Pop’s place and I’d dream of killing him with his own gun, but he was just a sap, not built to be a soldier and, like I said, I’d learned my lesson.
All this time I was a good lad, no trouble to anyone. People forget that. It was Ray who was stirring and stealing and causing trouble. ‘Y’a les impudents qui vivent’35 is what they say, and Ray was as impudent as any I knew. He’d carried on with what he called his ‘Sab Squad’, getting up to all sorts. When I heard talk of water being poured in German fuel tanks, or food being stolen from their canteens, I knew it was down to Ray and his thugs. I wondered how long they’d last, though, since the Hun was now offering good money for information. Hunger loosed all our tongues, you understand, and as a new year dawned two of Ray’s lads got themselves arrested.36
1942 was the hardest year yet. We was all a bit closer to animals. By then everyone was stealing from everyone else and blaming them poor bloody slave workers. Emile, j’en sis pas à djotche! Your neighbour would have the shirt off your back and the soles off your shoes if you didn’t keep an eye on them, and the black market was big business – there was a thriving racket, courtesy of certain persons I could name.
And Ray was at it, too. Ah, yes, I’ve come back to that old rascal, or rather he came back to me. I was lying on my bed one Friday night when I heard some noises outside. I wondered what it was all about, but not enough to shift my bony backside. I rested my ink-stained fingers on my ribs and counted slowly to ten. It was an old trick – I just wanted to empty my head and get a bit of sleep. But then I heard a little tap at my window. I thought I was dreaming. Then came another tap, followed by more. Someone was throwing gravel at the pane.
I got myself up and went to the window, pulling back the curtains only a little way. I looked out onto the dark street and I couldn’t see a thing. I leaned forward, peering left to right again, and then steadied my eyes on the shadows in the yard. That’s when I saw something move. As I pressed my face against the glass he stood up straight, his outline lit up by the lemon slice of moon. I’d recognise them jug ears anywhere! It was Ray.
He gestured to me and without another thought I was pulling on my trousers and dashing down the stairs. I had no idea what it was he wanted, and a part of me wondered if it wasn’t still a dream. War plays funny tricks on you, that’s for sure. I opened the front door with a great big smile, like I was greeting an old friend. Only he wasn’t the chap I remembered. His lip was cut and one eye was swollen shut.
‘Mon Dju! What in hell happened?’ I asked.
‘Them Slugs fight dirty.’ He was dancing from foot to foot. ‘There’s a do at the Gables, you coming?’
The Gables was a private house used for all-night parties by some of Guernsey’s wayward and not-so-wayward youth. It was popular with the nurses from the hospital. Of course I’d never been before. Of course I went! Who wouldn’t?
I can’t name all the folk there but I was proud to be in their number, and prouder still to walk in with old Ray. I reckon I grew a good ten inches in as many minutes and I felt more alive than I’d felt in a year. It was a merry scene with lots of drinking and laughing and dancing. You could’ve almost made yourself believe the War was over, if it weren’t for that foul-tasting stuff they called homebrew.
I drank it quickly to stop myself from asking what I was doing. It was strange to have Ray slapping me on the back and calling me ‘copain’, but I guessed he was up to something. After a little while he took me off to a corner of the kitchen, checking all around that no one was in earshot.
‘Listen,’ he says, ‘the time has come for us to put the past behind us. We’re all a bit older and wiser. I’ve lost some good men and I’m sick of silly rivalries. We must make a firm