* * * It was a long time before James’s commanding officer’s letter reached me. He was a busy man – he had a war to fight; my posting back to England had been sudden – a few days of mad activity, followed by ten weeks of mind-numbing passivity, as the troopship steamed the long, safe Cape route home. Pansy and Jonathan had kept me sane during the dreary voyage. If Pansy had not been lucky enough to get a berth back on the same ship, I might have lost any contact with reality. There are so many widows in wartime – young women with children, with no families, no friends, no support, no home – in far worse a situation than I. They have to make the best of things and get on with living. At the time, I thought that might be better. I had nothing to do for ten weeks but stare at the sea and think. But I had Pansy’s love and support and Jonathan was a constant delight. On the day we disembarked in England Pansy was back in uniform because she hadn’t been officially discharged and because nothing else fitted.
