Time seemed to slow to little more than a crawl as I registered a face with eyes blinking in slow motion, a hand with no rings undoing a jacket’s top button, reaching inside, under an oyster-coloured blouse to bring out . . .

Time sped up. It cartwheeled forward and I started to move. To open my mouth. To shout a warning. To drag my feet from the concrete in which they had sunk and hurl myself forwards.

Too late. My hand reached out but found . . . nothing. The headmistress was gone. Mademoiselle Madeleine Caron was charging across the gap that lay between the visitors and the runway as fast as her long legs would carry her and in each hand she gripped what looked like a large khaki egg. Her loose skirt was billowing around her legs with every stride and her hat flew off, so that her long greying hair streamed out behind her.

A collective cry rose from the onlookers, a shout of warning from the airmen. All drowned out by the deafening sound of the jet engines. She was jinking from side to side as she ran, quick and agile. The crack of a rifle ripped through the air but the bullet spat harmlessly into the ground at her feet. She sent one of the grenades spinning through the air with all the grace and speed of a fast bowler in English cricket.

Time paused. We all saw it. The grenade arcing through the air. Hitting the concrete runway. Rolling. Over and over. No one breathed. Then time was off again at top speed. The explosion. The crater. The undercarriage of a plane blown apart, the wing crashing on to the concrete. The noise a dull thump, a screech of metal.

Madeleine Caron spun to face us, bullets dancing around her as she took off once more, dodging and darting, coming right at us. A red stain flowered on the shoulder of her jacket but she kept running, drawing back her other arm to throw what was clutched in her hand.

All around me people turned to run, screaming. Everything happening fast, feet tumbling over each other. I saw her face now. Drained of colour. As if all her blood had flowed into her rage. Two more bullets thudded into her side but she stumbled on until one keen marksman sent a shot right through her thigh. She dropped to her knees. Hauled back her arm and launched the last grenade. Straight at me.