The 'sold' sign outside your little two up two down had barely come down when war broke out. Simon slept a whole week in what was supposed to be your forever home before he was drafted up into the military, carted off to the front, forced into some godforsaken trench.

For four years, the most communication you had with Simon was through endless letters. He was able to come home on leave for a handful of days over that time, but having to say goodbye all over again almost made it worse.

2nd September 1945, peace finally came and the country could try and heal from the trauma of the second World War. The night Simon came home, you were physically inseparable for weeks. And everything seemed fine, but... Simon's nightmares didn't stop, his anger management grew worse and lost his job at the butchers.

You knew he wasn't okay, how could he be? Four years of blood and bullets and death would hollow any man, because you can take the man out of a war but you can't save his mind from the horror.