After I’d done most of the admin that needed doing, I finally got around to looking at personal emails and the one that had been waiting for me from Pete.

Darling Bea,

Spot on re Grace. I think there’s no doubt you have found her. I looked at a couple of others with the same name in London around the time we’re looking at, as you probably did, but none of them gave dressmaker as profession of the mother, so I think it’s highly likely that the one in Fortis Green is our girl. Born 1920, died 1943.

Re. Billy. Now this is interesting but I believe I have your man. Sadly died in the defence of Calais in 1940. From what I can find, he was in the 30th Motor Brigade.

The address I found for him in the military records is Kentish Town.

Not far from Grace so it’s likely they could have met up. Worth checking out further, anyway.

At the bottom of the email, Pete included an attachment that showed a death notice for a William Harris, killed in action, 25 May 1940.

I knew a little about the defence of Calais. It was a story from the Second World War that had always particularly touched me. The lives of the soldiers there enabled the mass evacuation, and Operation Dynamo at Dunkirk, which saved hundreds of thousands of men. For those left behind in Calais, though, there was no hope.

I googled ‘defence of Calais 1940.’ Photos showing men in uniform staring back. They looked so young. Some were group shots, men smiling, but one in particular struck me and that was of a group of men marching. They looked utterly worn out and depleted of any of the spirit shown in the pre-battle images that showed bright young men, full of life and vigour. So many would have been killed, as would Billy Jackson. Looking at them made me feel overwhelmingly sad. So many lives cut short. All of them with families, wives, fiancées and a life back home that they had to leave. Would Grace have known the truth about that period in history, as we do now? Would the defence of Calais have been reported in the papers as we now know it happened? Or would she have been waiting to hear, ignorant of the true facts? Hoping that Billy was amongst those soldiers due to be evacuated and brought home? And did one of those faces looking back at me from the photos belong to a man I knew in another time? A man I’d loved and lost?

I was about to google more images when I heard Heather calling. ‘Oh my god, Bea! Get down here now. I mean now. The most gorgeous, gorgeous man is walking up the High Street. He’s coming this way. He’s looking up and down the street.’