The stuff of dreams

I had a rough night last night. I didn't wake up, at least I don't remember waking up, but my dreams were horrible. I dreamed about the village round the corner from where I grew up. I remembered the fiasco of my christening in this fourteenth-century church. I remembered the godparents I 'd never seen before, who arrived just before it happened, left immediately afterwards and whom I never saw again. I remember my relations being there and the horrible atmosphere. I remembered the choir I sang in, and the carol services we did at the church.
I remembered all the fear and the sadness of being young. I remembered the lot, chapter and verse. It was harrowing. I don't think I'll ever forget.