Startled at the lack of obeisance, the officer snatched the envelope from Carré and tore it open. His expression changed to one of surprise. There, in perfect German with flourishing handwriting, was a note signed by Marian Littlefield, Dame of Sark.
I am informed that you arrived on Sark Island and wish to speak with me. I will be most pleased to receive you in the Seigneurie at your earliest convenience after receipt of this message. I designated our most honorable Seneschal William Carré, president of our parliament, to welcome you and guide you to the official seat of Sark Island’s government at my residence and office. I look forward to your visit.
Flustered, the officer looked around and spoke with his companion in German.
“Do you at least speak English?” the second officer asked Carré in perfectly enunciated English. “My colleague speaks none.”
Carré nodded. “Of course. We are British subjects.”
“That is a matter to be taken up with your Seigneure,” the officer replied haughtily. “Where is your car?”
“No cars are allowed on Sark,” Carré replied. “We will have to walk.”
The officer stared past Carré at the tunnel leading away from the port. Then he tilted his head to scan the high cliffs overlooking the harbor. After a brief consultation with his senior colleague, he said, “Very well. Lead on.”
Out of breath and perspiring in the warm summer weather and from the steepness of Harbour Hill Road after they had climbed through the tunnel to the flat ground eighty-one meters above sea level, they turned onto Chasse Marais, their clothes drenched with sweat. “Don’t you have any vehicles at all?” the English-speaking officer asked, his face red. “Surely you must have something we could ride in.”
“Only wagons pulled by tractors,” Carré responded amiably, “but none were available on short notice.”
As they turned onto Rue de la Seigneurie and proceeded, people barely took note of them, continuing about their business as though nothing unusual were taking place and greeting them pleasantly when passing by. Field workers seemed oblivious to their presence, and mothers only glanced out of windows at them while their children played in their yards, seemingly unmindful of their passage.
“Do your people not realize that a new order is taking hold in this world,” the English-speaking officer said to Carré.
“So we’ve heard,” the Seneschal replied, “but we don’t know the details. We’re a small island of little interest to anyone else. We mind our business and keep on living our lives.”
“Well as of today, you are of interest to Adolf Hitler and will fall under the rule of the Third Reich.”
With no change in his pleasant demeanor, Carré replied, “I’m sure you are right, and you can take that up with Dame Marian.”
At last, after walking nearly two miles, the group arrived at the main entrance to the Seigneurie. One of the officers stepped to the door and was about to knock when Carré stepped ahead of him.
“Allow me,” he said with an ingratiating smile. “A matter of protocol.”
He lifted the knocker and banged it a few times.
The officers fidgeted, their annoyance clearly expressed in their eyes and the glances they exchanged. While they waited, they dusted off their boots.
Moments passed, and then a servant girl opened the door. “Ah, Monsieur Seneschal, I’m so pleased to see you,” she said. “What business do you have today?”
Carré bowed with a flourish. “I came to present these two officers to la Seigneure. I believe she is expecting us.”
The girl pursed her lips under amused wide eyes. “I hadn’t heard. I will have to announce you. Please wait here.” She closed the door.
The senior officer turned angrily to Carré. “I demand to see the Seigneure at once. Please open the door.” The other officer translated.
“Patience,” Carré said matter-of-factly with a gesture of his open palms. “I’m not sure she expected you this early. We probably interrupted her morning tea, and she will not want to make a bad impression. We won’t have to wait much longer.”
Ten minutes later, when the Germans seemed near the peak of frustration, the door opened again. “Dame Marian will see you now,” the servant announced. She led them through a foyer, down a long hall, turned into another corridor, and finally knocked at an imposing door with intricate carvings. Another servant opened it and ushered the group inside.
Marian and Stephen sat together at adjacent desks at the far end of a large reception hall. She wrote busily while Stephen seemed preoccupied in reading what appeared to be correspondence. Neither looked up for a few moments.
The servant indicated for the group to wait and walked softly across the room. “Sir, Madame,” she said in a proper voice, and stood until she had been recognized. At last, Stephen looked up and nodded.
“Sir, the Seneschal is here to present the German delegation. Madame sent out the invitation this morning on receiving word of their arrival.”
Stephen looked past the servant at the officers. “Ah yes. I had forgotten.” He stood and nudged his wife. “Dear, the delegation you mentioned is here. Do you wish to see them now?”
Marion looked up with a neutral expression. “Give me a minute.” She looked down at her papers again, signed a document, and then stood.
“Gentlemen,” she called in perfect German. “We’ve been expecting you.”
As Carré and the officers approached, she held her hand out for them to kiss. Taken aback, the German officers exchanged bewildered glances.
Carré stepped forward and kissed Marian’s hand. She lowered it to her side. “Madame la Seigneure,” he announced, “I am pleased to present the delegation of the Wehrmacht of the Third Reich.”
Marian shifted her eyes to the senior officer. “I am pleased to receive you,” she said, and as he stepped forward, she held her hand out again. On reflex, he reached for it and kissed it.
“And you are?” she asked.
“Major Lanz,” he replied. “I am the commandant on this island.”
Marian remained silent,
