An Orphan’s War: One of the best historical fiction books you will read in 2018

May I be permitted to express my sincere sympathy with the sad news concerning your husband Cpl. John L Taylor. I regret to say that we have been notified today via the Swiss Red Cross of his death from pneumonia.

Your husband was an exemplary soldier and his loss is deeply regretted by us all.

When we receive any of his effects they will be forwarded on to you.

Once again please accept the deep sympathy of us all.

Yours very sincerely,

J. Anthony Donaldson

The paper fluttered to the floor. Maxine couldn’t summon the energy to bend down and pick it up. A terrible shaking took hold of her body. She dropped her head in her hands, gasping to hold back the sobs. She mustn’t break down. She needed to look after her patients. They relied on her.

She heard the door open and the solid figure of Matron step in.

‘Oh, my dear … it’s bad news, isn’t it?’

Maxine nodded, speechless.

‘Your husband?’

‘Yes.’ It was a whisper.

‘I’m sending you home right away. Take two days off.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t …’

‘We’ll manage, if that’s what’s worrying you.’ Matron put a hand on her shoulder.

She looked up. Matron’s face was creased in sympathy.

‘Please let me go back to the ward, Matron.’ Maxine forced herself to speak calmly. ‘I’ll be better if I can work. I’ll have plenty of time to think about it when I’m off-duty.’

‘Very well.’ Matron became brisk. ‘But I insist you go to the canteen and have a strong cup of tea with sugar. You’re in shock, my dear, though you may not realise it. And if you are not feeling better tomorrow, please stay at home.’

Somehow she got through the day, even forgetting for a few minutes at a time about the telegram and the terrible news. And then it would sweep over her in a sickening cloud. Johnny – her dearest friend since childhood. She would never see him again. Never look into his twinkling brown eyes. Never laugh at his feeble jokes.

She delivered the last bedpan to an elderly lady who reminded her of her headmistress. A hard-faced woman with frizzy grey curls and bitter lines around her mouth, who was furious to be forced to use such an item for her private ablutions.

Maxine pulled the curtains around the patient and tucked the bedpan under the cover. ‘There you are, Mrs Shepherd. I’ll be back shortly.’

‘See that you do, Nurse.’ Mrs Shepherd looked at Maxine with reproachful eyes, as though it were her fault. ‘I waited a full quarter of an hour this morning before someone came to take it away.’

That evening, Maxine stepped into the hall and her mother came out immediately, her face red, all of a fluster.

‘My dear, was it bad news?’

Maxine felt caught off guard. How did her mother know something had happened before she did?

‘The telegram boy brought it here and I told him you were at the Infirmary.’ She took her daughter’s coat and hung it on the rack. ‘It’s Johnny, isn’t it?’

‘Let me tell you and Dad together, Mum.’

‘I’d better make us all a cup of tea.’

A brandy would be more like it, Maxine thought, but she simply nodded and her mother disappeared into the kitchen.

She found her father in his chair in the sitting room reading his newspaper, glasses slipping down his nose, his favourite slippers with a hole in each toe encasing socks which she’d had to snip the tops off to make room for his poor swollen ankles. He rose up with difficulty and gave her a hug.

‘Your mother says a telegram came here for you, but she sent the boy to the hospital.’

‘It’s very bad news,’ Maxine began as her mother appeared with the tea tray. She felt the tears prick at the back of her eyes. She must keep calm. Must let them know she was being sensible and not acting impulsively. ‘Johnny’s dead.’ There was no other way to say it.

Her mother’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘I knew it … I just knew it. As soon as he’d been taken by those dreadful Germans. Didn’t I tell you, Stan?’

Her father gave a long sigh. ‘Yes, you did, dear.’ He turned to his daughter. ‘And I’m very sorry to hear it, Maxine. He was a good lad and thought the world of you. Did they give you any details?’

‘Yes.’ Maxine’s voice was almost a whisper. ‘Pneumonia.’

‘Oh, the poor boy.’ A tear spilled down her mother’s cheek. ‘Well, at least you’ve got us. We’ll look after you at home and help you through.’

‘Thanks, Mum, and I really mean it, but I’ve decided to apply to St Thomas’.’

‘You’re not going on about moving to London again?’ Her mother’s eyes were wide. ‘You don’t want to make a decision as important as this without more time. You’ve had a terrible shock, dear, and you’re not thinking straight.’

‘I am, Mum. Everywhere I look around here reminds me of Johnny—’ She broke off, her voice trembling. ‘I must go and see his parents. They’ll be heartbroken … their only son. Oh, it’s not fair. It’s just not fair.’

Her eyes swimming, she banged her cup on its saucer and rushed out of the room, but not before she heard her father say, ‘Leave her be, Edna. She’s old enough to make her own decision. The change is probably just what she needs to take her mind off things.’

Maxine heard back from St Thomas’ within a few days. They were interested! Because of the war, provided she had references from the hospital, they weren’t going to waste time interviewing her. There was a desperate shortage of nurses so they would like her to start as soon as she could give in her notice. They had every reason to believe that her initial training at the Royal Infirmary was first class and that she’d be a real asset at St Thomas’ as a nurse at their Nightingale School for the next two years. Would she let them know by return that she was still interested so they could prepare her paperwork?

It had happened. One letter to the hospital had led to her life changing – but only because her dearest Johnny had died. She swallowed. She was determined to do her best in this war, whatever the cost. She owed it to him.

As soon as she had given in her notice, Sister said in view of the circumstances she could leave as soon as she was ready. A fortnight later the arrangements were in place. And then it was her last day. Maxine had said her goodbyes to the other nurses and patients and as she was about to leave by the staff door, Sister Dugdale stopped her and put a small package in her hands.

‘From all of us on the ward,’ she said. ‘You’ve worked hard,’ she continued, her voice as crisp as her cap and apron. ‘The makings of an excellent nurse so long as you don’t get carried away with your emotions. It’s difficult, I know … perhaps the most difficult, but it’s vital you don’t get personally involved with individual patients to the point where you can’t do a professional job.’

Maxine knew Sister was referring to Robin, only six, on the children’s ward. The child had been run over in the blackout and they said his injuries were so bad he probably wouldn’t survive. But he had. Maxine had been determined that he would pull through. His parents were constantly at his bedside, but when they left for the day she would talk to him, give him sips of Lucozade, read to him. Her reward was that he slowly recovered and her favourite time of the day was when she came on duty and his face lit up in a beaming smile. She could have hugged him to bits. Three days before his discharge she’d come on duty to find his bed freshly made up.

‘Have they already sent Robin home?’ she’d asked, happy that the day had come, but disappointed she hadn’t been there to say goodbye.

There was a few seconds’ silence. A tension in the ward. Maxine looked at Fuller and White, the two other nurses. Then Fuller said in a low voice, ‘He died in the night.’

She’d run to the toilets and sat on the seat, sobbing her eyes out. Eventually she got up and combed her hair and arranged her cap. She looked terrible. Eyes puffy and red. Sister was sharp with her, and she thought at the time what a hard woman Sister was. But experience taught her differently. Sister was right. She probably didn’t have the perfect temperament to be a nurse, but she’d do her level best, especially now they really were at war. And if one day she could become a children’s nurse, it might be her salvation.

The night before Maxine left home for London there was something she needed to do. She knew it would take all her courage.

‘I think I’ll have an early night,’ she told her parents after the three of them had spent an awkward evening in the front room, none of them knowing quite what to say.