Some Sunny Day Read online

  17

  Christmas in Chittagong

  Matron Ferguson had made it clear from the start that all her VAD and QA (Queen Alexandra’s Royal Army Nursing Corps) sisters would be working on Christmas Day. The boys in the wards had to come first in all circumstances. Madge didn’t mind; the girls had been planning a good old-fashioned British Christmas since November. In a strange way Matron’s edict was comforting for Madge and Vera, who had looked at each other in amusement when they had heard that Christmas for nurses had again been cancelled. It reminded them of their time as trainees at Stoke Mandeville when Sister Crowley terrified even the doctors into making an appearance on the big day.

  We’re in a different hospital in a different country and on a different continent but it is still the same for us nurses, Madge thought, when she had a closer look at the rotas pinned up in the mess hall. But she was so surprised that she had to look again. Her night duty had been due to begin the day before 25 December, but she had been put on the early shift from the morning of Christmas Day.

  ‘You know what that means?’ she said to Vera. ‘I can see Basil in the evening after all, and the way the days fall, we’ll also be able to go out for dinner on New Year’s Day for his twenty-second birthday.’

  ‘Forget his birthday, you still haven’t told us how you got on at the dance he invited you to at the Movements mess,’ said Vera, who was shushed as the Christmas planning meeting started. A little present for each and every patient was suggested, but ruled out because the number of troops arriving and those leaving varied enormously from week to week. A Christmas card each was vetoed for the same reason and Vera’s idea of having ‘a hamper or two sent over from Fortnum and Mason’ got the response it deserved. Eventually they agreed that Phyl’s suggestion of an English roast for Christmas lunch would be a treat above all else. They decided that the menu would be discussed with the kitchen staff to guarantee a meal that would remind one and all of home.

  Roast beef was vetoed because of the upset that would be caused if a sacred cow suddenly disappeared, and nobody had even seen a turkey since they arrived in Chittagong. Madge pointed out that there seemed to be large numbers of scraggy-looking chickens scratching around the grounds. ‘What about roast chicken with bread sauce, roast potatoes and plenty of veg and gravy?’ she suggested.

  56 IGH treated all nationalities and religions together but there were concerns that Hindus and Muslims might be upset by the celebration of a Christian religious festival in the wards. However, Sister Blossom pointed out that there had not been a problem over Christmas when she had worked in similar hospitals. ‘The main thing is to make sure all the patients have a good time,’ she said.

  With the next nurses’ shift approaching rapidly the mini-meeting broke up. On their way down to the basha wards, two of the hens that had been earmarked for Christmas dinner wandered across the path in front of Madge and Vera, which made them both chuckle.

  ‘They can cluck, cluck, cluck all they like,’ said Vera, ‘but they will still be ending up in the pot. Now come on, Madge, how did that dance go?’

  That was as far as the conversation went, however, because as they approached the main entrance there, larger than life, was Matron Ferguson talking to one of the doctors, so the two young nurses just smiled and went their separate ways.

  ‘Sorry for the delay over telling you about the dance, Miss Nosy Parker,’ smiled Madge when she sat down with Vera for a quick lunch later in the day, ‘but I’m sure you will be delighted to hear that it was a wonderful evening with really nice food, lots of dancing and some first-class singing.’ Madge described how the men looked very dashing and the ladies had made a special effort as well.

  ‘The singing, at first, was quite low key,’ said Madge, ‘but then a table of very happy gentlemen set the tone with a rousing rendition of “Rule Britannia” and everybody got to their feet to join in the chorus. Then there was “Land of Hope Glory” which, oh Vera, it was so moving; there was a lady soprano who wouldn’t have been out of place at the Royal Opera House who sang a verse on her own, and then came “Jerusalem”. I just felt so . . . patriotic. And Basil loved every minute too,’ she added, with a sparkle in her eye.

  ‘We had a nightcap by the bar and one of the senior officers told us that he had been waiting at Alipore airport for a flight back to Chittagong when he met an RAF ground crew who were determined to make the most of being stuck overnight in Calcutta, and one of them joined him for a drink – a delightful West Country character called John Giddins.’ Madge told Vera how the previous evening Giddins, an electronics and radio specialist, had been turned out of his bed along with other NCOs (non-commissioned officers) of each trade and told to be ready with small kit, minimum spares and toolkits for a 6.30 a.m. start, because the squadron was relocating from Ceylon to a strip near Imphal, northeast of Calcutta. The gear was duly loaded onto a Dakota, which had arrived at twilight the day before, and with minutes left to take off the pilot ordered one last check of the aircraft. Everything got the thumbs up until the pilot, who was bursting for a pee, opened the toilet door on the plane only to be confronted by a snarling beast, which was far from amused at having been locked in the loo rather than being taken for his usual early morning walk. The shocked pilot was even less amused, slammed the door and ran down the plane yelling that there was a leopard hiding in the thunder box and he wanted the animal shot.

  But Giddins calmed things down by explaining that the months-old cub was the mascot of No. 17 Squadron and was a much revered and very well-behaved young chap, who simply loved having his ears and tummy tickled as well as being given a bottle of milk and a cuddle before bedtime. The official version was that the leopard would die if it was left behind when the squadron relocated from Ceylon. Unofficially the shocked pilot was told ‘There is no way this f***** plane is taking off without him.’

  ‘It’s quite true, Vera! I saw a photo!’ Madge said as she saw Vera looking at her in disbelief. She went on to tell the rest of the story.

  The cub had been adopted as a mascot by the No. 17 Spitfire Squadron when they were based in the north of Ceylon after he was found yowling for his mother by a lake. When she failed to appear the off-duty pilots took him back to the aerodrome and, after lengthy discussions involving many beers, agreement was finally reached to name him Bagheera, after the leopard in Rudyard Kipling’s The Jungle Book. In spite of chewing a very large hole in the arm of the CO’s favourite chair and bursting the one leather football on the base, the leopard became a pampered addition to the squadron.

  ‘There is a happy ending to this story,’ said Madge, ‘because once the flight landed, dear little Baghi was chauffeur-driven straight to Calcutta Zoo. They neglected to mention that Baghi got overexcited in the mess and had a little nibble at the leg of a punka-wallah, who had to have ten stitches,’ she laughed.

  ‘It was such a funny end to an amazing evening,’ continued Madge, ‘and all the singing earlier gave me an idea. I think that once everybody has been fed on Christmas Day we should get as many of the patients as we can out into the sunshine and sing a few carols for them. The boys will surely want to join in and it will cheer them up no end.’

  Madge at times felt frustrated that the nurses knew so little and were officially told even less about how the Allied effort to chase the Japanese out of Burma was progressing. There were rumours and eye-witness claims that Lieutenant General William Slim was flying in and out of Chittagong to see the front line for himself, and even suggestions that Lord Louis Mountbatten had been spotted.

  It wasn’t until a Royal Engineers sapper, Samuel Laughton, was brought in with a nasty, smelly thigh wound that Madge heard first-hand news. Experienced as she was with combat injuries, Madge still grimaced at the putrid odour of the pus as it began to ooze from the wound and knew instantly that it had all the hallmarks of full-blown gangrene. Fortunately a doctor was on hand and, after confirming the diagnosis, told Madge, ‘This looks like another one for the new drug.’<
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  ‘Will I lose my leg?’ Samuel asked when Madge returned from the pharmacy with a syringe and the medicine.

  ‘Your recovery could take some time but hopefully not,’ she answered with a smile. ‘This new drug, penicillin, has been working wonders for similar injuries.’

  After a series of injections the sapper, as Madge had hoped, began to recover and he was delighted to be told that because the infection had been caught in the early stages surgery had been avoided.

  He then started talking about returning to his unit because he had been near Maungdaw in the Arakan when Lord Louis Mountbatten had ‘appeared out of the blue’.

  ‘I’ll never forget the way Lord Louis cheered everybody up,’ said Samuel, who, Madge noticed, had very precise diction and sounded almost as if he was reading a BBC newscast.

  It was part of a tour of the front line that the Supreme Commander of SEAC was undertaking. ‘He told us that the major difference between Allied troops and the Japanese is that the Japs wished to be killed in battle because it is the highest honour they can achieve. Lord Louis told us, “I hope you give them that pleasure.” He also said that we shouldn’t think of ourselves as the Forgotten Army because the real truth is, nobody even knows we’re here!’

  Madge always admired patients who were keen to return to their units and hearing that the Allies were relentlessly driving the Japanese south also gave her a boost. All the more reason, she thought, to make sure that the boys in the wards are treated to the best Christmas Day we can put together. The odds were on the weather being sunny but slightly windy, so there was no reason why the patients couldn’t be brought out onto the ward verandas.

  The forecast was certainly accurate, thought Madge, as she woke on the first Christmas Day morning she would be spending without Mum, Doris and Doreen. The good thing was that there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but she was slightly worried about the wind because squalls could blow up in next to no time from the notoriously fickle Bay of Bengal and that would be the last thing they needed on today of all days. It’s going to be strange enough spending Christmas in this heat for the first time, Madge told herself.

  At home the family tradition had been for everybody to open their Christmas presents after breakfast, until Mum and the girls moved from Dover to High Wycombe and Madge started at Stoke Mandeville as a trainee nurse. Then Mum ruled that presents would only be opened once her eldest daughter had arrived home from the hospital, whether she was on days or nights. Just thinking of the fun of unwrapping beautifully parcelled gifts made Madge feel a little weepy. That there had been no mail from home since the first week of the month didn’t help either.

  Madge’s early morning gloom was instantly lifted, however, when the sound of footsteps thumping on the veranda of her basha was followed by a tuneless version of ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’ that came bellowing through the doorway. It was Vera, of course, as full of vim and vigour as ever as she issued a simple instruction, ‘Time for us to go for breakfast, bonnie lass!’

  Sister Blossom was already on duty in the nurses’ mess when they arrived, but waited until they sat down before she smiled at them. ‘A little surprise for you both.’ Madge and Vera couldn’t believe it when Blossom lifted a cloth off the tray she had brought over to them to reveal two bundles of letters from home tied in beautiful pink bows.

  ‘Please forgive me,’ she said, ‘but I have been keeping your letters as a special surprise for you to open on Christmas Day.’

  Both girls were so moved at Blossom’s thoughtfulness, as well as relieved that their families were OK, that they stood up and gave her a great big hug.

  Vera had insisted on an early breakfast rather than the usual last minute hurry-scurry for tea and a slice of toast and a race down the hill so they both had time to open their Christmas letters. Madge was touched to discover that in addition to three from Mum, there was a card from Auntie Beatrice in Dover and another from all the girls on Tommy Kilner’s plastic surgery team at Stoke Mandeville. Of the three letters Madge received from home it was the one telling her what was going to happen at the family home in High Wycombe on Christmas Day that interested her most.

  ‘You’ll never guess what Mum and the girls are having for Christmas dinner,’ she said to Vera. ‘Roast chicken, just like we will be here.’ Mum said that the special treat was all down to Doris, who was getting on really well at the farm in East Grinstead where she was now working for the Women’s Land Army. The chicken as well as a dozen fresh eggs were her Christmas bonus and she was planning on carefully bringing the lot back to High Wycombe. Madge’s mouth watered as she imagined what Mum would cook up for pudding. A Victoria sponge, gingerbread or maybe a fruit crumble!

  She heard that Doris had been boasting that the man who owned the farm was very pleased with the way she had fitted in and said that she had green fingers.

  I told her there was a simple answer to that one: Try washing your hands more often.

  The gentle family humour made Madge wistful and she wondered if she should tell Mum and her sisters about Basil, but decided it was all a little too early. There’ll be plenty of time for that in the new year, she decided.

  The first thing Madge noticed as she walked down the hill after breakfast was a great big ‘Happy Christmas’ sign in front of one of the basha wards. She wondered where on earth it had appeared from. Big Arthur, one of the hospital guards, soon answered that question as he marched past on his rounds, gave her a cheery wave, and said, ‘All the best, Madge. Do you like the greeting that me and the lads have been working on?’

  ‘Nice, very nice,’ replied Madge, although she saw that it had been placed outside one of the Indian wards where she would be nursing through the day and she worried about what the patients might think. She soon saw that there was nothing to worry about; they were also looking forward to the day and wanted to know all about it. I know just the man to answer all those questions, Madge thought to herself.

  Reverend John Davies arrived just before lunch, having visited other patients earlier in the morning and following that with a morning church service. Behind the scenes he had also been working to ensure that everybody, regardless of race, creed or colour, had a special day and happily helped out in the BOR ward where a special Christmas Day curry was to be served alongside the roast. He had also managed to acquire a few tins of Christmas pudding that were particularly appreciated.

  There was a short but moving service after lunch which, as part of Reverend Davies’ policy of involving as many people as possible, included the reading by a lance corporal from the BOR ward of ‘A Christmas Prayer From the Trenches’. The first verse ensured instant attention:

  Not for us may Christmas bring

  Goodwill to all men and peace;

  In our dark sky no angels sing,

  Not yet for the great release

  For men, when war shall cease

  The little group of VAD nurses had put considerable effort into ensuring that everything would go smoothly and Madge was so pleased to see just how many patients sat on the veranda of the basha wards to listen to a carol concert in which the girls would, with the help of the Rev, get everyone singing. The nurses had been told by Matron, in the most diplomatic manner possible, to enjoy the day but not to let things overrun ‘because there is a war on and there are a lot of very poorly patients who need your help’. They were nervous enough anyway until they looked up towards the big house and smiled when they saw Big Arthur, officially on guard duty, pushing the sapper with the damaged thigh towards the gathering in a rickety old wheelbarrow.

  ‘He said he had never been in a governor’s residence before and wanted to see that big ’ouse for himself,’ explained Arthur as he picked the soldier out of the wheelbarrow like a baby and placed him gently into a chair on the veranda.

  The schedule took another hit after a heavily bandaged Sikh told the Reverend how he had stood outside a church as a little boy and heard the congregation sing a hymn about ‘Onward Christi
an Soldiers’ and did he know the words.

  ‘I think I may actually do so,’ nodded the smiling Padre and he was soon leading everybody in a rousing version of the English classic.

  The girls were in their full VAD uniforms. One had a smear of blood on her apron. Another had done a remarkable job in camouflaging the after-effects of a soldier who had vomited his breakfast, but they still looked as striking as they had at the Governor’s Welcome Ball in Bombay back in August. To get everybody in the mood they started with ‘Jingle Bells’ and then followed that with ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’ and ‘Come All Ye Faithful’.

  In between hymns Madge leaned towards Vera and whispered, ‘This all seems to be working quite well.’ As she turned to look at her friend she was surprised to see a little tear rolling down her cheek.

  ‘Yes it is,’ said Vera, smiling through her tears. ‘It makes me feel so very proud just to be part of all this.’

  The temperature was still pushing towards 80 degrees Fahrenheit even though it was almost the end of December, but in spite of dripping with perspiration the nurses sang on and on and were boosted by the wonderful choral response of some very poorly patients. What they didn’t know was that the Reverend Davies, who had become accepted as a ‘holy man’ to Gurkhas of the Hindu and Buddhist faiths as well as Christians, had been secretly working hard behind the scenes to help make sure that everyone enjoyed the day. The result was that he delivered the most entertaining little surprise that in reality was a master stroke of religious diplomacy.

  The nurses had been enjoying cold drinks during a short break when the Rev mischievously asked, ‘Does anybody know what all that noise is about up at the big house?’

  ‘I hope there’s not a problem on a day like this,’ Madge said to the Padre.