Discourse and Defiance Under Nazi Occupation: Guernsey, Channel Islands, 1940-1945 (6 page)

Guernsey is not simply a place for wealthy British tax exiles and tourists drawn by the harbors, beaches, and pleasant little shops. It is a thriving investment and banking center, and the digital revolution has thrown its invisible net of modernity over the ancient buildings and narrow, cobbled streets. It is a place that wears its long history comfortably while closing its hand firmly around the future. The sleek sailboats and little fishing vessels of today sail the same waters where the Romans had their harbor and later privateers and smugglers worked a darker trade. The ferries from England and France daily pass the brooding Castle Cornet, which in its various forms has guarded the harbor since the thirteenth century. And, a visitor walking the narrow streets and precipitous stairs that rise in layers from the harbor may stop to examine the plaque commemorating the burning of three women for heresy in 1556. Reading that Perotine Massey gave birth to her son in the inferno, only to have him rescued alive and thrown back into the flames at the order of the Bailiff, provides a chill even in the midsummer Guernsey sunshine. Or, the visitor may continue on to visit Hauteville House, the home of Victor Hugo during his fifteen-year exile, where he penned
Les Miserables
while he designed its exquisite garden and eccentric gothic-funhouse decor.

Leaving St. Peter Port, or one of the other little towns dotting the edge of the Island, might lead to a walk through a dark, fragrant forest or along the many high cliff paths with their endless views to sea and vertigo-inspiring plunges to the rocks and salt spray below. Yet, the interior of Guernsey holds a storybook feel, not flat and barren as islands sometimes seem, but rich with undulating green and fields surrounded by the hedgerows, stone walls, and the shady lanes of a British countryside. Waiting for one of the large green and yellow buses that somehow squeeze their way through the narrow roads, you might look over to a twelfth- or thirteenth-century church and its graveyard, or to a house with a “witch's seat.” These stones that jut out of the chimneys of ancient houses provided a resting spot for passing witches, preventing them from flying down the chimneys and cursing the residents. In a field close by there likely will be Guernsey cows comfortably grazing, each attached by a long rope to her
individual stake like a dog in a suburban backyard. Yet walk down another lane back toward the sea and there it stands, cold and stark against the sky: a German watchtower.

The Island of Guernsey is a palimpsest, written on so repeatedly by history that the physical markers of previous eras seep through to give intriguing glimpses of the past. Even so, there is something jarring about the juxtaposition of Nazi Germany with its ancient towns and narrow streets. The fact that so much left from the Occupation can be found in concrete bunkers, underground tunnels, and the detritus of war makes this time period substantially different in its physical remains as well as its ethos. Although the imprint of violence and war is not unique to the Occupation period, there is a clear aura of control and containment. In Islander emphasis on the ring of jackboots in the Pollet or the sound of German martial music echoing off the buildings of the High Street is some sense of violation, but also a fascination with the simple incongruity of it all.

It may have been that very air of unreality that made evacuating Guernsey in 1940 such a difficult individual decision, despite the imminent threat of invasion. That is where this story of communication and information restriction begins, before the first German occupier set polished boot on Island soil. In this chapter, I will give an overview of some of the major periods of the Occupation as defined by events and the changing circumstances that defined the Guernsey people's relationship with their occupiers. This is not a history book per se, but the primary markers of events will provide a Baedeker as we later traverse the Occupation years in a nonchronological fashion. This was not one Occupation with a consistent set of rules and players, but a multi-tiered experience requiring continual adjustment and rethinking.

This chapter will first discuss the evacuation period and the initial period of Occupation, lasting roughly until the early months of 1941. This would be a time of tentativeness and sizing up on both sides, requiring a painful alteration of the Islanders' self-view as a sovereign people. During this time, Guernsey residents became adept, as have other subjugated peoples, at the survival skill of “reading” those in power over them. As the German command put in place a domination based on surveillance and the restriction of communication, the populace countered with surveillance of their own, where their gaze was turned upward toward those in power. Their ability to observe and control the observation of others set the framework of resistance to power that would only expand during the following five years. In the next part of this chapter, I will examine the second major iteration of the Occupation from February 1941 to June 1944, when much of the mask of occupier compassion or restraint fell away and the stakes became considerably higher. These changes forced a “rereading” of their masters, and an increased need for oppositional techniques. During the final year of Occupation, stretching from D-day in June 1944 to Liberation Day on May 9, 1945, the Germans were so isolated as to become co-prisoners with the Guernsey citizenry. Although the Occupation technically continued, that year had such a unique flavor that I will discuss it separately in the final chapter.

As the Islanders moved from the confusion of evacuation through the lenient early days of German rule and into the tightened restrictions and ongoing threat of the primary years of Occupation, they quietly developed a repertoire of resistance appropriate to the changing conditions. The initial step for those who would develop resistance consisted of understanding the face of the occupier while constructing a dual identity of their own: an inscrutable public face of passivity that sheltered a private face of opposition.

“WATCHMAN, WHAT OF THE NIGHT?”

This text from Isaiah 22:11–12 would provide the theme of Rev. Ord's sermon for June 16, 1940, capturing well the sense of an uncertain people turning for guidance to those in a better position to know.
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It is at this point from the 16th to the raid on the 28th that confusion, silence, and contradictory information led average Islanders to make irrevocable decisions and caused Dorothy Higgs to write, “We seem to have lived half a lifetime in the last fortnight.”
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As early as the 18th, Winifred Harvey mentioned hearing that all the major Islands (Guernsey, Jersey, Alderney, and Sark) were to be demilitarized, and that the governor and all troops were evacuating Guernsey that day.
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There was still confusion between Whitehall in London and the Guernsey government as to the proper steps to take, with the Germans sweeping inexorably through France and toward the Channel Islands. The War Office believed demilitarization would be the deciding factor in removing any need for German attack. Despite the urging of the Home Office to make this decision public, particularly to the Germans, the War Office demurred, believing that such information would constitute an open invitation for the Germans to invade.
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This confounding decision to shelter the knowledge of demilitarization from the Germans (the very audience for whom the action was performed) contributed in no small part to the German air raid of the 28th.

Confusion was also intense as to whether there should be mass evacuations, with the director of Sea Transport believing that the Home Office considered it unnecessary, and others in the same Sea Transport department telling the Guernsey Bailiff that transport off the Island would be provided for all.
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To complicate matters, a new governmental arrangement had been formed in Guernsey to deal with the Germans should events play out in that direction. Including the Procureur (Sherwill), Mr. R. O. Falla, Jurat Leale, and other prominent men, it was, in effect, a cabinet. Their task would ostensibly be to coordinate the work of the various States committees, and thus they had been given the name the Controlling Committee (on Jersey, the Supreme Council).
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This new arrangement did not sit too well with Winifred Harvey, who observed, “They have dictator's powers over everything though the Bailiff is the nominal head.”
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The change in the men at the top could only add to the contradictory messages coming out of London, and the Guernsey press magnified the confusion. Kitty Bachmann described notices published in the local press, apparently originating with States officials, that would only be replaced with conflicting new notices in the following issue. Kitty summed it up well by describing their minds, had they been visible, as “some extravagant Heath-Robinson concoction,” the eccentric cartoon machines whose American equivalent was Rube Goldberg.
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The Islanders ricocheted off official notices, rumor, and their own inferences and expectations, leading them to make decisions, unmake them, and make the same decisions over again. Kitty's husband, Peter, saw firsthand the confusion wrought by the initial “official” announcement in the
Press
stating that anyone desiring to evacuate must register at their local douzaine room by eight o'clock that evening. Because so many people did not see a copy of the paper until six o'clock, that gave little time to comply with what seemed to be an ultimatum. Peter went to their local Vale Douzaine Room to register and was stunned by the “surging crowds” he found surrounding the building. Realizing that the committee was overwhelmed by sheer numbers, Peter climbed through a window to help with the registration task. A number of the people there were proxy-registering for invalids, elderly, or other family and neighbors unable to attend in person. Babies were present in their perambulators and in their parents' arms.
Expectant mothers were registering, and Peter noted one unmarried mother in particular, weeping because she was deserted and alone. But in all the confusion, he did not see the shoving, yelling, or hysterical need to push to the front that is the hallmark of panic. From what the Bachmanns observed, there did not seem to be widespread panic, at least not among relatives and friends as they prepared to leave. Kitty attributed this to the Guernsey “traditional mulishness,” a trait that, combined with strength of character, had long lent the Islanders the nickname of “Guernsey Donkeys.”
⁹
Yet, Kitty was the first to admit that she was not among the “dense crowds swarming the jetties” as ships left for England, and that she was probably “not competent to judge” the overall level of Island fear.
¹⁰

This would not be the last time that the diarist's specific location in Guernsey determined what he or she experienced. If Kitty was unaware of panic in the Island, she was definitely in the minority. Arthur Mauger, writing from his farm in Castel, headed the entry for June 22nd, “people panicky.”
¹¹
This assessment was borne out by Winifred Harvey, who heard from a neighbor that all children must be evacuated and everyone needed to register at the Constables' Office by 7:00 that evening. Without a newspaper to confirm or deny this news, and believing that registration and evacuation were now compulsory, Winnie braved the crowds. She described the scene: “The crush was awful, people squeezing and pushing from three sides…Coming out by the same door you went in. It was frightful, people fainting and being pulled out of the crowd.” At one point, having stood in the press of bodies for well over two hours, a movement of the crowd frightened Winnie and she let out a sudden “Oh!” A man near to her believed that she was about to faint and convinced the police to push her in through the door, with Winnie dragging an old lady in with her. Winnie managed to register and was told to come back in the morning for further instructions.
¹²

It was at this point that Winifred Harvey, and many others, made a fatal decision that would haunt them for the rest of the Occupation and beyond. Her friend Vera Carey was close to her in the crowd and asked if Winnie had put her little dog, Rolf, to sleep yet. “You are not allowed to take him. Do have it done. Lainé [the veterinarian] did my Donald this afternoon.” Deeply upset, Winnie asked the man conducting the registration if Rolf could go with her to England since she had obtained a permit for him. He replied, “No, Miss Harvey, I do beg of you to have him put to sleep. Mine was done this afternoon.” Now convinced that she would be compelled to leave the Island, and that Rolf could not be left to die from neglect, Winnie sought out both the veterinarian and the animal shelter, both of whom were too busy at the sad task of mass euthanasia to help her. Winnie best describes what happened next:

So, we all got in my car, Mrs. Perry held Rolfie who kissed my cheek and we drove to Mr. Foote. I put my little Rolfie on the wall and just walked away and Foote shot him and he fell without a cry, not knowing anything. I went back and stroked his lovely head, my little companion and friend. He is buried there.
¹³

Across the Island, others made this same sad decision. Rev. Ord, in reporting these days of panic, described the many valuable dogs and cats that were killed, “to the distress not only of their owners but of the vets themselves.” Worse than the decision itself, Ord reported, was the fact that “Amateurs killed their own pets, sometimes, it is to be feared, with unnecessary cruelty.” Ord had been told of a bird fancier forced to wring the necks of his prize birds himself before he “cleared off” to England.
¹⁴
Others opted to let their pet birds fly free to fend for themselves, and Winnie described her garden as “full of budgerigars and canaries.” Those who
ultimately stayed in Guernsey would spend days trying to collect these birds and rescue the dogs and cats abandoned in locked houses by evacuees.
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