Jack Godwin.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, looking between her and the clock. ‘If I didn’t have to get to work, I would stay. You know I would. I can barely stand to be apart from you.’ He bent down to kiss her, but she pulled away at the last second.

‘Not here. I will see you later. Take this.’ She picked up a brown, rectangular paper bag from the worktop and handed it to him. ‘Tell no one.’

‘What’s this?’ he asked.

‘It’s a sandwich. I know you won’t have had anything to eat yet.’ They hugged again, briefly, and he left the kitchen, almost running. Late again, he would be in trouble.

*

In the early hours of the morning, the school was dark and forbidding. An uneasy atmosphere rested over it like a black cloud. It was a place for learning, but on this occasion the parents would rather they were kept in the dark. When he had studied there it had been a different time. Parents were already bringing their children to the school, as Jack joined them. They arrived in small groups, sticking together, their short arms reaching up to clutch their parents’ outstretched hands, tighter than they ever had before. Some were going with their children, but for the others, who knew how long they would be separated? None of them could predict how long this war would last, how long it would be before the Germans expended their energy on their enemies’ guns, how long it would take for someone to force them back.

None of them had been given enough time to prepare, or to soften the blow for the children. The shock was still clear in the eyes of most of the people Jack passed as he headed towards the school. He was careful not to be too present as a policeman; he didn’t want to scare the children. More than one parent had a hastily bundled together collection of belongings to send with their children. Some of their cases had clothes poking out of the seams, ragged and fluttering in the wind. It was a sorry, desperate sight.

At the school gates, a group of teachers and other officials were checking documents and admitting those children who had the correct papers. As Jack walked up, a mother was hugging her son, who could have only been four or five years old. The officials, seeing Jack’s uniform, stepped aside to let him pass, but he waited for a moment to see what would happen. He could tell that she was trying her best, but tears threatened to escape the corners of her reddened eyes. Her voice broke. Her son simply stared idly around himself, blissfully ignorant of what was going on. ‘Now, you’re going on a great adventure,’ she said. ‘Once you get there your aunt May will be looking after you for a while.’

She stopped, catching herself again. Jack couldn’t bear to watch anymore. He couldn’t possibly imagine what these parents were going through. How that mother could stand it, he had no idea, but she had put her son’s life ahead of her own, and given the circumstances it was the right thing to do. Had Johanna’s parents gone through the same emotions when she had left her home?

He smiled at one of the teachers, but it was forced. He felt only sadness. Inside the school was a similar scene, one he suspected was duplicated across the island. Hundreds of children were standing around, looking lost. Some stood with one or two parents, but others were on their own and teachers were rounding them up, with smiles plastered on their faces.

‘We’re trying to make sure that there is no panic, Constable,’ a voice said from behind him. He turned to see a middle-aged man, dressed in a cheap brown suit. The man smiled at Jack, but like his own it lacked certainty. ‘As you can imagine,’ he continued, ‘it’s an uphill struggle. It’s why we’re making sure the parents say their goodbyes at the gate.’

He reached out a hand and Jack returned the gesture, receiving a vigorous shake. Jack was taken aback somewhat by the friendliness of the man. He remembered teachers as being sterner and more distant, and the usual reaction to the uniform was wariness.

‘An unenviable task, Headmaster,’ Jack said, nodding. ‘Times are difficult, and we can only do our best.’

‘Wise words, for a young man. If you don’t mind me saying?’

Jack shook his head. It was always nice to receive a compliment, and his teachers had never been that complimentary when he was in school. He didn’t feel that wise. ‘Thank you, but I’m just here to do my job.’

‘Of course. These children need escorting down to the harbour.’ He looked at his wristwatch. ‘The boats will be arriving soon and they won’t have long to get everyone on board. The longer we wait the less chance we have of getting them over to England.’

‘The boats will have to wait until they’re full. We won’t let them leave before they’re ready.’

‘Good luck with that. I’m sure the captains won’t want to wait around too long. Who knows when the Germans will come?’

Jack noted that he had said, ‘when’, not ‘if’.

A teacher looked over at the sound of their raised voices. She was kneeling down to talk to a child, and a frown crossed her face. The headmaster gestured for Jack to step back out into the reception. The early summer morning heat was coming in the front doors. ‘There are buses outside to take the children. We will organise them all, but I would appreciate it if you could escort them.’

‘Of course,’ Jack replied.

Outside the school a number of buses waited, silhouettes in the early morning gloom. The drivers stood by one cab, smoking cigarettes and chatting. A few minutes later the children appeared at the front of the school, in a line two abreast. The headmaster led them from the front, and it reminded Jack of the story of the Pied Piper of Hamelin his grandfather had once told him when he was little. The concept of some mysterious figure leading an entire village of children off into the unknown had terrified him ever since.

The children were well behaved as they boarded the buses, either shocked into obedience by events, or encouraged by the teachers and attendant parents. Thankfully, the majority of the children had yet to work out exactly what was happening. That would not last forever. It took some time, but it was going more smoothly than Jack had expected.

*

The harbour was awash with activity. Men shouted orders at each other and soldiers rushed from one area to another making sure that everything was in place. The air stank of brine and salt, fish mingled with the sweat of those at work. Not everyone in the harbour was wearing army-issue khaki, as various merchant ships were either returning from fishing trips or preparing to leave for Britain. The sun had risen above the horizon and lit the scene in its warm glow, making the work that little bit harder for everyone.

As the children climbed off the buses, volunteers attached brown labels to their lapels and led them towards the boats. They were getting more nervous as the strange situation dragged on, young murmurings of concern growing louder. Some mothers had gone against the states’ orders and come to the harbour to see their children off, unable to stay away. Mothers’ tears added to the already salty sea air, and those children who were more aware than others cried, hoping against hope that they wouldn’t be put on those horrible little boats that rocked against the tide.

There were queues forming at the ends of the piers, and people shuffled with impatience, waiting for the order to board. Some were being turned away as Jack went to join his colleagues. Whole families sat together on the ground, belongings piled up around them in the sweltering heat. Some had discarded their cars, unable to take them with them. None of them were sure that they would be allowed to leave, and it was clear on their faces.

Not everyone in the harbour was looking for a way to escape. Some were saying goodbye to loved ones who were going with the army, and Jack caught a glimpse of Beth as she said goodbye to her brother, who had been in the militia. Even though he was Jack’s age, Jack knew his sister much better. They had fallen into the same friendship group, and she had always enjoyed bossing him around. On any other day he may have waved and beckoned her over, but not today.

A man propped his bicycle against a nearby wall and walked back up the road, a roll of paper tied up with string in his hand. He disappeared around the corner of a building, heading in the direction of the town hall. Nearby a couple were saying goodbye, pulling close together as the husband looked to board a nearby boat. The man played his hand through the ringlets of her curly brown hair, as he kissed her goodbye, his other hand resting on the hem of her pleated skirt, lingering longer than was strictly appropriate.