The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

hunted up a picture of Nefertiti for me to see. I wasn’t exactly sure what imperious was, so I tried to look like her. As yet, I haven’t grown into my nose, but I’m sure it will come—Miss McKenna said so.

Another sad story about the Occupation is my Aunt Letty. She used to have a big, gloomy old house out on the cliffs near La Fontenelle. The Germans said it lay in their big guns’ line of fire and interfered with their gun practice. So they blew it up. Aunt Letty lives with us now.

Yours sincerely,

Sally Ann Frobisher

From Micah Daniels to Juliet

15th May, 1946

Dear Miss Ashton,

Isola gave me your address because she is sure you would like to see my list for your book.

If you was to take me to Paris today, and set me down in a fine French restaurant—the kind of place what has white lace tablecloths, candles on the walls, and silver covers over all the plates—well, I tell you it would be nothing, nothing compared to my Vega box.

In case you don’t know of it, the Vega was a Red Cross ship that come first to Guernsey on 27 December, 1944. They brought food to us then, and five more times—and it kept us alive until the end of the war.

Yes, I do say it—kept us alive! Food had not been so plentiful for several years by then. Except for the devils in the Black Market, not a spoonful of sugar was left on the Island. All the flour for bread had run out about the first of December of ’44. Them German soldiers was as hungry as we was—with bloated bellies and no body warmth from food.

Well, I was tired to death of boiled potatoes and turnips, and I would have soon turned up my toes and died, when the Vega came into our port.

Mr. Churchill, he wouldn’t let the Red Cross ships bring us any food before then because he said the Germans would just take it, and eat it up themselves. Now that may sound like smart planning to you—to starve the villains out! But to me it said he just didn’t care if we starved along with them.

Well, something shoved his soul up a notch or two, and he decided we could eat. So in December, he says to the Red Cross, “Oh, all right, go ahead and feed them.”

Miss Ashton, there were TWO BOXES of food for every man, woman, and child on Guernsey—all stored up in the Vega’s hold. There was other stuff too: nails, seed for planting, candles, oil to cook with, matches to light a fire, some clothing, and some shoes. Even a few layettes for any new babies around.

There was flour and tobacco—Moses can talk about manna all he wants, but he never seen anything like this! I am going to tell you everything in my box, because I wrote it all down to paste in my memory book.

Six ounces of chocolate

Twenty ounces of biscuits

Four ounces of tea

Twenty ounces of butter

Six ounces of sugar

Thirteen ounces of Spam

Two ounces of tinned milk

Eight ounces of raisins

Fifteen ounces of marmalade

Ten ounces of salmon

Five ounces of sardines

Four ounces of cheese

Six ounces of prunes

One ounce of pepper

One ounce of salt

A tablet of soap

I gave my prunes away—but wasn’t that something? When I die I am going to leave all my money to the Red Cross. I have written to tell them so.

There is something else I should say to you. It may be about those Germans, but honor due is honor due. They unloaded all those boxes of food for us from the Vega, and they didn’t take none, not one box of it, for themselves. Of course, their Commandant had told them, “That food is for the Islanders, it is not yours. Steal one bit and I’ll have you shot.” Then he gave each man unloading the ship a teaspoon, so’s he could scrape up any flour or grain that spilled on the roadway. They could eat that.

In fact, they were a pitiful sight—those soldiers. Stealing from gardens, knocking on doors asking for scraps. One day I saw a soldier catch up a cat, and slam its head against a wall. Then he cut it off, and hid the cat in his jacket. I followed him—till he come to a field. That German skinned that cat and boiled him up in his billy can, and ate it right there.

That was truly, truly a sorrowful sight to see. It made me sick, but underneath my sick, I thought, “There goes Hitler’s Third Reich—dining out,” and then I started laughing, fit to die. I am ashamed of that now, but that is what I did.

That is all I have to say. I wish you well with your book writing.