The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

principles. He wants Juliet because she’s pretty and “intellectual” at the same time, and he thinks they’ll make an impressive couple. If she marries him, she’ll spend the rest of her life being shown to people at theaters and clubs and weekends and she’ll never write another book. As her editor, I’m dismayed by that prospect, but as her friend, I’m horrified. It will be the end of our Juliet.

It’s hard to say what Juliet is thinking about Reynolds, if anything. I asked her if she missed him, and she said, “Mark? I suppose so,” as if he were a distant uncle, and not a favorite one at that. I’d be delighted if she forgot all about him, but I don’t think he’ll allow it.

To return to minor topics like the Occupation and Juliet’s book, I was invited to accompany her on calls to several Islanders this afternoon. Her interviews were to be about Guernsey’s Day of Liberation on May 9 last year.

What a morning that must have been! The crowds were lined up along St. Peter Port’s harbor. Silent, absolutely silent, masses of people looking at the Royal Navy ships sitting just outside their harbor. Then when the Tommies landed and marched ashore, all hell broke loose. Hugs, kisses, crying, yelling. So many of the soldiers landing were Guernseymen themselves. Men who hadn’t seen or heard a word from their families in five years. You can imagine their eyes searching the crowds for family members as they marched—and the joy of their reunions.

Mr. LeBrun, a retired postman, told us the most unusual story of all. Some British ships took leave of the fleet in St. Peter Port and sailed a few miles north to St. Sampson’s Harbor. Crowds had gathered there, waiting to see the landing craft crash through the German anti-tank barriers and come up onto the beach. When the bay doors opened, out came not a platoon of uniformed soldiers, but one lone man, got up as a caricature English gent in striped trousers, a morning coat, top hat, furled umbrella, and a copy of yesterday’s Times clasped in his hand.

There was a split-second of silence before the joke sank in, and then the crowd roared—he was mobbed, clapped on the back, kissed, and put up on the shoulders of four men to be marched down the street. Someone screamed, “News—news from London herself,” and snatched the Times out of his hand! Whoever that soldier was, he was brilliant and deserves a medal.

When the rest of the soldiers emerged, they were carrying chocolates, oranges, cigarettes, tea bags to toss to the crowd. Brigadier Snow announced that the cable to England was being repaired, and soon they could be talking to their evacuated children and families in England. The ships also brought in food, tons of it, and medicines, paraffin, animal feed, clothes, cloth, seeds, and shoes!

There must be enough stories to fill three books—it may be a matter of culling. But don’t worry if Juliet sounds nervous from time to time—she should. It’s a daunting task.

I must stop now and get dressed for Juliet’s supper party. Isola is swathed in three shawls and a lace dresser scarf—and I want to do her proud.

Love to you all,

Sidney

From Juliet to Sophie

7th July, 1946

Dear Sophie,

Just a note to tell you Sidney is here and we can stop worrying about him—and his leg. He looks wonderful: tanned, fit, and without a noticeable limp. In fact, we threw his cane in the ocean—I’m sure it’s half-way to France by now.

I had a small supper party for him—cooked by me alone, and edible, too. Will Thisbee gave me The Beginner’s Cook-Book for Girl Guides. It was just the thing; the writer assumes you know nothing about cookery and writes useful hints—“When adding eggs, break the shells first.”

Sidney is having a grand time as Isola’s houseguest. They apparently sat up late talking last night. Isola doesn’t approve of small talk and believes in breaking the ice by stomping on it.

She asked him if we were engaged to be married. If not, why not? It was plain to everyone that we doted on one another.

Sidney told her that indeed he did dote on me; always had, always would, but we both realized we could never marry—he was a homosexual.

Sidney told me that Isola neither gasped, fainted, nor blinked—just gave him her good old fish eye and asked, “And Juliet knows?”

When he told her yes, I had always known, Isola jumped up, swooped down, kissed his forehead, and said, “How nice—just like dear Booker. I’ll not tell a soul; you can rely on me.”

Then she sat back down and began to talk about Oscar Wilde’s plays. Weren’t they a stitch? Sophie, wouldn’t you have loved to be a fly on the wall? I would.

Sidney and I are going shopping now for a hostess gift for Isola. I said she would love a warm, colorful shawl, but he wants to get her a cuckoo clock. Why???

Love,

Juliet

P.S. Mark doesn’t write, he telephones. He rang me up just last week. It was one of those terrible connections that forced us perpetually to interrupt one another and bellow “WHAT?” but I managed to get the gist of the conversation—I should come home and marry him. I politely disagreed. It upset me much less than it would have a month ago.

From Isola to Sidney

8th July, 1946

Dear Sidney,

You are a very nice house guest. I like you. So did Zenobia, else she would not have flown onto your shoulder and cuddled there so long.

I’m glad you like to sit up late and talk. I favor that myself of an evening. I am going to go to the manor now to find the book you told me about. How is it that Juliet and Amelia never made mention of Miss Jane Austen to me?

I hope you will come visit Guernsey again. Did you like Juliet’s soup? Wasn’t it tasty? She will be ready for pie crust and gravy soon—you must go at cooking slowly, else you’ll just make slops.

I was lonesome for company after you left, so I invited Dawsey and Amelia to take tea yesterday. You should have seen how I didn’t utter a word when Amelia said she thought you and Juliet were going to marry. I even nodded and slitted my eyes, like I knew something they didn’t, to throw them off the scent.

I do like my cuckoo clock. How cheery it is! I run in the kitchen to watch it. I am sorry Zenobia bit the little bird’s head off, she has a jealous nature—but Eli said he could carve me another one, as good as new. His little perch still pops out on the hour.

With fondness, your hostess,

Isola Pribby

From Juliet to Sidney

9th July, 1946

Dear Sidney,

I knew it! I knew you’d love Guernsey. The next-best thing to being here myself was having you here—even for such a short visit. I’m happy that you know all my friends now, and they you.

I’m particularly happy you enjoyed Kit’s company so much. I regret to tell you that some of her fondness for you is due to your present, Elspeth the Lisping Bunny. Her admiration for Elspeth has caused her to take up lisping, and I am sorry to say, she is very good at it.

Dawsey just brought Kit home—they have been visiting his new piglet. Kit asked if I was writing to Thidney. When I said yes, she said, “Thay I want him to come back thoon.” Do you thee what I mean about Elspeth?

That made Dawsey smile, which pleased me. I’m afraid you didn’t see the best of Dawsey this weekend; he was extra-quiet at my supper party. Perhaps it was my soup, but I think it more likely that he is preoccupied with Remy. He seems to think that she won’t get better until she comes to Guernsey to recuperate.