My lieutenant received the Military Cross, posthumously.’ ‘Post-um-?’ ‘He died.’ Bird recalled the events of September 1915. [*** I remembe... the mud, the blood, holding my stricken Lieutenant to my breast. ‘I’m dying Roger,’ he said, coughing up black bile. ‘Look after Eveline and the boy for me?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ I promised. From that point my worthless life had some purpose. I held on as bullets rocked us. I’d saved his life once, now and foe evermore he was saving mine.***] Art swings his. Ilse would sit in my lap and was usually breastfeeding Sophie, who we were also making a part of our family ritual. She was an attentive listener while she suckled on her mother’s teat. I would tell our children an exciting adventure and then tuck them in, wishing them a good night.Last night I didn’t get to do so and guess what. I missed that even more than the passionate bedtime adventures I shared with Ilse. It appears that I’m really growing into a big softie, but hell, my family means. More

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