It was about six months after the end of the war. Nobody was quite certain it really had ended, and that German or Russian tanks might not yet appear on the plains below the city
Sara has known the town clock face her whole life, but tonight it seems changed. The hands move through five minutes whilst she's standing at the window watching, yet she cannot see them moving. It waits for her to blink.
Mrs Doherty said Da's head hadn't so much rolled down Clare Road as bounced. That mothers walking to school had pulled their children to their stomachs shading them with their winter coats from The Terrible Sight.
My church prayed before a dreamboat Jesus. Twice on Sundays we tilted our faces to Him and although His hands were nailed, His ribs gashed and His feet squished awkwardly together, it was plain to all, He did that crucifix proud.
“HALLOA! Below there!”
When he heard a voice thus calling to him, he was standing at the door of his box, with a flag in his hand, furled round its short pole.
“I never know if this helps,” she says. She is fanning herself with Great Expectations. “It feels nice, but I’m using energy, aren’t I?”
I nod faintly, making the smallest possible movement in acknowledgement.