The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer Read Free Book Online

she was twelve and she went to live with her great-uncle, a renowned classicist, in St John’s Wood. There she disrupted his studies and household by running away—twice.
    In despair, he sent her to boarding school. Upon leaving, she shunned a higher education, came to London, and shared a flat with her friend Sophie Stark. She worked by day in bookshops. By night, she wrote a book about one of those wretched Brontë girls—I forget which one. I believe the book was published by Sophie’s brother’s firm, Stephens & Stark. Though it’s biologically impossible, I can only assume that some form of nepotism was responsible for the book’s publication.
    Anyway, she began to publish feature articles for various magazines and newspapers. Her light, frivolous turn of mind gained her a large following among the less intellectually inclined readers—of whom, I fear, there are many. She spentthe very last of her inheritance on a flat in Chelsea. Chelsea, home of artists, models, libertines and socialists—completely irresponsible people all, just as Juliet proved herself to be as a fire warden.
    I come now to the specifics of our association.
    Juliet and I were two of several wardens assigned to the roof of the Inner Temple Hall of the Inns of Court. Let me say first that, for a warden, quick action and a clear head were imperative—one had to be aware of
everything
going on around one.
Everything
.
    One night in May 1941, a high-explosive bomb was dropped through the roof of the Inner Temple Hall Library. The Library roof was some distance away from Juliet’s post, but she was so aghast by the destruction of her precious books that she sprinted
towards
the flames—as if she could single-handedly deliver the Library from its fate! Of course, her delusions created nothing but further damage, for the firemen had to waste valuable minutes in rescuing her.
    I believe Juliet suffered some minor burns in the debacle, but fifty thousand books were blown to Kingdom Come. Juliet’s name was struck off the fire-warden list, and rightly so. I discovered that she then volunteered her services to the Auxiliary Fire Services. On the morning after a bombing raid, the AFS would be on hand to offer tea and comfort to the rescue squads. The AFS also provided assistance to the survivors: reuniting families, securing temporary housing, clothing, food, funds. I believe Juliet to have been adequate to that daytime task—causing no catastrophe among the teacups.
    She was free to occupy her nights however she chose. Doubtless it included the writing of more light journalism, for the
Spectator
engaged her to write a weekly column onthe state of the nation in wartime—under the name of Izzy Bickerstaff.
    I read one of her columns and cancelled my subscription. She attacked the good taste of our dear (though dead) Queen Victoria. Doubtless you know of the huge memorial Victoria had built for her beloved consort, Prince Albert. It is the jewel in the crown of Kensington Gardens—a monument to the Queen’s refined taste as well as to the Departed. Juliet applauded the Ministry of Food for having ordered peas to be planted in the grounds surrounding that memorial—commenting that no better scarecrow than Prince Albert existed in all England.
    While I question her taste, her judgement, her misplaced priorities, and her inappropriate sense of humour, she does indeed have one fine quality—she is honest. If she says she will honour the good name of your literary society, she will do so. I can say no more.
    Sincerely yours,
    Bella Taunton
    From the Reverend Simon Simpless to Amelia
13th February 1946
    Dear Mrs Maugery,
    Yes, you may trust Juliet. I am unequivocal on this point. Her parents were my good friends as well as my parishioners at St Hilda’s. Indeed, I was a guest at their home on the night she was born.
    Juliet was a stubborn but nevertheless a sweet, considerate, joyous