My parents were never without a dog, and Bill was their second. He came from Battersea Dogs & Cats Home during the second world war, having been found wandering in the street after an air raid. A medium-sized mongrel with a lot of terrier in him and a foxhound’s colouring, he was blessed with a biddable temperament and a pair of very expressive brown eyes.
His experience of the blitz had left him with a canine version of shellshock. We children never played with toy guns near him, because even clicking the trigger would make him quiver with fright. Bonfire Night absolutely terrified him, and someone had to sit with him under the stairs until it was all over.
