I hear the wind moving the branch of a tree against a window, or the creak of floorboards when someone gets out of bed to use a chamber- pot, and I sit bolt upright and catch myself wondering if a burglar has broken in and we’re all going to be murdered in our sleep. It all goes back to that night in 1914. What woke me sometime before dawn the next morning must have been the swoosh of the incoming shell seconds before it landed. I swear I actually saw the blue and yellow flash from the first explosion light up the room. I felt the pressure on my ears and heard the terrifying, ear-splitting thump as it blew out the window glass onto the bedclothes. I leapt out of bed, felt for my coat where I’d put it on a chair, and pulled the belt tightly around my waist. There were spare candles and matches on the mantelpiece. I grabbed them and lit one of the candles just as a second shell slammed into the far side of the house, rocking the whole building and jarring my teeth.
