can’t blame you there.’ Pearl was thoughtful for once. ‘No, of course you need your bit of cash. I’ll manage all right – something will turn up – it always does.
‘I’ve got nearly thirty pounds put by.’ Pearl’s mouth opened in amazement. Maxine looked at her cousin. She had to do a bit more to help her. ‘So I’m willing to share it with you – fifteen pounds each. Will that help?’
Pearls’s face broke into a beam. ‘That would be marvellous, Max … but are you sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure. Far be it from me putting obstacles in the way of my cousin’s forthcoming fame.’ She smiled.
Pearl jumped from her chair and hugged Maxine. ‘You’re a real pal, besides being my favourite cousin.’
‘I believe I’m your only cousin.’ Maxine grinned, hugging her in return.
Pearl laughed. ‘You know I’ll pay you back.’
‘You don’t have to. Regard it as a present … my faith in your acting and singing abilities. Just make sure I get given a ticket to this first show. What’s it about anyway?’
‘It’s a musical called Better Days. I do a bit of singing and dancing, mainly in the chorus. Thanks so much.’ She kissed Maxine’s cheek. ‘I really mean it, Max. You’re a darling. And if I can ever return the favour … you know you’ve only got to ask.’
Maxine rushed upstairs to read Johnny’s latest letter in the privacy of her bedroom. Sometimes they were censored and someone would black out words or even whole sentences. In the last letter, he mentioned he was going abroad but couldn’t say any more, but in this one he sounded excited and told her not to worry if she didn’t hear from him for some time. Something big was on. He finished off:
But if anything should happen to me, Max darling, be happy knowing I wanted to do the right thing and fight for my country. And don’t waste a minute of your life.
All my love, and can’t wait to see you again.
Always your Johnny xxx
She looked at the date – 8th May, but the postmark was blurred. It had taken nearly three weeks to arrive. This was the first time Johnny had hinted that he might not make it. Maxine chewed her bottom lip as she carefully folded his letter and put it back into the envelope. What if he was severely injured? Needing her. She’d never forgive herself if she wasn’t there for him. Momentarily, she closed her eyes. London was out of the question.
The following day, she was in the nurses’ common room when she picked up the Daily Express one of the other nurses had tossed aside. The headlines shouted triumphantly:
TENS OF THOUSANDS SAFELY HOME ALREADY
Many more coming by day and night
SHIPS OF ALL SIZES DARE THE GERMAN GUNS
Conscious she was due back on the ward in ten minutes, she skimmed the article. Every possible vessel which sailed had been sent out to rescue the men … the British, French and Allied troops trapped on the French coast. Her heart missed a beat. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that Johnny was on the other side of the Channel – in Dunkirk. And try as she might, she couldn’t picture him stepping into one of the rescue boats. He would always see that others go before him – inherent in his medical training.
Maybe she was allowing her imagination to run wild. She turned the page, desperate to read more, but there were other stories of battles and no more mention of Dunkirk.
Maxine scanned the papers every day, obsessed with the story. It was the longest week and by the 4th June over 300,000 soldiers had been brought back to British shores. Lists of names of those rescued were published every day, but she never saw Johnny Taylor’s name amongst them. Of course she had no proof he was even at Dunkirk. But she didn’t need proof. His letters had stopped and, as far as she was concerned, that was enough. She was only thankful she’d never applied to St Thomas’. Johnny would need to know she was close by when he returned.
It was hard to push Johnny to the back of her mind and care for her patients. Injured men and women were coming into the hospital every single day, and every time she dreaded it would be Johnny they brought in on a stretcher. She was still convinced he was in Dunkirk and hadn’t been rescued and tried to ask around on how she could find any information but no one seemed to have any idea.
‘You could try the Red Cross,’ Sister Marshall suggested when she came across Maxine in tears one day in the nurses’ room. ‘They are the ones who send information to families when British soldiers are injured …’ she hesitated, ‘or dead. I think they’d be your best bet.’
But she had no luck there either. Until a fortnight later when she received a letter from them. With a lump in her throat, she read:
Dear Mrs Taylor,
We are very sorry to inform you that your husband, Cpl. John L Taylor has been taken prisoner by the German Army at Dunkirk. He bravely volunteered to remain so he could attend to his wounded comrades. When there is more news we will, of course, let you know.
Yours sincerely,
Mary Jackson (Mrs)
Welfare Officer
Maxine swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump. She was right. He had been sent to Dunkirk. Dear Johnny. Whatever must he have felt, seeing the ships rescuing thousands of soldiers and he wasn’t one of them. But it seemed he’d made the decision, just as she expected he would. Maxine felt a sting behind her eyes. Yes, he was brave, and she could well imagine him doing just that.
Another agonising fortnight passed with no more news. Maxine was in the ward helping a patient to walk to the toilet, grateful that she was a slight woman, though she still weighed heavily on her arm, when Sister Marshall came up to her, a look of concern in her eyes.
‘I’ll take Mrs Harvey, Nurse. There’s a telegram for you in Matron’s office.’
She knew. Cold sweat beaded her forehead. She didn’t even have to open the telegram. She reprimanded herself. Until she heard otherwise she mustn’t crumple. Mustn’t think the worst. It might be him and he was writing to say he was safe. But she knew any form of contact from him would not be in the form of a telegram.
With hammering heart she half ran down the corridor.
‘Nurse!’ A Sister she didn’t know held her hand in the air. ‘I must remind you – you may only run for fire or haemorrhage.’
‘I’m sorry, Sister.’
Her feet now feeling like lead, she knocked on Matron’s door.
‘Come in.’ Matron looked up. ‘Oh, yes, Nurse Taylor. Do sit down.’
Maxine’s knees felt they
