Discourse and Defiance Under Nazi Occupation: Guernsey, Channel Islands, 1940-1945 (9 page)

As a preliminary step to surveillance, the Island population would have their movements restricted, with the very first of the initial group of eleven orders forbidding Islanders to leave their homes between 11
P.M.
and 6
A.M.
⁶⁹
By late August, this curfew had been moved back to 10
P.M.
⁷⁰
and would move forward and back again throughout the Occupation. Due to reconnaissance attempts by the British government in the fall of 1940, access to specific parts of Guernsey was also forbidden or was restricted to certain hours. For example, by December 1940, anyone residing on “the small side roads of the slopes of the South coast of the Island” was forbidden to go outside after dark. Even if in possession of a pass, residents were warned that they were subject to being shot on sight.
⁷¹

As they had in other occupied territories, the German authorities also took steps to list, quantify, and measure residents, like so many new possessions. On Sunday, October 13, Winifred Harvey mildly described as “an unpleasant thing” a demand that those having relations serving in the British Army or reserves provide the name and rank of the British officer, along with their own name and address.
⁷²
This seemed to Winnie mainly to presage a search of homes for hidden spies. More disturbing to Winnie would be the “frightful” November order, the first one listed as “zur Befehl des Führers” (by order of the Fuhrer). The
Bekanntmachung
(order) required the reporting of “every British person, not born on the island or permanently resident here before September 1st, 1939.” Unless the report was made by Tuesday, November 5, “the person sheltering them will be shot.” “What,” Winnie pondered at the time, “does it mean?”
⁷³

Between these two reports about relations and personal origin came the forms to register for identity cards. Had there been any doubts about German plans to closely monitor the populace, these identity cards put them to rest. By October 1940, the new military commander of the Islands, Oberst Graf von Schmettow, ordered compulsory identity cards for Guernsey and Jersey residents over the age of fourteen. In registering, each applicant had to supply (along with hair and eye color) any distinguishing mark such as scars or a limp.
⁷⁴
As a douzenier, Jack Sauvary had the job of checking registration cards for accuracy: “I have looked into more ladies' eyes than I ever did in all my life! Had I been colour blind I might have got out of the job!” Even the old and infirm could not escape registration, so constables and douzeniers were to charge one shilling for a home visit to complete the form. “Of course,” Jack mentioned in passing, “we have not taken the bob.”
⁷⁵

Ultimately, these identity cards would be enhanced the following summer with the photograph of the bearer. It took several months to photograph the entire population of the Islands. What is now a remarkable historical record was less impressive to the participants. Generally taken outside in unforgiving light, these usually unsmiling photographs show a population already worn down by a year of Occupation. As Rev. Ord described his and Grae's photos, “We both look somewhat the worse for wear in these pictures.”
⁷⁶
Of course, the larger purpose of these cards escaped no one. They had to be produced whenever and wherever demanded by the Germans: indeed, the ability to leave one's home hinged on the constant possession of the identity card.

Physical restrictions and the cataloging of residents were accompanied in these early days by a tightening on communication. Anything that smacked of communication to the outside world was banned, with wireless transmitters prohibited and earning the possessor a fifteen-year sentence.
⁷⁷
In October, German soldiers even went door to door and wrung the necks of all the pigeons in the Island, presumably to prevent a more ancient means of message transmission.
⁷⁸
Communication and physical restrictions were combined in the order that banned all meetings of societies and clubs, not a surprising law given the opportunity for subversion such meetings would provide.
⁷⁹
Proof of the interplay between restricted communication and panoptical control would come in the passing in late July of what would be commonly known as the “Dangerous Talking Bill.” This was an ordinance forbidding speaking “in a way detrimental to the good understanding between the Guernsey people and the German forces.”
⁸⁰

For Rev. Ord, this was “the first truly sinister ruling we have had and sends a shiver down the spine.”
⁸¹
Ord's response was the logical one for a minister charged with delivering sermons, and whose speech would be subject to heightened scrutiny. Sure enough, the next day Ord received a typed notification from the chairman of the Channel Island synods urging caution in the wording of sermons and prayers. Reportedly, the term “the forces of evil” had turned up in church services, and the “objectionable significance for the Army of Occupation” was inescapable. Inescapable, too, was the implication that religious services were monitored for content, and even a public petition to God was subject to scrutiny.
⁸²

On the same day that Ord received this notification, he reported on the case of Mr. Collins, the manager of Mssrs. Le Riches department store, as the “1st victim of the speech laws.”
⁸³
For once, Rev. Ord had the order of events wrong, believing that the Germans forced the passing of an ordinance that was then used against Collins for forbidding the use of the German language in his shop. Rumor went around that Mr. Collins had been denounced by a clerk in his own store. The actual events, in at least one published account, involved a Mr. Cheeseborough, who was a clerk at Le Riches. On July 19, he asked Mr. Collins if he should stop his work to translate for another clerk handling a German complaint about a coffee order. Collins told him just to continue his own work, and he would handle it. The complaint against Collins apparently came from the Germans, who wanted preferred treatment, but Mr. Collins had neither forbidden the use of German, nor was he denounced to the Germans by Cheeseborough.
⁸⁴
It was the States of Guernsey that “rushed through” the speech bill, so that the ailing Mr. Collins could be tried by the court rather than by the Germans.
⁸⁵
Mr. Collins was subsequently acquitted, and this was the only official case brought under this hastily arranged law.

In Winifred Harvey's eyes, this case was “a definite warning.”
⁸⁶
It is notable that the false rumor of the Collins incident cast a Guernseyman rather than a German soldier as the denouncer. Unlike in a traditional prison setting, the occupying forces could not prevent contact between the Islanders. If, however, the trust between Guernseymen could be broken, then the sense of surveillance could be expanded greatly. “Lateral surveillance,” the monitoring by one's peers, expands the number of eyes working at the behest of those in power.
⁸⁷
As with self-monitoring, an internalized suspicion that neighbors or even family may be part of the “thousands of eyes posted everywhere”
⁸⁸
can fuel the fear and paranoia conducive to control.
⁸⁹
Thus, it is the
belief
in constant surveillance that facilitates the power relationship, allowing actual monitoring to be spotty or “discontinuous” in its action while still being “permanent in its effects.”
⁹⁰

Even in this first half-year, before relations between occupier and occupied hardened, the German command made a warning move apparently designed to heighten the Islanders'
monitoring of self and others. In mid-November of 1940, ostensibly because the Guernsey populace “favoured espionage”
⁹¹
against the German forces, an order went out requisitioning all civilian wireless sets. If the occupiers wanted to flash their teeth, they could not have found a more effective means than by severing the link the Islanders had with mainland Britain and evacuated loved ones. Only the month before, Guernseymen had crowded around their sets to hear a BBC program on the Channel Islands, including songs and messages in Guernsey patois from evacuated children.
⁹²
However, this punishment for perceived attitudes was short-lived, and just as abruptly at Christmastime the wireless sets were returned.

The sudden reprieve, timed to appear as a Christmas gift from the occupiers, was met with understandable rejoicing. Ambrose Robin, responsible for the live-in care of his elderly Uncle Phil and Aunt Adele, wrote of the “monotony of our lives without reliable news of the outside world.”
⁹³
When Phil's set arrived in a delivery van on Christmas Eve, “Phil and I were like two boys with a new toy connecting it up getting it going.” But, of course, the wireless was far from a toy and simple source of entertainment, as Robin makes clear:

After 6 weeks absence we are once again in touch with the land upon which are our cherished possessions, our children. This link opens the door to possibilities that we may yet be fortunate enough to hear news of our fold—all other avenues appear to be bolted and barred.

He closes this small outburst of excitement and anticipation with a prediction that would prove ironic in the years ahead: “In days to come we may look upon this punishment as one of the trivial annoyances of the occupation.”
⁹⁴

Rev. Ord looked closely at the return order for the wireless sets, “taken in the expectation and under the condition of perfect loyalty on the part of the Island Authorities and population in the future.” This order, of course, begged the question of whether the loyalty was to the Island and its continued smooth functioning, or to Germany in the guise of the occupying forces. Yet, for its strategic vagueness, the order made clear that “the whole community would bear the consequences of individual misconduct.” By punishing all for the supposed misdeeds of one, and by providing a taste of that punishment, the occupiers heightened the likelihood of lateral surveillance. Ord saw this clearly and noted that this entire wireless incident was little more than a “brandishing of threats to keep us silent mice in the future.”
⁹⁵

The “new restrictions…becoming more rigorous as time goes on,” in Kitty Bachmann's words
⁹⁶
—or as Bert Williams later described it, a “procession of orders and orders”
⁹⁷
—kept everyone slightly off-kilter, always unsure of their own actions and whether they would call down the wrath of the occupier on the entire community. This perfect climate to foster self-monitoring was enhanced by the very visible presence of German troops. What the Guernsey populace viewed as the occupiers' efforts to “Germanize” them served largely as reminders that Island life was
not
the same and those in control could be watching at any time. Many of the changes to German practice merely simplified life and coordination for German forces. As examples, the move to German time and the shift to German signage (“Zum Hafen,” “Zur Flugplatz”)
⁹⁸
were practical measures, albeit with symbolic value.

More obviously a manipulation of symbolism was the order “forbidding processions and emblems,” a restriction instituted in November as an anticipation of Armistice Day.
⁹⁹
Fishing boats could no longer fly the national flag.
¹⁰⁰
In fact all display of flags and wearing of badges were banned—save for the flag of the fascist party in England.
¹⁰¹
If the Islanders were forced to censor their symbolic expression, German processions and symbols seemed to be ever present.
Winnie Harvey and other wardens of the ARP (Air Raid Precautions) were forced to do some heavy soul-searching if they needed to venture out after curfew. The air-raid wardens were placed under German authority, and members patrolling post-curfew were required to paint their helmets white, carry a permit, and (the worst insult) to wear armlets complete with a swastika. “None of us wants to go out,” Winnie wrote simply. Yet her sense of duty to possible civilian casualties won out: “I hated the idea of wearing a swastika on my arm but this is not the time to resign from ARP work. I think the way to look at it is to remember we are not now free and the swastika and card are only permits.”
¹⁰²

Such Nazi iconography as the swastika functioned to brand Guernseymen as tools of the Germans, even when they were functioning as autonomous citizens and performing tasks in aid of civilians. The important aspect from the occupiers' standpoint was to be omnipresent if only in symbolic form, and it was not long before the ever-present identity cards were stamped with swastikas. German troops also took special efforts to make themselves seen and heard. On August 16, those living in St. Peter Port were “treated,” in Ord's ironic opinion, to the sight of three companies of troops, preceded by their band, marching past the commandant as he stood at the bottom of St. Julian Avenue.
¹⁰³
Such displays of martial strength and music, particularly at a time when British processions were banned, drove home the occupier's prerogative to act, and the occupied's position as only to be acted upon.