Part 13 (2/2)

Yours, Juliet From Dawsey to Juliet Miss Juliet Ashton Grand Manoir, Cottage La Bouvee St Martin's, Guernsey

21st June 1946 June 1946

Dear Juliet,

We are here in Louviers, though we have not been to see Remy yet. The trip has tired Amelia very much and she wants to rest for a night before we go to the hospice.

It was a dreadful journey across Normandy. Piles of blasted stone walls and twisted metal line the roads in the towns. There are big gaps between buildings, and the ones left look like black, broken-off teeth. Whole fronts of houses are gone and you can see in, to the flowered wallpaper and the tilted bedsteads clinging somehow to the floors. I know now how fortunate Guernsey really was in the war.

Many people are still in the streets, removing bricks and stone in wheelbarrows and carts. They've made roads of heavy wire netting placed over rubble, and tractors are moving along them. Outside the towns are ruined fields with huge craters and broken hedges. It is grievous to see the trees. No big poplars, elms or chestnuts. What's left is pitiful, charred black and stunted-sticks without shade. Monsieur Piaget, who owns this pension, told us that the German engineers ordered the soldiers to fell whole woods and coppices. Then they stripped off the branches, smeared the tree trunks with creosote and stuck them upright in holes dug in the fields. The trees were called Rommel's Asparagus and were meant to keep Allied gliders from landing and soldiers from parachuting.

Amelia went to bed straight after supper, so I walked round Louviers. The town is pretty in places, though much of it was bombed and the Germans set fire to it when they retreated. I cannot see how it will become a living town again.

I came back and sat on the terrace until dark, thinking about tomorrow.

Give Kit a hug from me.

Yours ever, Dawsey From Amelia to Juliet 23rd June 1946 June 1946

Dear Juliet,

We met Remy yesterday. I felt unequal somehow to meeting her. But not, thank heavens, Dawsey. He calmly pulled up garden chairs, sat us down under a shady tree, and asked a nurse if we could have some tea.

I wanted Remy to like us, to feel safe with us. I wanted to learn more about Elizabeth, but I was frightened of Remy's fragility and Sister Touvier's admonitions. Remy is very small and far too thin. Her dark curly hair is cut close to her head and her eyes are enormous and haunted. You can see that she was a beauty in better times, but now-she is like gla.s.s. Her hands tremble a good deal, and she is careful to hold them in her lap. She welcomed us as much as she was able, but she was very reserved until she asked about Kit-had she gone to Sir Ambrose in London?

Dawsey told her that Sir Ambrose had died and that we are bringing up Kit. He showed her the photograph of you and Kit that he carries. She smiled then and said, 'She is Elizabeth's child. Is she strong?' I couldn't speak, thinking of our lost Elizabeth, but Dawsey said yes, very strong, and told her about Kit's pa.s.sion for ferrets. That made her smile again.

Remy is alone in the world. Her father died long before the war, in 1943, her mother was sent to Drancy for harbouring enemies of the government and later died in Auschwitz. Remy's two brothers are missing; she thought she saw one of them at a German station on her way to Ravensbriick, but he did not turn when she screamed his name. The other she has not seen since 1941. She believes that they, too, must be dead. I was glad Dawsey had the courage to ask her questions-Remy seemed to find relief in speaking of her family.

Eventually I broached the subject of Remy coming to Guernsey. She went quiet, and then explained that she was leaving the hospice very soon. The French government is offering allowances to concentration-camp survivors: for time lost, for permanent injuries, and for recognition of suffering. There are also stipends for those wis.h.i.+ng to resume their education. The government will help Remy pay the rent of a room or share a flat with other survivors, so she has decided to go to Paris and seek an apprentices.h.i.+p in a bakery.

She was adamant about her plans, so I left the matter there, but I don't believe Dawsey is willing to do so. He thinks that looking after Remy is a moral debt we owe to Elizabeth. Perhaps he is right, or perhaps it is simply a way to relieve our sense of helplessness. In any case, he has arranged to go back tomorrow and take Remy for a walk along the ca.n.a.l and visit a certain patisserie he saw in Louviers. Sometimes I wonder where our shy Dawsey has gone.

I feel well, though I am unusually tired-perhaps it is seeing my beloved Normandy so devastated. I will be glad to be home, my dear.

A kiss for you and Kit, Amelia From Juliet to Sidney 28th June 1946 June 1946

Dear Sidney,

What an inspired present you sent Kit-red satin tap shoes covered with sequins. Wherever did you find them? Where are mine?

Amelia has been tired since her return from France, so it seems best for Kit to stay with me, especially if Remy decides to come to Amelia's when she leaves the hospice. Kit seems to like the idea too-heaven be thanked! Kit knows now that her mother is dead. Dawsey told her. I'm not sure what she feels. She hasn't said anything, and I wouldn't dream of pressing her. I try not to hover unduly or give her special treats. After Mother and Father died, Reverend Simpless's cook brought me huge slices of cake, and then stood there, watching me mournfully while I tried to swallow. I hated her for thinking that cake would somehow make up for losing my parents. Of course, I was a wretched twelve-year-old, and Kit is only four-she would probably like some extra cake, but you understand what I mean.

Sidney, I am in trouble with my book. I have much of the data from the States' records and ma.s.ses of personal interviews-but I can't make them come together in a structure that pleases me. Straight chronology is too tedious. Shall I send my pages to you? They need a finer and more impersonal eye than mine. Would you have time to look them over now, or is the backlog from the Australian trip still so heavy? If it is, don't worry-I'm working anyway and something brilliant may yet come to me.

Love, Juliet

P. S. Thank you for the lovely cutting of Mark dancing with Ursula Pent. If you were hoping to send me into a jealous rage, you have failed. Especially as Mark had already telephoned to tell me that Ursula follows him about like a lovesick bloodhound. You see? The two of you do have something in common: you both want me to be miserable. Perhaps you could start a club.

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