I crumpled onto the grassy ground beside the grave, my face in my hands, wishing I could crawl away from all of this, pull the clock back to before the war started and sleep for a thousand years.

A few drops of rain brought me back into the present, trickling down my back like a shiver of reality. I stood up slowly, the rain coming faster now, and turned to the church.

Easing open the arched double doors, I slid silently into the wooden pew at the back and sat quietly. Here in the back row I could take my thoughts out for inspection without fear of them spreading through my brain and taking me hostage.

Today there was a figure a few rows from the front, tucked into the left side like me. The light from the shafts of stained-glass windows above the altar broke a blue and purple haze over him as he bent his head into his hands.

It was Colonel Mallard.

Was he invading my church now? Infuriated by his presence, I forgot my worries and found myself angry and frustrated with this war, these men bossing us about. I thought about leaving but decided to stay for a short while and hopefully leave before he did. But my plan was ruined a few minutes later when he got up and turned to come back down the aisle. I saw him pause as he spotted me, but then he pressed on, nodding obliquely as he passed. I pretended that I hadn’t noticed him, forcing my thoughts away as they kept flitting back to his presence.

After the door shut behind him, I sat for a while, and then, suddenly feeling the need for normality, I got up and bustled out into the world, heading straight out of the graveyard and down the hill toward home, my lovely warm house.

As I walked, I found myself thinking about how my view of the world has changed. Fancy me giving a viscount a few strong words! And defying the law—taking a decision into my own hands to help this wounded young man. Perhaps there is something good that has come from this war: everything has been turned around, all the unfairness made grimly plain. It has given us everyday women a voice—dared us to stand up for ourselves, and to stand up for others.

We have less to lose in this world of chaos and death, after all.

Wednesday, 24th July, 1940

News About Silvie’s Parents

Today we had a visit from Uncle Nicky. I was so excited as I love the little conversations we have, usually sitting on the terrace if the evening’s fine, talking about the world, and being all grown up. But today he had no time for talks. He’d come with some news for Silvie, and instead of the terrace, we sat solemnly in the drawing room.

“I’m afraid your parents and brother have disappeared, Silvie. It’s thought that they are in hiding from the Nazis, maybe in someone’s cellar, or they might be trying to escape overland to come and join you here. We obviously hope it’s the latter, and that they can somehow make their way over, although it might be more difficult now with the Nazis controlling all the ports and borders.”

She stared on with her big dark eyes, not saying anything, not even shedding a single tear.

“We have to be strong,” Uncle Nicky said, taking her hands in his and holding them tightly. “And hope for the best.”

She made a little curtsy, as if she couldn’t open her mouth to say thank you, and trod carefully out of the room, closed the door, and then we heard the darting footsteps running through the hall and up the stairs and the bang of her bedroom door.

Mama asked me to go and see if she was all right. Everyone knows I’m the best person for such a role. I quietly went upstairs and knocked on her door, but she didn’t answer, so in the end I just went in. She shouldn’t be on her own, after all.

She was lying on her bed, her face turned away from me, silent.

“Please cheer up, Silvie,” I said, sitting on the bed. “They’re probably on their way here.”

But the awful part is that the journey will be incredibly dangerous, with almost all of mainland Europe under Nazi control. Even here we can feel the Nazis encroaching on us. The planes have started to come over the coastal town and ports, bombing Dover almost weekly now. I know Silvie thinks they’re coming for her, the fear behind her eyes obvious whenever we hear those unbearable drones.

“They are getting closer,” she whispers to me, barely audibly.

I sometimes wonder if she saw something back in Czechoslovakia, the Nazis in their full horror. Maybe she’s replaying some gruesomely violent scene in her mind, only the victim is her or her family.

Before he left, I asked Uncle Nicky what happened in Czechoslovakia when the Nazis took over.

What happened to Silvie, from what I can gather

Hitler claimed the western part of Czechoslovakia in 1938, and then last year tanks and troops rolled into the rest of Czechoslovakia, stealing food and everything else, hitting people who stood in their way, imprisoning people

Lots of homes and shops were destroyed, and lots of swastikas were put up by black-uniformed SS soldiers parading the streets

A lot of the people in prison were shot, their families forced to pay for their executions

The Jews had their identification papers marked, so Silvie had to leave quickly before anything happened to her

I’ve been incredibly lovely to Silvie after learning all this. She still doesn’t say anything, but perhaps I wouldn’t if I’d gone through all that.

That evening I asked Mama what would happen to Silvie if her parents don’t make it here until the war’s over.