“We shall fight them on the beaches.”
“Who?” I asked, but Grandpa was dreaming again, reciting remembered lines from Churchill and war.
“We shall fight…”
“Stop it Tom,” my grandmother said. “You’ll have the kids at it again.” But we weren’t arguing just then. We were glued to Grandpa’s words, hoping today he might tell us something more. I was anyway.
Dave spun a banana like a helicopter blade. “Wrong war,” said Dad.
Then: “What did you do Dad?”
My father’s face grayed helplessly. Dave really should have known. Dad never talked of war, and Grandpa only remembered the speeches.