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

the members about your article for
The Times
and suggested that those who wished to do so should correspond with you about the books they have read and the joy they have found in reading.
    The response was so vociferous that Isola Pribby, our Sergeant-at-Arms, was forced to bang her hammer for order (I admit that Isola needs little encouragement to bang her hammer). I think you will receive a good many letters from us, and I hope they will be of some help to your article.
    Dawsey has told you that the Society was invented as a ruse to stop the Germans arresting my guests: Dawsey, Isola, Eben Ramsey, John Booker, Will Thisbee, and our dear Elizabeth McKenna, who manufactured the story on the spot, bless her quick wits and silver tongue.
    I, of course, knew nothing of their predicament at the time. As soon as they left, I made haste down to my cellar to bury the evidence of our meal. The first I heard about our literary society was the next morning at seven, when Elizabeth appeared in my kitchen and asked, ‘How many books have you got?’
    I had quite a few, but Elizabeth looked at my shelves and shook her head. ‘We need more. There’s too much gardening here.’ She was right, of course—I do like a good garden book. ‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do,’ she said. ‘After I’ve finished at the Commandant’s Office, we’ll go to Fox’s Bookshop and buy them out. If we’re going to be the Guernsey Literary Society, we have to look literary.’
    I was frantic all morning, worrying over what was happening at the Commandant’s Office. What if they all ended up in the Guernsey prison? Or, worst of all, in a prison camp on the Continent? The Germans were erratic in dispensing their justice, so one never knew what sentence would be imposed. But nothing of the sort occurred.
    Odd as it may sound, the Germans allowed—and even encouraged—artistic and cultural pursuits among the Channel Islanders. Their object was to prove to the British that theGerman Occupation was a model one. How this message was to be conveyed to the outside world was never explained, as the telephone and telegraph cable between Guernsey and London had been cut the day the Germans landed in June 1940. Whatever their skewed reasoning, the Channel Islands were treated much more leniently than the rest of conquered Europe—at first.
    At the Commandant’s Office, my friends were ordered to pay a small fine and submit the name and membership list of their society. The Commandant announced that he, too, was a lover of literature—might he, with a few like-minded officers, sometimes attend meetings?
    Elizabeth told them they would be most welcome. And then she, Eben, and I flew to Fox’s, chose armloads of books for our newfound society, and rushed back to the Manor to put them on my shelves. Then we strolled from house to house—looking as carefree and casual as we could—in order to alert the others to come that evening and choose a book to read. It was agonising to walk slowly, stopping to chat here and there, when we wanted to rush! Timing was vital, because Elizabeth feared the Commandant would appear at the next meeting, barely two weeks away. (He did not. A few German officers did attend over the years but, thankfully, left in some confusion and did not return.)
    And so it was that we began. I knew all our members, but I did not know them all well. Dawsey had been my neighbour for over thirty years, and yet I don’t believe I had ever spoken to him about anything more than the weather and farming. Isola was a dear friend, and Eben, too, but Will Thisbee was only an acquaintance and John Booker was nearly a stranger, for he had only just arrived when the Germans came. It was Elizabeth we had in common. Without her urging, I wouldnever have thought to invite them to share my pig, and the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society would never have drawn