Chapter Eighteen: Of Insults, Threats, and Letters

September 15, 1940

Corporal Everley Blackwell was the first prisoner to be sent to the cooler. Everyone was sure that he would get a good amount of time, but in fact, he was only sentenced a week. Many prisoners thought that the lack of severity was due to their strange Kommandant. The Kommandant had yet to be seen since the day of the fight. And yet, he was the talk of the camp. Even the guards wondered about their strange commanding officer. Major Duerr was the only one who knew anything, but his loyalty kept him quiet.

A week later, when Everley was released, there was some celebration amongst the British POWs. Since the fight, they had been unusually quiet and even more pompously British than ever. There were hardly any displays of emotion, accept pride. Though the French were rather annoyed, it was good to see that normality had fallen over the Brits and that they were becoming even more companionable towards one another. The British had closed ranks, and it was unlikely now that anyone would be broken as long as they stayed close.

Released from the cooler, Everley was different. His happy-go-lucky smile and loud mouth talk turned to sad eyes and mostly silence. Some said that this change was not brought on wholly by the cooler, but in fact by the knowledge of the Blitz. Some prisoners were changed just by the fact that their family, whom they had thought safe, was now in danger. It was suddenly as if the whole world was against them. Though Everley remained a natural-born nuisance, there was always a look in his eyes that betrayed that some of him was gone.

Louis and Marcel witnessed the change in their friends from the other side of the fence. When they were able to talk, it was almost only Stephen and Luke exchanging words. And even then, Luke seemed to be the only one unaffected by the news of the Blitz. Stephen had assured himself that since his family lived in the country, there was little worry. He became more stoic just knowing that his country was being attacked thus. Luke, though his family lived in the city, was so far assured by that there was no reason to bomb his part of town. He was more worried about his comrades around him.

Peter had gone off in a lot of ways like Everley. He talked less, and whatever he said lacked some of the life his voice had held before, his eyes were sad and elsewhere. No doubt, he was constantly thinking of his home, family, and friends. Everyone knew that London was being targeted nightly. And everyone knew that the factories and shipyards were surrounded by the lowest places in London. So, the Londoners were given some space, and the Cockneys given more. And day after day, some guard would remind them that their home had just been bombed the night before. Though London was a large city, some were beginning to see it as a smaller place, where there was nowhere to hide.

On the day that Everley was released, Peter went off to find Louis at the fence. He had slipped away from Luke, who was always watching him with worried eyes. It was the beginning of the recreation hour, so Peter was hoping that the football game would be keeping his friends busy enough to forget about worrying over him. As expected Louis was faithfully at the fence. They always met, just to trade a few words. Sometimes, if a game was being played, they said little. Other times they spent the whole hour talking about anything and everything. But each time they just had to see one another.

"Bonjour Pierre," said Louis, as Peter stopped at the fence.

"'Ello Louie," answered Peter. "'Ow was work today?"

"Bon," replied Louis. "But I did not get any tips." That was code that he had not come back with any extra bread today.

Peter nodded, and smiled. "That's alright. I found some tips in the 'orse shoe." Horse shoe was their code word for the Jakowitz's farm.

Louis's eyebrows rose at the lucky break of finding bread at the barn. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Did you find it, or did you pinch it?"

Peter chuckled, and it sounded real enough for Louis. "I didn't pinch it, Frog. I really did find it. Though, I think it was left by the Missus." He referred to Mrs. Jakowitz.

Louis nodded. "You 'ave it on you now?"

"Yea," answered Peter. "One piece for you, an' another piece for Marcel."

They both watched their guard pass by. The guards between the divisional fence were spread out. So after about thirty seconds, he was well away. Peter quickly pulled out the two pieces of bread and tossed them through the fence. They hit the ground right inside the fence from Louis. Louis quickly stuck his hand through and retrieved them. Standing up, he slipped them into his pocket.

"Merci beaucoup, mon ami," said Louis. They both glanced around, but no one appeared to have noticed anything unusual. They were also keeping the secret of extra food from most of their fellow prisoners. They were worried someone might become too desperate and cause trouble for everyone.

Louis studied Peter thoughtfully. "And 'ow are you?"

"Fine," answered Peter quickly.

Louis sighed. "Non, Pierre. Really, I know you are worried about your family back 'ome. Do you want to talk?"

Peter looked at the ground, and scuffed his foot in the dirt. "You got a family, Louie?"

"Oui," he answered. "Not of my own, though. I am not married. But I 'ave many sisters, and mes grand-parents lived with us as well. You?"

"It's just me sister an' meself," answered Peter, not looking right at Louis. "Me da left when I was eleven, but not before 'e got me mum pregnant again. So Mavis came when I was twelve. But me Mum died about a year or so ago. An' Mavis, she's only sixteen years old." He looked at Louis. "Sixteen. I mean, she ain't a little kid anymore, but she's not an adult either. I left 'er to go work. She knew 'ow to take care o' 'erself, and the neighbors an' a few friends o' mine promised to keep an eye on 'er. But now…now no one'll spare 'er a second thought. Not while our 'ome is bein' bombed. They'll be more worried about their own skin. All I can think is that I left 'er, an' now she'll be on 'er own, in a war. It was bad enough leavin' 'er in that city in the first place. But now, now she's in a flippin' war zone!"

Louis sighed. "Pierre, you said you were twelve when she was born?" Peter nodded. "And what 'appened to you? Your father was gone, so your mother 'ad to take care of you both. Did you 'elp?"

"O'course I did," answered Peter heatedly. "I quit school—not that I cared too much about that—an' went to work. Then, I went the wrong way an' ended up in the gutter."

"But you still took care of yourself and ta famille when you were twelve-years-old like an adult," argued Louis. "Do you not think that your sister can take care of 'erself when she is already sixteen? I am sure she can fend for 'erself, and I am sure that she is not alone like you may think. She 'ad friends, no?" Peter nodded. "Well, they will not leave 'er alone. Do not think so 'arshly of people, Pierre. They are better than you think."

Peter just shook his head. "I sure 'ope you're right Louie. Because I don't see the light in anyone."

Louis clenched his jaw. "You 'ave already given up. I thought maybe you were stronger, because of that day on the train, you said you 'ad been given a second chance. Well, I see that you 'ave already given up, and that you probably already gave up before this war. Because if you believe that, then you will not get very far."

Without another word, Louis spun around and marched off heatedly. Peter watched him go, angry more than he had ever been since he had been captured. He was angry at everything. There never would be rest, would there? He knew his country would probably be attacked, but civilians? He had always known it was coming, that Mavis might be in danger one day, but when it finally came, it was an overwhelming blow of fear that was taking him down now. He was spinning into a fearful depression that he saw no way out of.

Fortunately, that day, there was another reason to celebrate.

As Peter paced the fence angrily, half of him wishing that Louis would come back, and the other half wishing he would never have to see the Frenchman again, a truck pulled into camp. It had the Red Cross insignia and so it immediately caught the prisoners' attention. Perhaps more Red Cross packages? They knew it had to be something good, because the guards began blowing their whistles for everyone to get back inside.

Peter shot another glance into the French compound, but did not see Louis, so he quickly walked back inside.

"What do you think it is," asked Luke enthusiastically.

"Must be Red Cross packages," replied Stephen, looking out the window.

Peter lit a cigarette. "Good, cause I'm runnin' out o' fags."

"Serves you right for smoking all day long," said Luke reprovingly.

"I don't smoke all day," corrected Peter annoyingly. "Farmer Jakowitz doesn't approve of it while we work."

Luke opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by Stephen. "Look, officers!"

The prisoners raced to the windows. Indeed, two British officers and two French officers were standing outside the Red Cross truck. All four looked pretty healthy and otherwise unharmed, though skinnier. They were in their officer's uniforms, and when Major Duerr came out, all five men saluted to one another. Then, Duerr led them all into his office, with Berg right behind.

"Wonder why they're here," said Dean.

They all looked outside again, to see some of the guards unloading two large hampers.

"Wot is this," asked Stephen. "They goin' tae do our laudray fer us?"

"They would surely need more hampers than that," said someone else.

"I really doubt they're doin' our laundry," said Everley.

"Hey," said Luke, squinting. "That looks like envelopes. Hey! You think it's--"

"LETTERS!" Nearly everyone finished Luke's sentence for him. Now everyone was straining to see through their two windows. Outside, the guards were poking through them, some shaking their heads.

"How are they going to sort all that out," wondered Dean.

"Maybe they'll just let us go through them," said Luke. "I mean, I don't care what kind of letter I get. Just seeing words written from home would be enough for me."

Everyone murmured in agreement to that. But everyone really knew that they just wanted to see something written by their loved ones. That even though it was probably about a month or two late, anything was better than nothing. Something from home.

"What does it matter anyway," someone said. Everyone looked to Sergeant Timon Lloyd. He had always been a loner and a negative man. No one really liked him because he never had anything good to say. He was also arrogant, and looked down on most of the men. He especially had a feud with Everley and Peter, the only Cockneys in Barracke 14. The two Cockneys mostly ignored him, but lately, he was the one man who was not going along with the show of sticking together and helping one another out. So, he was hard to forget. Timon walked away from the window and sat down at the table. He looked at everyone's faces, who were gazing down at him reproachfully. "Well," he said again, raising his eyebrows. "What does it matter? We all know those letters are old. Half the people that wrote them could be dead by now."

Immediately, the excited mood in the barracks dropped to an all-time low. Luke rolled his eyes again, suddenly fed up with some people's attitudes. He stepped forward, intending to say something, but was beat to the job. There was a rush of blue, and then Peter had Timon by his collar and shoved up against a bunk.

"You'd better shut up wif all your doomsday talk," growled Peter. "Because it isn't 'elpin' anyone, not even you. You're just makin' things worse, so why don't you keep your mouth shut for a change?"

Timon sneered down at Peter. "Get your hands off of me, Corporal." He grabbed Peter's wrists, and then pushed Peter away. Timon was about a head taller than the Corporal and also had a bit more muscle on him too. Peter almost looked like he was going to hit Timon. His fists clenched, and he set his jaw. But instead, he just turned away, and went to the other side of the barracks to look out the window. Everley went with him, but watched Timon oddly.

Timon just smirked and looked at the other men, who were giving him dirty looks. Luke glared at Timon, and then started after Peter. But Timon grabbed Luke's arm.

"Why do you hang around with that type anyway, lad," he asked Luke. "I heard you come from a good family. Don't mess it up here."

"The only way I would mess anything up would be by hanging around you," spat Luke. "Peter is a better man that you would ever be."

Luke started off again, but Timon held onto his arm more tightly. He then grabbed Luke's collar and shook the younger man.

"You can't insult me like that," he said. "You ought to get what you deserve." He began to raise his fist, and the other men stepped forward. But then Timon stepped back quickly when Peter was suddenly in front of him.

Peter's eyes were bright with fury. "Don't you ever threaten 'im again." His tone was cold and sincere. Timon took another step back, slightly unnerved by the look in Peter's eyes.

Everley came to stand beside Peter, and he also looked at Timon. "An' I suggest you stop insultin' us an' our kind, as you so kindly put it. Word might get around camp, an' trust me, we will all forget bein' in the British Army, an' suddenly remember 'ow it is to live on the streets an' 'ow to get the message across to people, to keep their mouth shut."

Luke half-smirked over Peter's shoulder. Timon spotted it, and his surprised look turned into one of anger. He desired the last word.

"You guys are worried about your families, no," he asked. He did not expect a response so went on. "Well, what does it matter anyway, because even if they do survive, they nor you will ever leave the gutters. Your brothers will become like you, and you both know where your sisters will end up."

Well, that was the last straw for both Everley and Peter. They both lunged at Timon, and each grabbed an arm. They opened the door and pushed him out. Timon fell down onto the dirt. He looked up, and was too slow to get up before Peter had one of his arms. While Timon attempted to pry Peter off of him, Everley punched him in the face. Then again, and again. Timon was half dazed, and didn't see Peter's boot coming. He grimaced as the boot hit his gut. Then his ribs. Timon lay curled up, one arm over his stomach, and one over his head, in a pathetic attempt to prevent any more hits.

Everley and Peter stood over him, breathing heavily, out of anger and exhilaration. Their adrenaline was pumping overboard. The other prisoners were at the door and the steps, just watching. This was not their fight, so no one interfered. Except then Luke stepped forward.

"Just stop," he pleaded.

"Stay out o' this Luke," said Peter, not even looking at the younger man. "You don't understand."

"No, I don't," replied Luke. "But I know that what you're doing is hardly better than him. That's not a fight; it's a beating."

Peter spun around. "Listen: you said I was better man than him. I appreciate the faith, but you're wrong. I fought on the streets, and then I beat up other guys too. All in the name o' money. Sorry to break it to you." He looked back at Timon. "But this, this is about my sister, an' I think Everley will say the same. You've stepped over the line, mate."

Timon smiled. "I can take a beating, Corporal, and when you're through, Berg will want to know how I have so many bruises. And I will just have to tell him about you two." He started to slide away from them. But Peter and Everley leapt forward, and in a few moves, Timon was pinned down by both of them, and there was a knife pressed to his throat. The other prisoners gasped.

"No," yelled Luke. "Peter, don't!"

"Ev," yelled Stephen. "Ev, if you kill someone you'll be in that cooler forever!"

"Jerry will kill you," cried Dean.

Even though they desperately yelled, no one would step forward. It was still not their fight, and if someone spotted them, they did not want to be involved. Timon remained still, now realizing that he had indeed stepped over the line. He did not want to induce their wrath any more, and hoped by that keeping his mouth shut and making no movements, they would do nothing.

"If we 'ear another word out o' your mouth about us bein' scum an' our families bein' scum, then you'll find yourself dead faster than Jerry can ever pull the trigger," said Everley in a low tone.

"An' a word about this—" Peter gestured to the knife he had pressed to Timon's throat "—an' you'll 'ave the same terms. Understood?"

"Understood," answered Timon weakly.

"Good," said Everley. He backed away, and so did Peter. There was a thin red line underneath Timon's chin, where Peter had just broken the skin some. The two Cockneys glanced around some, but the guards were too preoccupied with the letter situation, and there were none amongst them. But prisoners from other barracks had been watching the scene from their windows. They now regarded Everley and Peter a bit more warily than they had before. But they just turned and went inside. When the other prisoners returned back in, the knife was gone. Luke and Stephen went straight for Peter. They grabbed his collar, pulled him away from the window, and dragged him to his bunk. They sat him down and sternly looked at him.

"Don't you ever, ever do that again," said Luke firmly, as if he was reprimanding a child. "I don't even know where you got that knife, but please don't get yourself killed by doing something so stupid like that."

"'E insulted my sister, an' I'd enough o' 'is gloominess, an' enough o' 'im talkin' so badly about me an' anyone else that was fortunate enough to be from East End," said Peter.

"But ye cannae let him bother ye," said Stephen. "Ye've got tae ignore people like that. I mean, who knows how long we'll be in this place, and we'll undoubtedly meet all sorts o' people. Ye gonna threaten every single one o' them that glances at ye wrong?"

"No," answered Peter indignantly.

"Right," continued Stephen. "So ye'd better keep that knife oot o' a sight so that maybe it'll be there for more important times."

"Like wot," asked Peter.

"Like for maybe when we escape," said Luke. "We are bound to need a knife then."

"Escape," spat Peter. "We talk an' talk about escape, but no one 'as done anythin'."

"Including you," replied Luke. "You are the one who said you would not be locked up for long."

"Look, mate," said Peter, standing up. "I said that because I was tryin' to 'elp you out at the time. But 'ave you 'ad a look around? Gettin' out o' 'ere won't be easy. In fact, it's likely to never 'appen. Wot you need to do is start worryin' about reality. I appreciate you trying to make things better for, but you just can't. Wot's 'apened 'as 'appened, an' wot's gonna 'appen, is gonna 'appen. If you 'aven't noticed, we don't 'ave much of a say around 'ere."

"Well, Corporal, if that is what you think, then I had best get myself moved to another barracks."

Everyone turned around and looked to the door, where no other than Captain James Lawrence stood watching them.