The massive ship slowly rolled to one side and with a thunderous toll the four funnels snapped off in succession, each hitting the water in a great, metallic belly-flop that made our lifeboat bob violently. ‘Hold tight, everyone!’ one of the oarsmen yelled. The chimneys hissed and wheezed and their final breaths rose like steaming ghosts in a display of exhausted power.

Our mighty vessel slipped beneath obscenely calm water, its great bell tolling once, then silenced forever.

Moments later, the sea bubbled and heaved, agitated, as if trying to swallow something too big for its gullet. Cork-filled lifesavers belched to the surface and jets of seawater spumed into the air as Davy Jones made room in his locker for the damned ship.

Less than an hour had passed since I had been ordered to use my initiative – and the bedpans had toppled.

The sun beat down, blinding flashes bounced off undulating water, stinging my eyes. My face prickled with the salt from my weeping – or from the sea – I couldn’t say. Perhaps they were one and the same. An ocean of tears wept for drowned sailors, sunken ships, and Sissy’s lost watch. The balding priest knotted the corners of a large handkerchief. Somewhere, I had lost my uniform cap. I stared at the flotsam, hoping to spot it when, to my horror, I saw a body near us. A man floated on his back, limbs outstretch like a starfish.

‘There’s a person in the water!’ I shouted, pointing at his white canvas lifesaver. The oarsmen rowed in the direction of my finger. ‘I know him. It’s Corporal Perkins!’ I shouted.

As they dragged Perkins over the side, the boat rocked violently and took on a great wave. We found ourselves almost calf-deep in sloshing seawater. We hauled bags of valuables onto our knees and someone screeched. ‘We’re sinking!’

‘There’re bailers under the seats, use them!’ our skipper ordered.

With some clumsiness, Perkins was manhandled into the back of the packed lifeboat and laid across our knees. The mechanic had a terrific gash across his forehead, so deep it exposed his skull. I pressed two fingers under the curve of his jawbone and barely felt the flutter of a pulse. ‘He’s alive, Matron, just! Hardly a pulse. What shall I do?’ I shouted towards the front of the boat.

‘Compress the wound to stop the bleeding!’ she called back.

With the Corporal’s head in my lap, I said, ‘Excuse me,’ to the priest, took the handkerchief off his head, and pressed it against the wound.

A male voice came up from the other end of the bench. ‘His foot’s gone!’