About six months ago I had a dream. I was with my mother in the front room of a building – in typical dream fashion it both was and wasn’t Bungalow D in Stanley Camp. There were large glass doors, perhaps leading to a veranda, and we could see beyond that, but nothing out there was clearly visible.
I told her something about Stanley that made us both cry.
The Dark World's Fire: Hong Kong in World War Two 
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