Block the roads with motorcars and other big obstacles, or by felling trees

If necessary, use wire or chains to block a road with an imitation bomb (box with cable)

Only ring church bells to warn of invasion

Form a group of Local Defense Volunteers from men still in the village—Daddy is organizing the few men left

Form a village Invasion Committee to work out how your village aims to defend itself

The Chilbury Invasion Committee (CIC)

Mrs. B. has taken it upon herself to coordinate the CIC (everything is abbreviated nowadays because it sounds more official). She’s been especially bossy as her remaining servants have left, so now she’s fending for herself, asking for recipes from Mrs. Tilling (although we suspect she’s living off hampers sent down from Claridges). She called the WVS ladies for a special CIC meeting in the village hall this afternoon.

“As your leader, I feel it my duty to prepare our ladies for the coming invasion. First of all, I’d like some suggestions for what we can do if a troop of abominable Nazi thugs stomps into the village square tomorrow morning.”

“But we don’t know it’s going to happen for certain, do we?” Mrs. Gibbs stammered. A haunted look has overtaken her face since Ralph’s been back. I’m not sure if she’s more scared of Ralph or the Nazis.

Mrs. B. marched up to her, putting her face close like a sergeant major. “We have to be ready,” she roared. Then, turning to the rest of us, she continued, “I’m looking for serious suggestions.”

“I’d get my husband’s old air rifle,” Mrs. Tilling suggested. “I don’t know how to use it, but it would look good, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, you must learn how to use it,” Mrs. B. shouted. “Everyone who has access to firearms, clean ’em, make sure you know how to use ’em, then load ’em.” She looked around menacingly. “Mrs. Quail, what about you?”

“I’m quite dapper with a kitchen knife,” she said confidently, and I exchanged a smirk with Hattie, who was rocking Rose’s pram. Imagine Mrs. Quail getting cross with the Vicar over tea and whipping out a carving knife!

Mrs. B., clearly disappointed with our lack of pluck, demonstrated how to lunge and attack using household objects, such as a fire poker, a table lamp, or a three-tiered silver cake stand. We all enjoyed it thoroughly and left feeling awfully brave.

Of course the next meeting wasn’t as straight forward as that, because the Chilbury Defense Volunteers (CDV) showed up halfway through.

The Chilbury Defense Volunteers (CDV) vs. the Chilbury Invasion Committee (CIC)

Daddy has taken it upon himself to start the Chilbury Defense Volunteers (CDV). We think he did it because Mrs. B. “stole” the CIC from under his nose, and he needed a troop of his very own.

The Chilbury Defense Volunteers consists of a motley collection of men left in the village preparing to defend us if or when the Nazis come. All a lovely idea, but in reality it’s Daddy, Proggett, old Mr. Dawkins and the two farmhands, some other old men in various stages of decay, the Vicar, Ralph Gibbs (although he has yet to put in an appearance), and would you believe it, Mr. Slater, who apparently finds the entire thing “rather amusing,” according to Venetia.

They meet twice a week and Daddy shouts a lot while they pretend to be a real army, marching up and down and trying to stab each other with pitchforks, since they don’t have any proper weapons yet.

The problem is that Mrs. B.’s Invasion Committee also meets in the church hall twice a week, and yesterday the men began arriving with their pitchforks just as Mrs. B. was perfecting her three-tiered-cake-stand lunge, surrounded by a group of women practicing the very same move. “Point, lunge, thrust.”

“We’re supposed to have the hall now,” Daddy announced pompously. “Will you clear your women out of here immediately.”

“I shall do no such thing,” Mrs. B. retaliated, swinging her cake stand in his direction.

“We have important invasion preparations.” Daddy was starting to raise his voice. “Get your blasted women out of here.”

“Brigadier, I’d like to remind you that my Invasion Committee is the most important body for invasion prevention in our village. As you can see, we are in the middle of crucial combat practice.”

“But we have booked the hall, haven’t we, Vicar?” He turned and searched for the Vicar, who was hiding behind Mr. Slater, and dragged him by the collar to the front. “Haven’t we, Vicar?”

“Well, yes, but the hall is meant for all of us to share—”

“Never mind that,” Mrs. B. said, pushing the Vicar roughly to one side. “We were here first, and you’ll have to wait until we’re finished.”

“In that case, we’ll have to come in and take over.” He turned to the group of men, who were starting to edge back toward the door, and bellowed, “Company, fall in!”

The men shuffled into the room among the women and got into line, pitchforks at attention.

The women just stood and looked at them in dismay, until Mrs. B. yelled, “Point, lunge, thrust.”

The women obediently lunged, mostly at the men who were in the way, which was clearly Mrs. B.’s intention.

Mayhem ensued. Many of the older men and women made an escape to the door, some nursing injuries. But the rest continued for a few minutes until the door slammed shut and a sharp teacherlike voice clipped, “What’s going on here?”