16

The soldiers sat at the kitchen table. Mum stood with her back to the sink, torn between a desire to help three young men fighting for King and Country, and a fear of what they represented. Nob, as always, sat in his chair by the fire, shaking hands gripping the wooden arms. I’d sent the children upstairs. It was one thing for Frankie to read about soldiering in his comics, another to have him confront the reality.

‘More potatoes?’ Mum asked, as they wolfed down their food.

‘Yes please,’ the Polish soldier said, not looking up from his plate. ‘And sausages.’

Mum looked at me and I nodded. It would finish up our meat ration, but I knew a man who could get us more. -Potatoes weren’t rationed, so as far as I was concerned the soldiers could eat them all night. Mum added the last batch of sausages to the pan with a splatter of grease and set about peeling more potatoes.

‘What’s your plan?’ I asked.

‘Get back into the fight. Kill more Germans,’ the Polish soldier said. The other two looked at each other.

‘What about you two?’ I asked.

‘We got separated from our company,’ the sergeant said. It wasn’t an answer, and we both knew it.

‘It was chaos,’ the other soldier said. ‘Hold your ground. Retreat. Hold your ground. Retreat. As soon as they get across the Channel we’re fucked.’

‘How did they do it?’ I asked. ‘What’s their secret?’

‘No secret,’ the sergeant said. ‘There are more of them, they’re better trained, better armed, and they’ve got a taste for blood. If I were you I’d take those kids and your old people and go north. If you’re all here in a few weeks you won’t like what happens.’

‘We’ll fight back,’ Mum said, her back to the men.

‘No, you won’t,’ the sergeant said. ‘You’ll be dead.’

Conversation stopped. The only sound was Mum pushing the potatoes and sausages around in the pan.

The Polish soldier finished the food on his plate and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

‘In Poland, our cavalry was on horseback,’ he said. ‘We charged their lines with sabres. They didn’t slow down.’ He brought his hands together with a loud smack, his right hand moving on. ‘And the whole time the sky was full of their fighters and bombers. They took out our air force before they even admitted they were invading.’

‘It’s the speed,’ the sergeant said. The others watched him as he chewed his food. ‘It’s overwhelming. They come at you as fast as their tanks can move. If one part of your line holds them up, they go round. It’s like when you’re a boy, trying to dam a fast stream with a few rocks.’

‘What about parachutists?’ I asked, still getting used to the new reality. Until now I’d thought this was just newspapers whipping up fear to sell copies.

The men all shook their heads, looking at each other for confirmation. Like they had a story they didn’t want to tell.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘Word went out,’ the sergeant said. ‘Jerry were dropping people behind our lines dressed as nuns and priests, with their regular uniforms underneath their habits.’

The other two men looked down at their plates.

‘We were told to shoot any civilian dressed as a nun, or a priest, or wearing a long coat.’

I thought of a parachutist lying low in my woods, and I realised in my narrow thinking I’d assumed he’d be wearing a German uniform. Of course he wouldn’t. He’d be dressed like a farm labourer, or a poacher, someone you’d see out in the fields and the woods and wouldn’t think twice about.

The other soldier piped up. ‘My captain said we were to shoot farmers if they were ploughing their fields, because they might be laying out instructions for the parachute drops.’

‘And did you?’ I asked.

The soldier looked down. I turned to the sergeant. He looked me in the eye, defiantly.

‘We did what we were told,’ he said.

‘You can stay in the barn tonight,’ I said. I wasn’t being completely altruistic. I was thinking about the German voice. If there was a man lying low, likely he’d move on before daylight. Perhaps he’d have a rendezvous arranged, a safe house where he could meet up with others, get ready for action. But perhaps not. Perhaps his orders were to engage. Instil fear, spread panic. My farmhouse would look like a soft target.

Keeping the deserters around didn’t sit well with me, but better to have my home front defended.