The Book of Ebenezer le Page (50 page)

It was for poor Monsieur Le Boutillier I was in fear and trembling. He had no pig in his pigsty as I well knew, for Tabitha and me had eaten most of half of it; and his name was the next on the list. Mr Ozanne said, ‘Jean Le Boutillier of La Corbière, it's that house, isn't it?' I said, ‘Yes, but the path isn't safe, and the Herr Kommandant cannot go across the gully, or he will get his boots dirty.' Mr Ozanne looked surprised. He couldn't see nothing wrong with the path, and there was no mud in the gully. I said, ‘The best way is to go back and along by the Chouey, and round the other side of Mont Cuet: then there is a nice dry path to the front door of Monsieur Le Boutillier's house.' Mr Ozanne said, ‘Yes, now I come to think of it, that would be the best way,' and led the Herr Kommandant, who I knew was no more the Herr Kommandant than I was, nearly back to the Vale Church. The next thing for me to do was to get my pig into Monsieur Le Boutillier's pigsty.

It was easier said than done. I have nothing against pigs, I like pigs; but that day I got to hate that pig, he was so pig-headed. I got him out of the sty and out of the gate all right with a big stick; but when I tried to chase him across the ancient monument, he didn't want to go. He wanted to go down on the beach and drown himself; he wanted to go up the hill and fall in the quarry and break his neck; he wanted to go anywhere and everywhere, except up the other side of the gully and into Monsieur Le Boutillier's pigsty. I can't have taken more than ten minutes to do it, but it seemed to me like ten hours; and every minute I expected to see the German pop his head over the wall and look at me. Monsieur Le Boutillier saw me, but I daren't shout to warn him. I made signs for him to go indoors.

Well, I got the pig into the sty and put the plank across; but I thought the poor old pig was going to drop dead. He was in an awful state. He was puffing and blowing, and you could see his heart was going sixty miles an hour; and he kept his mouth open as if he had the gapes. I popped in the double-u and heard Monsieur Le Boutillier answer the front door. He was wonderful. I heard him say, ‘Certainly, certainly! Come in, gentlemen: come in!' He only wished he had something he could offer them to drink; but, of course, he didn't have any. He was a liar because he got plenty. The German said, ‘Dank you!' and the next thing I heard him say was, ‘Ein schwein.' Mr Ozanne said, ‘Quite correct.' I then heard Monsieur Le Boutillier showing the German the way to Mr Perchard's house, which was further along; and the German said, ‘Dank you!' again. I wasn't worried about Mr Perchard. Old Fred Perchard was a match for any German. His pig had strayed and he had been advertising for it in the
Press
for weeks, offering a big reward to anybody who found it. The fry he gave us had been a real treat.

When Mr Ozanne and the German was out of sight and I showed myself, Monsieur Le Boutillier fell on my neck laughing. ‘O boy! O boy!' he said. ‘How you bring home the bacon, eh?' I said, ‘If we don't kill that poor pig, he will die!' He said, ‘It would be a cruel shame for him to live and suffer.' Anyhow, we had plenty of bacon for a time, when the only other meat we could get was a few ounces now and then, if we was lucky. I met Mr Ozanne on the Bridge one day when I was going to get the tiny piece of meat Tabitha and me was allowed. He said, ‘Hullo, how are you?' I said, ‘Oh, not too bad.' He said, ‘How is Monsieur Le Boutillier?' I said, ‘He is not too bad either.' He said, ‘How is the pig?' I noticed he said ‘the pig' and not ‘the pigs'. ‘He died,' I said. ‘I thought he would,' he said. ‘Ah well, I will tick him off the Register of Births, Deaths and Marriages.'

Little did I think when Monsieur Le Boutillier and me was joking over the pig what was going to happen to poor Jean Le Boutillier. It isn't as if he had done anything wrong. He didn't do harm to a living soul: not even to a German. All he did was listen to a wireless set when he didn't ought to have done; and there was hundreds and thousands on the island who listened to a wireless set when they didn't ought to have done. I did myself. At first, when we was allowed to listen to it if we wanted to, I didn't bother much. I heard it, if I happened to go across to La Corbière in the evening; or, if not, Monsieur Le Boutillier would let me know the news next day. The Germans at that time didn't seem to be able to make up their minds if we was going to be allowed to listen to it or not. Once, to punish us for something, I forget what, all the wireless sets was called in; but they was given back to us for Christmas. Then they was called in for duration, I don't know why, and it was a great crime to have one, or to listen to one.

Monsieur Le Boutillier gave his in the first time, and got it back; but the second time he said it had gone wrong and he had got rid of it. Actually, he had hidden it in the corn-bin. Of an evening when it was dark, he would bring it into the kitchen and listen to it with the door locked; and it was kept very soft, so as nobody could hear it from outside. If anybody knocked, he always asked who it was, before unlocking the door. Mr Perchard from along the road came in pretty regular; and one night Raoul Dobrée from Wallaballoo came when I was there. He was a Roman Catholic like Monsieur Le Boutillier, and they went to the same church. I also met Father Darcy there a number of times. I don't think there was any others; but I reckon I know who it was who tipped the wink to the Germans, though I can't prove it.

It wasn't me, I know that; and it wasn't Mr Perchard. I am as sure of Fred Perchard as I am of myself. He was a real old Guernseyman who had never left the island and lived with his only son, whose wife and children was gone to England. The son didn't come and listen to the radio, because he didn't like to hear about the air-raids on Germany. He said it would only make them come and bomb England, and he was afraid for his wife and children. For a long time he got no news of them; and when he did begin to get messages through the Red Cross saying they was all right, he didn't know in what part of England they was living. He was a worrying sort of chap, and wouldn't have done anything to put himself in the wrong with the Germans; but that is a long way from saying he would have gone and told tales against his father.

It could have been let out by the Le Boutillier children, without them meaning to; but they was old enough to have the sense to keep their mouths shut. It is true young Jean worked for the Germans; but he always made out to be a bit stupid. The Germans was used to Guernsey people being stupid, and it was what they expected and didn't mind: it was in case we was too clever they was afraid. Julia, his sister, was a great girl. She didn't make out to be stupid, and she wasn't. She might have told a German to his face what she thought of him, and got herself into trouble, but she would never have given any Guernseyman away. Actually, she didn't listen to the radio when I was there, because she used to come across to Les Moulins to keep Tabitha company while I was out. As for Tabitha, I think the Germans would have had to tear her tongue out to get anything out of her.

Then there was Father Darcy. Now I must admit I was prepared to dislike that man at the mere mention of his name. He was a Roman Catholic priest and that was enough for me! I had been brought up all my life to believe Roman Catholics was papists and heathen and idolaters, and worse than those who didn't go to any church or chapel at all. It was the greatest shock to me when I met Father Darcy that I should take to him from the moment that I shook hands with him; and I want to say now once and for all, though I don't know what a saint is, I reckon he was nearer to being a saint than any man I have ever known. It wasn't that he was what Raymond used to call a Holy Willie. Far from it. He would often arrive with a bottle under his arm of something for us to share; and I have heard him swear like a trooper, especially on the subject of Hitler and his gang. I can't say how it was, or why it was, he was good; but he was. I began to think if the Catholic religion made men like him, then the Catholic Church was the church to belong to; but now I can't help wondering if, perhaps it wasn't the Catholic Church made him good, but men like him who have made the Catholic Church good.

He have been dead some years now; and I miss him. Up to his last days he used to call in at Les Moulins at least once a week to see how I was, as if I was one of his flock; yet he never preached to me how wicked I was, or tried to persuade me to join his church. I asked him a number of questions, and he answered me straight out what he believed, but that was all. I was interested in his idea of purgatory. I had often wondered how anybody can be good enough when they die to go to heaven; or, for that matter, bad enough to go to hell. He explained to me about saying masses for the dead. I thought it was a good thing to feel for the dead that way. I know I wouldn't mind somebody saying a mass for me when I am dead. God knows I will need it! I couldn't shift him from his belief in hell. ‘Of course God created hell,' he said, ‘to frighten the bad boys,' and he looked very stern; but then he smiled his lovely old smile and said, ‘Now tell me, Ebenezer, do you really think, as we are in the hands of One who cares if a sparrow falls, there will be anybody there in the end?'

It wasn't Father Darcy who betrayed Monsieur Le Boutillier to the Germans. I don't like to say it was Raoul Dobrée, but from something happened later on, I have a very good reason for thinking it was. The night he came to La Corbière when I was there, he hadn't come to listen to the radio. He knocked on the back door and, when Monsieur Le Boutillier heard who it was he let him in. He didn't even bother to turn the thing off first and put it out of sight. Raoul had come to bring Monsieur Le Boutillier a book about the Jesuits he had written himself; though why he had to bring it at night after curfew, I can't think: unless it was because he wanted to find out something.

Monsieur Le Boutillier was a better educated man than I am, and had been to the Vauxbelets College when he was a boy. He was delighted and proud to be given the book, and showed me what Raoul had written on the inside of the cover. ‘For Jean Le Boutillier. From his friend, the Author.' Raoul said he was distressed to find us all listening to the radio. How could we expect the Germans to behave justly towards us, if we ourselves didn't obey the laws they made for us to keep? I couldn't see what justice got to do with the Germans. It wasn't justice for them to be here at all. Father Darcy wasn't there that night, so I don't know what he would have said; but he was Irish and a fighter and said more than once, while it was right for a Christian to turn the other cheek if it was only him concerned, he mustn't hesitate to strike a bully for the sake of other people. I didn't say two words to Master Raoul myself. I was introduced. He shook hands like a limp rag and looked down his nose at me with his big popping eyes and said ‘Good-evening' as if he had a plum in his mouth. He didn't stay long; and I was glad when he went. He gave me the creeps.

It wasn't a week before the Germans searched La Corbière and found Monsieur Le Boutillier's radio. He was taken to Town and questioned. I have thought many mean thoughts in my life; but I am glad I am able to say it didn't cross my mind that Monsieur Le Boutillier might give the names of those who had been listening as well as him: which, of course, he didn't. He was asked and asked; but swore he was the only one who had listened to it. Young Jean and Julia was both at work when he was taken away and it was Madame Le Boutillier who came across to tell us what had happened. Olive Le Boutillier was another woman with courage. She knew perfectly well how serious it was and what might happen to her husband, for it had happened to others; but she didn't break down. Her only thought was for what she could do to help him.

The next day she was fetched to Town herself and asked questions. The Germans didn't treat her rough, but spoke to her very polite; and she thought they was being kind. She told them the radio was only ever listened to by her and her husband. She didn't know Jean had said she and the children didn't listen to it, because he only turned it on when they was all in bed and asleep. She made another mistake, for which she never forgave herself. She said she and Jean only used it to listen to the news, but it was the news mostly the Germans didn't want us to listen to. It was the news they made up and got printed in the
Press
we was supposed to believe. Most people only laughed at it. Olive was brought back home; but Jean was sentenced to a year's imprisonment and sent to France. At the end of the year he didn't return to Guernsey as was expected, but was sent on from prison to prison and finished up in Germany. It was only after the Liberation it was known he died the last year; but it was not known how.

Was it before or after the affair of Monsieur Le Boutillier's radio I made a German friend? I can't be sure. I rather think it was after: while we was expecting Monsieur Le Boutillier back at the end of the year. Or it may have been before. It don't make no difference. After all, Monsieur Le Boutillier was a Jerseyman and a nearer enemy of mine than any German could be; yet I loved him and have truly mourned for him. It was over the fishing I met my German. At first I was allowed to go out from La Petite Grève, if I got permission; but some chaps escaped to England in a fishing boat and put an end to that. Then, if you please, I had to go out from the Town Harbour and take a German with me; and give up a fifth of my catch in the bargain. I didn't like that at all. It took the heart out of me; and, say what you like, luck and a good heart got a lot to do with fishing.

However, I went out now and again; and had a different fellow with me each time. I have nothing to say against those fellows, they was only doing their duty, except that they wasn't like human beings. I don't expect you would notice it so much nowadays with all the brief-case boys you see about; and, it don't matter where you go, hear people talking as if they was reciting from a book of rules. The Germans set us the example; and there are enough young Guernseymen now who know how to walk about and look as if they was important, and spout by the yard as if they had something to say. When it came to doing anything themselves, some of the Germans wasn't as good as, from their manner, they led you to expect. Some of those who came out with me had been in a boat before, and some hadn't; and a few knew something about the engine, which was useful because I didn't have a mate; but a bit awkward sometimes, when I had more petrol than I was supposed to have. One night Alf Brouard and me emptied the tank of a big German lorry had got stuck in the mud on L'Ancresse Common, and been left there for the night; and another night we was lucky with a German officer's car, while he was indoors visiting a certain lady who ought to have known better. Her husband was an officer in the Army in England.