When she found her checking her patients on the post-natal ward, she cried out, ‘God Almighty, Ada, come upstairs right now!’ Gasping for breath, Sister Mary Paul wheezed on. ‘The family from London have just arrived, you should see the state of them – they look exhausted! I put them in Room 3 at the front of the House,’ she babbled, as she hurried after Ada, who, even though pregnant, was far more fleet-footed than she was. ‘The children need bathing before they get in between those clean sheets – they’re nothing short of feral.’

‘And the mother?’

‘I’d say on the point of collapse,’ cried Mary Paul. ‘God alone knows how the three of ’em got up here unassisted.’

‘Desperation, I imagine,’ Ada said, and took the stairs two at a time, calling over her shoulder, ‘Make a pot of strong tea and a plate of meat-paste sandwiches if you can spare it.’

The children stopped their wild bed-bouncing when Ada entered the room and took control.

‘Hello, I’m Sister Ada, welcome to Mary Vale,’ she said, as her eyes swept over the rags Ron and Sally were wearing. ‘Now,’ she said, as she hunkered down in order to talk directly to the children, ‘how about having a nice hot bath after the long journey you’ve just had?’

Both Ron and Sally looked like they would rather face a firing squad than take a bath.

‘NO!’ they shrilled together.

Rosie rose from the bed she had been stretched out on, and, with her dark-brown eyes blazing in her haggard face, she summoned up all her strength to take control of her wayward children.

‘Apologize to the lady right away, you two,’ she commanded.

Shuffling their grubby, worn-out shoes, they muttered in unison, ‘Sorree, miss.’

‘Once you’ve had your bath I promise I’ll fetch you something nice to eat,’ Ada coaxed.

Aware that she needed to talk to the mother in private, Ada rang the emergency hospital bell that was in every resident’s room, knowing Dora would come to help with the children while she checked on the mother’s state of health.

Competent Dora was there in a jiffy. ‘Leave the kiddies to me.’

Five minutes later Rosie, urged by Ada, was sipping a bowl of nourishing barley broth soup which Sister Mary Paul had quickly heated up for her, along with providing sandwiches for the children.

‘I don’t know what you must think of us,’ mortified Rosie murmured in between sips of soup.

‘I think you’re all exhausted,’ Ada soothed.

‘The kids are out of control,’ Rosie admitted. ‘I’ve not had the strength to even belt ’em for being naughty.’

Ada gave a sympathetic smile. ‘Maybe that’s not a bad thing.’

‘I just hope they’ll settle down now that they’re here,’ Rosie fretted, as she dipped a slice of home-made bread into the broth. ‘Mmm,’ she sighed gratefully. ‘This is proper tasty.’