Chapter 24

J

eanne found it hard to settle back at Molly’s, willing the afternoon to move on.Eventually it was time to go and she gathered together the remaining letters, Wilhelm’s photo and her notepad and pen. Mrs Ozanne lived ten minutes’ walk away and she set off, the papers tucked in a file under her arm. On the way she bought a bunch of freesias from a roadside hedge-stall. The cottage was a smaller version of her own, semi-detached with a pretty little garden in front.

The door was opened by a white haired lady bent awkwardly over a stick. Her brown eyes still possessed a spark and regarded her with keen interest.

‘Jeanne, please come in. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you since the vicar called round this morning. Oh, are those for me? How lovely, thank you. We’ll go through to the garden, shall we?’

She led the way along a narrow, dark hall leading to the back door which stood open. Jeanne followed her into the sunlit garden and gasped. ‘Oh, this is lovely, Mrs Ozanne! It’s like a miniature version of Gran’s garden!’

The old lady chuckled, ‘Where do you think I got the ideas from? Your grandmother was always round here telling me what I should plant, she was. Now, sit you down and let me have a good look at you.’

Jeanne sat on the cushioned garden chair pulled up to a small table laden with afternoon tea. Mrs Ozanne lowered herself carefully into a matching chair before giving Jeanne a thorough inspection.

‘I would have known you anywhere. You’re your father’s child, for sure, with your grandfather’s eyes. But you inherited your mother’s hair.’ She sighed. ‘’Twas not right, them all dying so young. Even your grandfather had a few good years left in him. Broke Jeanne’s heart, it did. She had more than her share of pain, for sure.’ She gazed at her friend’s granddaughter and added softly, ‘But so have you, m’dear, so have you. Do you remember me at all?’

She had to be honest. ‘I’m afraid not. Would I have met you at Gran’s?’

‘Yes, I saw you there as a little girl with your mother, more than once. Of course I was a lot younger and livelier then,’ she said, looking at her stick with disdain. ‘Your gran and I used to pop round each other’s cottages regular like. We were widowed within a year of each other so were glad of the company. Then my legs started playing up so I was stuck here.’ Mrs Ozanne sighed, tapping her stick. She seemed to wander off for a moment.

Jeanne cleared her throat.

‘Now,’ the old lady went on, becoming brisk, ‘can you pour the tea for us, please? I take two sugars even though doctor tells me I shouldn’t,’ she chuckled.

Jeanne passed her a cup of tea and offered her the plate piled up with the ubiquitous buttered Gâche. Jeanne helped herself to a slice, not really hungry, but wanting to be polite.

‘And I was at your parents’ funeral, but I doubt if you knew what was going on, you were still so shocked.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry if I was…’

‘There’s no need to be sorry, gal. You were very distressed, and rightly so. You were white as a sheet, you were. You just clung onto your gran as if you’d fall over if you let go. Mind, you’d been in the hospital for ten days so you were still weak.’ She reached over and patted Jeanne’s arm.

‘I…I don’t remember anything about the funeral. Or what happened before…The doctors told me my mind had just shut down. As a sort of self-defence,’ Jeanne replied, twisting her hair round her finger.

Mrs Ozanne nodded.

‘That can be a good thing sometimes. But it’s a pity whoever killed your parents wasn’t caught and punished.’

‘Well, they might be soon. I’m starting to remember a bit and I’m having hypnosis to boost my memory. So perhaps I’ll know who did it. If I can recognise them, of course.’

‘That’d be grand. But you didn’t come here to talk to me about your accident, did you now?’ She cocked her head.

‘No. I’m hoping you’ll be able to help me with a rather, er, delicate matter regarding Gran. I believe that during the Occupation she became friendly with a…German soldier called Wilhelm. Did you know about their friendship?’ Jeanne bit her lip, trying to remain calm.

The old lady regarded Jeanne intently before answering.

‘How did you know about Wilhelm?’

‘I found some letters from him to Gran in the attic. It would seem they were,’ she coughed, ‘lovers. So you did know about him?’ her voice rose in excitement.

Mrs Ozanne nodded. ‘Yes, I knew about him. Met him, too.’

‘Oh! Is this him?’ Jeanne showed her the photo.

‘Yes, that’s Wilhelm all right. Good looking lad he was. And a real gentleman, not like some of them other soldiers we had here. ’Twas obvious he hated being a soldier, but o’course he had no choice. And he thought the world of Jeanne. He even learnt English so that they could talk together.’ She paused and sipped her tea.

Jeanne twisted her hair again.

‘How did they meet?’

‘He was based in Perelle most of the time, at a gun emplacement on a bunker. They met when Jeanne was out for a walk in the lanes nearby. She tripped and twisted her ankle and Wilhelm found her, unable to move she was. He strapped up her ankle and gave her painkillers from the bunker’s medical supplies. Although they couldn’t understand each other, I think ’twas love at first sight,’ she sighed and took another sip.

‘Sounds very romantic! But it must have been very difficult for them to keep their meetings a secret,’ Jeanne said, leaning forward.

‘Yes, for sure. But they were very careful and her parents never knew. I was the only one Jeanne confided in, see. I sometimes took messages for ’em. I liked him and saw how happy she was. They were right for each other – or would’ve been if they weren’t enemies!’ Her face clouded over.

Jeanne, although reluctant to stir up painful memories, was anxious to know more.

‘Was it very bad? In the Occupation?’ she asked gently.

The old lady gazed at Jeanne and nodded. ‘Wasn’t good, that’s for sure. Worst was the lack o’ food. We were always hungry, but eventually just got used to it. That last year was the worst, when we couldn’t get supplies from France. We were all starving, soldiers an’ islanders alike. People were eating cats, dogs, rats. Anything just to stay alive. And that winter was so cold, worst I’d known.’ She looked up at Jeanne and went on, her eyes clouding at the painful memory. ‘You have to remember, we had no power, nothing at all for heat, light, cooking. Many people got taken ill and ended up in hospital. Like your gran’s ma. She was real bad, she was. But she got better.’ Mrs Ozanne sipped the last of her tea and remained quiet.

‘I’ve read that you finally got help from the Red Cross,’ Jeanne prompted.

Mrs Ozanne smiled. ‘Yes, and were we glad! That Red Cross ship Vega it was called, arrived in St Peter Port and they started unloading thousands of parcels, enough for everyone. But not the Germans, o’course. They still had no food, poor souls. But we had tinned food, tea, chocolate and even cigarettes. And clothes for the children. And warm blankets! By then we knew the Allies were winning, that Jerry was finished. We hadn’t always known what was happening out there, in the rest o’ the world. Our radios were confiscated most o’ the time. We’d been cut off from everything.’

She seemed lost in thought again but then brightened and said, ‘But we survived and life’s been good since then, so mustn’t complain.’

Jeanne could only admire the old lady’s spirit and she could see why she and her gran had been such good friends, they were from the same mould.

‘Mrs Ozanne, did you, er, know that Gran got pregnant?’

She nodded. ‘Thought this would be what you wanted to talk about. It’s that baby’s body that’s been found, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. It was under a bedroom floor. I think it was Gran’s.’

‘Was her baby, yes.’ Mrs Ozanne’s face twisted, as if she were in pain. ‘It came early…I was meant to be with her…but it was sudden like…I couldn’t get there in time, couldn’t help. The cord was round the baby’s neck, if only I’d been there she may have lived. ‘It was my fault…I was too late!’ Tears glistened in her eyes and Jeanne reached out and held her hand.

‘You mustn’t blame yourself. No-one was to blame. It…it happens. But where were Gran’s parents?’

The old lady blew her nose on a lace trimmed handkerchief before answering.

‘Her father was out fishing and her mother was in the hospital with a fever, like I said. So she was on her own. When the pains started she sent a lad to fetch me, but I was out and by the time I got the message it was too late. I found Jeanne lying there, exhausted and the baby was blue, didn’t draw breath.’ She stopped, her hands shaking.

Jeanne was trying to hold back her tears.

Mrs Ozanne continued, ‘I helped clean up Jeanne and we decided to bury the baby under the floor. Couldn’t think what else to do and she was past caring. And there wasn’t much time, her father was due back any minute.’

Jeanne cleared her throat. ‘How did she hide her pregnancy? Surely she was quite big at the end?’

‘It was winter when she began to show and because o’ the cold we all wore lots o’ layers. Jeanne just looked like anyone else with baggy tops and trousers. Was too cold for skirts. ’Tis possible her mother guessed but she never said anything. And by the time she came out o’ hospital it was all over.’

Jeanne braced herself for the next and most important question.

‘I need to know, Mrs Ozanne, what happened to Wilhelm? Why didn’t he and Gran get married?’

The old lady looked surprised at the question and then understanding seemed to dawn on her.

‘O’course, you wouldn’t know, would you? Poor lad was dead – killed in an explosion. An accident, they said, at the airport, where he’d been sent on duty. Some other soldiers were injured as well but poor Wilhelm was killed outright.’

‘Oh no! How awful! But when did this happen?’

‘The day before Jeanne went into labour. That’s why the baby came early. It was the shock, you see. Shock from hearing the man she loved was dead.’