‘It’s the rats in the trenches he’ll be talking about,’ the patient in the next bed told her. ‘Most of the trenches are ankle-deep in freezing water and the rats swim along them, bold as you like, feeding on the fallen.’

Holly looked horrified.

‘Trouble is, there’s no chance to remove the bodies till ceasefire and by then the rats have had a feast. It’s the same on the field. There’s as many horses as men fallen so the rats round here are as big as cats.’

Holly continued to undress the young man, avoiding his wildly flailing arms. When she’d finally stripped him to his long johns she said to the man who’d been talking to her, ‘I’d best get the sister. I think he’ll need to go to theatre as soon as possible.’

The sister agreed with her when she came to examine him. ‘Prepare him now, and make sure he doesn’t have anything to eat or drink,’ she told Holly soberly. ‘I’ll go and put his name on Dr Parkin’s list. He’s doing an arm amputation at present.’

Richard’s name set her heart pounding but she calmly did as she was asked and just under an hour later the young man was wheeled away to theatre, still desperately swatting at the rats he imagined were crawling over him.

Each day was much the same now. One victim after another was brought in after dark and sometimes the doctors had to work all through the night to deal with them. Two weeks after Christmas, just when Holly felt that she couldn’t take much more, her spirits were lifted when she received two letters from home, one from her mother and one from Ivy. They were given to her as she arrived at the hospital so she stuffed them into her apron pocket and looked forward to reading them at lunchtime.

When she finally sat down in the mess later that day, she opened Ivy’s first.

Dear Holly,

I hope this finds you well, as we all are. Alice is still growing like a weed. I swear this child has hollow legs because we can’t seem to fill her up. I’ve had a letter from Marcus and thank God he is managing to cope. He’s somewhere in France but I’m not exactly sure where. Your grandfather asked me to send you his love and apologises for not writing himself but he says you know he’s never been much of a letter-writer. Your mother and Mr Dolby and the children all came here for Christmas dinner and it was lovely although we all missed you very much. I worry about you all the time and can only imagine how awful it must be for you out there. The horror stories we read in the papers scare your mam to death and she’s constantly on edge, only happy when she gets a letter from you. Still, God willing this awful war will be over soon. So much for everyone saying it would be over for Christmas, eh? They’ve been taking all the horses from the town recently and shipping them out to the front, poor things. There’s hardly one to be seen now except the old ones. Cook sends her love and says to tell you that soon as you come home she’ll cook you your favourite apple pie and custard. I can’t wait to see you again. Is there any chance of you getting leave soon? Please take care of yourself, and may God keep you safe. Please write as soon as you can and know that we are all thinking of you.