Joyce's War (22 page)

Joyce in India.

Taj Mahal, protected with scaffolding, 1943.

Train up to Darjeeling, 1943.

Joyce on her wedding day.

David Herbert Davies.

July 26th 1942

It is nearly a month since I wrote herein and most of what has happened is too unpleasant to record. We went to bed after the last night duty and left the day staff to carry on disembarking patients. About mid-day Mona came in with the mail, twenty or so letters, including several from Mother which, being lengthy, I always leave until last. There were several magazines and books from Mali including
Owain Glyndwr
,
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a selection of modern verse by Anne Ridler,
58
Virginia Woolf’s
To the Lighthouse
and two booklets about my beloved Wales. Dear Mali, how generous she is, and how I wish she wouldn’t do it.

There was great excitement too when the ADMS arrived and announced that four transfers had come through. Matron was definitely posted to Calcutta but she foolishly didn’t find out about the remaining three. However, we naturally surmised that they were for us and, when next morning we set off for Bombay for repairs, we faced the monsoon more or less light heartedly, thinking it would be our last trip. But when we did arrive we were horrified to hear that the transfers were for Isaacs, D’Silva and Gomes and there we were all packed up and nowhere to go except – ‘down to the seas again’.
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It was a real blow and it left us very flat and restless, more particularly as we sat out in mid-stream, awaiting orders to go to dock, daily, for about ten days. I took to my cabin one day and just didn’t emerge at all. I felt I couldn’t bear to see anyone. Matron did the same on another day. We’d all had quite enough of this ship’s atmosphere and were very nervy and fed up. To make things worse we had to turn out of our cabins and sleep in B Ward – like a lot of schoolgirls – and there was simply nowhere to go where we could get away from it all.

Worst of all, the CO informed us that Mona and I were wanted by the censor at the STO’s office. We were all assembled one morning and told that ‘someone’ had been found using a code and that henceforth all our letters had to be left open to be cleared by the ship. I know I had never sent any code by letter but I had sent some names in a letter which Captain Blanche delivered along with a watch to Mother, when he was called home. I couldn’t remember whether I had been indiscreet enough to mention something pertaining to it; I didn’t think it possible, but of course, I was, by this time in a state when I imagined all kinds of things. I was a little relieved, although sorry for poor Mona, when the CO told her that it was in one of her letters (sent back from Australia) that a code was discovered. He also murmured something about too much criticism of authority and administration. Well there would be plenty of that of course, but what business it is of the censor’s we couldn’t quite see.

We did get ashore eventually and were put up at the Women’s Services Club along Marine Drive for five days. I got through the customs with my radio and David and his brother and two other Indians spent a lot of time repairing it and wouldn’t accept anything for doing it at all. It is going well now, or it would if everyone shut down their fans but they won’t do that until about next January, I suppose. Anyway, it’ll be a great comfort to me in a mess, ashore. The interview with the senior technical officer proved less fearsome than we anticipated. Mine was simply in connection with a cable addressed to Bob in Karachi but Mona’s was certainly more serious but she explained that she’d never used the code and made a suitable statement and we all parted friends. He did say however that the reason that some of us were not getting airmail was because they were simply destroying them when they had an irregular address. It seemed very high-handed to me but, as I was more or less culpable at the moment, I didn’t say any more. Now that he has said so much, he is trying to deny the statement, realising I suppose that there might be trouble for someone if the matter was really investigated. Well, it is all behind us now and great is the relief thereof.

We went to a cinema every night that we were in Bombay, just for something to do. Then at the last moment, as it were, Mary’s transfer came through – to Colaba, which was just what she wanted as Kevin hopes to get a shore job soon.

There are five new staff, Miss Day, Miss Frith, Miss Easterbrook and Miss Milne (acting matron) and at the last moment, to replace Mary, they sent Miss O’Connor – a regular of some years’ standing who is really senior to Miss Milne. So we set off with two matrons all because of some glorious mess-up at headquarters. Miss O’Connor was soon out of the running with dysentery. The first three days were beastly, a nasty curl on the waves which affected almost everyone one way or another. I got off with a dull headache but Mona was rather seasick for a day or two. Then that ceased and we rolled into the Gulf. That was worse; it was about as bad as Massawa. We poured and poured all day and all night and we all felt much washed out as a result.

But we arrived yesterday, and are moored off the RAF jetty mid-stream. Danny came aboard about 7.30pm and later attacked the CO about our not going ashore. And what is more miraculous, he granted it. We dashed down and changed and got ourselves nicely into the motor boat, which was waiting to take us ashore, when it absolutely refused to move. We must have sat there for an hour, and being more saturated than I’ve ever been in my life, we decided to go up and dry off under a fan. After a long time Danny succeeded in getting another launch across and we picked up the car and called for Bob and Kathleen. After a drink at the Port Trust Club we went on home, but didn’t have long there as the launch was to pick us up again at midnight. It was good to be ashore in Basrah again and among friends. Today is mighty hot and we are not allowed ashore until 5pm. We embark patients at 5am tomorrow so it will be early rising for once!

We went alongside about 1pm and Bob sent a car around for Mona and me and we called at the office for him and went on to the Port Trust Club, where we met ‘Captain Smithers with the wonderful eyes’! I had a feeling going back to the ship that it was probably the last time I would set foot in Arabia. Well,
Vale Araby
with all your heat and dust and dirt and evil smells. There’ll be things that I shall remember when these are forgotten: the full moon rising over the date palms, the soft cool night air, and the broad swift flowing river with paths of golden moonlight shimmering in the black night. And other things to which one does not give words, words being unnecessary, I suppose.

Since Basrah it has been so hot and sticky that we literally ooze forth by day and by night. Through the night however, or towards morning, we left the intense heat and humidity behind and now we are rolling again – not a decent, clean sweeping roll either, rather nasty. Most of the staff are down, Nellie, of course, and Bill, and Miss Easterbrook. Mona makes hurried exits at intervals. I’m alright but sleepy and heavy. I went down to C Ward to help to serve the dinners: roast pork, large chunks of it and incredibly fatty – on a day like this! It was bad enough dishing it out but nothing would have persuaded me to eat it. We get in tomorrow morning, thank heaven. I love my patients but I hate this weather. The thought that I have to strengthen myself for yet another voyage nearly drives me frantic but Miss Milne comforts us with the assurance that our transfers will be awaiting. So roll on Karachi!

August 12th 1942

Bombay

We arrived after a four-day trip – very fast for this old tub (she’d been de-barnacled in the dry dock in Bombay). We went ashore that evening, Saturday, having heard that
How Green Was My Valley
was on at the theatre. We took a taxi into town to make sure of a seat, but alas it had finished the previous night after a two-week run. I could have sat down on the road and wept. We seem fated to miss it for some reason and just to make things jollier we found that we could not get in at any of the cinemas as they were all booked out. The town was seething with Americans and there was barely room to walk on the road, so we did a little shopping and retired to the Grand
café for coffee and sandwiches and gharry’d home.

We went over to see Mrs McGlashan next morning to arrange about mail and our shoes which have been gallivanting between Karachi and Bombay for months and we haven’t caught up with them yet. We went across again, taking Miss Milne with us to church and then to supper. It was arranged that we went over to tea on Wednesday which we did and we stayed for dinner; they are most kind to us always. They are simply unaffected and homely and we like them a lot.

Very little mail – two from Mother, one from Mona, two from Ken, one from Bob readdressed from Lloyds and another followed later. There is still another – much awaited – which remains elusive.

On Thursday we had sailing orders for Bombay. We knew we were going off soon but thought it would be ME. Well, it wasn’t. We took the BORs for the BGH, Karachi, and brought them down here to Colaba. They were all up and about and scatty and I did duty on alternate days which was not arduous. We are still here well out in the harbour, almost at Blipbanta, and it’s difficult to get ashore at all. Actually there has been no shore leave until today. Gandhi and Pundit Nehru and the leaders of the Congress party have been arrested and of course the expected riots have broken out. It would be unwise to go out after dark in any case, I suppose, as there has been a lot of shooting after dark but it is alright in the day. Anyway, it’s terribly dull on board stuck here, miles from anywhere and I want to go to the dentist while I am here.

There is some talk that we may go into dock for some days, while they fix up the air conditioning, once again. If so I suppose we shall be sent to the Services Club, which may give us time for our transfers to come through. There has been the usual muddle and Miss Wilkinson has informed Miss Milne that she is doing her best to arrange for our transfer back to the Middle East. Bless the woman. She only wants to please us, I suppose, but it’s all the CO’s fault as he should have mentioned in our second application that we did not want to return there. He knew so much but, as usual, proved himself to be wrong. Colonel Fitzgerald has been transferred – would that he had been twelve months ago. Major Ramchandani takes his place as CO: he is kind and amiable and human but I fear it is an unwise step to have given us an Indian CO. He hasn’t the standing or weight behind him – notwithstanding his goodwill towards us – and we fear the bridge, notably the chief officer, will over-ride him. Still he’ll be much better about shore leave than the late CO and the feeling that the ‘CO is aboard’ has completely gone. Miss Milne is a delightful little soul: most human and business like. She has just come in now with a letter from Miss Wilkinson to say she has sent out orders concerning Mona and me and that if ME doesn’t intervene in the meantime, we shall be taken off here and now, or so we hope. If I could be certain that our next trip was to Basrah and not to Suez I should prefer to remain for yet another trip despite the heat and seas. I am loath, really loath for each trip to be ‘really for the last time’ when I don’t know how long it is all going to be. Yet I know for my own peace of mind and sanity, I must get off this ship.