"It was said that Stalingrad had been burning since August, since the dropping of the first German bombs.

There was not much joy in looking ahead: there was nothing lying in wait for us but death and destruction. There was no joy at all in looking back: what had passed was a nightmare best forgotten. So we stared instead towards the far-off river, the silver ribbon of the Volga, where the dancing rays of the autumn sun made shining rings in the water. And for a short while we were almost hypnotised into believing that the present could last forever, and the past could be wiped out and the future avoided…"