Also by M. J. Hollows

Goodbye For Now

The German Nurse
M. J. HOLLOWS

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

Copyright © M. J. Hollows

M. J. Hollows asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © November 2020 ISBN: 9780008386979

Version: 2020-10-16

Table of Contents

Cover

Also by M. J. Hollows

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

1940

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Lifeboats

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

1941

Chapter 15

The Boys

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Defiance

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

1942

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

The Eastern Front

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

1943

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

HMS Limbourne

1944

Chapter 38

The Island

1945

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Epilogue

Historical Note

Acknowledgments

Extract

Dear Reader …

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

For Marian, my number-one fan, & for Geoff, the only level-ten G.

Prologue
12 February 1943

It had been a terrible mistake and Jack wouldn’t make it in time. His boots pounded on the dry earth as he sprinted up the path, thumping with each footfall. He hadn’t had time to collect his uniform, and his civilian clothes hung loosely on him, the ankles of his trousers flapping in the cool breeze.

The birds sung sweetly, completely at odds with Jack’s current state of despair. He couldn’t stop running. Even if his lungs gave up his feet would carry on.

There was a crack of a nearby door banging shut against its frame. The town felt almost abandoned in the evening twilight. Lamps lit the hedgerows and facades of houses, casting menacing shadows across the road. The people returning to their homes after a day’s work eyed him warily as he passed. Being caught out after curfew was dangerous.

He was too out of breath to say anything. They weren’t used to seeing someone running and they feared the worst. Even the local police weren’t immune to the curfew the Germans had implemented, not without a pass. He hoped that they were too busy tonight to notice.

He could feel the old Fletcher woman’s eyes on his back, staring out of her front room window. For once he didn’t care what she thought. She could report him if she wanted to – it wouldn’t make any difference now. He was sick of being watched at every turn, by the Germans, by his own colleagues, even by his neighbours.

As he turned a corner, he saw Beth coming the other way. The smile dropped from her lips as he carried on running. He could trust her even less than the others. Not now that she was in love with a German officer. She stopped and turned to watch him go, her blue eyes following him along the road.

The road lowered down, breaking the horizon and giving him a view of St Peter Port and the sea beyond. From this distance he could only make out faint blurs of boats in the harbour, some masts rising above the surrounding buildings like cigars resting on the deep blue sea.

He jumped across a wooden fence and into farmland. He felt a momentary pang of guilt at disturbing the crops, but they were thin and bare anyway, stripped by the occupying forces and sent to the continent. The furrowed ground was dry and hard, rougher on his feet than the road had been, and he almost slipped several times.

They thought they could resist the Germans. They were wrong. He should have listened to the others. Now the occupiers had whittled them down and taken everything from them. Almost.

The soft wilderness turned to town as he kept running. He was almost out of breath, but as he passed the houses on the outskirts of St Peter Port it gave him hope. A ‘V’ scrawled on a nearby wall gave him strength. They were still resisting.

The harbour was down and to his right, through the main streets of St Peter Port. Time was running out, but he wouldn’t give up now. Not while he still had breath in his body. Curtains shifted in houses as he ran past. The sky was darkening, and he was sure he would soon run into a German patrol. So far he had been lucky, but that luck would not last forever. He should never have left Johanna, not when she needed him most. They should have escaped long ago.

What more did he need when he had the beauty of the island, the love of Johanna and his family? Death had come to the island, stalking them in field grey uniform and jackboots. All the place held for him now was horror. How had it finally come to this?

He crossed the road and made his way down a gravel path between houses, stones skittering away as his boots dislodged them. There was a shortcut between the buildings. He no longer had any pretensions of reaching the police station in time. Instead he hoped to head them off at the harbour. He had to stop them, somehow. That was all he kept thinking as he ran. No matter what it took, he couldn’t let the Germans do what they were about to do, take the only thing he had left. Not like this.

The harbour opened up in front of him. The scene he remembered so well from that terrible day the Germans had invaded. It had changed much since then – fortified and bleak, fewer boats bobbed softly in their moorings. He hadn’t stopped running, the breath almost gone from his body, but he pushed himself on, legs burning with the effort. He skidded and changed direction, towards the harbour proper. His attention had been drawn by a pair of lanterns moving along one of the piers that jutted out into the sea. The hum of a motor rose up into the air.

He jumped over a fence and almost slipped on the landing. ‘Halt!’ a German voice shouted from behind him. One of the patrols had spotted him, but he didn’t look back. As he approached the end of the pier he could hear voices, a soft pleading intermingled with clipped and harsh German. He couldn’t make out the words as they boarded a waiting boat. He wanted to shout after them, tell them to stop, but his lungs burned and no sound would come. He realised for the first time how much his heart was thumping in his chest. Feet slipped on the wet pier, and he pitched forward with a clatter. His stomach hit the ground and he only just managed to shield his face with an outstretched arm. The breath was knocked from his lungs. He tried to raise himself up, but something felt wrong. He’d broken something. With a groan he leant on his elbow and looked up.

He was too late. He always knew he would be, but he couldn’t give up hope. Not until now, when he could hear the faint whirring of the boat’s engine as it pushed away from the harbour. Even if he jumped in the icy water to follow her, he would not make it in time. Plunging to his death would not bring her back.

The sound of boots rang out along the pier, growing closer by the second, as he stared into the darkness. All he could see was the faint light of a lantern illuminating the boat as it rose and fell in the water, moving away from the harbour. There were a few silhouettes on board, some wearing the distinctive steel helmet of the Wehrmacht. He could just about make out a shape in between them, scrabbling towards the back of the boat. Was it a woman? A hand reached out to the shore, then disappeared into the darkness.

1940

Chapter 1
19 June 1940

Guernsey was beautiful in the summer: the rolling green fields, the vivid blue sea. It was what drew most people here, taking the boat from Weymouth, or a short flight across the Channel. It was a perfect spot for a holiday, but fewer people were visiting by the day, since the British Government had declared war on Germany. Far closer still was the coast of France, visible on the horizon to the south of the island.

The beauty was the only thing Jack could think about as he left the house he shared with his mother and grandparents. His mother’s voice still resonated in his ears, speaking those hard and damning words.

‘Don’t make the same mistakes I made. Not with that woman! Jack? Jack?!’

He caught the door before it slammed shut, then let it click softly against the wooden frame. He didn’t want to exacerbate things and draw the neighbours’ attention. Taking a deep breath, he tried to forget his mother’s words and stepped away from the house. The further away he was from there, the less it would play on his thoughts. It was a fine June day, bright blue sky and barely a cloud in sight, and his mother’s mood couldn’t change that. It would take something far worse, and even though war was brewing on the horizon, it hadn’t reached them yet. Who knew if it even would?

Their house was typical of the buildings on George Street at the edge of St Peter Port, built from a stone that gave it a mottled, irregular look, and roofed in grey slate tiles. Some of the houses in the terrace were plastered and painted white, but Jack’s grandparents had left theirs as natural as possible, less difficult to maintain and still impressive. They had once owned a farmhouse, as they never grew tired of telling him, but as his grandfather’s health had deteriorated they had moved closer to the town.

He had been a great man with a booming laugh, always telling stories and like a father to Jack, but now he was a gaunt man almost always confined to his bed. The row of houses lined the way down to the harbour, and Jack knew every occupant by name. He stood for a moment looking at the navy-blue-painted door and wondering if his mother would follow him after their argument.

He and his mother had argued a lot more recently, but he knew deep down that she was only concerned. She meant well, but sometimes she didn’t think before speaking. Like everyone, she was worried about what might happen to them. The ever-looming shadow of war seemed to grow closer every day. She couldn’t forget the last war, how it had affected them all, and it had affected her more than most.

He turned and picked up his bicycle from the wall; he was going to be late if he didn’t hurry. He wished he had time to go and see Johanna. Seeing her would cheer him up.

The sun beat down and he began to sweat. His clothes were close and hot, and it would be even worse when he put on his uniform at the police station. But it gave him a sense of pride to wear it, a sign that even in his short life he had already accomplished something many others could only dream of.

People were going about their business as usual in the morning, heading to work at the shops and eateries, fishermen coming back from overnight hauls, and he greeted them with a smile and a nod as he cycled past. They liked seeing their local policeman on the streets, looking after them, especially in these dark times when everyone was nervous and never far from fear. He was here for them. He was a public servant, no more, no less. He had dedicated his life to helping other people, and no matter what happened he would never forget that.

*

Jack entered the police station and the hot summer sun was immediately blocked out. There was always a musty, damp smell to the interior, as if it had been built on top of some sort of stream. It was muggy and even the collar of his linen shirt chafed at his neck.

‘Morning,’ William – the sergeant on the desk – called, looking up from some paperwork. ‘You’ve heard then? They’re in the briefing room.’

‘Heard what?’ Jack leant on the other side of the desk, waiting for the sergeant to explain. Normally the pair of them only exchanged pleasantries, but there was a look in William’s eyes that Jack couldn’t quite describe, like he was staring right through him.

‘The chief’s called everyone in,’ he said a moment later. ‘Something big’s happening. I thought you’d got the telephone call. You’d better hurry.’

Jack nodded and headed through the main doors and into their changing room. He tried to spend as little time in the station as possible, preferring the wide-open grasslands of the island. He asked for patrol shifts that took him on the long walks that many of his colleagues would rather avoid.

Jack had heard nothing of the meeting that William had mentioned and it pulled at his imagination, as he folded his clothes into a cupboard. It could be anything, but his mind immediately thought the worst. Some hoped the war would stall far away in France like the last one, but many still worried. They wondered what to do, some leaving the island already and others stockpiling food and supplies. Even the soldiers had no idea. He thought of them as he pulled his uniform on. Their fear must be worse than the Islanders, not knowing when they would be called to fight.

The newspapers had reported on the happenings in mainland Europe, and every time Jack thought of it he could feel a tightening in his chest. No matter how often he told himself to be calm, that everything would be all right in the end, he couldn’t ignore that indefinable feeling of dread.

Fully uniformed, Jack pushed open the door of the briefing room. He was immediately hit with the smell of cigarette smoke and body odour. The room was dark, with no natural light, only the faint glow of the kerosene lamps. The building only had electric lighting upstairs.

The room was full, seeming to contain the entirety of Guernsey’s police force, all thirty-three men.

‘Glad you could join us, Constable Godwin,’ a deep voice said. The chief officer didn’t even bother to look at Jack as he leant against the wall at the back. The chief’s voice was thick and he cleared it, passing the phlegm into a white cotton handkerchief that he kept in his breast pocket. ‘Well,’ he continued. ‘Now that everyone is here we can begin.’ He picked up a few pieces of paper from his desk and shuffled them, apparently looking for something in particular. He fumbled with his glasses. ‘The next few days are going to be incredibly difficult for us,’ he said, fixing each of them with a look before moving on. ‘The news we’ve all been anticipating has finally arrived. The envoy returned from the mainland this morning.’

There was a slight shift in the room as the local policemen objected to the description of England as the mainland. Jack often made the same mistake, treating Guernsey as an extension of England when most of the locals thought of themselves as their own country. The chief didn’t seem to notice as he continued.

‘The Prime Minister, Mr Churchill, has ordered the withdrawal of all military forces on the island,’ he said, looking them all in the eye one after the other again, letting the implication of his words settle in. ‘The British Government have decided that the islands are not worth the resources needed to defend them.’

There was a gasp from the assembled policemen. They glanced at each other, looking for reassurance. ‘Does it really say that, sir?’ someone asked amongst the mutterings.

‘Not explicitly, but that’s not the point. We’ve often been on our own. I don’t see this as any different. We all have our jobs to do. We’ve also been asked to assist in whatever way necessary, to expedite their withdrawal from the island. There is expected to be a panic when the Islanders find out the army is leaving, and many will want to travel to the mainland. The states want this to be organised as efficiently as possible, and the press is already preparing to circulate the details in today’s papers.’

He raised a copy of the Star. ‘EVACUATION,’ it read. ‘ALL CHILDREN TO BE SENT TO MAINLAND TOMORROW. WHOLE BAILIWICK TO BE DEMILITARISED.’ By comparison the Guernsey Evening Press had a more measured account of how the evacuation was going to be conducted. There was a sigh from someone to Jack’s right. ‘They’re abandoning us and we’ve gotta help them do it? Fantastic.’

‘Less of that, Sergeant.’ The chief officer fixed Sergeant Honfleur with a pointed stare over the top of his glasses. ‘We’ve all had to follow orders we didn’t agree with before; this is no different.’

Jack only knew some of the soldiers by name, Henry and the others, and they were part of the local militia that had now been disbanded. Some of them had gone with the army to enlist in England and he couldn’t shake the horrible feeling that they were leaving them behind. The Islanders had known the war would come for them sometime, but the forces that were stationed here were supposed to be for their protection.

‘What now, sir?’ the sergeant asked, crossing his arms and leaning back against a desk. The atmosphere was tense and the policemen shifted in their seats. William played with his watch, and David squashed a cigarette in an ashtray as he lit another.

‘Now, with luck, the lack of armed forces here will mean that even if the Germans get this far, they’ll leave us alone.’

‘Let’s hope you’re right, sir.’

‘Well, we all have our normal work to do and you all have a decision to make. The islands are not defensible. We don’t know whether the Germans will come, but it’s a possibility.’

‘How do we know, sir? What will they want with us? If the islands are indefensible, it’d be the same for them.’

‘Maybe they’re after your potato patch, sir.’ That was PC David Roussel, a grin stretched across his face. They all laughed, lowering the tension in the room, but it was cut short by a glare from the chief.

‘The states have appealed to the government to mount an evacuation.’

There was another murmur around the room, and Jack looked across at David who shrugged in response. The chief cleared his throat again. ‘They’ve agreed,’ he said. ‘But those wanting to leave have to be ready immediately. I’ve just received a telegram. The boats for the children are coming tomorrow. Any child who needs evacuating to England has to be ready to leave by tomorrow morning. The first boats will arrive at two-thirty in the morning. Children of school age and under can register to be taken to a reception centre on the mainland.’

‘What about their parents, sir?’

There were parents in the room, and they sat up straighter than before. He shuffled through the notices again, then finding the one he wanted he pushed the glasses up on his nose and took a closer look. ‘Anyone wishing to be evacuated will have to register with the authorities and wait to see if there is enough room on the boats. There is no guarantee that everyone will be evacuated, except for the children.

‘Those men wishing to join the armed forces on arrival in England may also register.’

He dropped the papers to his desk and looked at them over the rim of his glasses.

‘Now, as honourable a decision it may be to go and join up in England, let us not forget the people whom we serve here. If you all go, what am I to do then? Even if the Germans don’t come there will be anarchy on the island. Please consider that before making your decision. I expect every man to do his duty and continue in service of the island. If you leave, there will be no job to return to.’

There was a general hubbub as the policemen talked amongst themselves. The islands had been conquered a long time ago when the English had taken them from the French. It didn’t mean that it would happen again. Jack couldn’t imagine it. The islands were peaceful. If they didn’t fight the Germans then maybe they could just get on with their lives in peace. Jack wouldn’t leave anyway. He needed to be here. His mother had no one else, except his grandparents, and he had to look after them as well. They all relied on him. Then there was Johanna.

The chief cleared his throat. ‘Dismissed,’ he said. ‘Get to work.’

The chief came over to Jack as the others were leaving and pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. Through them his eyes were large and beady. They reminded Jack of an insect, and he fought a smile that threatened to turn the corner of his lips. Smirking at his superior officer wasn’t a good way to start the day, no more than arguing with his mother.

‘I remember your thoughts on war, but surely you aren’t against helping these chaps get on their boats, are you?’

Jack didn’t say anything. A few misplaced comments from Jack in the past and the man had assumed so much. He had learnt since then that it was easier to let him talk. The chief liked the sound of his own voice. ‘We all have to do things we don’t like in the line of duty. I have a special request of you, Jack.’

‘Yes, sir?’ he asked, already dreading what it might be.

‘I want you ready first thing in the morning. On your way in, check on the evacuation of the children; make sure they have everything they need and that no one is causing trouble.’

‘Yes, sir.’ It wasn’t the duty he had been expecting, but it could have been a lot worse.

‘Good. Then I want you to be the first one down at the harbour. You and your colleagues will erect barricades to ensure that only those who are registered can board. We have to be careful – I have a bad feeling about this.’

It was true, things were only going to get worse as the tension on the island rose and people panicked. The chief nodded over his glasses and left Jack to his thoughts. He would need a good night’s sleep, but he still had a whole day of work ahead. He sighed and went to find the sergeant to enquire about his duties.

*

After the briefing it had been a quiet day, which seemed to drag on into eternity as Jack patrolled the island, keeping an eye out for any trouble and helping with menial tasks when he had nothing else to occupy him. Many had been busy making preparations for the evacuation as word had spread quickly. Finally, later that evening, he returned home, ready for a good night’s sleep. His legs ached and his feet were sore from standing all day, something that he thought he would never get used to. He didn’t know why the boats had to come so early, but then he never really understood the methods of government. Leaving the island defenceless didn’t seem right, but he had to believe they knew what they were doing, otherwise he might as well just throw his uniform away. He had worked so hard to get that uniform in the first place; he wasn’t going to give it up now.

His way home took him past the town hall, which had been turned into a registration office for the evacuation. Jack had been past earlier in the day while they were preparing and now there was a long queue around the building. It moved slowly, but the tension was clear as people stood closer to each other than they would do otherwise, rushing forward every time a gap opened. Some groups chatted quietly; others stood in silence.

There was a scuffle between two men, and one of them was knocked to the ground. ‘I was here first,’ the standing man shouted, moving closer to his victim and pulling back a foot to strike. There was a gasp from the surrounding crowd, a quick intake of air as they recognised Jack, even out of uniform. The attacker hesitated, then reached out a hand to help his victim up. The other man refused and went to stand further back in the queue as his attacker eyed Jack warily. The knuckles of his right hand were grazed and pinpricks of blood stood out. Jack made a mental note to check on the man later, in case he caused any more trouble.

He nodded at the man, then worked his way around to the front of the queue, to see a man come back out of the door to the registration office, pulling his wife behind him. He didn’t see Jack as he bumped into him and pushed his way past without so much as a ‘sorry’. Given the stress that people were feeling, he decided to let it go. People in the queue looked after him, their eyes wide.

He flashed them a smile. ‘Good evening,’ he said, touching the brim of his hat. No one paid him any notice, but his smile didn’t falter.

A woman appeared around the corner, walking at pace. She wore a light beige summer dress, which fluttered in the breeze, and a matching hat. It was a second or two before he fully recognised her, as he was lost in his own thoughts. ‘Johanna,’ he breathed, before stepping aside to make sure he was in her path.

She almost walked around him, shaking her head, before looking up and stopping in her tracks. ‘Jack?’ she asked, in the familiar way she said his name. Jacques. He loved the way she said it, with the soft ‘J’ much closer to the French. ‘What are you doing here?’

She reached out a hand and rested it on the crook of his arm, and smiled.

‘I was on my way home.’ He smiled back at her, stroking her hand. ‘I could ask you the same?’

‘Me? Bah!’ She snorted, remembering herself. ‘I joined this queue to see if they would take us to England. But they said no and called me an “enemy alien”. An enemy indeed! First they lock me up, now when they release me, this. What harm could I possibly do to their precious country? We have the same enemies! But they treat me like an enemy, just because I’m German. They wouldn’t even let me work as a nurse, despite my training.’

Her cheeks were red and she shook her head, letting go of his arm. When the war had started the states had not been sure what to do with foreigners living on the island, and when the Germans were getting closer to the islands they had locked up all the Germans in case they were spies. Johanna had only just got out. Jack looked around them and caught the eye of several in the queue watching their conversation. Without thinking he took a hold of Johanna’s arm and pulled her gently along the street, down an alley between a pair of buildings, out of view and earshot.

‘We’re best talking here,’ he said. ‘Who knows who’s listening?’

‘Why does it matter?’ she asked, looking up at him.

‘These people are worried.’ He gestured back the way they had come. ‘They don’t know what to do and they don’t know what will happen. If we’re not careful their worry may become anger.’

‘I don’t understand,’ she said, a frown crossing her brow. It was that look that had first attracted him to her, the look of a furious intelligence. The curls of her auburn hair bounced as she shook her head. ‘Why can’t we go as well?’

He sighed. It wasn’t that the question was a bad one, he just didn’t know what to say. In a perfect world they could just live out their lives on the island in peace. He took hold of her hand. He wanted to tell her he would run away with her, that he would always protect her, but where would they go? Europe was at war, and she wasn’t allowed into Britain.

‘There are conditions that need to be met before someone can register,’ he said at long last. ‘There’s not enough room in the boats for everyone. It’s only for parents who wish to accompany their children, and even then, I’m not sure they can guarantee space. And foreign nationals aren’t being allowed into the country right now.’

‘So they expect me to stay here?’ She struggled her hand out of his grip and paced across to the other side of the alley. She leant against a wall, her back on the painted stone, and closed her eyes. ‘What happens when the Germans come? I’ve already run from them once. What next? What if they find out I’m a Jew?’

Again, he didn’t have the answer, but based on her body language he didn’t think that she expected one. He moved closer to her, careful not to startle her. ‘We don’t know if they will come,’ he said. ‘The states are hoping that they will just avoid us, especially when the army leaves. Besides, I want to stay here. I don’t want us to go anywhere.’

‘You haven’t seen the things I’ve seen, Jack.’ It almost felt like an accusation, like somehow because he hadn’t been there he couldn’t possibly understand what she was thinking or feeling. She was probably right, but if she didn’t confide in him, then how could he ever understand? She had mentioned her past, but had refused to say more when he asked. She didn’t want to talk about it, but how was he supposed to understand her if she didn’t? He often wondered what had happened to her in Germany, and he had heard plenty of rumours, but she would not speak of it.

‘They won’t stop at the French coast,’ she said, seeing his hesitance. There were tears at the corners of her eyes.

‘What if they don’t?’ he asked. ‘We can’t worry about that now. We have to take each day as it comes. They are just as likely to leave us alone. What need do they have of the islands?’

‘You never worry. How can you be so calm, Jack? Teach me.’ She reached out a hand to him as if beckoning, and he took a step closer. He intertwined his fingers with hers and thought about pulling her into an embrace, but stopped.

‘When I was old enough to understand that my father had died, I was angry,’ he said, his voice a soft whisper. ‘It took me a long time to realise there was nothing I could have done.’

The town hall bell suddenly struck, ringing out across St Peter Port. It was getting late. He screwed his eyes shut, feeling suddenly weary.

‘I have to go,’ he said with a sigh. ‘To get some sleep before the morning. The boats are coming at two-thirty in the morning, but the attorney general has managed to persuade them to delay boarding until six.’

Johanna let go of his hand and let out a deep breath. He tried to take hold of her again, but she pushed herself away from the wall and walked towards the end of the alley.

‘Where are you going?’ Jack called after her.

‘To the hotel,’ she shouted back over her shoulder. ‘They need volunteers. At least I can be useful!’ Johanna walked away, leaving him alone in the side street.

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.

Jack longed to pull Johanna into a similar embrace, but he didn’t know when they would get the chance to be alone. They should have been boarding a boat of their own, if only Johanna had been able to leave too. Deep brown eyes bore into his, wide with surprise, and he realised he was staring.

Jack yawned and thought about how much more tired he would be by the time all of this was done. He would sleep the sleep of the dead later. For now, he forced himself forward, one foot after the other.

A couple of his colleagues were manoeuvring a wooden barricade into place along the end of the pier. One of them, an older man, PC Frank Baker, was struggling to lift the crossbeam into the groove cut in a leg, and Jack rushed to help him. ‘Thanks,’ Frank said as they wrestled the beam into place, and he stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow. ‘This probably won’t help much if this lot get rowdy.’ He threw a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the growing queue. ‘But at least it will make them think twice.’

A man walked past them, carrying three overfilled rucksacks and visibly sweating in the heat. ‘There’s no way he’s getting that lot on a boat,’ Jack said, looking over at his other colleague, Sergeant Honfleur, who nodded and grumbled.

‘Glad you could join us, Godwin. You can man this barricade while we take a break.’

There was a loud crack as a wooden crate was dropped to the ground by two khaki-clad soldiers. Neither of them flinched. The navy’s boats bobbed gently in their moorings as the materiel was taken on board. That both the army and the children were being evacuated at the same time was causing havoc with the harbour, and the men in khaki moved freely past the cordons the police had set up. Jack could see some of the civilians edging closer, looking to take advantage of the lapse.

A soldier with three chevrons stitched on to his sleeve stopped, put down a crate and used the break to stretch his back. He looked over at Jack and nodded. ‘Good thing the weather is calm,’ he said, his accent not from the islands. ‘Or the trip to the mainland with this lot would be hell.’

‘That’s true, but they’ll want to hurry up. They’re getting in the way of the evacuation.’

The sergeant nodded. ‘Aye, but it’s not easy mobilising an army, my friend. Especially across the sea. We’ve got a lot to get on board that there navy ship out in the bay.’

‘They must have known this was coming. You could at least leave us something.’

‘Hah, don’t assume anything. We were caught napping during the last war too. Chamberlain didn’t fancy a fight, but now ol’ Churchill’s in charge. And no can do, friend.’ He patted the crate he had been carrying. ‘Can’t leave anything behind that we may need. It’s for your own good. If the Hun do come, you’ll be best off if they think you’re completely unarmed. I know it’s not easy to hear, but that’s how it is.’

‘You’re still abandoning us.’

The other man was silent for a moment, looking out over the sea. He nodded shallowly, before speaking. ‘I can see why you would think that,’ he said. ‘Truth is, I reckon it’s a question of winning or losing the war altogether. If the Germans come here, what can we do to stop them really?’ He waved a hand around the harbour. ‘We could defend bits of the island, but with no navy support we’d soon be overrun. Me and my lads can be put to better use somewhere else.

‘And if we’re not here, at least they won’t come with force. No one will die for a few extra days’ resistance.’

Jack scowled. This man had no choice but to go off and fight somewhere else, but Jack didn’t have to like it. While there was still some hope, they could stop the Germans taking the island.

The other man’s frown broke into a smile. ‘Say what. Come with us. Young lad like you’d do well in khaki.’

Jack shook his head. What else could he say? That he hated war? He surely wouldn’t appreciate it. Besides, that was an overly simplistic explanation. It wasn’t war that he hated; it was death. Jack had lost everything as a child, and he had always blamed war for it.

‘I can’t. My family … I’m needed here,’ he said. He would never forgive himself if he left his family to fend for themselves, and he knew that no matter what he said they would never leave the island. This was their home. This was his home.

‘I understand,’ the other man said, lighting a cigarette and offering the packet to Jack who refused. ‘More than you can imagine. It’s why I do what I do. Some of us don’t have families to look after. Some of us fight to protect other people’s families, those who have what we don’t.’ He took a long drag. ‘I don’t blame you for staying. I’d probably do the same if it was my home and I had anyone to stay for. I wish you luck.’ With a grunt he lifted the crate up and trudged off down the pier, cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

‘Thanks.’

A boat was pushing off from the harbour, wobbling as a soldier kicked at the mooring. When the boat moved suddenly, he almost fell but was caught by a companion. They laughed it off, but the boat was so overcrowded Jack didn’t fancy their chances of staying dry during the journey. There weren’t enough boats to take them all out to the SS Biarritz in the bay. Jack wondered if he did want to go with them after all, where would he even fit?

A few hours later, Jack watched the last of the boats leave the harbour. The Biarritz was already disappearing around the corner of the bay, the smoke from its chimneys the only blotch on the clear blue sky. There were still some fishing boats moored up in the harbour, but it was a shadow of its former self. The island felt quieter already, except for the soft sobbing coming from behind him as families went home to await their unknown future.

‘À bétaot,’ he said to no one in particular. Goodbye.

Chapter 3
26 June 1940

The windows of the house rattled to an irregular rhythm in their frames. At first they had thought a truck from one of the farms had driven too close to the house, but the sound had continued. There would be a long moment of calm, followed by the glass shaking a few times in quick succession. Some were quieter than others, then a large bang drifted across the sea as something bigger went up.

The crockery on his tray clinked with each movement as Jack carried bowls of potato soup to his grandparents, trying not to spill any on the floor. He had expected them to look concerned when he entered their room, but they sat up against the metal headboard of their bed, quietly muttering to themselves.

‘I hear the Hun are at it again,’ his grandfather grumbled as he spotted Jack, who was too busy concentrating on the bowls to reply.

‘Thank you, dear,’ his grandmother said as he put the tray down on the only table in their room, a dark-lacquered, old wooden side table. He passed a bowl to her. She lifted the spoon and moved it towards her husband, who scoffed when he saw what she was doing. ‘I’m not an invalid,’ he said, before a cough racked his body. She smiled wearily at him, but Jack knew that she would do anything for her husband. As he would do for Johanna.

He picked up the second bowl and there was another rumble from outside. Jack flinched as it rocked in his hands.

‘Don’t worry, Jacky,’ his grandmother said, and Jack was unsure whether she was talking about the soup or the sound of warfare drifting in through the open window. ‘You’ll get used to it, just like we did in the last war.’

Jack wondered if this would be the same, that at some point the backdrop of war would become second nature to them.

‘The Hun wouldn’t dare,’ his grandfather agreed, before another coughing fit. Jack wanted to do something to help him, the man who had been like a father to him in the absence of his own father, but nothing they had done had helped. Jack longed for the grandfather who had told him stories of better times and convinced him to join the police force, knowing that he could never do anything else but try to help people, that since his father had died Jack had wanted to prevent anyone else suffering the same heartbreak. His grandfather was the man who had helped Jack feel like a local, forget that he was born in England and fit in on the island. It was funny to think that all those things had led him to become a policeman.

‘When are we going to see that nice young girl again, dear?’ his grandmother asked, breaking his reverie. ‘Jocelyn, Josie, whatsit?’

‘Johanna,’ Jack replied with a smile. ‘Soon, I hope, but well … you know what Mum’s like.’

She sighed, then took a mouthful of her soup. His mother’s moods were an unspoken issue in the house. None of them truly knew what caused them, but all they could do was wait for them to pass.

‘She will come around,’ his grandfather said, joining in the conversation. ‘You’ll see – I’ll have a word with her.’ He managed to stifle a cough and his broad smile reminded Jack of past days.

‘Thanks,’ Jack said, smiling too, knowing that his grandfather would always come through for him.

The windows rocked again, causing a little dust to fall from the ceiling. Jack left his grandparents to their meal and went into the hallway. He opened the front door, the creak of its hinges lost in the din, as explosions lit up the coast of France. His neighbours stood on their doorsteps too and looked about, frowns etched deep on their faces. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The army had left only a few days ago, and the Islanders had hoped to be left alone now that they were no longer a threat. The newspapers had talked about the German advance, but no one had expected to hear it from here. Something terrible was happening over on the north coast. It seemed they wanted the whole of France for themselves.

Jack left his house and walked up onto the headland to get a better look. Some of his neighbours followed at first, but then drifted off after a while, unwilling to witness the reality of what was happening. From up there a person could see for miles, to the south across the bright blue sea, to the faint white hue of clouds on the horizon. Jack stood there for a time. He often enjoyed it up on the hills and grabbed a glance over the sea whenever he could. Sometimes he would sit; others he would just stand and think. It gave him a chance to compose his thoughts and a bit of distance from home. At times he was tempted to sketch the view, but he had no talent for it. His mother could draw, creating something that looked like a reasonable landscape.

The Cherbourg Peninsula was a muddy brown line along the edge of the sea, a land that seemed so far away. The wind was a south-westerly, blowing across him, threatening to take off his hat. The sounds had died out and been replaced by an eerie calm in which Jack could only hear his heartbeat and the occasional gust of wind. Over the few miles of sea blew thick black smoke, which left an acrid taste in his mouth. It was the taste of oil, strong and suffocating.

Often scents and smells would blow across from the mainland, the faint whiff of burning, of bonfires or wood stoves, but this time it was much stronger. It was a sign of things to come. Someone was burning fuel. He presumed it was so the Germans couldn’t get their hands on it. The invaders wouldn’t be far from the capital city now, and once there the rest of France wouldn’t be far behind.

Jack stayed for a while longer, watching the French coastline. He feared for the people. While he hadn’t been alive during the last war, he was aware of the damage it had caused. It had taken his father from him. People still refused to talk about it, but he knew how it had affected them. Another war was terrifying, but it wasn’t their war. The Germans had wanted a fight, and now they were all on a course to be dragged into it. He only hoped that it wouldn’t take anyone else from him, that he could protect Johanna from what she was running from.

After a while, when the smoke had blended with the clouds, he turned to walk back into town, taking one last glance over his shoulder at the coming darkness.

*

28 June 1940

‘Mum?’ Jack asked as he entered the living room. He hadn’t spoken to her since Wednesday, and today was Friday. With everything that had been happening they had barely seen each other, and he was concerned that one of her moods might have taken her. Now that he had a day off, he wanted to make sure that she was all right. He had a few minutes before he had to leave and wanted to clear the air. She was sitting in her armchair, near the empty fireplace, knitting needles flicking back and forth as she knitted. She didn’t respond straight away, just stared down at her hands.

‘What are you making?’ he asked as he sat down on the chair closest to hers. She stopped what she was doing to push the Guernsey Post in his direction, but still didn’t look up.

‘It’s happening again,’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper. Jack almost hadn’t heard what she said. He scanned the headlines, the fractured reports from the continent. He sighed, knowing that the mood he feared had arrived and that now there was nothing he could do or say to make a difference. It could last for days. It was at times like this that he worried for her the most, not knowing what he could do, but wishing. Wishing for something to change.

‘We don’t know that for sure,’ he said, looking her in the eyes to get her attention. ‘We can be safe here, even without the army.’

She frowned at him, then a smile bent the corners of her mouth. She reached out a hand and tucked his hair behind his left ear, the way she had always done when he was a child.

‘How do you always manage to be so optimistic?’ she asked, her features softening. ‘You didn’t get that from me, so it must be your father.’

‘I just wanted to see that you were all right,’ he said, trying to deflect the conversation. Talk of his father would only make things worse. She never admitted how much she missed him, but Jack knew it was like a hole in her heart. ‘There’s no point in worrying. We don’t know what will happen. Besides I will be here.’

She patted his arm. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I will be fine as long as you are safe. You’re all I have left.’

Jack reflected on her words for a moment, before leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. This was the reason he could never join the army, to follow in his father’s footsteps. ‘I will always be here for you,’ he said, standing and walking to the door. It wasn’t a good idea to dwell any longer than was necessary, and best to leave on a high.

‘Where are you going?’ Her voice was stronger than it had been before, an edge of concern creeping in. Jack didn’t answer at first. He had finally managed to lift her mood and he didn’t want to ruin it.

‘You’re going to see that woman, aren’t you?’

He stopped dead at the door. ‘I wish you wouldn’t call her that,’ he replied, trying to remain calm and not cause another shouting match. ‘You would like her if you gave her a chance. She’s a good person.’

‘She’s trouble. She’ll be the death of you, just you wait and see.’ She was shouting now. ‘I wish you would choose things more carefully. You’re just like your father, always running into danger.’ He could feel her look of despair piercing the back of his head, as he kept walking, not knowing when he would come back.

*

A swift circled the harbour, wings forming a crossed silhouette against the clear blue sky. It wheeled again, searching, hunting, before disappearing from view behind a bluff. Jack cleared his mind and leant back against the harbour wall in the sunshine. These rare moments of being off duty were a blessing and he was determined not to take them for granted. Johanna would be coming to meet him soon, and he was looking forward to their time together.

A young boy played nearby, rushing around the narrow paving of the harbour, screeching with joy. He clutched a wooden toy in his hand. Jack knew the child, but only in passing. His father was a fisherman who had been out to sea when the evacuation had been arranged. His wife, who Jack knew even less thanks to her reclusive nature, hadn’t known what to do and had decided to stay on the island. The boy was all she had. Others were heading down the hill from the High Street to the harbour after hearing the attorney general’s daily briefing at the press offices, eager to see the last mail boat off. Perhaps there was some sort of morbid curiosity about it, but Jack was happy to sit and watch the birds.

The bird flew up above the harbour again, looking for more prey. A few seconds later it was joined by another, possibly a mate. They hunted together, whisking through the air with speed, before disappearing again in a hurry.

The air was pierced by the metallic whine of an engine, rapidly rising in pitch as it came nearer. Jack could tell from the timbre that it was some kind of aircraft, but at first he couldn’t see it. The grey of its fuselage blended with the sky, but as it grew closer its yellow nose cone stood out. The first aircraft rushed past Jack, low, the black cross on its side a blur in motion.

Jack pushed himself to his feet, scanning the harbour as he did so. Others around him, including a group of men unloading tomato trucks by the harbour, stared up at the German aircraft. They had seen aircraft from a distance, but never this close. It could be a reconnaissance mission, simply getting a look at the island, before returning to France. Jack tried to convince himself of that, but something in the back of his mind told him he was wrong.

‘The Germans! The Germans are coming!’ a man shouted behind Jack. They had all feared it would happen soon, but why now? Jack was blinded by the glare as he looked up to see another plane. He hadn’t expected them to come in force. They must have known by now that the islands were undefended, that the army had abandoned them. That bitter fact still troubled him. Why had they left, when they could have prevented this?

The other plane came around, the yellow cone of its propeller facing towards Jack. He resisted the urge to jump out of the way, as it zoomed overhead, the roar of its engine deafening in his ears. There were five other planes in its wake. Too many for reconnaissance, and too close to St Peter Port. Not even the Royal Air Force had dared fly this low.

A rising sense of dread left his stomach feeling empty and numb. There was a chattering sound as one of the plane’s guns started up, peppering the road. Chips of stone flew everywhere, almost as deadly as the bullets. Those caught in the road ran or lay where they fell. One of Johanna’s friends, a woman called Susanne, was running across the road. The plane banked, pulling up over the town and wheeled around for another pass. Susanne stumbled, her shoe caught in a gutter.

Jack didn’t think; he ran towards her, grabbing her around the waist. He pulled her aside as she protested, and they fell together into the dirt at the side of the road, rolling down the shallow hill. The fighter roared overhead and away again, as bits of debris covered the pair. They kept their heads down. His face was close to Susanne’s, and he could see the fear in her eyes. They were wide, pupils dilated. There was a moment of intimacy, the feeling of a shared life, safe for a second, before she shifted uncomfortably underneath him.

‘Get off me, Jack, you schwein.’ She pushed at him and it took him a second before he realised that he had been pinning her. He jumped up and helped her from the ground. Jack didn’t know her that well. Like Johanna she had come over from Germany, but it wouldn’t do to be seen this way.

‘You should get out of here,’ he said, guiding her in the direction of the town. ‘There may be more on the way. Everyone needs to get to safety.’

‘Where is safe?’ she asked, walking quickly away from him up the road. He didn’t have an answer. They would have to do something, and fast. He hurried to keep up. ‘If they want to kill us,’ she said, ‘they will. Nothing here is going to stop them.’

‘Just go, Susanne,’ he shouted, over the din of the aeroplanes.

‘What about you?’ she asked.

Jack glanced back towards the harbour. There were still people in danger, and it was his job to keep them safe. ‘Look after yourself,’ he called back over his shoulder as he started to run. He didn’t check to see if she had obeyed his command.

The young boy was the other side of the road from Jack, near one of the now-abandoned tomato trucks. He had been running about, playing in the dirt, but now was scampering in fear. Jack didn’t know where the boy’s parents were. The boy disappeared behind the truck. A horse whinnied as it bolted and took its cart with it, clattering along the cobbles towards town. A shadow crossed the sky and Jack felt a sudden wave of pressure. The truck exploded with a flash of flame. The shockwave struck Jack, pushing him back. A rush of heat washed over him as he hit the ground, and rolled, trying to put some distance between himself and the flames. The sound rang in his ears, drowning out everything else. He thought he could hear crying, but it could have just been the screech of breaking metal. He had never experienced anything like this before. It was like stepping too close to a bonfire. He felt his skin burning, like an intense sunburn that threatened to overwhelm him.

After a few seconds the heat subsided and he managed to roll onto his side. His body was bruised and scratched, and he felt weak. On the ground next to his hand was a small wooden toy, cut into the shape of a car, its varnish now covered in reddish-brown blood. The boy was nowhere to be seen amongst the debris and the flames. A timber yard’s warehouse had been hit and thick black smoke spread across the harbour.

The planes disappeared into the clouds, the roar of their engines a faint hum, but he knew that wouldn’t be the end of it. They were attacking an undefended island – nothing could stop them. As they circled back around, using the coast as a reference point, the machine noise of their engines grew louder again.

Jack pushed himself to his feet with a groan. He had to do something. He felt alone on the harbour now, as if everyone else had either fled or been engulfed by flames. The aircraft would be back in a few seconds.

Jack hobbled across the harbour to a boat and climbed over the hand rail. It was a wonder it was still floating, and so far the flames had not spread to its hull. He searched around the netting and supplies for something that would be useful, as he heard the plane’s guns roar into life. He didn’t have much time.

After a few moments scrabbling on his hands and knees, he found what he was looking for: a piece of white cloth, either a discarded piece of clothing or a sheet. He grabbed it and jumped back onto the pier, looking for the planes in the sky. The bright sun burned his eyes and he had to look away, blinking. The bright purple bruise remained behind his eyelids, a warning.

Using his ears to guide him, he ran up the pier in the direction of the aircraft. Others would say that running into danger was crazy, but that was who he was. He ripped the cloth in two, discarding one half. He raised it above his head and waved it back and forth a few times, hoping to catch the pilot’s attention. The wind blew the cloth around his head, further obscuring his view and he ripped it again, pulling off a smaller piece this time. He tried again, not knowing whether it would do any good. Surely by now the pilots must have realised that there was no resistance, no one shooting back. The plane dropped its nose, pointing in his direction once again. Jack could see the barrels of its guns. He stood stock-still, holding the white cloth up in front of him. Sweat was pouring down his brow, but he didn’t dare move. Fear and shock had glued him in place. Time stretched to eternity. Then in a rush of engine noise the plane zoomed straight over his head.

Jack turned on the spot, following its flight. Rather than banking and wheeling around to head back to the harbour, it maintained a straight course, flying over St Peter Port and gradually increasing in altitude. The other aircraft joined up in formation on its wings. Jack stood still as he watched them disappear over the island. He was left with the smell of burning fuel and the taste of iron on his tongue. The planes were gone for now, but he knew with a certainty he hadn’t felt before, that the Germans were on their way.

Lifeboats
28 June 1940

Despite the warm summer sun, the sea swelled as if a storm was coming. It rose then fell, throwing the lifeboat from side to side in anger. The wind blew across the ship, whipping the seven men on deck with white spray. Richard had sailed this way many times before, but never under these circumstances. The boat rocked and he set his face in grim determination against the salty wet spray as he thought of what he had been asked to do. After the British army had left the islands, the powers that be had thought about what else the island had in its possession and fell on the idea of their lifeboats. He’d received a telegram telling him that under no circumstances could the lifeboats fall into German hands. The only option left had been to collect them and deliver them into the care of the navy at the mainland.

As such, Richard had assembled a crew of seven men, who were now on their way to Jersey across the Roussels, the stretch of water between the islands, to collect their lifeboat, tie it to their own and begin the arduous journey over to England. They hoped they could be done before the Germans arrived, but they had no idea what was really happening on the continent.

One of his sons pushed a mug of hot tea into his cold hands and muttered something that was lost in the noise of the engine. He moved away from the pilot’s position, leaving Richard with his mug of tea, and spoke to his brother, patting him on the back in his usual manner. It wouldn’t be long until they approached Jersey. He’d had someone phone ahead to tell them he was coming, so he hoped they wouldn’t kick up a fuss about him taking their boat. They wouldn’t be happy about it, either way. For communities that relied on the sea, a lifeboat was vital. Richard had rescued many a struggling fisherman from a tricky sea when things had grown out of their control. He didn’t dare think what would happen without them.

He had considered simply hiding the lifeboat away somewhere, but had decided against it in the long run. He wasn’t a good liar, and they would no doubt find the boats before long. He had been unable to think of an alternative and, as he stood at the prow of the boat he had spent so long working on, he wondered whether he should have simply refused and taken the consequences.

Suddenly there was the sound of an engine, rising in pitch, breaking through his reverie. At first Richard thought it was the lifeboat, but the rhythm was different, at a counterpoint to their own ship. He looked around for the sign of another boat, but they were alone in the seas not far now from Jersey. The sound came again, this time much closer. Richard crossed the front of the boat and finally saw it. There was a faint grey shape silhouetted against the sky. Then he saw another, its companion. They were getting closer, turning into the unmistakable outlines of aircraft. The German cross was clearly visible, black against the grey of the underwings.

Richard hoped they would be ignored, due to the giant red cross that was painted on the top of the lifeboat, but his illusion was soon shattered by a spitting sound. Spray jumped out of the sea in front of the boat like sprites in two parallel lines, getting closer.

‘Get down!’ Richard shouted as he heard the splintering of wood. Bullets hit the fuselage as he ducked down to find some cover. The crew cried out in surprise as they hid. There was a sound like a saw against wood. Shards of timber came loose as rounds cut through the hull, then the German aircraft rushed over them in a roar of engines. Richard didn’t dare get back up, knowing there was another coming. A second later more bullets crashed around him, narrowly missing him, whistling past his ears. Then suddenly the other aircraft was gone, the pitch of its engines lowering in a Doppler shift.

It took a minute or so before Richard felt safe enough to lift his head. He looked up and the aircraft could no longer be seen. The faint hum of their engines was still audible in the distance, and he had no idea how long they had before the planes came around for another attack. The boat was heavily damaged, but still seaworthy as most of the damage had been done to the hull above the waterline. He pulled himself out of the netting, his legs aching from being squeezed into a small space.

The crew had clustered towards the back of the ship. They all stood now and, as he got nearer, he noticed a shape slumped across the stern bench. Impossibly his heartbeat rose and there was a pressure in his chest, a dull pain that was growing sharper by the moment. The shape was horribly familiar, and the crew pulled aside as Richard dragged himself nearer.

‘My son?’ The words escaped his lips, but he barely heard them over the beating of his heart. His son was lying there as if sleeping, but Richard knew he would never sleep on the job. His eyes were closed, but his chest didn’t rise. There was a red mark on his temple and blood dripped down his sleeve. Richard fell to his knees. There was a wailing sound, but he didn’t know where it came from until the motion of the boat caused him to close his mouth. He cradled his son’s head in his arms, but it was too late.

Chapter 4
28 June 1940

Jack stayed at the harbour for as long as the flames from the ruined trucks would allow him. It was his duty to make sure that everyone else got away safely, at least, those who could. The clean-up operation would take some time, but that was the least of their worries. The German planes were dropping bombs on the rest of St Peter Port and the island, and he even saw one land near the hospital. Before long the planes would have to return to the continent to refuel, but they would be back, of that he was sure. He had grown almost accustomed to the sounds of explosions, but he had yet to see the full consequences.

There was still no sign of the boy who had been playing on the road. The tomato trucks that lined the way out of the harbour were ruined wrecks, some of which were still on fire. Their metal frames were a stark reminder of the terrible damage aircraft could cause. The few ambulances on the island had struggled to get through the wreckage and it had been some time since Jack had last seen one. If he found anyone else alive, he would have to either treat them himself, or somehow get them the help they needed.

He crawled under the wreckage of one of the trucks. It was still warm, like a fire late at night, and there was a smell of burnt tomatoes. As he crawled, his hand came up covered in a watery red paste. A pool of crimson liquid was spreading out, staining everything it touched. The cloth knees of his trousers were sodden, and he thought he would never get those marks out. It wasn’t the only thing; the horror of the last hour would haunt him forever. Most of the colour was from the tomatoes, but he didn’t doubt there was some blood mixed in there. He knew it wouldn’t be the last of the islanders’ blood to be spilt. He just hoped that wherever Johanna was, she had kept away from the bombs.

His search under the truck was futile. If any of the people who had hidden under the vehicles were still there, then they would need a lot more than a policeman to find them. The boy was dead and he couldn’t do anything about that. There was no sign of his parents either, and Jack wondered if they had perished together.

He crawled back out from under the ruined cab in shock and wiped his hands on the thighs of his trousers. He looked up as he heard a scraping noise, instantly on guard. A man, only a few years older than Jack, was shuffling along the road, awkwardly dragging one leg as if he had been hit. He had a white cloth or piece of clothing tied round his head, in an attempt to staunch a head wound that was still bleeding. The blood stained his neck and shirt, and his skin was covered in a patina of black ash from the fires. He didn’t seem to notice Jack as he passed, absorbed in his own personal hell. The man was far from the first walking wounded Jack had seen and he was sure the hospital would be inundated. The island didn’t have much in the way of medical facilities, and the population was only small. They never expected it to come to this.

Jack moved closer and reached a hand to put an aiding arm around him. ‘I’ll be all right,’ the man said, his voice barely a whisper, and shrugged Jack off with a wince of pain.

Jack let go, but the man stumbled. He managed to right himself, with a groan, but then the strength seemed to ebb from him completely and he dropped to one knee. The man sagged further before Jack could catch him. He was a deadweight in Jack’s hands as he eased him to the ground and then knelt down to check his pulse. His heartbeat was still strong and he was breathing, if faintly. He would need medical help and there was no way that Jack could leave him there.

Jack looked around but he was alone, apart from a few firemen who were trying to put out the remaining fires. Jack cradled the man’s head with one arm while he reached around his waist with the other and prepared to lift him up. He didn’t want to risk his head dropping onto the hard road, but he needed to get a good enough grip. There was no way the man would be able to carry himself to the hospital. Bending his knees, Jack hauled him onto his shoulder. The man groaned like someone coming around from sleep. It was a lift they had been taught in their police training, but it didn’t do much to displace the man’s weight. It did, however, make him easier to carry and less likely to slip off Jack’s shoulder.

He lurched forward, hoping that the man’s weight would add to his momentum, but cautious not to let him pull both of them over. With each step Jack could feel his own wounds more, not just scratches and grazes, but bleeding cuts where shrapnel had hit him. They both needed help, and he would do his best to get them to the hospital.

*

As Jack arrived at the Country Hospital, there were still German planes circling in the sky. The smell of cordite and smoke was strong, but it didn’t appear to be coming from here. The walk had been tough, more of a stumble, and he hadn’t known whether he would make it.

He could already hear the hubbub of frantic noise coming from inside the hospital, and what sounded like someone shouting in pain. A pair of legs stuck out from under the engine of an ambulance and Jack could hear a hammering as the mechanic tried to get it going again. On a normal day Jack would have gone over to see if he could help, but he could be more use inside, even if he lacked much in the way of medical know-how. Johanna was far better qualified to help, but she wasn’t here. He clung on to the hope that she hadn’t been hurt in all this; she couldn’t have been.

He crossed under the porch, walking as quickly as he could, his limbs exhausted. Unusually, there was no one other than the mechanic outside the building. It was as if the whole island had been abandoned, thrown into a silence of reflective mourning. Jack could hear the faint birdsong in the trees, enjoying the summer evening. It was strangely peaceful against the backdrop of such chaos. What care did the birds have that humanity was destroying itself?

Jack pushed his way through the hospital’s double doors and was immediately hit with a wall of noise. He could hear people shouting down the corridors. A loud cry of pain was masked by the scream of an order or instruction. The hospital was almost as chaotic as the harbour had been.

Jack headed for the nearest room, looking for a bed for the man on his back. The room was occupied by a man with a white bandage wrapped around his head, sitting up calmly in the bed as if reading a book. Jack moved on, struggling to keep the man on his back, as if being in the hospital had given his body enough reason to give up. Nurses moved through the corridors, going from one room to the next. None of them seemed to notice him. He thought he saw Johanna’s red-brown curls float past the end of the corridor, Johanna wearing a nurse’s uniform. She was a trained nurse, but it couldn’t be, because she didn’t have a job. His mind was playing tricks on him.

There was a narrow bench in the corridor, which was typically used while waiting for an appointment. Jack leant over and laid the man down as gently as possible. The other man groaned as Jack moved him and his head rested on the cold metal. Jack wrenched off his Guernsey jumper, rolling it up, then placed it under the man’s head. It was covered in dirt and blood, but at least it would be more comfortable.

He gently caught the arm of a passing nurse, but she fixed him with a scowl. He let go and apologised. ‘This man,’ he said. ‘He needs help.’

Her scowl softened and then turned to a frown of concern. She reached out and checked the man’s pulse, then carefully checked his wounds, before placing the rudimentary dressings back in place. She turned to Jack, concern still in her bright blue eyes. His heart thumped in his chest.

‘He’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘For now. We’ll get to him as soon as we can. As you can imagine we are completely overwhelmed in here, and we currently have far more pressing problems with other patients. I will send a doctor to him as soon as I’m able.’

She turned to leave. ‘I’m a policeman,’ Jack said, stopping her in her tracks. ‘What can I do to help?’

‘Help?’ she replied. ‘You can see if any of the doctors need anything holding. A lot of our jobs are fetching, holding, but if you’re willing to help …’

‘Right.’ Jack nodded.

‘This way,’ she said, turning and marching along the corridor.

He followed, glancing into the other rooms as he passed. The medical staff were treating more patients than he had ever seen in once place. Most of the doors were shut. The hospital was packed now, but what would happen once the Germans actually came? Would they continue attacking until there was no one left? He tried to focus on more immediate concerns. The shock of the initial attack was wearing off and his mind was racing. He wanted to do something, anything, to help, to take his mind off what was happening. The nurse stopped and pointed in the direction of a room.

‘If the doctor needs any help,’ she said, ‘you’ll be best placed in there.’

With that she was gone. Inside the room a middle-aged doctor in a white coat, its arms pushed up to his elbows, worked on a man who was lying on a metal gurney and bleeding heavily from a chest wound. The doctor was forcing gauze against the wound as a nurse handed him fresh materials, but the blood covered everything around it and it smelt strongly of iron. He said something to the nurse who rushed from the room. The doctor’s hands were covered in blood, and a bead of sweat worked its way down his brow. Jack took a tentative step inside, not wanting to disturb the doctor in the middle of his important work.

‘Who are you?’ the doctor asked without looking up. He tied two ends of the fabric together in a quick knot with practised ease, then reached out to check the patient’s pulse.

‘Police Constable Godwin,’ Jack replied, still in the doorway. ‘I’ve come to see if I can help.’

‘Well, don’t just bloody stand there.’ The doctor didn’t raise his voice. He was used to being obeyed. ‘Get over here.’

Jack rushed to the gurney. He’d had basic health training in the police, but it hadn’t prepared him for something like this.

‘Apply pressure here,’ the doctor said as Jack stood over the patient. ‘And here.’

The wound had been bleeding heavily and the bedsheets were brown with stains. The man groaned as he fought to stay conscious. Jack didn’t know how hard to push, unsure if he would do more harm than good, but he kept a steady pressure while the man moved under his hands.

‘Keep still, keep still,’ the doctor murmured as he checked the other wounds. ‘He may yet survive if we can stop the bleeding. But it’ll be a long night for him. We’ll have to be patient.’

He reached out to shake Jack’s hand. ‘Doctor Abbott,’ he said, nodding as they shook hands. The man’s close-cut brown hair was turning silver around the temples, which made him look older than Jack had originally thought. Jack knew most of the people on the island, at least in passing, but he had never seen this doctor before. He spoke with a mainland accent, but many of those in the top professions did these days. He had heard mention of a doctor returning to the island after working on the mainland for a number of years. Abbott must have been that man.

‘Thank you, Constable,’ the doctor said, wiping his bloodied hands on a cloth then putting it in a bin. ‘I suspect our day isn’t over yet.’

A crumble of dust fell from the ceiling as another explosion rocked the hospital, punctuating the doctor’s words. He gave Jack a knowing look. ‘Especially if they keep that up.’

Chapter 5
29 June 1940

Jack opened the front door gently, wary of the creaking hinges. It felt like days since he had been home but it was only yesterday. He half expected the furniture to be gone, the house forgotten and abandoned, with a patina of dust everywhere. However, the front room was exactly as he had left it, the only difference being that his mother wasn’t sitting in her chair. A plate of forgotten breakfast food – a slice of bread and some jam – sat on the table, a pile of discarded papers next to it. He was still wearing his stained clothes, but before changing he wanted to check on his mother.

Jack could hear noise in the kitchen, broken by the occasional chatter and cough of his grandparents coming from their room. So he picked up the plate and went to look. His stomach rumbled, reminding him how long it had been since he had eaten. He was tempted to eat what was left on the plate, but he thought he’d check with his mother first. She had her back to him as he opened the door, but she didn’t turn as he entered. She stood stock-still, as if waiting for something. He couldn’t tell if it was his exhaustion, or whether she shook slightly as she stood.

‘Mum?’ he asked softly, so as not to surprise her. She was like a statue, cold and immobile, if not for the faint shiver that racked her body. He moved around the kitchen table, coming alongside her so that he could get a better look, to try to see into her eyes, to see what she was thinking. Still she didn’t move. It was as if she was dead to the world. Her lips opened, silently whispering to herself. The repetition was like a mantra, as if she was reassuring herself of something. He couldn’t work out what she was saying. He placed the plate on the side and reached out a hand towards her, trying to make some form of connection between them. She drifted further away from him every day. As his hand neared her shoulder, she shook it away, this time more violently, as if it offended her.

‘I thought you weren’t coming back,’ she whispered.

It was faint, but clear enough once he could register the words.

‘I heard the planes, the bombs.’ There was more power in her voice this time, but it was still as if she was recalling a painful memory. She hadn’t moved or stopped staring in the same direction. He had seen shock like this before in his work as a policeman, when people had been told – or seen – uncomfortable things. They would switch off, distance themselves from the world to stop themselves from believing it was real. Like shell shock, the results were often crippling. After the events of last night, he was sure that there would be many more people across the island feeling the same effects. The main difference was that he had returned, when so many others hadn’t.

‘I thought you were gone, that you weren’t coming back,’ she said again, more confident this time. Jack wanted to reach out and pull her into a hug, but he knew somehow that she would stand there like a statue, immobile and unable to feel his love through the embrace.

‘I’m here,’ he replied, tilting his head to the side and trying to get her to look at him. ‘I’m here.’

‘Are you?’ she asked. ‘Are you really?’

‘Yes.’

He touched her shoulder, finally, hoping the sensation would back up his claim.

‘Your father came to me too, through the darkness. I thought he was real at first, but then he went again. Like he always does. Like you always do.’

Jack wasn’t sure what to say. His mother seldom talked about his father, least of all like this. Maybe it was because she didn’t feel he was real that she was doing so now. He had tried before to get her to talk about the father he had never known, but even on her good days she had refused, saying it was too difficult for her. Everything he knew about the man he had got from his grandfather.

‘Mum, look at me,’ he said. ‘I’m here, it’s really me. I’m safe, I’m alive.’

She turned finally, and her eyes were glassy and distant.

‘Are any of us really safe, Jack?’

So much had happened in the last few days that he no longer knew the answer to that question. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. Even in his mother’s fragile mental state, it wouldn’t do to lie to her. She would see right through him. He also hoped it would make him more real to her. Would a spectre tell the truth, or would it tell her what she wanted to hear? ‘I don’t know if we’re safe, and I don’t know what’s going to happen,’ he continued, fixing his gaze on hers and keeping his voice clear. ‘But as long as we stick together, we can come through this.’

‘I thought the Germans had taken you, that you’d gone. Gone like your father. You’re all I have, my son.’ She placed the palm of her hand against his face as she looked up at him, her skin cold to the touch.

He gripped her shoulder, trying to be reassuring, but careful not to squeeze too tight. ‘I’m here, and I will always be. I’m not going anywhere.’

The island was home, the people on it his family. His entire world was here, and he had never known anything else. Johanna had thought about leaving, but she knew that he couldn’t, not while there was still something to stay for.

‘You should go,’ she said after a moment, her voice faint. ‘Find safety. Go to England, at least the Germans haven’t got there yet and they may never get there. Please, go!’

Tears were streaming down her cheeks and she was attempting to wipe them away with the back of her hand. Jack wasn’t used to such an open display of emotion, but still he went to her and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘I’m not going anywhere. Anyway, it’s too late for that. I’m going to stay and look after you, Grandpa and Nan. Better here in our home than refugees in England.’

He held her for a while longer while the sobs subsided and his arm grew stiff.

*

The faint breeze fluttered the flag as Jack walked nearer, looking up into the bright summer sky. The Union flag was resplendent against the backdrop of the sun, its cord snapping against the pole with a sharp pinging noise. The rhythm was irregular, beaten by the whim of the wind. On other days the tinny noise would be irritating, but today it provided a sense of melancholy, the only sound against a sea of silence on an island that felt utterly abandoned. It had flown above the White Rock as long as Jack could remember, sometimes at half mast, but never removed.

Jack had volunteered for the task, but he didn’t relish it. For some reason he wanted to save anyone else from the ignominious duty. He took a hold of the cord but hesitated. He wanted one last look at the Union flag flying over the island, to cement in his mind the time before, the time when things had seemed less fraught. It was entirely symbolic, the flag and everything else that went with it, but something in him knew that symbols were more important than he or most people ever imagined.

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.

He realised then, that he had forgotten the shoes he had gone in for. He looked at the door of the department store, but he couldn’t face seeing Madeleine again, let alone admitting that he had forgotten what he had gone in for. He would just have to pop in again another day, but then maybe Madeleine would think he had gone back to see her. He no longer had feelings for the woman, they had grown apart since they were younger, but it was still awkward, and he felt a certain sense of betrayal towards Johanna for even being in the same room as an old flame. He would have to find a time when she wasn’t working.

The shoes wouldn’t be going anywhere, and he could always surprise Johanna another time. He thought of the joyous look she would give him when he gave her the gift, and he smiled as he walked away from the store.

*

Further along High Street on the corner that intersected with The Pollet, Jack was stopped by a scene that made his heart stop. A group of men walked along the street in his direction, tall men wearing pristine grey uniforms with rifles slung on their shoulders. They were calling to each other in German and cheering when they saw a local. Jack took a step backwards without realising. Part of him, some ancient instinct he barely had control over, wanted to run away, to be as far away from them as possible. Their very presence was intimidating, like the boys who had run the schoolyard. He forced himself to stand firm. He would not run.

If this was the invasion, then it was tame compared to what Jack and the others had expected. The bombing of the island and the harbour had been a horrible tragedy, bringing about completely needless deaths, but it had felt distant, even to Jack. Yet he had expected a proper invasion to be closer, more frantic, full of the sounds of gunfire and explosions ripping past him as he tried futilely to defend his home.

Instead, they walked past, some of them flashing smiles at the few locals who were around. They smelt like the British soldiers, but much, much stronger. Gun oil, boot polish, and a weird perfume that he couldn’t quite place. They talked German softly between themselves as some broke off from the group to enter the shops and others stopped in pairs to smoke. The clean white cigarettes gave off a different colour of smoke than the local variants and only added to the feeling that these men were different, somehow alien.

They were shopping as if it was normal, as if they were locals going about their business, rather than invaders. Jack wondered whether it was all part of their plan, to act normally and build confidence in the local population. He couldn’t feel anything but contempt for these men, even though he didn’t know them. He needed to go to the police station, warn them that the rest of the German soldiers had arrived and were treating the town as their own. He looked around himself to see if any of them were watching, and then like a criminal he slunk away down the back streets to advise his superiors.

*

2 July 1940

The crowds were starting to gather outside and around the Royal Hotel, forming a line along the promenade facing out to sea. It seemed as if everyone wanted to get a look at the occupation force as it gave its first parade. Whether it was out of a sense of morbid curiosity, Jack wasn’t sure, but they had come in numbers. The police had expected as much, and he had been posted along with David and the rest of his colleagues to stand guard along the route. It was more like a guard of honour than any real effort to prevent trouble. Despite the interest, there would be many who were unhappy with the occupiers, and some may take things into their own hands. Jack wasn’t sure what he could do in that situation, but he would not refuse his duty.

He found it difficult to concentrate as the minutes dragged by, and his mind drifted to Johanna. What would she be thinking now that the Germans were here? He was lost in his own thoughts when he heard the shouting. He scanned the crowd, but there were too many people. He felt David tense and take a step forward beside him.

‘My husband! My husband! Has anyone seen my husband?’ The woman was close to running as she pushed through the crowd. She was looking around her, moving on with each glance. The more she looked, the more frantic she became, turning this way and that, going back on herself before seeming to change her mind. Her dress was frayed and torn and there was mud splattered up one side. Her brown hair was also in a tangle. It was unusual that someone would be seen out in public in this state.

‘I’ll look into it,’ Jack said to David, who nodded in reply. Jack stepped out of the line to take charge, moving between the crowd of onlookers who stood gawping at the distressed woman. He didn’t know her, but her face was faintly familiar. He reached out an arm to stop her running off in the other direction again and tried to soothe her with his tone of voice. It was something he had practised before. She stopped but still looked around, her manner slowing down with each passing second.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, keeping his voice low.

‘My husband …’ was all she would say at first, until Jack pressed her.

‘What about him?’ he asked. ‘Tell me what happened and I will try to help.’

‘My husband. He’s gone,’ she said, her voice becoming a whisper, uncertain of what she was saying. Jack had to resist the urge to embrace and comfort her. He stood as close as was comfortable to hide her from the prying eyes of the crowd. ‘I went home and he wasn’t there. He was supposed to be there.’

He wondered how he would have felt if he were in this woman’s shoes, desperately searching for Johanna. Relatively speaking, she was the very model of calm. Jack thought about taking her home, to delve further into the problem, but he was needed here. The crowds were already pressing in and if he left his post then there would be chaos.

‘I want to help,’ he said. ‘But I need you to calm down and tell me exactly what happened.’

He led her aside to the mouth of an alley between two shops so that they wouldn’t be overheard. She took a few deep breaths then looked up at him. Her deep brown eyes cleared as if seeing him for the first time. At first her words were difficult to fully discern, but as she spoke she grew in confidence. ‘When the evacuation was announced,’ she said, ‘my husband and I, we decided that I should leave for England. We weren’t sure if it would be safe here, and we didn’t want to take the risk. So I signed up to go, but he … He had work here, work he had to stay for. So we decided that we would separate for the time being while the war was on. He stayed here and I caught a ship to England.

‘Only, I couldn’t stand it there, without him. Almost as soon as I got there I found a boat heading back. I couldn’t bear to be away from him, no matter how dangerous it was. Now I’m back, I can’t find him anywhere. Please help me.’

Sudden recollection dawned on Jack. He knew he had seen the woman before. It had been down in the harbour on the day the army were leaving and they were organising the boats to take people to the mainland. He had only caught a brief glimpse of the woman and her husband, but the image had stayed with him and he had seen the husband a few times since. ‘Oh dear,’ he said out loud, without realising he had spoken. Her mouth worked, trying to form a question. Jack saved her the trouble. ‘Your husband is fine,’ he said. ‘At least as far as I know. But the terrible thing is … Well, I saw him boarding one of the last boats to leave for the mainland.’

‘He … What?!’ The colour drained from her face, and her mouth hung open in shock.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jack replied. ‘He must have gone after you. He’ll be safely in England by now.’

‘I …’ She stopped again, her eyes darting as her thoughts raced. ‘I have to find a boat. I have to find a way off this island!’

She looked as if she was about to start running again, like an animal in flight. There was a wildness in her eyes that almost made Jack recoil. He wanted to do something to help, but he couldn’t think what. With the parade due to start he wouldn’t be able to leave his post without getting in trouble. There was only one thing he could think of.

‘Try Petit Port,’ he said, probably stating the obvious. ‘There may still be one or two boat crews that want to get out before the Germans take over the whole island.’

She nodded, but it wasn’t clear whether she had heard him, then she touched his arm. ‘Thank you,’ she said, words faint again. She picked up her skirts and ran off down the road, looking every bit like an actress from a film.

‘Good luck,’ Jack called after her before she was completely out of earshot.

*

Twenty or so minutes later, when everything had calmed down again and the crowds had pushed in, the Germans came marching along the road in groups, and into the centre of St Peter Port. Sergeant Honfleur walked at the head of the parade as they passed the Lloyds Bank on the corner, leading them along the route around the town. He looked about as happy to be there as Jack felt. The Germans’ field grey uniforms blended in with the grey stone of the shops and houses, but the red banners they carried, centred with a white circle and the German hooked cross, stood out sharply. They marched in step, four abreast, throwing their legs up in front of them in a flamboyant way that Jack had never seen before. Their bands came between each section of troops, driving them on with a rasp of brass instruments.

The Islanders came out of their homes to line the roads. The Germans were stern, but proud, as if they expected the residents to welcome them. The bands were deafening in their marching pomp, resounding glory, but the Islanders simply stared back, unsure of how to react. The Germans behaved like heroic liberators, but were nothing more than conquerors, adding the islands to their empire.

Jack stood with his compatriots, watching. A thousand thoughts rushed through his head at once. He thought of what this would mean for the island, and for him as a policeman. Like his colleagues, he’d been ordered to stand along the marching route, to make sure that the civilians kept their distance from the German soldiers. He’d been stationed almost at the centre of the town by The Pollet, but he wasn’t sure who to protect from whom, and he felt like he was standing between his countryfolk and their invaders. He had never felt more alone than at that moment, the only man visible in uniform, but not in the uniform of the German Wehrmacht.

He stood still and sighed deeply as another square of Germans goose-stepped past. He hoped Johanna was keeping herself away from trouble. It would be just like her to stand up to the Germans and cause some issue. They were seriously outnumbered, and there were very few places to hide.

‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself!’ A woman Jack didn’t know pushed herself in front of him, coming within a hair’s breadth of him. Under normal circumstances he would have been quick to show his authority, but tempers were rising. Jack simply stood his ground, as passive as possible, but the woman stepped closer to him. He could feel the tension radiating off her body like an approaching thunderstorm. She was close to spitting in his face. Even as a policeman he had never experienced such an open expression of anger. It wasn’t the first time he had heard those sentiments in the last few days, but it hurt more for some reason. The crowd had pressed in between Jack and David and he was on his own. He stood up tall, the woman shaking with anger in front of him.

‘Please step back,’ he said, close to losing his patience. He didn’t want to be there any more than she wanted him there, but he didn’t have much of a choice.

‘Whose side are you on anyway?’ she replied, raising her voice so that everyone around could hear. The crowd stared at him, no doubt wondering what he was going to do.

‘I’m on no one’s side, madam,’ he said, speaking low so that those prying couldn’t hear. It was a standard police response, but on this occasion it didn’t seem right. He was on a side, but he wasn’t sure which it was.

‘Don’t madam me,’ she continued, just as loud as before. ‘I suppose you’re just going to let them march all over the island and take what they want. Aren’t you supposed to be upholding the law? Or do you just do what they want now?’

Jack took a deep breath and put his arms out, trying to guide the woman away from the crowd. She scowled at him and took a step backwards.

‘They’re not breaking any laws,’ he said, feeling pathetic. ‘There’s really nothing I can do, no matter how much I want to.’

The woman stopped and looked up at him again. She sighed, as if she was taking his words for an admission. They probably were, but he hadn’t meant them to be. ‘One of these days, you’ll have to pick a side,’ she said, before tutting loudly and pushing her way back into the crowd, leaving Jack standing on his own in the middle of the road between the Germans and his fellow Islanders.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.