An old pilot remembers his part in the Battle of Britain.
The memories came quick and fast.
Yellow-nosed fighters spitting fire at him.
The smell of cordite as he shredded the invading bombers.
The claustrophobic cockpit as he fought to bail out over a deathly sea.
He was breathless with the sharp clarity of those images.
Still, he got out.
They rescued him.
His friends and drinking mates did not.
Had he lived a life worthy of their loss?
Did he ever regain his lost youth in the misty years that followed?
A tap on the shoulder.
It was Marjorie the carer: 'Time to go home now, George'.
Time, yes time indeed.