The German Nurse. M.J. Hollows

speaking. ‘I can see why you would think that,’ he said. ‘Truth is, I reckon it’s a question of winning or losing the war altogether. If the Germans come here, what can we do to stop them really?’ He waved a hand around the harbour. ‘We could defend bits of the island, but with no navy support we’d soon be overrun. Me and my lads can be put to better use somewhere else.

      ‘And if we’re not here, at least they won’t come with force. No one will die for a few extra days’ resistance.’

      Jack scowled. This man had no choice but to go off and fight somewhere else, but Jack didn’t have to like it. While there was still some hope, they could stop the Germans taking the island.

      The other man’s frown broke into a smile. ‘Say what. Come with us. Young lad like you’d do well in khaki.’

      Jack shook his head. What else could he say? That he hated war? He surely wouldn’t appreciate it. Besides, that was an overly simplistic explanation. It wasn’t war that he hated; it was death. Jack had lost everything as a child, and he had always blamed war for it.

      ‘I can’t. My family … I’m needed here,’ he said. He would never forgive himself if he left his family to fend for themselves, and he knew that no matter what he said they would never leave the island. This was their home. This was his home.

      ‘I understand,’ the other man said, lighting a cigarette and offering the packet to Jack who refused. ‘More than you can imagine. It’s why I do what I do. Some of us don’t have families to look after. Some of us fight to protect other people’s families, those who have what we don’t.’ He took a long drag. ‘I don’t blame you for staying. I’d probably do the same if it was my home and I had anyone to stay for. I wish you luck.’ With a grunt he lifted the crate up and trudged off down the pier, cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

      ‘Thanks.’

      A boat was pushing off from the harbour, wobbling as a soldier kicked at the mooring. When the boat moved suddenly, he almost fell but was caught by a companion. They laughed it off, but the boat was so overcrowded Jack didn’t fancy their chances of staying dry during the journey. There weren’t enough boats to take them all out to the SS Biarritz in the bay. Jack wondered if he did want to go with them after all, where would he even fit?

      A few hours later, Jack watched the last of the boats leave the harbour. The Biarritz was already disappearing around the corner of the bay, the smoke from its chimneys the only blotch on the clear blue sky. There were still some fishing boats moored up in the harbour, but it was a shadow of its former self. The island felt quieter already, except for the soft sobbing coming from behind him as families went home to await their unknown future.

      ‘À bétaot,’ he said to no one in particular. Goodbye.

       Chapter 3

       26 June 1940

      The windows of the house rattled to an irregular rhythm in their frames. At first they had thought a truck from one of the farms had driven too close to the house, but the sound had continued. There would be a long moment of calm, followed by the glass shaking a few times in quick succession. Some were quieter than others, then a large bang drifted across the sea as something bigger went up.

      The crockery on his tray clinked with each movement as Jack carried bowls of potato soup to his grandparents, trying not to spill any on the floor. He had expected them to look concerned when he entered their room, but they sat up against the metal headboard of their bed, quietly muttering to themselves.

      ‘I hear the Hun are at it again,’ his grandfather grumbled as he spotted Jack, who was too busy concentrating on the bowls to reply.

      ‘Thank you, dear,’ his grandmother said as he put the tray down on the only table in their room, a dark-lacquered, old wooden side table. He passed a bowl to her. She lifted the spoon and moved it towards her husband, who scoffed when he saw what she was doing. ‘I’m not an invalid,’ he said, before a cough racked his body. She smiled wearily at him, but Jack knew that she would do anything for her husband. As he would do for Johanna.

      He picked up the second bowl and there was another rumble from outside. Jack flinched as it rocked in his hands.

      ‘Don’t worry, Jacky,’ his grandmother said, and Jack was unsure whether she was talking about the soup or the sound of warfare drifting in through the open window. ‘You’ll get used to it, just like we did in the last war.’

      Jack wondered if this would be the same, that at some point the backdrop of war would become second nature to them.

      ‘The Hun wouldn’t dare,’ his grandfather agreed, before another coughing fit. Jack wanted to do something to help him, the man who had been like a father to him in the absence of his own father, but nothing they had done had helped. Jack longed for the grandfather who had told him stories of better times and convinced him to join the police force, knowing that he could never do anything else but try to help people, that since his father had died Jack had wanted to prevent anyone else suffering the same heartbreak. His grandfather was the man who had helped Jack feel like a local, forget that he was born in England and fit in on the island. It was funny to think that all those things had led him to become a policeman.

      ‘When are we going to see that nice young girl again, dear?’ his grandmother asked, breaking his reverie. ‘Jocelyn, Josie, whatsit?’

      ‘Johanna,’ Jack replied with a smile. ‘Soon, I hope, but well … you know what Mum’s like.’

      She sighed, then took a mouthful of her soup. His mother’s moods were an unspoken issue in the house. None of them truly knew what caused them, but all they could do was wait for them to pass.

      ‘She will come around,’ his grandfather said, joining in the conversation. ‘You’ll see – I’ll have a word with her.’ He managed to stifle a cough and his broad smile reminded Jack of past days.

      ‘Thanks,’ Jack said, smiling too, knowing that his grandfather would always come through for him.

      The windows rocked again, causing a little dust to fall from the ceiling. Jack left his grandparents to their meal and went into the hallway. He opened the front door, the creak of its hinges lost in the din, as explosions lit up the coast of France. His neighbours stood on their doorsteps too and looked about, frowns etched deep on their faces. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The army had left only a few days ago, and the Islanders had hoped to be left alone now that they were no longer a threat. The newspapers had talked about the German advance, but no one had expected to hear it from here. Something terrible was happening over on the north coast. It seemed they wanted the whole of France for themselves.

      Jack left his house and walked up onto the headland to get a better look. Some of his neighbours followed at first, but then drifted off after a while, unwilling to witness the reality of what was happening. From up there a person could see for miles, to the south across the bright blue sea, to the faint white hue of clouds on the horizon. Jack stood there for a time. He often enjoyed it up on the hills and grabbed a glance over the sea whenever he could. Sometimes he would sit; others he would just stand and think. It gave him a chance to compose his thoughts and a bit of distance from home. At times he was tempted to sketch the view, but he had no talent for it. His mother could draw, creating something that looked like a reasonable landscape.

      The Cherbourg Peninsula was a muddy brown line along the edge of the sea, a land that seemed so far away. The wind was a south-westerly, blowing across him, threatening to take off his hat. The sounds had died out and been replaced by an eerie calm in which Jack could only hear his heartbeat and the occasional gust of wind. Over the few miles of sea blew thick black smoke, which left an acrid taste in his mouth. It was the taste of oil, strong and suffocating.

      Often scents and smells would blow across from the mainland,