Joyce's War (19 page)

The latest inhabitants (European) have been exceedingly kind to us hereabouts. We were invited to dinner with a Mr and Mrs Cullen, who took us on later to the dance at the Garrison Hall. They were really very charming and we enjoyed ourselves – particularly so at their house, I think; although the dance was inclined to be a rough and tumble as the night wore on.

There is little to record since we arrived here nearly three weeks ago: an odd dinner here and there, tea or a picnic as when we went to Sandspit beach on Saturday afternoon with the McLashens (Port Trust). Mostly we stay on board and amuse ourselves as best we can. The main mail has still not arrived. I’d hate to pollute this page with my sentiments regarding the Sea Transport! I haven’t heard from home or from Ken for about seven weeks and it seems like years. But I had an interesting letter from Mali and no fewer than three packets of books and magazines, including Charles Morgan’s latest
The
Empty Room
, Somerset Maugham’s
The Gentleman in the Parlour
and
The Road to Bordeaux
by Denis and Cooper. I also received several
John O’London’s
and a copy of
Horizon
and
Life and Letters Today.
Lovely!
Apart from these, and a solitary letter from Bob, there is nothing. I fume and fume about it and then descend into a mood of utter despair and resignation. It seems so hopeless trying to get any sense or satisfaction out of any government department in these days; they were always bad and entangled with red tape but now they are worse than ever.

No word from Delhi yet. I can see that my next move is to write to Miss Jones. Unfortunately the letters take so long to get through, even one way. One loses heart before one begins and yet that way lies defeat but I must do something about it. If I never benefit from it, at least I can insist on getting some satisfaction before I finish with the QAs. The IMS girls have just had 200 chips refunded to them for messing allowances. We’ve never seen 200 chips at once in all our lives and no pay at all since last August. Now it seems the CO Malaya has arrived in Australia with his money and papers. Well, bless him for that, anyway. Now I presume we’ll begin to be paid from Darwin and the ships take about two months or more to arrive with mail, so that’ll be grand. What doesn’t go down to the fish may possibly reach us, if we live long enough.

I expect to hear any day now that Port Moresby has had a full scale attack and I expect that Mother is worrying dreadfully about Clwyd. But of course I get no letters and I know nothing of what is happening anywhere. Sir Stafford Cripps is on his way to India to try and settle the deadlock between India and Britain. I hope he’s successful.

April 9th 1942

On deck – Basrah!

Over a month in Karachi and here we are in Basrah once again. It was the usual static existence whilst we were in Karachi but pleasant weather and an occasional excursion into town helped the time to pass quickly enough. We went to a garden party at Government House one afternoon; we in our beautiful white drills and the rest superbly attired in garden party frocks and the ever lovely sari. I still have a vision of those Indian women in a hundred different colours walking across the cool green lawns. The gardens were lovely too – petunias, phlox, antirrhinums, dahlias and salpiglossis and so many other old favourites. How heavenly to walk in a garden after so many months aboard a ship.

Then one day we went out in mid-stream, some distance out. The
Georgie
was being towed in and, as she was so large – the largest ship ever to come into Karachi – we had to move out. She had been badly bombed off Suez some months ago and was towed by tugs all the way. She looked enormous as she went in, quite dwarfing all the other ships near her. We quite thought we were going back into Karachi, but as we were anticipating orders to move, we received instead word to go on to Bombay. This shook us rather badly and more especially because it was the beginning of the month and we had not seen the field cashier. Of course there is one in Bombay but we only got Rs115 from him while the Karachi allowance is more generous, allowing us Rs150 or more. Having reconciled ourselves to this, we suddenly received a signal to tell us to proceed to Basrah – about 36 hours out. As we had no stores on board for patients, we had to put out into Karachi for 24 hours to replenish stores. It was Easter weekend but we had managed to get Rs50 from the FC and that sufficed temporarily. The
Dorsetshire
was in too so we saw Evelyn once again: we went over one evening and they came over for coffee the last morning. Now we are in Basrah, alongside. We arrived early this morning and leave tomorrow morning.

Bob came on board about 11am and later sent up the most gorgeous flowers. Real flowers, fresh and fragrant from the garden. Perfectly lovely. He came and had lunch with me later as the CO would not allow me off the ship for tiffin. The patients started arriving soon after 2pm and were still coming in ones and twos until almost 7pm. I am in Officers and Sick BORs this time. We were full except for four beds in Officers. Bob and Danny came again in the evening after we had handed over to Mary who was doing night duty. Poor Danny looked so sad and changed with reasons enough for that matter. Bob was – well, Bob! Duncan and Murphy completed the party and it was a long session and not altogether pleasing to some of us. But it couldn’t be helped and we couldn’t walk out for any apparent reason.

We left next morning early. It was a pleasant trip up the Gulf. We all had a delightful lot of boys, very quiet and orderly and there were no complaints. I lost one man, sad to relate; he was too ill to have been moved actually, although as he probably would have died in any case, I fancy he was better off on the ship than in the last hospital, where he had been, in Libya. He wasn’t buried at sea, which is unusual but they took him ashore, covered with the flag, as soon as we berthed at Karachi and he was to be buried there by a Roman Catholic padre. I’ve written to his wife.

I’ve been desperately tired lately, not physically, so much as mentally. I wonder if I shall remember all this when I read these words, many years hence. Maybe I shall smile then, although I didn’t feel much like it at the time.

April 22nd 1942

Jimmy’s birthday today. There was the usual party before lunch. Inescapable.

April 23rd 1942

Went into town by taxi and took Kevin with us. He was on his way to see Mary, who is in the BMH, having trouble with a tooth. It seems she took the second anaesthetic very badly and they didn’t do anything in the end. She doesn’t realise it but she stopped breathing on the table and they were very worried about her for a while. Jenny and I booked seats for
No, No Nannette
and then went for a drive to Clifton. Quite nice there – a long colonnade and steps to the sea somewhere beyond; trim little enclosed gardens on each side and when the zinnias are in bloom it should be colourful. To the Sym Chat and then, and while we were there, Matron and Captain Raj walked in, so we sat together until it was time for us to leave for dinner. We went back to the Grand and then walked to the Paradise in the cool evening air. The picture was fairly good but not particularly so.

Then a gharry home with the hood down. I always like going back to Keamari town with the clip clop of the horses’ feet, the still cool starry night, all unhurried and peaceful and the bunder setting off from the little harbour over the still black waters. Sometimes, as last night, there is a golden path from the moon and white sails crossing it. All the big ships are blacked out except for port and starboard lights and there is no sound at all except for the splash of the oar, if there isn’t enough wind to allow the sail to take us along. Lately, during the day, it would have been rather too boisterous. Coming back at midday two days ago, we nearly went over as we turned out of the basin. A very nasty moment. I shall remember these things perhaps, when I am far from here: the boatmen, or bunder-wallahs, usually one man and perhaps two small boys. Often the ‘man at the wheel’ is a boy aged not more than six years old and he brings us alongside as easily as anything. And shinning up the great tall masts and standing aloft with only their toes curling around a rope is a feat of no mean order.

April 29th 1942

Karachi to Basrah

We heard last Friday that we were to set out again for Basrah on Sunday. Only half an hour before I had had a letter from Bob saying he was coming to Karachi on leave. And then this news. I feel so sorry, visualising the poor man in a strange town knowing no-one and all of us departed. The launch came in next day and a note with it to say that he saw no release until the end of the month and that he would be probably coming by plane. So maybe it’ll be alright after all.

We had Matron, Cameron and Mona for tea one day. I fear that they will have left before we return and if so – and if they go to the Middle East – they will not be returning. Mary is back with us, but is not doing duty this trip. Scotty and Matron are being childish about the wards and I’m fed up with both of them coming to me with much be-twisted stories of what each said to the other and so forth. For grown women these two ought to be ashamed of themselves.

It’s getting warmer and stickier but it could be worse. Quite a lot of rocky coastline yesterday and odd ships. We are supposed to get in sometime tomorrow I think, but time will tell.

I’m finishing my mats at long last and, with other odds and ends of sewing and an occasional letter or air-graph, the day passes somehow. The evenings, in part, we have spent usually sewing, while Jimmy reads us his favourite Elizabethan poets. I am trying to introduce an occasional modern work but it doesn’t seem to go down too well. Well, it’s as good a way of passing the evenings as any and better than most. And if I don’t want to listen, I can just let my mind drift as it often does, from one thing to another and from one country to another.

No more letters, of course; no cable from home either. It is possible to go on week after week without mail, although I once thought it impossible. Perhaps I shall acquire patience at long last. Perhaps.

Poor Ken in his sandy desert. How he must loathe it. Nearly ten months since I saw him and maybe it’ll be another ten, twenty, thirty more until I do. Well, I won’t think … I won’t think at all.

June 21st 1942

Port Sudan – en route for Massawa

Night duty. Hot as hot and sticky as ever was!

But soft – I find it nearly two months since I wrote herein. Well Basrah came and went, or rather we did. We arrived in the early morning and Bob came aboard during that morning and we embarked the patients during the afternoon. I had all Indians in C Ward, with the exception of about 16 BORs. I managed to get them all taped and in their beds and was off duty about 9pm when Bob came back with some gorgeous flowers and, just as an afterthought as it were, a wireless set. After a considerable struggle – for and against – it was decided at length that it should remain. I may add here that it has given us all a new lease of life and the evenings pass in a flash nowadays. We feel we are in touch with the outside world once again and it’s lovely to hear music – music! Bob told us of his plan to spend his leave in Karachi and that he proposed to fly to save time.

The trip back was pleasant and my Indian patients were delightful. With about six good words and true of Hindustani, I managed to pull them through all right until we reached port, at least. All sorts and ranks of Sikhs, that handsome race – Madrasees
51
,
Punjabis, Ghurkhas and a good-humoured, well-mannered, innocent collection of men including sweepers, dhobis, Indian hospital staff, chefs, potato peelers and havildars.
52
Such friendly flashing smiles, no complaints and a great deal of patience. I was most happy amongst them. No meals to bother about either as their two settings of curry and rice were mysteriously supplied to them somewhere for’ard. I never found out just where, but as they looked satisfied and didn’t complain, I presume they got what they wanted. We disembarked them after the usual five-day trip, and in the evening Bob arrived, having left by plane at 2am that morning. A long tiring trip. He stayed at the H. Singh club for the first few days and then got a nice room at the Killarney. He was there for seventeen days during which we saw him daily. It was marvellous not to have to resort to the front seat of the always overcrowded train en route for Karachi. Then out of the blue, as it were, the blow fell: we were to leave next day for Basrah. Bob was going back by ship in a few days time but decided to fly back instead.

June 22nd 1942

Basrah again and very hot – it being the summer of the year. And there on the wharf – in the flesh – and I think possibly to the amazement of the bridge and the personnel in general, was that man again!

Whilst Cairo and Baghdad were tossing signals back and forth to each other as to whether we should return to Karachi with patients from Baghdad or take on the 58th IMS and their equipment and carry them to the ME, we were in Basrah for six days. It was delightful for Mona and me to be able to go ashore and have lunch with Bob and Danny at their bungalow. We stayed there whilst they went back to the office at 4pm and had a sleep and a bath and remained for dinner. They have always been incredibly good to us whenever we’ve been thereabouts. We left and in due course arrived in Aden where we coaled and Mona and I went ashore to do some shopping,
comme il faut
.

On our return, and to our astonishment, there was mail on board. Quite by accident, naturally – all our mail arrives by accident – and never by first intention, I had 24 letters and some papers from Mali. Among them were letters from Mother and eight from General. So most of Mother’s missing mail is now received and I can now piece the story together of Clwyd’s and Glyn’s movements of recent months. On our way early next morning and, after wilting languidly in a perpetual swathe of perspiration through the Red Sea, we arrived in Suez early one morning (16th or 17th). I had quite thought there was no chance of getting in touch with Ken, because I found I had previously sent his address to Mother, thinking I had another, and moreover, I had no idea where he was, except somewhere in the Canal Zone.