Rosie sighed. If someone as lovely and caring as her dear friend Freda could take such an attitude towards the Germans, then there was no hope for them. Not that she wanted there to be. She wanted to hate them herself, and in general she did. But Albie? No, she could never hate him. I could love him, though.

Shaking this thought away, she hurried back to the ward. Sister Jones met her, with the instruction she most wanted to hear. ‘Nurse, come into my office.’

Closing the door behind her, Rosie waited until the sister sat down behind her desk. ‘Is sommat wrong, Sister?’

‘No, nothing wrong. We have a German POW on our ward.’ The sister went on to instruct Rosie that she was to do what she most wished to: be the nurse responsible for Albie’s care.

Going through his notes with the sister put fear into Rosie. Albie truly was very ill, and it was touch and go for him. Trying to control her feelings, Rosie sent up a silent prayer: Please, God, let Albie survive this.

‘Right, I want you to go and get some rest now, Rosie. As you know, we are very short-staffed, but the ward is quiet at the moment, and Nurse Blowen is coping. She has finished the bedpan round, and we have a young Red Cross student working as an orderly, so she is taking tea around. Nurse Rawlings is taking care of our POW, but I want you with him overnight, and I don’t know when I will be able to relieve you.’

Rosie wanted to scream that the POW had a name; that he was a person, not a thing to be called by an acronym. And that she wanted to go to him now. What if Albie died this afternoon and she’d had no time with him? But she just took her leave politely and made her way to the nurses’ quarters.

Once there, she couldn’t sleep. Or even rest. She alternated between praying for her sisters and brothers – begging God to keep Daisy, Florrie and Billy safe – and almost screaming at Him to make Albie better and make it possible for them to be together one day. After a while she knew that trying to sleep was useless, and decided to take a long soak in the bath – a luxury not often afforded to her, as dozens of other girls needed their turn in the bathroom.

Lying back in the hot water, Rosie allowed her tears to flow. But they didn’t bring her any release from the anguish that was her constant companion. She tried to think of something; anything rather than fear for her brother and sisters. The letter she’d had from Sibbie came to mind, but it didn’t help. Oh, how she missed everyone.