chapter eighteen

 

Guernsey, June 1940

 

The war came to Guernsey on Friday, 28th June. Leo was one of a large crowd gathered in Smith Street to hear the latest announcement by Ambrose Sherwill, the recently elected President of the Controlling Committee, the island’s emergency government. A lovely summer evening had encouraged islanders to come into Town and listen to Sherwill’s speech before going down to White Rock for the departure of the mailboat. Leo had hoped to hear more about why the German plane had flown over the day before, but Sherwill had little to say.

Reluctant to return to his empty home, Leo joined the throng heading for White Rock. He liked watching the coming and going of ships and that evening the mailboat, Isle de Sark, was joined by the SS Sheringham and SS Ringwood, ready to take on board the latest crop of tomatoes destined for the UK. Leo smiled as the lines of lorries queuing to unload stretched back to the Weighbridge, glad to see it was business as normal. Passengers were embarking on the mailboat, bound for Southampton.

Suddenly he heard the throb of engines and Leo looked up, horrified to see three German Heinkels approaching from the south-east. Bursts of machine-gun fire erupted from the planes and puffs of smoke told him bombs had been dropped. Leo bent down and ran for cover towards the shelter under the pier as the lorries, Cambridge Sheds and the Information Bureau were hit, flames shooting upwards into the sky. Through a thick pall of smoke, he heard screams. Glimpses of people hit by debris, falling to the ground. Others fleeing, screaming in terror. He grabbed at a woman running past, crying and frightened, pulling her with him to safety in the shelter.

The muffled sound of answering gunfire from the mailboat reached them in the shelter, and he recalled reading it was armed recently. The noise seemed to last forever, when it could only have been a matter of minutes, replaced by the sound of anguished cries. Leo did his best to comfort those around him until the all-clear sounded at 8pm. Leo, leading the sobbing woman, came out to see the devastation, catching his breath at the sight. The whole of Town’s front, as far as his eye could see, was damaged. Piles of rubble filled the piers and the street, and the dead and injured lay scattered like broken dolls.

Leo watched, stunned, as police and ambulance crews frantically pulled the injured from under lorries and the wrecked buildings. Adrenaline kicked in, and he rushed to lend a hand. Faces unrecognisable, coated in dust and blood. Bodies missing limbs. The moans of the badly injured. As he helped load the injured into ambulances and move the dead to the side, anger began to burn deep inside him. What cowards were the Germans to attack defenceless people! The anger drove him on until he was too tired to stand.

‘Here, mate, have a breather and drink some of this. You’ve earned it.’ A man with a smoke-blackened face handed him a flask, and Leo took a gulp, gasping as the brandy slipped down his throat.

‘Thank you,’ he spluttered, returning the flask.

‘You’re welcome, mate. We’ll show those bastard Jerries what we’re made of!’ He shook his fist at the now empty sky. Leo could only nod his agreement. Their peaceful little island was dragged into the war at last.

 

In a state of shock and disbelief, Leo drove home as the light was fading, almost expecting German soldiers to appear out of the shadows. As he drove up the lane to his house he was concerned, but not surprised, to see the light on. Elsie was waiting in the kitchen, and she rushed at him as soon as he stepped in the door.

‘Oh, my lord! What happened to you? Are you hurt?’ Her hands clawed at him and, looking down, Leo saw dried patches of blood, mingled with soot, dirt, and God only knew what else.

He took her hands in his saying, ‘I’m not hurt, Elsie. Calm down. I helped those injured by the bombs…’ He sat her down and told her what had happened and her old face crumpled in horror. She had heard the bombs but didn’t know where they’d hit, and she told him she heard more landing around the west coast. He finally managed to calm her enough to send her home after she’d insisted on serving his supper, kept warm in the oven.

After she left, Leo looked at the chicken pie and vegetables, not sure if he could swallow a morsel after what he’d witnessed. Deciding he needed something stronger to drink than the beer left out by Elsie, he took a bottle of Burgundy from his small wine collection and poured a large glass. After a sip, he felt able to try the food and, once he’d eaten a mouthful, found he was ravenous and wolfed it down, accompanied by the wine. He wanted to blot out the evening’s horror as much as possible. The food and most of the wine finished, Leo took himself off to bed, missing his daily call to Teresa, knowing he couldn’t tell her what had happened.

In Town the next day, Leo learnt the full aftermath of the bombings. He was horrified to hear that thirty-four people had died at the harbour, with many more injured and that the planes had then dropped more bombs and machine-gunned different points of the island, including Vazon and St Andrew, causing more damage but no casualties. Leaving Ernest to man the shop, Leo walked down in the direction of the harbour, but at the last minute, realised he wasn’t yet ready to face the devastation. Instead, he turned up High Street and then into Smith Street, arriving at the offices of The Guernsey Evening Press.

‘Good morning, Mr Bichard. I heard you was quite the hero last night, helping the injured, according to PC Piesing down at White Rock,’ the man at the desk greeted him.

Leo waved his hand dismissively.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Joe. Everyone was doing their bit.’ He coughed. ‘I heard people were blaming the British government for leaving us without any defence. I understood the Germans knew about this, so they did not need to attack us like that. Do you know different?’

Joe leaned forward, lowering his voice even though there was no-one in earshot.

‘Apparently, Mr Sherwill raised this with the Home Office last night, and it seems Jerry wasn’t told we had no defence. Pah! Blooming Brits let us down badly, all right. Anyhow, apparently it was on the BBC news last night, so the Germans know now. Bit late, though, ain’t it? Especially for those who died, poor souls.’ Joe shook his head.

‘It is. I got home too late for the news last night, but I expect it’s going in the Press?’

‘Yes, with the latest news that shipping’s suspended to the islands. So I’d say that’s ominous, wouldn’t you, Mr Bichard?’

Leo nodded, said goodbye and left. His feelings of anger were now equally directed at the British government and the Germans, something he’d never expected to happen. As he walked down Smith Street the air raid siren sounded and, his heart pounding, he joined others rushing towards the nearest shelter. This time he heard no bombs or machine-gun fire, and thirty minutes later the all-clear sounded. A constable told him a plane had been spotted circling the island, probably checking the damage caused the previous evening. Leo hurried back to the shop, telling Ernest they were closing for the day, but to come back on Monday when he would reassess the situation.

Back at home, Leo telephoned Teresa, no longer able to hide the truth from her.

‘I think invasion’s imminent, my darling, and I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to talk like this. Now we’ve lost contact by sea I fear there could soon be total silence.’

He heard Teresa catch her breath, but her voice remained steady when she answered.

‘Then we can only pray this war ends soon.’

‘After the Allies retreat from Dunkirk and the French armistice with Germany, I’m not optimistic. We must both be brave, my darling, and look forward to when we are reunited. And how’s Judith? Still troubled by her teething?’ They spent a few minutes chatting about their daughter who, he was relieved to hear, was now happy and sleeping again. Promising to call the next day, Sunday, Leo said goodbye.

The sense of foreboding he had felt of late was becoming stronger as each day passed. How could Guernsey – and the other islands – survive if cut off by sea from Britain? Where would their food come from? There was only so much a small island could grow, and they imported most of their meat.

Leo stepped outside into the summer sunshine where barely a leaf stirred. Bees buzzed unconcerned as they drew the precious nectar from his wife’s colourful flowers. There was something to be said, he thought, for the simple life of a bee, thrusting his hands into his pockets as he breathed in the idyllic scene. The strident ringing of the telephone broke his reverie, and he rushed into the house. Teresa! Had something happened?