M.J. Hollows - The German Nurse

Finally, he pulled the cord and the flag lurched its way down the flagpole, jerking with each motion of his hand. He took his time and watched the wind against the cloth. It struck him then as odd. Here he was, a British policeman in uniform, striking the flag of the Union from the town’s flagpole, removing it entirely. If the flag no longer applied to them, then what did the uniform mean? He was proud of his uniform and he had worked hard to earn it, but did it really make sense to go on wearing it? When the Germans got to the island would they strip them of their uniforms and responsibility, or would they make them wear something to represent the Reich?

They hadn’t been told anything yet, but that only made Jack more anxious. All they knew was that they had to prepare for occupation, to visibly show their surrender and to remove all British flags from view. It left them in a weird state of limbo. Jack’s job as a policeman defined him, and he had been obsessed with holding up the law since he was a child, but now he had no idea who he was in this new world.

Jack untied the Union flag from its cord and folded it. There were people on the island to whom the flag meant very little. They considered themselves Guernesiais rather than British, but it meant something to Jack. He didn’t run up a new flag. It wasn’t his responsibility. He wanted to be the last who remembered the Union flag and what being part of the empire had meant for them. He was supposed to return the flag to the bailiff, but he didn’t think he would. They wouldn’t miss it, and besides he couldn’t trust them to keep it safe. He would take it home. There was a drawer beside his bed in which he kept many of his prized possessions. The flag would find a welcome home there, until it was needed again.

For now, the hour had come for them to face their fate.

*

Jack had just sat down in the main office of the police station when the door flew open and the chief officer marched in. Jack’s legs were weary from patrolling all day, but still he pulled himself from the chair and stood to attention as etiquette demanded. The others in the room did the same at various intervals and they all threw smart salutes. The chief saluted back, then turned towards the door as a man in the grey uniform of the German Wehrmacht stepped in, followed by an adjutant or aide similarly dressed. A surprised silence filled the room. The Germans had finally arrived.

‘I would like to introduce the German Kommandant,’ the chief said, stepping aside in deference to the man in the grey uniform, his peaked cap now tucked under his arm. ‘He will be in charge of operations on the island, and I expect you to show him exactly the same level of respect that you show me.’

In normal circumstances someone would have cracked a joke at that point. Instead, the assembled policemen stood there, awkwardly awaiting orders. After a second or two those at the front of the room threw a stiff salute and the others joined in, Jack amongst them.

‘Thank you,’ the kommandant said with a thick German accent as he stepped forward to appraise them. The man was even older than the chief, twenty or thirty years Jack’s senior. He had a thin nose and deep brown eyes, and his hair was cut close, more silver than black. His uniform was just as cleanly pressed as every other German Jack had seen, but made from a better quality grey wool. An Iron Cross was tied at the neck of his tunic and gold braiding decorated his collar and epaulettes. His aristocratic bearing was obvious from the way he looked down his pointy nose at everyone.

‘I am happy to be here.’ His English was stilted as if he had practised the words. It was as though he didn’t really understand what he was saying, but had decided to say it nonetheless. Jack suspected that his command of the language was nothing to do with the reason he had been chosen for the position of commander of the occupation forces. Another German soldier stood at his shoulder, quietly looking over the assembled policeman. As on previous occasions when a French diplomat or some other authority had come to the island, they had been provided with an interpreter.

‘But my English is not so good,’ the kommandant continued. It was an unexpected admission for the kommandant, who had the air of a practised public speaker, a man who was never wrong, or allowed himself to be inferior. If it was a deliberate attempt to be disarming then Jack suspected that it had worked in a way. There was a relaxation of the tension around the room as the men realised that nothing they said would be understood by the German, and that his interpreter would probably not waste the time in translation.

He smiled at them in a way that didn’t reach his eyes, then gestured for his interpreter to step forward. The kommandant spoke, then the interpreter translated into perfectly structured and accented English. Jack couldn’t help feel that the interpreter was only paraphrasing what his superior officer was saying. He talked about how they had come in advance of the main force, their plans for the island, how none of them had anything to worry about as they were very fond of the islands and the Aryan people who inhabited them, and that they wanted it to be the very ‘model’ occupation they had all dreamed about.

When he had finished speaking, he smiled again, but Jack noticed that it was slightly more forced than the first time. Perhaps he had been expecting more of a response from the policemen, as they simply stood and stared.

After that he said something quietly to the chief that the interpreter relayed and then he walked around the various desks in the office, looking at them over the top of his glasses. A minute or so later, he stopped in front of Jack who felt his stance stiffen under the German’s attention. If he had been uncomfortable before, he was even more so now. There was a look on the German’s face that Jack thought was surprise. The kommandant rearranged the small glasses on his nose.

‘Are you not young for the police?’ he asked, speaking through the interpreter, then continued as if he didn’t expect an answer. ‘I would have thought a young man of your age to be with your army.’

‘We’re not subject to the same laws as the mainland, Kommandant,’ the chief jumped in. ‘That is to say, England has different rules to us.’

‘Fascinating.’ The kommandant turned, apparently now bored of the conversation. ‘Then I suspect that very little will change at all.’

‘Although,’ he continued. ‘It does surprise me that a young man such as yourself did not sign up with the British army to fight for your fatherland. Did you not want to defend your land? Perhaps you are a coward?’

Jack could feel his cheeks going red, but he stayed silent. The kommandant and his interpreter’s voice droned on as Jack tried to concentrate against his growing anger.

‘Or could it be that you are one of us and you welcomed us here? That you truly understood what the German Reich can bring? You are a true Aryan. The Führer would be proud to find such people in his new lands. Perhaps I should write to him of the great people of Guernsey and how they are looking forward to being part of the thousand-year Reich!’

The interpreter smiled at Jack when he finished speaking. It was a smile that spoke in volumes, a smile that on one hand told him that the interpreter thought that the kommandant believed his words, and on the other hand that Jack should ignore him completely. Without waiting for a response, the kommandant sat at the chief’s desk and glanced through some papers. It was a clear show that he was keen on being involved in the day-to-day workings of the island, but it left the interpreter standing awkwardly by Jack. He smiled again and there was a warmth there that Jack wasn’t expecting.