The New Collected Short Stories (76 page)

Robin and Diana remained in their tiny cell for nineteen days. They were fed on bread and water, which until then Robin had always assumed was a Dickensian myth. He began to
wonder if the authorities had forgotten about them.

He managed to pick up snippets of information from those islanders who had been forced to work at the police station, but the only thing of any consequence he was able to find out was that
German ships were docking at St Helier regularly to unload more soldiers, arms and ammunition.

On the twentieth morning, one of their informants told them that a ship would be arriving from Hamburg the following day, and that he had seen their names on the embarkation log for its return
journey. Diana wept. Robin never slept while his wife was awake.

In the middle of the night, when they were both sleeping fitfully, the cell door was pulled open without warning. Two German soldiers stood in the doorway. One of them asked politely if Mr
Chapman would join them. Robin was puzzled by the officer’s courteous manner, and wondered if this was how German soldiers behaved just before they shot you.

He accompanied the soldiers up the stairs. Was he being escorted to the ship? Surely not, or they would have taken Diana as well. Once again he was taken down the street in the direction of the
Bailiff’s Chambers, but this time the soldiers walked by his side, making no attempt to hold on to him.

When he entered the Bailiff’s office, Colonel Kruger looked up from behind his desk, an anxious look on his face. He didn’t waste his words. The ship that was meant to transport
prisoners to Hamburg has struck a rock just outside the harbour.’ Robin wondered which brave islander had managed to remove the warning lights. ‘It’s sinking fast,’
continued the colonel. The lives of all those on board will be lost, including several civilians, unless the lifeboat is sent out to rescue them.’ He avoided saying ‘my
countrymen’.

‘Why are you telling me this, Colonel?’ asked Robin.

‘The lifeboat crew is refusing to cast off without their head launcher, so I am asking you –’ he paused – ‘begging you, to join them before it’s too
late.’

Strange, the things that pass through one’s mind when faced with a moral dilemma, Robin thought. He knew the directive by heart. It is the duty of every member of the RNLI to go to the aid
of anyone in distress on the high seas, irrespective of their nationality, colour or creed, even if they are at war with Britain. He nodded curtly at the colonel.

Out on the street a car was waiting, its door open, to take him to the harbour. Fifteen minutes later they cast off.

Robin and the rest of the crew returned to Arden Rock several times that night. In all, they rescued 73 passengers, including 11 German officers and 37 crew members. The remainder were civilians
who had been selected to assist in the administration of the island. A cargo of arms, ammunition and transport vehicles was resting on the bottom of the ocean.

When Robin carried the last of the survivors back to the safety of the island, two German officers were waiting for him as he stepped off the lifeboat. They handcuffed him and escorted him back
to the police station. As he walked into the cell, Diana smiled for the first time in days.

When the cell door was opened the following morning, two plates of bacon and eggs, along with cups of hot tea, were laid before them by a young German corporal.

‘Last breakfast before they execute us,’ suggested Robin as the guard slammed the cell door behind him.

‘It wouldn’t be hard to guess what your final request will be,’ said Diana, smiling.

A few minutes after they’d devoured their unexpected feast, another soldier appeared and told them he was taking them to the commandant’s headquarters.

‘I shall be happy to accompany you to the Bailiff’s Chambers,’ said Robin defiantly.

‘We’re not going to the Connétable,’ said the soldier. ‘The commandant has requisitioned the golf club as his new headquarters.’

‘Your final wish has been granted,’ said Diana as she and Robin settled into the back seat of a staff car, which brought a puzzled expression to the young German’s face.

When they arrived at the club, they were taken to Lord Trent’s office. Colonel Kruger stood up and offered them both a seat. Diana sat down, but Robin remained standing.

‘This morning,’ the colonel said, ‘I rescinded the order that you were to be shipped to prison in Germany, and issued a new directive, releasing you immediately. You will
therefore be allowed to return to your home. Should you be foolish enough to break the law a second time, Mr Chapman, you will both be aboard the next ship that sails for Germany. Think of it as
what’s called, in your country, a suspended sentence.’

The commandant once again rose from behind his desk. ‘You are a remarkable man, Mr Chapman. If your fellow countrymen are forged from the same steel, your nation may not prove quite as
easy to defeat.’

‘Perhaps you should read
Henry V
,’ suggested Robin.

‘I have,’ replied the commandant. He paused and looked out of the window towards the weed-covered eighteenth green before adding, ‘But I’m not sure the Führer
has.’

The remainder of Robin’s war turned out to be something of an anticlimax, except for those occasions when the klaxon sounded and he had to pedal furiously along the
seafront to join his crew at the boathouse. He stayed on as the lifeboat’s head launcher while the Germans remained on the island.

During the occupation, members of the Royal Jersey were not permitted to enter the clubhouse, let alone play a round of golf. As the years passed, the finely tended course became so overgrown
with weeds and nettles you couldn’t tell where the rough ended and the fairways began. Clubs rusted in the storeroom, and there were only tattered flags fluttering on the ends of their poles
to show where the greens had been.

On 9 May 1945, the day after VE day, an advance party of English troops landed on Jersey and the German commandant on the Channel Islands surrendered.

Once the thirty-six thousand intruders had finally departed, the locals quickly did everything in their power to restore the old order. This didn’t prove easy, as the Germans had destroyed
many of the island’s records, including applications for membership of the Royal Jersey Golf Club.

Other forms of life did return to normal. Robin and Diana were standing on the dockside waiting to welcome the first ferry from Weymouth when she sailed into St Helier on 12 July.

‘Oh my goodness!’ cried Diana the moment she saw her children. ‘How they’ve grown.’

‘It’s been more than five years since we last saw them, darling,’ Robin was reminding her as a young man accompanied by his teenage sister stepped on to the quayside.

The Chapman family spent six happy weeks together before Harry reluctantly returned to the mainland to take up his place at Durham University, and Kate went back to Weybridge to begin her final
year at St Mary’s; both were looking forward to returning to Jersey at Christmas.

Robin was reading the morning paper when he heard a knock on the door.

‘I have a recorded delivery for you, Mr Chapman,’ said the postman. ‘I’ll need a signature.’

Robin signed on the dotted line, recognizing the crest of the Royal Jersey Golf Club stamped in the top left-hand corner of the envelope. He ripped it open and read the letter as he returned to
the kitchen, and read it a second time before he handed it across to Diana.

9 September 1946

Diana could do nothing to console him, despite the fact that his brother was coming across from the mainland to spend his first weekend with them since the end of the war.

Robin was standing on the dockside when Malcolm stepped off the Southampton ferry. Malcolm was able to lift his older brother’s spirits when he told him and Diana all the news about the
company’s expansion plans, as well as delivering several messages from their children.

‘Kate has a boyfriend,’ he told them, ‘and—’

‘Oh, God,’ said Robin. ‘Am I that old?’

‘Yes,’ said Diana, smiling.

‘I’m thinking of opening a fourth branch of Chapman’s in Brighton,’ Malcolm announced over dinner that night. ‘With so many factories springing up in the area,
they’re sure to be in need of our services.’

‘Not looking for a manager are you, by any chance?’ asked Robin.

‘Why, are you available?’ replied Malcolm, looking genuinely surprised.

‘No, he isn’t,’ said Diana firmly.

By the time Malcolm took the boat back home to Southend the following Monday, Robin had perked up considerably. He even felt able to joke about attending the interview at the
Royal Jersey. However, when the day came for him to face the committee, Diana had to escort him to the car, drive him to the club and deposit him at the entrance to the clubhouse.

‘Good luck,’ she said, kissing him on the cheek. Robin grunted. ‘And don’t even hint at how angry you are. It’s not their fault that the Germans destroyed all the
club’s records.’

‘I shall tell them they can stick my application form up their jumpers,’ said Robin. They both burst out laughing at the latest expression they’d picked up from the mainland.
‘Do they have any idea how old I’ll be in fifteen years’ time?’ he added as he stepped out of the car.

Robin checked his watch. He was five minutes early. He straightened his tie before walking slowly across the gravel to the clubhouse. So many memories came flooding back: the first time he had
seen Diana, when she had walked into the bar to speak to her brother; the day he was appointed captain of the club – the first Englishman to be so honoured; that missed putt on the eighteenth
that would have won him the President’s Cup; not being able to play in the final the following year because he’d broken his arm; the evening Lord Trent had asked him to sail him to the
mainland because the Prime Minister needed his services; the day a German officer had shown him respect and compassion after he had saved the lives of his countrymen. And now, today . . . he opened
the newly painted door and stepped inside.

He looked up at the portrait of Harry Vardon and gave him a respectful bow, then turned his attention to Lord Trent, who had died the previous year, having served his country during the war as
the Minister for Food.

‘The committee will see you now, Mr Chapman,’ said the club steward, interrupting his thoughts.

Diana had decided to wait in the car, as she assumed the interview wouldn’t take long. After all, every member of the committee had known Robin for over twenty years. But after half an
hour she began to glance at her watch every few minutes, and couldn’t believe that Robin still hadn’t appeared an hour later. She had just decided to go in and ask the steward what was
holding her husband up when the clubhouse door swung open and Robin marched out, a grim look on his face. She jumped out of the car and ran towards him.

‘Anyone who wishes to reapply for membership cannot hope to be elected for at least another fifteen years,’ he said, walking straight past her.

‘Are there no exceptions?’ asked Diana, chasing after him.

‘Only for the new president,’ said Robin, ‘who will be made an honorary life member. The rules don’t seem to apply to him.’

‘But that really is so unfair,’ said Diana, bursting into tears. ‘I shall personally complain to the new president.’

‘I’m sure you will, my dear,’ said Robin, taking his wife in his arms. ‘But that doesn’t mean I’ll take any notice.’

P
ERCIVAL
A
RTHUR
Clarence Forsdyke – his mother called him Percival, while the few friends he had called him Percy –
was born into a family which had played its part in ensuring that the sun never set on the British Empire.

Percy’s grandfather, Lord Clarence Forsdyke, had been Governor General of the Sudan, while his father, Sir Arthur Forsdyke KCMG, had been our man in Mesopotamia. So, naturally, great
things were expected of young Percy.

Within hours of entering this world, he had been put down for the Dragon prep school, Winchester College and Trinity, Cambridge, establishments at which four generations of Forsdykes had been
educated.

After Cambridge, it was assumed that Percy would follow his illustrious forebears into the Foreign Office, where he would be expected at least to equal and possibly even to surpass their
achievements. All might have gone to plan had it not been for one small problem: Percy was far too clever for his own good. He won a scholarship to the Dragon at the age of eight, an election to
Winchester College before his eleventh birthday, and the Anderson Classics Prize to Trinity while he was still in short trousers. After leaving Cambridge with a double first in Classics, he sat the
Civil Service exam, and frankly no one was surprised when he came top in his year.

Percy was welcomed into the Foreign and Commonwealth Office with open arms, but that was when his problems began. Or, to be more accurate, when the Foreign Office’s problems began.

The mandarins at the FCO, who are expected to identify high flyers worthy of being fast-tracked, came to the reluctant conclusion that, despite Forsdyke’s academic achievements, the young
man lacked common sense, possessed few social skills and cared little for the diplomatic niceties required when representing your country abroad – something of a disadvantage if you wish to
pursue a career in the Foreign Office.