Chapter fifteen

Summer – Winter 1941

W

hen Olive came round long shadows played on the bedroom wall and the glimpse of sky through the curtains was a golden orange. The house was quiet and she could only hope Bill had either gone back to the celebrations, or more likely, to the local pub. As she eased herself onto her elbow, her stiffened muscles sent spasms of pain through her body and she let out a cry. Slowly swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she eased up onto her feet and felt dizzy. Holding onto the bedside table she tried again and managed to stay upright and stumble to the mirror inset in the wardrobe door. With difficulty Olive pulled down the zip, pain knifing through her all the while. She stepped out of the ruined dress and twisted round to see her back. Deep red welts criss-crossed her skin, covered in dried blood and the beginnings of deep purple bruises. She looked down at her legs and saw the marks from the belt across her thighs. Her blistered feet were oozing blood. Olive sobbed from pain and humiliation at what he’d done.

She crawled across the landing to the bathroom and washed herself as well as she could. Her one thought was to get out of the house before Bill returned. She would go to her mother’s for the night. Once she had dried herself she walked to the bedroom and pulled on her work trousers and a cotton cardigan, pushing her tender feet into sandals. She collected the dress and her night clothes and, step by painful step, got downstairs. Looking at the clock she saw she had half an hour to curfew and forced herself out of the door. Her bike leant against the wall and after putting the bundle of clothes in the basket, Olive mounted and rode off down the lane, gritting her teeth against the pain.

‘Mum, oh Mum!’ she said, hobbling into the kitchen where her mother dozed in the old armchair. Edith opened her eyes, trembling. ‘Olive! You did give me a shock! I thought it was the Germans! What are you doing here at this time of night?’

Olive knelt at her knee and poured out the whole story. Edith’s eyes widened with shock and she gently undid the buttons of the cardigan and pulled it off before turning Olive round.

‘Dear God! That man’s a monster! Your dad and I had heard he was a bully, but we didn’t know he’d be capable of something like this. We’d never have let you marry him.’ Olive’s tears flowed freely, overcome by her mother’s tenderness.

‘Here, you go up to your old room and I’ll make up some of the ointment I used when you or Ross cut yourselves. It’ll speed up the healing, it will. And I’ll make you a cup of camomile tea to help you relax.’

Olive did as she was told and fell face down on her old bed. Never would she have dreamt one day she’d be so glad to be back here. Her mother came upstairs with the tea and the ointment and, as gentle as the touch of butterfly wings, spread it on Olives wounds. Once she’d finished she helped Olive with her nightdress.

‘There, my dear, that should help. And I’ve put something in the tea to help with the pain. Drink up and try and sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.’ To Olive’s astonishment, her mother kissed her on the mouth before standing up and leaving. As she sipped the barely palatable tea, Olive tried to remember the last time her mother had kissed her that way. At her wedding she had pecked her cheek, but there’d been no real warmth behind it. But now! Well, that was a kiss of love.

Olive stayed with her mother for two days and when not involved with chores, they talked. Initially, Edith suggested Olive move back with her, but she knew it wouldn’t work.

‘I’m his property, Mum, he’d drag me back to the farm and my life would be a bigger hell. It’s better if I go back of my own accord, and I’ll not give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he’s hurt me. But I’ll sleep in my own bed from now on and will decide when he can…you know. I still want a baby, Mum, so I can’t refuse him altogether, can I?’ She twisted the handkerchief in her hands. There was nothing she’d like better than to remain with her mother, but…with a bit of luck the war would be over soon and life would return to normal in Guernsey. She would apply for a divorce and move in with her mother.

‘If you want a child, you have no choice. But you must promise to visit me regular so I can see you’re all right. Tell him I need your help now your father’s gone. Which would be the truth, as it’s not been easy these past months.’ A flash of pain crossed Edith’s face and Olive felt guilty for not offering to help before. She’d try and make it up to her mother and Bill could hardly refuse. Word would soon get round if he kept his wife from seeing her widowed mother.

The next few weeks weren’t easy; Olive hated being near Bill and stuck to her guns about sleeping in the spare room. He shouted and threatened, but then, suddenly, gave in. She had threatened to expose him as a wife-beater if he didn’t agree and with the island overrun with German soldiers, it would have rebounded on him. This was a time to fight back at the invader not a wife. Around this time he began to stay out overnight and Olive didn’t believe his excuses of missing the curfew and needing to stay at a mate’s until the morning. She suspected he had a woman on the side and was glad. If it meant he didn’t bother her, then so be it. But Olive did allow him into her bed occasionally in an effort to become pregnant. Sadly, without success. Bill had made it clear he wanted a son when they married and blamed her for being barren.

Autumn arrived in a glowing burst of richness and vibrant colours. Olive picked blackberries from the heavy hedgerows in the lanes and mixed them with apples she’d bartered for butter. Several neighbours had good-sized orchards, heavy now with plums, apples and pears and were glad to exchange the fruit not good enough to bottle over winter. Olive made crumble using flour made from crushed nuts and took some to her mother, who had put on some flesh over the past weeks. The women enjoyed each other’s company, discovering their mutual interest in films and live theatre. Once Edith had regained her strength they would cycle into St Peter Port to watch a film or a live show put on by local entertainers. It was good to get out and have a laugh and leave the war behind for a few hours and Olive found she coped better with Bill after a night out. He could be more bad tempered after such trips, but she didn’t rise to it, buoyed by the happy memories of her evenings out. At least he couldn’t take those from her.

‘Have you heard the latest news about those German buggers?’ Bill stomped into the kitchen and threw himself down into his chair, set close to the fire. The November mists and rain brought a chill to the bones and it was hard to stay warm.

Olive, scrubbing parsnips at the sink, reached for the kettle. She’d managed to buy some acorn coffee and by the look on his face, Bill needed a cup.

‘No, what’s happened? Don’t tell me they’ve won another battle somewheres.’ Ever since the sinking of the mighty KMS Bismarck in May, they had encouraged themselves to believe the war was finally turning against the Germans. With scant news coming through thanks to the constant removal of their radios, it was hard to know who was winning.

Bill shook his head.

‘Not that I know. But it’s worse than that, they’ve orders to start building fortifications around the island to prevent the British trying to land and rescue us. There’s a special organisation set up, called after some chap Todt, who’ll be bringing in thousands of slave workers to build the blasted things. They’re even going to build some kind of railway around the northern coast to transport materials and the workers.’ He spat into the fire. ‘Seems to me they’re here for the long-term and it’s only going to get worse from now on.’

Olive handed him his mug and sat down in her chair, feeling winded. So much for an early end of the Occupation and escape from Bill! She wanted to cry, but held back. Later, when she was alone…

‘So there’ll be even more pressure on supplies. We’ve not got enough food as it is! How did you hear about this?’

‘Me mate Percy told me. Says this Todt bloke is on the island now, planning where the fortifications are to go. And the first lot of slave workers are here, and all. Told you, it’s gonna get worse, for sure.’

Olive kept her eyes down, not wanting him to see the despair flowing through her very being. How on earth would she survive?