chapter twenty-eight

 

Guernsey June 1940

 

Leo drove his car into Town for the last time on that fateful Monday. At the offices of the Controlling Committee, he learnt the Germans had been busy issuing numerous orders in the early hours since their arrival, including the banning of private vehicles. Heavy-hearted, he made his way to the shop to meet with Ernest, waiting pale-faced in the office.

‘Good morning, Mr Bichard. I see the Germans are here. What’s going to happen to us?’ he asked, hopping from foot to foot.

‘I’ve no idea, Ernest, but it looks as if we’re facing enormous changes.’ He went on to tell Ernest of his new work and his reluctant decision to close the shop. A red flush appeared on Ernest’s face.

‘But what about me, Mr Bichard? You promised to keep the shop going, you did. How will I survive without a job?’ His truculent tone annoyed Leo.

‘I have no choice but to close. The Germans are already placing restrictions on businesses, and there will be little need for antiques. I’m sorry, Ernest, I’d hoped to stay open, but now see I can’t. But I’d be happy to put in a word for you with the Committee when they’re hiring staff.’ Leo tried not to sound too irritated, having some sympathy with Ernest. The ones to be angry with were the Germans, not each other.

The young man sniffed.

‘I’d appreciate that, sir. What are you going to do about the stock? An open invitation to thieves, leaving it here.’

‘A friend has offered me secure storage in his warehouse, so if you could get hold of the delivery men, we’ll need to do it today. From tomorrow lorries are only to be used for moving essential supplies, and it would take forever with a horse and cart.’ He glanced around the shop, full of personally curated items representing his deserved reputation as the best antiques dealer on the island. He sighed, would he ever be able to start again? Or would he want to?

‘Mr Bichard? You okay? I said I’d be off to get the lads.’ Ernest’s words broke into his thoughts.

‘Yes, of course. Oh, and Ernest, I’ll pay you a month’s wages to tide you over.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Ernest nodded and left.

Leo, his feet leaden, went up the steep stairs to the attic for boxes and packing material. He wasn’t looking forward to dismantling the family’s business. His father would turn in his grave.

 

Six hours later, he surveyed the now empty shop. Marks on the walls showed where the paintings and mirrors had hung, and the old wooden floor bore the imprints of the feet of the furniture. Even the office was empty. Anything small enough was stored in the safe place with his personal valuables, only the larger items were now in the warehouse. After making sure everything was stored correctly, Leo had returned to the shop with Ernest to whitewash the windows. A subdued light filtered through the painted glass and Leo shivered in spite of the day’s heat.

Counting out the notes, he handed Ernest his promised wages.

‘Thank you for your hard work today, and in the past, Ernest. I’ll be in touch if there’s a job available. Good luck.’ He held out his hand.

Ernest shook it after pocketing the money.

‘Thank you, sir, and good luck yourself.’ Ernest limped out of the door and Leo, with a last look around, followed, locking the door behind him. As he walked towards the Committee offices where he was due to put in a few hours work, groups of German soldiers marched past, the soles of their leather boots striking the cobbled streets with a sound like gunshots. There were few islanders to be seen in the normally bustling Town centre, acknowledging each other with a tip of the head rather than the usual friendly smile. As he passed The Royal Court, Leo kept his eyes averted from the hated Nazi flags flying overhead. The Guernsey flag was nowhere to be seen.

 

Over the next few months, Leo was kept busy working for the Essential Commodities department. The role became more complex as the island’s pre-Occupation supplies dwindled and the Germans constantly demanded updated lists of everything, from flour and potatoes to coal and fertiliser. In one way Leo was glad his work was so demanding, though dull, as it kept him from thinking too much about Teresa and Judith and their old life together.

There was no contact between the island and the mainland, although there was talk of asking the Red Cross to facilitate messages via France to the UK. It was if the rest of the world didn’t exist, except through the BBC news bulletins on the radio. And the news wasn’t good: the Germans continued to make huge advances in Europe and Leo, for the first time, and to his shame, began to doubt if the Allies could ever win.

German propaganda was constantly broadcast through the local newspapers and the cinemas, and the old Guernsey ways were replaced by German efficiency and bureaucracy. Although Leo considered himself well-organised, he preferred and missed the slow, personal approach of the Guerns.

 

In late October, Leo was enjoying a drink with Clem Le Page after work when Clem brought up the subject of the innumerable lists the Germans required.

‘Do you know, they even want a list of Jews and Jewish businesses in the island?’ he said, sipping a beer.

Leo’s hand shook. ‘But whatever for? What’s different about Jews, for heaven’s sake?’

‘Nothing, as far as I’m concerned, but there have been rumours the Germans are running some vendetta against them in Germany and France. I have Hungarian Jewish friends who fled to England when Hitler came to power, saying he’d vowed to wipe them out. I’m sure it was an exaggeration, but it’s odd they’re asking for this list, although I doubt there’s many left on the island. Most foreign Jews evacuated back in June.’

Leo grunted, burying his face in his glass as a frisson of fear shot through him. He tried to reassure himself it was simply the Germans being over-zealous about the background of islanders.

‘They’ll be wanting a list of Catholics next,’ he said, with a forced smile.

Clem laughed and went off to order more beer while Leo tried to push away the increased feeling of foreboding. He must be safe, surely?