1st of September 1926

Your work as a nurse had begun after soldiers started coming home from the war, it was work you were proud of, providing care and aid to those who needed it. In the hospital you worked in, one day was all hubbub, all movement and busy sounds and even busier bodies, people being born, people dying, needing a place to do so in dignity and peace.

On your outpatient list, a new name had been entered on tour ledger and all others had been offloaded to other nurses and professionals, after you discussed it with your matron, it was explained that a man had been shot only two months prior and needed aid at home, so he was your only priority until he was deemed fit.

So, on your bike you cycled to the address given, his prescriptions and patient notes tucked safely in your pannier bags, Margate.

It only took you about half an hour's cycle out of the busy city, out towards the water, along the shore you rode, spotting boats on the horizons as you neared the address.

You were greeted at the door by a great lumbering Bullmastiff sitting on the stone steps. It ruffed, not loud but enough to alert it's master.

"Cyril! Cut that bloomin' racket would ya?" a thick accent cut through the door before it opened a crack.

Clearly he had been expecting you.

"Go on! Away with you, you great beast, you'll scare 'er off," the man grumbled, clapping the dog on the back, "he'll do no harm love, you put your bike away and come in yeah?"