Captain Jack-Quack

Mamgu died when I was 7 or 8 or so, so most of what I know is the stories mum told me about her, and most of that was in recent years now that I’m grown up. Mamgu never really talked a lot about the occupation, but when she did it was the hopeful parts- a story about a bag of potatoes bought on the black market that a passing german soldier helped them smuggle into their house, for instance. And Mum passed on some more amusing stories too, such as the time when Mum had a loyalty card for a big supermarket and took Mamgu shopping and Mamgu filled two trolleys full of food (…though it has really good reasoning if you stop to think about it). Mamgu never really talked about the bad parts, the hard parts, except when it was unavoidable- Mum told me about a time that she and Mamgu (or it might have been Mamgu’s mother, I can’t quite remember) visited a museum at the remains of a wartime hospital back on Jersey and that she broke down crying- the photos on the walls were of people she knew, people who had died in the war. 

Me: you don’t have the facts.

Officer: which are?