Jersey Our Island: The Years of Darkness – Part 3

Published in 1950, this is an interesting snapshot of the Island and its customs as it was in the immediate post-war period, and not without humour. Most guide books of the time give the tourist information, or give the impressions of an outsider to the Island, but this is in "inside view", which is rarer.

Jersey Our Island: The Years of Darkness – Part 3
by Sidney Bisson

The food situation was fortunately no worse than the previous winter. More British planes were seen around the coasts. The Germans were concentrating on defence works and exercises, as if they expected an invasion. `After Africa, Europe,' was the watchword as winter gave way to spring. Europe it was, but not till the following July, and then only Sicily. Italy was a long way from Jersey, and yet another winter had to be faced with less food and no coal. There was no appreciable change in the issue of rationed foodstuffs, but `extras' were scarcer and dearer, and black market prices beyond the reach of the average income.

The weekly ration at this period was 31 pints of milk, 41 1b. of bread, 5 lb. of potatoes, 6 oz. of breakfast meal, 4 oz. of meat, 3 oz. of sugar, 2 oz. of butter, and 2 oz. of salt. Except for butter and meat, which were more plentiful in 1940, these figures had remained fairly constant since the beginning of the occupation. There had been no tea since November, 1941. There was no cheese, bacon, jam, soap, flour, or cooking fats.. Nor were there any goods available on `points.' Practically all the housewife could buy to supplement her rations, unless she dealt in the black market, was vegetables. And even those were often under the counter. When anything else was available, it was usually distributed as an addition to the weekly ration. Here are some samples of additional rations issued in the winter of 1943. They do not amount to much.

Oct. 11: 100 saccharine tablets; 4 oz. margarine; matches.

Oct. 18: 8 oz. macaroni.

Oct. 25: 1 tablet toilet soap.

Nov. 1: Nothing.

Nov. 8: 1 piece of household soap.

Nov. 15: 3 oz. cheese; matches.

Nov. 22: 8 oz. ersatz coffee.

Nov. 29: 8 oz. macaroni.

Coal was issued again in December. One hundredweight for each household, to be followed by two hundredweight in January and February. The wood ration averaged a little over a hundred- weight a month. Gas was cut off for a portion of each day. The consumption of electricity was limited to four units a week. In spite of these hardships, accentuated by an unusually cold February, optimism was greater than at any time during the occupation.

As the days lengthened, more and more allied aircraft were seen flying over the island. The sounds of heavy bombing were heard from the French coast. The Germans tightened up the Curfew regulations and held large-scale anti- invasion manoeuvres. Even the German war commentaries published in the local press admitted that the allied invasion was imminent and discussed when and where it would take place. Was it a coincidence that a local dramatic society timed its production of Dangerous Corner to start on June 5^th

The next morning it was obvious that something unusual was afoot. Planes passed continually over the island and the German A.A. defences went into action. Troops appeared in the streets in battle order. Public utility concerns were guarded, telephone exchanges taken over. It was a great day for the owners of hidden wireless sets, who took every opportunity to spread the news that everyone had waited so long to hear. But the Germans made no attempt to disguise the situation. That evening's paper carried a proclamation, in English and German, announcing that `Germany's enemy is on the point of attacking French soil,' and gave a report of the fighting in Normandy.

Excitement grew as the allies approached Carteret, which is only fifteen miles from Jersey. Allied planes and naval units scoured local waters for German E-boats and supply barges, which had a habit of sheltering there. A number were sunk or damaged. At night fires could be seen along the French coast. The thunder of explosions shook the houses.

Yet beneath all the excitement and anticipation of relief ran an undercurrent of apprehension. Supplies from France were virtually cut off, and the Germans seemed determined to defend the island if it were attacked. The civilian population received instructions on what to do if fighting spread to the island. Civilian first-aid posts were established, arrangements were made for billeting those whose homes might be destroyed, an emergency ration was issued in case the normal distribution system broke down.

With the fall of St. Malo the noise of battle died away. Fighting had spread to Belgium and Holland. The population relaxed in an uneasy calm a calm that could only have one meaning, too terrible to speculate upon. They were like the airman stranded in the desert who has watched the relief planes circle ever nearer and nearer to him, then, when it seemed inevitable that they should see him, give up the search and fly away. And another winter was approaching.

Already at the beginning of September the Gas Company had exhausted its stock of coal, and the supply of gas had to be discontinued. Bakers' ovens, fed with wood, were turned into communal cookers. To cook at home one used a mixture of tar and sawdust. The minute rations of sugar and salt ceased in November. After January there was no more butter. Electricity, already restricted to 21 units a week for each household, was cut off altogether. The bread ration was reduced to two pounds until the middle of February when the supply of flour gave out. Seven ounces of breakfast meal (consisting mainly of oat and barley f l our) and ten pounds of potatoes a week kept the islanders from starvation that and the Red Cross parcels.

All through the autumn negotiations had been proceeding through the German authorities and the Protecting Power for the supply of essential commodities to the civilian population. In November the Germans announced that the negotiations had been successful, but it was not until December 31st that the Vega arrived from Lisbon with a cargo of Red Cross parcels, similar to those distributed to prisoners of war in Germany. Their value was more than dietetic. From that day hope revived. The bitterness born of despair was gradually to fade. Even in the dark breadless weeks of February and March there was comfort in the thought that the Vega would return with a cargo of flour. In the flush of victorious progress the islands had not been forgotten.

Those stories about allied leaders studying a map at the Peace Conference and suddenly remembering that the Channel Island: had never been relieved lost all their point. And if the end was not clearly in sight (for the Germans still claimed that their V weapons would stem the flood), help encouraged hope of deliverance.

The end was curious. V.E. Day was celebrated under the nose of the Germans, for the formal surrender of the island and arrival of British troops did not take place till the following morning. Great crowds assembled to hear the Prime Minister's speech from loudspeakers that had been hurriedly erected in the streets of the town. When it was over Union jacks were hoisted from the public buildings and the crowds sang `God Save the King.' The Germans, still nominally in charge, looked sadly on.

That night a Jerseyman who had heard Mr. Churchill announce our dear Channel Islands will be freed today' walked out of his house just before midnight to see if there was any sign of British warships in the bay. There was nothing but darkness and the sea. As lie retraced his steps he became aware that someone was following him. Thinking it was a neighbour who had had the same idea as himself, lie waited at his gate to exchange a greeting. The footsteps stopped.

No doubt some night prowler up to no good. He went in and bolted the door. A few minutes later there was a knock. A call at that time of night could only mean one thing Gestapo. Instinctively he grabbed his wireless set to push it back under the floorboard where it had lived these last three years. Then lie stopped. Had not Mr. Churchill said that lie would be free today? And that was already yesterday. To hell with the Gestapo.

He picked up a candle and went to the door. In the flickering light he could make out the uniform of a German officer. There was something in his hand that looked like a revolver. He took a step back. The German came in and shut the door. Then the light steadied to reveal that he was holding out not a revolver but a fine pair of binoculars. In excellent English he offered to exchange them for a cigarette.