UNDER AN EVER-HOTTER SUN, on a sea as flat as glass, the bailers kept bailing, but the rowers raised their oars, and yard by sneaky yard we floated on the millpond sea, never closer nor more distant from the island but drifting in the invisible grip of the current. The surgeon rummaged in his bag and firstly used cotton wool to rub a little alcohol onto my wrist. Then he brought out a syringe. For a moment my bravery wavered. I shuddered at the size of the needle, which seemed to grow larger as it came closer to my flesh. He tapped my wrist and pushed the wide-bore needle against an artery. It resisted, then quite suddenly the needle popped through my skin and I heard someone gasp. The barrel of the syringe was glass and as the bright red blood filled it, my head began to swim.

‘Deep breaths, nurse. Are you all right?’ the surgeon asked.

‘I’m only a VAD, sir. Yes, just a little lightheaded. It’s a very odd sensation.’

‘Press down on your artery while I withdraw the needle and insert it into the soldier’s vein.’ He turned to the priest. ‘Please, help her. This needs to be done quickly, before the blood starts to clot. I can’t see to them both at once.’ He took the Corporal’s arm and emptied the contents of the syringe into it. Turning back to me, he said, ‘Do you think you can manage another one?’

I nodded. ‘Yes, of course. I believe two pints are possible, are they not?’

‘I think one more syringe should be enough to maintain a stronger pulse. Your sacrifice is admirable. Tell me your name, young lady.’

Before I could reply, someone rasped, ‘Boats!’ I looked up, glad to be distracted from the wide-bore needle. People were pointing and waving at the first of several small craft chugging out towards us.

The surgeon managed to complete his task and although I felt lightheaded, it was a relief to know Perkins stood a much better chance of survival now.

‘What is that place?’ I asked the chaplain, trying to distract myself from the shocking ache in my midriff, and the painful throb of my ankle. I also avoided looking at the sea in case I saw Perkins’s missing foot floating in the flotsam. Was there no end to this nightmare?

‘As I said earlier, I believe it’s the Greek island of Kea,’ the priest said, pressing on my wrist as the surgeon withdrew another syringe full of blood.

‘But how on earth will we get home?’ I whispered to myself.

I promise I’ll never give up, Father!

If he hadn’t insisted on that ridiculous thing! Me in my father’s long johns, slumped over the dining-table protector cork, my father yelling orders at me. Kick, Gertie, kick!