God Almighty, I thought. But I was on the stairs with my heart thumping. Let this one be normal, please, I prayed as we clattered up the bare treads. And let the doctor get here soon.

‘About time,’ said a voice from the top of the stairs. ‘Thought I’d ’ave to deliver it meself.’

A hefty middle-aged woman with a black plait coiled above each ear and a round fleshy face ushered us into the room. Our feet crackled on the floor which was strewn with newspaper. There was a pungent smell of sweat in the room.

‘I’m Margaret and this is Sandy,’ the older woman said. ‘We’re neighbours of ’ers.’ She seemed very capable and had evidently helped organize the room. ‘I’ve ’ad a good few meself,’ she went on. ‘But I draw the line at delivering ’em. Still – got the place sorted out too. Not too bright about keeping house this one.’

I took off my hat, glancing round. There were two narrow beds in the room. Clothes were hanging from oddly distributed hooks round the walls.

‘I’ll need to wash my hands.’ I glanced at the silent woman on the bed. She hadn’t even bothered to look round when I came in. She was lying curled on her left side, covered only by a stained sheet. Apart from one hard chair the beds were the only furniture in the room. ‘Is she all right?’

‘She’s grand,’ Margaret said. ‘ ’Ere you are – ’ She presented me with piping hot water in a bucket. As I hurriedly covered my hands with the carbolic soap and rinsed them off, the woman on the bed gave a low moan.

‘Awright,’ Margaret said, going to her. ‘Not long now.’ I realized the sweaty smell came from under the arms of the tight, crimson dress she was wearing. ‘Don’t fret, bab.’

Tied to the end of the bed was an old strip of towelling. The woman’s hands tightened on it, her whole body tensing as she panted through the pains, the veins standing out on her neck. She was a strong-looking woman, about my own age I realized, with straight brown hair.

‘You’re going to be absolutely fine,’ I said in my firmest nurse’s voice, hoping to God it was true. The woman didn’t reply except with a long sigh as the pain subsided, her eyes closed.

‘You’re getting close, aren’t you?’ I said.

She opened her eyes and nodded. Then her face contorted. ‘Oh, not again.’

She showed the immense control that I’d seen in so many women giving birth at home, their children waiting downstairs, even though she was obviously in agony. She pulled herself up on to her knees. At the height of the pain she pushed her head into the pillow and groaned into it before lying still again.

‘Least it’s quiet out now,’ Margaret remarked, jerking a thumb towards the window. ‘We ’ad one or two come on in the bombing and oh my, what a to-do. Cissy Taylor’s babby arrived in the shelter.’