Now they were both dead; her pride, her joy, her hope for the future; Percy at Dunkirk and Jack in a minesweeper in the North Atlantic. She had gone out of her mind when they had died; all she had wanted was to die herself and join them in eternity. Without her husband and the constant support of her devoted Mary Vale friends, Dora would have gone under; there was no doubt that death had seemed a sweeter alternative to living. It wasn’t that she had ‘pulled through’, an expression the papers regularly trumpeted; she had merely survived and limped back to a life that was poorer and harsher without her boys. If it hadn’t been for Ada urging her to return to Mary Vale, she might well have been institutionalized in the lunatic asylum in Lancaster. As it was, Ada had gently and repeatedly begged Dora to return to the nursery, where she was so desperately missed.

Without a doubt it was the babies who had saved Dora. Lined up in neat rows in their pristine white canvas cots, the Mary Vale babies were in need of love and care. Dora had poured all her emotions into the infants, who of course regularly came and went throughout Mary Vale’s year. They could never be her babies, nor did she want them to be, but she could set them on the road to life, cuddled and loved. This was now her life’s work, her mission, to be the interim mother before the real one took over.

When Dora arrived at Hope Farm, it was breakfast-time. Mrs Larkin invited Dora indoors with a welcoming wave of the hand.

‘Sit yourself down and I’ll get you some tea. Tom’s out with the cows,’ she added, as she pulled out a chair at the top of a long, scrubbed kitchen table around which six noisy children were assembled. ‘You lot,’ she called over the chatter, ‘have some manners and say good-morning to Nurse Dora.’

Dora was astonished at the visible change in Ronnie and Sally in such a short time. It had been only a couple of weeks since they had left Mary Vale, but they both looked taller and stronger.

‘Marge’s good farmhouse grub,’ Dora thought, as her generous host set a soft-boiled egg and toast in front of her, along with a mug of hot strong tea.

‘I bet you a shilling you’ve had no breakfast,’ Mrs Larkin said knowingly.

‘You’re right there,’ Dora beamed. ‘Thanks very much.’

When they had finished their breakfast, Sally and Ronnie hurried eagerly to her side.

‘How’s Mother?’ the little girl asked.

‘Is she getting better?’ Ronnie added.

‘She’s much better,’ Dora assured the anxious pair.

‘Is she still in bed?’ Sally enquired.

Dora nodded. ‘She won’t be getting up very soon,’ she gently explained. ‘Though she is a bit stronger than she was.’