Luckily Jamie found another well at the back of the chateau where the water hadn’t been cut off, so at least he could appease some of the wounded’s needs if not their hunger. Even though many of the survivors were in urgent need of surgery, it was impossible to perform any theatre work amid the filthy dust and rubble. All Jamie and his colleagues could do was to carry patients to places of comparative safety and tend to their needs as much as they possibly could. As one group worked with the living, another had the gruesome task of burying the dead. Exhausted by a gruelling day but too tired and wound up to sleep, Jamie had snatched a few minutes to write to Ada, something he tried to do every day no matter what had befallen him. Sitting or standing, sometimes even crouching in dugouts, he felt there was something about writing a letter to his wife that centred his thoughts and made his chaotic, blood-soaked, mad world just about bearable.

Summoning up Ada’s image, he could almost smell the perfume of her long, lustrous hair, he imagined the sparkle in her big blue eyes and the seductive smile on her lips. He could never quite believe that he had been lucky enough to marry such a beautiful, talented, wonderful woman, or that she returned his love with passion and fervour and seemed to be as proud of him as he was of her.

‘When this bloody war ends,’ he thought to himself as he lit a cigarette and stared out at the night sky, ‘I pray to God that I will enjoy a long and happy life in the Lake District with my wife and family, who I will fight with my life to protect from the horrors of Hitler’s Nazi empire.’

16. Spider’s Web

Back at Mary Vale, Staff Sister Mann was settling into her new role. With Ada gone, she felt confident and more in control, though, when it came to her first birthing experience, she had not been impressed by the behaviour of the young girl on the delivery table. Screaming and writhing, the silly girl became hysterical, losing all self-control, begging in turn either to die or to be with ‘her mam’ throughout the entire labour. Eventually she gave birth to a mewling daughter, whom Dora whisked off to the nursery after throwing what Edith was convinced was a dirty look in her direction. She had delivered the child efficiently enough; and, though she lacked Dora’s ability to gush over every baby that drew breath, there was no doubt about Edith’s ability to do her job.