IN August, 1916, my husband was sent to France. The following year I
received a letter from him saying he would be home on leave, and I
was to expect him any day. This was August 10th, 1917. I started to
get in extra things and to prepare for his home-coming. I heard
nothing more, but three nights after receiving his letter, I went to
bed as usual, and about midnight, I heard my husband call my name. I
sat up in bed, and there he was standing at the foot of the bed in
his uniform with his arms outstretched in welcome. I couldn't sleep
afterwards. In the morning I went home and told my parents what I had
seen. I saw them look at each other. Then my mother said he had come
to her the same night and asked her to look after us (I had one
little girl). Four days later, I had a letter from the War Office
saying my husband had been missing since midnight on the 22nd of
August (later, presumed killed on that date). I can't understand it,
but the vision is as clear to me now as it was nine years ago. You
see, he came home to see us before going to a better home, and I’ve
kept the memory of it to this day.