The words leaped out at her, struck her an almost physical blow.

She had loved Charlie, but Billy had been her favourite. She adored him. Ever since the vision of her father, and his prediction, at Charlie's bedside, the memory was there, hidden at the back of her mind. She almost convinced herself it would not happen; how wrong she was.

The reality hit her. She couldn't believe it. First Charlie, then, so recently, Agnes; and now, her beloved Billy. In less than a year three of her family had gone. Through her tears, fingers twisting, she read the fateful words again. Billy, killed in action. They would be imprinted on her mind forever. Some indication of how deeply she felt about her younger brother, can be gleaned from an entry in her diary, more than a year later. Visiting Billy's wife and children she wrote: "Billy's children are beautiful; fat, sturdy. Sonny with Billy's chubby cheeks and laughing eyes; - Bea with her dainty, coaxing ways." Then she bursts out into unrestrained grief, overwhelmed by memories.: "Oh my God, Billy is gone……………..Billy, my Billy."

Torn apart once more – family or duty. She remembered later, writing: "Again duty had torn me in two directions. It was the old struggle women have, - families versus work."

Numb with grief, she made the only decision possible, and rushed home as quickly as she could to help her mother, as well as Billy's wife and two young children.

Her mother, a proud. feisty woman, had nevertheless suffered three hammer blows in less than a year with the deaths of her two sons and a daughter. Unbroken, getting on for 70 years of age, and suffering, she desperately needed the support of her remaining children. Isabel and Grace gave her all the support they could manage, as did Carrie when she arrived back from South Africa in February, though she herself was the victim of a recent bereavement.

Both Isabel and Carrie were in good health, which is more than could be said for Grace. Her frenetic life-style, constant arduous travelling, often in great physical danger visiting her frontline units, living under very basic or dreadful conditions, were all taking their toll.

Being the sort of woman she was, Grace refused to acknowledge the approaching disaster. Once her sister Carrie had settled in, Grace decided she must return to France. Things were happening there, new FANYs arriving every week, she needed to be there. Duty was pushing at her conscience. She felt she had to be back at the helm.

It wasn't to be.

Saying her goodbyes once again, she set off south on the first leg of her journey. By the time she had reached London, she had collapsed several times, and developed acute abdominal pains. In London she was diagnosed with appendicitis, and a nervous breakdown. Absolute rest for at least 3 months was ordered. After what she had been through in the past 8 months it was not surprising.

Franklin was consulted, and sympathetic, in her clinically frank way. She agreed that Grace needed a long break. In a letter to Cole-Hamilton, she wrote: "Naturally all this trouble has completely unhinged her, and she cannot see things as clearly as she would under different circumstances."

Grace finally accepted that a thorough rest was inevitable, and that she had pushed herself beyond her limits. Her cousin Elizabeth invited her to stay with her in the peaceful old rural Kentish village, her husband the local vicar. It was ideal, but first she had to have a burst eardrum seen to, the legacy of a shell exploding near her in Antwerp, in those early days of the war.

After that she was able to relax utterly. But it wasn't long before she was chafing at the bit once more. It wasn't in her character to sit and do nothing. She delved into her precious diaries, filling them out a bit, where she had not had the time to do so originally. Always fond of writing, she decided to develop them into a full-blown book, and once decided, gave it her full attention.

The weeks flew by, and she finalised her manuscript, called it 'Nursing Adventures'. Writing it proved to be the best therapy ever. From the physical point of view it put little strain on her body; more importantly, writing it became a great release for all her pent up feelings and fears and grief. She got enormous personal satisfaction from finishing it, and more so when one of the top publishers, William Heinemann, accepted it for publication without demur. Although, as she has scribbled inside the cover of one of her own copies, it wasn't printed until 1917 due to 'shortage of paper'!

Although it was almost entirely about her own adventures, it was not for her personal aggrandisement. She wanted to highlight and publicize her FANY Corps, the work they were doing and the conditions they had to endure. Written anonymously in a bid to reflect on the FANY as a whole, rather than herself, few names are mentioned, and at times it appears slightly disjointed. What comes across strongly is the dedication and cheerfulness of these 'high spirited young ladies' in difficult, dangerous, and life-threatening situations.

She felt strongly that if she could succeed in doing that for her girls, it would all have been worthwhile.

And, in fact, she had.

It was time to move on.