SHEELAGH KELLY
An Unsuitable Mother

Copyright

This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2008

Copyright © Sheelagh Kelly 2008

Sheelagh Kelly asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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Soource ISBN: 9780007211586

Ebook Edition © DECEMBER 2008 ISBN:9780007287291

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For my cousin, Michael Kelly

Contents

Title Page Copyright Note to Readers Dedication Part 1 Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Part 2 Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Part 3 Chapter Twenty-one Chapter Twenty-two Chapter Twenty-three Chapter Twenty-four Chapter Twenty-five Chapter Twenty-six Keep Reading Acknowledgements About the Author Also by Sheelagh Kelly About the Publisher

PART 1

1

What an intolerable burden, to be adopted by unsuitable parents. It was at times such as now that the holder of this view had a burning need to find the woman who had given birth to her. Whatever had made her abandon her baby, she could surely not be as insufferable as the one whose disembodied voice invaded this room.

Nell formed a weary reply to it now. ‘Ye-es, almost ready!’ When in fact she was not ready at all, but lounging on her bedroom windowsill, observing the newcomers moving in across the avenue; infinitely more fascinating than what lay in store.

‘You needn’t think dragging your feet’s going to help,’ inveighed Mrs Spottiswood. ‘And please don’t speak to me in that tone of voice! You’re coming to Ronald’s party, so get on with it.’

Some party, thought Nell, whose brown eyes remained fixed to the semi-detached house opposite, as yet another item of furniture was transported between the wooden rising-sun gates, and along a drive lined with hydrangeas. Her cousin’s send-off to war promised to be the dullest affair. Never mind that all involved had pooled their rations to concoct a good spread, with Aunty Phyllis in charge it would hardly be an electric occasion. At least, though thought Nell with a resentful sigh, there would be a do of sorts for the son of the house. Her own mother’s idea of a good send-off was to supply clean knickers, a flask of tea and a packet of sandwiches.

It was hard to believe there was a war on, with this dazzling August sunshine that lingered well into evening. No barrage balloons over York to mar the blue sky, nor even the faintest drone from one of the airfields that surrounded the city. Other parts of the county might be getting hammered, in southern skies British pilots battling desperately for what could be their final days of freedom, but the only bit of excitement around these parts came in the shape of foreign men seeking billets. None of them were around today, though, more’s the pity.

Nell closed her eyes and tilted her face to the sun, whilst waiting for the newcomers to reappear, and dreamed of the venue she would rather be attending, had she not been dragooned.

‘Eleanor!’

I am not an Eleanor, I am a Nell, came the irritated thought.

‘Coming!’ Sounding gay, but inwardly peeved at having to tear herself away, she went to grab a box of mascara from the dressing table. Spitting on the dwindling brown block inside, she worked it into a mud with the little brush. Then, determined not to miss anything, she repositioned herself by the window with her compact mirror, and began a hasty application to her lashes.

Whilst she was doing this, a figure entered her peripheral vision. In the hope that it was one of the new neighbours, and thus distracted, Nell poked herself in the eye. ‘Ooh, sod and blast!’ She was forced to cease everything, with a handkerchief pressed to her eye until the stinging receded.

And to cap it all, the figure had been no one important, only Geoff from next door, about whom she knew everything, for they had grown up together, though he was three years her junior. Fifteen: it seemed so long ago. She recalled herself at Geoff’s age in her final year at school, the trip to the hairdresser to lop off her plaits and reduce her dark-brown hair to jaw length, in preparation of starting work. But surely she had never been so childish as this boy? Certainly she had grown up very quickly in these last three weeks. A secret smile twitched her lips.

Still waiting for her right eye to stop smarting, tweaked by thoughts of other things, she continued to watch Geoff with her left. In his Boy Scout uniform, he was practising lobbing grenades, ripping out the pin with his teeth, and generally playing the big warrior. Except that the grenade was a potato. Stifling laughter, Nell leaned again on the windowsill to maintain her one-eyed surveillance, as, time and again, Geoff cantered with manly strides up the path, like a spin bowler hurtling for the wicket, his mouth emitting an explosion upon hitting the target.

Then his mother came upon the scene. ‘Geoffrey, what have I told you about wasting food?’ And, much to Nell’s further amusement, she cuffed him sharply round the head, ignoring his protests that he was only following orders.

Biting her lip in sympathy for poor Geoff’s plight, though still tickled, Nell finally managed to adorn her lashes with mascara, and added a quick smear of rouge to her lips and cheeks. At her mother’s further shout of impatience, she snatched a last look in the mirror, heaved in dissatisfaction for the tall and well-built figure reflected there, with its heavy breasts and thighs – such a big girl – then she prinked a dark-brown wave, smoothed the white sleeveless blouse and blue skirt, and tripped to the stairs.

But before she was halfway down, her mother witnessed a crime. ‘You are not leaving this house with bare legs!’

‘All my stockings are laddered!’ With no need to impress relatives, Nell had been hoping to save her one decent pair.

‘Then you can wear ankle socks!’

She turned back with a grumble. ‘Oh, all right, I’ll go and have another look …’

‘And close your window whilst you’re there!’

Nell’s white sandals stopped in mid-track. ‘It’ll be stifling!’

‘Why do you have to argue with every single request I make?’ It was Thelma Spottiswood’s turn to sound weary now. ‘Close it! It’ll be after blackout when we return, and I’ve no intention of leaving an open invitation to every crook in York. Anyone who’d stoop to pinching the lightbulb out of a public lavatory would have a field day in here.’

Nell wanted to complain that, if previous so-called family parties were anything to go by, they would be home well before nine thirty. Nevertheless, she went back to her room to don stockings and to pull down the sash – which was criss-crossed with brown tape as a safeguard against being shattered by bombs, even though York had been virtually free of those after almost a year of war – for it didn’t do to upset Mother. Be prepared, that was Thelma Spottiswood’s motto, as testified in her stock cupboards, her first-aid box, the stirrup pump forever at hand, and the thermos flask close to the kettle ready to fill with hot water in case of an air raid. So, being a considerate girl at heart, Nell did as she was told, finally arriving downstairs to present herself with a smile.

But her heart was to sink, as her father ordered dispassionately, ‘You can get that muck off your face for a start.’ Making ready for his stint as a member of the Home Guard, and changed from his shirt and tie into its newly issued khaki, Wilfred Spottiswood bent to put on his bicycle clips. But just because he would not be attending the party did not mean he would allow his daughter free rein. ‘You look like a trollop.’

With no expectation that Mother would spring to her defence, a dutiful but inwardly hurt Nell rubbed at her lips with a handkerchief, hoping not to blot away too much of the colour. That was one of the drawbacks of having elderly guardians – no, positively ancient, thought Nell, who still found it astonishing that they had been children at the time of Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee – how could one expect them to understand a modern girl’s outlook? Father would quite gladly spend all weekend in his garden, or painting the house, and keeping both immaculate – but woe betide if his daughter should attempt to embellish her looks. Checking the pockets of his battledress for his identity card and his manual, and slinging a rifle over one shoulder and a gas mask over the other, he finally deigned to spare her another, rather resentful, glance. The fact that he made no comment informed Nell that she was classified as fit to leave the house.

Father, though, was the first of them to depart, saying, ‘Have a good time at your party, but don’t be too late home.’

‘That’s if we ever get there,’ sniped his wife, with an accusing glance at their daughter.

Good time indeed! A grouchy Nell knew where she would rather be. Waiting now for her mother to don hat and gloves, she wandered to the window and watched her father push his bicycle to the footpath, where he paused to run a critical eye over his newly clipped privet. What could possibly be out of place? Why, it looked as if he had used a blasted spirit level on it! Then he cycled off, a grey, reserved and unhealthy figure, who spared not a wink of curiosity for the folk who were moving in. This was no surprise to Nell, for, outside work, the only human being to whom he paid lip service was her mother. Mother was a marvel at everything, possessing the ability to whip up a delicious meal despite this rationing, and would have it on the table the moment Father came in, and treated him as lord and master. As for their daughter, they seemed to think it sufficient that they were donating every material comfort that Father’s good position at the insurance firm could endow: a room of her own in a well-furnished house; a family car – even though it might be stuck in the garage most of the time due to wartime restrictions on petrol; elocution lessons to oust any trace of Yorkshire accent that they themselves retained; a grammar-school education, and a decent job to follow it. Yes, Nell was grateful for their sacrifices, and it was perhaps understandable when they had endured twelve childless years before adopting her that they wanted to be constantly involved. But did they have to be such old miseries?

‘What are you sighing at now?’ came the testy demand.

Made aware that she had been thinking out loud, Nell turned to see that her mother was ready: solid, large-bosomed and respectable-looking in her navy spotted dress, navy shoes, white gloves and white straw hat, she cut a shapely figure – but shapely in the manner of a cooling tower, thought Nell, everything rigidly confined and uninviting. She donned a smile, and explained, ‘Oh, nothing, I was just envying those new people across the road their lovely French table.’

‘So that’s what kept you so long upstairs!’ Beads of perspiration had begun to seep from the menopausal brow. ‘I don’t know what there is to envy, they can’t be so well off if they’re having to do the removals themselves. Sunday night and still they’re at it!’

Nell’s focus had by now turned back to the street. ‘Ooh, look, there’s the lady of the house again! At least I think it is, but she looks far too young to have children – maybe they’re not hers, maybe they’re only nephews and nieces come to hel—’

‘For goodness’ sake!’ Thelma Spottiswood came to smack her away from the window. ‘I’ve already waited an hour for you to get ready, I’ve no wish to hang around further whilst you invent people’s life stories.’

‘I’m just interested …’

‘That’s obvious! I wish you’d show as much enthusiasm for your cousin as you do for the antics of strangers. I don’t know where you get your nosiness from – now go and fetch your gas mask then let’s be off to this blessed party, Nebby Nora!’

Hurrying to comply, Nell wondered, too, from whom she had inherited her boundless curiosity in mankind, how she could be so intrigued with what went on in others’ homes, not just in material concerns, but in their relationships, and how they coped with this war. Had her real parents been writers, artists, actors even? Often detached, her adoptive ones showed not the slightest interest in anyone outside their sphere. As anticipated. Thelma Spottiswood hooked her gas-mask container over her shoulder, and, in the same aloof manner as her husband, left the house with nary a peek at the newcomers or their furniture, discreetly nipping her daughter’s arm when Nell turned to stare.

Few words passed between them as they walked along the tree-lined avenue to the nearest main road. In fact, the avenue ran between two main roads, one end being quite genteel, almost countrified in appearance, and enclosed in its view a quaint redundant windmill upon a rise – having once formed a village west of York, prior to urban spread. But with their house being situated nearer the more industrial highway, it was there they must head. Nell’s aunt lived in the adjacent district, about a mile or so away. Before the war they might have walked there on an evening such as this, but now, with a thought to conserve shoe leather, they went only so far as the nearest bus stop.

Being Sunday, there was little traffic about, though still enough army vehicles to irritate Nell, who remained piqued at having her own jaunt vetoed. On the opposite side to the bus stop, behind a wall that extended from the carriage works, ran a vast network of railway lines, at this point in the road some of them bulging out from the main track, like an aneurism in a blood vessel, to serve another part of the city, before joining the chief artery again. Even today, the locomotives made for a great deal of soot, and Thelma Spottiswood puffed gently at her white glove to expel such a fleck.

Nell had something to broach to her mother, but it might not go down too well. Anyway, the bus came then.

There was a wasp on board, floating up and down the aisle and generally causing a nuisance, until a grim Mrs Spottiswood rose and squashed it with her bag against a window.

Five minutes later, mother and daughter alighted, to undergo the rest of their trek along a straight, wide avenue that had lesser groves branching off to right and left, the occasional shade of a tree, and a variety of building styles, some Edwardian, but most of them modern semi-detached residences, with leaded lights and neatly planted beds of marigolds, roses, white alyssum and blue lobelia. The avenue was around a mile in length, though Nell and her mother did not have to walk half so far.

Upon reaching her aunt’s gate, there was a warning. ‘Stop making it so obvious you’d rather be somewhere else! I won’t have your aunt and uncle offended. You never know, you might enjoy it.’ With Nell tagging behind, Mrs Spottiswood approached a door not dissimilar to their own, Buckingham green, half-glazed, with a circular formation of stained glass, and a cast-iron letterbox. Singing could now be heard from behind it, which presaged a livelier affair than usual.

‘Goodness, Phyllis,’ Thelma Spottiswood announced above the rowdiness upon entering, with a smile to her sister-in-law, ‘you do have a full house!’

Nell perked up too, there being several more guests than she had anticipated, her main focus being the young men in uniform who had commandeered the gramophone, and were leading a rousing chorus of ‘Roll Out the Barrel’, to which Ronald and his sisters and other relatives were happily singing along.

At such extraordinary sight, her mouth fell open. Whilst she continued to gawp, her mother waved and smiled to family members, and enquired somewhat dubiously over the din, ‘Are those Ronald’s army colleagues?’

‘Yes – at least two of them are,’ mouthed her sister-in-law, a mousey dumpling of a woman, not half so smart as the other Mrs Spottiswood, with a kinder though less intelligent face. Then, unable to speak without having to shout, she drew Thelma and her daughter aside, and divulged, ‘The others he met in town and just hit it off with. They were billeted in York after Dunkirk. Such grand young chaps. I don’t think any of them is over twenty, I could weep when I think what a terrible time they must have had, but they’re putting such a brave face on it – as you can hear!’ She issued a quick laugh. ‘And what with them being so far from home – from London, two of them – Ronald thought it would be nice to extend some local hospitality. He’s such a thoughtful boy. Look at our Daphne and Margaret, can’t even peel themselves away to greet you. I’m sorry about that – and the noise. I’m afraid they’re all rather merry, let’s hope they’ve left you something to drink – you should have come sooner.’

Missing Thelma’s blameful glance at Nell, Aunt Phyllis tried to catch her husband’s eye, waving above the sea of heads and summoning him. Eventually he came, holding his bottle aloft as he forged a passage towards the latecomers, a similar height and build to Nell’s father, though less poker-faced.

But even as Nell returned his kiss, she was gazing intently over his shoulder at the others.

‘Right, let me go and collar them!’ Upon the final line being hollered, Phyllis wobbled back to the gathering. ‘Settle down, boys, settle down!’ Then, with order half-restored, she led forth her sister-in-law and the mesmerised Nell to introduce them. ‘Ronald, I don’t want to curtail your fun, but let me just acquaint your pals with Aunty Thelma and your cousin.’

Tall and bony, the image of his father, except with pimples, Ronald bade a cheery greeting to the new arrivals, as did his sisters – all three cousins older than Nell, in their twenties – whilst their mother turned to those in khaki and began counting them off on her fingers. ‘Now, let me see if I can remember all their names – no, don’t tell me, Margaret!’ Her elder daughter had been about to leap in. ‘This is George, Sid – no, Stan, oh, I’m so sorry! – John, Reg, and last, but by no means least, Billy.’

Nell’s heart was already spinning, having flipped over in shock at her first glimpse of the latter, who epitomised the phrase ‘tall, dark and handsome’ – if a little chubby. Formally introduced to the young soldiers, she could only blush as Billy extended a confident handshake to her mother, his accent most definitely from the heart of London.

‘Very pleased to meet you, Mrs Spottiswood!’ Then, just as quickly, whilst Nell remained slack-jawed, he grasped her hand too and shook it firmly, smiling with genuine warmth – some might say impishness – into her face. ‘You too, Miss Spottiswood.’

‘Nell.’ She managed to find her voice, and smiled as she withdrew her hand, which felt as if it had touched a live wire, then moved it along the row to be shaken by the rest, one after another.

‘It’s Eleanor,’ corrected Mrs Spottiswood, though her exasperation was mild, and to her sister-in-law and the rest of the gathering she jokingly complained, ‘Really, you give your child a lovely name and what does she do but adulterate it!’

‘A rose by any other name!’ Billy’s eyes were warm and mischievous as they rested on Nell’s blushing face, only to receive a mute warning for this blatancy.

But her mother seemed very taken with the tall and good-looking young man, indeed with all of those who surrounded her, beaming in that coy fashion which always embarrassed Nell. ‘You’re not from round here, Billy!’ She wagged her plump finger at him. Nell wanted to drag one of Aunt Phyllis’s antimacassars over her head.

‘Ah, I can see there’s no fooling you, Mrs Spottiswood!’ Billy, with his sparkling blue eyes, had one of those faces that looked as if it were permanently laughing, but there was such kindness in it too, that no one could take offence at its teasing. ‘No, I have to confess I’m one of your perishing southerners – so is Johnny here.’

‘Nonsense!’ tinkled Thelma Spottiswood. ‘We’re very happy to have you in our midst, all of you.’ Inconveniently overwhelmed by a hot flush, she shed her hat and tried to fluff up the dark-grey waves beneath, which were soaked in perspiration, at the same time wafting her face. ‘Goodness, I thought it was hot enough out there – do excuse me!’

‘I’ll fetch you a drink of water!’ Billy shot off, soon coming back to press a glass into her hand. A crimson-faced Thelma sipped at it gratefully until recovered. Following which, the bout of polite interrogation continued, most of it directed at the handsome Billy, with whom she was obviously smitten – as were Margaret and Daphne, saw Nell, for they clung on his every word.

‘And are you and your friends liking it in York?’

‘Oh, you bet,’ vouched Billy, with a smiling glance at Nell. ‘Not to mention it’s a darned sight safer than the capital at the moment, what with Jerry creeping nearer by the day. Can’t help worrying about my old mum, though.’

Thelma Spottiswood sympathised; Nell, too, managing to display similar condolence, as he looked at her quite brazenly.

At his mention of the enemy, Daphne’s plain face had turned anxious. ‘I heard some people at church this morning saying the Germans’ve already landed and the government’s kept quiet about it.’

‘Don’t you think we’d have seen them by now?’ Touring the room with his bottle, her father remained calm and kind, though there was a hint of anger in his eye for those who had caused such disaffection. ‘Come on, I thought this was meant to be a party?’

With his words, it was back to another singsong, Margaret and Daphne swooping on their handsome visitor, one either side of him as they caroused. Provided with food and drink, Nell and her mother were to sway happily in time to the music, though Thelma didn’t actually know many of the words. Despite being sandwiched between his hostesses, Billy seemed unable to keep his eyes off the attractive dark-haired girl who stood out from the rest, not only because of her height, and though she persisted in turning her back on him, Nell herself could not resist sneaking an admiring look.

‘Well, I’m glad to see you’ve shed that maungy expression,’ observed Thelma, causing her daughter’s face to snap up from her glass. ‘Kicking up such a fuss about wanting to traipse around town on a Sunday, looking into closed shop windows – I told you you’d have a much better time here. See? Mother knows best!’

Sorry for all the horrible thoughts she had entertained earlier, Nell smiled warmly for her mother – the one she genuinely regarded as Mother, and not the faceless one who had given her away – and had to agree that it was a more enjoyable evening than she could ever have forecast.

So enjoyable, in fact, that she and Thelma were still to be found there at ten o’clock.

Then – ‘Hush, everyone!’ A tousle-haired Uncle Cliff urged the roisterers to stop. And they heard that ominous wail that all had come to dread.

‘Oh bother!’ exclaimed Thelma. ‘I was just about to suggest we make a move.’

But there were more fragile souls to be comforted, Uncle Cliff laying a firm hand on Daphne’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, love, it’ll only be another false alarm.’

‘Will it, though?’ Her pasty face had turned even whiter, and her behaviour nervy. ‘This could be it.’

‘Be assured, Daphne,’ laughed her Aunty Thelma, a stalwart of the Women’s Voluntary Services. ‘In the unlikely event that they were to breach our defences, there are millions of us ready to take up arms before we’d allow them to get to our children. Your uncle’s showed me how to use his gun, and God help the first German who tries his bullying tactics on Eleanor!’

Mimicking this bold example, despite her own twinge of nerves, Nell gave her cousin a reassuring smile, and assisted her to the exit.

With others taking care of Daphne, Cliff put on his tin helmet and herded everyone towards the Anderson shelter in the garden. ‘By, it’s going to be a tight old squeeze tonight.’

‘Some of you’d better come in ours!’ summoned a next-door neighbour, invoking the group to split in half and move after him. ‘Bring your glasses with you if you like!’

‘Er, not the bottles as well!’ Cliff objected, but in vain. He uttered a groan, then, after going round turning off the gas and electricity supplies, hurried after the others.

It was dark outside. With those around her toting glasses of beer or sherry, Nell found herself guided by competent male hands towards the even darker interior of the shelter, which smelled of damp earth. Uncle Cliff had rigged up a light of sorts, but they couldn’t turn it on yet, and as they filed in, everyone seemed to be tripping over everyone else’s feet as well as the items of comfort that had been deposited here in case of a drawn-out siege: bottles of water, a torch, a paraffin stove, a kettle, cups, magazines, tins and boxes of essentials. Her mother’s plump bottom directly ahead of her, head down and bent almost double, Nell shuffled and groped her way in, intending to take a seat beside her mother on one of the bunks that Cliff had fitted on two sides. But somehow, amidst all the fumbling, one of the young soldiers managed to engineer a place for her elsewhere, leaving her sandwiched between him and the one called Billy. Then, with ranks of bodies squashed together, the unnerving wait began.

The light had been turned on now, though it was still very dim. There was desultory chat as they sipped their drinks and waited. Nell herself remained speechless, for she had just felt the back of Billy’s hand caress her thigh. Jammed into place, it was impossible for her to move out of range, and so she remained stiff as a poker on the edge of the bunk, hiding her discomposure in her glass and trying not to flinch, as the hand continued its secret stroking.

With no word to the contrary, Billy seemed to take this as an invitation to go further. To her shock, whilst casually chatting to the others, and unnoticed in the poor light, he worked his arm round behind her and tugged her blouse from under the band of her skirt, slipped his hand beneath it, and began to caress her bare back. Nell developed instant goose bumps, and dared not move as the hand grew ever more adventurous, stroking its way underneath her perspiring armpit and brushing the tips of its fingers against her breast. Outraged at his nerve, Nell immediately clamped her arm down on it to prevent any further indignation, growing redder and redder, and trying to retain her look of interest as Aunty Ethel related each step of her recent medical procedure.

Undeterred, a twinkling Billy – obviously greatly enjoying this assault – managed to release his trapped digits from beneath the moist heat of her arm, and diverted his efforts. Nell shivered in anticipation as his hand meandered seductively downwards over her spine and began to invade the waistband of her skirt. She bent forward as if to attend to some interesting morsel of conversation, though her intention was to prevent this rude foray. She half succeeded. The waistband too tight a squeeze, Billy had to content himself by wiggling a finger against the swell of her buttock. Then, a press stud burst with an audible pop. As alarmed as she, Billy quickly withdrew his hand and pretended to examine the sleeve of his battledress.

Everyone looked at him. ‘Was that you, Billy?’ laughed Aunty Phyllis.

‘Yes, I don’t think this uniform’s quite up to my bulging biceps,’ joked Billy, the object of some amusement. ‘I shall have to get out me needle and thread when I get back to billet.’

Phyllis glanced around for her emergency sewing box. ‘Oh, I’m sure one of us can do it while we’re wait—’

‘Thank you very much, but don’t you go bothering yourself, Mrs Spottiswood!’ he cut in hastily. ‘They teach us how to do that sort of thing in the army – it’s nothing much anyway. And if my seam’s the only thing that explodes tonight I’m sure we’ll all be heartily glad.’

But the ensuing ripple of laughter was curtailed upon the rumble of a distant explosion, and at once everyone’s attention was back on the threat.

A faint burst of machine-gun fire had Daphne almost hysterical. ‘What if there’s gas?’ In the claustrophobic surroundings, she was already gulping for air.

Those around were quick to douse her shrieks. ‘You’ll hear the rattle,’ said her father calmly. ‘And we’ve got our masks. Don’t worry.’

Even so, the tension became palpable, each ear pricked for imminent disaster. With one arm tightly around Daphne, Uncle Cliff took quiet possession of his wife’s hand and gripped it, each of the other men doing likewise with the woman who was seated next to him.

Billy went further. Appointing himself as Nell’s protector, he clamped his arm around her soft flesh and leaned intimately towards her, whilst she was forced to sit there with a rapidly beating heart, as much intent on Billy as on the bombers, wondering what he would get up to next, and if her skirt would fall down when she finally rose to leave.

After what seemed like only minutes to a stimulated Nell, but an interminable wait to the others, the all-clear finally sounded. Thoroughly relieved, the occupants dribbled from the musty shelter into the garden, breathing in sweet air, extending their upper limbs to a sky that was not black but a very deep and romantic shade of blue, stamping their cramped feet, and handing round cigarettes. A secret smoker, Nell was forced to decline as a packet was handed to her, knowing her mother would criticise. Still unnerved herself, not by the bombers but by what had occurred in the shelter, she deftly refastened the press stud on her skirt, and in kindly fashion enquired if her mother was all right.

‘Of course I am!’ announced Thelma with bravado. ‘It’ll take a lot more than that to frighten me – but thank you for asking, dear.’

Nell squeezed her mother’s plump arm, but even as she did this, her eyes were darting around to pinpoint her impudent assailant.

He was behind her, saying in a quiet murmur to his friend John, ‘Wonder if anyone copped it – sounded not too far away. I hope Ma’s all right.’ He spoke not of his mother, but their landlady on the other side of the city.

‘We really must be going now,’ Nell’s mother was saying. ‘It’s terribly late and I want to make sure Wilfred’s safe – he’ll be concerned about us too.’

‘Stan says he and the boys’ll escort you home, Aunty Thelma,’ piped up Ronald.

‘Well, let’s all have another drink first to calm the nerves,’ motioned his father, still with his arm around his whey-faced daughter, and coaxing everyone else indoors to be bolstered with what little alcohol was left.

Lagging behind, so as to give Billy a telling-off, Nell found herself dragged to the rear of an outbuilding, where the boldest of kisses was delivered to her lips. Her protest stifled, she had no option but to kiss him back with equal passion, pushing her mouth against his and squashing her whole body against him.

It was darker behind the asbestos shed, but not so dark that their fumbling outline could not be seen. Though she was enjoying this with every fibre of her body, Nell soon broke free and rebuked him heartily, thumping his chest in playful dissent.

‘You rat!’ she hissed at his laughing face. ‘You sat beside me only days ago and said nothing whilst I grumbled on about having to come to this blasted party instead of being out with you – why didn’t you tell me you knew Ron?’

‘I wanted to surprise you.’ Billy giggled merrily at having incited such a display, then gasped and chuckled as she thumped him again.

‘You certainly did that! I almost had kittens.’

‘So you’re not pleased to see me then?’ Lower lip jutting, he rubbed his chest as if winded.

‘You rotter, you know I am!’ And she kissed him again, even more zealously this time, the heat of it travelling to her groin. Feeling his hand cup her breast, she squeaked from the side of her mouth, ‘Behave – we might be caught!’ But Billy only shook with mirth, and continued to press his ardour, and she to return it.

Drawing breath, Nell glanced around quickly to check they were still unobserved, then asked with eyes agleam, ‘Did I do a good job of pretending we were strangers?’

‘Impeccable.’ He tugged her groin back against his, wriggling in pleasure.

‘And no thanks to you!’ She physically berated him again.

‘Oy! I’ll have you for assault and battery.’ Billy faked offence. ‘Your mother seemed to like me well enough. Maybe I should change the object of my affections.’

Laughingly dismissing this, Nell pressed her face into his warm chest and hugged his khaki-clad form for all she was worth, breathing in the scent of tobacco and beer and the man himself.

‘Seriously, though, your mum did seem to like me,’ put in Billy. ‘Why don’t we just –?’

‘No!’ Nell forestalled him. ‘I know what you’re going to suggest, and coming clean would be the biggest mistake ever. Don’t let Mother fool you. She might well approve of you as a champion of our nation, and so might Father, but once they’ve been alerted that I have a chap my life will become even more regulated. And that’s the last thing I want – oh, I still can’t get over this lovely surprise! My dear, gorgeous Bill.’ She hugged him tightly and he hugged her back, not one trace of self-consciousness between them, as if they had known each other for years instead of just three weeks.

It had been one of those breathtaking events that happen out of the blue. Nell had not gone looking for love at all. In fact, she had been quite disposed to spend that particular evening in more serious pursuit at her first-aid class. It was from there that she and two pals had been ambling home through town, heading innocently for their bus stop, when a group of soldiers had – there was no other word for it – a pounced on them, and, the boys linking the girls’ arms in a firm hold, had commandeered their company for the rest of the night. They had been such a friendly, jocular lot that their cheek could not possibly give offence – not to mention that the girls were eager to seize any bit of excitement on offer, and had readily accepted the soldiers’ invitation for drinks at Betty’s – even though Nell had never entered a bar in her life.

It was to be the first of many dares she had accepted during this brief enthralling period. Madly in love with Billy, and being compelled to face her own mortality like countless others, Nell wanted to taste everything life had to offer. She had known nothing whatsoever about sex prior to meeting him – did not really know the whole of it even now – for neither her mother nor her school had enlightened her about such an unthinkable subject. But the passion he engendered within her, the overwhelming urge to discover, was almost unstoppable tonight …

Then, in a trice Billy’s smile had faded, and his voice was reticent as he stroked her and admitted, ‘I’ve another surprise, only part of it good, I’m afraid. The boys and me have been called back down south.’ At Nell’s utterance of dismay, he gripped her arms and drove the sombre expression from his face as he added, ‘But at least they’ve given us a weekend leave before we go! It means you and me can … well, you know … if you want to.’ His eyes probed hers, brimming with enticement. ‘Will you come away with me?’

In that bittersweet moment, Nell did not know whether to cry at his leaving, or rejoice at this opportunity to spend the night together. She chose the latter, giving breathless reply. ‘Oh, Billy, do you have to ask?’ And her expression poured with willingness as she gazed into that fine-looking face that shone with love for her.

‘I hoped you’d say that, so I’ve already booked a place in Scarborough – actually, a pal’s arranged it for me, it belongs to his aunty. I got him to say we’ll be on honeymoon.’ He shared a grin with her. ‘It’s nothing posh, I’m afraid, and it’s full of evacuees, but everywhere else is taken by the army.’

‘It doesn’t matter, so long as we can be together!’ Nell performed a little dance of joy. There followed a brief run-through of Billy’s secret plan – where to meet, what to bring – then Nell voiced her one worry. ‘I’ll have to fabricate an excuse for my parents …’

‘Oh, well, that’s it then, we’ll have to call it off.’ He was obviously joking.

She pressed herself against him, seduction in her eyes. ‘Don’t you dare! Seriously, though, it’s going to be very cloak and dagger, they always want to know my every movement.’ She had only managed to meet him by coinciding their assignations with her first-aid classes and pretending she would be staying behind to chat with female friends.

Billy thought of something else. ‘Would they open any letters I might send?’

‘What do you mean might send?’ she scolded. ‘I’ll expect one every single day – that’s how often I’ll be writing to you.’

Billy grinned, and said that of course he would.

Nell told him then, ‘No, they don’t go so far as to open my mail, but one never knows what they might do if they’re suspicious, so maybe you could send them via Mrs Precious.’ This was Billy’s landlady in York, with whom she was acquainted. ‘Then I could collect them on my way home from work.’

But then her eyes misted over, and she clung to him, her joy over the weekend tryst overshadowed by the thought that it would signal his departure. ‘Oh God, how am I ever going to exist without you?’

Billy was trying to quash her look of despair with a beer-flavoured kiss when a male voice called, ‘Are you out there, Eleanor?’

Both of them instantly alert, Billy gestured for her to remain silent, then stepped from behind the shed and greeted the intruder. ‘No, just me, I’m afraid, chum, enjoying the last of me fag.’ He drew Ronald to him and kept him occupied, allowing Nell to sneak around the far side of the shed, and along the gap between that and the fence. On tenterhooks as her feet encountered dried and crackling branches, she finally managed to reach the outside closet.

A few moments later there came the sound of a clanking chain and flushing, and Nell emerged. Ronald turned at the sound and exclaimed, ‘Ah, there you are! Aunty Thelma’s keen to be off, I think.’ Then all three went back into the house.

‘We do have indoor facilities,’ chided Aunt Phyllis when it was announced where Ronald had found her, obviously embarrassed at being thought of as the poor relation in front of visitors, and especially her sister-in-law Thelma, who always displayed the best.

Noticing bits of foliage stuck to her clothes, Nell brushed them away and looked flustered. ‘I just thought as I was out there – right, I’m ready when you are, Mother.’

Stan moved forward to fulfil his guarantee, but: ‘We’ll all escort you,’ put in Billy, and, grinning encouragement, he crooked each arm and invited the women to link theirs with him. ‘Jerry won’t dare harm you with us in tow.’

Nell felt a rush of warmth, but looked to her mother before making a move.

Thelma appeared similarly pleased, though tendered, ‘Is it not out of your way, boys?’

‘No! We’ll be heading towards town anyway.’ And so, at Billy’s generous insistence, Thelma and Nell hooked their arms through his.

‘How come you always get the girls?’ teased his army pals as they made their exit, yawping goodbyes as they left.

With everyone slightly tipsy, weaving a rather uneven route through the blackout, the soldiers continued to be good company on the way home. With her mother obviously taken with their repartee, Nell sought to enlist the young men as support, and aired the topic she had been wanting to put forth for a while.

She began with a positive comment, trying to sound chatty as they ambled along with the others close behind and the whiff of cigarette smoke on the air. ‘Mrs Benson thinks I should easily get my first-aid diploma. Apparently I’m one of her top pupils.’ It was not in Nell’s character to brag, but in her mother’s case it always paid.

‘I should hope so.’ Thelma withdrew a handkerchief from her bag and dabbed it over her perspiring brow, adding to the man on her arm, ‘Eleanor had a very good education, Billy. She was always top of the class – and head girl of her school. We’re very proud of her.’

‘I can tell that, Mrs Spottiswood.’ Billy smiled through the dark, and secretly squeezed Nell’s arm in the crook of his, as his sweetheart continued:

‘She says, that it seems such a waste not to make full use of it, and that I should volunteer for one of the first-aid posts on an evening, but I’ve been thinking, I’d like to do something even more positive for the war effort – certainly do more than sit behind a typewriter.’ Nell worked in an office of the civil service, but was still on the lower rungs of the ladder. ‘You know, to feel that I was really doing something tangible to help – like you and father, and these brave chaps here. So what if I applied to become a nurse?’

‘As a full-time occupation?’ quizzed her mother doubtfully. ‘After your father went to all that trouble to get you the job? Throw away your typing and shorthand qualifications?’

‘They wouldn’t be wasted!’ Nell hated her working environ ment, but for now sought to cajole her mother with the premise, ‘I can always return to the office after the war.’

‘That’s true, Mrs Spottiswood!’ chipped in one of the squaddies from the rear. ‘They’re crying out for nurses. My sister’s gone to be one, and very proud of her we are.’

Thelma glanced round briefly at the speaker, and then back at her daughter. ‘Yes, but the training would take years, wouldn’t it? The war might be over –’

‘Oh, I don’t mean to go on the register,’ said Nell quickly. ‘That would take years, yes. I just mean in an assistant capacity.’

Her mother tutted. ‘Why not be a proper nurse? That’s just like my daughter!’ She glanced around to roll her eyes at the soldiers. ‘Always goes for half-measure because she can’t be bothered!’

Nell felt belittled, and was glad of Billy’s support.

‘I can’t believe that, Mrs Spottiswood. She strikes me as very capable.’

‘Yes, I agree, she is, when she puts her mind to it – and she’d want to be, the money that’s been spent on her,’ laughed the woman on his right, using his arm to steady herself as she tottered off a kerb, in spite of there being a white line to define it.

Nell jumped in, craning her neck around Billy to exclaim, ‘Well, that’s partly what swayed it, Mother!’ She had to box clever here, for Mother was touchy on the subject of finances, there must be no intimation of poverty, even though any reduction in Nell’s wage would mean hardship. The Spottiswoods had sacrificed much in their pursuit of their daughter’s betterment. ‘I wouldn’t be able to pay my way if I had to fork out for the registration fee, the textbooks, the exams, pencils, et cetera …’

‘And if you want her to go back to secretarial work after the war, Mrs Spottiswood –’ began Billy.

‘Of course we do, she has a fine career ahead of her!’

‘Until she marries, naturally,’ added Billy, receiving a swift dig from Nell’s elbow.

‘That will definitely be a long way off,’ laughed Thelma. ‘We’ve invested so much in her, the last thing we want is for her to throw it all away by tying herself to the first young man who comes along, and to become a dull little housewife.’

‘But you’re a housewife and you’re not dull,’ flattered Billy.

Nell’s mother gave a simpering laugh. ‘Oh, you’re so gallant, dear! But no, Eleanor’s father and I have agreed – he’s very progressive that way – the further she climbs in her career, the more assured her future. If she does choose to marry, when she’s much, much older, well, by then she will be able to raise her sights considerably.’

Billy seemed unfazed, laughing as he asked, ‘What if she has other ideas?’

Again Nell dealt him a nudge that warned, I’m going to kill you if you don’t shut up! But to her mother she said, ‘We’re getting off the subject here! As Reg said before, Mother, they’re crying out for nurses of any variety. Mrs Benson tells me the time I spent helping you look after Grandma should ensure that I can attain my certificate of home nursing.’ For the last couple of years until her grandmother had recently passed away, of her own volition Nell had helped her mother tend the bedridden old lady. It had been her own idea, too, to attend the first-aid course. ‘I do so want to do my bit, and I just thought you’d prefer it if I kept my options open for after the war …’

With Mother still looking unsure, perhaps a little dig was warranted. ‘Of course, with the wage being only two pounds a week, I realise that would leave you short –’

‘It won’t make that much difference.’ Thelma turned airy.

‘So you don’t mind then?’ badgered Nell.

‘Oh, I suppose it’s a reasonable enough suggestion,’ decided her mother, wanting to leave the subject behind, for the lateness of the hour had just caught up with her. ‘I’ll speak to your father about it.’

‘Oh, good!’ Guessing it would have met with blank refusal had the soldiers not been there, Nell grinned at Billy in relief, and experienced a surge of enthusiasm at the prospect of taking a genuine part in the defence of Britain. ‘I’ll apply as soon as I can get my certificates and references then.’ In fact she had already filled in the pink application form of the Civil Nursing Reserve.

Almost to the avenue where they lived, Thelma showed reluctance to leave the young soldiers. ‘Well, boys, it’s been thoroughly marvellous having your company, but we’ll say goodnight to you here, so as not to delay you. Thank you so much for accompanying us.’

‘The pleasure’s all ours, Mrs Spottiswood!’ Billy released her arm, and to murmurs of agreement from his friends, added, ‘We hope to meet you again sometime – oh, I almost took this one by mistake!’ Pretending that he had been about to move off with Nell still attached to his arm, he donned his wide, attractive smile and made great ceremony of handing the daughter over. ‘That’d earn me a right ticking off, and no mistake!’

And upon Thelma’s laughing agreement, he managed to slip a secret wink to Nell, before he and his friends melted into the night.

‘They were nice sociable chaps, weren’t they?’ opined her mother, as she and Nell undertook the last fifty yards through the darkness unescorted. ‘Especially Billy. And so good-looking – distinguished, even. I wonder what he did before the war?’

Her mind still crammed with thoughts of her loved one, the smell and touch of him, Nell responded without thinking. ‘He’s a carpenter.’

‘I never heard that arise in conversation,’ frowned Thelma.

Realising her mistake, Nell said quickly, ‘I think I overheard Ronny mention it.’

Her mother issued a sage nod. ‘Yes, I thought with that accent it had to be something, well, practical shall we say – not that it matters,’ she added charitably, ‘he’s the salt of the earth.’

It would matter if you knew I was planning to marry him, though, came Nell’s grim thought.

‘With chaps like him we’re sure to win – oh, thank goodness, your father’s safely home!’ Thelma had noticed that the gate was open. Her husband always did this, no matter how many times she went to close it after him, and in the knowledge that he was unharmed, her next comment was tinged with displeasure. ‘I do hope he hasn’t brought the stench of beer and cigarettes home with him again. Your Aunty Phyllis might not care that her upholstery reeks like a saloon bar, but I do. He seems to have gone completely wild since he joined that Home Guard.’

Nell clicked the latch behind them. ‘Do you mind if I rush straight to bed? Or I’ll never get up for work in the morning.’

As she headed upstairs, her mind and body were ticking over at the thought of her coming weekend with Billy.

2

It turned out that she was to be late for work anyway, but it didn’t matter for so were plenty of others. The previous night’s raid had been successful – for Jerry that was – sixty-nine houses near the cemetery being damaged, leaving two seriously injured, over one hundred and fifty with minor wounds, and causing all sorts of problems with the flow of traffic around York’s narrow streets, mostly due to sightseers clustering to gawp.

Apart from twittering over the matter with colleagues when she finally arrived, for once Nell was to suppress her curiosity and focus on more pertinent matters. Hence, over the next few days and evenings, eager for change – eager for anything that might help the time up to meeting Billy go more quickly – she was to acquire her two certificates, plus the necessary references, one from her first-aid instructor, the other from her old headmistress, and then submit her application to be a nursing auxiliary. Applying personally in her lunch hour on Thursday, her keenness, intelligence and smart appearance being viewed most favourably, on the heels of her interview came acceptance.

It was with pride that she was able to announce to her mother that evening, ‘I’m going to be working on one of the ambulance trains – I start a week on Monday!’

For once, Thelma was magnanimous. ‘Very well done, dear!’

Basking in this praise, Nell chattered away about her new post whilst her mother carried on preparing the evening meal, which smelled delicious as usual.

‘But won’t your employer require a month’s notice?’ cautioned Thelma, looking suddenly distracted as beads of moisture sprang to her brow.

‘No, they’re willing to accept a week as it’s such a worthy cause,’ said Nell, her mind moving to Billy, with whom she had managed to steal a few hours on Tuesday evening after first aid, but who remained ignorant of her success. She couldn’t wait to give him the news, and the thought of this made her clasp her hands. ‘Isn’t it exciting! But I’ll miss my friends, of course.’ Having struggled to devise a plan of how to gain parental consent to go away without them, she had now seen a way forward. ‘Oh, before I forget, Barbara’s parents have invited me to spend the weekend at their house in Scarborough. Was it all right to accept?’

Slightly hot and bothered as she went about the kitchen, Thelma paused in her preparation of dinner. ‘Barbara … was that the girl you introduced me to in town the other week?’

‘No, that was Enid.’

Her mother looked only slightly relieved. ‘Good, she wasn’t the kind I’d like you to spend time with. Very flighty.’ She elbowed her daughter out of the way in order to transport a saucepan from the gas stove to the sink. ‘Will you please shift? And hand me that masher – and lay the table, your father will be in any second.’ Once assisted, she drained the potatoes, raising a brief cloud of steam from the sink, then began to mash them as she went on to ask, ‘Well, who is this Barbara then?’

‘Oh, just a workmate.’ Collecting a handful of knives, forks and spoons, Nell tried to sound casual, but it obviously emerged as dismissive as she went to the dining room.

‘Really, Eleanor! She might be only a workmate to you, but she obviously holds you in much higher regard, or why would her parents have been kind enough to invite you into their home for the weekend? Having said that, I’d rather have met her before you accepted.’

‘She’s a perfectly respectable girl,’ replied Nell, ‘you’ve no need to interrogate her.’

‘I’d much rather form an opinion on that for myself – and don’t be so insolent!’ Thelma’s cross response was due as much to the sweat that was streaming down her temples as to her thoughtless daughter.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it how it sounded.’ Nell tried to be helpful, lifting the warm plates off the rack before tendering, ‘So will you ask Father if it’ll be all right?’

Her mother gave a snort. ‘I’m sure he’ll say the same as me – it will have to be all right, seeing as it would be rude to rescind your acceptance! Don’t mention it at the table or you’ll give him indigestion. I’ll speak to him later. Oh, the things you land me with!’ Having quickly drained all the vegetables and replaced them near the stove to keep warm, she went to throw open the larder door, tapping her lips thoughtfully as her eyes ran over the contents. ‘Now, what do I send?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, you can’t arrive at someone’s house empty-handed! Not in these times of shortage.’

Nell gave a negating smile. ‘Barbara’s parents won’t need it, they’re very well-off.’

This was rather condescending in her mother’s opinion. But, before Thelma could object again, Nell added, ‘What I meant was, it’s not just me going, there’s a whole group of us, half a dozen – it’s a huge house apparently, so they can’t be short of a bob or two.’

Her mother looked slightly relieved at not having to plunder her stock cupboard. ‘Well, I’ve no wish to insult – but you must reciprocate. Barbara must come to us sometime.’

Nell gave a quick nod. ‘Should I take my ration book, do you think?’ Billy had warned her that she would have to hand this over to the proprietor of the hotel. This might be difficult as her mother had charge of it, but she added now, ‘Her parents might need it so they can purchase extra food.’

Returning to check on the bread sauce, her mother voiced scepticism. ‘If they’ve got the wherewithal to have half a dozen house guests for the weekend they must shop on the black market.’ Nevertheless, she undertook to relinquish the ration book come Friday evening. ‘Oh, here’s Daddy – right on time as usual!’

The next day, after a quick bite to eat, Nell hurried round to her lover’s billet during the hour that had been allocated for dinner, to convey the good news that she could go away with Billy as planned. He wasn’t there, of course. Every morning since he had arrived in York, straight from the beaches of Dunkirk and carrying only a mattress and a small bag of rations, along with wounded pride, a lorry had collected him and other infantrymen from their billet, and taken them to a camp for exercise. But Nell left a message with Mrs Precious, just so he would not fret that he might not see her again before being sent to London.

Then it was back to her typewriter, the rest of the afternoon feeling as long as a week.

Directly after tea, Nell asked that she might be excused, and ran up to pack a small suitcase, her mother calling after her, ‘I’ve laid out clean underwear for you!’

Shouting merry thanks, Nell reached behind a row of books to retrieve the carefully folded package she had recently hidden there. Not daring to unwrap the silken nightdress, which had left her virtually penniless until next pay day, she slipped it directly into the case alongside her old one – better take that or Mother might be suspicious. Straight on top went a layer of suitable clothing and a bathing costume. Hidden though it might be, the nightdress provoked a momentary quiver. She was sexually ignorant in regard to the mechanics, though not so totally naive that she did not know the gamble she was taking. A man and a woman in the same bed …

But then her parents slept in the same bed, and they had no children – and at this moment Nell could not have cared less, for who knew how long they would all have to live? The excitement and urgency of being with Billy overruling any risk, she snapped the case shut, then it was back down the stairs.

‘Let us look at you!’

Hurrying through the hall to the sitting room, a suitcase in one hand, her gas mask container slung over her shoulder, Nell answered her parents’ demand, reduced to a schoolgirl again as she posed for their inspection.

Father had spread before him on a maroon chenille tablecloth the small arsenal he had accumulated. Some of it was from his exploits as an officer in the Great War, such as the Webley service revolver, the lethal-looking bayonet, and the Luger automatic pistol taken from a dead German. Other weapons were home-made – a brass knuckle duster and a garrotte. To Nell he didn’t appear to be doing anything specific with them, but he just liked to exhibit them from time to time, as if to reassure his family that he would be ready to protect them if the Germans did land. But his attention was now for his daughter. ‘That’s more like the girl I know!’ announced the grey face, with a pleased smile for her lack of make-up. Then he dipped into his pocket and pulled out half a crown. ‘Here you are, my little chickadee, treat yourself.’

Nell reached out and thanked him with a warm smile.

‘Better take a mackintosh in case it rains,’ warned her mother, rising to go and fetch this, whilst Nell exchanged an amused but frustrated glance with her father.

‘Let her do it if it keeps her happy,’ Wilfred advised her, as his wife folded the mackintosh over the crook of Nell’s arm.

‘Now, have you got everything – identity card?’

‘Yes, Mother!’

‘Let me check your case.’

‘There’s no time!’ Nell dashed for the door. ‘I’ve a bus to catch.’ For once, she thanked providence for the rationing of petrol. There was no danger of Father offering to chauffeur her into town: he was saving all his coupons towards a decent family outing.

Her parents came to see her off, their exit disturbing a sparrow that was enjoying a dust bath amongst the geraniums, and drawing a tut from Wilfred over the desecration of his prized garden.

‘Now, don’t do anything to show us up,’ warned her mother. ‘And if you hear the sirens go straight to a shelter!’

‘I won’t – I mean, I will!’ Nell called gaily over her shoulder, and hurried away up the avenue.

Not until out from under father’s eye did she take a little cardboard pot of rouge from her gas mask container and smear some on her lips, checking her appearance in her compact mirror, before catching her bus, nerves gurgling in her craw all the way into town.

And there was Billy! As handsome as a film star, waiting for her at the prearranged spot. Waving frantically to him through the window, she jumped off the bus almost before it stopped, and rushed to meet him as he too accelerated forth. Thrilled by what lay ahead, they exchanged a quick bright-eyed kiss, then spurted to catch their connection to Scarborough, which was about to depart further along the kerb.

Once in their seats, holding hands and grinning like Cheshire cats, they spoke little to each other as the bus chugged jerkily on its way out of the city, for besides them being so keyed up, there were too many passengers who might overhear intimacies.

However, as the bus paused to give way to a tank, Nell did reveal her successful appointment. ‘Guess who’s to be a nurse?’

‘Oh, when?’

‘Monday week!’

‘Good for you!’ He gave her a commending pat on the hand, before appearing to have second thoughts. ‘’Ere, you won’t be dealing with wounded soldiers, will you?’

‘Why, would you be jealous?’ teased Nell.

‘I flipping-well would, if you’ll be running your hands over their bits and pieces!’

She tittered at his rudeness, then moved up close to appease him. ‘Well, you’ve no need to be. I’m led to understand that we’ll only be used for evacuating civilians from London to somewhere safe up north.’ Then she donned an optimistic smile. ‘Maybe we’ll be able to meet down there! You could take me to Bermondsey.’ This was where he hailed from. ‘I’m dying to see it.’

Billy had mixed feelings about this. ‘Much as I’d love to see you any time, I’d prefer it to be well clear of London. The way things are heading, it’s only a matter of time before they hit us.’

‘Hmm, well, I don’t relish being bombed either, but I hope I get to do something crucial, that’s the whole point of becoming a nurse.’ It was Billy who, in part, had inspired her decision. To be so young and yet so totally embroiled in the defence of one’s country, he had put her to shame. ‘Anyway, let’s not talk about the war. Let’s concentrate on enjoying ourselves.’

‘Oh, I intend to.’ Billy gave her his dirty grin as the bus started to move again, then added hastily, ‘Speaking about that, you’d better put this on.’ After a peripheral glance, and with a definite lack of ceremony, he withdrew a small box from his pocket and slipped it to her.

Taking his lead, Nell lifted the lid of the box in surreptitious manner, and though she would have preferred to exclaim and openly admire its contents, she was to sneak the ring quickly onto her finger and whisper only, ‘It’s lovely!’ before tucking the tiny container out of sight.

But as much as she tried not to draw attention to it, the tips of her thumb and finger itched to examine the golden circle that adorned her wedding finger – not a fake one from Woolworths, as one might expect for an illicit weekend, but a genuine wedding ring – for which she beamed thanks to her lover.

‘Only nine carats, I’m afraid.’ Bill looked self-effacing, the restrictions of war and not parsimony having barred him from acquiring a twenty-three carat one, as he was quick to explain. ‘But I’ll be buying you a proper one when it’s all over.’

‘No you won’t,’ came her murmured instruction. ‘I’ll be keeping this one forever.’

Then, sharing a loving smile and a squeeze of each other’s hand, they tore their eyes away, and for the rest of the journey were to watch the countryside whiz by, and to mull over tantalising thoughts about the coming night.

With the room in total blackout, and her senses all to pot, there was no way of telling when night became day. Nell gasped as, with the aid of a lamp and snatching a look over Billy’s naked shoulder, she consulted his watch on the bedside table. ‘You do realise it’s almost nine o’clock?’ Nine o’clock in the morning that was.

Her bed companion grinned and stretched luxuriously like a cat, sharing a long, loving gaze with her, before hugging her to him and dappling her shoulder with kisses between words. ‘Well, the landlady did say to make ourselves at home. Anyway, we can stay in bed all day if we like, we’re married.’

Nell chuckled adoringly and returned his hug, shivering at the touch of his lips on her skin. ‘Oh, I wish we were, Bill, that we could fall asleep together every night, wake up together like this …’ Intensely happy, she released her hold on him and extended her hand to properly examine the exquisite gold ring he had bought her, all shiny and new.

Averse to losing any contact with her, however brief, Billy repossessed her hand and kissed it. ‘We will one day, I promise. You do believe me, don’cher?’ And he beheld her with a face so earnest that it could not possibly tell a lie.

‘Of course I do! That goes without saying.’ They had discussed this in depth. Aside from her parents not granting permission, Billy had told Nell she was much too young to be left a widow.

‘I saw what it was like for my mum after Dad was killed,’ he had become serious. ‘If anything should happen to me, I couldn’t bear the thought of you strugg—’

‘Don’t!’ Shuffling around quickly to synchronise her body to his again, she laid her hand across his lips, her eyes and voice pleading. ‘Let’s just put everything else aside and enjoy this chance to be together. I can’t tell you how wonderful it is.’ Totally spellbound, she cupped his cheek and stroked his brow, his ear, his smooth young jaw, feeling so intensely close, yet desiring to be closer still.

Billy agreed, his expression as blissful and contented as Nell’s as he tried to pull her even nearer to him, and rubbed his hand from nape to buttock as they kissed again.

At length, he tendered, ‘So … was it all right then?’

Nell glimpsed again the slight self-consciousness she had witnessed upon first entering the hotel room last night. She had been so worried about her own innocence that it had not occurred to her that Billy might be nervous too, but it had turned out that her lover was as inexperienced as she. ‘More than all right,’ she murmured lovingly, bestowing more kisses, to which Billy responded by burying his face in her neck, nuzzling around the back of her ear and into her hair.

‘But we really ought to get up,’ she was finally to say. ‘It’ll be embarrassing if the landlady sees the light under the door and comes knocking.’ The rattling of pots could be heard from downstairs, and the thunder of childish footsteps on the landing as the evacuees returned from breakfast.

‘She won’t. She thinks we’re on honeymoon, remember?’ Billy assured her, his face still pressed to her neck, dotting it with kisses.

‘Even more embarrassing! Everyone at the breakfast table knowing what we’ve been up to.’ But her smiling embrace was to prove Nell didn’t really care. Didn’t care about anything but the boy she loved.

Eventually, though, they had to rise. Dressing quickly, with a fond smile for Billy as he too covered his nakedness, Nell waited for him to cease hopping about on one foot, before turning off the lamp. Then, rendered blind, she stumbled her way to the window and pulled aside the blackout curtains to let the sun filter through the network of masking tape. Even lit by sunbeams, the room was not much to speak of, with a cast iron bedstead – with very rumpled sheets – beige lino and two well-worn green rugs, a wardrobe, a washstand, and above this an unframed mirror, plus one or two pictures of moorland and sheep to punctuate the faded wallpaper. But to Nell and her lover it was heaven. Both adjusting their clothes, giggling and whispering to each other, they made their way downstairs to seek breakfast, trying to appear like an old married couple.

The landlady did not bat an eyelid upon announcing she had been keeping something warm for them, and almost immediately they were served with bacon, egg, toast and tea. At least the evacuees had gone off to play, so they were allowed to eat in peace. Tucking in, but remaining self-conscious in an otherwise empty dining room, it was not long before Nell and Billy had cleared their plates, and were escaping into the fresh air.

Despite the fact that Scarborough was under fortification, with barriers, minefields and concrete pill boxes thrown up around the town, and sections of the beach cordoned off with barbed wire, it remained the bustling place of entertainment it had always been – even more bustling, with so many servicemen and children competing for space along the front. Historically a place to sit in deckchairs and listen to the band, the genteel Spa was now under military requisition. Nevertheless there were pleasures to be had amongst the amusement arcades and shellfish stalls, and these Nell and Billy proceeded to chase, undeterred by the sandbags and wire-netting, barely letting go of each other all day – even managing to eat a saucer of cockles with arms entwined, as they bumped and weaved their starry-eyed way in and out of the promenading throng, absorbing all the raucous treats that were on tap.

And when the money ran out, there were self-invented pastimes to supply laughter – even without the glasses of beer partaken at lunch – Nell’s companion so easygoing, a delight to be with. For her afternoon recreation he made up a guessing-game, which involved comparing passers-by to animals.

‘I can’t think what that chap might be,’ mused Nell, when it came to her turn, swinging her leg as they sat on a bench along the seafront. ‘He’s not really like any creature, is he?’ Billy was quick to gain points. ‘He’s a thatched cottage – has to be, with all that hair. Blimey, he’s like Moe off the Three Stooges!’

‘That’s cheating!’ She elbowed him laughingly, and drew away to accuse. ‘You said it had to be animals.’ Even this short gap between them proved too much, her eyes barely able to leave him for one second, as she watched a runnel of sweat filter from his dark hair to his brow, trickling through the creases at the edges of his eyes, then onwards down his firm cheek, before giving in to the urge to dab it away with her finger. ‘I’d hate to hear what I remind you of.’ But she shuffled back to him again, fondly laying her head on his shoulder.

Billy cuddled up to her, his voice deep and flirtatious as it murmured into her ear, ‘I can answer that easy enough – velvet, and chocolate and cream, all soft and sweet.’

‘Oh don’t say that!’ Nell looked and sounded disappointed. ‘Not all sugar and spice and things that make one puke.’

‘I didn’t mean it like that!’ Billy laughed. ‘Gawd help us – how do you want me to see you then?’

‘I’d much rather be thought of as a femme fatale.’ She adopted an exotic air, her accent foreign and her voice theatrical. ‘Dark and mysterious –’

‘You’re a ruddy mystery all right,’ cut in Billy, whipping his jovial face out of reach as she pretended to clip him. Then he sought to explain. ‘No, it’s just sometimes hard to put a word to a feeling, ain’t it? I think you’re really nice-looking – that goes without saying.’

His subject flushed with pleasure, but made self-effacing comment. ‘Not exactly dainty, though, not like that girl over there.’

‘Who cares? Look at the geezer she’s with, he’s not built like me, is he? No, we’re well-matched, you and me. I like something to get hold of.’ To Nell’s chuckles, he demonstrated this, before adding, ‘What I meant about the velvet thing was, your face has this gentle, warm way about it, as if you’re always concerned for other people, no sharp edges to it …’

‘Pudgy,’ contributed Nell.

‘No! Stop running yourself down. It’s a lovely mug. Your skin, it’s all creamy, and those chocolatey eyes, it’s as if they’re reflecting candlelight …’ His subject gave a squirm of delight, he an embarrassed quip. ‘How’s that for bleedin’ poetry?’ Moving on quickly, he asked, ‘Okay, what do I remind you of then?’

Nell placed a finger to her chin and looked thoughtful. ‘Hmm – a wet dog.’

‘Thanks very much!’ he sputtered laughingly. ‘I needn’t ask what you think of my hairy chest!’

Nell laughed too – her face ached with all the laughing she had done over the past twenty-four hours. ‘Let me finish! One of my uncles has this black mongrel –’

‘Oh, even better!’ roared Billy, throwing back his dark curly head.

‘– who loves nothing more than to jump in the river, and when he comes out he’s all bright-eyed and laughing and boisterous, bursting with life and energy – that’s what I love about you,’ Nell managed to finish. ‘You’re so full of fun, and believe me there’s such a dearth of it in our house. My parents are such old fogies.’

‘Do you ever speculate over what your real ones were like?’ asked Billy, who knew her life story.

Nell looked slightly taken aback, for she considered Wilfred and Thelma to be her real parents. They were the only ones she had known, and, perhaps due to their honesty in never hiding it from her that she had been adopted, she felt as secure as if she had been born to them. But then she admitted with a guilty smile, ‘Only when my own are annoying me, I wonder if the others were film stars or something exciting like that. But I don’t regard them to be real parents – after all, they gave me away, didn’t they?’

‘They must’ve been mad.’ He squeezed her. ‘Well, there’ll be bumper fun when we get our own house – and lots of kids.’ After sharing a tender kiss, his eyes, and Nell’s too, drifted away from each other to watch the youngsters frolick ing on the crowded beach with their buckets and spades. ‘Shall we join ’em?’

And so they did, removing their shoes and emptying them of sand, then threading their way amongst an ever-growing colony of deckchairs to find an unoccupied patch of beach, where Billy spread his khaki blouse for them to sit on. Then, aware of other people only yards away – old men with knotted handkerchiefs to protect their bald pates and trousers rolled up to the knee, scarlet-faced wives in full corsetry, complete with handbag – in discreet but awkward fashion, both shed their clothes to reveal the swimming costumes worn beneath.

Once settled side by side, looking out to sea over their kneecaps, Nell leaned against Billy, lost in reverie. ‘Where shall we live? London or York?’

‘I don’t give a fig, so long as I’m with you,’ he answered, rocking her back and forth, their flesh stuck together in the August heat.

In total agreement, Nell imbibed a deep lungful of all the scents that wafted by – the brine, the shellfish, the donkeys, the frying of chips, the honest sweat – and felt her spirits soar as high as the brilliant sun. Squinting at its reflection glittering on the waves, she exhaled a rapturous sigh. ‘We couldn’t have asked for a nicer day, could we? I just wish it didn’t have to end.’

‘Me neither.’ He squeezed her gently. ‘But we’ve got most of tomorrow as well.’ Then, as his eyes swept her curves, he became aware that her shoulders were quickly turning pink. ‘Lord, you’re going to have to watch it with your delicate skin.’

Raking her damp fringe from her brow, Nell puffed out her cheeks and fanned her face. ‘Yes, I should’ve brought a hat.’

‘Allow me!’ said Billy, and, reaching to his pile of clothes, he pulled out his forage cap and stuck it on her head at a jaunty angle. ‘There you are, Mrs Kelly! How do you like that titfer?’

The recipient looked proud at first, but then she sniggered and covered her mouth. ‘Nelly Kelly – won’t Mother be delighted!’

And they found themselves laughing gleefully again, as Billy exhorted, ‘Come on, let’s go for a dip!’ And, ignoring their audience, they ran yelling into the ice-cold sea.

* * *

By the end of an exceptionally fine day, which was to include an abandoned spell of jitterbugging on the dance floor, whilst Billy’s olive skin was to assume an attractive shade of tan, Nell found herself crimson. She had won a photographic award as the girl with the most sunburned back on the beach, but it didn’t feel much of a privilege now. Even a hastily purchased pot of cold cream failed to ease the fire, and by bedtime she was radiating such heat that her lover could not get near without causing dis comfort – hardly conducive to unrestrained passion. All the same, she vowed that there was no way this would prevent her from being in Billy’s arms for their final night together.

Afterwards, reluctant to go to sleep, draped only in a sheet, for Nell’s burnt skin could bear nothing more, they lay with the curtains apart and their bodies lit by the moon, loath to miss any expression on the other’s face, holding hands and murmuring into the night.

‘I’m dreading leaving you,’ Billy voiced his mixed feelings, gently playing with her fingers throughout, ‘but I’m rather glad to have this chance to see my old mum’s all right.’

Nell softly agreed. ‘You must be worried, and she about you.’

‘Yeah, her little baby,’ he grinned.

Nell smiled too, knowing that he was the youngest, almost twenty years younger than his eldest sibling. ‘I’m more worried in case they send you back to Europe.’

His tanned body heaved a sigh. ‘Well, they’ll send us sometime, that’s for certain. I’ll almost be glad in a way …’

‘Oh, Billy, don’t say that!’ She knew a little of what he had been through, for in their quieter moments she had coaxed it from him: how he hadn’t known where he was going or what was happening, had just done what he was told and gone where he was sent, only to end up on a beach with thousands of his comrades, their backs to the sea; there to wait for days under murderous fire until the rescue boats came; and even more days whilst others boarded ahead of him, forced to watch them sail for England, whilst in the meantime he lost everything – his comrades, his rifle, his equipment, half his uniform, and all personal possessions, even a little china ornament for his mum. As the brave boats had continued to come, he had waded out until the sea lapped his chest, only to wade ashore again when there was no more room aboard; and when his wrung-out carcass was eventually hauled onto a craft and given the tastiest jam sandwich and the best mug of tea he had ever consumed, this was promptly interrupted by a dive-bomber, forcing him once more over the side to swim for his life …

At her first cry of anguish, Billy had lifted his head from the pillow. ‘No, I mean, if I have to fight ’em, I’d rather it be over there than on our own doorstep – oh, I don’t know what I mean, Nelly, it’s hard to explain …’ Allowing his tousled head to fall back, he hesitated for long moments, before proceeding to admit his shame over the benighted inhabitants of Belgium and France. ‘Those poor bloody wretches, thinking we’d come to save them – well, we thought we had too,’ he interjected a bitter laugh, ‘lapped it up, I did, being thought of as a conquering hero, taking souvenirs off the girls – none of them as pretty as you, mind,’ he added quickly.

Secure in his love for her, Nell showed this with her smile.

‘Didn’t think we’d be running for our lives with our tails between our legs,’ added Billy, picking absently at the sheet that draped them, ‘and leaving the poor blighters to their fate.’

‘But you gave of your best, you’ve no need to be ashamed!’ Nell felt tears prick her eyes. Hating that raw anguish, she tried to stroke it away, her hand upon his cheek.

He turned to meet her gaze for a second, love and pity in his eyes, before averting it to the ceiling. For how could he tell her the real story? That it had been every man for himself. That he had stepped over dead and dying comrades in his haste to escape the blazing hell of Dunkirk. How could he violate such innocence of mind? How could he share with this tender-hearted young thing the sights he had seen: of men’s limbs blown to fleshy rags, of their screaming pleas to be put down; how he had clamped his hands over his ears to try and block out their piteous cries of ‘Mother’ as they died; how he’d frantically dashed their blood and brains and bone from his uniform, as if that would erase the intense humiliation he felt as a soldier, as a man. The ceiling became a battlefield, the whole of it ablaze, he could taste again the smoke, his lungs choking with it, his ears filled with the terrifying shriek of the Stukkas and the hellish shrieks of men, his heart and body leaden with exhaustion and overwhelming loss …

All he could murmur now was, ‘You’ve no idea how powerless I felt, Nelly. No idea, and I pray with all my heart you never do, my darlin’. Never.’

Her fingers encased in a grip of steel, Nell tried to ease them out so that she might comfort him, making Billy suddenly aware that he was hurting her.

‘Oh, sorry!’ He was immediately attentive, yet his face remained etched with atrocious memories.

‘No, no … I’m not hurt.’ And with her hand freed, she was able to stroke him tenderly, trying to impart that she understood, that she loved him more than any other person on earth.

Forgetting her burnt skin, a distraught Billy reacted by hugging her so tightly she could scarcely breathe. Then, just as quickly, he apologised again. ‘I just love you so much, you make everything better …’

The minutes leaked away, their voices becoming drowsier. Gripped by an awful premonition that she would never see him again, that these were the last moments they would ever share, Nell refused even now to look away, for that would propel her towards the sleep she was trying so hard to fight.

Even after Billy had gradually succumbed, her eyes remained on his dear face, allowing every detail to be imprinted on her memory, gazing, listening to his breath, feeling it on her cheek …

She had fallen asleep after all. Her head felt like a ball of fire, and her eyelids were stuck together, but the blinding sun which pierced them told that it was morning. She turned away from the source in discomfort, but could not escape the punishing light that streamed in through the window, and so lay there for a second, rubbing her eyes and attempting to prise them fully open.

Then, feeling the heat of Billy close by, she roused him gently with a kiss, privately wincing under his instinctive caress, for her face was still as a beacon in contrast to the white linen pillowcase. Yet, they made love again, for it need not be said that this might be their last opportunity for a very long time.

‘How long do we have?’ she later enquired softly, cherishing every second.

Bill lifted an arm to grope on the bedside table. ‘Oh, bloody Nora, me watch’s stopped. I can smell breakfast, though, so it must be about seven.’ With a hasty kiss, he rolled onto the edge of the bed, forwarded the hands of his timepiece, and began to wind it, chatting to her over his shoulder as he did so, before exclaiming, ‘Sod it, now I’ve over-wound the perishing thing!’ He gave the wristwatch a hearty shake, then tapped it on the table, but nothing could get it started again.

‘Good!’ beamed Nell, rolling across the mattress to imprison him. ‘We can stay here forever then.’

‘’Fraid we can’t!’ Giving her a kiss, then an eye-watering slap on the rear that almost sparked a fight, Billy chivvied her into getting dressed, then both went down to breakfast. His guess had been imprecise, for it was actually closer to eight, and forty-five minutes later they were back in their room, reluctantly, to pack.

This done, Nell took a final look at the bed, her half-wistful gaze noting that the sheets were covered in black hairs from Bill’s chest and arms. ‘Gosh, it looks like a ruddy dog’s slept in it!’ And with a false laugh, she made a last-minute effort to brush them off.

‘Here, don’t forget your budgie box!’ Billy noticed her gas-mask container and quickly hooked it over her shoulder. ‘Whoops, sorry, forgot about the sunburn!’ He gave an apologetic wince, then reminded her, ‘Must get your ration book from the landlady as well.’

‘Do I have to give this back?’ Reluctant to depart, protective of the wedding ring he had given her, Nell was gazing at it now, still upon her finger.

‘Are you telling me you want a divorce already?’ he scolded with good humour, drawing forth a negating laugh from her. ‘’Course you must keep it – and take good care of it till we can use it for real. Here!’ He took a chain from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. ‘I bought you this so’s you can thread it through and keep wearing it, even if it ain’t on your finger. Don’t do it yet, though!’ he warned with a smile. ‘Else the landlady’ll be calling us a pair o’ dirty dogs.’

‘You are so romantic!’ quipped Nell, despite her low spirits. Then she heaved a sigh. ‘Well, I suppose we’d better go and catch our bus then …’

Downstairs, though, there was to be a reprieve. The landlady, who had shown such kindness all along, now proposed that she look after their luggage so they could catch a later bus, and so, ‘Make the most of your honeymoon,’ she whispered.

Though at first deeply obliged, and exhilarated at being allowed this extra time together, by the time evening came around the young couple were forced to accept that it might have been better to leave as planned. For this had merely been a stay of execution. Due to Nell’s blistered skin they had constantly been forced to seek out shade. Not that it really mattered, for their spirits already resided there.

It was almost a relief to arrive back in York. When they alighted in Exhibition Square, it was to be surrounded by the dozens of airmen and soldiers waiting to catch their buses back to camp after an evening out, all extremely merry. Without aid of a street lamp, which were all painted black, Billy held on tight as he steered Nell towards her bus stop, there to wait with her.

‘Leave you on your own and give one of these rag-bags a chance to interfere with you? I don’t think!’ And he insisted on catching the bus with her, even though it would mean a return trip to town for himself.

But it was merely prolonging the agony. Hand in hand, their pace becoming slower and slower as they followed the white line of the kerb to the end of her avenue, Nell finally drew to a halt and turned to him, her face saying everything. Wearing a similar expression, Billy gave a sigh, at the same time nabbing an automatic look at his watch, forgetting that it was useless.

He gave a mirthless little laugh. ‘I’ll have to see if Mr Precious can do anything with it – he does a lot of delicate work with instruments so he might be able to. Well, I reckon I oughta go …’ Implanting a last wistful kiss, then holding Nell at arm’s length and gazing into her eyes, he pledged that they would see each other before too long. ‘Keep your chin up, gel.’ Then, reluctantly, his hands released their hold, and their owner made tracks for his billet.

Unable to bear the poignant departure, her suitcase in hand, Nell immediately turned and hurried for home.

‘Ah, the wanderer returns!’ announced her father in a pleased manner as she entered. ‘We can go to bed.’ But as he turned off the wireless and rose, he thought to ask, ‘Did you enjoy yourself?’ Then he chuckled at her mother. ‘From the colour of her face it certainly looks as though she did.’

‘Oh yes, it was smashing,’ replied the luminous Nell. ‘But I’d better not keep you and Mother up any longer.’ Case in hand, she made for the stairs. ‘I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.’

‘We’ll look forward to it,’ supplied her mother, rising to pat the cushions. ‘Heavens, your skin does look angry – dab some calamine on before you go to bed.’ Then she made a pensive addition. ‘You know, you wouldn’t think a weekend is long, but we really missed you, didn’t we, Father?’

Touched, and rather guilty at deceiving them, and already pining for Bill, Nell felt her eyes start to burn. Hence, she increased her pace. ‘I missed you too – goodnight then!’

A lump in her throat, she tried her best not to let it get the better of her as she undressed and climbed into bed. But the moment she laid her head upon the pillow, the image returned of Billy walking away. Then she buried her face under the covers, and quietly sobbed.

3

The next day it was boring old work as usual. Nell was thankful that there would soon be a new career to take her mind off things. But there was a week to get through before then.

How time crawled. It felt like a year had gone past and it was still only Monday teatime. Ever despondent over Billy’s departure, Nell sat at the table, nibbling on the home-grown salad, trying to take her mind off him by watching her parents, wondering what was going through their minds as they ate in silence – had it been just herself and Billy at the table she was sure they would have never stopped chattering. Drat! There she was, thinking of him again already.

Only the clicking of Father’s false teeth was annoying enough to lure her mind away. Mr Spottiswood had developed the ability to clean the underside of his artificial palette without removing the dentures. Using his tongue to whip any debris from beneath, he rolled the clackers from cheek to cheek and around his entire mouth, giving them a thorough vacuum before fitting them back into place again. Why did he persist in doing that, as if it were some sort of art form? Skilful it might be, but the way it warped his face, the dentures jutting forth as if to pop from his mouth at any minute and making him look like a camel, and that awful clickety-clacking they made, it was so uncouth. Did he assume he was being discreet in not actually removing his teeth, or did he just not care?

Nell’s eyes flickered to her mother, who found it as irritating as she did, she could tell that by the slight flare to her nostrils. Yet her mother never dared criticise him, even when he did it at someone else’s house. Poor Mother, dying to be considered as a pillar of the community due to her prominent role with the WVS, purchasing its uniform so she could stand out from lesser women, yet brought down to earth by a husband who did not know how to eat in polite company. And that was not all. Mother had tried to allude that it was not the done thing to sit at the table in one’s shirt sleeves, but there was Father, lord of the manor, with his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Nell could not say she blamed him in this heat, but it obviously grated on Mother. How awful to feel that way about someone you were married to: wanting to change them. Nell couldn’t ever envisage being annoyed by anything Billy did. She loved the way he walked and talked and ate, the way his giggles shook his entire body – he was a proper giggler, her Bill – all his little fads, such as picking the strands of orange peel out of the marmalade before spreading it on his toast …

Trying not to sigh, she crunched the last radish on her plate, laid down her cutlery, and attempted to make conversation.

‘One of the girls at work said they found a German parachute in the field at the back of their house after the other night’s raid.’

‘And would she know what a German parachute looked like if it fell on her?’ enquired her father in a supercilious tone. ‘No. You want to tell her to watch it, or she’ll find herself locked up for spouting such rubbish.’

‘It’ll be fifth columnists who’ve planted it,’ explained her mother. ‘Don’t let it frighten you, dear.’

Nell gave a nod and fell silent again. Then, when her parents had also finished, she helped her mother to clear the table, whilst Father seated himself in his armchair with the evening newspaper.

Her mind far away, wondering whether Billy had reached London yet, she was helping her mother to wash the pots when a disgusted exclamation drew both women’s curiosity, and they wandered back to the sitting room.

‘What is it, dear?’ Thelma asked her husband, tea towel still in hand.

Nell’s father regarded her for a moment, the expression on his face turning from annoyance to disgust, as he announced in a tart and slightly melodramatic voice. ‘I was going to ask what you enjoyed best about your weekend in Scarborough, but I won’t trouble you now, for it’s quite evident!’ And he bequeathed the newspaper, suitably folded to display a laughing photograph of a group of young people in swimming costumes, with Nell at their centre, under the banner: Girl with the most sunburnt back.

Nell’s heart leaped as her father stabbed a finger at the dark-haired man beside her in the photograph and mouthed sarcasm. ‘One didn’t imagine your friend Barbara to be so hirsute!’

Her frowning mother snatched up the press and exclaimed, ‘Why, that’s Billy!’

Wilfred turned on her. ‘You knew what she was up to?’

‘No! But I know him – he was at Ronald’s party.’ And his wife joined the attack on Nell, saying, ‘Someone had better explain themselves!’

Nell twisted her fingers as she fought to deliver an explanation. ‘I didn’t enter the competition. The photographer just snapped –’

‘That is not what we’re objecting to, and you know it!’ interrupted her mother. ‘You didn’t think to mention there’d be chaps amongst the group! Did you arrange this at the party, invite Billy along?’

‘No!’

‘Look at him with his arm around you,’ stuttered her father, ‘and you with barely a stitch on!’

‘I’d never have let you pack your bathing costume had I known!’ railed Thelma. ‘You let me assume it was an all-girl group – although those other young ladies leave much to be desired!’

To Nell’s astonishment, she realised then that her mother was under the misapprehension that the strangers in the photograph were part of the fictitious Barbara’s group. This being so, things were not half as bad as they could have been. ‘It was all girls!’ she strove to convince her parents. ‘We bumped into Billy by accident and he tagged along.’

‘To ruin our daughter’s reputation!’ Wilfred was livid with Nell. ‘What have we done to deserve this? There’s our Ronald, doing his bit for King and country, his parents proud as punch, showing off the photo of him that appeared in the church magazine, and what sort of pictorial keepsake do we get of our child? This decadent rubbish!’ He slapped the newspaper onto the hearth. ‘That’s only fit for lighting the fire!’

‘I’m ever so sorry,’ Nell gushed earnestly to both, ‘but it’s this war! No one can afford to be serious all the time. Everyone has to grab their chance of having fu—’

‘Don’t blame Mr Hitler for your behaviour!’ interrupted her father. ‘Fun? Huh! The war seems to have become an excuse for all manner of immorality under the guise of fun!’

‘Quite!’ his wife agreed ‘She’s becoming far too wayward for my liking.’

Nell bit her lip. Thank heaven that neither of them had guessed that she had gone away with Billy alone, and even worse had shared a bed with him. Never in their wildest nightmares could they have conceived such a thing of their well-raised daughter.

‘Well, there’ll be no more! I’m going to write to this Barbara’s parents!’ babbled Thelma, hurrying to a bureau and taking out a writing pad and fountain pen. ‘Here, you can jot down their full address!’

Nell hovered between panic and impatience. ‘It’s hardly their fault, I was the one who was snapped by the photographer! I didn’t even enter the blasted competition.’

‘And you can dispense with that language!’ Her father pointed a warning finger that came dangerously close to her face. ‘Apologise to your mother!’ And after Nell had shown contrition, he added, ‘What she said is right, the girl’s parents are obviously lax and need to be reminded that they had someone else’s daughter in their care!’

‘It wasn’t their fault!’ protested Nell again, but more politely. ‘They had as much idea as I did that I was even being photographed!’

‘That’s hardly relevant,’ barked Wilfred. ‘And stop arguing!’ His scowl served to terminate any further protest. ‘For God’s sake, girl, you seem to have forgotten there’s a war on, that men are out there fighting for their lives whilst you’re acting like some –’ He broke off with a growl of exasperation.

Don’t you think I’m aware there’s a war on? railed Nell silently. That I might never see my darling boy again? That all this kidding about of which you so disapprove is just a front to make everyone feel better? But she didn’t say it, for she had been raised to respect her parents.

‘And as for this chap!’ continued her father, seizing the newspaper again and rapping the photograph of Billy with the back of his hand as if wanting to punch the man himself. ‘If I catch him pawing you again I’ll be writing to his commanding officer!’

‘She won’t be seeing him again!’ pitched in her mother.

‘I shan’t,’ mumbled Nell, eyes to the carpet. ‘He’s left York.’

‘Good – and I forbid you to write to him!’ shrilled Thelma. ‘We’ll be checking all your letters!’

‘Right, get to your room!’ came the abrupt command from her father. ‘And stay there for the rest of the night.’

Packed off in disgrace, Nell flung herself onto her bed, lashing out at the mattress in frustration. These stupid bloody people, why could she not have been adopted by someone at least able to understand? They had no perception of her whatsoever. Dealing the mattress a last punch, she rolled into a sitting position and balanced angrily on the edge of the bed, glaring at herself in the dressing-table mirror.

Then, after a moment or two, she conjured up Billy’s laughing face, made believe that he was looking back at her, teasing the bad temper from her with one of his jokes, and it forced her to blurt out a laugh – laugh, then cry, that she missed him so much already, and he had only been gone twenty-four hours. Face crumpling, and tears bulging over her lower lashes, she jumped up, snatched a brush and ran it viciously through her dark hair numerous times, to try to prevent herself from breaking down completely.

Well, her parents might think they had covered everything, but the letters wouldn’t be coming here. In defiance, she hauled a stool up to her dressing table, and proceeded to write to her beloved, telling him what had just occurred. ‘But you needn’t worry,’ she assured Billy. ‘Nothing and nobody will ever stop me loving you …’

Once the envelope was firmly adhered, and its flap marked with ‘SWALK’ before it was concealed in her pocket for tomorrow’s post, Nell dragged the stool up to her open window, to take solace in the goings-on of the avenue, waving over her sill to the new people, whom she had yet to meet, and chatting to various neighbours until the light began to fade.

Words were terse and far between at the breakfast table the next day. Outwardly cowed, but secretly smug at having the letter to Billy in her pocket, Nell left at the usual time and posted it on her way to work. She was also to slip into the press office during her lunch hour and order two copies of the damning photograph – not purely from any sense of mischief, though certainly this was a bonus – mainly because she did not have any visual record of herself and Billy together, and it was such a good one. The prints would be ready to collect by the end of the week.

Despite having this to look forward to, though, she was, if anything, even more subdued upon coming home that Tuesday evening, for her visit to Billy’s former billet had been fruitless, no letter arriving from his hand.

Still, the fact that she appeared so passive did go someway to healing the rift with her parents. And after all, it was early days, Billy had only been gone forty-eight hours. Undaunted, yet missing him dreadfully, Nell had no need to be ordered to her room that night, but went willingly, pulling her stool to the dressing table and pouring out her heart.

And to her joy, the next day her visit to his digs was to be rewarded by an envelope which sported the endearment ‘ITALY’ – I trust and love you.

Treasuring his letter, and the one which came two days later, she was to read them again and again throughout that week. And also to pore over that memorable photograph, a copy of which was swiftly despatched to Bill, who had said how much he would value it. Thus Nell was to keep herself happily occupied, whilst waiting for her new position to commence.

Finally, the important day came. Instructed to report at eight a.m. to the railway sidings in Leeman Road – which, being at the far side of the network of lines, involved a journey by bus to the station, and then a short walk – Nell arrived in good time, though she was to find two others had beaten her to it. She offered a friendly hello, but being taller and much younger than both, and sticking out like a sore thumb, she felt too self-conscious to say any more for the time being.

The first response was to come from a stocky woman with bobbed auburn hair and a quiet, but mature and amicable way about her, whose smile and the shrewd twinkling glint in her blue eyes more than made up for any plainness. ‘I’m Beata Kilmaster,’ she began, in a soft Yorkshire accent. ‘Are you for the ambulance train as well?’

Before Nell could reply, the third in the group butted in knowledgeably, ‘We’re not meant to call it that, it’s a Casualty Evacuation Train, they’re totally different things.’

‘That’s me told then,’ said Beata, with an arch expression at Nell.

Liking her at once, Nell was now assigned leave to introduce herself. Having done this, she turned expectantly to the self-appointed oracle, whose response was concise.

‘Avril Joyson.’

Nell gave her a nod and a smile, but the latter was secretly for Bill, whom she imagined would have had fun describing this one. Avril’s face was that of a goldfish, cheeks sucked in as if blowing bubbles, and protuberant blue eyes that lacked either warmth or animation. Her tied-back hair was extremely thick and coarse, the colour of hay, and with a tight natural wave. Nell had to bite her lip to prevent herself from bursting out laughing – a goldfish with a thatched roof, Billy would probably have it.

Based only on looks, she much preferred the former woman, who, with her fresh complexion and russet hair, was more like a trusty Cox’s Pippin, and with whom she felt immediately at ease. ‘I wonder which one’s ours?’ She glanced around at the collection of locomotives that chugged and steamed around them, filling the air with their sulphurous hiss. Her query was mainly addressed to Beata, for Avril seemed to be more intent on scrutinising her than the trains.

‘Well there’s one thing, you won’t have any problem hefting patients about. Tall, aren’t you?’

Embarrassed, Nell turned to the speaker, who was looking her up and down quite shamelessly, and tried to shrug off the accusation. ‘Well, taller than average, I suppose …’

‘I can’t think why you’d want to make yourself even loftier with those high heels.’ Avril continued to criticise. ‘And they won’t like that lipstick.’

Already unsure of herself, Nell’s heart sank. Thank goodness she had one person who appeared to like her, as Beata smiled in rebuttal:

‘I don’t suppose the patients will care much, so long as we look after them.’

Thankfully there was someone else for Avril to look at soon, for at short intervals, the rest of the crew began to turn up: a portly mother and daughter duo named Green; a vivacious French woman, coincidentally bearing the surname of French, who could barely make herself understood; two more women of Beata’s age; and seven men.

‘Gosh, they’ve already got their uniforms,’ whispered Nell, as two very aristocratic-looking girls made a tardy appearance. ‘They look rather grand, don’t they?’

But it turned out that the pair had few airs and graces, and from their chummy introduction it appeared they would be more than willing to muck in, even if they were hoping to qualify as state-registered nurses and not mere auxiliaries. One might have guessed from their mannerisms that Lavinia and Penelope Ashton were sisters, but never twins, marvelled Nell, for the first was dark of countenance, the other fair and blue-eyed, the only similarities their height and their wavy hair. During a brief chat with the rest – not instigated by Nell, but by the thoroughbred girls – she discovered that the men were Salvation Army bandsmen, who were to act as stretcher-bearers. All except Avril were very pleasant, decided Nell, as she smiled and shook hands with each in turn. There was no chance to discover much more about her fellow volunteers, for preceding Matron Lennox, Sister Barber came on the scene then, a pretty, delicate-boned woman with fair hair and a heavily freckled face, who grudged them a smile before warning them to pay close attention to what their superior had to say.

Despite the clanking activity from the railway that went on around them, all became attentive to matron, who was starched in dress though not in manner, with pleasant, rather birdlike, features. It was an old-fashioned face, kind, her hair parted in the middle before disappearing under the neat little white cap, conjuring for Nell the spectre of Florence Nightingale.

Upon ascertaining everyone’s name, Matron Lennox was not to mince her own introduction. ‘No woman should offer herself as a nurse unless she is prepared for hard work, self-denial, and to take her share of occupations that are repugnant to every refined and sensitive being.’ Hands clasped before her, her periwinkle-blue eyes rested briefly but effectively on each and every female, allowing her sermon to permeate those ignorant minds. ‘Whether it be your intent to fulfil a lifetime vocation, or whether your services were offered purely from a view of public-spiritedness and only for the duration of the war, the attributes you will need to fulfil your role shall be the same. To whit: –’

To whoo! Nell looked at her feet to stop herself giggling.

– presence of mind, gentleness, accuracy, memory, observation and forethought. No matter what rank you are to achieve, these are essential to the wellbeing of your patients. You may find the way ahead severely taxing, and be especially overwhelmed during your initial introduction to the wards, and fear that there is far too much to learn. But you will not be expected to know everything at once, and, in possession of those qualities, in no time at all you will reach a standard where you can rightly be proud of your title.’ She finished on a smile, then briefly turned away. ‘Very well, Sister, let us show them what they’re in for!’

There followed a procession to the designated train, where Matron was to come to an abrupt halt.

Sister’s eyes penetrated the nearest recruit, who happened to be Nell. But before the latter could grasp her meaning, Beata had stepped forth and opened the door of the van for their superior.

Crushed by naivety, and wondering how Beata could have interpreted Sister’s mute instruction, Nell kept her head down as Matron ushered her group of nurses aboard one of the converted railway wagons, and proceeded to lecture them on what was required.

‘As you can see, even though the workmen have done their part, it is somewhat in the raw.’ Her declaration was unnecessary, for amongst a liberal sprinkling of sawdust were relics of its previous cargo: a wizened carrot and a shrivelled cabbage leaf. Matron began a slow tour, tapping the partitions that separated the ‘wards’ from the rest of the wagon. ‘This will eventually be the doctor’s office, this one for myself, this for the sister, and this is the nurses’ mess.’ She showed them how the stretchers would be installed in racks, one above the other. ‘But before any equipment is installed it will need to be cleaned from top to bottom, and for this it will be all hands to the pumps – so, as I announced earlier, I hope none of you is afraid of hard work. If you are then you’re in the wrong profession.’ She eyed them all with a face that was stern yet fair, as if allowing them this last-minute chance to withdraw.

At Sister’s prompting glare, Nell reacted a few seconds after everyone else. ‘Yes, Matron.’

‘Very well, I shall close by issuing a warm welcome to all, and leave you in Sister’s capable hands!’ And with this she departed.

With their superior gone, Sister Barber then proceeded to give her new nurses all the do’s and don’ts. And the don’ts seemed to be mostly for Nell’s benefit. ‘You’ll be expected to turn up in more sensible footwear tomorrow, Miss Spottiswood, and without lipstick!’

Nell’s humiliation was amplified by Avril Joyson’s told-you-so look, as Sister continued, ‘You won’t feel half so glamorous when you’re swinging the bedpans!’

Initially deceived by the warm smile of welcome and the freckled angelic face with its baby-blue eyes, Nell was quickly learning that this one would brook no nonsense. If Matron was Florence Nightingale, this was Florence Vulture.

‘For those of you who have been nurturing some romantic notion, let me make it plain that you are here under sufferance, and in the most fundamental capacity. Although you may be credited with the title “Nurse”, make no mistake, it is an honorary one. You are here as helpers. Some of you may go on to achieve distinction,’ her eyes flickered briefly to the Ashton girls, before settling on Nell, ‘others are merely here for the duration. But you are all starting out on the same footing, and there will be no lording it over others. I am here to see that you do not kill anyone. We must all of us make the best of it. But let it be known that I cannot abide giddiness or laziness. Neither will be tolerated.’

Having imprinted these opinions on them, Sister Barber began to interview them one by one. On discovering that the Frenchwoman had barely a word of English, she tutted in dismay to herself. ‘What on earth have they landed me with?’

‘Pardon?’ The French woman cocked her ear.

Sister mouthed loudly at her, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Zey send me!’ came the strangled response. ‘I nurse.’

‘But in England – why are you in England?’

‘Ah, mon mari.’ Mrs French groped for words. ‘’E Anglais!’

Sister heaved a sigh. ‘Good Lord, I’ll warrant you can barely count to ten …’

‘Mais oui!’ The other’s face brightened, and she proceeded to count aloud with pride, ‘Wan, doo, tree, four, fahve, sees, sevahn, ate, nahn –’

‘Yes, thank you!’ Sister held up her hand with a look of defeat, and moved on to the next in line. But she was to emit more frustration on encountering Nurse Green the elder, whose hair was snow-white and whose glasses were as thick as jam-jar bottoms. ‘Dare one enquire how old you are? No, please don’t tell me,’ she uttered quickly, ‘I’d rather not know.’ Her expression declared what a bunch of misfits she had been landed with, as she proceeded to interrogate the next.

With one ear to the conversation, Nell was making examinations of her own. First, Beata – was that swollen ankle as painful as it looked? Those plummy girls, who had arrived already in attractive uniform, how would they cope with all the unpalatable things that would be required of them? And Avril Joyson – she had obviously taken against Nell for the crime of being too tall; would she continue to be so obnoxious? What had made her so? But in the midst of trying to fathom Avril’s hostility, her reverie was to be interrupted.

‘And what about you, Nurse Spottiswood?’

Nell snapped back to attention. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Her face like a cold summer’s day, Sister Barber gave an exasperated sigh and brandished a packet of cigarettes at her. ‘You will address me as “Sister”! I asked, do you smoke?’

‘Oh, I won’t at the moment, thank you, Sister.’

The freckled face closed its eyes in lamentation of this gauche response. ‘I wasn’t offering you one! I was trying to ascertain if you smoked! For those of you who do, there will definitely be none of that in uniform!’

Why then, Nell wondered, did Sister herself have cigarettes in the pocket of her own blue dress? As if the other had read her mind, there came a warning that forbade her even to think of offering defiance. ‘The last thing a sick person needs is for his nurse to smell like a chimney!’

Unhappy that the pair of them had got off on the wrong foot, Nell tried to buck up her ideas, as she and the others were sent to a depot to collect said uniform.

Upon receipt, and out of earshot of Sister, Nell made salty judgement on the unattractive dress. It was much more basic than those worn by the aristocratic Ashton girls, with no separate white collar but a cutaway one of the same fabric as the dress, no long sleeves with white cuffs like theirs, but puffed short ones, and there could be no mistaking her for a ‘real’ nurse with the large letters NA emblazoned on her breast. And instead of a neat little organdie cap like Matron’s, or a voluminous starched one with wings to either side like Sister’s, the nursing auxiliaries’ headgear was little more than a white triangle tied at the back. ‘How unflattering,’ scoffed Nell. ‘Like a peasant’s scarf! Still, I suppose we should think ourselves lucky we’re not made to wear black stockings.’

‘It’s not a fashion parade,’ sniped Avril Joyson. ‘We’re here to help the war effort. And I’m not surprised you got taken to task in those high heels.’

But as the one with the goldfish pout minced out of earshot, the trustworthy Beata Kilmaster smiled back at Nell and admitted, ‘I’d love to be able to wear those, but I always have to wear sensible shoes with this leg.’ Nell’s eyes went straight to the other’s distended ankle. ‘And whatever type of shoes that one wore, she’d still be a pain in the arse – pardon my French.’ Beata chuckled in afterthought of the French nurse.

Nell giggled, and knew immediately that despite the age gap they would be firm friends. ‘I only meant about the uniform, when you’re built like I am, you need all the attractive camouflage you can get. I feel like a bag of spuds!’

But there was no time for any more banter, for they had been instructed to return immediately to the train. Once there, enveloped in aprons and armed with mops, buckets of water, soap and scrubbing brushes, the squad was set to work, men on the outside, females within. Nell threw herself into this wholeheartedly, imagining what her parents would say if they could see their daughter on her hands and knees. However, there could be no quibble about social division, because, to her pleasure and respect, the well-bred girls mucked in quite enthusiastically alongside everyone else.

It was obvious, though, that contrary to Avril Joyson painting herself as the dedicated nurse, she deemed these elements of the job beneath her, and it had not escaped Nell’s sharp eye that she had quickly volunteered for the easier task of wiping down the walls – meaning she did not acquire a crick in her neck from having to wash the ceiling, nor sore knees for scrubbing the floor, as Nell herself was suffering.

None the less, working her way along the wagon, with only a piece of sacking to cushion her kneecaps from the hard planking, the youngest one amongst them put in vigorous effort, moving her scrubbing brush back and forth along the dusty grooves, constantly scouring her knuckles and sending them redder and redder, yelping at splinters as she sweated and scrubbed alongside Beata Kilmaster. Her own joints being so punished, Nell marvelled at how poor Beata coped so well with her swollen leg. Casting a glance sideways now, as she uncoiled her aching spine, she noted that Beata’s shoulders were trembling. About to touch her in concern, she then realised that her friend was shaking with mirth, and, grinning along with her, she asked, ‘What on earth’s tickled you?’

‘It’s ironic,’ Beata arched her own back to relieve it, ‘you come and be a nurse to save you from skivvying, and what do you end up doing? Skivvying!’

Nell shared her merriment, but wasn’t certain that she understood. ‘Do you mean you were a domestic servant?’

‘Aye, for fifteen blasted years,’ declared Beata. ‘More if you count the unpaid ones.’

Nell frowned, but was too polite to ask how old the other was. All the same, she calculated that if Beata had been working for fifteen years that would make her around thirty. Realising that she was staring, she said quickly, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think you were –’

‘That old!’ Beata gave her chesty chuckle and finished Nell’s sentence. ‘It’s all right, I know I must seem ancient to a young lass like you.’

‘Oh, no!’ Nell struggled to explain, her scrubbing brush dripping as it paused idle in mid-air. ‘It’s just that you don’t talk down to me, as most of your generation would.’ Her smile said how much she appreciated this.

The other rejoined with her affable air, ‘I hate being patronised meself, so I never do it to others, no matter what age.’

Nell cast an impish glance to where Nurse Green and her snowy-haired mother worked side by side, and whispered to Beata, ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but Mrs Green looks, well, a bit like Methuselah’s wife!’

Beata shared her mischievous laughter. ‘Her daughter’s about fifteen years older than me, so missus must be at least sixty-five. She’ll get the elbow if they find out.’ Though how she had managed to slip through with her grandmotherly looks was inexplicable to both. ‘It’ll be a shame, though, she’s a damned good worker. She’d make three of Oh-be-Joyful.’

Guessing that she meant Avril Joyson, Nell rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, I noticed she was swift to volunteer for the easier bits. I wonder which of us will be first for the chop. Sister doesn’t seem to like me very much.’

‘She’s all right, she’s just strict,’ advised Beata. ‘I’ve had much worse task mistresses in my time – mindst, I think she’ll be getting rid of poor Frenchy before very long if her mangled English doesn’t improve.’

Nell agreed with a laugh. ‘It’s a shame, she seems so nice. We’ll have to help her.’

‘You might be able to. I don’t know any proper French. I don’t know how she and Green got through the interview. I had a stinker.’

Nell then pointed out an anomaly. ‘When I went for interview, they said we shouldn’t have any domestic duties – at least that was the impression I was given.’

Beata confirmed this, but made a cynical addition. ‘I’ve learned never to take an employer on trust.’

Nell pulled a face. ‘I brought a notebook to write down everything I’m taught, as a reminder, but I won’t forget this in a hurry.’ She winced at the gritty block in her hand. ‘Gosh, this blue-mottled soap’s taken the skin off my hands.’

‘At least there won’t be any germs left.’ Beata’s application was that of an expert.

Nell glanced at her partner’s leg and, with their characters being so harmonious, decided to risk an impertinent question. ‘I don’t mean to be nosey, but what’s the matter with your leg? It looks very painful.’

‘Lymphatic oedema,’ supplied Beata, still working whilst Nell paused. ‘They don’t really know what causes it. I’ve had it since I was about ten. The doctor said then it was either heart or kidneys so I was probably a gonner. But I’m still here, so I reckon it’s not so life-threatening.’ Her grin belied how awful it had been to have such a threat hanging over her for years, until a more competent physician had taken charge. ‘It just swells up from time to time. Bit of a nuisance, but there’s plenty worse off.’

Nell guessed that her new friend was in more dis comfort than she let on, and admired her stoicism. ‘You don’t complain much, do you?’

‘Oh, I have me moments,’ smiled Beata.

Nell was curious to know more. ‘It must have been hard, being in service.’

‘Not so different from this,’ revealed Beata. ‘As far as the hierarchy goes, anyway. I was always at the bottom of the ladder.’

Nell breathed a realisation. ‘So that’s how you knew to open the door for Matron …’

‘Quit slacking, nurses!’ called Sister, interrupting her own task, her ire mainly for Nell. ‘I hope you’re not going to be a troublemaker, Spottiswood.’

‘It was my fault, Sister,’ admitted Beata. ‘I was just explaining to Nell –’

‘If she requires an explanation regarding anything to do with nursing – which is all you should be discussing – then she must come and ask me! And you can dispense with the Christian names, from now on it’s surnames only.’

‘Yes, Sister,’ replied both subserviently, and launched back into their scrubbing.

But Nell was to protest when the gorgon was out of earshot, ‘We’ve both got such long names – and it sounds so unfriendly, doesn’t it? Do you think she’d mind if we shorten them?’

‘Spotty and Killie – I don’t think it’d inspire much confidence in our nursing skills, do you?’ grinned Beata, causing Nell to laugh too. At any event, these names were how they were to address each other from then on.

At the end of a very long day of hard labour, Beata’s leg blown up like a sausage and Nell’s knuckles red and bleeding and still embedded with the odd splinter, the nurses were allowed to go home at five, with the promise from Sister that there was plenty more work and longer hours to come.

‘So what are you going to be doing tonight?’ enquired Beata, as the pair of them limped their way from the noisy railway sidings into an equally grimy road. ‘If you’ve any energy left, that is. Have you got a boy to take you out?’

Nell ceased picking at her ragged fingernails, to cast a secretive smile at her much shorter companion. ‘As a matter of fact I have – but I’m only telling you and no one else. My parents would kill me.’ The twelve-year age gap was as nothing in this quickly established friendship, at least as far as Nell was concerned. ‘But I won’t be seeing him for a while, he’s been sent to London.’

‘You’ll be like me, then,’ Beata smiled up at her, ‘just sitting with your feet up by the wireless.’

At this point a small group of their colleagues caught them up. Having overheard the last statement, the more forthright of the upper-class twins said gaily, ‘No, we can’t have that! We’ve just been discussing starting up a band with those Sally Army chaps – a modern one, I mean, not banging the tambourine or anything! Can either of you sing? We’re going into town for dinner and to discuss names, come and join us.’

Nell observed that Avril Joyson had tagged on to the Ashton twins, seeming to enjoy the reflected status. The last thing she desired was that one’s company, and neither, apparently, did her companion.

‘Sounds fun,’ replied Beata, ‘but I can’t sing for toffee. I’ll be glad to come and applaud, but tonight I just want to get home, have a cup of tea, and rest my barking dogs.’

‘Me too,’ smiled Nell, affecting to collapse.

‘Killjoys!’ Lavinia’s plummy voice denounced them, but its owner was only joking, as she further scolded Nell. ‘Especially you – why, you’re barely out of school, you shouldn’t be such a fuddy-duddy!’

If only you knew, thought Nell, with a mind to her passionate weekend with Billy, but told her accuser, ‘I’ve just managed to get back in my parents’ good books. I daren’t risk upsetting them. I can’t really sing either.’

‘Why, you are no use to anyone, Spottiswood!’ Her detractor aped Sister Barber’s strict tone. ‘You should jolly well show more enthusiasm – can’t you even help us out with a name at least?’

Recalling Sister’s earlier admonition, Nell was swift to come up with one. ‘How about the Bedpan Swingsters?’

‘That’s perfect!’ Lavinia and Penelope fell against each other in mirth, and with even Joyson agreeing that this was a great idea, there was much good humour as they parted.

The last to break up, Beata enquired if Nell would be catching her bus from the railway station just around the corner. But Nell had other plans. With no opportunity to pick up Billy’s letter at lunchtime, she had been forced to wait until now. It would mean travelling out of her way, but she would never sleep without reading his latest words. Feeling safe in confiding all of this to her new friend, she gushed, ‘See you tomorrow!’ then went to collect the prized letter and read it on the bus home.

‘Ooh, here comes Nurse Spottiswood in her new uniform!’ remarked her mother when Nell finally got in, her father having arrived just before her.

‘Looking very pleased with herself as well.’ After drying his hands, Wilfred took his place at the table, Nell doing the same.

‘She must have had as good a day as I have,’ surmised her rather frazzled but cheerful mother, placing a meal in front of both before serving herself. ‘The washing dried in no time in this sunshine, and I managed to get every bit folded and ready for ironing tomorrow.’ This accounted for the cheery mood, thought Nell, politely attending whilst her mother wittered on. ‘So if I can make an early start before it gets too hot, then I can devote the afternoon to fruit-picking,’ finished Thelma.

Father came alert at the thought of his territory being invaded. ‘Er, I’ll tell you when you can pick it, thank you very much!’

‘Oh, I don’t mean from your domain, dear.’ Though fruit trees grew in abundance in the Spottiswood back garden, Thelma would never dream of touching them without her husband’s permission. ‘No, I just mean those brambles by the railway – that’s if anyone hasn’t beaten me to it.’

Father looked duly appeased. ‘Oh, well that’s all right then. I just didn’t want you giving our best quality stuff to the WVS. I’ve negotiated a decent price for it with a couple of greengrocers, you see – you can take all you need for ourselves of course.’ He set into his meal, a good portion of it being consumed before either parent thought to ask about Nell’s new job.

‘So what type of girls are you working with?’ enquired her mother.

‘They’re mostly very nice.’ Nell lifted her attention from her plate, and proceeded to tell her parents a little about each fellow nurse, hoping to titillate them with her impression of the French one, though they did not guffaw as much as Billy would have.

‘So you think you’ll enjoy this nursing lark?’ smiled her father.

‘I’m sure of it!’ When I get a chance, came Nell’s grim thought, not revealing that her entire day had been taken up with scrubbing floors and getting splinters in her hands and her nails torn to the quick. ‘It’s hard, but worthwhile.’

But she did make it known how tired it had made her, and, after listening to the wireless for news of how the Battle of Britain had gone that day, she was to linger only for another ninety minutes or so with her parents, enjoying a serial, then some music, whilst helping to make firelighters from compressed newspaper. By eight o’clock she was on her way to bed with a cup of cocoa, secretly to prop up the photograph of her beloved – whose laughing face looked on whilst she read his letter again – and to compose another to him, relating in brief the events of the day, picking out things that might amuse him, and ending with the usual sentiment of how much she missed and loved him. Then, within five minutes of kissing his photograph, and hiding this and the envelope under her pillow ready to be posted in the morning, she fell asleep.

The transformation of the rolling stock took a couple more days, during which all the recruits twiddled with each others’ surnames so as to make their address less harsh. There was not much one could do with some of the names, but in addition to Killie and Spotty, Nurse French was now Frenchy and Avril Joyson was Joy – but this was a mischievously ironic title. Sister made no complaint as long as they did their work.

Only after the wagons had been thoroughly cleaned and polished from top to bottom, and were fully kitted out, were the volunteers to learn anything related to actual nursing. First, there was to be a fortnight of lectures and training at a hospital. Though continuing to miss Billy dreadfully, Nell was intelligent enough to realise there was no point in moping, and so welcomed this opportunity to throw herself into learning her job, and thus be equipped with fresh material for her nightly penning. Even before this, Billy had seemed to enjoy all her mundane details. Now, though, she would have much more interesting news for him, which was good for her too, for this nightly ritual certainly helped to ease the emptiness – though, oh, how she yearned for him.

The County Hospital was in Monkgate, only an extra stop on the bus then a few minutes’ walk under two ancient Bars. Beyond its Viking gates and medieval dog-leg alleys, York’s suburbs had begun to encroach on one village after another, but inside its compact walls nothing was far away, and you could get from one side to the other in less than half an hour. There had been no need for Nell to rise early, yet she had. Thankful that the manual part was over, she rolled up at the hospital that morning raring to fill the pages of her notebook, as did her colleagues.

All were in for a shock. After their matron on the trains being so decent, her counterpart at the hospital was quite the opposite, making her feelings clear upon meeting the auxiliaries. Whilst Sister Barber had made it plain that she did not appreciate having amateurs foisted upon her, this woman was downright insulting.

‘I gather that one or two of you will be applying to have your names included on the national register. Those I shall be addressing later. As to those others of more restricted intellect, I shall attempt to convey this as simply as possible. I do not, and never shall, subscribe to quackery, and will not permit it in this hospital. I may have been coerced by the powers-that-be into accepting recruits who are totally inadequate for the task, but that does not mean I will subject my patients to abuse by persons who are only fit for domestic service, factory or shop work …’

Flushed with indignation, Nell shifted uncomfortably in her new sensible shoes, as Matron proceeded with her waspish rendition.

‘You might flatter yourselves that you are nurses – indeed, others might address you by such a term. I shall not. In these times of emergency the word has gained inflated value. If you were worthy of the title, you would have made the grade for it, whatever the effort. The qualifying examinations are prepared on a minimum curriculum, and if you cannot attain this simple standard, then your intellect is exceedingly limited.’

Nell could not help but emit a gasp. The matron’s cold gaze rested upon her for a few seconds, though her lecture was to remain universal.

‘Be that as it may, you should all be able to hold one rule in your minds. And it is a vital rule. Whilst you are in this hospital, never, I repeat never, presume to undertake actions that are beyond your capabilities. You may watch qualified nurses at their work, some of you might learn from them … as to the rest of you … I myself will attempt to inculcate the rudimentary syllabus.’ A heavy sigh insinuated just how tiresome this would be. The way she looked down her nose and stared into each and every face was extremely unnerving. No one deserved such discrimination, the friends agreed later, once out of range of this termagant; even the normally docile Nurse French pouring forth a string of Gallic invective, after Nell had translated the gist for her.

‘I’ve never been so insulted,’ breathed a distempered Nell to the others. ‘And I’m not stupid! I went to grammar school.’

‘So would I have done, if we’d had any spare cash for the uniform,’ muttered an equally incensed Beata. ‘I passed the scholarship.’

‘Same here!’ lobbed Green the younger. ‘What about you, Joy, did you pass?’

‘Yes!’ Joyson was eager not to be judged a dunce, though the way her eyes flickered told that she was lying, which made Nell feel a twinge of sympathy. Having got to know her, she had learned that, apart from the vice of laziness and her blunt opinions, there was no real malice to Avril.

‘And so did me mam, didn’t you, Mam?’ finished Green junior.

Similarly nettled as the younger ones, Mrs Green’s white head gave a nod of confirmation. ‘My poor dad could hardly scrape the funds to feed us all, let alone for school books and pencils.’

‘Well that’s just it!’ objected Nell. ‘I don’t think Matron’s exceptionally bright if she couldn’t even make any allowance for those of us who are unable to afford the exams. I’ve never been spoken to like that in my entire life – why, it’s as if she regards us as scum!’

And, indeed, this was further exemplified at midday, for they were forbidden to eat in the dining hall – even though it was raining – and had to huddle under the bicycle shelter, with no means of alleviating their aching feet – though this was not to be endured for very long. ‘Dinner-hour’ being a luxury of the past, after wolfing down their lunches in fifteen minutes it was back to the grind.

During that most testing of fortnights, they were required to learn all the names of poisonous gases that might be used by the Germans, and to avoid these themselves by deploying their respirators in seconds. This latter seemed to be the sole functional thing they were allowed to do, for only those who were full probationers had any actual contact with the patients. But even in practising on each other, the auxiliaries were constantly reminded that they were the poor relations.

Or not so poor, as one of the ‘real’ nurses was quick to accuse. ‘I think it’s a disgrace that you’re earning so much without a single qualification! We all had to spend years passing exams and paying our dues, and you swan in earning more than probationers – and no cleaning to do!’

‘You could have fooled me,’ muttered Beata, which is what young Nell would have said if she had not been so overwhelmed by the amount of antagonism.

All this being so, having made their protest, the trained nurses chose to tolerate the auxiliaries, and were kind enough to teach by example the various aspects of their work. Along with asepsis and antisepsis, and the precautions to obtain these, came methods of resuscitation, including those which took place in the casualty department. For some reason matron had not objected to these ignorant individuals coming along there, nor to the operating theatre. Nell thought perhaps she knew why: Matron hoped they would take fright at the horrible injuries, and thus she could be rid of them. Determined not to give this awful woman the satisfaction, she steeled herself not to faint at the bloody scalpels and bone saws, and was quite delighted that her friends managed to do the same – although all were very pale when they emerged. But these ordeals seemed to have no purpose other than for Matron’s gratification, for in the main it was one lecture after another, and a lot of scribbling in notebooks.

After being previously lauded for her skills at first aid, Nell had to relearn almost everything she had been taught, any polite query seen as insubordination and earning a severe dressing-down. She certainly knew her place now, and that was as a slave to the authorities, for they demanded to know her every whereabouts – even after working hours, when she was expected to keep her superiors informed of her movements so that they could contact her in an emergency. ‘It’s worse than being at home,’ spluttered Nell, only half joking. ‘At least my parents allow me freedom to visit the lavatory!’

As a matter of fact, Thelma and Wilfred had been persuaded to allow a little more than that lately. The incident in Scarborough forgiven, if not completely forgotten, their daughter had been allotted leave to go and watch the newly formed Bedpan Swingsters perform on an evening. Had they known the chosen venue was a pub, undoubtedly they would have been less lenient. Not about to enlighten them, Nell kept a ready cache of peppermints to disguise the combination of stout and cigarettes that were consumed during the lively performance. Everyone agreed that it was such a delight to let one’s hair down after Matron’s authoritarian regime and obvious detestation of them.

The latter continuing unabated, it was a very long fortnight at the County Hospital – and to exacerbate Nell’s misery, during that period there came news that the Germans had finally bombed London itself, in broad daylight. How she was to fret until Billy’s letter arrived to assure her he was safe! Though her relief over this was to be somewhat short-lived, for that daring attack was only the beginning of a murderous blitz on the capital, and every night after this, as Nell perused her darling’s latest letter before going to sleep, she was to dread it would be his last.

There was to be some respite on the work front, however, when the fortnight at the County Hospital came to an end and the recruits moved on to the Infirmary. This was only a short walk along the same route until the road diverged, yet miles removed in style from the handsome redbrick building of their previous post, the institutional block straddled between the brown River Foss and the cocoa works, both of which could be smelled on the air. Here they hoped to gain practical experience with the elderly. It came as something of a damp squib, though, to learn that this was the type of patient on whom they would be concentrating: hardly the romantic ideal some of them had treasured.

‘It used to be the old workhouse till they changed the name,’ whispered Beata, upon catching Nell’s look of shock at some of the inmates they encountered on their way along the drab corridors that hummed of stale cabbage and decaying humanity.

Nell was glad to be taken under the elder’s wing, for she felt very nervous under the vacant, sometimes malevolent, gaze of those whiskery old men with crumpled shirt collars and crumpled faces, grease-stained ties and baggy suits. But she tried not to show it, deporting herself with dignity as exemplified by Sister Barber, for she wanted to appear as mature as the rest. Did nothing faze those Ashton girls?

Apparently it did bother Joyson, though. ‘I don’t really mind,’ she began, her expression telling, ‘but I’d rather feel I was doing something for the lads who are defending us.’

‘Some of these old chaps would have been soldiers once,’ Beata told her.

‘Maybe in the Crimean War,’ scoffed Joyson, nose in the air as she bustled along, trying to act the professional. ‘I doubt they’d know one end of a Spitfire from the other.’

‘And do you?’ came Lavinia Ashton’s forthright demand.

Joyson grew shirty. ‘I’m just saying what a great job the RAF boys have done, and I’d like to pay them back, that’s all.’

The others shared a look here. They were well-acquainted with Joyson’s penchant for airmen, having seen her flirting with squadrons of them around the bars.

‘God knows we need them after that mess at Dunkirk,’ she added, being immediately heckled for such a defeatist attitude.

Too fixed on her surroundings, Nell had not really been listening to Joyson’s moaning, but this had her full attention. ‘I admire the RAF too,’ she shot back. ‘But everyone’s doing their part!’ She envisaged poor Bill as he lay on that beach under fire, pictured him now as wave after wave of the Luftwaffe pummelled his home town, night after night, thousands of people killed and injured …

Perceiving her fears, Beata tried to dispel them, though in doing so she addressed everyone. ‘Did you hear on the wireless last night, a hundred and eighty-five German planes shot down over London – in a single day! We’ve certainly got ’em on the run …’

But Nell was to remain apprehensive as the group made their way past vast dormitories of chronic infirm and the mentally ill, to rendezvous with the master and matron, wondering just how bad the superintendent of such an institution might be.

Surprisingly, and to everyone’s great relief. Miss Fosdyke turned out to be as pleasant and fair-minded as their own matron on the trains, having the knack of not speaking down to them whilst retaining her own authority. There would be nothing to fear from this one, felt Nell, looking back into the kind, reassuring and ladylike face, which was directed at each girl in turn, not addressing them en masse, but asking each individual why they had not applied to go on the register – leaving aside the Ashton twins, who had.

When it came to Nell’s turn, she replied that it was purely the expense that was prohibitive. ‘I should hate for it to be a hardship on my parents,’ she told Matron respectfully. ‘But, like everyone here, I just wanted to do my bit for the war.’

As usual there was some difficulty in ascertaining Nurse French’s thoughts and feelings, but the others, who had by now achieved a certain camaraderie, helped by explaining to Matron what Nell had recently discovered for them: that Frenchy was in fact a fully qualified nurse in her own country, and it was only her inability to grasp the language that was the barrier – and only then the speaking of it, for she understood instructions well enough. Considering that as an auxiliary she would not be entrusted with drugs, and that her manner was kind and caring, her mode of communication was of little handicap.

Matron accepted all of their answers without criticism – and was even complimentary. ‘I can tell you are all intelligent women. Perhaps once you are acclimatised you will decide to make that extra sacrifice to attain registered status. In any event, we are very glad to have you all here, short as your stay might be. The care of the chronic sick and elderly is a greatly neglected field, but it is very rewarding.’

They were to find that hers was a different persona altogether than Matron Lennox’s quiet way, more outgoing and amusing, as she shepherded the group on a brief tour of the infirmary. ‘And it will be brief, I’m afraid,’ she informed her entourage. ‘Our peripatetic MO is due to arrive for his rounds at any moment.’ Even so, she did appear to have sufficient time to introduce the recruits to others along her nimble way, not merely staff but inmates.

‘This is one of our longest serving residents – I do beg your pardon for walking on your nice clean floor, Blanche,’ she said, as politely as to an equal, whilst steering her party around the elderly woman in the shapeless cotton frock and long bloomers, who was on her hands and knees scrubbing the corridor and mumbling to herself.

The old girl lifted a beautiless, wart-bedecked face, appearing not to notice the rest of her audience, but smiling brightly at the one who had spoken. ‘You’re all right, miss!’ Then immediately going back to scrubbing the floor, jabbering to herself as the group moved on. ‘Late, late, always late, never did a day’s work in your life, not worth a candle …’

Her mumbling was fading into the distance, Matron explaining that Blanche had been born here, when she interrupted herself to accost another. ‘One moment, Cissie Flowerdew! I can see you, trying to slope off.’

Mop and bucket in hands, about to run, her victim wheeled around to portray the aura of a simpleton, the face framed in cropped brown hair held with a grip at either temple, and her lumpish torso clad in a similar shapeless blue frock to the last woman. Then Cissie came hurrying up with a repentant smile, her head cocked to one side, as she gave an answer that was well-rehearsed. ‘I wouldn’t know him again, Matron! He had his hat pulled down over his eyes and –’

‘– a long black coat to his ankles!’ finished Matron Fosdyke with grim amusement. ‘My word, this chap does seem to be a regular suitor, doesn’t he?’ Turning to the recruits, she offered an explanation, whilst encompassing the inmate in her reply. ‘Sister tells me that Cissie is expecting another happy event in the new year, isn’t that so, Cissie?’

‘Aye, Matron.’ There was no further attempt at guile.

Shaking her bonneted head, Matron issued a benign smile. ‘We’ll say no more about it for the moment. You may go back to work now.’

‘Baby number four,’ she explained to her party when the offender had clomped away. ‘Cissie works as one of our ward maids, she’s been with us for twenty years, entered when she was pregnant with her first child – someone took advantage of her when she was little more than a child herself, and it was deemed safer to keep her here for her own protection. How wrong we were! Every now and again she manages to give us the slip, and every time the same excuse: “Ah wouldn’t recognise ’im again, nurse,’ e ’ad ’is ’at pulled down over ’is eyes an’ a long black coat to ’is ankles!”’ The group broke into a unified smile, much disarmed by Matron’s feigned Yorkshire accent.

‘Every one of the children has a different father, though,’ Matron added, in her clipped fashion. ‘It doesn’t take a genius to work that out when you see them. They remain with us until they’re old enough to enter the orphanage. You’ll probably meet her last one in the nursery ward – right, onwards!’

Nell exchanged glances with Beata as the group surged off again, one of them hopping rapidly ahead each time they reached a door, and opening it for their leader to go sailing through. It was apparent that, despite her hearty kindness towards the inmates, Matron would condone no slapdash behaviour from those who should know better. For her arrival on each ward was met with much deference, and even when her eyes and mouth showed satisfaction, no one dared put aside their awe until she had gone.

Nell was by now feeling overwhelmed, and not a little dispirited, for not only did many of the occupants wear the identical and uninspiring uniform, but a similar expression. Even those not confined to bed could hardly be termed mobile, the odd one or two shuffling like tortoises from one end of the ward to the other, the rest seated on uncomfortable chairs. All wore the same look of resignation, as though condemned to a dungeon, their skin wrinkled and papery and slightly yellow, like plants deprived of sunlight. How bored the poor things must be, sympathised Nell, with only a square of sky to view, no pictures on the walls, not even a splash of colour to cheer them, just polished floors, crisp white linen, and endless rows of beautifully made beds.

Yet not all was gloom, for some of the old people still had their wits about them, and engaged the visitors in a few moments of playful chat. Then, after racing around in Matron’s slipstream for a while, Nell and the other auxiliaries were to receive the honour of shadowing the visiting MO on his rounds. And even if forced to stand to the rear of those more worthy, they were to pick up much information, though some of it amusingly suspect.

‘And how is Mrs Grant this morning?’ enquired the eminent man, upon his satellites being gathered around the current bed.

Its elderly occupant leaned forward and summoned him with a bony finger, as if to pour some confidence into his ear. ‘The city walls are made of shit.’

‘Really? They’ve stood up to it well,’ replied the doctor, without batting so much as an eyelid, whilst Nell and her friends tried not to choke on their mirth.

There were to be many such opportunities for amusement during that tour, some grossly embarrassing ones too, and some so intensely sad they made Nell want to cry, and to wonder if she was really cut out for such a commitment.

She was to pose this question to herself again later, when she and her fellows were handed to the care of their very own Sister Barber, under whose judicial eye they were to endure ward training. Many of the duties they had done before, such as bed-making, which was terribly frustrating when one wanted to get to grips with the real job. But as it seemed to be paramount on the list of rules, or at least as important as hand-washing, Nell proceeded to do as she was told. She must have done something right, for after first making up empty beds, she and the others were allowed to make one with someone in it. After showing her pupils the correct way to roll an infirm patient from side to side, to check for signs of pressure, and how to sponge the person down, Sister divided them into pairs, and instructed each to follow her example.

Nell would much rather have been paired with Beata than Joyson to undertake the blanket bathing of Mrs Wrigley, but without a choice in the matter she was determined to shine. Thankfully the elderly lady was compliance itself, and not one of those who screamed blue murder like the poor Ashton girls had been landed with. But despite her rattly chest, Mrs Wrigley raised not a grumble, as she was manhandled about the mattress and generally used as a practice dummy. Thankful for this cooperation, Nell voiced appreciation to Mrs Wrigley whilst trying not to make her cough worse, wondering throughout if Sister would admonish her for gossiping. But Sister appeared to be content to let them go about this in their own way for a while, and a lot less keen on pointing out their faults at every turn, as she had done at first introduction two weeks ago. Though coming to know her so well, Nell had the suspicion that this was just a ruse, and that Sister was merely saving all her complaints for later. Thus attuned, she determined to rob her of any chance to grumble.

Sister had other ideas. Gathering everyone around the bed that Nell and Joyson had just stripped and changed between them, after first excusing herself to the patient, she prowled the scene, checking that all castors were turned inward, the corners of the sheets were all neatly tucked in, the top one was folded over the counterpane to the regulation measurement, and the dirty linen had been deposited in the bin. Finding no fault with any of these, she then canvassed the group. ‘Do all of you consider that Mrs Wrigley has been satisfactorily provided for?’

Feeling nervous as her peers ran their eyes over her work, Nell was relieved that none of them spotted anything wrong.

‘Nothing wrong at all?’ queried Sister. ‘Then where is Mrs Wrigley to deposit her sputum – on the floor? This is not a saloon bar!’

Additionally reminded by the old lady’s chest noises, Nell realised with dismay. ‘Sorry, Sister, I took the cup away to wash it and forgot to fetch it back. I’ll go –’

‘It’s no good remembering it later! Mind to the task, Nurse, anticipate your patient’s every requirement! If they should have to ask for anything then we are not doing our job.’

‘Yes, Sister …’ After paying such care to the handling of the old lady, and feeling proud of her efforts, Nell felt slightly less so now.

Sister Barber then turned her attention to the lower bedding, again excusing herself to Mrs Wrigley as she pulled aside the covers to emit a sound of accusation. ‘This draw sheet is not taut enough! A few shuffles from Mrs Wrigley and it will form rucks!’ She was levelling her criticism at Nell again. ‘And what do rucks make?’

‘Bedsores, Sister!’ came the unified chant.

‘And a bedsore is to be regarded as an abomination – there will be none on my ward!’

Nell’s lips parted to object, and she waited for Joyson to admit that she had been the one responsible for not tucking her side in properly, whilst Nell had been more focused on the patient. But the real culprit merely gazed straight ahead and let her take the blame, as sister emoted, ‘This is sheer laziness! Do it again, properly!’

‘Just my luck to get partnered with her,’ muttered Nell from the side of her mouth to her friend Beata, as the group was dispersed to other tasks. Having tried to discern over the past few weeks if there was more to Joyson than met the eye, she had soon discovered that there wasn’t. She was as shallow and lazy as first impressions had implied. No matter that they enjoyed friendlier relations now, she would always let you down. ‘The treacherous cat. I get into enough trouble without taking the blame for Joyson too.’

But despite that telling off, Nell was to learn a great deal that morning, Sister proving to be very informative as she instructed her pupils in the accurate taking of temperature, pulse and respiration; the cleaning and sterilisation of appliances and instruments; what to observe in a patient’s posture, appetite, evacuations, colour of face, pain, effect of medicines; how different ailments required different management – heart and chest patients being propped up with pillows, others laid flat – and so on, these things being scribbled down in notebooks – for it was impossible to remember them all – and taking them right up to dinnertime.

Though not banned from eating inside this hospital, the recruits had already taken the contingency of bringing sandwiches, and now chose to eat these in the fresh air. At least it was fine, and there was a much nicer outlook here on the bench of a small nearby park – if a little chilly, for it was now well into September.

‘Golly, it’s a real eye-opener, isn’t it?’ exclaimed Penelope Ashton. ‘Some of the old girls are fun, though, with the things they say!’

‘Oh, and what do you make of Ciss?’ interjected Lavinia. ‘Four babies, how scandalous!’

‘It’s a blasted disgrace,’ declared Joyson, opening her sandwiches. ‘Allowing her to have one after the other like that! They should have her sterilised.’

Unsure as to her own stance, Nell looked to Beata, predicting a kinder opinion.

But, ‘It’s the poor little kids I feel sorry for,’ said her auburn-haired friend, for once unable to defend the indefensible. ‘There’s enough illegitimate babies being produced in the so-called normal world, what with lasses throwing themselves at soldiers, without having to put up with it in there too. I’d keep her locked up permanently if it were up to me. It makes me boiling mad.’

‘La pauvre imbecile,’ murmured a dissident voice from further along the bench.

‘Well, you’d expect that from her,’ muttered Joyson under her breath. ‘The French are always at it.’

Nell was examining her sandwiches without much enthusiasm, when she noticed her mentor frown and hold the miniature suitcase containing her own lunch to her ear.

‘What’s up, Killie?’

‘I’m sure I can hear – why, it’s like scratching.’ Looking puzzled, Beata opened the case in cautious fashion, to reveal a seething mass of ants. With a yell of disgust, she threw it to the ground, the ants in a panic as they continued to swarm over the jam sandwiches.

‘Well, that’s my dinner down the swanny,’ came her dismal utterance.

‘No it isn’t, you can share mine!’ Nell offered them brightly.

‘Nay, I’m not depriving you,’ Beata tried to refuse.

But Nell exerted friendly pressure. ‘Honestly, there are too many here for me. They’re meat paste. I don’t even feel like eating any of them, the stench in there has made me feel so queasy.’

‘Oui it eez very, er, pongy,’ agreed Madame, pinching her nose and making the others laugh with affection.

Despite her own geniality, Nell’s face remained wan, and it seemed all she could do to nibble on her sandwich. ‘I swear I’ve not felt right since I entered that blessed place.’

Grateful to be fed, Beata shifted from one plump buttock to the other. ‘I wonder when those luncheon vouchers will make an appearance.’ They had been promised some at the outset.

‘To be honest,’ said Joyson, viewing her own sandwich distastefully, ‘I couldn’t even stomach roast beef and Yorkshire pud, having seen the dirty habits of those old folk.’

Nell’s face buckled in laughter. ‘Yes, did you see what that old chap did with his business?’

‘Ah, non!’ Frenchy begged her not to elaborate.

‘They can’t help it.’ Beata assumed her usual virtuous character, addressing herself mainly to Nell. ‘You’ll be old yourself one day. Just thank your lucky stars your family isn’t impoverished and you won’t end up in here. It’s not very nice having to put your nearest and dearest into an institution.’

Nell looked chastened. ‘Is someone you know in the Infirmary?’ she tendered.

‘My Aunt Lizzie. She went senile, started being a hazard to herself, so we had no choice …’

Having contributed to the mockery, Nell felt ashamed and silly, and innocent. ‘Of course, I’m sorry if we offended you, Killie. My grandmother went a similar way, but we were able to nurse her at home.’

‘Then she was lucky,’ announced Beata, taking another bite of her sandwich.

Nell nodded thoughtfully over her own abandoned lunch. ‘I’d never imagined there were people so unfortunate until today.’

‘Aye, well, it’s one thing to be forced to end your days in the Infirmary, another to have been born there, like Cissie’s children. I don’t know which is worse. But you can’t allow your feelings to show in our job. If we treat them all with equal respect, then at least we can leave them with a bit of dignity. I always put meself in their position – the old folk, not the unmarried mothers,’ she added hastily with a chuckle, then was serious again. ‘I just think how I’d like to be treated. You know how you were mentioning the other week about not talking down to people just because they’re younger than you – I hate people who treat the elderly like little children.’ As Joyson rose to wander about the grounds to enjoy a crafty cigarette, Beata leaned towards Nell and muttered pungently, ‘She’s a bugger for doing that, I’ve noticed – pardon my cursing,’ she added at Nell’s sparkle. ‘It just makes me mad.’

‘You’re very wise,’ admired Nell. ‘I think if I stick by you I won’t go far wrong.’

Whilst the others went for a stroll around the compact gardens, she was to remain with Beata, who was obviously keen to rest her leg.

Having had her earlier questions answered as to the cause of Beata’s swollen ankle, and many more personal ones besides during their three weeks together, Nell decided to chance another.

‘I noticed when Matron asked us why we only wanted to be auxiliaries, you gave a similar answer to mine …’

‘That I was too skint to go on the register?’ Beata nodded. ‘Well, I could hardly tell her the real reason.’

Insatiably curious, Nell sat up. ‘What was that?’

‘I wanted to join the WAAF but they wouldn’t have me – I failed the medical.’

‘Why, you surprise me! I think you’ll make an exemplary nurse.’

Beata shook her head in self-doubt. ‘I fought against it for years, and now look where I am.’

‘But why?’ pressed Nell.

‘You’re a nosey little bugger, aren’t you?’ But when Beata turned to her, the small blue eyes were twinkling.

‘Sorry.’ Nell formed a regretful smile. ‘It’s just that I’m interested in other people’s lives – especially people I like.’

‘Well,’ her friend looked upon her warmly as she explained, ‘I can’t think it’ll be all that scintillating, but if you really want to know …’ And she proceeded to reveal how, throughout her life, from the age of ten, she had always seemed to be nursing one relative or another. ‘Whenever anybody fell ill, it was always, “Send for our Beat”. I got a bit sick of it at times, you know …’

Nell commiserated. ‘But still, it’s a shame you couldn’t afford to go on the register and be a proper nurse.’

‘Oh, I daresay I could’ve done the same as one of my sisters. She put herself into domestic service so’s to be able to save up for her true vocation. My money always seemed to be frittered away – anyway, what constitutes a proper nurse? I might not have the right qualifications, the right uniform, but nobody could care more about a patient’s welfare than I do – and I reckon you’re the same type, that’s why you’re still here after seeing all those poor demented souls in there.’ Her auburn head made a gesture at the Infirmary.

Pleased to be so well regarded, Nell thought she now saw the reason for Beata’s unmarried state at such ripe age: she had been too busy caring for others to make a life for herself. But she did not press for verification, for it was a question too far, and much too personal, and she had no wish to point out that that was where she and her friend differed.

So, lifting her face to the sun, she closed her eyes, daydreaming of Billy, enjoying this moment of peace after the chaos of the former workhouse, only the drone of a Halifax bomber interrupting the quiet.

Finally, though, Beata glanced down at the case that had contained her lunch, and saw that the ants had completely left it, though she dealt it a final bash just to make sure. ‘We’d better get back to work, else Matron’ll have ants in her pants.’

Nodding, her young companion rose, and, along with the rest of the group, strolled back to the Infirmary, looking forward to the afternoon.

4

They were to see many more ants during the next few weeks, for the old workhouse was infested with them. It was as well that Nell soon grew too familiar with this small army for them to bother her, and similarly those old men who had so frightened her at first, for it appeared that she would be there much longer than anyone had expected. The casualty evacuation trains might all be ready, with beds made up and their crews fit for action with a mound of surgical dressings at hand, but there seemed little urgency to call upon their newly acquired skills.

Though these were still very modest, the probationers and auxiliaries were gleaning more knowledge by the day, being permitted to witness the work of experienced nurses, and to practise, practise, practise those things that would be expected to be second nature to them in weeks to come: the insertion of catheters, the administration of enemas and medicines, giving injections – though only the Ashton sisters were allowed to have a go at the latter – meting out food and stimulants, dressing wounds, making a poultice, and even helping to lay out the dead. Nell had already changed her mind about going back to clerical work after the war, having decided that this would make for a much fuller and more satisfying career one day.

For now, though, she and her fellows were still mainly confined to the routine of changing filthy bedding, washing backs, handing out false teeth, trying to interpret the barely intelligible language of the stroke patients, and listening to old people’s objections over the food they had been given. Some might consider it drudgery, but Nell had made it her mission to get to know all the patients, to take an interest in their personalities and not just their ailments, and to converse with them as one might a peer, as she clipped their toenails and attended their bodily functions. Ditto the permanent residents, such as Cissie Flowerdew, whose situation had intrigued her so much that she had secretly delved into dusty ledgers to find out more about her. Sadly they had little else to tell about this poor simple woman, other than the entry ‘imbecile’ beside her name, and the date of entry. Yet by bothering to pause and chat with the subject herself, a persistent Nell had discovered that Cissie’s hopes and dreams were not dissimilar to her own.

‘I’m going to have a big white wedding!’ a pregnant Cissie delighted in telling the listener. ‘He’s coming back to collect me any day – do you want to be my bridesmaid, Nurse? I’ll need lots of bridesmaids.’

And instead of tittering, Nell felt quite sad that Cissie would never realise those dreams, and had answered kindly that she would regard it an honour. Any banter that might be exchanged was not at the expense of the victim, and any amusement lacked malice. On the contrary, she found herself looking forward to her next day, when she could give Cissie the length of gay ribbon she had decided would cheer her up. Indeed, there were to be many yards of ribbon handed out to brighten the other old ladies’ drab lives, which used up most of Nell’s pocket money, but was considered well-spent.

If there were any elements of this institution that Nell abhorred – apart from death, of course – it would be Ward Three, which housed the mentally deranged who could be violent, though none towards her so far, and the ward devoted to venereal disease. Just to find herself amongst such degraded individuals for the first time was sufficient ordeal. But horror was to be heaped upon horror for those compelled to watch as a man’s private member was exposed – in itself enough to set Nell’s cheeks aflame – and an instrument like a miniature umbrella then inserted into it. Face burning with embarrassment, unable to turn away lest she be dubbed a prude or a coward, Nell tried to bolster herself with the thought that it was far worse for the unfortunate victim than it was for any of his audience. But this did not make it any easier, and she hoped her experience on this ward would be brief.

What on earth would Billy have to say if he knew? Though she had no intention of telling him, or her parents. Nell doubted either of the latter would know of the existence of such horrific diseases, what with the upright lives they had led. Why, she herself had never guessed beforehand. This job had certainly broadened her education, though she would have preferred to remain ignorant of some things. Still, there was always humour to be found in any situation, and she could not help blurting an unintentional laugh in front of her friend Beata as they washed their hands for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.

‘I’m just trying to think of an answer for when my mother asks what I did at work today,’ she explained to her friend, who cracked a similar smile.

‘Aye, it’s not really polite conversation to say you watched a man have an umbrella shoved up his willy,’ said Beata. ‘Let alone recommend it as a spectator sport.’

‘I could have died of embarrassment!’ Blushing at the thought, Nell covered her face with the towel, before heaping admiration on her friend. ‘Whilst you didn’t even flinch.’

‘Oh, don’t go accrediting me with special powers, it’s just that I’ve seen a lot of ’em – a lot of the same one, anyway,’ Beata corrected herself, as Nell burst out laughing again. ‘I had to nurse my bedridden uncle, amongst others, bath him and everything. So there’s nowt much else can startle me. Not that Uncle Teddy had anything so horrible done to him as that poor chap.’ Then she cocked her head and reflected. ‘Mindst, some days I would’ve liked to ram a proper umbrella up him, the nasty old sod.’

Nell’s eyes watered from merriment. ‘Oh, I’m so lucky to be working with you, Killie, you’re such a joy!’ And her words were truly heartfelt.

But still, her main source of joy was in the receipt of Billy’s letters at the end of the day. With no time to visit the Preciouses each lunchtime now, she had to wait until after work, travelling a mile out of her way in order to retrieve a few mundane lines of news. Yet she would have gone to the ends of the earth for the row of kisses that always embellished Billy’s short letters.

It was immensely worrying, though, to think of him in that terrible blitz inflicted on the south. Though nothing in comparison, the air raids had become more frequent around York as well, and October had seen the first two deaths, though on the other side of the city to where Nell lived. Moreover, the bombs were getting to be a little close to home; last week one of them had descended quite near to Aunty Phyllis’s, falling between two houses and half-demolishing both. And although, thankfully, the occupants had escaped with burns and fractures, it was all very un settling, for Nell was personally acquainted with these victims.

Had England thought she had seen the utmost that Goering could unleash, there came a change of tactics, and the worst raid of the war, this time upon Coventry. Stunned from the news, the fledgling nurses were still discussing this during their lunch hour at a restaurant in town, none of them able to fathom the scale of the destruction, nor how it must feel to confront so many casualties. A thousand dead, God knew how many more injured, rank upon rank of them being ferried to the first-aid post, of which there was one at the Infirmary.

‘I mean, where would one start with numbers such as those?’ Lavinia Ashton looked anguished. ‘Whom would one treat first? We’ve never been given any real practice – all right, we’ve applied one or two bandages, et cetera, but in the scheme of things they were small-fry. We’ve never been put to the test. I’m afraid I might not come up to scratch when faced with something so massive as Coventry …’

Nell was afraid of this too, and was deeply thoughtful as she devoured the contents of her plate. After two months of visiting the Infirmary, her senses were no longer so acute to the disagreeable sights and smells, and the queasiness that had initially marred her appetite had waned.

‘Well, it hasn’t put you off your meal,’ reproved an amazed Joyson, breaking the serious atmosphere, having been studying Nell’s gluttonous attack on the suet dumplings that Beata had left on the edge of her plate. ‘By you can eat like a horse!’

Suddenly aware that everyone else at the table was eyeing her in fun, Nell reddened and paused in her lusty consumption. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend anyone … I’m just ravenous with all that hard work.’

‘You eat all you like, love.’ Between sips of tea, Beata stuck up for her.

‘Yes, you jolly well deserve it,’ chipped in Lavinia, backed by her sister.

‘I’m glad to see them go, I never could stand suet.’ Beata shuddered and grimaced.

‘What did you order dumplings for, then?’ countered Joyson.

‘Because I wanted the stew that came with them,’ retorted Beata. ‘If that’s all right with you?’ She and Nell had been looking forward to this hearty meal, which could be had for only a shilling – including a pudding – and had attempted to sneak off by themselves. They had not minded Frenchy and the younger Nurse Green and even the Ashton girls tagging along, but Joyson was bad enough at work without having to suffer her at meal breaks. ‘Eh, she’d argue with her own reflection, she would,’ came her assertion to the others.

‘I ’ate zem too,’ declared the attractive Frenchy. ‘I ’ate all Angleesh fud.’

Joyson turned on her. ‘What will you be having for your Christmas dinner, then? frogs’ legs and snails, I suppose?’

Whilst Frenchy struggled for a reply, the questioner was criticised by Green, though not for her xenophobic assumption. ‘Heaven help us, Joy, it’s over a month away!’

‘Whatever it is, it’ll be a damned sight better than t’other Christmas I spent with Uncle Teddy,’ quoted Beata. ‘Pork ribs and cabbage – eh, he were that tight he’d make Scrooge look like Good King Wenceslas.’

‘Never mind, you’ll be able to buy yourself something tasty with all these extra three and sixpences you’re getting,’ said Green. The auxiliaries had lately received a rise.

‘Well, all I want for Christmas is to see some action.’ Feeling self-conscious at being the only one left eating, Nell had laid down her cutlery and now sat back with a look of frustration. ‘It’s so annoying being all dressed up and nowhere to go.’

How she was to regret those words! For at half past eight that same evening, just as she was relaxing into a steamy bath, fantasising over Billy, her mother banged frantically on the door.

‘Eleanor, your debut is nigh!’

Having shot upright, sluicing water from one end of the bath to the other and onto the black and white lino, Nell remained there for a second, suspended by shock and clutching the wedding ring that hung from her neck. ‘Oh, Mother – what was that?’

‘They’ve sent a messenger! You’ve to get to Leeman Road straight away – don’t waste the water, leave it in for your father!’

Launching herself from the bath, a dripping Nell began rapidly to dry herself, stumbling and hopping over the putting on of her clothes, which clung to her still-damp limbs and much hindered her dressing. But it was all so exciting – she was needed at last!

‘Have you any petrol at all in the car, Father?’ came her breathless query upon rushing downstairs, clothes all awry.

‘I don’t want to waste it. You can borrow my bike, though!’ he offered.

First came dismay – she was hopeless at balancing on two wheels – but then, ‘Needs must!’ Nell put on her hat and coat, and, with her father striding ahead to ensure the lights were turned off before opening the outer door, she hurried in his wake. Plunged into darkness, she held back whilst Wilfred tugged the awful contraption from the shed.

Hardly able to see what she was doing, trying to cope with the over-large vehicle, Nell had to stand on tiptoe to accommodate its crossbar, and swerved all over the road as she fought to work the pedals, ‘Don’t wait up for me, I may be all night!’

‘A key! You’ll need a key!’ Thelma scuttled to fetch one, then raced to put it in Nell’s pocket, causing yet more delay. But, eventually, with a helpful shove from her father, Nell somehow mobilised herself in ungainly fashion towards town.

With the traffic lights out of use and no policeman about, there was no option but to grit her teeth and hope for the best at junctions, and go careering into the black beyond, often forced to judder to an abrupt standstill by using her foot as a brake when a car almost flattened her, and nearly keeling over in the process. Only after a great many mishaps along the way did she get the hang of it, and finally sailed triumphantly into the sidings at Leeman Road, there to be met by a shadowy figure with a stopwatch.

A shielded torch was quickly flashed on and off in order for Sister Barber to read the time. ‘You’ll have to do better than this when it’s the real thing, Nurse Spottiswood!’ Once again there was disapprobation on the pretty freckled face, before it vanished into darkness.

Attempting to disentangle her leg from the crossbar, Nell tottered and almost capsized again. ‘You mean … we’re not going anywhere?’ Her voice and expression told that she could scarcely believe this.

‘No, this is just a dummy run to see how quickly we can be mustered in an emergency – and I have to say it’s found us wanting,’ Sister Barber added sternly to those other murky figures already assembled, all equally as dismayed as Nell. ‘Very well, you can go home now.’

‘To a cold bath?’ muttered a displeased Nell to her friends, out of earshot of Sister, as she fought to heft her father’s bike in the opposite direction and head off through the dark. ‘Thank you very much, I don’t think!’

‘Bath on a Tuesday?’ Beata called after her in amazement. ‘By, you’re posh!’

A couple of days after the test run Nell was able to laugh about it with the others, and to use it as a source of jollification for Billy. Since telling him about her tour of the city pubs to follow the Bedpan Swingsters, his letters to her had been quite tense, expressing the fear that she might be snatched from him by another soldier. As a result, she had immediately refrained from going again. He would be much happier to hear that her only company that Thursday evening would be the sensible Beata, with whom she had arranged to go to the pictures.

But, ‘I’m a bit reluctant to divulge where I’ll be, in case they spoil it again,’ she whispered to Beata now, as, after a day of keeping the train clean and making more unused dressings, they put on their coats to leave work.

‘I’m buggered if I’m telling them,’ replied her friend more stringently. ‘See you outside the Regal at seven!’

Laughing, Nell went home.

After a bite to eat and a change of clothing, Nell attempted to collect enough mascara for an application, scraping the little brush into every corner of its box, but all it produced was beige spit. Well, that was that. Unable to obtain more, she rummaged in the cupboard that still held a few childhood toys and brought out a paint box, pondering the feasibility of using one of its brown squares. But this was a failure. She would just have to rely on her natural lashes.

She had donned her coat, and was inserting her tuppence bus fare into her glove so as not to have to faff with her purse again, when her mother murmured confidentially in passing, ‘I’ll be going to the chemist in the morning. Would you like me to get you some things?’

Her days had been so consumed by hard work and writing letters to Billy, Nell had not noticed the absence of her monthly visitation, but now it immediately leapt to mind, and she turned crimson. By the discreet way her mother formed her lips to say ‘things’, Nell knew she meant sanitary towels. It was a term neither of them ever used, except perhaps upon actually purchasing them at the chemist. Knowing how embarrassing her daughter found this, Mother was thinking to spare her blushes now, Nell recognised. However, there was much more to those reddened cheeks than she could ever imagine.

Stuttering, ‘Oh, yes, thank you, Mother!’ she reopened her purse, handed over the cash, then grabbed her gas mask and left the house, undergoing worried calculation as she hurried through the dark November mist for town. She had not required things for over four months – before Billy went away. The realisation caused her to gasp aloud. Thank God her mother was no longer in earshot, for besides the sharp intake of breath, she would surely have been able to hear Nell’s heart thudding as panic began to gain hold.

Forgetting all about the secret application of rouge that she would normally have made on her way, she bit her lip, her footsteps slowing as she tried to rationalise this – why, there was nothing really unusual, was there? Having only started her whatnots a year and a half ago, she had not yet achieved a regular cycle, and was accustomed to going two or even nearly three months without seeing a thing. What was the difference between three months and four? Exactly! Nell told herself firmly, as she began to walk at normal pace again. It was bound to happen soon. All she had to do was stay calm. Worrying over it would not make it occur any sooner. She must put any unthinkable idea out of her head.

That was rather difficult to do when one was stuck on a bus with nothing to take one’s mind off it, and she concentrated on looking forward to meeting Beata. Prior to this, though, upon egress she handed her ticket back to the conductress, then made her way along the darkened streets to visit Bill’s former digs. Having arranged this evening visit to town, it meant that she had had no need to call on the Preciouses directly after work, but could leave it till now. She hurried for Walmgate – the wrong side of town, as her parents would say. Well, there were some dreadful people here, conceded Nell, as two drunken Irishmen loomed at her out of the darkness, reeking of alcohol, and she was forced to veer around them. But there were some lovely ones too. Just the thought of what lay beyond that archway and along the alley caused her to smile.

There was an old fashioned gas lamp in the courtyard, though now it stood redundant in the blackout. Using the wall to grope her way, incapable of seeing much but viewing it from memory, she stopped before a once noble Georgian mansion, now jammed in by slums – indeed, one itself. The spokes of its fanlight were rotten, its windows bereft of putty, centuries of paintwork eroded to bare timber. A house with psoriasis. Even her light rap of the tarnished brass knocker caused a shower of flakes.

Someone threw open the door. ‘You’re late!’ bawled Ma Precious at the top of her voice, a sergeant-major in a floral pinafore.

Greatly familiar with this raucous behaviour, and perceiving no harm was meant, Nell smiled. ‘I had to go home straight after work, so I thought I’d come now. Sorry to put you ou—’

‘You’re not putting us out, you daft cat! Get yourself in before the warden gives us a rollicking over the lights!’ Ma waved merrily.

Nell hopped over the threshold, allowing the door to be closed behind her, though truth be told it was almost as dingy in here, there being no electric lighting, and the one gas mantle casting only a pathetic glow upon the linoleum of the hall. There was an appalling smell of fish too.

‘At least you’ll have time for a decent natter if you don’t have to rush off home like you usually do!’ Ma set off with manly strides, the soles of her tartan slippers squeaking the lino, expecting the other to follow, and calling ahead, ‘Georgie, the lass is here, get that kettle on!’

‘Not for me, thanks!’ Nell refused hastily, remaining in the hall, the interior of the house being as neglected as the outside, with great fronds of wallpaper drooping over a once elegant staircase that wound its way up three more storeys. ‘I’ve to meet my friend in fifteen minutes.’

Ma wheeled around, a hand placed indignantly on each robust hip. ‘Oh, so you thought you’d treat us as a convenience to save you having to wait in the cold?’

Having learned to take all insults here with a pinch of salt, Nell merely giggled at the old woman, who was at first glance intimidating, with her mannish build, her sharp brown eyes, and her gun-metal hair parted in the middle and wound into buns on each side of her head in the manner of earphones, but she was in fact a generous soul despite her bossy nature.

‘Time enough to have a cup of tea and a chat with us, surely?’ Ma proposed now in a more wheedling voice. ‘All our lads are out at the pub. Go on!’ And seeing Nell weaken, she dealt her a shove with one of her navvy’s hands into the living room.

At once a time-traveller, Nell took delight in being plunged into bygone days, surrounded by aspidistras, Landseer prints and stuffed animals under glass domes. One exhibition of flowers and foliage, birds, field mice and squirrels was so gigantic it took up an entire corner. The furnishings were all very grand – there being much mahogany and inlay, mother-of-pearl, brocade and velvet, belonging formerly to a wealthier household – though, after fifty years with Ma, much dented, scuffed and torn – rather the same impression Nell had of the elderly man who rushed towards her now through another door.

Battered maybe, yet there was a spry delight upon the dear old face that came intimately close to hers, imbuing her with the scent of linseed oil as Georgie reached up to cup her cheeks in hands that were gnarled, the fingernails split and stained from repairing musical instruments. ‘We feared you weren’t coming – ooh, what cold little chops!’ Dealing her cheeks an affectionate rub, he broke off in meek response to his wife’s stentorian demand.

‘Never mind “your tiny hand is frozen,” Casanova – where’s that tea I asked for?’ said Ma.

‘Sorry, dearie, the kettle’s on now!’ he hastened to say with an affectionate rub of her arm. ‘I was just getting rid of that pan of fish heads into the garden – I’ve been boiling up a little treat for our chucky hens,’ he added to the visitor, explaining the stench. ‘They’re not laying like they used to do. We’ve had barely half a dozen eggs this week. yet not so long ago there was a proper glut.’

Ma lost patience. ‘You know what glut rhymes with? Foot! You’ll be getting mine up your khyber if you don’t fetch this lass her tea – by, he can’t half talk!’ she declared to their visitor as her husband rushed to obey.

Nell bit her lip over this reversal of roles, as Georgie scuttled about getting teapot, cups and saucers. Never had she seen Mrs Precious lift one finger in the kitchen, or anywhere else come to that – but her husband seemed not to regard himself as henpecked, and obviously worshipped the ground she walked on. For all her bluster Ma loved him too, Nell guessed, from the way she encouraged his romantic serenades on the concertina. Hopefully there would be none tonight, though, for she was anxious to get away.

Etched against a background of dark, elaborate wallpaper with crimson roses and acanthus leaves, and varnished woodwork, Ma swivelled to address her again. ‘Right, sit down!’ It was more order than invitation. ‘Then you can have what you really came for.’ And with a shrewd cast of her head she went to snatch a letter from the mantel.

With every surface cluttered, Nell trod a careful path to a sofa, avoiding the black and tan rug complete with head and glassy eyes, which had been one of the Preciouses’ favourite dogs. In addition to this, there was a ginger Pomeranian, also stuffed, and a live, if decrepit, black terrier with bad teeth and foul breath, which hankered to be petted as Nell finally reached the velvet sofa that had seen so many rears that it was almost bald. Perched against these fantastic surroundings, giving the dog a cursory pat, a cat on her lap and its tail snaking back and forth under her nose until she brushed the animal gently aside, Nell accepted the cup of rather stewed tea donated by Georgie, and was about to take a biscuit from the extended plate when at that same moment Ma thrust a letter at her.

‘Not enough hands!’ laughed Nell. Thanking them both, and trying to juggle the cup of tea, she put it aside in order to take the letter, which was then shoved straight into her gas-mask container, this being the norm.

But, ‘Aren’t you going to read it to us then, seeing as you’ve deigned to honour us by sitting down?’ On the other sofa now, Ma leaned forward expectantly, her chunky legs apart to display flesh-coloured bloomers, and a hand on each knee. ‘We never get to hear what he’s doing, do we, Georgie?’

The old fellow gave a dejected smile, and shook his pink, bald head as he lowered his wiriness next to her bulk, the plate of biscuits on his lap.

Other than keeping them informed of Bill’s wellbeing, Nell was loath to share his words with anyone else. ‘Well, I’d better drink this tea, it’s a crime to waste it – and I don’t want to be late for my friend!’

‘She’s having us on – wants to keep him to herself!’ Ma gave her husband a knowing wink to indicate she was joking, though Nell reddened all the same. ‘Oh, never mind, lass!’ she placated. ‘We know what it’s like to be in love, don’t we, sweetheart?’

‘We certainly do, dearie!’ The meek old Georgie leaned towards her in adoration – though Ma had not been addressing him but Milo the stinking old terrier, which she promptly swept to her bosom and proceeded to cuddle like a baby, and to feed with titbits from the plate.

Ashamed at treating the old couple so shabbily when they obviously viewed Bill as one of their own, and were always so amenable to her, Nell gave a capitulating smile and ripped open the envelope.

And then such unexpected joy. ‘He’s coming up at the weekend!’

Whilst Ma and Georgie exclaimed in pleasure, exciting the dog who wriggled to be free, Nell almost collapsed from relief, her eyes filling with tears as she skimmed the rest.

‘Where’s he stopping?’ demanded Ma, large shovels of hands casting the terrier to the floor. ‘Write and tell him he must kip with us!’

‘He’ll surely come here of his own accord, dearie,’ Georgie stated to his wife, whilst Nell continued trying to read, completely unaware of her antiquated surroundings now, more intent on the word of today as she devoured the familiar script.

‘What else?’ pestered Ma.

‘Er, nothing much …’ This negated the big smile on Nell’s face, but she was not about to tell them of Bill’s desire to spend the whole weekend as they had last time. ‘He does mention coming to visit you, though.’ Loud satisfaction emerged from Ma. ‘They’re still being trained hard, but he sounds in good spirits.’ As was Nell. Bounding to her feet, she tucked the letter away and slung the gas-mask container over her shoulder. ‘Sorry, but I really will have to meet my friend – so long!’ And in this state of near euphoria, she left.

She was still beaming from ear to ear when, less than three minutes later, she met up with her friend outside the nearby Regal cinema, waving her most recent letter. ‘Billy’s coming to visit this weekend!’

‘I wondered why you looked as bright as a button,’ remarked Beata with a smile. ‘Didn’t think it could be ’cause of me.’

‘Oh, I’m pleased to see you as well, Killie!’ Having come to regard the latter as a favourite aunt, Nell pressed Beata’s arm.

Then, in a fit of exhilaration, her hand reached up to feel the hard little nugget beneath her clothes – the wedding ring on its neck chain which had never been removed since that last weekend with Bill. But she might need to transfer it to her finger if another trip away was on the cards! Perhaps, too, she could change his mind about marriage, get a special licence, so as to wear the ring for real.

But there might be an obstacle to meeting him at all, and in this she enlisted her friend’s help. ‘The trouble is, my parents still don’t know about him, and I’m afraid they’ll prevent me going for some reason …’ She bit her lip. ‘I know it’s an enormous liberty, but would you mind if I use your company as an excuse to go out on Friday night, perhaps Saturday too?’

Beata’s change of expression showed that she did mind. ‘Not if it involves having to lie.’

‘It needn’t.’ Nell tried gently to persuade her. ‘If you were to call at my house, as if we were going out together –’

‘Then you could ditch me before I cramp your style,’ finished Beata, tongue in cheek.

‘No! I’d never do that.’ Although it was obvious she was only using her friend, Nell suffered barely any guilt, for she would have employed whatever desperate means to be with Billy. ‘You could come out with Billy and me, perhaps for a few drinks, then … maybe go home a little earlier.’ Her face formed an entreating smile.

‘Why don’t you just hang a sign saying gooseberry round my neck and have done with it?’ joked her friend.

Nell showed compunction, but, ‘Please, Killie! This is so important, and I just don’t know what else to do! I must see him.’

Beata studied the urgency on that young face. ‘Well … I suppose if I am going to tag along with you, it wouldn’t really be a lie, would it?’ And she had harboured such romantic yearnings herself once. Who was she to stand in love’s way? ‘All right,’ she sighed, as Nell began to dance with excitement, ‘Give me your address and I’ll be your alibi – but come on now or we’ll miss the picture! Not that it’ll have as much bloomin’ intrigue as you’ve got to offer.’

On Friday evening, as arranged, Beata duly turned up at Nell’s house. Pleased that their daughter had such a mature, sensible-looking friend, Thelma and Wilfred made no complaint at her going out on the town yet again, not even when Nell announced that she and Beata would probably be enjoying Saturday together too.

Luckily, none of this involved Beata having to lie. ‘But I’m not too keen on you misleading them like this,’ she told Nell, as she hobbled alongside her to the bus stop.

‘I’ll make it up to you, Killie!’ swore Nell. ‘I promise. I hate having to do it too, but I daren’t risk telling them. I’ve missed him so much – oh, you’ll love him when you meet him!’

Beata turned impish. ‘I might take a fancy to him and pinch him off you.’

But, still in high spirits, Nell merely laughed. For as lovely-natured as she was, how could plain and plump old Killie be serious competition?

It was very cold when they reached the station, which was the appointed meeting place with Bill. Buying a platform ticket for each of them, Nell and her friend hurried through the barrier.

The temperature was a good deal lower here, the icy air seeming to ricochet from the stone beneath their feet. Waiting to pounce on him the moment he stepped off the train, Nell pranced from one foot to the other, half in cold, half in excitement. ‘Sorry to make you wait,’ she told her friend when, after fifteen minutes, he still had not shown up. ‘He’s usually so punctual.’

Beata huddled into her coat, and said in her patient manner, ‘Not to worry …’ But the way she rubbed her gloved hands told otherwise.

Anxiously watching and waiting for Bill to arrive, as trains came and went, Nell made no other comment for some while. But after noticing Beata adopt different positions in the next quarter of an hour, even with her mind on other things she was forced to respond to her friend’s discomfort. ‘Killie, you must be freezing, I’m so sorry, I don’t know where he’s got to – let me buy you a cup of tea in the café. If we sit by the window we’ll still be able to see him when he arrives.’

But, when the cups of tea were drained, Bill had still not come.

Nell had grown uneasy. She was trying not to be, but it showed on her face and in the drumming of her fingers on the table. ‘Right, well, I can’t expect you to hang around all night waiting for him, Killie. Why don’t you go home?’

‘I don’t know if I should leave you …’

I’ll be perfectly safe,’ Nell reassured her in a level tone.

‘All right then – but stay in here and keep warm,’ instructed Beata, rising to leave.

‘I will,’ came Nell’s reply. ‘And I’m so sorry for dragging you on this wild goose chase. I swear I’ll make it up to you – and I’ll get the culprit to treat you to drinks tomorrow night, how’s that?’

Accepting this, Beata wished her friend goodnight. ‘And give him gyp when he does turn up.’

‘Oh, I shall!’ vowed Nell.

But her suspense was to continue as another half-hour ticked away. Wandering out of the refreshment room, she cast a fretful gaze around the platform, and then the one opposite. There were squads of men in khaki greatcoats about, but none of them were Bill.

By nine thirty, accepting that he wasn’t going to come, and with the weather too cold to hang around any longer, a frantic Nell turned about and strode quickly towards town, intending to see if he had gone instead to the Preciouses.

But then why would he? Her stride faltered in the realisation that Bill would never have abandoned her like this unless something was wrong. And she might needlessly be disturbing Ma and Georgie, who always went to bed early. Standing still now in the middle of the pavement, a gloved hand over her mouth, Nell began to flick through a catalogue of awful things that might have befallen him, uncaring of those who occasionally stumbled against her in the darkness, her mind and heart in turmoil over Billy. Somewhere, behind a dark bank of cloud, droned a squadron of Halifax bombers. Steeped in worry, and too familiar with this harmonious sound, Nell paid it little heed either. Only a human emission caused alarm.

‘Coming for a ducky with us, love?’

She jumped violently at the voice that was close to her ear, and immediately shook off the soldiers’ advances.

‘Oy, keep your hair on!’ laughed one of them, as she fled home in distress.

How she had prevented her distress being relayed to her parents, Nell did not care, only that it was still there in the morning. A thousand thoughts had traversed her mind since then, one of them being how would she ever get through the weekend not knowing what had happened to him? Perhaps an explanation of his absence would arrive in the morning post – she must visit the Preciouses first thing.

Rising far earlier than normal, disturbing her mother who poked her head from her room and made bleary-eyed enquiry as to where Nell was going without any breakfast, she replied truthfully that she had volunteered to put in some extra hours at the Infirmary and would eat there. Then, whispering so as not to wake her father, she hissed, ‘Sorry, Mother, I forgot to tell you I’d be getting up so early. Go back to bed, and I’ll see you later!’ And off she sped to the Preciouses, rousing them too from bed.

But Ma and Georgie had heard nothing at all.

With a quick apology for disturbing them at this ungodly hour, Nell refused the invitation to enter, and said she would return in the afternoon, following work.

But nine excruciating hours later, there was still no letter.

Distracted by her concern for Billy, baffling her parents with her strange, absent-minded behaviour, Nell was to pay these twice-daily visits to the Preciouses for the best part of a week, hope dwindling at every turn. Bill was dead. Much as she hated to contemplate it, she was certain it must be true, for he would never have been so heartless as to leave her like this. But would her fears ever be confirmed, or was she to remain in limbo for the rest of her life?

Coming over the ancient threshold again this evening, wavering bleakly in the hall to be informed that there was again no letter for her, Nell snatched at anything that might prevent her from weeping in front of witnesses. A tabby cat was winding itself around her calves. She bent quickly to stroke it. ‘You’re very fussy tonight, puss …’

‘I think the dirty trollop’s having kittens,’ announced Ma.

Nell burst into tears.

There were exclamations of pity from the elderly couple, Georgie being the first to comfort, dealing gentle pats to the stooped figure that was racked with sobs. ‘Aw, don’t worry, dearie! There’s probably some good excuse for Bill not coming.’

‘But he would have written!’ Nell’s face shot up to accuse him with red and tear-filled eyes. ‘Something’s happened to him, I know it!’

‘It doesn’t mean he’s dead!’ brayed Mrs Precious with slight scorn. ‘He could have been sent abroad without warning – you know what the army’s like.’

‘He’d still have managed to get a letter through,’ sobbed Nell, fumbling for her handkerchief. ‘Oh God, what am I going to do?’ For she knew now, just as surely as her darling Billy was dead, that she was carrying his child.

5

Another week went by, and then another, taking Nell into December. Even now, the fear having churned her stomach into a pit of acid, she persisted in hanging on, visiting the Preciouses almost every night, and posting her letters to Billy. For, until confirmation of his death was put in writing, there remained the shred of hope that it had all been a mistake. All of it.

Being informed almost immediately that Bill was missing, Beata had been the source of comfort that Nell’s parents could never be, for they remained unaware – though of course they could see that their daughter was troubled by some matter. Hence, thinking it perhaps to be something at work, they were happy for her to accept her fellow nurse’s frequent invitations to the pictures, without guessing what these trips were meant to ease. Seated there in the darkened cinema, though, Nell felt anything but eased, barely concentrating on the opening film, let alone the tips on cookery and the shorts from the Ministry of Information – until the one that forewarned the audience about careless talk: ‘Keep mum!’

Oh, yes, she really came awake then, and took to picking over her dilemma in such great detail that when a cheer went up over the downing of another Hun, she almost jumped out of her skin.

Then, finding herself under amused inspection from Beata, she returned a half-hearted little smile, and momentarily attended the newsreel. But soon her mind was to wander again.

The interval brought community singing. Irritated beyond belief, Nell lit a cigarette and, whilst others sang, took puff after nervous puff of it, until the theatre eventually reverted to darkness. As if the uncomfortable seat was not bad enough, its rough moquette prickling the underneath of her legs, her bladder chose that moment to signal it required emptying again. Having purposefully gone before she came in, Nell damned her system for its current inefficiency, and tried to hold off for as long as she could.

But, constantly wriggling in discomfort, she was eventually to receive a tap on the shoulder.

‘Excuse me, love, but have you got worms?’ came an impatient demand from the man behind, whose view she had perpetually blocked.

Tutting with embarrassment, Nell apologised and turned back to the drama that had managed to capture her interest at last. But straight away an air-raid warning came onto the screen to interrupt a crucial moment, the slide instructing everyone who required to leave to do so in an orderly fashion.

‘Get on with it!’ hollered the man behind, the whole audience groaning in unison, and most people remaining in their seats.

Desperate for the lavatory by now, Nell rose quickly and made her way to the end of the row, whispering to Beata, ‘Don’t miss the picture, I’ll be back when I’ve spent a penny.’

Once in the cubicle, she took the opportunity to undo the top hooks and eyes of her corset, gasping as she lowered herself onto the seat, then sitting back to savour these few moments of relief. Soon, though, the sound of someone else waiting outside the door had her hurrying to do up her corset and emerge.

But as she did so, who should she almost collide with but Sister Barber.

Both looked stunned, before Nell turned shamefully aside to wash her hands, and Sister hovered to observe: ‘I heard nothing to the effect that you’d be here tonight. Nurse Spottiswood – you’re meant to keep the authorities informed!’

Nell could think of no excuse, other than to stammer, ‘I’m sorry, Sister, it was a last last-minute arrangement …’

‘One that could get you dismissed!’

Nell was immediately gripped by terror: how could she support a child with no job? Her parents were going to be angry enough as it was – perhaps even kick her out – she would need every penny to maintain herself. She turned with dripping hands from the sink, about to beg for mercy, when just at that point Beata came to look for her.

‘Oh, and this is your partner in crime!’ came Sister’s withering proclamation, giving Nell leave to dry her hands. ‘I thought better of you, Kilmaster. Do neither of you grasp how important it is that we know your every whereabouts? It’s imperative that we’re able to muster the entire crew at a moment’s notice, we can’t hang around whilst the messenger visits every pub and picture house in York in the hope of finding you there! Are you masquerading as nurses?’

‘No! I’m truly serious about this, Sister,’ objected Nell, both she and Beata apologetic. But Sister remained waspish and obviously not satisfied. ‘I’ll see you both in my office tomorrow morning.’ And she jerked her head for them to go.

‘Oh God, I can’t get the sack – not on top of everything else!’ uttered a frantic Nell to Beata as they hurried for the exit. She was close to tears again, and could not understand how the other remained so calm.

‘She won’t get us fired,’ assured her friend in that gently confident way of hers. ‘She was just letting off steam.’

Nell felt like shaking her older friend for such complacency. ‘Maybe not you, but she’s always had it in for me!’

Beata tried to coax her, as both made the decision to abandon their night out and turn for home. ‘I can promise you, you won’t get the sack. Listen to your Aunty Beat.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, I can see you’re going to spend the night fretting if I don’t tell you …’

‘Tell me what?’

‘I know Sister’s little secret,’ disclosed Beata with a sly grin. ‘She lives near me. Her husband runs a pub.’

Nell was utterly flummoxed.

‘Nurses’re not supposed to have a pub address,’ explained Beata. ‘Sister gave Matron a false one, I overheard her.’

Nell heaved a vast sigh of relief, but in that same turn she clicked her tongue. ‘You could have given me this ammunition before, instead of letting her boss me around all these weeks!’

‘You needed bossing around,’ retorted Beata, only half-joking. ‘Anyway, it wasn’t my place to let on about Sister, we’re all entitled to our secrets.’ Then, astonished that Nell’s eyes bulged with unexpected tears, she was swift to say, ‘I wasn’t thinking, love … keep your chin up, you’re bound to hear from him soon. That’s who you’re really worried about, isn’t it?’

Dabbing at her eyes and blowing into her handkerchief, Nell moved her head up and down, thinking but not saying, Oh, Killie, if only you knew the half of it. But then, did she know? Had she guessed? Darting teary eyes over her friend’s face, Nell tried to read what was there, wondering whether to throw herself on the other’s mercy …

But then the moment was gone. If Beata had guessed, she did not say as she delved into her pocket and handed Nell a sweet. And, knowing her friend’s opinion on unmarried mothers, Nell could not bear to incur such disapproval.

* * *

Thankfully, Sister’s own disapproval had mellowed by the following morning. Beata turned out to be right, neither she nor Nell were to be sacked, but received only an admonition to keep their superiors informed from now on.

Despite it being a relief, though, it was only one less thing for Nell to worry about. Awaiting news, day after day, night after night, she continued to haunt the Preciouses, and eventually those tireless visits were to bear fruit.

But it was the bitterest, most noxious of fruit. And the letter came not from Billy, but from his mother.

There was an unaccustomed delicacy to Mrs Precious’s masculine features as she handed it over, that suggested she already knew what was in its pages. Inviting Nell to sit down, she and Georgie hung on the youngster’s every nuance whilst the envelope was opened with trembling hands, and the reader braced herself to ingest the terrible words.

Mrs Kelly had found, amongst her dead son’s belongings, a bundle of letters. ‘Please forgive me for not writing to you sooner,’ she had painfully scrawled, ‘but I’ve been so terribly upset myself, and had no way of letting you know about Billy until I gathered the courage to go through his things, and found the letters bearing your name. I recognised Mrs Precious’s address at the top, because Bill occasionally dropped me a line from there whilst he was in York. And I knew, of course, that he had met a girl up there whom he thought the world of, and that he was going to marry her when the war was over. Always told me everything did my Bill, showed me your photograph, and said what lovely long letters you wrote him. Well, I could see that for myself when I came across them. I hasten to say I didn’t take the liberty of reading them –’

Nell felt sure she had, but cared nothing for this, and quickly read on, a pulse thrumming her neck. ‘– they were private between you and my son, and must remain so. You shall have them back if you wish. Billy did say that your parents wouldn’t approve of you going out with anyone, you being so young. But he was willing to wait. And he said you felt the same. That’s why I thought I should let you know the circumstances of his passing …’

Visualising the writer taking a deep breath in preparation of having to pen the following lines, Nell took one too, trying to fight the impulse to vomit, as the walls and all their bizarre contents seemed to press in on her, her hands trembling even more.

‘Even though it must be awfully sad for you to read, you will surely want to know why he suddenly disappeared from your life. We’d suffered a night of terrible bombing. I can’t describe how bad it was to you. Billy and other soldiers were sent out to help with the rescue. There were lots of people trapped under fallen buildings, and Billy crawled in amongst the rubble trying to locate a child whom he could hear crying. The walls collapsed, and my boy was killed instantly, along with a good few of his friends. I can’t tell you how my heart still breaks. I still keep expecting to see his smiling face appear round the door and saying, “Wotcher, Mum!” Life will never be the same without him. I fear I shall never get over it. But that’s as it should be, I’m his mother. It’s different for you, you’re still a girl, and Billy wouldn’t want you to be miserable. I know you’ll be terribly sad on reading this, but after you’ve had a good cry you must try to get on with your life …’ Nell broke down and sobbed noisily into her lap, unable to bear any more.

The Preciouses were immediately there with words of comfort, but Nell could take comfort in nothing, and merely sat weeping in the presence of talking heads.

‘She sent us a nice letter too, didn’t she, Georgie?’ Ma lowered her volume to fit the occasion, though it was less than gentle on the ear. ‘Thanked us for looking after him – I wrote straight back and told her we don’t need thanking, he was a pleasure to have, just like a son.’

His kind old face twisted in concern for the still-weeping Nell, Georgie asked tentative permission of his wife: ‘Shall I bring her it, do you think, dearie?’ And at her nod, he trotted from the room.

Shocked to the core, feeling ready to faint, Nell barely noticed him go, nor return, until a wristwatch was held under her nose.

Georgie gave gentle explanation as the watch was transferred from his gnarled old fingers, their nails split and stained with oil, into Nell’s young and chapped ones. ‘It’s Bill’s. I’ve had it in my workshop since he went. I didn’t have time to fix it then, so he left it with me. I did try, but my fingers aren’t as nimble as they used to be, I’m afraid, nor my eyes as good. A watchmaker would have no trouble, though. Anyway, we thought you might like it …’

Touched, but even more heartbroken, the tears streaming down her face, a shuddering Nell pressed the watch between her hands, unable to thank him.

‘It’s not much of a legacy for a hero, is it?’ submitted Ma with a heavy sigh.

And Nell sobbed again.

It was impossible, of course, to hide such deep grief from her parents.

‘Eleanor, whatever’s the matter?’ Thelma had been sitting in the firelight with her husband, listening to the nine o’clock news, but now put down her knitting and came hurrying to comfort her daughter, who had burst into tears at the moment of entry, her face already blotched and puffy from its previous onslaught. ‘Has something horrible occurred at work? We were worried when you were so late –’

Nell shook her head vigorously, spattering her coat with tears and mucus, trying to make herself stop crying in order that she might explain, but the moment she thought of Bill, she broke down again.

Wilfred Spottiswood turned off the wireless, sufficiently affected by his daughter’s distress to curtail the report of British exploits in the Western Desert. But he hung back, not knowing how to handle it, and so leaving it to her mother.

Finally, Nell was able to blurt in a shaky voice, ‘A very dear friend of mine was killed.’ It was all she could utter before dissolving again.

‘Today?’ Despite trying to commiserate, Thelma could not help questioning her daughter’s facts. ‘But there’ve been no raids.’

‘Not here,’ Nell managed to gasp. ‘London. Someone just told me.’

‘Oh, how horrible for you. Oh my dear, I’m so sorry.’ Issuing murmur of comfort, Thelma began to undo Nell’s coat, helping the deranged girl to take it off, then drawing her to the fire. ‘Come along and sit here, I’ve kept some cottage pie warm in the oven, you can have it on your lap just for tonight.’

The thought of this almost made Nell retch. ‘Mother, I couldn’t eat it!’

‘No, of course not …’ Thelma came back through the firelight to sit beside her daughter, wringing her hands and saying thoughtfully, ‘She must have been a very dear friend for you to be so upset.’

Nell nodded through a blur of tears.

‘How did –’

‘Leave the girl alone!’ Wilfred jumped in impatiently. ‘You’re making her worse by all these questions.’

‘Yes, yes, how thoughtless of me.’ Nell’s mother took issue with herself. ‘Maybe you’d just like to go to bed, dear?’

Nell required no further invitation to escape, and bolted for the darkness of the staircase. ‘I’ll fetch you a mug of Ovaltine with some aspirin, it’ll help you sleep,’ came the soothing addition from her mother. ‘I am very sorry, dear. We both are.’

Beneath the surface of her fitful sleep, her brain still reeling with visions good and bad, surrendering both to impulse and exhaustion, Nell chose to remain in bed the following morning. Lashing out to end the alarm clock’s violent demands, she pulled the sheets and blankets up over her head, and tried to gain oblivion. But as her hand slipped beneath the pillow it encountered Bill’s watch, and the tears came again. Forever seven o’clock – oh, would that it were, yearned Nell, as her mind replayed the scene that had led to this perpetuity. And to worsen her grief was the thought that poor Bill had died not knowing that he was to be a father.

A series of respectful taps came at the door. ‘You’re going to be late, dear.’

Nell crammed a fistful of pillow around each ear. ‘I’m sick.’ It was not pretence. This malaise felt as real as any bodily affliction.

But, ‘Lying there moping won’t take your mind off your bad news,’ persisted Thelma, peering in for a moment. Not one for hugs, she tried to comfort her daughter in the only way she could: with advice. ‘It might make you feel better if you throw yourself into your work – that’s what I always do when I’m a bit sad. Besides, it’s not very responsible to let the hospital down, is it?’

And ultimately, left alone, Nell was to see the truth in this, and to drag herself from the sparse comfort offered by the bed. After pondering one last time over Billy’s watch, through eyes that contained a ton of grit under each lid, she pressed it with a tender kiss, then hid it in the same place as his photograph and letters, in a hatbox, under the boater she had worn at school. And there they must remain from now on, came Nell’s miserable decision, as she donned her nurse’s uniform. For only in hard work could she hope to bury such enormous grief.

Preceding this, though, she must explain her stricken countenance to Beata – although the other had guessed the moment she saw those reddened eyes.

‘I do know a little bit of the way you’re feeling,’ Beata confided, wanting to heal the ugliness that defaced Nell’s gentle features. ‘I lost someone I was madly in love with – he wasn’t killed,’ she added swiftly, ‘but he might as well have been, the way it hit me. You feel as if your own life’s not worth living, don’t you?’ At a fresh gushing of tears from Nell, she went on softly, with a faraway look in her eye, ‘We’d been courting for ages, but the only obligation he felt towards me was to let me down lightly by letter. We lived too far apart, and he’d found a girl closer to home. We’d remain good friends, he said, and me thinking we were so much more, but there you are …’ Her glazed expression melted into one of kind concern, as she stroked Nell’s arm. ‘I know it can’t compare with your loss, not one bit, and you won’t forget about him. But believe me, it will pass.’

No it won’t, howled Nell’s heart. Still tearful at the mere thought, she begged her friend, ‘Could you tell Sister and the others? I couldn’t bear having to go through this time after time …’

Beata promised that of course she would.

But unnervingly, upon Sister being apprised, she insisted on having a word in person. Expecting a soulless lecture, dashing her gritty eyes for the umpteenth time, Nell approached her superior’s office with dismay. And, true to form, even if the words were ones of sympathy, the sermon began in the usual terse fashion.

‘First, let me say how sorry I was to hear of your bereavement, Nurse Spottiswood.’

Immediately revisited by the gargantuan lump in her throat, Nell tried to swallow it, but it refused to budge.

‘I do understand the fragile state you must be in,’ continued Sister. ‘It’s a ghastly thing that’s happened to you, and there’ll be times when you can’t prevent yourself from bursting into tears …’

But you must try not to display such an unprofessional attitude, prophesied Nell, anger and resentment fermenting in her breast. And try as she might, she could not allay the scalding mist that rushed to her eyes yet again, and she bent her head so that Sister might not take this as an indication that she was too feeble to carry out her work.

‘Whenever that occasion arises,’ finished Sister, ‘I would simply ask that you take yourself off to a cubby hole, and have your little weep in private, get completely rid of it, then clean yourself up and get on with your work. We shall all make allowances if you suddenly go absent.’ As Nell’s bloodshot eyes shot up to transmit surprised gratitude, Sister added, ‘I’m not a complete ogre, Nurse.’ And with a protracted and telling look, she ordered softly, ‘Off you go now.’

Such compassionate treatment brought the tears in full flow now. Mindful of the advice, Nell dashed straight to the lavatory and spent a good few minutes racked in sobs, hoping to dislodge that choking lump in her throat in order that she might breathe, trying to wring every last drop of unshed grief from her aching body, so that it might suffer no repeat of this handicap and allow her to operate like a professional human being. Finally, she splashed her face with water, took a series of deep, steadying breaths, and emerged red-eyed, but prepared to get on with her job.

Against all determination to the contrary, that shedding of tears was not to be Nell’s last. Far from it. But, with her colleagues equally sympathetic, and none of them seeking to interrogate, she was at least able to indulge in these bouts of sorrow as often as they afflicted her, everyone naturally assuming that her tears were all for Bill.

But what if they or Sister had known of her other anxiety? Would they have been so philanthropic then? The fear of being stigmatised prohibited any foray. There was no one in whom to confide, not even Beata, for Nell was well aware of her friend’s views on the matter of illegitimacy.

So, Nell continued to bear her burden alone, at times consumed by terror, at others elated that her lovely, heroic Bill had left a part of him growing inside her, and though the memories of him were to endure, eventually her tears were to recede.

Following the initial concern over her daughter, and having lent her a couple of weeks in which to get over the loss of her friend, Nell’s mother was finally to note one December eve, ‘I’m glad to see you enjoying your food again, dear, and looking so much better too.’

Nell regarded her with eyes dulled by fatalism. How could one’s body appear in such rude health, when one’s soul felt close to death?

‘I told you eating properly would do the trick,’ said Thelma, yet she was not quite so insensitive as to believe that all was fine. ‘I know you must still be feeling sad, but you’ve done exceptionally well in covering it up. I think you were right to go back to work straight away. There’s nothing like it for taking your mind off things, especially in a job such as yours where people are worse off. Let’s hope the Christmas festivities will help to put the vim back – such as they are with this blessed war on.’

Christmas. How Nell had been dreading all the manufactured gaiety that this would spell for her, having to pretend for those around her that she was enjoying it, whilst constantly arrested by this tiny being that fluttered inside.

Nevertheless, when Christmas morning arrived, for others’ sakes she was to adopt the obligatory beam of gratitude over the presents that had been bought for her, and to uphold this aching rictus throughout the morning whilst helping her mother cook the dinner, indeed through the eating of it, and to carry it forward even into the late afternoon, when she and her parents made a teatime visit to their kin.

But there the invented smile was to slip. With her expanding girth under tight control from the corset, until now no one had commented on Nell’s radiance, but Aunty Phyllis had not seen her niece for some time, and was quick to remark as her guests took off their coats.

‘Good Lord, someone’s been eating too much Christmas pudding!’

Nell flushed as everyone’s eyes turned to her, and, with her jaw agape, it was left to Thelma to retort, ‘Christmas pudding? Which of us has enjoyed Christmas pudding with no dried fruit to be had?’

Thankful to have the attention diverted, Nell struggled to regain her equilibrium, whilst Aunty Phyllis made a sound of disbelief. ‘Thelma Spottiswood with no dried fruit? I don’t think!’

Her sister-in-law laughed. ‘As a matter of fact, I have been holding on to some, but it was a choice between cake or pudding, and the cake’s so much more versatile and it keeps all year. So I tore a recipe out of the press for Christmas pudding using carrots – you wouldn’t think they’d be an especially good substitute, but I had to tell Wilfred and Eleanor after they’d eaten it, they couldn’t tell the difference. Shovelled it in, they did!’

‘I can see that!’ Aunty Phyllis’s eyes were on Nell again, looking her up and down. Then she rubbed her niece’s arms in fun. ‘Mrs Roly-Poly! Well, I hope you’re not going to be disappointed with what I’ve got for your tea, I’m not so clever as your mother.’

‘I’m sure it’ll be lovely!’ Nell had managed to revive her smile, and hoped that her voice did not betray tension as she and her family were shown to their seats. But she was already making a premature New Year resolution to eat less, and wondered bleakly if she were the only person at that table who was thankful for wartime rationing.

Dark days ahead, His Majesty had warned in his festive speech, and for sure, the old year went out on a violent note. With an intense bombardment, the Germans had distorted the familiar outline of London into a huge inferno. Even upon viewing those cinema newsreels, it was impossible to comprehend what it must be like to endure this night after night, and this gave Nell fresh cause to worry. For, since Mrs Kelly’s poignant letter, she had corresponded with the grandmother of her unborn child, as if to keep another little part of Bill alive. Hence, she was to worry over her safety, and that of Bill’s brothers and sisters. She might soon need their help if her parents were to throw her out. Still, she refrained from confiding in the Kellys for now, partly through fear of rejection. She would never be able to bear it, if they too spurned Bill’s child.

She would have to tell her parents soon, though. Another month was almost up, propelling her towards the inevitable. How, though? thought Nell, as she shivered through one January evening after another, nursing her secret, listening to the news with her parents. One could not just slip it in between the items from the wireless, say – ‘Oh, such good news that the price of custard powder’s been frozen, and by the way, I’m expecting a baby.’ Equally wrong, when Father was rejoicing over those allied victories in Tobruk, and inviting his daughter to partake in a celebratory glass of sherry with him and Mother. Nell just could not bring herself to wipe away those smiles, nor to invoke the overwhelming sense of let-down that would surely follow her confession.

Hence, both that month and the next were allowed to roll by, Nell’s situation worsening with every day, aided only by ingenuity. Her own corset now too small, she had rummaged through her mother’s old clothes and found a replacement. There was a shop in town that specialised in nurses’ uniforms, including the one she herself wore; thus was she to acquire a larger size to accommodate her growing girth, and no one would be any the wiser. For much of the day, too, she was able to disguise this under a capacious apron, and because it was winter a navy-blue cardigan provided an extra shield. Tall and large-boned, never slender at the best of times, she had managed to conceal it perhaps better than someone more delicate – though surely being surrounded by those with medical knowledge meant that one of them must observe it any day soon.

At least the baby did not sap its mother’s strength, and she had copious amounts of energy to devote to her work, which seemed to be all that mattered to her superiors. One of her peers, though, had certainly become alert to the amount of times Nell had taken to excusing herself to the lavatory of late.

‘Bloomin’ heck, why don’t you just set up residence in there?’ sighed Joyson, as Nell broke away from her group of friends as all were on their way to lunch one day.

Though blushing deeply, Nell managed to form a sarcastic reply. ‘I’m so sorry, Joy, I didn’t realise you were doing a thesis on my bladder movements.’ Egged on by her other colleagues’ laughter, she enquired in the same whimsical tone, ‘Would you care to come in with me to measure how much urine I excrete?’

‘Well! You’re always disappearing in there,’ complained Joyson, looking her up and down. ‘Anyone’d think you had a problem.’

‘My only problem is you,’ stated Nell, made even more uncomfortable by everyone’s eyes being upon her. Had one of them finally noticed the rippling bump, and would they draw attention to it? She herself was acutely aware of it moving under her apron, so violently did the baby protest at being restricted by its mother’s corset. It felt as if it were trying to kick its way to liberty, shoving its feet underneath her ribs and pressing with all its might.

‘Leave the lass alone!’ Beata was still chuckling over Nell’s last comment. ‘It’s the cold weather, isn’t it, love?’ she prompted the one under scrutiny. ‘I have the same trouble.’

‘Ooh, me and all,’ revealed the owlish Green.

Their grateful friend turned for the lavatory. ‘Right, you all go on, I’ll catch you up – I wouldn’t want to keep Joy from her dinner.’

‘Don’t mind her, love, we’ll wait,’ replied the kind-hearted Beata.

Which was all very well, but it added to the pressure Nell felt herself under, as she hurried to the lavatory, unbuttoning and unhooking, then seating herself for a few moments’ relief.

Granted more freedom, the one in her abdomen stretched its limbs, knees and elbows, distorting the shape of her belly. Despite the awfulness of her situation, and not for the first time, Nell felt an overwhelming wave of love for it, and placed her hand upon the mound that rippled from its subterranean movement. ‘I suppose you’ll want some clothes,’ she told it fondly, before biting her lip so as not to cry at the thought of its poor father. Stop! Stop thinking of him, she scolded herself, biting down hard, you can’t start blubbing again.

Forcing herself to concentrate on practicalities, she listed the items that she would need. One thing was certain, she would not have the outlay for many of these, perhaps a bonnet or a bib, but she would need every penny if the worst came to the worst. Well, her mother had shanks of wool from the WVS, she could filch a little of that, a tiny amount wouldn’t be missed; it might mean an unsuitable colour for baby, but she could trim the items with ribbons. Nappies, she would need those too. The word thief had never been ascribed to Nell, but desperation lured her to contemplate it now. Perhaps by volunteering to do more hours at the Infirmary she could inveigle her way onto the nursery ward, and take some nappies one by one. She was aware that every piece of linen was counted, for this had been amongst her chores, but was anyone really going to hold an inquest over the odd missing item? A feeding bottle could perhaps be spirited away from there too. But what about a pram – and a cot? She couldn’t secret either of those under her clothes. Never mind, they were not necessities. The child could be carried whilst it was small. She stroked her abdomen thoughtfully, imagining its resident five years hence, all the things it would need then – indeed, where would she be herself? When would she be able to pluck up the courage to tell anyone? When would it actually arrive? What on earth was she going to do?

But as and whenever this last thought came, Nell drove it away. In any case, she was soon yanked from her ruminations by Joyson’s hammering on the door.

‘Come on, Spotty, I want me dinner!’

Pawing her heart, and shutting her eyes with barely contained patience, Nell shouted, ‘Coming!’ this begetting a hasty and awkward fastening of clothes.

But after rejoining the crew, with Joyson setting the pace and almost dragging her along, she was to acquire a dreadful stitch in her side that had her begging them to leave her behind, so that she might catch up at a more leisurely rate.

‘I know what’s wrong with her,’ speculated Joyson, upon Nell having finally reached the restaurant where she now sat picking at her meal in absent-minded fashion. ‘She thinks she’s getting too fat so she’s started pecking like a sparrow – it’s upset all your metabolism,’ she told the astounded Nell directly.

Having suffered a moment’s fright that her dilemma was about to be announced to all and sundry, Nell’s relief was to emerge in an outpouring of uncharacteristic impatience. ‘Honestly, Joy, are you never satisfied?’ She clattered her fork onto the plate and sat back to roll her eyes. ‘One minute I’m eating too much, the next too little – apparently I’m not even allowed to go to the lavatory when I want – could you please mind your own business!’

There was momentary silence, and a few sideways glances from other diners. But, though surprised by this show of temper from one so normally placid, none of her colleagues chose to ask what had caused it, for Nell’s raw sense of bereavement was a good enough excuse for them. And the subject was hastily changed.

Feeling extremely foolish, Nell abandoned her meal, instead seizing advantage of the lately relaxed ruling that allowed nurses to enjoy a post-luncheon cigarette, lighting up and dragging on it as if there were no tomorrow, then blasting a stream of smoke at the ceiling. Then, trying to appear less agitated, she was to while away the rest of her break, listening half-heartedly to the others discussing the Germans’ latest invasion of yet another country, and damning herself for being such a coward as not to confide.

And yet again she was left to plod on alone towards her fate, alternating the days of hard work with evenings of knitting baby clothes in the secrecy of her room.

Spring brought daffodils to enhance the medieval Bar walls, pink blossom to the trees that lined Nell’s avenue, a fresh coat of paint to the Spottiswoods’ front door and sills, and an increasingly murderous blitz upon London. Having maintained a sporadic correspondence with Bill’s mother via the Preciouses household – though still not having told her nor them about the baby – Nell could only guess how terrible life must be in the capital, and, appreciating the safety of a York barely damaged, she had lately shelved her plan to throw herself on Mrs Kelly’s mercy should her own parents disown her. It was far too dangerous.

So, too, was her recent habit of pilfering from the hospital, and it looked to Nell as if matters had finally come to a head. After a long shift, partly maintaining the casualty evacuation train and undergoing a futile exercise in which she dressed mock injuries on fellow nurses, but much of it helping out with more genuine work at the Infirmary, she had been anticipating a warm meal and a comfortable bed as she made ready to go home. Instead, just as she was due to leave on that damp spring evening, an authoritative voice accosted her in the echoing corridor: ‘One moment, Nurse Spottiswood!’

Nell stopped dead, and quaked in her shoes, fearing that someone must have seen her take the baby’s napkin that she was hiding under her coat, requisitioned during her opportune bout in the nursery. Her heart beat rapidly as she turned to face her superior’s wrath.

But to her confusion, and not a little relief, others from the crew were being summoned as well, Matron Fosdyke announcing to all, ‘I’ve received word that the casualty evacuation trains are required – yes, you’re finally needed at last!’ she said at their looks of expectation. ‘So, if any of you have family who’ll be concerned at your absence, those without a telephone may go home and inform them of your whereabouts, then you must immediately present yourself to Matron Lennox at Leeman Road.’

Simultaneous to that wondrous flush of reprieve, Nell could also have wept from sheer exhaustion at the thought of being robbed of her bed. Though, adhering to duty, she was to act without question, as were her friends. Yet even in the rush to obey, she saw that Beata was eyeing her in a sympathetic manner, and it drew to Nell’s cheeks a crimson tinge, her instantaneous thought being that her pregnancy was finally to be unveiled.

Beata was not so candid as to mention it outright, though. ‘I’m sure they’ll understand if you can’t manage it,’ she simply murmured to her friend. ‘You really shouldn’t push yourself.’

Nell bristled, immediately wishing she had not, but it was too late now, as she yelped, ‘What are you talking about? I’m as fit as everybody else! We’re all in the same boat – why, if there’s anyone that should be resting it’s you!’

In the furious hiatus, she sensed that Beata was about to say more, but just then Sister Barber happened past, took one look at the other’s ankle, which was hugely inflated and spilling over its shoe, and declared in her usual brusque manner, ‘Spottiswood’s right! You needn’t bother coming back, Kilmaster, that leg will be exploded before we reach Doncaster. Get yourself home and put it up – come along, Spottiswood, get yourself weaving and tell your parents, then hurry back!’

Observing that Beata seemed about to plead lenience for her friend, Nell suppressed her with a thunderous glance. Then, issuing a hasty goodbye, and wrapping her coat around her abdomen, already afflicted by a stitch, she lumbered off to catch a bus.

Thankfully, its arrival at the stop coincided with hers, and within ten minutes she was almost home, though the latter part of her journey was delayed by the horde of human traffic that streamed from the carriage works, both on bicycle and on foot.

Home at last, she babbled the news to her mother. Then, still wearing her coat, and under pretext of visiting the lavatory, there was only enough time for Nell to hide the stolen napkin in her room alongside the rest of the layette she had accumulated, before rushing back out again, a hastily compiled sandwich in her hand.

Once she was on the train, though, and on the way down to London, there was at least an opportunity to take the weight off her feet, and, with many jarring hours ahead, the chance to succumb to the hypnotic rackety-rack of the wheels, Sister being charitable enough to allow her nurses a nap.

Nell was to fall into a deeper sleep than most, and this was to leave her disorientated when she woke from it with a start to find that they were emerging from a tunnel to a packed platform. Suddenly she remembered where she was heading. London – maybe she’d see Billy! Maybe he wasn’t – maybe it had all been a mistake – there were tales in the newspapers every day of men being presumed dead, then turning up alive, and not just isolated cases either, was it not possible that Billy could be one of them? That his mother could have been duped? It might not have been him, the witness might have been unreliable. Please, oh, please, let it be …

Forlorn as this hope might seem, with the train squeaking into its destination and the other nurses opening its doors, the still-hypnotised Nell found herself beset with an overwhelming mass of activity, much of it in khaki, and her immediate reaction was to scour every face on the platform. Almost at once she saw him! She called out, couldn’t help herself, took a few steps onto the platform and cried out his name. ‘Bill!’

A dozen men turned, then all shared a grin. ‘Last thing anyone needs is a lot o’ bills,’ quipped one, though he and his friends moved to gather around the attractive nurse, and ply her with cigarettes and chit-chat.

Poor bewildered Nell was in the midst of a flustered explanation, when an ever-vigilant Sister bellowed from the train, ‘We haven’t time for canoodling, Nurse Spottiswood! Here come our patients!’

Nell’s sense of outrage was immeasurable. How could anyone possibly accuse her of that after so recent a loss? Freshly bereaved, she broke through the masculine fence, wanting for all the world to shut herself away, and to heave with agony and tears.

But there was no time, for as Sister was so keen to point out, a fleet of ambulances was arriving with elderly infirm, and the logistics of getting all aboard and stacked one above the other was a nightmare in such cramped conditions – and in the middle of all this the air-raid sirens began to wail and the bombs began to fall, and people scattered. But there was no escape for Nell and her comrades, who had to don tin hats and remain courageously at their posts, and try to reassure their patients above the clanging of fire engines and the thunderous explosions, as one after another was stretchered into the pilchard tin and fitted onto the racks.

Only in the early hours did they manage to load the wagon to capacity. With their final patient handed over, the ambulance drivers slammed their doors and issued a chipper, ‘That’s your lot, dearies!’ And made their own escape.

Though almost prostrate themselves, Nell and her colleagues were full of admiration for the London crews. ‘How can you stand this night after night and stay so cheerful?’ Sister called after them.

‘This?’ Her female informant merely laughed at the tumbling bombs. ‘Why, it’s not half so bad as normal!’ And she jumped into her ambulance and drove away.

But it was terrifying enough to Nell, who, on top of her mauled senses, was physically bruised from the cramped conditions, and despite a swift impulsive urge to run and seek out Bill’s poor mother, she deemed it a mercy when the order came for their train to vacate the station at once.

Even after the throb of the Luftwaffe could no longer be heard, its pilots’ devilish games continued to trigger mayhem, the casualty evacuation train barely escaping the outer reaches of London when it ground to an abrupt halt. Everyone moaned at being forced to wait in pitch blackness. The squeaking of the wheels had completely stopped now. There was no sound at all.

‘Oy!’ Even through the darkness an ARP warden caught Nell’s head sticking out of the wagon as she tried to ascertain what was amiss. Unable to make out her face, the white veil identified her. ‘Get your tin hat on, Nurse! There’s an unexploded bomb on the line.’

Having only just taken the uncomfortable thing off, Nell looked abashed and quickly redonned her tin helmet, asking politely as the man travelled past, ‘How long are we likely to be?’ With the leadenness of her abdomen putting a great strain on her neck and shoulders, all she yearned to do was in get home.

‘I don’t know!’ His expression called her a bloody idiot. ‘When it goes off or gets fixed, one or the other!’ And he continued on his way down the track alongside their train, reminding everyone, ‘Tin hats on!’

‘Nurse, stop trifling!’ At Sister’s shout Nell jerked her head in, and hurried about tending her patients.

‘Nurse, Nurse!’ They all seemed to want a part of her, pulling her this way and that, and there was scarcely any room for a normal-sized person to squeeze a passage between the bunks, never mind someone of her girth. Fit to drop, Nell took a moment to flex the aching tendons of her neck and shoulders that were stretched beyond endurance by the tonnage of her belly.

‘It’s raining in, nurse!’ warbled an elderly voice.

Pulling herself together, Nell edged her way to the complainant, and found that the patient on the uppermost bunk was incontinent, and his urine was dribbling onto the man below. Clapping her hands to her cheeks, she stood there feeling helpless, trying to concentrate on what to do, whilst overwhelmed by her own exhaustion and worry, and the heavy burden of the child.

‘It’s raining in, Nurse,’ came the woeful cry again.

Finally coming to her senses, acting only on instinct, Nell took hold of the old fellow’s hand and gripped it reassuringly. ‘We’ll soon get you sorted out, Mr …’ she quickly read the old man’s label, ‘Mr Oak – but I’ll just have to see to the chap above you first as he’s copping most of the bad weather!’

With this, she summoned Avril Joyson from along the wagon. ‘Joy, could you help me change these patients’ sheets please?’

Joyson squeezed herself grumbling between the bunks. ‘What, both of them? You should’ve fetched them a bottle!’

‘Sorry!’ whined the elderly culprit, like a little child.

‘That’s all right, it’s certainly not your fault,’ Nell reassured him in a kind voice. Then she hissed under her breath at Joyson, appalled that a nurse could show such a lack of compassion. ‘It’s only the poor chap on the upper bunk who’s incontinent – and we wouldn’t have had to change two lots of bedding if someone had thought to catheterise him! Now are you going to help me or not?’

Joy became all hoity-toity, clicking her tongue and demanding, ‘What did your last slave die of?’ – though partly out of conscience, and partly because Sister had come into earshot, she was forced to help her colleague struggle to exchange sodden linen for dry. At the end of this ordeal, though, she was quick to slip away, leaving Nell to dispose of the wet sheets alone.

‘Are you comfortable now, Mr Oak?’ Nell hoped she projected sincerity when feeling so abominable herself. ‘I don’t think it should rain in again now we’ve closed the window.’ Then, having settled the two old men, it was off to tend someone else.

Hour upon hour they waited on the track for the bomb disposal team to arrive and for the detonator to be made safe, elderly patients having constantly to be nursed in the meantime, pulses to be taken, medicines to be handed out, charts to be filled in, bedpans and bottles to empty. Finally, at six o’clock in the morning, the train jerked into motion, and the exhausted crew thanked heaven to be on their way.

By now, the debilitating gravity of Nell’s abdomen seemed to have crept all the way down her limbs and into her feet, making them feel as if encased in boots of lead. Her ankles were bloated to the size of Beata’s, and further tortured by pins and needles. Unable to bend and get at them over her fecund dome in its iron corset, she held on to one of the poles that supported the stretchers and, amidst all the jerking of the wagon, tried to balance on one leg. Moving her other foot in a circle, she worked to improve her circulation, and whilst thus involved was to ponder on the way she had snapped at her friend. The mere thought procured a blush. She would have to eat humble pie when she saw Beata again … perhaps own up about the baby. The latter was unusually quiet at the moment, which was one small mercy, for even now she had no time to rest, but was at another patient’s beck and call. Not to mention Sister’s.

‘They shouldn’t have to call.’ her superior came up to deliver in hushed tone, though this was only out of consideration for the patients, and there was reproof in her eyes for Nell. ‘Forethought, Nurse Spottiswood, forethought, how many times do you have to be told? Anticipate the patient’s every need …’

‘Yes Sister, sorry Sister!’ And off Nell went again, every cell of her pregnant body screaming for a bed, yet forced to endure this for many an hour to come.

It was ten thirty in the morning when she finally staggered home. She had been on her feet for well over twenty-four hours. ‘Don’t wake me,’ she begged her mother in piteous tones, ‘not even for food. I just want to sleep.’ And she had only the energy to wash down a few bites of toast with a gulp of tea, and to undress for bed, before oblivion claimed her.

She was to sleep for all of that day, only rising in order to eat some supper, then it was back to bed again for the rest of the night.

‘You deserve the rest,’ agreed her mother.

This was quite some indulgence. Unfortunately, others were to be less so, for when Nell arrived for work a day later, it was to an impeachment. In this she was not alone, in fact all of those involved in the evacuation process had shared a similar supposition that they had given of their best and would be forgiven for catching up on their sleep. Now, they were assembled in Matron’s office, to be roundly disabused of this notion by a representative of the Ministry of Health.

‘Dereliction of duty! There is no other term for it,’ lectured the woman, who paraded judiciously before them in her hoary tweed suit and severe bun, her tone and expression relaying that they could at any moment be taken out and shot. ‘What if our soldiers should say, ‘Oh, I can’t be bothered to fire my gun today, I’ve done my bit now, I think I’ll go and have a nap?’ Where would the country be then?’

How unfair, thought Nell, after we slaved – though neither she nor any of the nurses dared protest that it was hardly the same, but were to stand there meekly and accept every criticism.

‘What would have been the plight of those needing instant evacuation?’ continued the official. ‘Would they have been left to their fate whilst their dilatory so-called nurses caught up on their beauty sleep? A shambles, a complete shambles! You should be thoroughly ashamed!’ Having worked herself into a froth, the tyrant then began to prowl up and down and to eye them one by one. Nell shrank expectantly, but it was Nurse Green the elder who attracted the first bullet. ‘How old is this nurse, Matron?’ the frowning official spun around to enquire.

Retaining her ladylike demeanour, Matron Lennox had been quietly seated at her desk throughout, and seemed hesitant to reply for the moment, for she had in fact been covering up for certain members of staff. Eventually, though, the birdlike face above the erect starched collar was to state with immense diplomacy, ‘Mrs Green is perfectly competent.’

‘I did not ask that!’ The woman snapped her attention back to Mrs Green. ‘How old are you?’

Mrs Green muttered the answer into her ample bosom.

‘Speak up, woman!’

The white-haired one snatched an uneasy glance over the top of her horn-rimmed glasses, finally to admit, ‘I’m sixty-seven.’

‘Good grief! No wonder you failed to turn up on time. It’s quite obvious you achieved this post under false pretences. Were you not aware when you applied that there is a maximum age limit? And for good reason!’ The official shot a look at the others then, and in the same breath sniped, ‘Though I fail to understand how the rest of you could possibly have an excuse – what is yours?’ she suddenly aimed at Frenchy.

The attractive dark head was tilted in question. ‘Pardon?’

The official frowned and leaned towards her. ‘Are you a foreigner?’

‘She’s French,’ Matron quickly explained before too much damage was incurred to her crew. ‘Married to one of our boys.’

‘Can she not reply for herself?’ The official regarded Frenchy with disdain, and when nought was forthcoming, save a look of confusion, she concurred with a yap, ‘I thought as much – can’t even speak English! Why wasn’t the Ministry informed of this?’

In the face of such rude demand, Matron was cool. ‘I should have thought the Ministry to be already aware, considering that it was the body responsible for sending Mrs French here in the first place. It has always been the official assertion that, despite my having forty years’ medical experience, neither I nor colleagues of equal rank are entitled to a say as to whom may be employed under the emergency measures.’

‘Well, I do have a say!’ clipped the interrogator, looking back at Nurse French. ‘And that makes two of you whose services are no longer required!’

Matron tried to save the day. ‘Despite her difficulty with our language, Mrs French is qualified in her own country – she did provide the appropriate references – and she hasn’t killed anyone yet.’

‘I’d prefer not to wait until she does! What else shall we find?’ The official’s eyes then began to examine each of the others, as shrewd and pitiless as a bird of prey. Caught in such sights, Nell’s heart fluttered like a sparrow.

But, by some felicitous quirk, neither she nor anyone else was to be singled out, and the final word of caution was for the benefit of all. ‘This will not happen again! I do not care that you are here on a voluntary basis, if you are to do the job then do it properly! Do I make myself clear?’

The nurses mumbled assurances.

‘Very well! That will be all, Matron.’ The raptor clamped a file under her wing, and made to leave the train. ‘I’ll trust you to dispense with those two. Good day!’ And with three strides she was gone.

‘I’m very sorry, Nurse Green, Nurse French,’ murmured matron, ever the lady, not considering it a loss of prestige to apologise in front of others. ‘But it seems your cover is blown, as they say. I’m unable to keep you on. Though I’m bound to add you have turned out to be far more capable than many I could mention, and it’s a great shame.’ She shook her neatly groomed head, and sighed at having her rank so affronted. ‘Apparently I’ve been granted no choice in the matter.’

With the victims’ pragmatic response, the rest of the nurses were instructed to go about their work, and began to file out of Matron’s office.

‘Nurse Spottiswood, a word if you please!’ Matron signalled for her to remain behind, and when there were just the two of them there, said without preamble, ‘How far along is your pregnancy?’

Thoroughly jolted, Nell immediately coloured up, the red travelling to her roots as she hung her head but did not deny it.

‘There’s not much you can hide from me, my dear. I’ve been aware of your condition for some weeks, but at Sister’s instigation I decided to let it pass for a while.’ She noted the sharp upturn in Nell’s demeanour that indicated surprise. ‘Despite what you may think,’ she now revealed sagely, ‘Sister Barber is very attached to you, and thinks you have the right temperament to make a good nurse. It was her opinion that your current circumstances didn’t appear to interfere with your work, and so we allowed you to carry on for a month or so, as in the natural course of events you would be leaving us soon enough anyway. But now it has begun to show …’ Matron cocked her head in sympathy, and repeated her former enquiry. ‘So, tell me, how far on are you?’

‘I’m not sure,’ whispered Nell. ‘But it was back in August that I last … had relations.’

‘Good heavens!’ Matron looked astonished. ‘Why, you must be almost ready to deliver. Have you received no medical attention?’

Trying to fight back tears, Nell shook her head.

‘I suppose you’ve been wearing a tight corset hoping it would go away,’ guessed her superior, rather stern of face again, and still battling incredulity. ‘Well, you’ve certainly managed to hide it remarkably well until now!’

But, as Nell started to weep, she clicked her tongue, adding, ‘You poor creature,’ and rose from her desk to lend a handkerchief and words of comfort. ‘It’s probably because your bump is evenly distributed around the sides that you were able to hide it – and taller girls like yourself do seem more able to carry it off. You’re not the first to hide a pregnancy, and you certainly won’t be the last. At least you’re not trying to deny it. I’ve known plenty who refused to accept they were carrying a baby even as they were giving birth! I’m just amazed that you’ve managed to continue with your work so uncomplainingly.’

Upon the flow of self-pity being staunched, Matron asked, ‘So, what do you intend to do? Will the boy marry you?’

‘He was killed last year.’ Nell broke down again.

‘Ah … it was that one. I’m so sorry.’ Matron’s voice was unusually soft. ‘Then you’ll need to be brave, my dear. Have you been concealing this from your parents too?’ At the distressed nod, she told Nell rather more uncompromisingly, ‘Well, you will have to tell them – in any event you cannot continue nursing at this late stage, it’s unsuitable for you to even appear in the workplace, leaving aside any physical repercussions – had I guessed you were so far along I’d never have sanctioned it. It’s a miracle our friendly official didn’t notice. Needless to say, you shall have to be sent home.’ In an untypical demonstration of hopelessness, Matron buried her head in her hands. ‘Good Lord, three nurses down – let’s hope there’s no emergency.’

Then, with Nell still weeping, she reverted to her normal self and, in steering her nurse to the door, was to mete a crumb of benevolence. ‘At least this is one instance for which we can be thankful you’re not state-registered, or you would be struck off. As things stand, I’m willing for you to return after the baby is adopted.’

Ambushed from her tears, Nell wanted to shout, Why do you falsely assume that I’ll give my baby up? But she did not, for it was not done and would only bring reproof, and besides, she appreciated Matron’s kindness. It was a relief to have told someone at last.

‘Run along home now,’ ordered Matron, patting Nell’s shoulder as she opened the door. ‘And please do inform your mother straight away. At the very least it will allow you to claim the proper nutrition. You could have been receiving extra milk and eggs, if you’d only come clean earlier.’

Involved with the preparation of dressings, the others regarded her with curiosity as she emerged dabbing her eyes from Matron’s office. She could see the question on their faces: why had Spotty been singled out to receive a more severe reprimand than the rest of them? Fending off their displays of concern with an upraised palm, Nell deterred any approach, then left without a word of explanation to any of them. Not even Beata. But a glance at her friend told Nell that she already knew.

‘Goodness, you made me jump out of my skin!’ accused her mother, hurriedly shoving an intended birthday gift out of sight into the cupboard, as Nell arrived home mid-morning.

Her face oozing guilt, Nell had been practising how to break her terrible news all the way home. She had finally primed herself, was on the brink of saying it, when Mother frowned and hazarded a guess:

‘You’ve been dismissed for not going back yesterday?’

‘Suspended.’ The lie tripped off Nell’s tongue, loaning her brief reprieve, and she thanked that horrendous shift for providing a good excuse. For now.

‘Oh, how mean …’ First came consolation, then practicality. ‘Well, you needn’t be bored. I’ll have ample to occupy you until you’re allowed to return. For a start, you can go through your clothes and put by anything that no longer fits you, particularly anything with rubber in it, such as those old galoshes you wore for school.’ With their enslaved colonies no longer able to export, rubber was now having to be salvaged, which explained Thelma’s manic preoccupation with the cupboard. ‘I could have sworn I had an old corset in here. I was going to cut off the suspenders, but I can’t find it anywhere – do you know, I swear there’s a goblin in this house, the things that have gone missing lately. Either that or I’m losing my marbles. Anyway, whatever you can find, I’ll take it to the WVS this afternoon. In fact, it’ll be rather handy you being off for a while, because you can help by doing the cleaning up and the shopping whilst I’m on official business.’

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