The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

I have a stall at Market every week, where I sell my preserves, vegetables, and elixirs I make to restore manly ardor. Kit McKenna—daughter to my dear friend Elizabeth McKenna—helps me make my potions. She is only four and has to stand on a stool to stir my pot, but she is able to whip up big froths.

I do not have a pleasing appearance. My nose is big and was broken when I fell off the hen-house roof. One eyeball skitters up to the top, and my hair is wild and will not stay tamped down. I am tall and built of big bones.

I could write to you again, if you want me to. I could tell you more about reading and how it perked up our spirits while the Germans were here. The only time reading didn’t help was after Elizabeth was arrested by the Germans. They caught her hiding one of those poor slave workers from Poland, and they sent her to prison in France. There was no book that could lift my heart then, nor for a long time after. It was all I could do not to slap every German I saw. For Kit’s sake, I held myself in. She was only a little sprout then, and she needed us. Elizabeth hasn’t come home yet. We are afraid for her, but mind you, I say it’s early days yet and she might still come home. I pray so, for I miss her sorely.

Your friend,

Isola Pribby

From Juliet to Dawsey

20th February, 1946

Dear Mr. Adams,

How did you know that I like white lilacs above all flowers? I always have, and now here they are, pluming out over my desk. They are beautiful, and I love having them—the look, the delicious scent and the surprise of them. At first I thought, How on earth did he find these in February, and then I remembered that the Channel Islands are blessed by a warm Gulf Stream.

Mr. Dilwyn appeared at my door with your present early this morning. He said he was in London on business for his bank. He assured me it was no trouble at all to deliver the flowers—there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for you because of some soap you gave Mrs. Dilwyn during the war. She still cries every time she thinks of it. What a nice man he is—I am sorry he didn’t have time to stop for coffee.

Due to your kind offices, I have received lovely, long letters from Mrs. Maugery and Isola Pribby. I hadn’t realized that the Germans permitted no outside news at all, not even letters, to reach Guernsey. It surprised me so much. It shouldn’t have—I knew the Channel Islands had been occupied, but I never, not once, thought what that might have entailed. Willful ignorance is all I can call it. So, I am off to the London Library to educate myself. The library suffered terrible bomb damage, but the floors are safe to walk on again, all the books that could be saved are back on the shelf, and I know they have collected all the Times from 1900 to—yesterday. I shall study up on the Occupation.

I want to find some travel or history books about the Channel Islands too. Is it really true that on a clear day, you can see the cars on the French coast roads? So it says in my Encyclopedia, but I bought it secondhand for 4 shillings and I don’t trust it. There I also learned that Guernsey is “roughly seven miles long and five miles wide, with a population of 42,000 inhabitants.” Strictly speaking, very informative, but I want to know more than that. Miss Pribby told me that your friend Elizabeth McKenna had been sent to a prison camp on the continent and has not yet returned.

It knocked the wind out of me. Ever since your letter about the roast pig dinner, I had been imagining her there among you. Without even knowing I was doing so, I depended upon one day receiving a letter from her too. I am sorry. I will hope for her early return.

Thank you again for my flowers. It was a lovely thing for you to do.

Yours ever,

Juliet Ashton

P.S. You may consider this a rhetorical question if you want to, but why did Mrs. Dilwyn weep over a cake of soap?

From Juliet to Sidney

21st February, 1946

Dearest Sidney,

I haven’t heard from you in ages. Does your icy silence have anything to do with Mark Reynolds?

I have an idea for a new book. It’s a novel about a beautiful yet sensitive author whose spirit is crushed by her domineering editor. Do you like it?

Love always,

Juliet

From Juliet to Sidney

23rd February, 1946

Dear Sidney,

I was only joking.

Love,

Juliet

From Juliet to Sidney

25th February, 1946

Sidney?

Love,

Juliet

From Juliet to Sidney

26th February, 1946

Dear Sidney,

Did you think I wouldn’t notice you were gone? I did. After three notes went unanswered, I made a personal visit to St. James’s Place, where I encountered the cast-iron Miss Tilley, who said you were out of town. Very enlightening. Upon pressing, I learned you had gone to Australia! Miss Tilley listened coolly to my exclamations. She would not disclose your exact whereabouts—only that you were scouring the Outback, seeking new authors for Stephens & Stark’s list. She would forward any letters to you, at her discretion.

Your Miss Tilley does not fool me. Nor do you—I know exactly where you are and what you are doing. You flew to Australia to find Piers Langley and are holding his hand while he sobers up. At least, I hope that’s what you are doing. He is such a dear friend—and such a brilliant writer. I want him to be well again and writing poetry. I’d add forgetting all about Burma and the Japanese, but I know that’s not possible.

You could have told me, you know. I can be discreet when I really try (you’ve never forgiven me for that slip about Mrs. Atwater in the pergola, have you? I apologized handsomely at the time).

I liked your other secretary better. And you sacked her for naught, you know: Markham Reynolds and I have met. All right, we’ve done more than meet. We’ve danced the rumba. But don’t fuss. He has not mentioned View, except in passing, and he hasn’t once tried to lure me to New York. We talk of higher matters, such as Victorian literature. He’s not the shallow dilettante you would have me believe, Sidney. He’s an expert on Wilkie Collins, of all things. Did you know that Wilkie Collins maintained two separate households with two separate mistresses and two separate sets of children? The scheduling difficulties must have been shocking. No wonder he took laudanum.

I do think you would like Mark if you knew him better, and you may have to. But my heart and my writing hand belong to Stephens & Stark.

The article for the Times has turned into a lovely treat for me—now and ongoing. I have made a group of new friends from the Channel Islands—the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. Don’t you adore their name? If Piers needs distracting, I’ll write you a nice fat letter about how they came by their name. If not, I’ll tell you when you come home (when are you coming home?).

My neighbor Evangeline Smythe is going to have twins in June. She is none too happy about it, so I am going