He dipped his chin, his voice becoming softer as he relived those experiences. ‘That fear was tangible, and touched all of us – and yet we dared not show it because it was called cowardice, punishable by firing squad.’

Sal felt the ache for him in her heart and wondered whether she was right to have insisted upon him dredging up these images – but it seemed that, once started, he couldn’t stop.

‘Our senses were heightened by the knowledge that every moment could be our last – that the next bomb-blast might blow us to smithereens just as it had to the mate who’d been standing right beside us. No man was safe – except for the generals who sat miles behind the lines in the safety of their comfortable billets and used their men as cannon fodder.’

Sal heard the bitterness in his voice as he continued to talk of the horrors he’d witnessed. As an artist he had the eloquence to describe the scenes with graphic clarity, but he did so with very little emotion – as if by living through it he’d had to distance himself from it to stay sane. She’d been only ten in 1914, but she’d seen the newspapers at the time and had been mature enough to be horrified by the seemingly endless lists of the dead and wounded that appeared each week. But those who returned from that war rarely spoke of what had really happened – and now she knew why.

‘I was one of the lucky ones,’ he said much later. ‘I got what the Poms called a “Blighty wound” and was sent to England to recuperate. Flying shrapnel put paid to my calf muscle and most of my ankle, and trench foot lost me two toes. I survived the flu epidemic that killed more people than had been lost during those four terrible years, and was shipped home in 1921.’

He looked sourly down at the discarded bowl of porridge. ‘I discovered that my drawings as a war artist had made me famous, and I was inundated with offers of sponsorship and exhibitions. But I didn’t want any of it, so I packed my things and took to the road.’

Sal watched as the tension seemed to lift from his shoulders and his expression softened.

‘I had no idea what I was searching for,’ he continued. ‘I knew only that I needed solitude and silence so I could put all the ugliness behind me. When I found this place I knew it offered everything I needed – and so I stayed.’

He looked back at her then and the shadows were gone from his eyes as he reached across the table for her hands. ‘I treasure these rare moments we have together, Sal – and you will always be welcome. But friendship is all I can offer, my dear. Please don’t expect more.’

Sal’s face was burning with embarrassment. ‘I don’t,’ she stuttered. ‘I didn’t …’