left such a cloud of shame and guilt, and they still live amongst us, often coming from long-established Guernsey families and even occupying positions of authority. On recently re-reading back editions of this very paper I discovered that two-thirds of Guernsey’s police force were accused of larceny on a grand scale in 1942, reputedly pillaging civilian food stores from 1939 onwards (see GEP, 2nd September 1942, ‘Bailiff Denounces Police Force’).
It is no surprise that I have met with resistance to my research. Who says there was no resistance in Guernsey! Let us have an end to it. Guernsey is a tight-knit community and we wish to protect our own. Probing questions from outsiders deepen the already entrenched paranoia, but the absence of a proper inquiry only leaves a space for further distortions. We should do our own dirty washing. Just as the names of the brave should be noted, so should the names of the traitors be known. They should have been hunted down at the end of the War and tried in public, but they weren’t. The guilt is thus passed from generation to generation.
Sincerely
E.P. Rozier
Manager/Editor of The Patois Press
Sans Soucis
Village de Courtils,
St Peter Port
P.S. I would be most grateful if any persons who recall friends, relatives or neighbours who were arrested, or indeed if they themselves were subject to the long arm of Nazi law, would contact me at the above address.
I am also seeking information on one Ray Le Poidevoin, born 1925, St Andrews Parish, now believed to be resident in Adelaide, South Australia.
14TH DECEMBER 1985, 5.12 p.m.
[Bedroom, still watching rain. Saturdays on Guernsey are so very riveting.]
I used to think I was the only person Dad ever told off, but when I went through his old files I realised I was wrong. He was always writing letters, complaining about this or that. Nothing and no one escaped his scrutiny. He’d even been through our local telephone directory, making notes by people’s names or occasionally giving them a star. I counted 245 Le Poidevoins, half of which were crossed out.
FYI: There wasn’t much action on the Prevost pages, even though there were 247 listed. That’s quite a lot, and it may explain why Therese acted so posh, if she felt she had a lot to compete with. I thought the fact that there were so many Prevosts was a sign of their success. After all, Therese had her own BMW and full-time cleaner who did all the dirty washing. By contrast us Roziers were dwindling year by year. We were dying out as per the panda bears. I mean, even Grandma (Dad’s mother) had gone back to her maiden name after she was widowed. There was/is something wrong with being called Rozier.
But there are worse names you could have. Exhibit ‘A’: Donnie Golden. Yes, it’s ridiculous, but then he was from England so what would you expect? I can’t precisely remember when he moved into his swanky new home on the cliffs by Fort George. It was called the White House and he had a big party to show it off. Everyone from the Village19 was invited, and even though Mum announced that she was far too busy, Nic and I persuaded her to go. We told her it was about time she went out and had some fun, and offered to come along for not-very-moral support. I think she felt flattered that we cared, and she even wore shoulder pads for it.
I should explain that for years Mum only ever wore long shirts and jeans and Nivea hand cream on her face, but when she took over the business she tried to smarten up. That’s when she permed her hair and started wearing power suits. Mum and I never fought over clothes like Nic and Therese, but we did once go to Jersey on a shopping spree. We spent a hundred pounds in BHS. You can get a lot for your money in BHS, and I joked that I got a brand new mum.
I should’ve been happy we were doing stuff together, and she looked almost presentable as we marched up to the electric gates of the White House. But she hadn’t been to any parties since Dad had died, preferring to read P.D. James in the bath, and I could tell that she was nervous. I grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly. I said we’d present A UNITED FRONT (meaning our neighbours were THE ENEMY), but as it turned out everyone was stupendously drunk