Be Still, My Soul
The winter of 1944 pressed hard upon the island. Food was scarce, tempers thin, and hope thinner still. In the narrow lanes above St Peter’s Valley, Elise Hamon walked with her head down, her basket empty except for a few limp carrots. It was late November, and the moon rose high above the hedgerows. The curfew would soon start. Patrols may come. She quickened her pace.
The Germans had taken her father in the autumn. No explanation. Just a knock at the door and the cold certainty that she would never see him again. Since then, the world had become a place of shadows, soldiers at every corner, hunger gnawing at every hour, fear settling like frost on the heart.
Be still, my soul! the Lord is on your side;
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain;
Yet that morning, as she left the house, her mother had whispered the old hymn under her breath: “Be still, my soul; the Lord is on your side.” Elise had almost snapped at her. How could anyone speak of stillness now? Her thoughts were of despair: “Life is not worth living, we are so worried and distressed, we are starving, there is no food or fuel, and the cold seeps into our souls.”
A gust of wind swept through the valley, carrying the smell of woodsmoke and something else — something metallic. She rounded the bend and froze. A German soldier lay slumped against the stone wall, half‑hidden by brambles. His uniform was torn, his face pale beneath streaks of mud. Blood darkened the granite dry stone wall around him. He looked barely older than she was.
Elise’s first instinct was to run and leave him, to let the war claim one more life. But then he opened his eyes: blue, frightened, scared. She saw not the enemy, but a fellow human in pain. “Hilfe…” he whispered. “Please.” She stood trembling. Helping him felt like an act of treason. It would be so easy to leave him as he lay. But something in his expression, not the fear, but the weariness, struck her like a blow. It was the same hollow exhaustion she saw in her mother’s eyes each night.
Slowly, she knelt beside him. “What happened?” she asked. “Patrol… mine…” He winced. “I did not want this war. I only wanted to teach. My students… Berlin…” His voice cracked. “Bombs fell on our street.” Elise felt her breath catch. Loss recognised loss. The hymn rose again in her mind, unbidden: “Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain…”. She hated that it comforted her.
She tore a strip from her apron and pressed it to his wound. He gasped but did not pull away. “You shouldn’t be here,” she murmured. “I know.” His eyes fluttered. “But you stopped.” Elise swallowed hard. “I don’t know why.” “Because you have a good soul, eine gute Seele” he whispered. “Even in darkness.” She knew curfew was close. She had minutes at most.
Be still, my soul! your best, your heav’nly friend
Thru' thorny ways leads to a joyful end.
She helped him to his feet. He leaned heavily on her, each step a struggle. They moved through the valley like ghosts, keeping to hedgerows and shadows. At last they reached an abandoned farmer’s hut, half‑collapsed but sheltered from the wind. “You’ll be safe here for tonight,” she said. “I’ll bring water. Maybe bread.”
He caught her hand. “Why risk this?” Elise hesitated. The truth surprised her. “Because if I let you die,” she said softly, “I lose the last piece of myself that the war hasn’t taken.” His eyes shone with gratitude.
When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,
Sorrow forgot, love's purest joys restored
As she slipped back into the night, the promise of the hymn’s words echoed within her: “When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone.” An encounter with a stranger, reminding her of the words she had learned in Sunday school many years ago: “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me." Compassion reached across barriers and boundaries.
Your hope, your confidence, let nothing shake;
all now mysterious shall be bright at last.
For the first time in months, Elise felt the faintest stirring of hope, and hope was to come later that month, when the Red Cross ship Vega arrived, bringing supplies and succour to the starving Islanders. She did not know it then, but the Allies had now long liberated Normandy, and by May next year, the war would end, and the Islanders would be liberated themselves from German Occupation. The day before, the prison gates would be opened to release their captives, and she would be reunited with her beloved father, frail but still alive, and the final line of the hymn would ring true for her: “All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.”
Be still my soul! when change and tears are past,
All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.