He’s the only survivor now, the last of his platoon to have lived through those days of hell. He was younger than most when it all started, though that didn’t help him live through the mud and the bombs and the trenches. What helped him live through was an old silver fob watch, now much-battered and tarnished, and the memories it used to hold.

The familiar words ring through the cold November air. Tim looks sideways and sees the two figures at a distance, apart. They are a reassurance that on this remembrance day, his own memory is still clear.

© Joanne Harris 2008