While Mavis staunchly defended Sybil (who in her simple generous way Mavis accepted for what she was), the rest of the residents hadn’t much time for the newcomer.

‘Bloody snob! Coming here with her fancy ways and posh voice,’ Irene grumbled. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, ladies, I’d quite like to retire,’ she said in perfect mockery of Sybil’s haughty tones. ‘We’re all up the duff,’ she added scathingly. ‘So she needn’t think she’s any better than us.’

‘Southerner,’ another girl sneered. ‘I bet she’s never had to mop a floor in her life – not to mention fill up a bucket of coal or empty a piss pot!’

‘Aye, well, she’ll soon have her eyes opened,’ Irene continued. ‘You can’t dodge jobs in this place, even if you do walk around swinging your handbag like the Queen of England.’

As both women laughed, Mavis intervened on Sybil’s behalf. ‘Give her a chance – she’s only just arrived.’

‘She should have stayed down South where she rightly belongs,’ hard-hearted Irene insisted. ‘I’m not going to be treated like dog muck just because Miss High and Mighty thinks she’s above me.’

Mavis gave a resigned sigh. What was the point of trying to defend Sybil, who did have a cool haughtiness about her; maybe Irene was right – maybe she did look down on the other, poorer girls.

‘If the new girl doesn’t try harder,’ Mavis thought grimly, ‘she’s going to have a hell of a long, lonely pregnancy.’

It was Nurse Dora who put Sybil in the picture when it came to the feeding rota, which was entirely Dora’s domain. After explaining that without the residents’ help the babies simply wouldn’t be fed around the clock, Dora added, ‘And of course there’s the nappy changing too.’

Sybil’s pretty elegant face paled. ‘Nobody mentioned nappies,’ she gasped.

‘Yes, I’m afraid there’s that too, but don’t worry about it,’ Dora added cheerfully. ‘The feeding rota comes around only once about every five weeks, so it’s not that bad.’

Sybil raised her perfectly manicured eyebrows. ‘Not that bad?’ she thought. ‘Sounds like hell to me!’

5. Bombshell

Early one morning, when an easterly wind was whipping the waves of the outgoing tide into a foam and squawking seagulls straddled the air trying to keep their balance, Sister Ann, Matron of the maternity unit, arrived as white as a sheet. Leaving Dora in the nursery with the babies, Ada hurried after Matron, who, as soon as she had shut her office door, came straight to the point.

‘Oh, Ada, I’ve had some rather alarming news.’

Seeing the stricken expression on Ann’s gentle face led Ada to assume the worst. ‘Is one of the sisters ill in the convent?’ she quickly asked.

Matron shook her head. ‘No, no, not that kind of news; everybody is fine, thank God.’