The garden is drenched in perfume of rambler roses and is presently a sea of colour, and right now the blazing delphiniums nodding in the breeze are my favourite. There are wonderful views of Cartmel Forest just down the winding cart track, and when the cloud lifts there are tantalizing glimpses of the fells, which I know, if you were here, you’d be itching to climb. Maybe one day soon we can walk over to the Langdales with our new son or daughter and introduce them to all our special mountains. When the wind drops, I can hear the sound of the tide going out over the marsh and sea-birds calling to each other as they soar high over the Irish Sea. It is a perfect place to live, Jamie, I just can’t wait to share all of this beauty with you.

Though I was sad to leave Mary Vale and my patients, I have to admit it was a big relief to stop running around, and now, rather heavy on my feet as I try to manoeuvre my way around the cottage with my ever burgeoning tummy, I can relax and enjoy this time waiting for our baby to be born. Of course, I miss my friends in the Home and the residents too, but I have regular visitors, Sister Mary Paul, Sister Theresa, Dora and sometimes Alf Arkwright, the farmer who pops by with eggs and milk. So, I’m not short of company, or food! I think of you so much, my love, and worry if you’re getting enough food and sleep. I know your work never stops and that you will always put your patients’ needs before your own, but please, my dearest love, remember how precious you are to me and take the greatest care of your sweet self. Write when you have a moment, I long to hear your news.

At the very moment Ada sat writing in her cottage garden, where newly arrived swifts, busy nest-building, swooped and dived in the eaves, Jamie was also sitting writing his own missive on a stone-cold cellar floor, dog-tired and starving hungry. Back on the Front Line in northern France, he had once again to deal with the bombing of his casualty clearing station. With shells exploding all around them, the medical crew had lifted the survivors on to stretchers, then staggered with them along the edges of the battlefield, until they found shelter in the cellar of an evacuated bomb-blasted chateau. Unfortunately, the pump there was dry because the water supply had been cut off.

‘Bastard Germans!’ a fellow officer raged as dying thirsty patients cried out for water.