‘Well, from the beginning of things . . .’ He paused. ‘My town, our family town, is not very large – a lot of farmers live there. Maybe you call it a village. It doesn’t matter. It is outside the city of Lwow, to the west. My father was a teacher in the school – of chemistry. My mother also had been a teacher, before she married – of history. But then she was at home with the family. She likes to write stories – stories of the past.

Katie turned to look at him. ‘What were their names?’

‘Names – oh, Tomas, my father. Tomas Wozniak. And my mother, Genowefa Wozniak.’ His voice caught with emotion, saying their names, and he waited a few moments before going on. The names sank into her too. She wanted to ask so many things: What did they look like? Who do you take after – whose blue eyes are those? But she didn’t want to keep interrupting.

‘In the family we were five children, living. One boy they lost, he died before I was born. The eldest was Pawel – he was four years my senior. Then me, Marek. After that, my sister Ewa, two years younger, then Agnieska and finally Dorota – she was just eight years when the war began.’

Katie felt a chill come over her, listening to him. She knew he had had a big family, but hearing their names, they began to come alive. But until now, no mention of them. Where were they – what had happened? She sat very still, not wanting to distract him, holding one of his hands.

‘When the Germans came, first of all, for a week or so, there were non-stop tanks and lorries passing through, along the main road from the west. We could see it from our house. One day, some of them stopped and came to us. They said, “Your house is quite big – we like to stay here.” They speak in Polish language, quite polite. Of course we had to let them. My mother said never to take sweets from them – they might be poisoned . . . But of course we did! They were not poisoned, luckily. They shot some people in the village – they had a list. I remember hearing shots sometime.

‘Soon after, the Russians ratted on us. The Germans pulled back, and for weeks there were more tanks passing, and lorries and horses and carts, from the east this time. They were so poor, so shabby-looking, those Red Army soldiers – conscripts. They were eating raw potatoes. They took our house – with gun, not polite this time. They took over the village, taking everything, relieving themselves wherever they wanted . . . Horrible. Soon they took my father – not the soldiers in the house, but others who came. They were transporting the prominent people: teachers, intellectuals, doctors. To where, we did not know. We never saw him again.’

Katie felt a chill pass through her at this bald statement.