The Book of Ebenezer le Page Read online

  I had heard from Liza that Raymond was happily settled in, and being most helpful. He didn’t speak much to people, she said: but everybody around there liked him, only they thought he was a bit simple. She didn’t. ‘He is hardly of this world,’ she wrote. ‘I wish I knew the half he knows.’ He didn’t write to me himself. He said he didn’t have the words to say what he wanted to say to me, but made Liza promise to say ‘God bless Ebenezer.’ After the Germans came, I got a letter from Liza about every six months for two or three years. Raymond was the same, and she wouldn’t be without him for anything. He had kept remarkably well; and so was she. He grew quite a lot of stuff in the garden for them to eat; and, for the rest, spent most of his time up in his attic room. Occasionally she heard him talking to himself up there. Otherwise he was quite sensible, though he did stray off sometimes and go where he wasn’t allowed to go by the Germans; but they were kind to him. She didn’t believe there was a German would do him any harm.

  I didn’t altogether like her trust in the Germans, but daren’t say a word of warning when I wrote back, for I never knew who might get hold of my letter. I wasn’t feeling very friendly myself towards the Germans by that time: I was learning what it was like to go hungry. I noticed Horace was looking as prosperous and as well-fed as ever. I also knew he was making a fortune in German marks. He certainly had the knack of getting in with the right people: it didn’t matter if they was Guernsey or German. He had a pass to go down to the harbour whenever he wanted to, though nobody knew what for, and he got to know chaps on the barges and ships that came over with provisions from France, and what he got off them on the Q.T. was nobody’s business. The Arsenal Stores was never without anything. It is true when you went in, it looked pretty barren, but there was plenty hidden away under the counter. He kept his motor-van longer than practically anybody else on the island was allowed to run a car; and though the Germans requisitioned it eventually, he was well paid for it.

  I bought some goods off Horace myself; even though it nearly ruined me. I got pounds of sugar from him, when it was very short: I was tired of seeing Tabitha boiling beetroot. I bought quarter pounds of real tea from him. Tabitha was one who liked a good cup of tea; but she stopped me buying it when she found out where I got it from. She said I was helping the Germans, whose duty it was to allow us enough food; and it wasn’t being fair to Gervase and Louise, and so many other Guernsey boys and girls who were in the Forces. I had no argument against that. All the same, I kept on buying tobacco from Horace. I am not sure now what the marks was worth; but I think I paid him round about eighteen bob for half an ounce, or was it an ounce? Anyhow, it was like smoking gold; but dock leaves and rose petals made me feel sick, and I couldn’t smoke the tail of a donkey. Horace’s argument was there would be more people miserable and starving on the island if it wasn’t for him. He was doing the best he could for Guernsey in the circumstances; and keeping up morale. Besides, anything he got on the sly, he had to pay through the nose for himself. The one thing I will give him credit for is he didn’t give his customers away. He wasn’t the informer sort; and there was plenty of those about. He gave each of us a number, and we had to say our number, if we wanted anything wasn’t on the ration. I remember my number was one thousand two hundred and three.

  He didn’t go round for orders once his van was gone; so I was astonished when one day he turned up at Les Moulins. He looked haggard and in great suffering, as I had never imagined he could look. It was then he begged me to tell him where Raymond was. I said, ‘Raymond is well where he is.’ He said, ‘I am not!’ I said, ‘That is your own look-out. Why don’t you marry Gwen?’ He said, ‘She is the last woman on earth I would ever marry; or anything else. She loves me.’ I thought well, perhaps there is something decent in old Horace after all and I wondered if I was right in not giving him a chance to go and see Raymond. I also thought it might make Raymond very happy. I said, ‘He is living in the house of Liza Quéripel at Pleinmont.’ He said, ‘I know the house. It is far enough away.’

  I didn’t really think he would go. At that time we was all staying in our own parishes as much as we could; and nobody was going to make the journey to the other end of the island, unless he absolutely had to. He would either have to walk, or go on a broken-down old bike with rope for tyres. Horace must have gone next day. It wasn’t a week later when Gwen came to see me. She hadn’t seen Horace for days, and he hadn’t been back at nights. She wasn’t a woman to make a fuss over nothing; but she said she was afraid she might give him away without meaning to. The customers didn’t bother to say their numbers half the time, for Horace knew; but she was afraid to ask. How was she to know who had to be given a chicken from under the counter, when they asked for an ounce of fat? If she made one mistake, somebody might talk, and there would be a search.

  She brought a book with her she had found under some sacks in the woodshed. In it was the numbers and the names of the people they was for. She asked me if I would keep it until Horace came back. I said I would but, while he was away, she had better give people only what they was allowed. She could make out she didn’t understand. I thought it was only fair to let her know he had gone to see Raymond; and, as it was my fault, I said the only thing for me to do was to go myself, and find out what had happened. She said I had taken a great load off her mind. After she had gone, I had a look through that book, and even I was surprised at the people whose names was in it; and there was nearly as many Germans as Guernsey. When I got back from Pleinmont, I burnt it page by page.

  20

  I didn’t know what I had let myself in for when I said I would go to Pleinmont. I wasn’t as young as I was; and I was weaker than I thought, from not having enough to eat. I didn’t notice it so much while I was working. If I felt hungry, I had a smoke; and when I got tired, I sat on a box. Sometimes I got mixed up in the head, and found myself doing stupid things: like going to the well with a full bucket. I would have to walk all the way to Pleinmont. My last bike, which was a Humber and a good bike in its time, was in bits and pieces; and I had given some of the parts to young Le Boutillier, so he could fit up his to ride to work on. He worked at the Airport for the Germans; though he did as little as he could. Luckily, I had a pair of good boots with leather soles an inch thick; and those was rare those days, I can tell you. They was almost too precious to wear.

  I had good old Jim Le Poidevin to thank for those soles. When I took those boots down to him to mend, the uppers was as good as new, but the soles was all holes, and I didn’t expect he would be able to do much to them. All I had else to wear on my feet was sacking and brown paper. I had no sooner got inside Jim’s cabin and said Hullo, than in walked a smart young German officer. He was carrying a lovely pair of high boots in his hand, the same as he was wearing, and the soles might have been thin but, as far as I could see, wasn’t worn out. Jim turned his head away from me, as if I wasn’t there, and said ‘Good-morning, mein Herr,’ to the officer, and what could he have the pleasure of doing for him? The officer was as polite as Jim was, but didn’t mind getting in front of me, and being served out of his turn. He didn’t see Jim give me a quick wink. I knew old Jim was up to something. He examined the officer’s boots and tapped the soles and said they were fit to be mended, and he would do his very best to make a good job of it: but had the Herr Lieutenant brought a piece of leather for him to do it with? The Herr Lieutenant had not brought a piece of leather. It was very sad, said Jim; but he had no leather, and could only mend the beautiful boots with linoleum. There was broken pieces of worn-out linoleum all over his bench. The officer said it was very sad, it was very bad, ya, but linoleum would not do and he would have to take the boots elsewhere. Jim said he could not be more sorry, and thanked the lieutenant for doing him the honour of coming to him first. The lieutenant bowed stiff from the waist up, and said thank you, and Jim said thank you again, and the lieutenant said thank you again. When he had gone, Jim waited until he was out of sight, and then pulled a thick piece of leather fr
om under his bench. ‘This will do for yours,’ he said.

  I trusted those boots to get me to Pleinmont. I didn’t know they was going to weigh ten ton before I got there. I left home straight away after breakfast, which was a turnip and a piece of bread, and something supposed to be coffee. Tabitha wanted me to take the rest of the bread to eat on the way, but I wouldn’t hear of it. She said I must try and find somewhere out there to sleep and come back the next day. I said I would do nothing of the sort. I wasn’t going to leave Tabitha by herself all night. The only robberies we had suffered so far was from the fowl-house; but you never knew who was about at nights. If for any reason I had to sneak out, I used to creep along by the hedges like a criminal, and was always in before midnight. I promised Tabitha I would be at home by curfew, which was at eight. I had the whole day to go ten miles or so and back.

  I decided I would go by Les Rouvets and make for the King’s Mills; and then I could cut through St Saviour’s and come out on Rocquaine not far from Liza’s house. It would be shorter than going round the coast. I don’t know how it was I lost my way in broad daylight on roads I had been along dozens of times with Jim. My legs was so weak they was like water, and my head was going round. The traffic terrified me. Great lorries full of Germans was tearing along the roads on the wrong side, if they was on any side at all; and there was one narrow road by St George’s with a high wall one side and a thick hedge the other and no footpath, and Jerries on motorbikes coming hell-for-leather round the corner. I thought I was going to be killed.

  It was already afternoon by the time I got to the King’s Mills: I had to sit down so many times on the way. I went by way of the lanes to Sous L’Église, which wasn’t so bad, and there I had to have another rest. There was nobody living in Jim’s old house, and some of the windows was broken; but there was heath growing back and front. When I got on my feet again, I really thought I wouldn’t be able to go any further; but it wasn’t as far to go on as to go back. It wasn’t any distance to speak of; but I got into a muddle once more, and lost my way several times. In the end I came out at Les Adams, when I had meant to come down the Coudré, and so I had to walk the whole round of Rocquaine Bay. It was evening when I knocked on Liza’s door.

  She opened it with a smile on her face. For a moment, I thought almost she was expecting me; but when she saw who it was, she looked as if she was seeing a ghost. She put her hands to her face and gave a scream; and backed into the room. I was left on the doorstep. I couldn’t understand it. I had never known Liza frightened before, and why should she be frightened of me? I felt I was going to fall, and hung on to the doorpost. ‘Can I come in, please?’ I said. ‘Yes, come in, come in!’ she said. I don’t remember quite, but I think I got to a chair. I know when I came round, I was sitting down and she had shut the door, and was standing by me with a glass of something. ‘Drink this,’ she said, ‘you are not well.’ I took a sip, and felt better. ‘I’ll make you some tea,’ she said. She lit the lamp and drew the black curtains. It was getting dark outside. I couldn’t for the life of me think what I was doing there.

  I was looking round the room; and it was much the same as I remembered from when I was in it before. The same brass ornaments was on the top of the cabinet; but then I noticed my Guernsey milk-can wasn’t there, and found myself staring at a radio-set on the dresser. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Anybody who had a radio-set those days kept it well hidden out of sight, or they might end up in prison, or even in a camp in France or Germany. Nellie Hamelin from Les Mielles kept theirs hidden in a clothes basket under a load of filthy washing. She said the Germans would never find it, because they didn’t like to dirty their hands. Liza didn’t seem to care if they saw it. She wasn’t afraid of the Germans; or perhaps she had no reason to be.

  She was wearing a very nice black and white frock. It was simple but good; and looked new. Tabitha was having to do up her old dresses to try and keep neat, until they was practically nothing but mends. I couldn’t take my eyes off Liza. She was moving about the room, laying the table; but she wouldn’t look at me. I noticed she was wearing good black suède shoes. Her hair was still the bright colour it had always been, but I didn’t think the colour was quite natural. My hair had a lot of grey in it by then. Her face was made up, though not much; but she had never made up before, hadn’t needed to: only put on a little powder now and then. She was getting ready a meal of cold sausages of some sort, and bread and butter; and the kettle was boiling on the terpid over a log fire. She made the tea and poured me out a cup; and sat down on the bench facing me, drinking hers. It was real tea, not blackberry leaves; and with real sugar in it. I was beginning to think awful things about Liza. I said, ‘That is a smart frock you got on. Where d’you get it from?’ She said, ‘Fritz brought it to me from Paris.’ ‘Who is Fritz?’ I said. ‘My friend over the hill,’ she said.

  It was a jab, but I let it pass. The tea was making me feel better; and I knew now what I had come for. ‘Where is Raymond?’ I said. She said, ‘Finish your tea; and then we’ll talk.’ I sat there and ate her food. I am ashamed to say it now. I ate very slowly, so as not to upset my tummy, for the least thing would upset my tummy, if I wasn’t careful. The sausages was good, and I enjoyed them, though I knew damn well they was German; and I had a second cup of tea. When she had cleared the table, we pulled up chairs and sat one on each side of the fire. I couldn’t help thinking how anybody coming in would have taken us for a married couple. ‘Now I want to know everything,’ I said. ‘Why isn’t Raymond here? Where is he?’ ‘I don’t know where Raymond is,’ she said, ‘and don’t look at me like that, Ebenezer Le Page! I wouldn’t have let anyone hurt a hair of his head to save my own life! I am not the one who told that cousin of his where he was.’ ‘Horace came, then?’ I said. ‘Horace came,’ she said. ‘God damn his soul to hell!’

  He had come and knocked as I had knocked, but earlier in the afternoon. He had had to walk it as I had; but he hadn’t taken all day to get there. He was fit and strong, was Horace. Liza hadn’t been expecting Fritz, as when I arrived; so didn’t go to the door. Raymond opened it. ‘Look, who is here!’ he called out. ‘Horace! Horace, my cousin!’ He pulled him into the room. ‘Who let you know where I was?’ he asked. ‘I asked Ebenezer,’ said Horace. ‘I thought I’d walk over and see how you are.’ ‘He asked, he asked!’ said Raymond. ‘Listen to that, Liza! He asked of his own accord! He has walked all the way from the Effards to see how I am! I was right about God! I was always right about God!’ He was mad with joy. ‘The big one was as bad,’ said Liza. He wouldn’t let go of Raymond. They sat close together on the bench against the wall, like two children. ‘I was nowhere,’ she said. They nudged each other and laughed and made noises. ‘They seemed to understand what they meant,’ she said. ‘I didn’t.’

  Raymond said, ‘Come on now, Liza: get Horace some grub!’ He had never spoken to her like that before. He had never given her an order in her own house the whole time he was living there. She got ready a meal for the two of them. It was fried bacon, of all things; and the one precious egg. Raymond made her give it to Horace. Horace put half on Raymond’s plate. She was too angry to have anything herself. After they had gorged all the bread and butter, and drunk cups and cups of tea, they let her clear away and didn’t even offer to help. ‘They sat there like two stuffed pigs!’ she said. She was wondering if Horace was ever going to think of going home. At last he got up and said, ‘How about a stroll to the end, eh Raymond?’ ‘Are you mad?’ she said. That entire corner of the island was cut off from Guernsey people. It was heavily mined. Besides, it was getting dark, and the patrols was on the go, she said. ‘Easy to dodge those boys,’ said Horace. ‘They go by clockwork.’ ‘For God’s sake, go home at once!’ she said, ‘or stop the night, if you must; but keep indoors! I can hide you upstairs, if anybody comes.’ Horace didn’t bother to answer. She mightn’t have spoken. ‘Let’s go as far as the two big rocks,’ he said to Raymond, ‘I want to see the Hanois light.’ ‘It isn�
�t lit!’ she screamed at them. ‘Isn’t that just like two fools of men: to go and look for a light that isn’t there!’ Horace flung the door open, and stood with his fist up, the big fool. ‘It will be lit again!’ he said. ‘Guernsey is our island, not theirs; and we will go where we like on it! Coming, Raymond?’ ‘Anywhere you say,’ said Raymond. They was out and across the road and down the slipway. That was the last she saw of them.

  ‘I was hoping against hope they got back safe to the Effards,’ she said, ‘until I saw you at the door.’ ‘Well, what was the end, Liza?’ I said. ‘I tell you I don’t know!’ she said. They couldn’t have got away in a boat, because there were no fishing boats left at Portelet: they all went out from the Town Harbour. The two hadn’t been out of the house five minutes when Fritz came. He liked to listen to Tommy Handley. The first thing he asked was where Raymond was. She said he was up in his room asleep: he was tired. Fritz said he hoped the wireless wouldn’t wake him, and turned it on low. They sat and listened to it. There had already been several explosions on the mined parts of the cliffs, and people was getting used to hearing them. Usually it was rabbits who had set the mines off. That night there was an explosion shook the house. Fritz laughed. ‘Another rabbit gone to meet his Maker!’ he said. Liza hoped Fritz would go early, as he did if he was on duty; but he stayed the night. She had to endure it. She dare not tell him what she was afraid of. When two days later he came again and in the day-time, she could bear the uncertainty no longer. She broke down and told him how she had lied to him about Raymond being upstairs; and what had really happened. He wasn’t angry with her, but sympathetic; for he was fond of Raymond. He said he would make enquiries without giving anybody away. The day before I came, he had been in again to see Liza, and said a mine had gone off between the two big rocks. There was no saying what had caused it. If Raymond and Horace had happened to have touched the fuse by standing on it, they would have been blown to pieces in the sea. There was blood on the stones below.