A few years ago visting Pegasus Bridge, Normandy, with my local PRA I happened upon an old empty two story house, not that far from the bridge. I enquired as a matter of interest, to a veteran of Normandy, who was an airborne soldier who had fought at the bridge, what significance this building had , if any. He informed me that all he knew was that a naval gun spotter had been killed in the house. Being naturally inquisitive, I later, without others knowledge, gained entrance to this deserted house by pulling away boarding from the back door. Entering this house it immediately made an impact on my senses. Even though its assets had been stripped the house maintained that 1940s deco and appeared exactly as it would have been in 1944. The stairs had been damaged by some explosive device and I had to climb over rubble to enter the ground floor. Nothing of interest apart from the obvious archaic electrical fittings and those colours that reminded me of my grandmothers pantry. I had entered a house trapped in the 1940s of occupied France. It was like looking into the past, a past that was stragely allowed to exist. After a short period I made my way up the damaged stairway. A narrow stairway that led me to the bedrooms. Bedrooms in an empty house always evoke images of love life and death but this had that extra image of a past, long forgotten . A time that appeared to have stopped abruptely and had been left to brew. I had to climb the last set of stairs. The stairs that led to the attic rooms so reminisent of the Normandy houses of the period. As I climbed, I had this strange feeling I was not alone. If I had not been of a military background or training the scene that became apparent to me would not have been significant. The gun spotter , whose image was so real to me, had knocked out the tiles from the roof to gain observation of his suroundings. Looking around the attic it was obvious he had obtained an advantageuos position with a 360 degree view of the area. I could see the approach to the important cross roads, the Panzas would later attempt to hold and the bridge would have ben visible if it was not for a tree that had grown unkept in the garden. He had died in this house performing his duty. I spoke to him and thanked him for his sacrifice. You may think me foolish but his scrifice pervaded that sad forgotten deserted house. I have tried numerous times to find his name but alas I have failed . He to me is that lone warrior fighting for freedom and dying alone, forgotten by us but remembered by his loving family.