Page 3 of Summer of Fire
‘Good morning, John,’ she replied, beaming at him as she entered the imposing stone building on Whitehall, the heart of the British government.
Lizzie enjoyed her job immensely. This had come as quite a surprise, considering that if it weren’t for the war, she would be expected to find a suitable husband like her sister, Juliet.
The war had set her life on an unexpected trajectory. She had accepted the offer of a translator’s post shortly after arriving in London and was grateful to have something worthwhile to do.
Whenever she stopped to think about her grandparents back home in Jersey, her imagination ran riot. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking the worst. They had received no word from Nan and Pops since the Germans invaded, and all they had to go on were the snippets of news they could glean from wireless broadcasts.
Their worst fears were realised soon after France fell. The proud islanders hadn’t believed the Nazis would reach Jersey, never mind, occupy it. The invasion and the sound of marching jackboots on the narrow roads had come as a terrible shock.
Her father said even the government hadn’t expected the Germans to invade the Channel Islands. In a dangerous miscalculation, for which the islanders were now paying a heavy price, Jersey had been demilitarised. British troops were quietly withdrawn and redeployed, which left the island defenceless. The Nazis, unaware of the demilitarisation, had attacked the islands by bombing and arrived on their shores shortly after without facing resistance.
It was hard to grasp, but the Germans now occupied a strategic piece of Britain. The news said they saw it as a stepping stone to the mainland, which was a chilling thought.
Lizzie dreaded to think of her beautiful island in the hands of the enemy, and some nights she couldn’t sleep for worrying about her grandparents.
She had heard her parents talking in hushed tones about the possibilities of Seagrove being requisitioned. During those troubled nights, Lizzie calmed herself by thinking that the war would be over soon.
Wouldn’t it?
Lizzie’s family was still reeling from the speed with which their tranquil lives had been shattered. After a steady stream of letters from Reginald urging them to join him in London, they had finally made plans to leave.
The danger to the tiny islands that were mere dots in the Channel, nestled between the North of France and the South of England, was all too apparent. France surrendered soon after, and many islanders evacuated. Lizzie and her mother and siblings left Jersey only just in time and arrived in London in early June.
‘I’m not leaving my island for anyone,’ Nan had said, a fierce expression on her lined face. Pops had been equally determined to stay when he refused to join them in London. It was just as Lizzie had predicted.
Surely the Germans would leave the elderly alone, and no harm would come to them. She could only hope and pray. And do her bit for the war effort.
Seagrove had been in her father’s family since he was a boy. It seemed like a world away now, and a wave of nostalgia washed over Lizzie. She missed home so much.
Were her grandparents safe at Seagrove, or had the German army requisitioned their beautiful home? There was no way of knowing, and the lack of news was torture. Theycouldn’t telephone or write as all lines of communication to and from the island had been cut.
They were all so worried, but what could they do? It was too late for their grandparents to leave now, even if they had changed their minds.
Lizzie sorted through the pile of papers on her desk and let the task absorb her. There were documents to translate from French into English and English into French. The work was easy enough with her level of fluency, but it required concentration. It was a welcome respite from the whirring thoughts about her grandparents’ fate, and what was happening to their cousins in France.
She worked until early evening, with only a brief break for lunch. By the time she arrived home, her mother and sisters had already finished supper and were sitting around the dining room table talking.
‘You’re getting later and later. You’ll be like Pa soon,’ said Juliet.
Their father rarely made it home in time for supper, and they knew better than to ask questions. He was deeply involved in war work which he couldn’t discuss.
‘Nothing that exciting, I’m afraid,’ replied Lizzie, pulling out a chair next to Juliet and tucking her legs beneath the heavy oak table. ‘How was your day?’ she asked, scanning first her mother’s face, and then Juliet’s and Evie’s. How they didn’t go quite mad waiting around all day, she didn’t know.
‘Busy as always,’ replied her mother, smiling. ‘I’ve been learning how to cook some new dishes to make the most of these rations. You’ve got to get creative in times like these.’
Rose always did her best to wear a smile for them, but even she couldn’t hide how worried she was about their family and friends in Jersey and the boys who had gone off to fight.
Lizzie’s brother Archie, true to his word, had signed up assoon as they arrived in London and was already posted God knows where. Oliver, Juliet’s fiancé, had signed up too, and she had heard nothing from him in weeks.
‘That’s good,’ Lizzie said, in between bites of bread and a small piece of hard cheese.
‘Let me get you some soup,’ Rose said, standing.
Lizzie could see her mother was enjoying running her own kitchen for a change. She said she was in no rush to hire help, even though they had always had a housekeeper who cooked for them in Jersey. Everyone was adapting to their new life in their own way.
‘No, no, it’s fine, Ma. Sit down. I ate lunch in the canteen, so I’ll just have a nibble before bed.’
Juliet looked pale, and Lizzie worried about her. It must be dreadful to watch your fiancé go off to war and not know how or even where they were. ‘How about you, Jules? How was your day?’
