THE SCHOOL ROOM THRONGED WITH nursing staff and crew, yet I could only see two men in coal-blackened vests. I remembered the firemen’s change of shift. That endless tramping of feet on the spiral staircase behind my cabin, down into the belly of the ship. There must have been many stokers to fuel such an enormous vessel. Were they drowned in the bowels of the boiler room, trapped inside as she went down, or picked up by the rescuing battleships?

I remembered the trundling racket of the watertight fire doors opening for the change of shift, but I don’t recall hearing them again. Perhaps in the panic, I’d missed it. Please God don’t let all those poor, coal covered men still be in the boiler room at the bottom of the sea.

I rushed around, searching for Matron to ask. My heart was thumping and my tears queuing up, waiting for the first chance of release. I saw Nurse Josephine across the room and squeezed through the crowd.

‘Please, Nurse Josephine,’ I called.

She stopped and turned around. ‘Gertie, thank goodness you’re safe, I was concerned.’

‘Can you tell me if all the firemen got away safely? It seems there are only two here.’

She shrugged. ‘I think they all escaped. They got into trouble for lowering a boat and rowing away from the ship without orders. The Sergeant ordered them back and made them pick up drowning people. Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, I was worried they might be trapped. What happened to the poor engineer who lost his foot, the patient we hauled out of the water? Did he die? I gave him some of my blood.’

‘It was you? Everyone’s talking about it. Why are you crying?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, Josephine . . . I really don’t know. I want to go home.’

I kept myself busy with the other VADs, as we became accustomed to this strange place. We tore a sheet into strips for bandages, helped local women cut up bread and cheese, and washed cups and jars as they became empty. Several of the survivors needed medical attention, like the boy scout who had deep rope-burns on his hands. The surgeon, pale and tired, his long, sensitive fingers scrubbed to within an inch of their lives, was talking to Matron. The local doctor, short and round and brown-skinned, was attending to Perkins, clearly unconscious and stretched across three café tables.

*

By late afternoon, word passed around that we would be collected in a day or two. The local schoolmaster, Mr Pantalies, spoke English. He took charge of the situation, billeting the Britannic’s medical staff and crew with various local families.