No one knew what became of Grandpa’s two woollen jumpers. They were last seen in the 1970s: it was rumoured they were thrown away by my grandmother, or possibly eaten by moths.
Grandpa, for the most part, wanted to forget the war. He didn’t much want to talk about the Normandy landings, but he did keep these two souvenirs from his service elsewhere. They were heavy and oily garments, with intricate patterns that suggested days of needlework through sunless winters. Family folklore had it…
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