On Thursday, 9 June 2022, at a little after two-thirty, Commando got his cycling gear on and said he was going out for a couple of hours. I told him to enjoy his ride and take care, and then he left. When I saw him go past the front window on his bike, I settled down for an afternoon of research into my next project. Mostly this involved downloading Met Office weather reports for April 1942. I’d come to the last report, and was thinking about what to cook for dinner when the house phone rang. The only people who call on the house phone are salesmen and scammers, so we don’t usually answer it. It was now approaching five o’clock. I was expecting Commando back shortly. For some reason, I had a feeling I should pick up the phone. When I did, Commando’s voice said, ‘I don’t want you to worry but . . .’
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