There was something about him, Gertie, something terribly special; my heart went right out to him. Thomas, was his name. Oh, my goodness. What a brave soldier! The light from his eyes shone right into my heart. When I cleaned the mud from his face, I gave him a fleeting kiss on the lips. This was such a forbidden gesture that I could have been expelled right there and then. Thankfully nobody noticed. ‘Do you believe in love at first sight, nurse?’ he asked. How I wished I could know him outside of this hellish war. I wanted to bathe him, tend his wounds and ease his pain. When I came back on duty, I brought him a square of treasured chocolate, but he had gone. Gone to heaven, Gertie. I wanted to be with him, in every sense of the word, so much that my heart broke into a million pieces. All I am left with is his name, Thomas . . . my Thomas.

I lie on my cot at night and hear the marching feet of new soldiers heading for battle. I wonder how many will come back incomplete – with limbs left in the mud on the front line – and how many of those marching feet will end their journey toes up on some foreign battlefield, never to return.

In the back of my mind, I can hear all the weeping mothers. You can’t get away from the tragedy of it all. It is with you every waking minute, and in your ears as you sleep. The boots go on marching, marching, marching. Never so many, and never so firmly, when they return.

Enough of this misery. I am honoured to be here, helping our wounded. At least I had a choice and can leave whenever I wish. Not so for our poor men.

One of the greatest things about being here is meeting so many kinds of people. The Australian sisters are here, and the New Zealand nurses too. Without them, heaven knows what we would do. We all suffer the same discomforts and eat the same food. It’s not too bad, and keeps us going, but we have lost much weight.

I’ve reached the end of my news, dear Gertie, but I will write again the moment I get a chance.

Love and kisses from me, your dear sister,

Sissy

My darling Sissy was my inspiration. I may never be as bold, brave, or intelligent as my sister, but I would try my best, and all would be done in her name. On 12 November, I stood on Southampton’s dock, antlike in the shadow of HMHS Britannic, my skin tingling with excitement. Sissy’s inspiration and my St John Ambulance certificate had carried me this far, the rest was up to me.