The German Nurse. M.J. Hollows

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       Lifeboats

       28 June 1940

      Despite the warm summer sun, the sea swelled as if a storm was coming. It rose then fell, throwing the lifeboat from side to side in anger. The wind blew across the ship, whipping the seven men on deck with white spray. Richard had sailed this way many times before, but never under these circumstances. The boat rocked and he set his face in grim determination against the salty wet spray as he thought of what he had been asked to do. After the British army had left the islands, the powers that be had thought about what else the island had in its possession and fell on the idea of their lifeboats. He’d received a telegram telling him that under no circumstances could the lifeboats fall into German hands. The only option left had been to collect them and deliver them into the care of the navy at the mainland.

      As such, Richard had assembled a crew of seven men, who were now on their way to Jersey across the Roussels, the stretch of water between the islands, to collect their lifeboat, tie it to their own and begin the arduous journey over to England. They hoped they could be done before the Germans arrived, but they had no idea what was really happening on the continent.

      One of his sons pushed a mug of hot tea into his cold hands and muttered something that was lost in the noise of the engine. He moved away from the pilot’s position, leaving Richard with his mug of tea, and spoke to his brother, patting him on the back in his usual manner. It wouldn’t be long until they approached Jersey. He’d had someone phone ahead to tell them he was coming, so he hoped they wouldn’t kick up a fuss about him taking their boat. They wouldn’t be happy about it, either way. For communities that relied on the sea, a lifeboat was vital. Richard had rescued many a struggling fisherman from a tricky sea when things had grown out of their control. He didn’t dare think what would happen without them.

      He had considered simply hiding the lifeboat away somewhere, but had decided against it in the long run. He wasn’t a good liar, and they would no doubt find the boats before long. He had been unable to think of an alternative and, as he stood at the prow of the boat he had spent so long working on, he wondered whether he should have simply refused and taken the consequences.

      Suddenly there was the sound of an engine, rising in pitch, breaking through his reverie. At first Richard thought it was the lifeboat, but the rhythm was different, at a counterpoint to their own ship. He looked around for the sign of another boat, but they were alone in the seas not far now from Jersey. The sound came again, this time much closer. Richard crossed the front of the boat and finally saw it. There was a faint grey shape silhouetted against the sky. Then he saw another, its companion. They were getting closer, turning into the unmistakable outlines of aircraft. The German cross was clearly visible, black against the grey of the underwings.

      Richard hoped they would be ignored, due to the giant red cross that was painted on the top of the lifeboat, but his illusion was soon shattered by a spitting sound. Spray jumped out of the sea in front of the boat like sprites in two parallel lines, getting closer.

      ‘Get down!’ Richard shouted as he heard the splintering of wood. Bullets hit the fuselage as he ducked down to find some cover. The crew cried out in surprise as they hid. There was a sound like a saw against wood. Shards of timber came loose as rounds cut through the hull, then the German aircraft rushed over them in a roar of engines. Richard didn’t dare get back up, knowing there was another coming. A second later more bullets crashed around him, narrowly missing him, whistling past his ears. Then suddenly the other aircraft was gone, the pitch of its engines lowering in a Doppler shift.

      It took a minute or so before Richard felt safe enough to lift his head. He looked up and the aircraft could no longer be seen. The faint hum of their engines was still audible in the distance, and he had no idea how long they had before the planes came around for another attack. The boat was heavily damaged, but still seaworthy as most of the damage had been done to the hull above the waterline. He pulled himself out of the netting, his legs aching from being squeezed into a small space.

      The crew had clustered towards the back of the ship. They all stood now and, as he got nearer, he noticed a shape slumped across the stern bench. Impossibly his heartbeat rose and there was a pressure in his chest, a dull pain that was growing sharper by the moment. The shape was horribly familiar, and the crew pulled aside as Richard dragged himself nearer.

      ‘My son?’ The words escaped his lips, but he barely heard them over the beating of his heart. His son was lying there as if sleeping, but Richard knew he would never sleep on the job. His eyes were closed, but his chest didn’t rise. There was a red mark on his temple and blood dripped down his sleeve. Richard fell to his knees. There was a wailing sound, but he didn’t know where it came from until the motion of the boat caused him to close his mouth. He cradled his son’s head in his arms, but it was too late.