Here's an actual Vera Lynn story instead.

My ex had a great aunt, called Dot. She was 93 and big into sports. Huge Andy Murray fan. Loved sudoku. Was sharp, but her body was very much 93

Dot had been married twice, the first time during the Second World War. Her husband was due home for 7 weeks leave that would have taken him to VE Day and peace time.

Two days before that, though, a Canadian bomber unit needed someone to help target their bombs as they flew over Germany. Yer man volunteered.

They were shot down over France, the plane splitting in two. His half landed in the village of Cramoisy, north of Paris.

In the aftermath of the War, Dot decided to make a solo overland trip to visit the grave and leave a plaque for her dead husband. The trip was difficult and several times she was stopped and accused of being a looter, but she made it.

Anyway, when she told me this, I asked if she fancied going back. She didn't think it was possible. We were living in Kent at the time and I told her I could get her there in three hours. She agreed, so we got her a passport, and off we went.

It wasn't *not* stressful, but we got there with no drama, thanks to Dot, who was a trooper the whole time. Even better, we found the grave. The Commonwealth Graves Commission do amazing work, all over the world, so Frank's was in great condition. It obviously wasn't the original

Before we got there, though, we popped into the local church and I had to explain in pitiful French why we were there. Miraculously the wee caretaker understood and showed us inside. The bronze plaque was on the wall. Pristine. Looked after for decades.

Dot reached into her purse and gave them an envelope with €1,000 as a thanks for looking after it. We didn't even know she had it.

Anyway, we went out to the grave. I thought it best to leave Dot and the family by the plot and instead went over to look at the graves of some of Napoleon's bodyguards. When I got back, everyone was in tears. Dot had said she loved him and then sang We'll Meet Again.

On the way back, the British border guards took my passport off me because it was invalid (the up to date one was in the Uzbek embassy getting a visa at the time). I lost all my backpacking stamps, including Galapagos and Antarctica. I pretended it was all fine so Dot didn't know

Anyway, despite that wee blip, that was the most worthwhile trip I've taken in the last decade. Dot died a year later and, I hope, was a little happier for the experience.

We'll Meet Again can feel like a total cliche at times and, I think, speaks to some of the unhealthiest parts fo the British psyche, but in the right setting, like by your sweetheart's grave in France, it can be utterly perfect – and totally devastating.