Free Evie's War by Anna Mackenzie

might then sit and talk or promenade them, as they preferred. How wonderful! we thought. And it was, compared to skivvying for Sister N. But, oh, the pity of it! My little group included a Major with no legs, a Captain who has one hand and one leg gone, and another whose face has been shattered beyond recognition. How these men are to return to their previous lives I do not know and, clearly, neither do they.
    Worse was to come: Sister assigned me to read letters to four men who have been blinded (each also having other injuries). The authors of these letters had apparently given no thought at all to the impact of their words. One very young Lieutenant, who has lost the use of his legs as well as his eyes, was unable to restrain his emotions and wept as I read a letter from his fiancée. He has asked me to write on his behalf to release her from her promise, believing it unfair to keep her bound to an invalid ‘of no use to anyone’. I have agreed to do so tomorrow, though I hope he will by then have considered my suggestion that he allow her to make her own decision once they are reunited. Any honourable woman would stand by him, though he seems determined not to allow it.
5 March
    Winifred and I stood like recalcitrant schoolgirls outside Matron’s office awaiting our review, however we needn’thave worried: she is ‘satisfied with our performance’. I am herewith assigned to the Officers’ ward under Sister S while Winifred, at her request, will be trialled with the Ambulance Service, ferrying patients from the Railway Station. The distance is not far but Matron emphasised the unpredictable nature of the work and that Winifred must be prepared to work at any hour of day or night. Also that we must be domiciled in the VAD Nurses’ Home while on shift. I said I would need to discuss it with my parents.
6 March, Deans Park
    Mother put up less resistance than I expected, perhaps because a letter from Edmund had arrived saying he will be home for a fortnight in four days’ time. I shall miss his arrival, but will see him next weekend. Uncle Aubrey is not able to leave London at present but appears to have convinced Father that Hospital work is an acceptable option for young ladies ‘for the duration’.
Sunday 7 March, 1st Eastern Hospital, Cambridge
    The Nurses’ Home, which is in Selwyn College, reminds me of School: behind its imposing red brick façade lie corridors of box-like rooms, each with a bed (uncomfortable), a dresser (small and dingy) and a mirror (thoroughly foxed). There is a common room with a mismatched collection of furniture and some rather tired books and board games, never much in use as we are far too fatigued. Meals, if tonight’s is any indication, are uninspiring. I shall look forward to my weekends at home for the food alone. Next week I will ask Aunt M if I might bring up a tuck box.
9 March
    My young Lieutenant has died. Shocking enough, and worse to learn there was no specific cause beyond his simply giving up. Sister found me weeping outside the ward and told me that it was perhaps for the best. I cannot believe that to be true.
11 March
    I have received a pep talk from Matron: ‘The first death is the hardest, but it is important to understand that we cannot save them all.’ Does that mean we shouldn’t care when we fail? Apparently it does. ‘If we become emotionally invested in each patient, we are spread too thin and cannot perform the greater task, which is the care of all.’
    I have been given the afternoon off to consider whether I am made of stern enough stuff for the role I have been offered. Tomorrow I shall prove that I am, but I do not believe I will ever be able to perform my allotted tasks without caring whether each of my patients lives or dies.
12 March
    Sister says that of course she is sad each time we lose a patient, but that sometimes it is our task to ease a man’s journey to God. Also that she is