The Kent countryside was at its most beautiful. It was 22 May 1940, the orchards were a sea of pink and white blossoms, the hedgerows were in full leaf and the village gardens flush with early summer flowers. The weather was perfect - warm sunshine and a cloudless blue sky attracting the skylarks. Already at mid-morning, the temperature had persuaded the ladies to don their summer frocks and the men to discard their jackets. All were going about their business, carefree and cheerfully, with a confidence born from the certainty of age-old continuity in this quintessential corner of England, this paradise on earth.

Unfortunately, though, a couple of dozen miles away over the calm, blue water of the English Channel, all hell was let loose and the menace of the dark ages was about to engulf Europe. Like grey rats, evil forces were swarming through Holland, Belgium and France with the object of extinguishing freedom and civilisation as we knew it.