Father had trouble speaking, which somehow made me angrier. Sissy pulled me into her arms. ‘No, they have tags around their necks. There’s no mistake. But remember what he said, Gertie? He said it for a reason.’

I shook my head. ‘No, no! He can’t be dead, Sissy, he’s my brother! Brothers don’t die!’

‘Listen to me!’ she continued, shaking my shoulders before turning to our parents. ‘Mother, Father, when our Arthur was home, he said this: “If the worst happens, Gertie, I’ll remember how much I enjoyed this Christmas dinner. Promise you’ll toast me every Christmas in my absence, preferably when you set the figgy pudding alight and swig the brandy.” So come on, let’s pour a tot of brandy now, for everyone, just like Arthur told us to.’

When we had charged our glasses, Father said, ‘The toast is the last line of the letter. The adjutant assures us that: Corporal Smith has been a great asset to his country and a gallant and universally liked soldier.’

*

Sissy returned home from the munitions factory and, on her twenty-third birthday, she applied to join the Voluntary Aid Detachment. More than ever, she wished to become a nurse and soon signed up for training.

‘Promise you won’t go overseas, Sissy!’ Mother begged.

‘I promise, Mother. Many wounded soldiers have been shipped home and need help right here.’

Yet after a terrible battle on the other side of the Channel, my darling sister volunteered to nurse the wounded in France. She wrote every week and I kept all of her wonderful letters.

*

The shortage of doctors meant we hardly saw Father. When we did, it was clear that Arthur’s death had taken its toll. Gone was the bombastic man who laid down the law. He quietly withdrew into himself. I took over his beloved pigeons when he hadn’t the time. Since the start of the war, his birds had been used by the Pigeon Corps. Often, theirs were the only form of correspondence received by our leaders at home, from the officers on the remote front line.

The coop was built onto the outside of the house, with steps leading up to it, as the attic was Mother’s sewing room. A maid’s bell in the kitchen was attached to a wire across the coop entrance and when it rang, I climbed the ladder, found the bird, removed the canister from its leg, and cycled hurriedly to the police station.