Despite his pain, despite his suffering, he cursed the Nazis as dogs. From among the ranks of soldiers and the huddle of Milice bastards, emerged Favre – Le Tanneur. He tortured the boy. Branded him with flaming coins and took pieces of his skin.

It was a miracle that Abel survived. He had already accepted that he was to die. There was already a noose around his neck when the commander declared that ninety-nine corpses were sufficient. Abel would have been the hundreth man. It was Abel who cut free the young Maquisard who had been dropped, on the verge of death, on the blood-soaked road as the Nazis retreated. It was Abel who nursed him back to health, even as news of fresh hells from nearby Oradour trickled through.

Das Reich had cut a bloody swathe through the resistance. Hundreds were killed. Abel spread such stories. With his printing press he shared word of the atrocities. Even towns that had collaborated began to resist.

Within months the Nazis had capitulated and the war was over.

It was men like Abel who gave evidence at the trials demanded by the people. His testimony helped secure justice for countless men. He stood bravely in the courtroom and fixed his eyes on Jean Favre and told the court what he had seen him do.

Favre was sentenced to eight years imprisonment. As he left the courtroom, he promised Abel that he would find him. He would hurt him. And he would take his skin.

That threat has been with Abel every day since and I admire him so vehemently for making something of his life in spite of that which he has seen. He has tried to live a good life, and that is no easy thing to do. I, too, have always hoped to be thought of as a good man, but in truth, I cannot truly call myself such.

I believed in liberty when I fought in the first war but three decades later, the echoes of that conflict took my son. I believe in working hard for a living and not taking from your fellow man, and yet my soft heart insists I help my young neighbour with activities I know to be illegal, due to the loyalty he showed my son.

Should anybody find his guns and tobacco and brandy in the flagstones of this church, I trust you will say a prayer for his soul. He is not a bad person, I believe that, and Christopher always felt very fondly about him. Do not think too harshly of an old man who wanted to help him.

Abel’s life has taken many turns since that day. I know him as a good man, and I understand why he has been so quiet about his past. I am honoured he chose me as a confidante.