Ron understood the boy’s need to lighten the mood, but his heart was heavy at the thought that this treasured grandson would once again be involved in the fighting that had already taken his two brothers, Seamus and Joseph and could see that Frank was really struggling to absorb the knowledge that his last surviving son would once again be in peril. Ron battled to keep his tone light and his expression bland as he played along with his grandson’s charade that everything was all right.

‘Those pigeons had nothing to do with Lord Cliffe,’ he said stoutly. ‘To be sure they were flying free up on the hills and simply got in the way of me shotgun, so they did.’

Brendon chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. ‘If you say so, Grandad.’

Ron grinned back. The whole family knew that the Cliffe estate had been his larder for many years, and although the pigeons had been legally shot, their Christmas dinner had certainly been courtesy of Lord Cliffe’s well-stocked salmon ponds and pheasant pens.

He sipped the good whiskey and regarded his silent son, who was drinking it down as if it could wash away his fears and drown out the sounds and sights of what he’d witnessed at Slapton. Ron shared Frank’s anxieties and would have given anything to be able to lift the burden of Frank’s suffering, but what could he say or do that would make a difference to how they were both feeling? This war had to be won – boys like Brendon had to put their lives in danger to gain victory – and all anyone could do was cling together and pray that they all came home in one piece.

‘Let’s not dwell on things we have no control over,’ he said into the heavy silence. ‘Our time together is short enough without getting depressed.’ He forced a cheerful grin at Brendon. ‘Why don’t you tell us more about your young Betty?’ he encouraged. ‘From what your Aunt Carol says in her letters, she sounds like a nice wee lass.’

Brendon made a visible effort to emulate his grandfather’s cheerful tone as he filled Ron in on his girl down in Devon. ‘Aye, that she is,’ he said, pouring yet more whiskey into the empty glasses as he sang the young schoolmistress’s praises. ‘I hated leaving her down in Devon, but when this is all over we’ll be together again, I’m sure of it.’ He finished with a sheepish smile. ‘I know you’ve heard all this before, but she really is the one, Grandad.’

Ron smiled. ‘What it is to be young and fancy free,’ he joked, the whiskey giving him a pleasant buzz. ‘To be sure I remember when I was a lad. The girls couldn’t get enough of me back then.’