Christopher Priest - The Separation

There have been several night-time attacks on pedestrians in various parts of Britain since the blackout was imposed last year, but it was the first to take place in this part of Cheshire.

Mr Sawyer is married. His wife Brigit has been at his bedside since the attack.

From holograph letters of J. L. Sawyer and family (Collection Britannique, Le Musee de Paix, Geneve; www. museepaix. ch /croix-rouge Isawyer /bhs)

The letters of Birgit Heidi Sawyer (nee Sattmann).

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May 12, 1940 to Fit Lt J. L Sawyer, c/o 1 Group, RAF Bomber Command

Dear JL,

I have been unable to reach you by telephone, which is always so difficult for me to use in the phone box. Have you received the messages I sent you? If not I must tell you that Joe has had an accident. He was attacked by a gang on his way home from work and is in hospital. He has many injuries, but they are mostly on the surface. His pride has been hurt most. If you can arrange some leave to see me he is in Stockport Infirmary. (He does not know I am writing to you, of course.)

With love, your close friend, who would like to see you,

Birgit

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May 14, 1940 to Mrs Elise Sawyer, Mill House, Tewkesbury,

Gloucestershire

Dear Mrs Sawyer,

Joseph has improved since you and Mr Sawyer visited him at the weekend and he is expected to come home in a few days’ time. He already is looking much better.

Please, I want to set aside the many arguments we have had in the past, and please, to ask you a great personal favour. Even if you will not do this for me, think of it for Joseph.

There are people in the village whispering about me because of where I came from before I was married to your son. I can’t say the words but they think I am working for the other side. They only hear my accent! I am alone here and the house is isolated and after what happened to Joseph I am terrified for every minute of each day. Please please may I come to stay with you for a few days, until Joseph is well again? You do not have to come here to fetch me. I can travel by train on my own. It would only be until Joseph is out of hospital. I am begging you.

I am, your loving daughter-in-law,

Yours faithfully,

Birgit Sawyer

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June 3, 1940 to Mrs Elise Sawyer, Mill House, Tewkesbury,

Gloucestershire

Dear Mrs Sawyer,

I am pleased you and your husband were able to visit Joseph and me at the weekend and that you could satisfy yourself about the care I am giving your son. Of course it would be impossible to live up to your high standards, but I do my best. Always we are short of food and even medicines. The difficulty is caused by the rationing but also because it is so hard for us to reach the shops in Macclesfield. This will change once Joseph is able to ride his bicycle again. You are probably correct to point out my mistakes in the kitchen and you may be sure that in future I shall make greater efforts to provide Joseph with the kind of food and clothes that you think he should be having. You need not inform me of this again.

I have been talking to Joseph and we are agreed that in future it will be best if he visits you on his own, at your house in Gloucestershire.

Yours sincerely,

Birgit Sawyer (Mrs)

From the holograph diary of J. L. Sawyer (Collection Britannique, Le Musee de Paix)

June 4, 1940

This evening I found that I was moved to tears after listening to the Prime Minister on the wireless. B was there with me, listening too. She tried to comfort me but I don’t think she understood. I certainly couldn’t have explained to her, mainly because I don’t understand myself. I’m still amazed by my reaction. That odious man Churchill moved and inspired me. For a moment he even began to persuade me that it was right to fight.

But I am in an impressionable state of mind, depending on B for everything, still in pain. Churchill’s warmongering rhetoric has had a disproportionate effect on me. In spite of it, I feel I am almost better. I hobble around on my stick, I am even able to stand unsupported as I use the toilet. B says I should rest as much as I can. I use the time to prepare my recovery: each day I plan to make progress, aiming to be back to normal by the end of next week. Is it possible? Mrs Woodhurst is coming to visit me next Thursday afternoon, which I hope will mean that I can get back to work quickly.

Winston Churchill apparently took over from Neville Chamberlain on the same day as I was beaten up. It was confusing to wake up in hospital and find so many changes. The war has lurched further into unstoppable chaos. Churchill’s speech tonight made a clear distinction between the German people and the Nazis who are their dictators. He seems to be almost alone in maintaining that. Ordinary people can only commit themselves wholeheartedly to fighting a war when they demonize the enemy. Dad said this is what happened in the last war: the German people became Fritz, the Hun, the Boche. Now it is starting again: they have become Jerries, Nazis, Huns.

It was difficult enough to argue for peace before the latest events. In the present climate, with Churchill whipping up war fever, bracing the country for the worst, it is impossible. I simply do not know what to do any more.

His speech ended with simple words of calm determination: we will defend our island against invasion whatever the cost, fighting in the streets and fields and hills, never surrendering. His words mysteriously and powerfully evoked an England I know and love, a country it is right to defend and one that is worth dying for. Churchill made me proud of my heritage and nervous of losing it. He aroused my eagerness to hold my home safe. Without being able to resist, I started to cry.

June 21, 1940

Today I went to the Society office in Manchester, in preparation for my return to work in four days’ time, on Monday. I was not nearly as nervous as B at the prospect, but she went with me to Macclesfield Station and insisted on being there to meet me when I returned. We agreed the time of the train I would catch home, while she would do what shopping she could in the town.

All signs and place-names have been removed or obliterated, windows have been taped up as a precaution against blast, sandbags are heaped against many doorways. Everywhere there are posters and notices, warning, advising, directing. In the centre of Manchester, public air raid shelters have been opened at the end of almost every street. Most people carry gas masks or steel helmets. Many are carrying both. You see people in uniform everywhere. This is what it is like to live in a country at war. Now it is in earnest.

Tonight is by chance the shortest of the year. It is nearly 11 p.m. and it is not even fully dark outside yet. The sky is mostly black but there is a band of silvery blue touching the horizon in the west. A deep-grey, beautiful light washes across the plain below my window. No lights show, but in the charcoal shading of the long twilight most main features are visible. If the German bombers were to come now, they would find all the targets they want. The thought makes me nervous and I realize that this must be what everyone else is going through at the moment.

France surrendered to the Nazis today.

June 30, 1940

I have been back at work for a week, while the threat of invasion continues to worsen. Everyone talks about it, where and when it will happen, what Churchill will do about it, how strong our army might be after the disaster at Dunkirk. The newspapers and wireless report that German forces are gathering in France, that invasion barges are being prepared, that the Luftwaffe is massing its aircraft in the thousands. Every day we hear that shipping in the English Channel has been attacked by dive bombers. The harbour in Dover has been bombed several times.