‘German bombers flew overhead. You could hear the bombs being released and the sound as they fell…’
‘Billy’s ship torpedoed last night. Some survivors but no news yet…’
‘Billy made it, though badly burned but he’s coming home. Maisy’s hubby wasn’t so lucky…’
‘When’s it going to end? Five years this war’s been going on. At least Billy’s scars are healing...’
Going stir-crazy during lockdown, I read extracts from my grandmother’s diaries. We’ve no bombs, no war, only a year in, and the end’s in sight. Perspective.