Elizabeth spent fourteen nights watching bombers pass over Cunningham House as they headed for London. She found herself waking each night with the rumble of the engines. She’d rush outside to stand in the garden and watch the shadows of the German planes stain the moon’s pale glow. Most nights, Philip would find her and join her. He would stand in silence with her during her nightly vigils, his presence offering her a comfort she hadn’t expected.
She hadn’t wanted to be a coward and stay away from danger. She felt so helpless, seeing burned homes, the soot-covered faces of friends and strangers as they dug through the remains of their homes, searching for anything that could be saved—it was breaking her heart. The sight of bodies lining the streets, waiting to be taken to their graves. I
