but spare wood is hard to find on the island now, as we had to cut down most of the trees—banisters and furniture, too—for firewood when there was no more coal or paraffin left. Eli and I are planting trees on my land now, but it is going to take a long time for them to become grown—and we do all miss the leaves and shade.
I will tell you now about our roast pig. The Germans were fussy over farm animals. Pigs and cows were kept strict count of. Guernsey was to feed the German troops stationed here and in France. We ourselves could have the leavings, if there were any.
How the Germans did favor book-keeping. They kept track of every gallon we milked, weighed the cream, recorded every sack of flour. They left the chickens alone for a while. But when feed and scraps became so scarce, they ordered us to kill off the older chickens, so’s the good layers could have enough feed to keep on laying eggs.
We fishermen had to give them the largest share of our catch. They would meet our boats in the harbor to portion out their share. Early in the Occupation, a good many Islanders escaped to England in fishing boats—some drowned, but some made it. So the Germans made a new rule, any person who had a family member in England would not be allowed in a fishing boat—they were afraid we’d try to escape. Since Eli was somewhere in England, I had to lend out my boat. I went to work in one of Mr. Privot’s glass houses, and after a time, I got so I could tend the plants well. But my, how I did miss my boat and the sea.
The Germans were especially fractious over meat because they didn’t want any to go to the Black Market instead of feeding their own soldiers. If your sow had a litter, the German Agricultural Officer would come to your farm, count the babies, give you a Birth Certificate for each one, and so mark his record book. If a pig died a natural death, you told the AO and out he’d come again, look at the dead body, and give you a Death Certificate.
They would make surprise visits to your farm, and your number of living pigs had better tally up with their number of living pigs. One pig less and you were fined, one time more and you could be arrested and sent to jail in St. Peter Port. If too many pigs went missing, the Germans figured you were selling on the Black Market, and you were sent to a labor camp in Germany. With the Germans you never knew which way they’d blow—they were a moody people.
In the beginning, though, it was easy to fool the Agricultural Officer and keep a secret live pig for your own use. Here is how Amelia came to have hers.
Will Thisbee had a sickly pig who died. The AO came out and wrote a Certificate saying the pig was truly dead and left Will alone to bury the poor animal. But Will didn’t—he hied off through the wood with the little body and gave it to Amelia Maugery. Amelia hid her own healthy pig and called the AO saying, “Come quick, my pig has died.”
The AO came out right away and, seeing the pig with its toes turned up, never knew it was the same pig he’d seen earlier that morning. He inscribed his Dead Animal Book with one more dead pig.
Amelia took the same carcass over to another friend, and he pulled the same trick the next day. We could do this till the pig turned rank. The Germans caught on finally and began to tattoo each pig and cow at birth, so there was no more dead animal switching.
But Amelia, with a live, hidden, fat, and healthy pig, needed only Dawsey to come kill it quietly. It had to be done quietly because there was a German battery by her farm, and it would not do for the soldiers to hear the pig’s death squeal and come running.
Pigs have always been drawn to Dawsey—he could come in a barnyard, and they would rush up to him and have their backs scratched. They’d set up a shindy for anyone else—squealing, snuffling, and plunging about. But Dawsey, he could soothe them down and he knew just the right spot under their chins to slip his knife in quick. There wasn’t time for the pigs to squeal; they’d just slide quietly onto the ground sheet.
I told Dawsey they only looked up once in surprise, but he said no, pigs were bright enough to know betrayal when they met it, and I wasn’t to try to pretty matters up.
Amelia’s pig made us a fine dinner—there were onions and potatoes to fill out the roast. We had almost forgotten how it felt to have full stomachs, but it came back to us. With Amelia’s curtains closed against the sight of the German battery, and food and friends at the table, we could make believe that none of it had happened.
You are right to call Elizabeth brave. She is that, and always was. She came from London to Guernsey as a little girl with her mother and Sir Ambrose Ivers. She met my Jane her first summer here, when both were ten, and they were ever staunch to one another since then.
When Elizabeth came back in the spring of 1940 to close up Sir Ambrose’s house, she stayed longer than was safe, because she wanted to stand by Jane. My girl had been feeling poorly since her husband, John, went to England to sign up—that was in December of 1939—and she had a difficult time holding on to the baby till her time could come. Dr. Martin ordered her to bed, so Elizabeth stayed on to keep company with Jane and play with Eli. Nothing Eli liked more than to play with Elizabeth. They were a threat to the furniture, but it was cheerful to hear them laugh. I went over once to collect the two of them for supper and when I stopped in, there they were— sprawled on a pile of pillows at the foot of the staircase. They had polished Sir Ambrose’s fine oak banister and come sailing down three floors!
It was Elizabeth who did the needful things to get Eli on the evacuation ship. We Islanders were given only one day’s notice when the ships were coming from England to take the children away. Elizabeth worked like a whirl-a- gig, washing and sewing Eli’s clothes and helping him to understand why he could not bring his pet rabbit with him. When we set out for the schoolyard, Jane had to turn away so as not to show Eli a tearful face at parting, so Elizabeth took him by the hand and said it was good weather for a sea-voyage.
Even after that, Elizabeth wouldn’t leave Guernsey when everyone else was trying to get away. “No,” she said. “I’ll wait for Jane’s baby to come, and, when she’s fattened up enough, then she and Jane and I will go to London. Then we’ll find out where Eli is and go get him.” For all her winning ways, Elizabeth was willful. She’d stick out that jaw of hers and you could see it wasn’t any use to argue with her about leaving. Not even when we could all see the smoke coming from Cherbourg, where the French were burning up their fuel tanks, so the Germans couldn’t have them. But, no matter, Elizabeth wouldn’t go without Jane and the baby. I think Sir Ambrose had told her he and one of his yachting friends could sail right into St. Peter Port and take them off Guernsey before the Germans came. To speak the truth, I was glad she did not leave us. She was with me at the hospital when Jane and her new baby died. She sat by Jane, holding on hard to her hand.
After Jane died, Elizabeth and me, we stood in the hallway, numb-like and staring out the window. It was then we saw seven German planes come in low over the harbor. They were just on one of the reconnaissance flights, we thought—but then they began dropping bombs—they tumbled down the sky like sticks.
We didn’t speak, but I know what we each were thinking—thank God Eli was safely away. Elizabeth stood by Jane and me in the bad time, and after. I was not able to stand by Elizabeth, so I thank God her daughter, Kit, is safe and with us, and I pray for Elizabeth to come home soon.
