The Nettleby Trilogy Series by Rosie Chapel

England 1908: Under the clock, on a sleepy station platform nestled in rural Lincolnshire, an unexpected romance blossoms.Maisie: Every Friday, at precisely five to six, a handsome young man arrives at the station. I know the time because I can see the clock. The train pulls in, punctual as always, and among the alighting passengers is an elderly gentleman. The young man greets him with a smile and a handshake, then tucks his arm through the older man's and they leave the platform.Every Friday... moreEngland 1908: Under the clock, on a sleepy station platform nestled in rural Lincolnshire, an unexpected romance blossoms.Maisie: Every Friday, at precisely five to six, a handsome young man arrives at the station. I know the time because I can see the clock. The train pulls in, punctual as always, and among the alighting passengers is an elderly gentleman. The young man greets him with a smile and a handshake, then tucks his arm through the older man's and they leave the platform.Every Friday.Occasionally, we exchange a glance or two and, to be fair, I suspect I notice him more than he notices me.Fred: I count the hours until Friday afternoon comes around. Not only because this marks the start of the weekend but also, and more importantly, I get to see the flower girl. I am clueless as to her name, yet my heart begins to race the minute the station comes into view. I almost run up the steps onto the platform, hoping for a glimpse of her bright smile.Every Friday.I doubt she ever notices me. I'm just a village lad, one more faceless person in the throng.Then again, you never know what might happen… in an innocuous corner of a quiet platform……under the clock less

1916 – FrancePollyNothing in my training, nor the numerous lectures I endured prior to leaving England prepared me for the horror that is trench warfare.Assigned to a Field Ambulance ¾ a sneeze away from the front line ¾ the atrocities I witnessed were confronting, harrowing, and a constant challenge to my faith in humanity, yet the experience proved to be endlessly rewarding.Not content with nursing, the principle reason I volunteered was to drive ambulances... more1916 – FrancePollyNothing in my training, nor the numerous lectures I endured prior to leaving England prepared me for the horror that is trench warfare.Assigned to a Field Ambulance ¾ a sneeze away from the front line ¾ the atrocities I witnessed were confronting, harrowing, and a constant challenge to my faith in humanity, yet the experience proved to be endlessly rewarding.Not content with nursing, the principle reason I volunteered was to drive ambulances. My colleagues, preferring the relative safety of the wards, thought me addled, but I was not to be thwarted, despite the dangers. Saving lives outweighed the fear of being blown up or shot.The last thing I expected to find in the midst of flying shrapnel was love. ThadTwo long years with no end in sight; the oft repeated, 'we'll be home by Christmas' ¾ a long-forgotten dream, supplanted by the ceaseless thunder of artillery, acres of mud, collapsing trenches, and the all-pervading stench of death.A nightmare tempered when the driver of the ambulance dispatched to collect Fred, after his brush with a sniper, turned out to be Polly Armstrong, friend of Fred's wife, Maisie.The initial shock of recognition morphs into something else; something both tantalising and terrifying. Anyone with an ounce of common sense would quash such frivolous nonsense; we were in the middle of a battle zone. Clearly, common sense had abandoned me. Against the odds, in the chaos and confusion of war, romance blossoms but tomorrow is not guaranteed. In that split second between heartbeats, their happily ever after could be snatched away. less