Human Collaboration

图片取自 Pining for the West

  'To tell the truth,' Sam said, 'as long as the Occupation was to last, I met more than one nice German soldier. You would, you know, seeing some of them as much as every day for five years. You couldn't help but feel sorry for some of them —— stuck here knowing their families at home were bombed to pieces. Didn't matter then who started it in the first place. Not to me, anyway.

  'Why, there'd be soldiers on guard in the back of potato lorries going to the army's mess hall —— children would follow them, hoping potatoes would fall off into the street. Soldiers would look straight ahead, grim-like, and then flick potatoes off the pile —— on purpose. They did the same thing with lumps of coal —— my, those were precious when we didn't have enough fuel left.

  'There was many such incidents: just ask Mrs Godfray about her boy. He had the pneumonia and she was worried half to death because he couldn't keep him warm nor give him good food to eat. One day there's a knock on her door, and when she opens it she sees an orderly from the German hospital. Without a word, he hands her phial of that sulphonamide, tips his cap, and walks away. He had stolen it from their dispensary for her. They caught him later, trying to steal some again, and they sent him off to prison in Germany —— maybe hanged him. We'd not be knowing.'

  He glared at me again suddenly. 'And I say that if some toffee-nosed Englishwoman wants to call being human Collaboration, they'll need to talk to me and Mrs Godfray first!'

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, P181
Mary Ann Shaffer & Annie Barrows
ISBN 978-0-7475-9668-4



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