Farah and I went to bed that night wondering if we would find ourselves back in 1944 again. In spite of the first couple of times I had time-slipped, since then it seemed it was the bed that had acted as my “Tardis” to wartime.

‘Well, I guess he’s always thought I was a bit girly,’ I confided; ‘but he was never mean about it–unlike a lot of other boys.’