“We desparately rifled through the cupboards, hoping in vain that the retreating troops had left so much as a crust of bread. It was then that I heard Fitzpatrick cry out. Behind a false wall in a small closet was a case of champagne. Dark green bottles nested in dusty straw. They had somehow survived months of bombing, looting by two armies, only to fall victim to a pair of parched deserters when peace was so close at hand.”