Happy memories of a Guernsey girl far from home. Here's to 2018!

HAPPY LIBERATION DAY GUERNSEY - MAY 9 1945

In 1940 my father, Harold Brown, was evacuated from Guernsey Grammar School to Oldham Hulme Grammar School in Lancashire, England, at the age of fourteen. When he arrived back on the island in 1945 he was just nineteen years old and married to my mother. His brother, David, died of meningitis and never came home.

https://youtu.be/efXfZGvaxDc

In memory of my uncle, David Richard Brown

The Guernsey boy who never came home

GOING GREAT GUNS - REMEMBERING THE RESISTANCE

Occupying Love, inspired by the Guernsey Underground News Service, as featured in the Guernsey Press

The Guernsey Resistance movement, established in 1940, has finally been rewarded with a blue plaque this week in a special ceremony on the island. And no-one is more delighted than the families of the original members, two of whom paid with their lives.

The Guernsey Underground News Service, whose acronym GUNS seems almost reckless now, typifies the strength of spirit of islanders who survived five long years of Occupation by the German Army.

The underground newspaper was the brainchild of Charles Machon, who worked as a linotype operator at the old Guernsey Star (later merged with the Guernsey Press.) He believed that gleaning good  news from illegal radios or hand-made  crystal sets would boost the morale those who had become prisoners on their own island. And he was right.

Unveiled by the Bailiff Sir Richard Collas the plaque was placed outside the Star's old offices in the town's Bordage. 'Lots of memories are so traumatic for people that they are never able to tell their stories,' he said.

As a Guernsey girl now living in Britain, I am thrilled to see members of the resistance given a lasting memorial after so many years.  My own father was evacuated from Guernsey to Oldham in 1940 and later worked as a reporter on the Star.

The story of the island's resistance movement was the inspiration for my novel Occupying Love, featured last year in the Guernsey Press and available on e-book  here. The fictional Guernsey Independent News Association (GINA) is not based on real people but a tribute to everyone who lived, and died, through that time.

Liberation Day will be celebrated on the island on May 9, 2017

HAPPY EASTER - NEVER MIND THE SUN (IT EVEN RAINS IN VENICE)

If the sun doesn't shine on you this EASTER  weekend, or you can't get away, pour yourself a cup of tea or a glass of wine, and read a novel. Reading can take you anywhere you want to be, so settle down and enjoy the trip.

And remember -  it even rains in Venice!

Nice, France

Guernsey, Channel Islands

Lake Garda, Italy

Lake Garda, Italy

Venice in the rain

Red Arrows in the Guernsey sky

Have tea, will  travel

THE WAR THAT NOBODY WON

What would have happened if Germany had won World War Two? What would it have been like for Britain to be occupied by the enemy? These are the questions posed by SS:GB - a new drama on BBC1 that everyone is talking about. The book is based on Len Deighton's hugely successful alternative history novel of the same name, published in 1978.

But this story isn't new. The British residents of the Channel Islands will tell you that  the Nazis  occupied British soil from 1940 - 1945. They don't need to watch an account of it on television because they still remember history being made. I know because my grandparents lived though the Occupation of Guernsey: they sent their 10-year-old son on the last evacuee boat to Britain and never saw him again.

In my novel Occupying Love I have written a fictional account of the Occupation based on real events. I hope it reflects the pain and anguish  suffered by so many islanders; the cold, the hunger and the ever-present threat of death. But I also like to thnk it might represent a change of heart.

My grandmother never recovered from losing her son but  she still had the grace to say that a mother's grief will always be the same, whichever side you are fighting for.

Maybe it's time we changed our attitude to war,  when the horror it represents is transmitted into our living rooms every single day. Maybe, just like my grandmother, we should all pray for peace.

AND NOW FOR THE GOOD NEWS.....

Politicians are always told to 'leak' stories they'd rather hide on a major news day. So as an ex-working journalist I'm smiling ruefully at the news that the Brexit Campaign has won. Not that I wanted them to lose (or win) you understand  - I don't talk politics here.  It's just that

my new novel is out today.

So, instead of a leak I thought I would try a flood.

OCCUPYING LOVE IS RELEASED TODAY

OCCUPYING LOVE IS RELEASED TODAY

OCCUPYING LOVE IS RELEASED TODAY.

You can buy Occupying Love here.

Or here

Or you can spend the day reading the latest news on Europe

AT LEAST I TRIED
:)

If I had a trumpet I'd blow it....

I never was very good at taking photographs (see below) - or at saying thank you.  But today I'm doing both at the news that my new historical  novel Occupying Love, released for pre-order yesterday, is  steadily climbing  the Amazon rankings.

Set in  Guernsey in World War Two, Occupying Love is the story of Lydia le Page, a feisty student who returns to her Guernsey home in 1940 on the day the harbour is bombed by the Nazis. Within hours she is trapped on the island as the five-year Occupation begins. Two men enter Lydia’s life: Martin Martell, the handsome but mysterious rector and Major Otto Kruger, the ruthless German Kommandant who falls under her spell. When Martin disappears Lydia discovers a secret from her past that changes everything and leaves her with  an impossible choice.  Should she choose  the man she loves or try to save the island?

I was born in Guernsey and spent many hours listening to my grandparents' stories of  life under German rule and the bravery of those whose passive resistance lifted the morale of the islanders.  What stayed in my mind was the  underground news agency which distributed news of Allies successes all over Guernsey and, more than 70 years later, has still not been fully recognised.

Though the book is a work of fiction, it's  a tribute to all the brave people who lost their lives on Guernsey whilst trying to bring hope to others.

Occupying Love is dedicated to David Richard Brown, the uncle I never met, who died at the age of 13 in 1940. David was one of many evacuees from the Channel Islands who moved with their schools, and without their parents, to Britain in 1940.  David's story was told to me by my grandparents who lived through the  five-year-long Occupation that changed so many lives.

Occupying Love is available to download from June 24, 2016 and to pre order at:

Amazon.co.uk here
Amazon.com here

Fuzzy but it's true

One woman, two men and the impossible choice between love and duty.

I'm really excited to reveal the cover of my new novel, Occupying Love, set in the Occupation of Guernsey in World War Two.  Available to pre-order on Amazon from June 24.

June 1940

With the Nazis poised to invade Guernsey in World War Two, feisty student Lydia Le Page returns home to rescue her parents, but as she arrives the harbour is bombed and she’s trapped on the island as the German Military Occupation begins.

Two very different men enter her life: Martin Martell, the handsome but mysterious rector of Torteval Church and Major Otto Kruger, the ruthless German Kommandant, who soon falls under her spell.

When Martin disappears Lydia discovers a secret from her past that threatens her whole future. Will she be able to keep it from the enemy? Or is it too late? This is a story about love, loss and the unique identity that makes us who we are.

PLAYING THE GENERATION GAME

My mother as a child with my grandmother in Oldham, Lancashire

'Nearly ninety and her first selfie...' said the  caption on my daughter's facebook page last week. The photo showed my mother with three  generations of her family - the youngest just two years old.

A few days after that photo was taken I returned to Leicester to meet writers' group The Belmont Belles, before  sneaking off to look at my old grammar school, Newarke Girls',  now a community college.  From a distance it looked exactly the same - an elegant building, with a central clock tower, surrounded by an acre  of green grass, with a long pathway leading down to the main road.

It was along that path that I walked for the very last time one sunny Friday afternoon in  the  late 1960s. Three days later I was a trainee reporter on the Lytham St Annes Express in Lancashire.   It felt a long way from my Guernsey home.

Meanwhile my two daughters have done their own bit of moving around - one has worked in Australia and the United States, the other travels Europe with her work. She is also a dedicated Derby County Football Club supporter who was born in Lancashire and lives in Yorkshire!

Not to be outdone, my two  granddaughters support  Leeds United most of the time and Derby County when their father's not looking.

Which brings me back to my mother, who was  born in Lancashire in 1926 and went on to marry a Guernseyman when she was just nineteen.  She wants to keep the selfie - well - to herself. But here she is ten years ago on her 80th birthday. Happily she's still got plenty to smile about.

Happy Birthday Mum

The old Newarke Girls' School, Leicester, as it is today

HERE'S TO WORLD PEACE

A very merry Christmas and a Happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one without any fear...

HAPPY CHRISTMAS, WAR IS OVER sang John Lennon whose lyrics echo down the years.  I wonder what the great singer/songwriter would have thought of the world as we head into 2016?

Celebrating the end of any war is a time of both sorrow and joy so I've chosen to repeat a popular poem from May 2015 for my final post of the year.  The poem was written by Gill Cullen, a Guernsey girl now living in Vancouver, to celebrate the 70th anniversary of the Liberation of the
Channel Island of Guernsey.  This, my favourite line, will stay with me always: So many of our loved ones gone, yet still present in the cry of the seagulls or the rise and fall of the tide...
Thanks again, Gill.

Dear Guernsey

How I wish I could be with you this year. This 70th celebration of the end of the Occupation.

How many years I have sat and listened to stories of your Occupation, from my father ... stories of trepidation and daring , Of victory signs , Of tea dances, of curfews (often missed - with bad recompense ) Of hunger .. Of seaweed bread ... Of cabbage soup , Of Crystal sets , Of prisoners of war .....

My childhood was during a time of recovery for you, dear Guernsey ... And I embraced your lovely beaches , your windswept shores , your crashing waves ...
Ferry rides ...watching every wave as it broke on the bow of the "Martha Gun " or the " Capstan" or the " Lady Dorothy. "
Other Liberation days when a trip to Herm was often in order to help celebrate ..and to walk through the fair on the way back ....
My life has taken me away from your beautiful shores , but my heart remains a Guernsey Girl, an islander through and through ...
I would love to stand with everyone this year, on this anniversary .. So many of our loved ones gone .. Yet I am sure still present .. In the cry of the seagulls or in the rise and fall of the tide ...
I miss you always more on days like this ..
Yet you always welcome me back with open arms and a warm hug
 Enjoy your day, dear Guernsey ........
You will always be my first love ...
My Sarnia Cherie ....

 

Peace in our World

Dear Guernsey.... a letter to an old friend

GILL CULLEN, a Guernsey girl now living in  Vancouver,  wrote this  letter to celebrate the 70th anniversary of the Liberation of the Channel Islands. It has touched my  heart and the hearts  of  so many people and is reproduced  here with her  kind permission. Thanks, Gill.   Long live Freedom!
 

 

Torteval Church, Guernsey

Dear Guernsey

How I wish I could be with you this year . This 70th celebration of the end of the Occupation.
How many years I have sat and listened to stories of your Occupation , from my father ... Stories of trepidation and daring , Of victory signs , Of tea dances , of curfews (often missed . With bad recompense ) Of hunger .. Of seaweed bread ... Of cabbage soup , Of Crystal sets , Of prisoners of war .....
My childhood was during a time of recovery for you, dear Guernsey ... And I embraced your lovely beaches , your windswept shores , your crashing waves ...
Ferry rides ...watching every wave as it broke on the bow of the "Martha Gun " or the " Capstan" or the " Lady Dorothy "
Other Liberation days when a trip to Herm was often in order to help celebrate ..and to walk through the fair on the way back ....
My life has taken me away from your beautiful shores , but my heart remains a Guernsey Girl, an islander through and through ...
I would love to to stand with everyone this year, on this anniversary .. So many of our loved ones gone .. Yet I am sure still present .. In the cry of the seagulls or in the rise and fall of the tide ...
I miss you always more on days like this ..
Yet you always welcome me back with open arms and a warm hug 
 Enjoy your day, dear Guernsey ........
You will always be my first love ...
My Sarnia Cherie ....

Stop the Bus - The Driver Wants to Get Off...

A Guernsey bus travels along the Esplanade

'Which way do we go now?' The voice echoed along the length of the bus. 

Everyone looked round.  Could it be one of the passengers? No, it was the bus driver, a capable-looking woman in her mid thirties, who had managed to get lost.  

Whenever I visit  Guernsey, the tiny Channel Island where I was born, I love to relive my childhood by riding on public transport -  retro green buses which have stayed much the same since the sixties.

So there we were, on a warm May day,  motoring  through the narrow winding roads  when we heard the plaintive voice from the front. 'Sorry everyone, but  I've only lived here four weeks.'

'It's left,' piped up the man in front of me. 'And I should know - I've lived here all my life.' Other directions soon followed thick and fast.  As we approached the junction, the driver radioed for help. 'I'm lost on Route 42.'

 Complicated instructions from  Head Office soon echoed across the airwaves.

'Don't listen to that - go left,' said the man in front of me again. 'You'll never get back on  the  route.'

We turned left but  minutes later the bus got stuck on a steep bend.  The traffic stopped and we all held our breath through a mesmerising 16-point manoeuvre.

When the hapless driver made it back to town,  we all gave a round of applause.

 I remember once when I was a child, the regular  bus driver pulled up at a remote stop on the far side of the island and sounded the horn. Out of a cottage door  came an elderly lady who made her way slowly down the pathway with the aid of a walking stick, while the rest of the passengers patiently looked on.

'Thanks for waiting. Bill,' the only lady said,  as she settled down into her favourite seat.  'I'm running a bit late today.'

It could only happen in Guernsey.




Photograph courtesy of Visit Guernsey
https://www.google.co.uk/#q=buses+gg




 

Bigoted? Baby I don't Care....

Dear Traffic Warden

My wife has gone into labour and I am unable to move my vehicle at the moment, but will move it ASAP.

I appreciate your understanding of the situation.

Many thanks

What kind of holiday photos do writers and authors take?  Those with a story behind them, like the one above from a car spotted in a short-term parking space in the picturesque island of Guernsey.

Obviously scribbled hastily,  the note looked genuine to me. But was it? Did the driver get a parking ticket? And if so, was he too busy being a proud father to worry?

Whenever I travel I  like to look for out of the ordinary scenes that might one day inspire me to write.

Like this one, below.

I wonder why the owners chose the name? No doubt it has some historical significance but, according to the Concise Oxford English Dictionary, a bigot is 'a person who is prejudiced in their views and intolerant of the opinions of others...'

Well, it certainly  makes a change from Rose Cottage.

 

To me, what really separates Guernsey from any other holiday destination is this simple message posted outside a memorial to Queen Victoria, who visited the island in August 1846.  The key to Victoria Tower may be collected from Guernsey Museum and Art Gallery during normal opening hours. Can you imagine  anyone in this country calling in  at a provincial museum to 'borrow the key to the Tower?' 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Victoria Tower, Guernsey 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Which brings me back to where I began. If you are looking for something to write about, just take a look around, especially when you're away from home. You'd be amazed at what you can find (yes, even on the car park.) At least they didn't have parking wardens when this car ( an MG TB?) was made. 

 

'Letters' speak French...

Arriving in Nice  for a summer holiday several years ago, I realised my voice had gone completely. My husband's  French being almost as bad as mine, he rang our  daughter, who is fluent in several languages. 'Your mum's got a sore throat - she  can't speak at all,' he told her. 'What should I say to the chemist?'

 'Yipeeeee....' came the quickfire reply.

Which brings me to my new year's resolution - I'm going to talk less (in English) and learn how to speak fluently in French. Don't get me wrong, I can read French pretty well,  and understand it (if  spoken slowly) but my accent is so bad that when I try to make conversation, the natives always reply in English.

 At senior school in the Midlands, I often talked of my Guernsey roots - my maternal grandmother was born in Brittany, just a few miles across the English Channel. One day the French teacher, who was also my form mistress, hauled me out to the front of the class, and made me read a piece of Gallic prose.

'Marilyn likes to boast about her French ancestry,' the teacher observed tartly, 'but she has the worst accent in the entire  school.  Let that be a lesson to you all.'

Last year I met a Guernsey ex-pat on line who is married to a Frenchman and now lives in a the Loire Valley.    We've already corresponded  and I'm hoping soon we can  chat on the phone - in French, of course. At least it will spare my blushes, and after a few months, you never know, she might even understand what I'm saying...

It's time now for my  second  new year's resolution - to write at least 1,000 words every day. In English, of course!


 

Never mind the Olympics - Anyone for bowls?

My sort of sport

'Were you any good at sport?' a friend asked recently as I sat in front of the TV doing my bit to support Team GB.  'It's not something that runs in the family,'  I replied, shaking my head sadly. Then I remembered my grandfather,  James R Brown, a member of his school football team, who later  excelled at bowls, winning a coveted trophy  in 1936. When I was a child he taught me how to play bowls - at Beau Sejour in Guernsey where that  win took place.

 St Sampsons School Guernsey, 1907.
J.Brown (far right)

Later, his son, sports journalist  Harry Brown worked at the Football League in Lytham St Annes, Lancashire, and edited their first official hard back book published in the late sixties.

Then again, I could mention my elder daughter who excelled at tennis, or her sister who captained the school hockey team, but they might never speak to me again.

So the answer's still the same - I was no good at sport - but I might just remember someone who was...

Stop the bus - I want to get on! Beating the Olympic bus lanes.

The year was 1962. The place was Guernsey. The bus driver stopped. It wasn't a bus stop so some people shook their heads.   As a child I took no notice. We waited, engine running, until the driver tooted his horn.  And then, on the other side of the lane, a cottage door swung open and a very old lady appeared. Slowly, with the aid of her stick, she made her way to the garden gate.  Still the seconds ticked by. The bus driver jumped down from his seat and helped the old lady on to the bus. 'You're late today, Flo, he said kindly, guiding her to her seat. 'Nonsense,' she said, her face breaking into a smile. 'It's you, Joe, who is early.'

Compare that with the way the world sees us today:  Bafflement and long waits reigned on London’s roads this week as drivers struggled to comprehend the new lane changes, diversions, banned turns and parking restrictions for the Olympics, which officially start tomorrow.

As host city, London is as cosmopolitan as they come, but transport is its weak spot: Traffic often clogs up its narrow, historic roads, bus schedules can change at a moment’s notice and the subway (the famous underground) suffers from daily delays and century-old infrastructure.

The road changes, which were coming into full force yesterday morning, are causing additional pain.

“Drivers do have somewhere to go, but it’s been a bit confusing,” said Paul Watters, head of road policy at the Automobile Association. “We know it’s going to be tricky and difficult, and it’s bound to be full of teething problems. We’re almost there now, so hopefully it will be better.”

Is this really what we call progress?

The calendar that saw into the future...

Searching through  my Guernsey memorabilia yesterday, I found this old *Bakelite calendar that once stood on the mantel in my grandparents' parlour. When I was a child  I used to love clicking the metal pieces in the corners to change the date, though sadly they no longer work. Looking again, I saw that  the date had stuck on September 11....  Just a coincidence?  Or is this  a psychic calendar? I wonder what else it knows about the future!

Nineteen thirties/forties Bakelite calendar

*Bakelite , according to the OED, is 'an early brittle form of plastic made from formaldehyde and phenol.'

A man walks into a car lot....

My nephew discovered  a surprising connection between the US and Guernsey when on business in New York recently.  Jon Atkin, National Accounts Manager for That Company called IF,  met an executive from Barnes and Noble, the world's largest book distributors, and got chatting after their meeting.

Jon, from Lytham St Annes in Lancashire, picks up the story.

'He told me he'd  be in Britain soon on holiday, so I asked where he was staying.'

'Guernsey in the Channel Islands,' he replied, 'Do you know it?'

'Know it?'  I said,   'half my ancestors were born there!
It turned out that his sister lives in Guernsey and he's been going there for several years.'

Oh, and while he was in the States, Jon ended up on  cult TV show Broadway Carfellas after walking into a car lot in Amityville, NY. The guys  working there, apparently,  have turned 'ad lib' into an art form by chatting with potential punters at  Broadway Motors while the cameras are rolling.

'I was with my boss and we only called in out of curiosity, to see what the place was like' says Jon. We already follow the programme at home on the Discovery Channel. The whole thing was a fantastic experience. We had no idea we'd end up on TV.'

 A successful trip all round, then, wouldn't you agree?

John Atkin with newborn son Jake

An extract from my historical novel - to celebrate Liberation Day

'We are free' proclaimed the headlines all over Guernsey this week as the island celebrated the 67th anniversary of the liberation of the Channel Islands from the horror of German rule. My own grandparents lived through the Occupation and  spoke of the appalling cruelty of the enemy ( as well as  rare, unwanted, acts of kindness) the memories of which have stayed with me always.

Here is an extract from my as yet unpublished novel, set in the Occupation of Guernsey, where we find the female protagonist,  Lydia Le Page, joining the crowds on the island's first day of freedom.

It seemed as  if every islander had come out that day to celebrate , their faces scrubbed   and boots polished  (though heaven knows what with.) Dressed in their 'Sunday Best' they hugged each other, tears flowing unashamedly down their cheeks 

    Just then Sophie Romerill stepped out of the crowd, waving a Union Jack in the air. 'My dear, dear Lydia,' she said. ' How are you? Isn't this wonderful? I wouldn't be alive today if it wasn't for you.'

    Impulsively, Lydia kissed her on the cheek. 'I'm just  so happy to see you.'  Thank goodness the doctors had kept the poor woman in the asylum away from the Jerries. Other Jews, it seemed, had suffered a far worse fate.

    'They're putting up flags all along the Esplanade.' Sophie was still talking. 'It's all over, isn't it?' 

    'Yes,'Lydia smiled, 'it really is finally over.' 

    The old woman walked away, nodding happily to everyone in sight. Lydia lifted her eyes to the sky, just  as a cloud passed over the sun. It would all be so perfect if only Martin was  here beside her. 

   Snapping out of her reverie, she made her way back down the Pollet;she had more pressing issues to worry about right now. Maggie's baby was due any day and the poor girl was terrified that Kurt would be sent away. To make matters worse, the Galliennes had still not come to terms with their daughter's  plight. 

    Maggie had tried  her best to make them understand. Other unwed mothers, she reasoned, had survived the social disgrace. She was right, of course. But then this was different. This was a German baby.

***

The Guernsey boy who never grew up...

DAVID RICHARD BROWN

Born Guernsey 1929

Died Oldham, Lancashire 1942

 Aged 13

A collage entitled 'From Our Garden, L'ancresse Bay

and Guernsey Harbour'

The mail boat 'Isle of Guernsey'

My uncle might have grown up to be an artist. My uncle should have grown up, of course, but the sad truth is that he never got the chance. He died in the second world war when he was just thirteen years old; not from a bomb or a bullet, but  from a knock on the head by a football.

David Richard Brown died in 1942  during soccer practice for his school  team in Oldham, Lancashire. He  had been evacuated to Oldham Hulme Grammar School, England, from Amherst School, Guernsey, along with many others,  when  Hitler's troops occupied the Channel Islands. David, it seems, was a quietly spoken boy with a love of  sport, but  the only time he was truly happy was when his thoughts turned to home. He would sit in his bedroom for hours at a time staring out at the unfamiliar streets, with their terraced houses and soot-clad chimneys, whilst sketching  the sea and sunshine of his beloved island.

One of my most treasured possessions   is the quaintly-titled 'Brush-Drawing Book' (above)  issued  from the County Borough of Oldham Education Committee for the use of local schoolchildren. Poignantly,  David's   homesickness was reflected in  his sketches.

My favourite  is a 'collage' ( though I doubt if he knew what the word meant at the time) of three sketches entitled 'From our Garden,' Lancresse Bay' and 'Guernsey Harbour. '  Other pages depict the Isle of Guernsey, the mail boat, as it was affectionately called by islanders, that regularly travelled from Guernsey to Southampton or Weymouth before the war. Then there is the touchingly titled  'A corner of our bungalow' and a  'A goal' , a more upbeat sketch depicting a triumphant Guernsey footballer hitting the back of the net.

My late father Harry Brown,  a freelance journalist, wrote prolifically throughout his life,  yet   never  himself  recorded the impact on the family of his brother's tragic death.
My grandmother, very occasionally, would  reminisce about her younger son, but then her face would cloud over and the words,all too soon, would die on her lips.