When Rose, a young English nurse with humanitarian ideals, decides to volunteer in the Spanish Civil War, she is little prepared for the experiences that await her.

‘For food in a world where many walks in hunger;

For faith in a world where many walks in fear;

For friends in a world where many walks alone;

We give you thanks, O Lord. Amen.’

Mother frowned at Bertie and Ralph, who had already picked up their knives and forks before the last word of the grace was out of Father’s mouth.

‘I thought your sermon went down well today,’ Mother said. ‘People understood your message.’

‘The words of Jesus, his parables, are not difficult to understand. The difficulty is living by his example.’ Father paused in his eating. ‘Humility, forgiveness, tolerance… For most of us, these are not attained without struggle.’

Rose inspected her plate, where several islands rose out of a sea of thick gravy: to one side the pale grey slices of lamb decorated with blobs of mint sauce, to the other three roast potatoes, glossy and golden, and a heap of a wet cabbage. She lifted a small piece of lamb to her mouth and chewed it, swallowing with difficulty. Eating wasn’t usually an effort but today nerves were playing havoc with her digestion.

After dinner, she would tell them. All she had to do was remember the words of the speaker, the depth of emotion in her voice as she described the suffering of the Spanish people and their desperate need for food, for medicines and above all for trained nurses; how her breath caught as she implored the audience at the packed hall in Oxford for help. Newly arrived from Spain, the young interpreter was anxious only to gather supplies and return there as soon as possible. All were moved by her speech. Several volunteered to help with the campaign immediately; others pledged money, food, clothes, blankets…

‘What’s the matter with you, Rose? Don’t you feel well?’ Mother was regarding her with concern, Father with mild curiosity.

‘I’m not hungry, that’s all.’

Her two younger brothers stared at her in disbelief. ‘Not hungry? You can give me your meat then.’

She speared a slice of lamb with her fork and deposited it on Bertie’s plate. A splash of gravy fell on the tablecloth.

‘Rose!’

‘Sorry, Mother.’ She forced herself to eat and even to join in the conversation – about the christening of her cousin’s twins, about cricket, about the new organist – but her mind was elsewhere.

Father laid down his knife and fork, taking care as always to place them exactly vertical in the centre of the plate. He was a good man; everyone said so. His name, the Reverend Arthur Tilly, was always spoken with respect. They compared him to other vicars who didn’t live by their beliefs as Father did. So he, more than anyone, should understand her reasons for going. She was obeying her conscience.

Maisie popped her head around the door to see if they were ready for dessert and started to clear away the plates.

The vicarage lawn had been recently mown and the scent of cut grass mingled with that of the late summer wallflowers, phloxes and sweet peas. A few of the Michaelmas daisies were beginning to unfurl their petals. Rose and her father strolled arm in arm along the path edging the lawn.

‘So what’s troubling you, Rose?’ Father stopped and turned to face her. It was impossible to hide her moods from him: he knew her too well.

She had meant to soften her announcement by first describing the terrible plight of the Spanish people so that her parents would understand what impelled her; would approve her decision. But in the end, she just blurted it out. ‘I’m going to Spain.’

She could tell immediately, before Father even opened his mouth, that he understood. Of course, he read his News Chronicle every day; he would be aware of the situation. Relief flooded through her. She flung her arms around him. ‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘You do see, don’t you? They’re crying out for nurses. I’d never forgiven myself if I just turned my back on them.’

‘You’re a good girl, Rose.’ He paused and she read on his face a succession of different emotions. ‘Your response, what you intend to do, is a Christian act from which I won’t try to dissuade you if you’ve truly made up your mind – even though I fear for your safety. But think hard; be sure before you commit yourself. Consider the dangers.’ He smiled. ‘I know how impulsive you are. And how soft-hearted.’ A shadow passed across his face. ‘War is a terrible thing. What you’ll see and experience… it will change you forever.’

Rose knew where his thoughts lay. Two of his brothers had been killed in the Great War and another had lost a leg. His family, like so many others, had been deeply affected; grief, it was said, had sent his mother to an early grave. Rose had no memory of her grandmother but she remembered Uncle Tom, whose stump had fascinated and repelled her as a small child. He too had died young, some years ago.