The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society Read Online Free PDF Page A

the sight of hand-made shoes. If I ever do meet him, I’ll be careful not to look at his feet—or I’ll lash myself to a flagpole first and then peek, like Odysseus.
    Bless you for telling me to come home. Am looking forward to
The Times
proposal for a series. Do you promise on Sophie’s head it will not be a frivolous subject? They aren’t going to ask me to write gossip about the Duchess of Windsor, are they?
    Love,
    Juliet
    From Juliet to Sophie Strachan
31st January 1946
    Dear Sophie,
    Thank you for your flying visit to Leeds—there are no words to express how much I needed to see a friendly face just then. I honestly was on the verge of stealing away to the Shetlands to take up the life of a hermit. It was beautiful of you to come.
    The London Hue and Cry
’s sketch of me taken away in chains was exaggerated—I wasn’t even arrested. I know Dominic would much prefer a godmother in prison, but he will have to settle for something less dramatic this time. I told Sidney the only thing I could do about Gilly’s callous, lying accusations was to maintain a dignified silence. He said I could do that if I wanted to, but Stephens & Stark could not!
    He called a press conference to defend the honour of
Izzy Bickerstaff
, Juliet Ashton and journalism itself against such rubbish as Gilly Gilbert. Did it make the papers in Scotland? If not—here are the highlights. He called Gilly Gilbert a twisted weasel (well, perhaps not in exactly those words, but his meaning was clear), who lied because he was too lazy to learn the facts and too stupid to understand the damage his lies inflicted upon the noble traditions of journalism. It was lovely.
    Sophie, could two girls (now women) ever have had a better champion than your brother? I don’t think so. He gave a marvellous speech, though I must admit to a few qualms. Gilly Gilbert is such a snake-in-the-grass, I can’t believe he’ll just slither away without a hiss. Susan said that, on the other hand, Gilly is also such a frightful little coward, he would not dare retaliate. I hope she’s right.
    Love to you all,
    Juliet
    P.S. That man has sent me another bale of orchids. I’m getting a nervous twitch, waiting for him to come out of hiding and make himself known. Do you suppose this is his strategy?
    From Dawsey to Juliet
31st January 1946
    Dear Miss Ashton,
    Your book came yesterday! You are a nice lady and I thank you with all my heart.
    I have a job at St Peter Port harbour—unloading ships, so I can read during tea breaks. It is a blessing to have real tea and bread with butter, and now—your book. I like it too because the cover is soft and I can put it in my pocket everywhere I go, though I am careful not to use it up too quickly. And I value having a picture of Charles Lamb—he had a fine head, didn’t he?
    I would like to keep up our correspondence. I will answer your questions as well as I can. Though there are many who can tell a story better than I, I will tell you about our roast-pig dinner.
    I have a cottage and a farm, left to me by my father. Before the war, I kept pigs and grew vegetables for the St Peter Port markets and flowers for Covent Garden. I also worked as a carpenter and roofer.
    The pigs are gone now. The Germans took them away to feed their soldiers on the Continent, and ordered me to grow potatoes. We were to grow what they told us and nothing else. At first, before I knew the Germans as I came to later, I thoughtI could keep a few pigs hidden—for myself. But the Agricultural Officer nosed them out and carried them off. Well, that was a blow, but I thought I’d manage all right, for potatoes and turnips were plentiful, and there was still flour then. But it is strange how the mind turns to food. After six months of turnips and a lump of gristle now and then, I was hard put to think about anything but a fine, full meal.
    One afternoon, my neighbour, Mrs Maugery, sent me a