And Thereby Hangs a Tale

“I’ll have to stay on as head launcher,” Robin told Diana. “With so few young men available, they’ll never find a replacement before the war is over.”

Diana reluctantly agreed to what she imagined to be the lesser of two evils.

When Lord Trent phoned Robin at home and asked if they could have a private meeting at the club, he assumed the old man was at last going to confirm his membership of the Royal Jersey.

Robin arrived a few minutes early and the club steward ushered him straight into Lord Trent’s study. The look on the President’s face was not one that suggested glad tidings. Lord Trent rose from behind his desk, indicated that they should sit in the more comfortable leather chairs by the fire, and poured two large brandies.

“I need to ask you a special favor, Robin,” he said once he’d settled in his chair.

“Of course, sir,” said Robin. “How can I help?”

“As you know, the ferries from Weymouth and Southampton have been requisitioned by the Government as part of the war effort, and although I thoroughly approve this decision, it presents me with something of a problem, as the Prime Minister has asked me to return to Eng

land at the first possible opportunity.”

Before Robin could ask why, Trent took a telegram from an inside pocket and handed it to him. Robin’s heart missed a beat when he saw the address: “No. 10 Downing Street, London, SW1.” Trent waited until he had finished reading the telegram from Winston Churchill.

“The Prime Minister may well wish to see me urgently,” said Trent, “but he seems to have forgotten that I have no way of getting off this island.” He took another sip of his brandy. “I rather hoped you might feel able to take Mary and me across to the mainland in the lifeboat.”

Robin knew that the lifeboat was never meant to leave the harbor unless it was answering a distress call, but a direct request from the Prime Minister surely allowed him to tear up the rule book. Robin considered the request for some time before he responded. “We’d have to slip out after nightfall, then I could be back before sunrise and no one need be any the wiser.”

“Whatever you say,” said Trent, command changing hands.

“Would tomorrow night suit you, sir?”

The old man nodded. “Thank you, Robin.”

Robin rose from his place. “Then I’ll see you and Lady Trent on the quayside at nine tomorrow night, sir.” He left without another word, his brandy untouched.

Robin was assisted by two young crew members who also wanted to reach the mainland, as they wished to join up. He was surprised by how uneventful the Channel crossing turned out to be. It was a full moon that night and the sea was remarkably calm for October, although Lady Trent proved to be a far better sailor than his lordship, who never opened his mouth during the entire voyage except when he leaned over the side.

When the lifeboat entered Weymouth harbor, a patrol boat escorted them to the dockside, where a Rolls-Royce was waiting to whisk the Trents off to London. Robin shook hands with the old man for the last time.

After a bacon sandwich and half a pint of Courage in a dockside pub, he wished his two crew members good luck before they boarded a train for Portsmouth, and he set off on the return voyage to Jersey. Robin checked his watch and reckoned he should be back in time to join Diana for breakfast.

Robin slipped back into St. Helier before first light. He had just stepped onto the dock when the fist landed in his stomach, causing him to double up in pain and collapse onto his knees. He was about to protest when he realized that the two uniformed men who were now pinning him to the ground were not speaking English.

He didn’t waste any time protesting as they marched him down the High Street and into the nearest police station. There was no friendly desk sergeant on duty to greet him. He was pushed roughly down a flight of stone steps before being flung into a cell. He felt sick when he saw Diana seated on a bench against the wall. She jumped up and ran to him as the cell door slammed behind them.

“Are they safe?” she whispered as he held her in his arms.

“Yes,” he replied. “But a spell in prison isn’t going to help my membership application for the Royal Jersey,” he remarked, trying to lighten the mood. Diana didn’t laugh.

They didn’t have long to wait before the heavy iron door was pulled open once again. Two young soldiers marched in, grabbed Robin by the elbows and dragged him back out. They led him up the stairs and out onto an empty street. There were no locals to be seen in any direction as a curfew had been imposed. Robin assumed that he was about to be shot, but they continued to march him up the high street, and didn’t stop until they reached the Bailiff’s Chambers.

Robin had visited the seat of local government many times in the past, as each new bailiff required his dress robes to be spotless on inauguration day, a ceremony he and Diana always attended. But on this occasion Robin was led into the front office, where he found a German officer seated in the Bailiff’s chair. One look at his crisp uniform suggested that he wasn’t going to inquire about Chapman’s services.

“Mr. Chapman,” the officer said with no trace of an accent, “my name is Colonel Kruger, I am the new commandant for the Channel Islands. Perhaps you could start by telling me why you took Lord Trent back to England?”

Robin didn’t reply.

“No doubt Lord and Lady Trent are enjoying breakfast at the Ritz Hotel while you languish in jail for your troubles.” The officer rose and walked across the room, coming to a halt when the two men were standing face to face. “If you feel unable to assist me, Mr. Chapman, you and your wife will remain in jail until there is space on a ship to transport you to the Fatherland.”

“But my wife was not involved,” Robin protested.

“In normal circumstances, I would be willing to accept your word, Mr. Chapman, but as your wife was Lord Trent’s secretary . . .” Robin said nothing. “You will be sent to one of our less well-appointed camps, unless, of course, one of you decides to enlighten me on the reason Lord Trent needed to rush back to England.”

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.