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Finally, he pulled the cord and the flag lurched its way down the flagpole, jerking with each motion of his hand. He took his time and watched the wind against the cloth. It struck him then as odd. Here he was, a British policeman in uniform, striking the flag of the Union from the town’s flagpole, removing it entirely. If the flag no longer applied to them, then what did the uniform mean? He was proud of his uniform and he had worked hard to earn it, but did it really make sense to go on wearing it? When the Germans got to the island would they strip them of their uniforms and responsibility, or would they make them wear something to represent the Reich?
They hadn’t been told anything yet, but that only made Jack more anxious. All they knew was that they had to prepare for occupation, to visibly show their surrender and to remove all British flags from view. It left them in a weird state of limbo. Jack’s job as a policeman defined him, and he had been obsessed with holding up the law since he was a child, but now he had no idea who he was in this new world.
Jack untied the Union flag from its cord and folded it. There were people on the island to whom the flag meant very little. They considered themselves Guernesiais rather than British, but it meant something to Jack. He didn’t run up a new flag. It wasn’t his responsibility. He wanted to be the last who remembered the Union flag and what being part of the empire had meant for them. He was supposed to return the flag to the bailiff, but he didn’t think he would. They wouldn’t miss it, and besides he couldn’t trust them to keep it safe. He would take it home. There was a drawer beside his bed in which he kept many of his prized possessions. The flag would find a welcome home there, until it was needed again.
For now, the hour had come for them to face their fate.
*
30 June 1940
Jack had just sat down in the main office of the police station when the door flew open and the chief officer marched in. Jack’s legs were weary from patrolling all day, but still he pulled himself from the chair and stood to attention as etiquette demanded. The others in the room did the same at various intervals and they all threw smart salutes. The chief saluted back, then turned towards the door as a man in the grey uniform of the German Wehrmacht stepped in, followed by an adjutant or aide similarly dressed. A surprised silence filled the room. The Germans had finally arrived.
‘I would like to introduce the German Kommandant,’ the chief said, stepping aside in deference to the man in the grey uniform, his peaked cap now tucked under his arm. ‘He will be in charge of operations on the island, and I expect you to show him exactly the same level of respect that you show me.’
In normal circumstances someone would have cracked a joke at that point. Instead, the assembled policemen stood there, awkwardly awaiting orders. After a second or two those at the front of the room threw a stiff salute and the others joined in, Jack amongst them.
‘Thank you,’ the kommandant said with a thick German accent as he stepped forward to appraise them. The man was even older than the chief, twenty or thirty years Jack’s senior. He had a thin nose and deep brown eyes, and his hair was cut close, more silver than black. His uniform was just as cleanly pressed as every other German Jack had seen, but made from a better quality grey wool. An Iron Cross was tied at the neck of his tunic and gold braiding decorated his collar and epaulettes. His aristocratic bearing was obvious from the way he looked down his pointy nose at everyone.
‘I am happy to be here.’ His English was stilted as if he had practised the words. It was as though he didn’t really understand what he was saying, but had decided to say it nonetheless. Jack suspected that his command of the language was nothing to do with the reason he had been chosen for the position of commander of the occupation forces. Another German soldier stood at his shoulder, quietly looking over the assembled policeman. As on previous occasions when a French diplomat or some other authority had come to the island, they had been provided with an interpreter.
‘But my English is not so good,’ the kommandant continued. It was an unexpected admission for the kommandant, who had the air of a practised public speaker, a man who was never wrong, or allowed himself to be inferior. If it was a deliberate attempt to be disarming then Jack suspected that it had worked in a way. There was a relaxation of the tension around the room as the men realised that nothing they said would be understood by the German, and that his interpreter would probably not waste the time in translation.
He smiled at them in a way that didn’t reach his eyes, then gestured for his interpreter to step forward. The kommandant spoke, then the interpreter translated into perfectly structured and accented English. Jack couldn’t help feel that the interpreter was only paraphrasing what his superior officer was saying. He talked about how they had come in advance of the main force, their plans for the island, how none of them had anything to worry about as they were very fond of the islands and the Aryan people who inhabited them, and that they wanted it to be the very ‘model’ occupation they had all dreamed about.
When he had finished speaking, he smiled again, but Jack noticed that it was slightly more forced than the first time. Perhaps he had been expecting more of a response from the policemen, as they simply stood and stared.
After that he said something quietly to the chief that the interpreter relayed and then he walked around the various desks in the office, looking at them over the top of his glasses. A minute or so later, he stopped in front of Jack who felt his stance stiffen under the German’s attention. If he had been uncomfortable before, he was even more so now. There was a look on the German’s face that Jack thought was surprise. The kommandant rearranged the small glasses on his nose.
‘Are you not young for the police?’ he asked, speaking through the interpreter, then continued as if he didn’t expect an answer. ‘I would have thought a young man of your age to be with your army.’
‘We’re not subject to the same laws as the mainland, Kommandant,’ the chief jumped in. ‘That is to say, England has different rules to us.’
‘Fascinating.’ The kommandant turned, apparently now bored of the conversation. ‘Then I suspect that very little will change at all.’
‘Although,’ he continued. ‘It does surprise me that a young man such as yourself did not sign up with the British army to fight for your fatherland. Did you not want to defend your land? Perhaps you are a coward?’
Jack could feel his cheeks going red, but he stayed silent. The kommandant and his interpreter’s voice droned on as Jack tried to concentrate against his growing anger.
‘Or could it be that you are one of us and you welcomed us here? That you truly understood what the German Reich can bring? You are a true Aryan. The Führer would be proud to find such people in his new lands. Perhaps I should write to him of the great people of Guernsey and how they are looking forward to being part of the thousand-year Reich!’
The interpreter smiled at Jack when he finished speaking. It was a smile that spoke in volumes, a smile that on one hand told him that the interpreter thought that the kommandant believed his words, and on the other hand that Jack should ignore him completely. Without waiting for a response, the kommandant sat at the chief’s desk and glanced through some papers. It was a clear show that he was keen on being involved in the day-to-day workings of the island, but it left the interpreter standing awkwardly by Jack. He smiled again and there was a warmth there that Jack wasn’t expecting.
Jack shuffled his feet, praying for this situation to end as quickly as possible. The silence dragged on and he felt more and more visible as the seconds clicked away.
‘Your English is very good,’ he said to the interpreter, trying to fill the gap.
‘Thank you. I studied in England, and it’s a great opportunity to have a chance to practise it. It’s a fascinating language, a mixture of German, French, and Latin. Fascinating.’
Jack nodded in reply, almost regretting the compliment. He didn’t want to be drawn into a conversation with the man, but the silence was even worse. He shuffled again, suddenly feeling the weight of his legs. He realised the interpreter was waiting expectantly for a response. He racked his brain for something appropriate to say, but all he wanted to do was to scream ‘get out!’ The closer they were to him, the closer they were to Johanna.
‘Where did you study?’ he asked instead, hoping that the conversation would end up with the kommandant drawing his interpreter away.
‘Oh, er,’ the interpreter mumbled, apparently surprised by the question. Jack wondered if anyone had taken an interest in him like this before, or had merely passed him off as an extension of the kommandant. ‘At the School of Tropical Medicine in Liverpool. A fascinating place. Naturally since the war began I have had other duties to perform. I must attend to the kommandant. Excuse me.’
The kommandant had stood again, turned to leave, then stepped to the side, as if he had forgotten something. He snapped his heels together, while raising his right arm into the air with his palm outstretched. ‘Heil Hitler!’ he shouted.
The German liaison officer barely hesitated before he too clipped together his heels. ‘Heil Hitler!’ he returned with equal conviction.
There was an awkward moment as the kommandant appeared to look around the room. The others appeared unsure, shuffled their feet and looked at each other for direction. David’s eyes bored right into Jack’s from across the room, and Jack shook his head with as little motion as possible. There was no way that he would salute. Sure, they were in charge now, but what did it mean to him? Who was Hitler to Jack? He may serve him in some way, but he wasn’t about to debase himself like that. David seemed to be buoyed by Jack’s response, and he took a deep breath before returning to work.
The kommandant let his arm drop, and nodded to the interpreter, before finally leaving the room, his highly polished boots clicking lightly as he walked along the tiled corridor floor. The interpreter followed a few steps behind and the sound disappeared into the distance. It was another moment before everyone returned to work and sound rushed back into the room like a coming tide.
Jack stood, strong in his decision. There was something about the kommandant that Jack couldn’t quite identify, but something told him he would have to watch himself. He could never let them know about Johanna and who she truly was. He didn’t think any of them could be trusted. His eyes went to the orders the kommandant had left behind, which had already been circulated to the press for the morning papers. Some of them would be almost impossible to follow.
ORDERS OF THE COMMANDANT OF THE GERMAN FORCES IN OCCUPATION OF THE Island OF GUERNSEY
1st July 1940
(1) All inhabitants must be indoors by 11.00 p.m. and must not leave their homes before 6.00 a.m.
(2) We will respect the population in Guernsey; but, should anyone attempt to cause the least trouble, serious measures will be taken and the town will be bombed.
(3) All orders given by the military authority are to be strictly obeyed.
(4) All spirits must be locked up immediately and no spirits may be supplied, obtained or consumed henceforth. This prohibition does not apply to stocks in private houses.
(5) No person shall enter the aerodrome at La Villiaze.
(6) All rifles, airguns, pistols, revolvers, sporting guns, and all other weapons whatsoever, except souvenirs, must, together with all ammunition, be delivered at the Royal Hotel by 12 noon today, 1st July.
(7) All British sailors, airmen, and soldiers on leave in this island must report at the police station at 9.00 a.m. today and must then report at the Royal Hotel.
(8) No boat or vessel of any description, including any fishing boat, shall leave the harbour or any other place where the same is moored, without an order from the military authority, to be obtained at the Royal Hotel. All boats arriving from Jersey, from Sark or from Herm, or elsewhere, must remain in harbour until permitted by the military to leave. The crews will remain on board. The master will report to the harbourmaster, St Peter Port, and will obey his instructions.
(9) The sale of motor spirit is prohibited, except for use on essential services, such as doctors’ vehicles, the delivery of foodstuffs and sanitary services where such vehicles are in possession of a permit from the military authority to obtain supplies. These vehicles must be brought to the Royal Hotel by 12 noon today to receive the necessary permission. The use of cars for private purposes is forbidden.
(10) The black-out regulations already in force must be observed as before.
(11) Banks and shops will be open as usual.
(Signed) THE GERMAN COMMANDANT OF THE Island OF GUERNSEY
Chapter 6
1 July 1940
When he was walking home he couldn’t help thinking that he hadn’t seen Johanna since before the invasion. She had sent word to the police station that she was all right, but he longed to see her with his own eyes. When they had first met, almost two years ago now, they would spend their evenings together as often as possible, talking about everything and nothing all at once. That was before the war had come and changed everything. Since the attack he felt her absence more keenly. She had come to the island to escape her past, she had said, but now she was desperately trying to find work as a foreigner.
He was reminded of their early days together when he passed Creasey’s department store at No. 9 High Street and spotted the window display. There were a pair of sapphire shoes in the window that Johanna had pined over when they had last been there. He looked at the price and sighed. There was no way he would be able to afford them on a policeman’s wage, not unless he saved up for some time. With the war going on and now the occupation, he didn’t know whether spending all his money was a good idea. He wondered what would happen to their money and the banks now that the Germans had taken over. Part of him thought that it didn’t really matter anymore, their lives as they knew it were over, all they could do now was take care of themselves, while the other part of his brain told him the only way through it all was to stick together.
He entered the department store through the double doors and was immediately amongst the goods they sold, everything he could think of from musty-smelling leather clothing, to hat boxes and luggage. The shop had prided itself on selling everything the Islanders needed all in one place, and the inside of the store always filled him with wonder. Unfortunately he didn’t get many chances to come here, except for the few times when Johanna and he were together, so now he walked amongst the racks and rows, taking it all in.
As he passed one counter a staff member looked up and spotted him. A smile broke out across her face and Jack mentally prepared himself for a sales pitch, but it didn’t come.
‘Jack Godwin,’ she said, still smiling. ‘What brings you in here?’
She stopped what she had been doing and placed it to one side. It took Jack a long moment to fully recognise her. It had only been a couple of months since he had last seen her, and it was amazing how much someone could change in that time. ‘Madeleine?’ he asked, uncertain. Her face had filled out since he had last seen her, and the shop assistant’s dress made her look older. Her blonde hair was cut shorter than when they were children.
‘For a second there I thought you didn’t recognise me.’
Madeleine and Jack had first met as toddlers at the same school and, while he would never call them firm friends, they had always been close. He felt a wave of something pass over him, like butterflies in his stomach. He had had feelings for her then, but they had only been children. ‘I could never forget you, I just didn’t expect to see you here. I didn’t know you worked here.’
‘You charmer you,’ she said, waving a hand idly in his direction. ‘It’s nice to see that one of us hasn’t changed.’
She placed a hand on her stomach and for the first time Jack noticed the swell there. It had been hidden behind the counter, but as she stood up it was easier to see. He noticed the wedding ring he hadn’t spotted before.
‘Congratulations,’ he said, forcing a smile onto his face. He was genuinely happy for her, but the shock had caught him off guard. He had never really considered that they were old enough to have children, nor thought about marrying Johanna himself, not really. He didn’t know Madeleine had been seeing anyone, nor had he yet mentioned Johanna to her, even though they had been together for a couple of years now. Something held him back. He wished she was here now – she would know what to say – but Maddy seemed to guess the questions running through his head.
‘Thank you,’ she said, all smiles. ‘It’s all a bit sudden. But then isn’t everything right now? My husband’s in the army. He wanted me to go with him, but I had no one to go to in England and I couldn’t leave my family. You know how it is?’
Jack nodded. None of them wanted to be refugees in England, with nowhere to go and no jobs, and they couldn’t leave their families behind. He smiled, unsure what else to say.
‘Well, good luck with everything.’ The words stumbled out. ‘Let me know if you need anything.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Disgraceful!’ The woman’s voice came from nearby at another counter, shrill and raised above the level appropriate for inside conversation. It was a voice Jack recognised well, and he closed his eyes for a second, sighing, before he turned around. At first Jack thought she had been referring to Maddy, but Mrs Fletcher was talking to another young woman at the other counter. The woman was clearly trying to finish something whilst doing her best to show interest in the customer. Jack nodded at Madeleine and went over to see if he could defuse the situation. He knew that Mrs Fletcher wasn’t fond of him, but then she wasn’t particularly fond of anyone.
Mrs Fletcher was one of his neighbours, and he would often spot her staring out of a window, observing everything that went on in St Peter Port. She had a face that he could only describe as being full of hate. He could never imagine the sag of her jowls creasing into something even approaching a smile and her beady eyes behind her glasses always stared as if in silent judgement. Only her judgement was seldom silent. The dress she wore looked as if it would have been the height of fashion during the last war, but was now considered impractical and uncomfortable. Even though she made a point of presentation and appropriate etiquette, her mousy blonde hair always seemed as if she had mislaid her hairbrush, no matter how hard she tied it back. It was no wonder she was unhappy as the ravages of age took their toll, but was there really any need for her to be so mean to others?
‘What’s that you’re working on?’ he asked the shop assistant when he got to the counter. She had a needle and thread in one hand, while the other hand held a piece of material down on the desk. She was dressed in a similar manner to Madeleine, but with brunette hair that fell around her shoulders. Jack didn’t recognise her. Even though the island was small, Jack didn’t know everyone by name.
On the other hand, Mrs Fletcher recognised him immediately, her cold eyes fixing on him. She interrupted just as the assistant was about to speak, ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said. It wasn’t a question, but more of an accusation. ‘Have you seen what this girl is doing?’ she asked, but continued before he could say anything. ‘It’s disgraceful, that’s what it is.’
Jack raised his voice a little to make sure that he was heard, but not loud enough that she could accuse him of shouting at her. She had done that before. ‘What is she doing, Mrs Fletcher? I’m sure she’s just doing her job – isn’t that right, miss?’
The woman nodded at him, apparently unable to find the words.
‘Have a look for yourself, go on.’ She thrust a thin finger towards the material. ‘Disgraceful,’ she muttered.
Jack moved so that he could subtly manoeuvre himself between Mrs Fletcher and the assistant. This time he spoke in a more calming tone. He was used to adjusting his manner as a policeman, and some people needed a gentler touch. He smiled, trying to give her the sense that this was between them and to ignore the Fletcher woman, but it was hard to express all that in a smile.
‘What’s the problem?’ he asked, being deliberately vague so that she could give her version of events. The assistant hesitated, looking over his shoulder and then tried to form the words, but they only came out in a stutter. ‘Take your time.’
She nodded, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She smiled and then found her words. ‘I’m one of the seamstresses here at Creasey’s.’ She almost struggled on the esses but managed to compose herself. Jack nodded. She started unfolding the material so that she could show him what she was working on. ‘I’ve been asked to make a flag, see? A German chap came in here and asked for it specifically. They said he was the commander or something.’
She held up the red material for him to see and he finally realised. She had been stitching a white circlet in the middle of the flag, and the black cross of the German Reich lay next to it to be attached when she was ready.
‘Well?’ Mrs Fletcher butted in, and Jack had almost forgotten she was there. He couldn’t help but agree with her, but there was no way he was going to say that out loud. ‘Shouldn’t your lot be doing something about this kind of thing? Make her stop.’
Jack resisted the urge to sigh. What exactly was he ‘supposed’ to do about the German invasion of Guernsey? They could hardly stand up to an army, and it was apparent that elements of the German invasion force were already making themselves known on the island.
‘I can no more make her stop, than you can, Mrs Fletcher.’ She looked as if she was on the verge of trying, but Jack made his presence felt between the two of them. ‘The Germans have occupied the islands, and we will have to accept that. As for this flag here, there’s nothing illegal about it. They have been paid for a service and they are providing one. The assistant here is just doing the job asked of her by her employer. If the German Kommandant wants a new flag made, then there is nothing I or any other policeman for that matter can do about it. It is his right as new commander of the island, as it is any customer’s right to receive the service they have paid for.’
‘Then what are we paying you for? Exactly whose side are you on?’
It was a question he had heard a thousand times before from many a disgruntled person, either being arrested, or wondering why the police refused to arrest them. Did the Fletcher woman really want him to put that poor girl in jail for doing her job? If that happened, then who would be next?
‘I’m a policeman,’ he said. ‘I’m on the side of the people.’
Mrs Fletcher made a ‘hmphh’ sound, somewhere between a hum and a tut. When he turned, she had marched to the main door and was reaching for the handle. Nodding at the shop assistant and throwing a smile back in Madeleine’s direction, he headed to the door as well. He wanted to make sure that the Fletcher woman wasn’t going to cause any more trouble. When he stepped onto the pavement outside the department store, she was nowhere to be seen. The few people going about the town eyed him warily as they passed. Jack wondered whether everyone had stayed at home and bolted their front doors to keep away the Germans. If they had, they couldn’t stay like that forever.