Another crowd had gathered there to watch the wounded being brought out. Some of the men hobbled on crutches, others were brought out on stretchers. They were still in their khaki uniforms, filthy and mud-caked, their wounds wrapped in crude dressings. They blinked in the pale light, squinting into the sky in dazed disbelief. The onlookers cheered and threw cigarettes and chocolate, but only a couple of the men stopped to pick up the gifts. Most shuffled on, heads down, shoulders hunched.

‘They look so tired,’ Anna said.

‘I hope they’re not all lice-infested like the last lot.’ Dulcie shuddered. ‘I hate lice.’

‘I don’t suppose the poor men like them much, either,’ Anna snapped back.

Grace sent them both a sidelong look. As usual, she was standing between them, caught in the middle.

‘Do stop gawping, Nurses!’ Sister’s voice rang out behind them. ‘Look sharp, there is work to be done. Duffield and Beck, go down to the Admissions ward and do what you can to help. Take Parrish with you,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘I’m sure they will welcome an extra pair of hands.’

As Miss Sutton had predicted, the Admissions ward was desperately busy. Nurses hurried back and forth between the closely packed white beds, wheeling trolleys of dressings and medications and endless amounts of hot soapy water. But even the strong scent of carbolic was not enough to overcome the stench of filth and sweat coming off the men.

They heard them before they saw them. Their screams, moans and rasping coughs echoed up the long corridor.

Grace looked across at Anna. Her face was white, bloodless lips pressed together. She looked as if she might be sick.

‘What do we have to do, Nurse?’ a trembling voice beside her asked. Grace turned to see Eliza Parrish, the newest VAD. She had only started on the ward the previous day, fresh from her Red Cross training. She was terribly young, and very afraid, by the look of her. The poor girl had probably joined the Voluntary Aid Detachment imagining she would be doing nothing more than fetching bedpans, making beds and reading the men’s letters from home.

This must look like hell to her, Grace thought.

‘We have to get their uniforms off, get them washed and dress their wounds, and generally make them as comfortable as we can,’ she said, picking her way over the line of stretchers waiting in the passageway outside the ward. Then, seeing the young girl’s apprehensive look, she smiled and said, ‘Stay with me, I’ll help you.’

Grace showed her how to bundle up the filthy uniforms for the orderlies to take away and burn. She also showed her how to cut off the men’s field tickets, the labels bearing their names and their injuries.

It wasn’t an easy job. The wounded were in a dreadful state, their uniforms crusted with days of dirt and blood, and crawling with lice. Dulcie would be pleased, Grace thought. They screamed and cursed as she and Eliza carefully peeled them off and washed their wounds. Grace could feel the young VAD shaking with nerves beside her, but to the girl’s credit she carried on doggedly.