Some Sunny Day Page 15

  ‘Hello there,’ said Madge, feeling slightly shy all of a sudden.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Basil replied with a brief smile, before turning back to his papers. The sleeves of his khaki shirt were rolled up to the elbows and even though it was late on what had been a sticky, humid day he still looked neat and tidy with barely a hair out of place. Madge also noticed a natty, Clark Gable-style moustache. All very impressive, in fact, except for one thing.

  He didn’t even rise to greet me, the cheeky so-and-so, Madge thought. She collected her stamp, declined Mac’s offer of a drink once again and hurried off to post her letter.

  Madge was so busy that she barely thought anything of the encounter until a week later when she went to collect her mail and discovered a letter without a stamp. What on earth is this? she wondered.

  Captain Lambert had written a charming apology and invited her to join him for dinner. Madge considered it. He was incredibly rude when we met, but then he wasn’t bad looking, and I don’t have anything better to do so I might as well.

  She wrote a short note accepting his invitation and asked Ahmed, her bearer, if he would be so kind as to deliver it to the small brick hut which Captain Lambert shared with Mac. There was also a letter for Mac, thanking him for being such a gentleman. Not only had he refused to accept any payment for the stamp, but because it was such a dark night he had also insisted on escorting her back to the hospital.

  Vera once laughingly told Madge that she had broken hearts from the moment she boarded the Strathnaver on the Forth of Clyde to the time she arrived in Chittagong. Along the way, in the mad social whirl that was Poona, she had been invited virtually every day to the grandest afternoon teas, sophisticated cocktail parties and glamorous, moonlit dinners. There were dates by the dozen, but the flirtations, however enjoyable, had been entirely fleeting.

  The upcoming date with Captain Lambert, however, was different. The coconut oil was left on for an inordinate length of time when she washed her hair the night before. The piqué dress from Poona was taken from the wardrobe and checked time and again and Ahmed was asked to make sure her favourite shoes were free of creepy crawlies and the mould that gathered with such monotonous regularity in the humidity of Chittagong. She was even tempted to borrow some of Vera’s bright red Coty lipstick, then remembered the advice from that splendid old lady at the Governor General’s Welcome Ball about not wearing too much make-up in this heat.

  The growl of an approaching jeep alerted Madge to Basil’s arrival as she waited just inside the hospital gates and within seconds he stood alongside her looking rather handsome in his neatly pressed khaki trousers and long-sleeved shirt, his short light-brown hair swept to the side.

  He had previously warned her that, weather permitting, they would be dining on the veranda of a little cafe in Chittagong so long sleeves were important in keeping the mosquitos at bay.

  ‘Good evening, madam,’ he said with a bow that instantly made her laugh. ‘My name is Lambert. Basil Lambert,’ he continued, a cheeky grin lighting up his face. ‘Please step this way.’

  He helped her into the jeep and within minutes they were sitting in a secluded little cafe off the main road in Chittagong having drinks.

  ‘I’m so sorry about the other night,’ he said, ‘but by the time I got to my feet it seemed you were walking out of the door.’

  Madge realised very quickly that this was not just another moonlit date because within minutes they were chatting away like old friends. Even though they wanted to know about each other, it was their first date and both had been repeatedly warned about the infinite importance of security, so it simply wasn’t the time or place to ask how long they had each been in India, where their next postings would be and which units they were with.

  She decided to steer clear of anything on the military side and told him a little bit about her life at home instead.

  ‘So, I was brought up in Dover but after Dad died and war broke out I moved with my mum and my two younger sisters to High Wycombe, and that’s when I decided to become a VAD. With Christmas on the way I really miss Mum and the girls,’ she said. ‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘How did you come to be here?’

  ‘Well, in July 1941 my brother Brian and I got the train from our home in Woking to Surbiton, where we went to the local recruitment office and volunteered for active service. I signed up and was earmarked for the Middlesex Regiment, but Brian was rejected because he was only just seventeen.’

  ‘So what did you do then?’ asked Madge, who was full of admiration for the patriotism of a boy who had tried to join up straight from school.

  She was told that the brothers immediately took a bus to nearby Richmond where there was another recruiting centre.

  ‘Brian told them he had celebrated his eighteenth birthday in April and he was asked to sign on the dotted line straight away,’ said Basil.

  There were dozens of questions that could have been asked by a young couple under normal circumstances. However, with Burma some fifty miles away and vicious hand-to-hand combat taking place across the border the circumstances were far from normal.

  There was even a problem arranging a second liaison because Madge was due to start another spell of night duty and Basil, who told her he was in Troop Movements, was endlessly busy throughout the day, and often at night as well.

  ‘This evening just seems to be flying by,’ said Basil, ‘and it would be so wonderful if we could arrange to have dinner again.’

  ‘Of course we will,’ said Madge. ‘But I’ve told you lots about me. Are you going to tell me more about yourself? Or is it a secret!’

  Basil, who was due to turn twenty-two in a few weeks’ time, on 1 January 1945, was, in fact, part of an experienced group of administrators involved in the massive movement of troops and equipment that was taking place in the battle to drive the Japanese back south out of Burma. Because of the strategic importance of Chittagong thousands of troops and huge volumes of supplies were channelled through the most important railway junction in Bengal and for Basil’s unit the work went on round the clock. Madge listened attentively to the few details he was able to tell her, enjoying every moment of getting to know him better.

  Madge was normally asleep within minutes of her head hitting the pillow but that night she stayed awake into the small hours recalling the events of what she decided was one of the loveliest nights of her life. By the end of the evening, she mused, we were chatting away as if we had known each other forever! She had been far from impressed on their first, brief meeting but had soon realised that he was, in fact, a perfect gentleman. On her return to the table after a visit to the ladies’ powder room he had stood and eased her chair back in when she sat down. He had walked on the outside on pavements and always stood back to let ladies go first. Little things, Madge told herself, but they meant a lot and she remembered what her mum had told her – ‘You can always judge a man by his manners.’

  Most of all she played the scene at the hospital gates at the end of an enchanting evening over and over in her mind. Basil had bent in the moonlight to give her the sweetest of goodnight kisses that had left her saying with a wildly beating heart, ‘Your apology is accepted.’

  The following afternoon as Madge relaxed in the mess at the end of her shift she was called to the phone and it was Basil asking if she fancied a drive along the Bay of Bengal to a vantage point ten or so miles away where they would see ‘a rather splendid sunset’.

  ‘The only problem is,’ said Basil, ‘would you be able to bring one of your friends along to make it a foursome?’

  ‘Why, who is he?’ asked Madge.

  ‘Jim, an officer I know from our Movements unit,’ said Basil. ‘He’s a very pleasant person.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ promised Madge, after arranging a 6 p.m. rendezvous with Basil at the hospital gates.

  As Madge walked down to her basha Phyl suddenly appeared. She ummed and aahed when Madge asked her to join them on their evening drive.<
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  ‘Come on, Madge,’ she said, ‘I need a bit more information. Is he going to be dashingly handsome?’

  ‘I’ve never even heard of him before, let alone met him,’ laughed Madge. ‘I honestly don’t know.’

  On the dot of 6 p.m. Basil neatly parked a station wagon with eye-catching wooden panelling so that it wouldn’t block the main gates and alighted to introduce Jim, who was his commanding officer. Madge then introduced Phyl to the two men.

  ‘Lovely night for a drive,’ said Basil, ‘but the road will be greasy in places after that heavy rain early today.’

  He was ultra careful as he manoeuvred his way round a sacred cow that was happily wandering down the middle of the road and wisely pulled over and stopped as a convoy of army supplies thundered past heading south in the direction of Cox’s Bazaar, a key port in the confrontation with the Japanese.

  After thirty minutes he pulled off the potholed highway and onto a tranquil section of beach that was slowly turning from yellow to rose pink as the sun began to set. ‘For my next trick, said Basil . . .’ pulling a hamper from the back of the vehicle. Within minutes he and Jim had placed a rug on the sand, set up a makeshift picnic and passed around gin and tonics that looked so inviting in tall-stemmed glasses.

  ‘This really is gorgeous,’ said Madge an hour later as the rose-pink horizon flickered into a red haze when the sun set with remarkable speed. ‘Sadly it looks as if that is it for the night,’ she added and it became so dark that Basil switched on the headlights so they could see to pack the picnic debris away.

  ‘Thanks for that, boys, it was a really nice surprise,’ said Phyl.

  Madge looked over to see that Jim had got behind the wheel and was insisting on driving home in spite of Basil asking if he was sure it would be OK. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, I haven’t seen your name on the list of authorised drivers,’ he added.

  ‘Never mind about that,’ said Jim. ‘I’ll be fine! I think it’s time to go so let’s head off, shall we?’

  The clutch screeched in protest as he put the station wagon into gear. By now it was almost pitch black on a moonless night and patches of moisture glittered on the road in the headlights. One minute the girls were chattering happily in the back as the vehicle eased into what looked like the most uncomplicated of bends a couple of miles from Chittagong. Then all of a sudden there was utter chaos as it skidded on a patch of greasy road. Jim jammed the brakes on but that made the station wagon slither sideways. A front wheel caught a pothole and almost in slow motion the vehicle turned on its side and then rolled upside down.

  Madge’s heart seemed to stop momentarily. As soon as the car came to a standstill she looked across at Phyl, who seemed to be fine, but they were both trapped.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Phyl asked her.

  ‘I’m fine. Are you?’

  ‘I’m OK. But I can’t seem to get out.’

  Just then Basil appeared and somehow or other pulled both girls free. Madge realised then that there was a nasty smell of petrol and she was far from impressed when she looked over and saw that Jim was lighting a cigarette.

  ‘You surely aren’t intending to smoke when there’s such a strong smell of petrol, are you?’

  ‘That’s definitely not wise, sir,’ Basil said, then, turning to the girls, he asked, ‘Are either of you hurt?’

  ‘No, we’re both fine – just a few bruises,’ Madge answered.

  ‘Jim got a bit of a bump when his head hit the windscreen,’ Basil said, ‘but it was a minor miracle that we all escaped in one piece.’

  They set off walking towards Chittagong but had not gone far when they were rescued by two RMP sergeants on a routine patrol. As soon as they heard about the crash, the sergeants said they would organise to have the damage to the vehicle taken care of, after which it would be returned. They then offered to take everyone back to their billets. A chorus of grateful thanks was their reward.

  When Madge, who had finally got to bed in the wee small hours, explained over breakfast what had happened the night before, Vera said, ‘You are so very lucky. That’s another of your nine lives gone.’

  Sister Blossom, who had been let in on the secret that there was a new man in Madge’s life, could hardly wait a few days later to hand her the single item of mail addressed to ‘Miss M. L. Graves’. Madge saw that the envelope had ‘HQ Movements, Chittagong Area’ on the back but with Sister Blossom hovering on one side of the table and Vera snooping on the other she swiftly slipped it into her bag. Vera, however, couldn’t bear the suspense.

  ‘According to mess rules all invitations are supposed to be put on the noticeboard but if you show us what it is, we promise not to tell a soul about the new love in your life,’ she said.

  Madge just snorted at the very thought of Vera keeping a secret, but relented when they pleaded and told her she was ‘just being a meany and a killjoy’. With Vera and Sister Blossom on tenterhooks she delved into her bag, lifted out the embossed envelope and feigned indecision about whether or not she would open it.

  ‘It’s from HQ Movements, Chittagong Area, and it says this information is not for the attention of nosy parkers,’ joked Madge, who added that the invitation was from the Movements officers requesting the pleasure of the company of Miss Graves at a dance to be held at their mess. ‘Transport will be arranged on request.’

  ‘Sounds serious to me,’ said Vera as she leaned over to take the invitation to read for herself before handing it to Sister Blossom.

  ‘I’m thrilled that everything is pointing to a very happy Christmas for my favourite VAD,’ Sister Blossom smiled. But she was nowhere near as clearly delighted as Madge.

  ‘Calm down, young lady. You look like the cat that got the cream,’ said Vera.

  Madge had to keep her mind on the job, though, and when she reported for her morning shift she was invited by Matron Ferguson to take part in a briefing about a problem that was beginning to get out of hand. There were several other nurses in attendance. Madge looked around nervously.

  ‘A month previously Lieutenant Colonel Whittaker expressed concern at the alarming increase in numbers of Indian troops arriving at 56 IGH with venereal disease,’ Matron Ferguson said. She went on to explain that he had written to medical authorities in New Delhi asking if a specialist could be sent and the military police had done their best to help locally by closing several brothels in Chittagong, but there was still no reduction in the number of cases arriving at the hospital.

  ‘There have been major advances in the treatment of gonorrhoea in particular, with the treatment period being reduced from thirty days to just five. But as you know, we are still faced with problems in caring for them because as non-believers you nurses are not allowed to step foot in the VD ward to inject the infected patients.’ Matron did her best not to laugh when she added that further discussions had resulted in an agreement which involved a nurse standing, syringe in hand, at the entrance to the basha ward and completing the injection from there. In the dark!

  Madge was one of the first nurses to be rostered on this new system when it was introduced the following week. There were twenty-eight patients who needed to be injected with penicillin, the new wonder drug, so she waited until twilight and prepared the syringes and needles. Out of the blue there was a short, sharp rainstorm and by the time she got to the ward it was very dark indeed and a swirling wind was gathering in strength. The nursing sepoy who helped her carry the large volume of syringes and needles was also in charge of the one hurricane lamp.

  Madge had to hold back her giggles as the pair stood on the basha ward veranda, barely sheltered from the rain, as the stricken Indian soldiers came one by one to the door with their trousers hanging down. After being injected they returned to the ward. The wind became so intense it extinguished the hurricane lamp, whose pallid light had been far from perfect in the first place, but Madge stoically continued to administer the injections. Things went from bad to worse when she ran out of syringes and clean needles and
they had to make a mad dash back for supplies. Madge cursed herself. She was sure that she’d counted out the right number.

  A few days later Basil managed to get away from HQ Movements for a few moments with Madge over lunch, during which she explained the scene. She told him how bad the weather had been, how awful the sepoy’s complaining had become and that she had actually run out of syringes and needles.

  ‘The strange thing was,’ she said, ‘that the other nurses who were rostered before me also ran out of needles. It seems that however carefully the syringes are counted, there never seem to be enough.’

  ‘Perhaps I can help,’ said Basil. ‘The least I can do is check the number of patients and try to shed some light on this problem once and for all.’

  He could see that Madge was concerned, so that night he held the hurricane light as she carried out the injections. Everything was carefully checked and counted, but while greater love hath no man than one who holds a hurricane lamp as his beloved injects the bottoms of VD-infected soldiers, the number mix-up continued.

  ‘The only thing I can think,’ said Basil to Madge, ‘is that some of the earlier patients went back into the queue for another jab!’

  At the end of her stint on nights Madge was carpeted once again by Matron Ferguson and asked to explain the needle shortage.

  ‘I simply don’t know,’ said Madge, ‘unless some of the men were injected twice. But that doesn’t make sense either.’

  ‘It’s not as silly as you think,’ said Matron. ‘We got one of the nursing sepoys to pretend he was preparing medicine in the ward when the injections were actually taking place and he spotted what they were doing. It turned out there was a group of soldiers who made sure they were always at the head of the queue and once they had been injected they would run to the back and line up again. They thought that by having double the dose of penicillin they would recover in half the normal time!’

  Not for the first time Matron Olive Ferguson was smiling as she pointed to the door to dismiss a laughing Nurse Graves, who held up her hands, pleaded guilty and asked for these mitigating circumstances to be taken into account. ‘I’m afraid I find it impossible to identify bums in the dark.’