Sea Gem (50 page)

It was worst for the mothers with children. Mary heard of one poor woman who, at Christmas time, had searched her home. All she had been able to give them for a present was one sugar lump each
tinted with a little colour. For the children who had gone to Britain life would be better but, at the same time, they were growing up away from their island and estranged from their parents.
Misery affected them all.

In March of 1944, Hitler designated all the Channel Islands his official land fortresses, which made the islanders feel even more cut off. There were eleven very heavy gun batteries with
thirty-eight guns. The garrisons of Jersey and Guernsey now comprised 35,000 German soldiers when totalled with all their ancillaries. All had to be fed and looked after because although the
Germans did bring food over, it was nowhere near enough.

The horses were turned out in the fields where hungry eyes often viewed them speculatively. In early June, a ripple of hysteria ran through the island at the Normandy invasion. Amelia wept for
relief and Raoul brightened but Mary was not so sure.

‘They’ll not come here,’ she foretold as she had in the past. ‘They’ll pass us by to get into Germany itself!’

Mary sat in the shop one evening as usual. She did not think the old man would turn up and was astonished when he did. Quickly she followed her usual routine. Now the old man knew how hungry
they were, he accepted a cup of plain boiled water without comment. From under the same sweater he passed a little parcel. He was as taciturn as ever but Mary did not mind.

‘What is it?’ she asked hopefully.

‘Some swedes, two parsnips and two onions,’ he said and beamed, pleased with himself.

‘Oh!’ Mary cried, hugging it to her. What Amelia could do with these roots! The struggle to give them all meals was a strain stretching even Amelia’s inventive cooking with a
corresponding effect on her temper. ‘Here are my notes,’ she said, handing them over.

‘I doubt I’ll be coming much more,’ the fisherman said. ‘Not with the invasion.’

Mary’s heart sank but she saw the sense of this. Why risk his neck when the Allies were in France? It was the beginning of the end for Hitler. She nodded. She would miss him. Even though
little conversation had passed between them, the old man had become a cherished link.

‘Take care then, old friend,’ she whispered, touching one gnarled, strong hand. ‘Don’t run any risks at this late stage of the game.’

‘I’ll not,’ he grunted, then, as silently as he came, he went. Mary waited until he had to be clear then opened her shop door and jumped as a shadow loomed.

‘It’s only me, Madam, “le Norman”!’

Mary closed her eyes. She was getting to be a bundle of nerves from constant tension.

‘Is there anything wrong, Emil?’ she asked fearfully. It was the first time he had ever called upon her. Indeed she had not seen him since the day he had accompanied her to the
mortuary.

Emil peered around in the subdued light, shaking his head at her shelves. The few goods offered for sale were stretched out in a thin line to cover blank spaces. He shook his head sorrowfully
and nodded.

‘As bad as that?’ he asked quietly.

Mary nodded. ‘I should, if I had any sense, shut the shop down until the Allies come but it would mean putting Alice out of a job and she is walking out with a young man. She’s such
a nice girl, I cannot do it,’ she told him heavily. She’d like to shut the shop too so that she could stop coming into town. With the Normandy invasion she was, she knew, redundant. The
old fisherman would certainly not come again. He had no need. Her usefulness was ended and she was not sorry. All she wanted to do was stay at Cobo and survive until they were freed.

Emil nodded to himself, having worked everything out in his sharp, methodical mind.

‘If you think the girl can handle the few supplies you get coming in and you don’t want to come to town any more, I’ll keep an eye on the place,’ he offered.

He was concerned about the looks of Madam Noyen. She was horribly thin and not a good colour. She moved with an effort and he recognised slow starvation. Victor would never forgive him if
anything happened to her at this late stage of the war. Since the shooting he had kept a discreet watching brief on her and always checked that the old man had managed to get away safely. It was
the very least he could do though there had been many times when he itched to take a gun and kill Germans.

Mary looked at him hopefully. ‘Alice could do that,’ she agreed. ‘She knows my ways now and she could take her money from the takings. She is honest through and
through.’

‘Well, consider that settled then,’ he told her. ‘You’ll not be needed of an evening any more—now,’ he added significantly.

Mary gave him a sharp look and could not help a grin touching her lips. What a cunning fox he was!

‘We’ll have a lot to tell them when they come back, won’t we?’

He nodded vigorously. ‘Indeed, yes.’

Names did not have to be said. They understood each other and grinned conspiratorially. Mary thought Emil had aged but working all these years with the Germans must have put him under
intolerable strain. We are all heart attack material, she mused to herself but I’ll survive. I will, she vowed.

‘The Germans are going to get hungry too,’ he predicted, acutely aware that once the whole French coast was in enemy hands, the Germans might as well surrender. Mary read his mind.
‘Will they?’ she asked quickly.

He pursed his lips. ‘I don’t know. I hope to God they do because if not—’ He let the sentence fall.

‘Surely they are not
that
stupid?’ Mary objected.

Le Norman shrugged. ‘The German mentality takes some understanding. A lot depends upon the man at the top and how much he happens to value his own skin!’

Mary gritted her teeth. ‘We are all so impotent!’

The inspector turned. The shop door was just ajar and there were only a handful of people on the street now. He moved a bit nearer to her.

‘All the TODT slaves have been removed from Alderney,’ he said in a low voice.

Mary stiffened. ‘Have they?’ she murmured thoughtfully. ‘That means the Germans expect the Allies to do something—or they want to hide the evidence of their cruelty from
the world!’

Her expression changed as the thought of Alderney brought back horrible memories. She shivered suddenly, her expression turning grave, which Emil didn’t fail to miss. He had often wondered
and suddenly sensed now was the time to ask.

‘Madam, off the record of course, what did happen on Alderney those years ago?’ he asked softly.

Mary slowly lifted bleak eyes to hold his. ‘You must indeed have been puzzled but it was all quite simple and quite horrible. William killed his brother Edwin but there was never any proof
and though William was only twelve years, there was no way anyone would have beaten a confession out of him. Even though so young, William always had a deep streak in him. I just had to live with
it all.’

Emil closed his eyes and shook his head before speaking again. ‘So
that
was it!’ he paused thinking deeply, going over more recent events in his mind. ‘In which case,
Madam, it was, shall we say, a late judicial execution. Your conscience is quite clear,’ he ended firmly.

Mary broke eye contact. The nightmares had stopped but the memories remained and one day she would have to tell Margaret and Victor—if he were still alive.

‘Do you ever hear anything about James and Victor?’ she asked hopefully.

He studied her questioning eyes and slowly shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. Once I was privy to odd titbits of information but since the invasion little news reaches my ears.
I’m afraid all we can do is wait until we are released.’

With a heavy heart Mary shook her head, then reached into her pocket and produced the keys. She handed them to him wistfully.

‘Perhaps you could explain to Alice?’ she asked. ‘If there should be a desperate problem I’d walk over from Cobo but—’ She paused. ‘I’ll be glad
to rest now.’

‘Just you leave everything with me and Madam, go home now,’ he told her kindly, sensing a wild desperation in her as her morale slumped. ‘Just hang on for a little while
longer. It’s all coming to a slow end.’

Mary could say nothing, only throw him a grateful smile. Even the thought of walking back home now was daunting, yet the knowledge it might be for the last time gave her relief.

* * *

She thought it was the most miserable Christmas she had known. Their own food stocks were reduced to whatever they could obtain by bartering or what they had managed to grow and
preserve. With the island completely cut off as the Allies fought their way towards Germany, conditions deteriorated badly.

‘The Germans have started to kill some of their horses to eat,’ Raoul told them one evening as they sat around the kitchen table after a meal comprising a thin, tasteless soup Amelia
had managed to make from some old root crops and a handful of poor potatoes.

‘I wish we could get hold of some horsemeat,’ Mary sighed, knowing it was impossible.

The Germans too were hungry. Soldiers had been seen going through the islanders’ dustbins searching for anything edible yet, she had to admit, their discipline held. The middle-aged
officers at her house had lost weight like the rest of them. Their once snug uniforms bagged on thin bodies and their faces were gaunt though they were nowhere near the desperate state of the
islanders.

‘Churchill should not have stopped a food ship coming to us,’ Amelia said angrily. ‘It’s all very well for him. He’s not starving because that is what is happening
to us.’

Mary sighed. ‘The reason is because he doesn’t want food going to the Germans to strengthen their hold here,’ she explained with a patience she did not feel. Nowadays Amelia
was getting very argumentative, her natural reaction to a shrunken stomach.

‘The Committee should do something!’ Raoul said hotly. ‘Haven’t they heard of the Swiss Red Cross?’

Unknown to all of them until it came out later, the Committee had indeed taken drastic steps. Victor Carey, a very much thinner Bailiff, did send a wild cry for help to the Swiss. In November he
warned them there would be no bread left by the middle of December. Sugar stocks would run out in the first week of January while soaps and other cleansers were already exhausted. There would be no
fuel, gas or electricity by the end of the year and medical stocks were already virtually exhausted. Disease stared the islanders in the face, both occupied and occupiers. Without fuel, water could
not be pumped and sanitation would break down. They also heard rumours there was dire trouble between Count von Schmettow and Admiral Kranke in overall charge of Guernsey. While the Germans rowed
between themselves, the islanders became thinner and hungrier, with many of the few remaining pets mysteriously disappearing.

‘We are so weak. I don’t feel as if I have the strength of a kitten,’ Mary said to no one in particular. ‘If only we could go and fish,’ she groaned one evening as
she sat at the table, head in hands. By common consensus, the Ozanne kitchen had become their meeting ground. They spent much of their free time in the little room which was slightly warmer than
anywhere else. All three of them wore all the clothes possible to keep warm, apparel which would have been thrown into the dustbin in pre-war days.

It was only the next day though that Raoul came up the road, walking faster than he should have in his weakened state. He had been down to see if there was a wild chance of finding any shellfish
to eat on the beach where it was not mined but already others with the same hungry idea had gleaned it empty.

He entered the cottage, slumped in a chair, fighting to catch his breath while his eyes gleamed. Mary had just come in from hopefully turning over the cottage garden in case they had missed a
potato or turnip in the autumn. She stood the dirty spade by the door. None of them bothered about mud or dirt now. They seemed trivial matters when the belly was empty.

‘News!’ Raoul managed to get out at last. ‘Wonderful news! The Red Cross are sending a rescue ship with food for us. It’s supposed to be on its way right now from
Lisbon.’

Mary gaped at him and slumped against a wall. ‘Oh my God! Is that really true? Not a hoax?’

‘Real—food?’ Amelia asked, with a catch in her voice.

Raoul nodded and Mary turned to him. ‘Come on! Up to the house, I’ll ring a town contact.’

The ragged trio left the cottage and walked slowly up the lane. Mary led the way to her telephone and rang the number of a man with whom she’d done business long ago.

‘Pierre!’ she cried, ignoring the equally hungry Germans who lounged around apathetically listening curiously. ‘We have just heard a rumour there is a food ship on its way to
us. Is it true?’

Pierre Lamond grated back at her, the line crackling. ‘You are out of date for once, Mary! It’s not only true but the ship is coming into harbour right now. She’s the
Vega
and is loaded with enough food to give each and every islander a personal parcel.’ Mary held the receiver so Raoul and Amelia could hear. ‘There will also be stocks for
the Committee to apportion. The parcels have come from New Zealand and Canada. You’d better get yourselves here as soon as you can.’

Mary dropped the phone, as tears streamed down her cheeks. Then she hugged Amelia and flung herself at Raoul. Finally the three of them became aware of eight German eyes watching wistfully. It
flashed through Mary’s mind that starvation would affect the Germans far worse than the islanders. The occupiers had been used to eating normally then suddenly their rations had vanished
whereas the islanders’ stomachs had shrunk gradually over the years and their tolerance was consequently stronger. Even the officers had been out early that morning hopefully combing the
hedges for any edible berries.

‘Today we rest,’ Mary said firmly. ‘Tomorrow we walk to town to get our parcels and news!’

Raoul and Amelia nodded. It would drain them of the little strength they had left but all of them knew they would march to Berlin to get real food.