Chapter thirty-six

1944–45

B

y September Olive knew something was wrong. Consumed by grief since Wolfgang’s departure, she hadn’t taken much notice of her body. One morning she had an overwhelming urge to be sick, just making it to the toilet in time. Holding her head as her stomach emptied itself, she wondered if she’d eaten something bad. A possibility considering she’d found maggots in the bread. As she splashed her face at the sink the glimmer of an idea surfaced. Surely…? She did a mental calculation. Oh, my God! Her last curse had been in July. And since then she had made love with Wolfgang and been ‘raped’ by Bill. If she was pregnant, either could be the father.

Dazed, Olive made a cup of ginger tea and curled up in what had been Bill’s chair. She could be two months gone. After more than four years of trying, she might be expecting a baby! She didn’t want to consider it might be Bill’s. That would be too, too awful to contemplate. And she hadn’t got pregnant by him before, had she? No, it seemed more likely Wolfgang was the father. She hugged the thought to herself, hoping he’d be pleased when he returned to Guernsey. Why, she could have the baby before he came back. A quick calculation – April. Roughly. She’d need to see the doctor to confirm soon. Another month and she’d go. In the meantime she hoped she wasn’t going to be sick like this every day, she had the cows to milk. Sipping the tea, Olive’s big regret was that her mother wasn’t there. She would have been thrilled to be a grandmother and would have been a comfort during the pregnancy. As maudlin tears threatened, Olive pushed herself out of the chair. The cows needed her.

A month later the doctor confirmed her pregnancy and the expected delivery date of mid-April 1945. He would normally have prescribed iron tablets, but there were none, and he advised her to eat any meat she could get hold of, and plenty of greens. And to look after herself.

‘I understand how hard it must be for you since your husband was sent away, and it’s going to become harder still over the coming months. You won’t be able to look after the animals on your own. Is there anyone who might help?’

‘I’ll ask around, Doctor. I don’t want to put my baby at risk. We must pray this war will end soon and my…husband will come back to me.’ Olive left the surgery grinning broadly. It was official – she was expecting a baby! Not being able to keep it to herself any longer, she cycled to Elsie’s with the news.

Her friend hugged her in delight. ‘Wonderful news, Olive. Your Bill will be right chuffed when he comes back, won’t he? I know you’ve wanted a baby for years and at last something good has happened for you.’ They sat outside in the afternoon sun, still warm for late September, and drank bramble tea. Elsie frowned. ‘I do hope you’ll cope. I’ve heard since the last supplies arrived in August, there’ll be no more. We have to survive on what’s left, and that’s not enough. The Germans are shipping out loads of the slave workers to camps in Germany to save feeding them,’ she said, waving her hand. ‘Not that they ever fed the poor devils, anyway. It’s the soldiers we want to leave; they’ve always had the lion share of the rations, which isn’t fair.’

Olive nodded in agreement.

‘You’re right, but there’s nothing we can do, is there? Which reminds me, do you know of anyone who could give me a hand with the animals and everything? I’m really struggling and–’

Elsie clapped her hands.

‘What about my Charles? I know he don’t look all that strong, but he’s willing and knows about animals.’

Charles was Elsie’s boyfriend, the one with asthma. Olive would take on anyone willing to work hard.

‘I can’t pay much, but he could have some eggs and vegetables in lieu of wages.’

‘He’d be grateful for anything. I’ll ask him to call round, shall I?’

Charles proved to be a godsend for Olive. Although he had to pace himself to avoid a coughing fit, he worked hard. Luckily his asthma was mild and he loved working with the animals.

By November even farmers like Olive were struggling to survive on the meagre rations. When she went into town she was shocked by the gaunt faces of people she now barely recognised. The local papers ran stories about the increase in deaths from illness and starvation, and the once jaunty soldiers crept about like shadows, no longer shouting and singing in the streets. You could see defeat in their faces. All farms were ordered to provide one head of cattle for slaughter to augment the rations. Olive sensed the despair and fear of her fellow islanders. How long could they hold out? But she had to keep going, for the baby’s sake.

News spread that a message from the Controlling Committee had been sent to Germany, requesting help from the Red Cross. Spirits lifted immediately, but it was weeks before their prayers were answered. Olive endured a miserable Christmas, missing her parents and Wolfgang, and eking out what little food she had. It was also the coldest Christmas in living memory and without gas, electricity or coal, the islanders were frozen. Olive had some wood for a fire, but it was nearly gone. Islanders with orchards chopped down trees, desperate for the wood, bartering some for food. Finally, on 27th December, the SS Vega arrived in St Peter Port harbour loaded with food parcels for every household, but not for the Germans. By the 31st all parcels had been delivered and Olive opened hers, wide-eyed with delight. Not only was there a selection of food – bread, jam, tea, chocolate, corned beef, biscuits, cheese, salmon, and more – but also soap and other toiletries. She sighed with pleasure – Christmas had finally arrived.

It was while she ate the first mouthful of chocolate that Olive felt an odd flutter in her stomach. Putting her hands on the now visible swelling, she felt it again. The baby was kicking! She laughed. He or she must like chocolate too!

By the time of the third visit of SS Vega in March 1945, supplies were dangerously low again. There’d been no bread since February and Olive, now in her eighth month, found it more difficult to get out and about. The ship brought in tons of flour and within days the bakers were busy and when Olive collected her ration, the bread was the best she’d tasted since the Occupation began. She was upset not to be able to make clothes for her baby, but the next Red Cross parcels contained extra supplies for pregnant mothers, including donated baby clothes. Stroking tiny white matinee jackets and nighties brought a lump to her throat. One day Nell turned up with a crib and some baby blankets and clothes. She’d had a baby a year after her wedding and the little boy was now holding onto his mother’s skirts.

‘Oh, Nell, this is so kind of you. I didn’t know how I was to manage. Thought I’d have to put baby in a drawer.’ The crib was hand-carved in oak and Olive stroked it lovingly. She smiled at Nell, adding, ‘I’ll let you have it back as soon as it’s outgrown. And anything else.’

‘I’m not sure if we’ll try again, certainly not till after this war is over. But the news is good, isn’t it? They say the Allies are advancing on Berlin and Hitler doesn’t stand a chance. The German big-nobs here are said to be planning for the end, but won’t surrender. Bloody idiots! They say that the Vice-Admiral who’s now in charge is a fervent Nazi and will do anything for Hitler. Huh! I just want to see my dad back here where he belongs. And I expect you can’t wait for your Bill, neither.’ Nell picked up her son and cuddled him, smiling as he tugged her hair. ‘Enough of the war, let’s talk about babies. Much more important!’

On a mild, breezy day in April, Olive felt the first contraction as she was feeding the chickens. Gasping, she walked around the yard to ease the pain. Charles came out of the barn and rushed over.

‘Is it starting? Shall I fetch the midwife?’

Olive had already arranged with Mrs Sebire, who lived in the parish, to deliver the baby. Although not a qualified midwife, she had delivered dozens of babies in her time and was much respected by the mothers. Olive wasn’t sure if it was too soon to fetch her, but as another, stronger contraction tugged at her body, she changed her mind.

‘Please, Charles.’ He grabbed his bike and rode off, leaving Olive to make her way into the kitchen and make a fire to boil water. As further pain shot through her she panicked, crying out for her mother.

‘Mum, I need you! I’m scared. Why can’t you be here?’ She brushed away tears, trying to focus on what would be needed for the birth. The crib was ready by her bed and, although they’d already been clean, she’d washed the clothes to fit a new-born. It was her way of showing her love for the unborn child. Terry nappies, well-used but serviceable, lay piled on the dressing table. All was set.

Mrs Sebire arrived on her bike, panting. She took one look at Olive and told her to go upstairs to bed. It wouldn’t be long.

Two hours later an exhausted, but exhilarated Olive held her fair-haired baby girl in her arms. It was love at first sight.