Some Sunny Day Page 10

  ‘It’s quite a contrast,’ Madge said to Vera. ‘Look at those poor beggars over there.’

  ‘I was told to expect the two extremes,’ replied Vera, ‘the haves and have-nots. But it’s still something of a shock.’

  Madge didn’t have long to ponder this, though, as movement control officers soon guided the VADs to the platform where they boarded an ambulance train and by the time the three girls had settled into their carriage they all agreed one thing – it was very hot and very sticky. Little did they know that the next four days it would only get hotter and even stickier. The train had two first-class carriages with air conditioning in the form of a ceiling fan, but the Stoke Mandeville girls, who had sailed in relative luxury on the Strathnaver, weren’t so lucky this time and they ended up in a compartment with only a window for ventilation. Just as they settled down a familiar head popped round the door and everybody burst out laughing.

  ‘Come in, Sally. Where on earth have you been?’ asked Madge. ‘We saw hardly anything of you in Kirkee.’

  ‘It’s a bit of a long story,’ she replied, ‘but can you put up with me again? I promise not to be a nuisance.’

  ‘Of course we can, we’d love to have you with us,’ said Vera, who slipped her shoes back on and started clearing space for the shy, lonely, but very likeable Sally. She added, ‘You’re a bit of a mystery, though.’

  ‘Not really,’ Sally said with an unhappy smile. The sadness in her eyes stopped Vera from asking any more questions.

  The carriage soon settled down again and the girls sat in silence for a little while. It was the first moment of quiet they’d had in weeks and Madge’s mind couldn’t help but hark back home.

  Phyl must have had the same thoughts because she asked, ‘Has anybody heard any real news from home? Not just happy family gossip, but how things are going in the push towards Germany?’

  ‘I’ve heard nothing,’ said Vera. ‘I wonder if London is still getting hit by rockets?’

  No one answered and Madge realised she didn’t have a clue what was going on in the UK either. She hadn’t seen an English newspaper for weeks, radio news reports were heavily censored and so it was like living in a news blackout. She couldn’t imagine it would be any better way out in Chittagong.

  There were Mum’s letters, of course, and, pulling them out of her handbag, Madge decided to pore over them once again to see if she’d missed anything. Not having much luck, she decided instead to take another look at the advice they had all been given in the original contract from the India Office.

  The first thing to catch her eye was a section on ‘Train Journeys in India’ which warned about the problems that can arise over tipping. The document said: ‘If you employ your own coolies to help with your bags, note their numbers otherwise you will get relays of coolies clamouring for pay, and you will never know whether you are paying the correct coolie or not. The usual pay for a coolie is one anna, equivalent to one sixteenth of a rupee, per journey and that figure is printed on their badges.’

  The next section made it abundantly clear that to leave a carriage unguarded was simply asking for problems: ‘Compartments have a lavatory and a shower or bath and a servants’ quarters leading off them. Should you leave the compartment empty at any station make the bearer sit in it to prevent theft or, alternatively, get the guard to lock it.’ Madge made a point of getting the girls to agree that whatever happened, be there a party, an invitation to drinks, a game of cards or a jolly little sing-song, at least one of them would be in the carriage at all times.

  The India Office also advised them to ‘Never use tap water under any circumstances to wash your teeth. Instead use soda water or boiled and chlorinated water, which is available at all station refreshment rooms and dining cars. The purchase of a thermos flask is suggested but never buy soda water from hawkers on station platforms.’

  At least the train had corridors so the girls could get some exercise by pacing up and down, but of far more importance was the fact that they had access to the toilets and washrooms. They weren’t exactly five-star but at least they could have a strip wash and freshen up for breakfast and dinner.

  Unlike many other girls, Madge never really tired of what the British army called ‘bully beef’ so she was happy enough when it was served on the train. Bully beef was actually corned beef, which her mother used to mix with mashed potato and onions into a corned-beef hash. Madge thought back to the happy days before rationing was brought in when there would be a lightly fried egg on top for each of the Graves sisters as an extra treat.

  Madge was more worried about the increasing heat which was becoming quite unbearable and causing real health problems aboard the train. Already there had been a mini-outbreak of miliaria rubra, more commonly known as prickly heat, which caused discomfort, particularly in the afternoons when the humidity seemed to be at its worst in India. Phyl had come out with the most awful rash, and with the sun blazing down from dawn to dusk, she was miserable with the discomfort.

  Vera sent a plea down the length of the train and thankfully a bottle of calamine lotion appeared which helped to ease Phyl’s blotches and raised spots. Prickly heat was a minor problem, but an early warning that life was about to change in the most drastic of fashions.

  Madge and her group had been told in lectures at their stay in Kirkee that they would find many people in India who either spoke or understood English. At best that was wishful thinking. At worst it was untrue because in a country with twenty languages and more than a hundred dialects English didn’t even come second. Much emphasis was placed on the need to respect and understand the beliefs, traditions and dietary demands of a number of religions. Hinduism, Madge learned, was the dominant faith, followed by Islam, Sikhism, Buddhism, Jainism, Parsee, Urdu (taught to the British) and numerous regional creeds. Plus, of course, Christianity.

  The Indian caste system and its infinite number of modes and traditions was simply too complex for newcomers to even begin to comprehend. But a delightful Indian nursing sister, who accompanied the group as a liaison officer, informed the girls that there was always one solution to the problem.

  ‘That solution is patience, dears,’ she told them. ‘The ways of the people out here will seem strange to you, but you must remember that it is their country and you must integrate as best you can. They have what might seem to you very odd beliefs regarding food. For example, you must never ever allow your shadow to fall on food, and be aware that many Hindus do not eat beef as they believe the cow to be a sacred animal and treat it with the utmost respect. Cows are incredibly gentle creatures, and as they produce milk, which can in turn be made into butter, ghee and cheese, you can appreciate why they are so revered. Cow dung is also used as a fertiliser. But, ladies, that is just one of the many ways in which Indians have ideas that are quite different. The best way is to observe and learn and soon you will feel right at home.’

  Gertrude Corsar’s VADs were urged to practise and preach extreme levels of hygiene and were repeatedly informed before the journey to wash their hands after even the simplest of meals. So when one of the nurses popped her head into Madge’s carriage and said that a very large and bold rat had been seen scuttling along the corridor everybody simply burst out laughing, after an initial chorus of ‘ooh’s and one or two music hall squeals of mock horror. Madge was particularly amused to see that the tea they had been enjoying so much was boiled in a giant urn into which the stewards slopped a grubby old jug to fill the teapots. She couldn’t imagine what Miss Corsar would have thought about the way things were washed up.

  Throughout the journey nobody was allowed to step off the train even though they stopped at least once a day to refuel the steam-driven engine. The train belched so much smoke and grit over the carriages that to leave a window even slightly ajar meant a cabin full of choking fumes.

  Three days into their journey, they thought things couldn’t get worse but they were ordered to keep the window blinds drawn for the next thirty-six hours until the
train arrived at Howrah Junction railway station in Calcutta. Initially the girls all thought the blackout was simply a way of keeping the heat down in the cabin by stopping the sun blazing in through the windows. When Vera pointed out there wasn’t exactly a lot of sunshine when it went dark, the penny dropped. It was a security measure, and a somewhat alarming one at that. Madge knew that since 1942 Calcutta had lived in fear of a full-scale Japanese invasion. They also knew that dagger-carrying ‘dacoits’ were known to swing into carriages from the roof. This had all sounded rather thrilling from afar but now the danger suddenly felt horribly real.

  After a four-day journey, the weary VADs arrived just outside Howrah Junction station at 2 a.m. Madge despaired at just how much further they would have to travel before reaching their allotted hospitals. As they awaited instructions while still aboard the train, Madge decided to take an early morning stroll down the corridor with Sally.

  ‘Just think how lucky we were that every one of us survived the week in London,’ said Sally thoughtfully. ‘We had a few close escapes, though, didn’t we?’

  ‘We definitely did. We were incredibly lucky.’ Madge nodded solemnly.

  ‘Did you hear about that group that were in Trafalgar Square,’ Sally went on, ‘when a doodlebug engine cut out? They hid behind one of the big lions as it crashed to earth just a few hundred yards away towards the Thames. I was over near Leicester Square at that point but even from there I saw huge amounts of debris flying through the air. I could barely believe it when I heard there’d been no injuries . . .’ Sally trailed off before holding her tummy and appearing to be in a bit of a hurry to get moving along the corridor.

  Surely that was the Sunday morning on our final day in London? Madge said to herself, and remembered just how calm the vicar had been when the grinding, throaty snarl of a doodlebug suddenly turned to deafening silence.

  Before Madge could ask if that frightening incident had been on the same day, Sally excused herself and literally ran to the toilet with an upset tummy.

  The train had been stationary for four hours and once it was light again Madge and Vera turned on their charm and the night orderly responded by bringing them cups of tea. But it was not until 9.30 a.m. that the train left the siding and pulled into a platform at one of the busiest junctions in the whole of India. Madge marvelled at the organised chaos that seemed to be par for the course at every station.

  A short while later some of the girls were packed into lorries which would take them to the Grand Hotel in Calcutta. The VADs waved one another off, and the girls laughed about just how long their colleagues were going to soak in the great big baths at this major hotel, but Madge couldn’t feel too envious. She knew their postings would range from hospitals in the north of Assam to the banks of the Brahmaputra River, and she couldn’t begrudge them even the tiniest of luxuries.

  Madge’s group had to wait a little longer and they sat on their trunks and cases in a tightly knit circle on the platform. After what seemed like a whole afternoon they were escorted to ambulances sporting giant red crosses and taken straight to the docks at Kidderpore where the SS Ethiopia was waiting.

  Evidence of the damage inflicted by Japanese air raids in which 350 people had been killed and hundreds more had been injured was still visible from the ship. A deckhand told the girls the Japanese had actually been trying to bomb the bridge across the river and pointed out gaps along the waterfront where warehouses once existed and buildings with blackened, fire-damaged walls stood forlornly. The SS Ethiopia eased down the Hooghly River, a tributary of the mighty Ganges, and along the coast on a voyage that would take three days before the VADs finally docked in Chittagong.

  Being aboard the SS Ethiopia reminded Madge of the good old days aboard the Strathnaver. Happily there was no need for destroyer escorts or Sunderland flying boats this time, nor was there the nightmare thump of depth charges in the dead of night. After her exhausting coast-to-coast train journey, Madge was delighted to be awakened the following morning by a knock on the cabin door from a steward who, bless his soul, was standing there with a pot of tea.

  But the best was still to come because after a really enjoyable breakfast she went for a stroll on deck without a life jacket or comical pith helmet and then took all the time in the world to indulge in washing her hair for the first time in days. The heat of the afternoon sun and a gentle breeze soon had it dry and Madge spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on letters home, writing an extra-long one to Mum who she knew would be anxiously waiting to hear about India.

  The sea was calm and the wind gentle as the SS Ethiopia chugged into Chittagong harbour, a frontline port at the mouth of the Karnaphuli River on the Bay of Bengal. Several VAD units headed for the railway station and further journeys, but for Madge, Vera and Phyl it was an overnight stay at the Women’s Forces Hostel, which was a short distance from their final destination.

  ‘What a lovely building,’ said Madge. ‘I reckon this was probably a colonial mansion in the good old days.’

  ‘Shame it’s out of town,’ said Vera. ‘It would have been nice to have a look at Chittagong before we actually start work.’

  That night the girls, tired as they were after their endless journey, still had the energy to accept an invitation to attend a dance at the Officers’ Club in Chittagong.

  A free day the following day turned out to be a godsend.

  ‘Let’s make a trip to the shops,’ Phyl suggested. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m after getting myself some trousers. I’m fed up being eaten alive by all these mosquitoes!’

  So off the girls headed, all managing to find some suitable trousers and lots of khaki ‘drill’, which they knew would keep them more comfortable. Tired as they may have been, they still found the energy to attend one more dance at the Officers’ Club. They were collected and then driven back to the hostel in time for the 11.30 p.m. curfew.

  The girls were up at 8 a.m. to prepare for the journey to 56 Indian General Hospital (combined), which was dedicated to nursing both British and Indian troops. After breakfast all the VADs’ luggage was taken away for delivery to the hospital, and later in the day the nurses were called forward and climbed aboard army transport. In the pouring rain, they huddled in the back of the lorries for what became the bumpiest ride they’d ever experienced. At 3.30 p.m. on 20 September 1944 the small convoy finally arrived in the grounds of the Governor General’s former residence in the town of Chittagong. Once the nurses had reassembled, a roll call was made, separating those for 56 IGH and other hospitals in the area.

  The nurses were greeted and made very welcome with refreshments before being shown to sleeping quarters in the main house. Madge, Vera and Phyl retrieved their luggage, had a quick wash and, as it was getting dark, went into the dining area for supper. They were so tired they decided on a light meal and then an early night.

  Their long journey was finally over.

  11

  56 Indian General Hospital

  The following morning the view from the veranda of the Governor General’s one-time residence reminded Madge of a beautiful old painting she had seen in a book as a child in one of Miss Radford’s history classes at school in Dover. The girls had just finished a delicious breakfast, but they were all keen to get out and explore. The lush green lawn was at its finest after weeks of rain as the monsoon season drew to a close and a multitude of bright red roses added grace and colour. To the left cows grazed happily in the morning sun. To the right a very bumpy pathway led down to a cluster of huts with thatched roofs.

  Sister Blossom, home sister of the nurses’ mess, had arrived to take them on a tour of the grounds. ‘Come on, girls, let’s get cracking. There’s lots to see!’

  The big house had been converted into the hospital’s HQ, with offices, sleeping quarters for senior staff, a lounge and dining facilities for all. The area around the house seemed to contain lots of small bamboo huts and the girls struggled to take it all in at first as they walked slowly down a pathw
ay still wet from the morning dew.

  Vera pointed out the pretty thatched roofs of the huts. ‘How nice it must be for the servants who live there.’

  ‘They are indeed very lovely huts but they are not the servants’ quarters. This is where you will be living.’ The girls looked at one another and raised their eyebrows. That’s not what they had been expecting.

  ‘How lovely,’ Vera whispered to Madge, who smiled in agreement.

  They made their way over to the huts, which were called bashas. The term, the nurses were told, was used by the British military to describe virtually any sort of living quarters. There were eight bashas split either side of a wide pathway. The bamboo walls supported a thatched roof, but there were no glass windows. Instead there were shutters which could be opened and closed by pulling on a rope.

  ‘Don’t forget to put towels on the floor below the shutters when it rains,’ Sister Blossom smiled. ‘And shake your shoes upside down every morning in case there’s some nasty creepy crawly hiding in them!’

  Madge shuddered.

  Sister Blossom showed each of the girls to their own basha. After so many months of being cooped up together, Madge was secretly quite relieved to see that she would have a narrow hut all to herself. The bashas were surprisingly long with a little chest of drawers alongside the single bed as well as a chair and a narrow wardrobe near the door. Madge noted with amusement that the bed wasn’t exactly made with Sister Crowley’s ‘hospital corners’ but it at least had a heavy-duty army mosquito net. She was particularly grateful for the netting because the previous night the mosquitos had made such a noise as they buzzed and bounced off the curtains that they had actually woken her up. Madge looked around with a feeling of contentment. I think I’m going to be happy here, she decided.

  Once they’d been shown their living quarters, the little group walked away from the bashas and further down the hill to the hospital, which had been built entirely of bamboo with a roof of interwoven palm leaves. Madge turned to look back and was surprised to see that a group of fully-armed Gurkha soldiers had appeared from nowhere. The first thing she noticed was that their khaki bush hats were held in place by a strap under the chin. Their black boots gleamed in the morning sunshine and their khaki shirts and knee-length trousers were ideal for the country’s cloying humidity. Over their right shoulders each carried a rifle, but it was their kukris that really caught the eye. Each curved Nepalese knife was almost eighteen inches long, enclosed in a sheath, and attached to the waist belt.