Chapter forty

Liberation – 1945

O

live hadn’t realised how exhausting a tiny scrap could be. A dozen cows were easier to care for; at least they slept at night. Thank goodness Charles was looking after the farm as she had no energy left after feeding, changing then feeding and changing through the day and night. Sitting in the kitchen one day at the end of April, Olive stroked the baby’s head as she fed noisily from her breast. Her hair was pale gold and Olive knew she was Wolfgang’s. The deep blue eyes were yet to take on their final colour, but she would bet they’d be the same dazzling blue as her father’s. For a moment she felt at peace. She was a mother and, whatever happened, a mother she’d remain. The news from the BBC told of massive Allied air strikes against Berlin and the approach of a large Russian army encircling the city. Berlin was doomed. Olive knew there was a chance Wolfgang would be in or near Berlin where, according to the BBC, German forces were congregating in a last-ditch attempt at defence. Her heart clenched at the thought he might be killed.

‘We want your daddy to come back, don’t we, darling? He promised he would.’ She hadn’t yet given her daughter a name and needed to before registering the birth. Names passed through her head, those of family and friends. Then it popped in. Tabby, short for Tabitha, her grandmother’s name. A lovely woman, Olive had adored her. She’d always been known as Tabby, a joyful name, Olive thought. It was a pity she had to have Bill’s name as father, but what choice did she have? The thought of Bill coming back soon made her clutch Tabby tight, causing the baby to cry out in protest. Olive soothed her and she continued to feed happily. Bill. She would file for divorce regardless. It might be many months before Wolfgang could return, and she couldn’t wait. When – if – Ross returned, she’d throw herself on his mercy and ask to move in with him. At least until he found himself a wife. And if he didn’t come back, she could live in what would be her own inheritance. Satisfied she’d thought of everything, Olive moved Tabby onto the other breast.

Charles arrived for work on 2nd May waving a copy of The Evening Press at Olive.

‘That bastard Hitler’s dead! And the Russians have taken Berlin! It’ll soon be our turn to kick out the Jerries.’ He danced around the kitchen and Olive laughing, joined in, holding Tabby in her arms.

Over the next few days the excitement spread around the island. Not only was the Occupation about to end, but the SS Vega returned with more supplies on the 3rd, and Olive couldn’t wait to see what treats were in store for her. Before the invasion, she had taken for granted such foods as biscuits, cake, tea and coffee, but now they seemed luxuries, foods to savour and enjoy. She smiled at Charles, going about his chores with a big grin on his face, munching on a bar of chocolate.

Peace was declared on 8th May and the islanders were informed they would be formally liberated on 9th May, the Germans finally forced to surrender. Olive travelled to St Peter Port with Nell’s family in their horse and cart early that morning, anxious to be part of what was bound to be the biggest island celebration in her life so far. Tabby nestled contentedly in her arms, fast asleep after her feed. They arrived in time to see troops from HMS Bulldog on board a landing craft heading for White Rock. Thousands of islanders filled the streets around the harbour and a huge cheer went up when the troops arrived and marched down North Esplanade towards the Royal Hotel, used by the Germans as their HQ. Olive shouted herself hoarse, overcome by the general hysteria. She had managed to find a space at the front, with a full view of the Royal Artillery soldiers marching past. The Tommies had their hands shaken by the men and were mobbed by the women with hugs and kisses. Everyone was smiling or laughing. The soldiers handed out small gifts of chocolate and cigarettes and Olive received a bar, accompanied by a saucy wink, from a young lad. She flushed and kissed his cheek in return.

Olive watched as the Union Jack was raised at the Royal Hotel, accompanied by a monumental cheer from the locals and soldiers alike. She joined her friends as they followed the crowd to the Royal Court for more flag raising and speeches. By then they were hungry after their early start and found a space near Town Church to sit and eat the food they’d brought with them.

Nell, her eyes shining, turned to her saying, ‘The Allies have released the British prisoners from the German prisons and camps, so Dad should be home soon. And your Bill. It’s wonderful news, isn’t it? Life’ll soon be back to normal and I can’t wait.’

Olive nodded, not trusting herself to say anything. The last thing she wanted at the moment was Bill to turn up. She wasn’t ready…

They stayed until the afternoon, wanting to make the most of the holiday atmosphere and join together with islanders they hadn’t seen for months or longer. Before they left, British planes flew over the harbour in groups of threes, circling and roaring their engines in a salute to the weary but excited islanders. Olive’s mood lifted again; she’d worry about Bill later.

Over the next few days, celebrations continued around the island and Olive was invited to a couple of impromptu parties in the area after more ships arrived, bearing supplies of food and fuel. But the work had to carry on and she continued to employ Charles to help on the farm. With a much-reduced income now that there were fewer vegetables to sell, Olive often wondered how she’d be able to buy food. She worried about Wolfgang, whether or not he’d survived the onslaught on Berlin. Sometimes she’d stay awake after feeding Tabby in the night, beset by anxiety. The worst thing was not being able to ask anyone. She could only wait.

And hope.

Summer arrived and Olive heard that those imprisoned by the Germans were due to arrive back on the island after a period of recuperation. Many had suffered serious health problems and hadn’t been fit to travel. Nell called round to say she was going into Town the next day when the ship was due in, to meet her father, and asked if she’d like a lift. Olive made some excuse about Tabby not being well and would wait for Bill at home.

She hardly slept that night, panicked about seeing Bill and his reaction to Tabby. He would know the truth straight away and Olive didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t tell anyone and ask for help. She was on her own. If only Ross was here! Inspiration struck and in the morning, after telling Charles she had to go out for the day and he was in charge, she strapped Tabby to her back and cycled up to her family’s farm. She knew it was only a brief respite and Bill would come looking for her at some point, but it was all she could think of.

The Germans had left the house in a mess, but at least the furniture hadn’t been destroyed like in some of the requisitioned houses. The first thing she did was wash the bedding and hang it out to dry in the yard. The strong sun would dry it by the afternoon and she could make up a bed. Olive hoped Bill wouldn’t come looking till the next day at the earliest, heading off to his fancy woman instead. He’d hardly be keen to meet the Jerrybag, would he? She bit her lip. He would want a divorce, no question. After feeding Tabby and settling her in a drawer from the dresser, Olive set about cleaning the grime the Germans had left behind. It seemed an appropriate penance under the circumstances. She was glad her mother couldn’t see the state her home had been left in. Edith would turn in her grave.

She remembered her father hadn’t handed in his rifle, in spite of Edith’s fear he’d be found out and imprisoned, hiding it amongst some rusty junk under a disused oil tank. Praying the Germans hadn’t found it while they were in residence, she waited until Tabby was asleep and took a look. The area was overgrown with weeds and it took some scrabbling about, but finally Olive pulled out something rifle-shaped wrapped in oil cloth. Unwrapping it, she saw it looked in good condition, with a box of cartridges. Good. She had a weapon to defend herself if needed.

Olive prepared a basic supper using some of the food she’d brought with her and, after locking the doors and shutting the windows, stumbled upstairs exhausted, the rifle tucked under her arm. The baby woke her twice in the night wanting her feed and by morning she was as tired as the night before. She left Tabby sleeping and picked up the gun before going downstairs, her head full of what would happen if and when Bill turned up. The rifle did at least make her feel safer, though she hadn’t any idea how to use it.

She had just finished a blissful cup of real tea when someone hammered on the door. Her chest tightened in panic and she reached for the rifle. Going to the door she called out, ‘Who is it?’

‘The police, Madam. I’m looking for a Mrs William Falla. Is that you?’

Olive sagged with relief and opened the door to see a policeman who, on seeing the rifle, gave her an odd look.

‘Oh, I wasn’t planning on using it, but as I’m on my own…’ She lowered the gun and ushered him in.

‘Thank you, Madam. You are Mrs William Falla?’

‘Yes, please sit down. Would you like some tea?’

He shook his head.

‘Very kind of you, but no thanks.’ He looked troubled, as if he didn’t know how to proceed and Olive was puzzled. She hadn’t done anything wrong, had she?

‘Why are you looking for me? And how did you know I was here?’

‘I’m afraid I have some bad news for you, Mrs Falla. Your husband, William Falla, imprisoned by the Germans, has been registered as killed in a prison fire that took place three months ago. Please accept my condolences.’ His eyes were full of pity, but Olive was overcome with relief. Bill’s dead! Oh, thank God! Struggling to look suitably upset, she got up and walked to the sink, her back to the policeman.

‘Thank you for telling me, I was…expecting him home yesterday.’

‘Yes, the other prisoners were on the ship, and one of them carried a letter informing us of your husband’s death. Several of the inmates were killed and the bodies couldn’t be identified, but your husband was not among the ones left alive. Here’s the death certificate issued by the prison.’

She turned round, her features composed in what she hoped were those of a grieving widow. She brushed away an imaginary tear and sat down, reaching for the piece of paper. In German, she couldn’t understand anything other than the name and address in bold lettering – William Falla, Beauregard Farm, St Peters, Guernsey. Olive found her hands shaking. It seemed so unreal, after all this time, to be free of that bastard of a husband. And she didn’t have to go through the indignity of a divorce! She looked up at the policeman, who shifted uncomfortably in the chair.

‘You need to take that to the Greffe and they’ll sort out the formalities for you. With regards to how I found you, I went first to your farm but found no-one there except the lad, Charles, who said you’d left early in the morning and would be gone all day. As I was leaving, your friend, Nell Bisson, arrived looking for you. Apparently she’d heard about your husband and wanted to tell you herself. She wondered if you’d come here and gave me the address.’ He coughed. ‘I’m sorry not to have come before, but it was getting late by this time and I was needed urgently back in Town. I came as soon as I could today.’

Olive nodded.

‘I’m grateful to you, officer, you did your best. I…needed to make sure everything was all right here, not having visited since the Germans left. They’d left it in a bit of a mess so I stayed longer than planned. I did leave a note for my husband to tell him.’

He shook his head.

‘I didn’t see no note, but that’s not important, now.’ He stood up as Tabby let out a yell from upstairs. ‘I heard you’d had a baby, Mrs Falla. Such a pity she’ll not know her father,’ he said, sorrowfully.

‘Yes, it is. Thank you again for going to so much trouble, officer.’ She led him to the door and they exchanged goodbyes. She watched him mount his bike and ride down the farm track before closing the door, a huge grin on her face. She was free! All she had to do now was wait for Wolfgang to come back and they’d become a proper family.

June slid into July and Olive settled into widowhood, accepting the condolences of her friends and neighbours, offering an appropriately sad face to most of them. But one day she broke down and confessed to Elsie what Bill had been really like and how she hated him.

‘I’m glad you’ve finally admitted it. We all saw what a horrible man he was and he treated you so badly. I know you tried to hide them, but there were times when I saw the bruises, Olive. I know we’re not supposed to talk ill of the dead, but I say good riddance.’ Elsie patted her arm and smiled.

Olive was taken aback.

‘I should have had the guts to tell you, but I was so ashamed. I…I was planning to ask for a divorce when he returned.’ She brushed away a tear, relief mixed with sorrow for all the beatings she’d endured. Perhaps if she’d told someone it would have been different…

Elsie nodded.

‘I’m not surprised. And we all knew about his woman on the side. But what about Tabby? Bill wasn’t her father, was he? She’s blond and with those unusual blue eyes…’ She tilted her head at Olive, who felt the heat rise to her cheeks. ‘You thought I didn’t notice you and that officer exchanging notes, didn’t you?’

Olive gasped.

‘Oh, don’t worry, I shan’t tell anyone, though there were a few whispers. I could tell he was a good man, for all he wore that hated uniform, and he made you happy, didn’t he? Knowing what your Bill was like, I thought you deserved someone better.’

She flung her arms around Elsie and sobbed. Elsie stroked her back, soothing her.

‘I…I’m waiting for him to come back. He said he would, but I don’t know if he’s still alive, he was sent to Berlin before…’

‘He wouldn’t have known about the baby, would he? Nor Bill I suppose. At least you’ve been spared facing him with the news. He’d have guessed right away, he would.’ Elsie continued to rub her back as Olive tried to calm herself.

‘No, neither of them knew. But if you’ve guessed Tabby’s not Bill’s then everyone will and I’ll be vilified instead of condoled.’ Olive blew her nose and took a sip of the tea she and Elsie were sharing in the kitchen while her baby slept.

‘Some of the older ones might be a bit snooty with you, but it’ll be just one of the many recriminations flying around. People are more concerned about those who made money they shouldn’t during the Occupation. There’s talk of bringing some to trial, but I don’t know if it’ll come to that. Anyways, I suggest you keep your head down and continue to act the grieving widow.’ Elsie finished her tea and stood up. ‘Best be off as Charles is taking me to a dance this evening and I want to wash my hair.’

Olive saw her to the door and just as she was leaving, Elsie turned and asked if she’d heard from Ross.

‘No, but it shouldn’t be long now, unless he was sent to Burma. It’ll be a relief when the Japs admit defeat and our lads can come home.’ She paused, leaning against the door frame. ‘You know, it’s funny, me and Ross didn’t get on all that well, but I miss him. He’s all I’ve got now, except for Tabby.’

Giving her a hug, Elsie said she was sure she’d hear soon and set off on her bike.

Three weeks later Olive answered a knock on the door to find a post-boy she knew holding a telegram.

‘It’s addressed to your father, Olive, but as both your parents have gone, I thought…’ He thrust it at her, looking awkward.

‘Thanks. It’s probably from Ross.’ Dear God, please let Ross be all right!

He tipped his hat and jumped on his bike and Olive went in to the kitchen and sat down, her heart thudding, and ripped open the envelope. She pulled out the thin sheet of paper bearing the typed words: I regret to inform you of the death in action of your son, Ross… and burst into tears.

The legalities seemed to stretch on forever and Olive fretted about what she should do. She had inherited Beauregard Farm on Bill’s death but there was no money, the only assets were the land and livestock. With her brother’s death, she now stood to inherit her parents’ farm and she would struggle to run one, let alone two farms. After seeking legal advice, it looked better to sell the family farm and live in Beauregard, it having the livestock and more land. Olive would then have some capital behind her to invest in livestock as needed and provide income for her and Tabby. But she hated the thought of selling her old home, it held some good memories whereas Beauregard…well, not so good. Except it was where Tabby was born – her birthright. Olive, with Tabby tucked in her arms, walked to the edge of the field overlooking Rocquaine Bay.

‘Mummy has a big decision to make, darling. Would you like to grow up here? We’ve more room and it’s in better condition than…than your grandparents’ farm. Can we be happy here, do you think? I’d need to block out some…memories, but perhaps that won’t be too difficult, particularly when your father – your real father – comes back. He loved the animals, you know. Was so gentle with them, he’d make a wonderful farmer.’ Olive felt the ache in her insides as the image of Wolfgang filled her mind. His smile, the tenderness of his touch, his kiss…she shook her head, telling herself not to be maudlin, he’d be back one day. She just had to be patient. Tabby let out a gurgle of delight and waved her arms as a cow came into view.

‘I think that means you want us to stay. So be it.’ Olive smiled and lifted Tabby above her head, making her scream with delight.

The following months dragged by for Olive, her only consolation was seeing Tabby grow stronger, crawling around the house after her and always smiling. At last her parents’ farm was sold and she had some money in the bank. Enough to tide her over for a few years, but no more. She was able to keep Charles on, increasing his wage so he could support his new wife, Elsie. Seeing them together, so obviously in love, was like a dagger in her own heart. She knew it was wrong of her to feel jealous, but as time went by, her hopes dwindled.

The letter came on a blustery November day, when Olive was sweeping the kitchen floor. Tabby was in her high chair, waving a rattle given to her by Elsie. The postmark was blurred but she made out the word Deutschland. Taking a deep breath, excitement coursing through her, she tore open the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of paper.

Dear Olive,

Forgive me please for not writing before, but much has happened since I last saw you. I am also aware your husband is now likely to have returned and did not want to cause you any more problems with him.

I survived the onslaught on Berlin without injury, but sadly, my brothers were both killed in other battles. My parents were much saddened by this and have turned to me for financial and moral support. I regret to say I was not entirely honest with you when I said I was single. Although unmarried, I did have a fiancée who has waited patiently for my return and, to please my parents, we were married last month…

At this point Olive cried out in pain and shock. Gasping for breath, she bent over, the words hammering in her head. Tabby, startled, began to cry, her cries becoming louder as Olive sobbed. Leaving her daughter alone, she crawled upstairs and threw herself on the bed. Anger, grief and hate swept through her as she faced the awful truth that Wolfgang – the man she’d loved so, so much, even bearing his child – would never come back. He’d loved another woman the whole time he was with her. She hated him! Hated him! And knew she could no longer love his child. The little girl who looked so like him.