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Mildred had started to talk again and Poppy dragged her attention back.

‘That’s that then. Now, I want to tell you of something rather surprising. I’ve had two letters – ’

‘Oh? Is that so very surprising?’

‘These correspondents are. One is the son of my brother, Wilfred – the original owner of Joshy’s trumpet – who went to live in South Africa. He was a rogue, my brother Wilfred, lots of charm but rather – well, it was all a long time ago. His son is called Daniel and he tells me in his letter that he is a member of our Royal Air Force now and will be stationed here in England shortly. He could not, of course, tell me when.’

Poppy was intrigued. ‘I have a vague memory of Wilfred, I think – ’

‘I dare say you have. He looked very dashing in his uniform, during the Boer war that was, when your father was so injured – ’

‘Did Wilfred suffer any wounds like that?’ Poppy ventured. ‘Or did he return with all his limbs intact?’ The thought of men who lost arms in battles always worried Poppy, ever since she had discovered that was what had happened to her father: ‘A one-armed boxer,’ he’d said to her so often. ‘What’s the use of a one-armed boxer?’ But she mustn’t think of Lizah, dead so long now. It wasn’t fair to herself and anyway, Mildred was still talking.

‘Wilfred,’ she said drily, ‘was a great deal too careful of himself ever to suffer any undue injury. He went to South Africa sound in wind and limb and never again bothered to write home. However, his son is coming and so we’ll have some news, I imagine.’

‘It sounds rather exciting,’ Poppy said. ‘An unknown cousin – ’

‘Two unknown cousins.’ Mildred began to turn the heel of her sock and Poppy watched those slow fingers, fascinated by their skill.

‘Two?’ she said. ‘He has a brother, then?’

‘No, this is yet another branch of the family. My other half-brother, Harold, also went to the Colonies, but he chose Australia. I received a letter from his son Harry, as he says he’s called, and he is a member of the Australian Army. He too says he’ll be in England soon. It’s a strange coincidence – ’

‘Not really,’ Poppy said. ‘Exciting, I grant you, but not that strange. Soldiers are pouring into the country from everywhere as far as I can tell – New Zealanders and Poles – we get a lot of them in the restaurant in Cable Street. They adore the food. It makes them homesick, they say. And Dutch and Norwegian and French and oh, all sorts.’

‘I know. But these are our relations. It’s all rather strange to me,’ Mildred said. ‘Well, once they arrive I shall let you know. And then perhaps you’ll be able to come and visit me. Such days are rare now, after all.’

‘Mama, stop bullying me.’ Poppy got to her feet and bent over to kiss her. ‘You know my situation. And now I have to go. I left Jessie to cope alone and I have to go back for a while before I go to do my shift at the canteen. I just hope the trains are still running into the East End. Last night was another appalling one. I just can’t see how much longer this can go on.’

‘As long as it has to,’ Mildred said and lifted her cheek to be kissed. ‘And it will end and we’ll all start to get back to normal life once more. I do assure you, Poppy, nothing is for ever.’

‘I wish I could believe you,’ Poppy said, standing at the door and looking back at her. ‘I truly wish I could. But from where I am in the East End, it’s horrendous. And I have to go back to it.’

‘You’re a brave woman, Poppy,’ Mildred said and looked across the big drawing room at her. ‘I am exceedingly proud of you.’

‘Are you?’

‘I know I may not show it, but I am. And I worry for your welfare, too.’

‘I – That’s good of you.’

‘I may not be as emotional and heart-on-sleeve as your Aunt Jessie, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t have such feelings.
They simply run more deeply, that’s all.’

Here we go again, thought Poppy. Jealousy once more. Me jealous of Mama and the children’s love for her, and Mama jealous of Jessie and my love for her. Why can’t we all just be comfortable with each other?

‘I must go, Mama. Take care of yourself and Queenie,’ Poppy said.

‘I will. And you too, my dear. I need you a great deal, you know.’

‘Yes, Mama,’ Poppy said and managed to smile as she went, feeling like a child again. It wasn’t till she was in the street at last, the familiar old Leinster Terrace with its yellow houses and area railings and the tired plane trees, that she could shake off the feeling, either. And she sighed a little as she made her way down to the Bayswater Road to look in hope for a taxi, which were as rare as hens’ teeth these days. Perhaps being a child other people had to look after would be rather agreeable at that; because suddenly she felt very aware of all her responsibilities. This was turning out in many ways to be a much harder war than the last one, because this time there were more people to worry about. And she sighed again as she started the walk down to Marble Arch in the hope of a train, since there were patently not going to be any taxis, and thought about Joshy as a trumpeter with a talent he never told her about. That hurt a little. And then she corrected herself. It hurt a lot.

Robin came off duty exhausted. The rest of the night, after the fuss over her late return, had been particularly busy, and the combination of that and the tiredness left over from her appalling train journey left her almost paralysed with fatigue. So much so that when she realized that she couldn’t call home because the telephones in the hospital were still out of order, she headed straight for bed, even though she knew she ought to go down to Cable Street to reassure her mother she was all right.

‘She’ll understand,’ she told herself optimistically, ‘once she realizes about the phones.’ And crept out of her bath and into bed feeling at least a hundred years old, as she told Chick when she bumped into her on the night nurses’ corridor.

‘You look awful,’ Chick said with all the candour of old friendship. ‘For pity’s sake go and get some sleep – ’

‘Are you going to bed yet? You’re on again tonight, aren’t you?’

‘Mmm, worse luck. No, I’ll try and catnap this afternoon maybe – ’

‘Be an angel then – go down to Jessie’s and tell her to let Ma know I’m okay. The phones are down, you see, and – ’

‘With pleasure!’ Chick said at once. ‘I could do with some good nosh. Are there any other messages?’

‘No,’ Robin said and yawned hugely. ‘Oh, just a minute though – ask her who it was she sent down here to deliver my message, would you? The one about being back late last night – ’

‘Oh, God, you weren’t, were you?’ Chick looked horrified. Of all a nurse’s sins, being late on duty was very high on the list of wickedness.

‘Not my fault. Had to take Joshy back to Norfolk and it was a matter of trains. I couldn’t phone here, so I phoned Ma instead and asked her to get a message down and bless her, she did – but that ass Todd didn’t deliver it on. Anyway, tell Ma I got here and I’d love to know who she sent so I can thank her some time.’ Again she yawned. ‘Oh, God, I could sleep on a nail – ’

‘Try bed,’ Chick said, and shoved her in through her bedroom door. ‘It’ll be easier. See you at breakfast – ’

She woke feeling a great deal better and stretched luxuriously as the clock on her bedside table shrilled, just one minute before the stentorian knocking on her door by the Home Sister, and then dressed quickly. She was ravenous and thought hopefully about breakfast. Perhaps something real tonight, instead of the eternal porridge and toast? Scrambled eggs, she told herself a little wistfully, would be magic, and almost drooled at the thought and that made her laugh. If Auntie Jessie knew how hungry she was, what wouldn’t she come up with? Tomorrow morning, after she got off duty, she’d go and see her and perhaps bring back one or two goodies. They’d come in handy for the break in Sister’s office if they had another busy night and couldn’t get up to their midnight meal. And a supply of Jessie’s glorious strudel must surely make people a little more friendly towards her. She hadn’t started well on Casualty, she knew perfectly well; making up the lost ground would be no bad thing, and Jessie, dear old Auntie Jessie, could help her do it. Robin was whistling happily as she went hurrying across the yard towards the dining room and the night’s work.

Breakfast – not scrambled eggs but particularly odorous and therefore odious bloaters – was half over before Chick, looking decidedly ruffled, came bursting in. Night Sister looked at her with the sort of horrified disgust normally reserved for child murderers and Chick muttered about the unreliability of her alarm clock and slid into the last available place at the table adjoining Robin’s.

She tried to get Robin’s attention, only to incur Night Sister’s further wrath and when the night staff finally filed out of the dining room on their way to their wards and departments, looking for all the world like a flock of white seagulls, Chick hurried to catch up, but she didn’t manage to get through the
chattering clusters of nurses until they had reached the big double doors that led to Casualty.

‘Robin!’ Chick said urgently. ‘Must tell you – ’

Staff Nurse Meek appeared behind them like the evil fairy in the pantomime, and said loudly, ‘What are you two hanging around out here for? You’re here to work, believe it or not. Come along at once!’ and pushed open the doors and perforce they followed her into a department as hectic as they had ever seen it.

Sister Priestland was already there and bustling about in her usual frenetic fashion and Chick and Robin looked at each other and grimaced and got down to it. There was nothing else they could do. But Chick did manage to hiss at Robin, ‘See you at break – the oddest thing to tell you –’ before they were both swallowed into their assigned cubicles.

It was, surprisingly, not the effects of raids that had Casualty busy tonight. It was the usual sort of work that the department was accustomed to do in peacetime; accidental injuries in women trying to cook and clean in cramped, ill-lit and worse-heated rooms; deliberate injuries inflicted on men who got themselves into fights in and around pubs; even a couple of attempted suicides who had filled their stomachs with aspirin. Robin had both of those to deal with and the effort it took to wash out the stomachs of two recalcitrant and very agitated people left her drenched with saline – and worse – and very much the worse for wear. Sister Priestland, spotting her as she cleaned her cubicle yet again, told her crisply to go to the Nurses’ Home at once and get herself changed, and Robin escaped gratefully.

By the time she came back it was just gone midnight and there had been a lull in Casualty. The raids tonight, it seemed, were clustered further away than usual, in the docks, and the resulting casualties were being taken to Mile End Hospital. ‘Even then, we’ll probably get the overflow,’ Sister Priestland told her grimly. ‘So go to your supper the minute the others get back, Nurse. I don’t want anyone hanging about. Just in case – ’

Chick had already gone to first supper and as soon as she returned and appeared in the doorway with Nurse Dollis and Nurse Jenner in tow, Robin obediently reached for her cape, ready to go and eat and passed Chick in the doorway.

‘Listen, go to the loo as soon as you get back,’ Chick hissed. ‘I’ll see you there. I don’t suppose it’s that important, but I think you should know – ’

‘Nurse Chester!’ Sister Priestland cried. ‘Don’t waste time gossiping! If you’ve nothing better to do you can come and clean this trolley for me. Hurry along now!’ And Chick hurried.

Robin ate quickly, grateful for the simplicity of a vegetable pie, and chose not to wait to finish her legitimate half-hour break; she had no idea what Chick wanted to tell her, but she was curious now. It would be worth getting back early so that they could at least have a minute or two to talk, and she wrapped her cape around herself, waved a comprehensive goodbye to the other nurses at second supper, and made her way back down the silent stairs towards the ground floor and the bright lights of the Casualty department.

Around her the hospital was quiet and dim beneath well-shrouded lamps. The windows, blank and shuttered to contain any trace of light that might attract a bomber, seemed to swallow up the sound of her footsteps as she went past them and, ahead of her, the corridor, a particularly long one, looked, she told herself, like one of those illustrations in children’s comics, where country roads are shown dwindling away into the distance. A silly conceit, she told herself firmly and hurried on, suddenly alarmed, without knowing quite why.

She became aware then of the sound, a long low uneven buzzing and somewhere at the back of her mind the thought came up as clearly as words on a blackboard. ‘Bombers – theirs – close. No sirens –’ and she began to hurry, not quite sure why she was doing so, but clearly aware of danger.

And then it all happened at once; the sirens leapt into swooping ear-assaulting life, seeming almost above her head they were so close, and echoing dreadfully in the long empty corridor as the sound of the planes got thicker and even louder. She was running now, which she’d been taught nurses must never do – except in the case of fire or haemorrhage – and ahead of her the doors into Casualty swung wide as someone came out, pushing an empty trolley. She got a glimpse of the well-lit waiting room beyond and tried to run even faster, feeling illogically that would be a safe place to shelter, and then as the trolley-pusher began to move from a patch of darkness to light the noise became unbearable and her ears seemed to burst, and her body
to be punched by a huge fist, and she was lying flat on her back and trying to breathe through a thick cloud of dust that seemed to fill her nose and mouth.

She started to cough and splutter then, and at last the worst of the clogging stuff burst out of her nose and she could breathe, and she tried to reach up to wipe her face and mouth; but her arms were caught in her cape and she had to struggle.

‘Easy, easy does it.’ The voice seemed to be coming from a long way away and she bent her head forwards, feeling that there were spaces there to let her see, though it was as black as pitch, and thought muzzily – I imagined that! Or it was me? – and again began to struggle to free her arms from the constrictions of her cape.