Mrs. Clara Saussey used to belong to the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society, but she is certain none of the members have told Ashton about her. She never read a book by a dead writer; instead, she read from her own cookbook, and she is certain her book caused more tears and sorrow than any other book the group discussed.

Saussey would read descriptive passages from her book, such as those about juicy roast pig and spun-sugar sweets, and it was nothing but torment for the starving group to hear such words. There was swearing and even the threat of violence before several members swept Saussey away safely. The next day, Ramsey called her to apologize but asked her to remember that most members of the group regularly ate only tasteless turnip soup or scorched potatoes cooked dry on a grill. Saussey tells Ashton she has no intention of forgiving them.

Not one of the Literary Society members cares anything about literature, according to Saussey, or they would have had more appreciation for her book, “sheer poetry in a pan.” The members were simply bored and wanted an excuse to get out of the house, and Saussey wants the truth about this group told in Ashton’s article. Without the Occupation, none of the Literary Society would even have touched a book.

Maugery now writes her new friend Ashton regularly. In this letter she agrees that it seems as if war and the effects of war are never-ending. When Maugery’s son died, people tried to console her with the platitude that “life goes on.” In fact, it is death which goes on; there is no end to it, though perhaps there will be an end to the sorrow. The world has been deluged with sorrow and it will take time for it to recede; there are already small islands of hope.

Maugery’s greatest pleasure now is to walk along the cliff tops in the evenings, where she is free now to walk when and where she likes. When she looks out at the sea, her view is no longer marred by the rolls of barbed wire or the huge VERBOTEN signs, and the mines have been removed from the beaches. Facing the sea, she does not see the ugly cement bunkers or the land stripped of trees behind her: “Not even the Germans could ruin the sea.”

Already the bunkers are beginning to be covered up by gorse and vines, and Maugery hopes they are soon covered. Even when she looks away, she cannot forget they were built by Todt workers, Germany’s slave workers in camps on the continent. Hitler sent more than sixteen thousand of them to the Channel Islands, determined that England would never regain possession of the Islands. (His generals called it “Island Madness.”) He ordered the extreme fortification of the Islands, including bunkers, batteries, arms and bomb depots, innumerable miles of tunnels, a huge underground hospital, and a railroad crossing the Island. It was an absurd display of might, designed in concrete and meant to last a thousand years.

The laborers for this grand undertaking were men and boys who were conscripted, arrested, and snatched from the streets of any Occupied territory. Most of the slave workers came to Germany in 1942 and were kept in deplorable outdoor pens, sheds, and tunnels. They were marched all over the Island and they were an awful sight: ragged, threadbare clothes; “thin to the bone”; feet tied up in bloody rags; so weary they could barely move themselves forward.

Natives would try to offer them what food and clothes...