“…..a small plump girl with ringlets bunched in satin bows, eyes screwed up against the sun, mouth hidden behind a large doll. I remember the buzzing of bees in the Buddleia by the French windows. But no, it’s louder than that. Look up: the sky so far above me contains a whirling swarm of insects, chasing each other, swooping, curling upwards and away only to drop down to resume the senseless circus. I did not know it then, but those loud insects were Spitfires and Heinkels, Hurricanes and Junkers, their young pilots desperately trying to shoot each other out of the sky. It was the summer of 1940 in South-West London…..”
I did write a poem about it, but feel that the prose caught the setting better.