The German Nurse. M.J. Hollows
out a shape in between them, scrabbling towards the back of the boat. Was it a woman? A hand reached out to the shore, then disappeared into the darkness.
19 June 1940
Guernsey was beautiful in the summer: the rolling green fields, the vivid blue sea. It was what drew most people here, taking the boat from Weymouth, or a short flight across the Channel. It was a perfect spot for a holiday, but fewer people were visiting by the day, since the British Government had declared war on Germany. Far closer still was the coast of France, visible on the horizon to the south of the island.
The beauty was the only thing Jack could think about as he left the house he shared with his mother and grandparents. His mother’s voice still resonated in his ears, speaking those hard and damning words.
‘Don’t make the same mistakes I made. Not with that woman! Jack? Jack?!’
He caught the door before it slammed shut, then let it click softly against the wooden frame. He didn’t want to exacerbate things and draw the neighbours’ attention. Taking a deep breath, he tried to forget his mother’s words and stepped away from the house. The further away he was from there, the less it would play on his thoughts. It was a fine June day, bright blue sky and barely a cloud in sight, and his mother’s mood couldn’t change that. It would take something far worse, and even though war was brewing on the horizon, it hadn’t reached them yet. Who knew if it even would?
Their house was typical of the buildings on George Street at the edge of St Peter Port, built from a stone that gave it a mottled, irregular look, and roofed in grey slate tiles. Some of the houses in the terrace were plastered and painted white, but Jack’s grandparents had left theirs as natural as possible, less difficult to maintain and still impressive. They had once owned a farmhouse, as they never grew tired of telling him, but as his grandfather’s health had deteriorated they had moved closer to the town.
He had been a great man with a booming laugh, always telling stories and like a father to Jack, but now he was a gaunt man almost always confined to his bed. The row of houses lined the way down to the harbour, and Jack knew every occupant by name. He stood for a moment looking at the navy-blue-painted door and wondering if his mother would follow him after their argument.
He and his mother had argued a lot more recently, but he knew deep down that she was only concerned. She meant well, but sometimes she didn’t think before speaking. Like everyone, she was worried about what might happen to them. The ever-looming shadow of war seemed to grow closer every day. She couldn’t forget the last war, how it had affected them all, and it had affected her more than most.
He turned and picked up his bicycle from the wall; he was going to be late if he didn’t hurry. He wished he had time to go and see Johanna. Seeing her would cheer him up.
The sun beat down and he began to sweat. His clothes were close and hot, and it would be even worse when he put on his uniform at the police station. But it gave him a sense of pride to wear it, a sign that even in his short life he had already accomplished something many others could only dream of.
People were going about their business as usual in the morning, heading to work at the shops and eateries, fishermen coming back from overnight hauls, and he greeted them with a smile and a nod as he cycled past. They liked seeing their local policeman on the streets, looking after them, especially in these dark times when everyone was nervous and never far from fear. He was here for them. He was a public servant, no more, no less. He had dedicated his life to helping other people, and no matter what happened he would never forget that.
*
Jack entered the police station and the hot summer sun was immediately blocked out. There was always a musty, damp smell to the interior, as if it had been built on top of some sort of stream. It was muggy and even the collar of his linen shirt chafed at his neck.
‘Morning,’ William – the sergeant on the desk – called, looking up from some paperwork. ‘You’ve heard then? They’re in the briefing room.’
‘Heard what?’ Jack leant on the other side of the desk, waiting for the sergeant to explain. Normally the pair of them only exchanged pleasantries, but there was a look in William’s eyes that Jack couldn’t quite describe, like he was staring right through him.
‘The chief’s called everyone in,’ he said a moment later. ‘Something big’s happening. I thought you’d got the telephone call. You’d better hurry.’
Jack nodded and headed through the main doors and into their changing room. He tried to spend as little time in the station as possible, preferring the wide-open grasslands of the island. He asked for patrol shifts that took him on the long walks that many of his colleagues would rather avoid.
Jack had heard nothing of the meeting that William had mentioned and it pulled at his imagination, as he folded his clothes into a cupboard. It could be anything, but his mind immediately thought the worst. Some hoped the war would stall far away in France like the last one, but many still worried. They wondered what to do, some leaving the island already and others stockpiling food and supplies. Even the soldiers had no idea. He thought of them as he pulled his uniform on. Their fear must be worse than the Islanders, not knowing when they would be called to fight.
The newspapers had reported on the happenings in mainland Europe, and every time Jack thought of it he could feel a tightening in his chest. No matter how often he told himself to be calm, that everything would be all right in the end, he couldn’t ignore that indefinable feeling of dread.
Fully uniformed, Jack pushed open the door of the briefing room. He was immediately hit with the smell of cigarette smoke and body odour. The room was dark, with no natural light, only the faint glow of the kerosene lamps. The building only had electric lighting upstairs.
The room was full, seeming to contain the entirety of Guernsey’s police force, all thirty-three men.
‘Glad you could join us, Constable Godwin,’ a deep voice said. The chief officer didn’t even bother to look at Jack as he leant against the wall at the back. The chief’s voice was thick and he cleared it, passing the phlegm into a white cotton handkerchief that he kept in his breast pocket. ‘Well,’ he continued. ‘Now that everyone is here we can begin.’ He picked up a few pieces of paper from his desk and shuffled them, apparently looking for something in particular. He fumbled with his glasses. ‘The next few days are going to be incredibly difficult for us,’ he said, fixing each of them with a look before moving on. ‘The news we’ve all been anticipating has finally arrived. The envoy returned from the mainland this morning.’
There was a slight shift in the room as the local policemen objected to the description of England as the mainland. Jack often made the same mistake, treating Guernsey as an extension of England when most of the locals thought of themselves as their own country. The chief didn’t seem to notice as he continued.
‘The Prime Minister, Mr Churchill, has ordered the withdrawal of all military forces on the island,’ he said, looking them all in the eye one after the other again, letting the implication of his words settle in. ‘The British Government have decided that the islands are not worth the resources needed to defend them.’
There was a gasp from the assembled policemen. They glanced at each other, looking for reassurance. ‘Does it really say that, sir?’ someone asked amongst the mutterings.
‘Not explicitly, but that’s not the point. We’ve often been on our own. I don’t see this as any different. We all have our jobs to do. We’ve also been asked to assist in whatever way necessary, to expedite their withdrawal from the island. There is expected to be a panic when the Islanders find out the army is leaving, and many will want to travel to the mainland.