A Jerseyman protests the German occupation

Col. Rybot turns to poetry

The story of Col. N.V.L. Rybot's "philatelic sabotage" during the German Occupation of the Channel Islands is told in my web page, "A Jerseyman protests the German Occupation". The stamps that he designed for the Germans contained tiny initial letters of Latin words that would have insulted Hitler, if der Fuhrer had become aware of them. Col. Rybot's stamps, however, weren't the only weapon he used in his personal war against the Nazis: one of his weapons was a poem.

Col. Rybot's untitled poem was written in the present tense, apparently at the time of the Occupation. He provides a clear explication of what life was like in Occupied Jersey, with its shortages of food and basic commodities. Col. Rybot delves deeper than wartime shortages, however.

The poem makes it clear that its author had as little admiration for some of his fellow islanders as he had for the Germans. Col. Rybot indicts war profiteers and hoarders alikes, illuminates the plight of the island's Jewish residents (most were deported to labor and death camps), and displays open contempt for the British government, which gave up the Channel Islands to the Nazis without a fight. The poem also contains a threat of what will happen to "Jerrybags" — collaborators — after the war.

Here is Col. Rybot's poem, which could be titled "The ABC of the Jersey Occupation":

A is for Avarice, one of our vices,
We corner the goods and put up the prices.

B is the Bungler who fancied it funny
To feed us on olives, dried carrots and tunny.

C is for Conchies, contemptible wights
Who prefer to make hay while the other man fights.

D’s the Deported. Their terrible fate
Has fostered our fury and hardened our hate.

E, is for Eatables — nice things to eat,
Like the cabbage, the turnip, the spud and the beet.

F, stands for Feathers which, mingled with tar,
Will decorate Jerrybags after the war.

G, are the Gossips. Avoid them with care,
They repeat and exaggerate all that they hear.

H is for Hunger which makes you feel faint.
Some farmers know naught of this common complaint.

I is for Informers, a pestilent brood.
The doom is impending, though hanging’s too good.

J is for Jersey, enchained by the foe,
And abandoned in Britain in Nineteen Four O.

K is the Knockout. The prophets are sure
It will come with a crash in the year forty-four.

L are those Letters, from which you can tell
That year before last all the senders were well.

M are the Markets, wherein you may spy
The price-lists of things, you're unable to buy.

N are the Nasties, incredible devils,
But were they such poops as our Ramsays and Nevilles?

O, is my Overddraft. Sad to disclose
The blacker the market, the greater it grows.

P,’s Profiteers. Though the Cops know them all,
They leave them at large as the Prison’s too small.

Q, are the Queues. Some are endless, I fear.
If you queue for a fish you will queue for a year.

R, is the Reichsmark all crumpled and creased,
I have heard it described as the Mark of the Beast.

S, are the Stalwarts. Refusing to mope,
They hold to the adage, ‘While life lasts, there’s hope.”

T, is for Tummies, — no longer in vogue,
You may bet, if you see one, the owner’s a rogue.

U’s Uniforms. How we long for the day
When khaki replaces the filthy Field Grey.

V, stands for Vitamins, medico’s pets.
They abound in commodities nobody gets.

W,’s We. We’re a nation of barmies
Who owned half the world but would not keep armies.

X, are Xchanges oft offered for “what.”
A candle, a pram, and a shirt or a yacht.

Y, is our Yearning for bacon and ham,
Tea, sausages, soap, fish, sugar and jam.

Z, is for Zero. Soon over the mike,
We’ll be told that is all that is left of the Rike.