A couple of hours later Holly unpacked the sandwiches that Cook had insisted she bring and handed them round. Brian Hackett, as the young man eventually introduced himself, refused one politely and Harry grew even more concerned about him. He looked like a rabbit caught in a car’s headlights.

‘Why don’t you let me have a word with the medical staff when we get to Portsmouth?’ he suggested. ‘I don’t think you’re quite ready to go back yet and they might listen to me.’

Brian shook his head. Admittedly he was scared at the thought of what was ahead of him but he was even more terrified of being shot as a coward. He’d seen that happen to one poor bloke who had lost his nerve and turned tail to run as they approached the enemy across a muddy field and he would never forget it for as long as he lived.

‘Nah, thanks but I’ll be all right,’ he answered and Harry could only shrug. They washed the sandwiches down with a bottle of lemonade, another gift from Cook, then they sat in silence, dozing and staring out of the window as the train took them further and further away from home.

At last an announcement came over the tannoy, ‘The next stop will be Portsmouth.’

They all began to gather their things together and when the train finally drew into the station, Brian lifted his kitbag, doffed his cap and disappeared into the throngs of soldiers on the platform.

‘Poor little sod, I don’t reckon he stands a dog’s chance of surviving in the frame of mind he’s in,’ Harry commented but soon they were pushing their way through to the station exit and there was no more time for talking.

It soon became clear that they were not the only medical staff going abroad that day as they spotted several Red Cross uniforms dotted here and there.

‘Probably being sent from different hospitals,’ Harry said as they tried to flag down a cab. Eventually they found one that took them straight to the docks then they spent half an hour trying to find the ship they would be sailing on.

At last all their papers had been checked and they were directed up a gangplank.

‘Where exactly are we going?’ Holly asked one of the crew but he shook his head.

‘I doubt you’ll be told that, luvvie,’ he answered. ‘The least yer know the better.’

‘But how will we be able to write home if we don’t even know where we are?’ she asked in dismay.

The seaman smiled at her. He had a daughter about Holly’s age and he felt sorry for her. ‘Don’t get frettin’ about that. You hand all your mail into a box at the hospital you end up in and it will be forwarded on for you. Then your family will be given a post box number they can write to.’

‘I see.’ Holly patted Angela’s hand. She had turned a sickly shade of grey already and Holly feared the girl wasn’t going to have a very good crossing if just the slight swaying of the gangplank could make her feel sick.