He was too old, too daft, and he returned quickly to the old religion, which was pale ale and darts. He’d served in the last war, he had a good wife who needed a husband in one piece, and two daughters who adored their dad. Drunkenness didn’t suit him, and he intended to live life in a safer mode in future, because his three girls required a sober head of household. Furthermore, he would be wanted at home, because he was the main farmer, and he knew every inch of his acreage better than the back of his own hand. His companion in lunacy, Jay Collins, adhered loyally to the black stuff, as it seemed to make him just a little stronger while he waited to hear whether the rabbit had died. Men didn’t talk much about pregnancy, as it was the domain of women, but he required an anaesthetic while he sat not talking about it. He’d no idea what a rabbit had to do with any of it, but he seemed not to be in full control of his life any more, because it was all beyond his reach. Between rabbits and Spitfires there was a very large chasm, and he was doing his level best to decide what was going to be his next move.
