The German Nurse

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.