Some Sunny Day Read online

  ‘It is vital,’ said the sister demonstrating how to seal the nets, ‘that you ensure the curtains overlap because you can catch malaria from just one mosquito bite and could end up carrying it for the rest of your life. Once the curtains are overlapping make absolutely certain the bottoms are well tucked in.’

  A smile crossed Madge’s face as she suddenly had a vision of a sari-clad Sister Crowley at Stoke Mandeville telling her, in that lovely Irish brogue, to make sure the sheets were very firmly tucked in. Also that there was a right way and a wrong way to make hospital corners ‘and then there is my way!’ she would say.

  At breakfast the contingent were all lined up, given a series of injections and a few hours free to recover. As they walked away from the clinic Madge said to Vera and Phyl, ‘I’m used to being the one carrying out the injections, not having someone else stick needles in me.’

  ‘I know,’ Phyl agreed. ‘I’m not sure that nurse had the best bedside manner either. She practically stabbed me with the syringe!’ she laughed, as they all rubbed their sore injection marks.

  That afternoon they were officially greeted by the Governor of Bombay’s daughter, Mary Colville, who cheered them up by saying that after the heat of Bombay they would find Kirkee a little cooler.

  ‘It’s almost two thousand feet higher and the humidity is nowhere near as bad,’ she explained. ‘Nevertheless, you will still find the heat a lot different from home. It takes a while to acclimatise, but you will get used to it over time and you’ll wonder how you ever coped with British winters!’

  Miss Colville, in her cream linen shirt-dress with short sleeves and blue buttons from the neck to waistline, went on to say that there were two reasons she felt great personal pleasure in welcoming the group to India. ‘The first is because you remind me of the days when I served as a VAD in Lanarkshire in Scotland. They are fond memories of mine. And the second is that the Kirkee military hospital in which you are based is where I also help, and it is desperately in need of more nurses. Your presence there will be greatly appreciated.’

  Because of the tremendous shortage of nursing staff Commandant Corsar’s VADs were given just three weeks to acclimatise, during which they worked one full day but otherwise only mornings. Considering the fact that newly arrived troops were given three months to get used to the new environment, Madge thought that was a pretty tall order.

  A few days after their arrival the nurses were ordered to assemble in the hospital grounds. Miss Jane Amelia Patterson, Chief Principal Matron, had travelled from New Delhi to inspect the detachment.

  ‘It is important to set a good example and show everyone that British nurses offer total commitment as well as hard work,’ she said.

  The smiling head of British nursing in India was in her fifties and instantly impressed Madge with her no-nonsense attitude when she told the VADs about her happy memories of training as a young nurse at Middlesex Hospital in London from 1913 to 1917. She also mentioned in passing that she had served in France in 1940. Her bravery in nursing on the front line at one of the most testing times for Allied forces during the war in Europe struck an instant chord with Madge. I’ll put everything I have into this, she vowed to herself, feeling in awe of this inspiring woman.

  After making a point of thanking everybody for volunteering, Miss Patterson explained that some of the postings would be lonely. ‘Feeling homesick is inevitable. It will take time to understand the new culture and language. So if you wish to be posted alongside friends, please let the authorities know.’ Madge, Phyl and Vera raised their eyebrows at one another. Miss Paterson smiled as she continued: ‘There are long hours and hard months ahead so be sure to enjoy every minute of the good times in Poona, which is about half an hour away and where you should head to for a night out or to do some shoppmg.’

  ‘I thought she was very impressive,’ said Madge as the girls went for tea and cake after the invigorating address. ‘She was modest and I liked her straight-talking honesty, and she’s obviously a very brave woman. I thought she came over as very compassionate too.’

  A few days later, the nurses were entertained at a dazzling formal Welcome Ball at Government House hosted by Sir John, Governor General of Bombay, and Lady Colville. There was a growing acceptance that the final years of the Raj were fast approaching but from the array of gowns and the glitter from numerous diamonds, sapphires and rubies adorning the wives of senior civil servants and army personnel, it would have been impossible to tell.

  The elegant saris and the natural beauty of the wives of senior Indian personnel sprinkled the ballroom with colour and glamour in what was almost a fairy-tale setting. Crystal chandeliers, an army band playing the most beautiful Viennese waltzes and torch-lit gardens under a full moon were part of the mystique. To add to the pomp and circumstance army officers were in their dashing formal dress, which featured gold-braided scarlet jackets and a red stripe down the side of their black trousers. But it was the VADs who stole the show. They looked splendid as they marched in together wearing their caps, aprons and dresses.

  ‘This is like being in a film,’ Madge said to Vera. ‘The music, the food, the beautiful gowns . . . Everything is so perfect.’

  Later in the evening several of the girls strolled onto the terrace of Government House for a breath of fresh air and a cigarette or two. Phyl had never smoked before but thought if there was ever a night to give it a go, it was this one. She nudged Vera, who raised an eyebrow as she passed her a cigarette from her engraved silver case. Phyl lit it and copied the others as they inhaled then exhaled the smoke through pursed lips. After coughing and spluttering for a few seconds, she decided to give up and stubbed out the cigarette. ‘It might look elegant,’ she said, ‘but I can’t see what the fuss is all about.’

  Once they were back inside they saw that they’d been bitten all over the back of their legs. The mosquitos weren’t their only problem, either. The humid atmosphere meant that Madge’s lipstick had melted and her skin felt like an oil slick. Madge, Vera and Phyl went to the ladies’ room to blot their faces with tissue.

  ‘I just can’t get rid of the shine,’ Vera complained. ‘I can’t look like this the whole time!’

  ‘Aha!’ An elegantly dressed older woman who Madge thought was probably an army wife overheard the conversation. ‘The secret is to use as little make-up as possible. Make sure your powder compact is full. And don’t make the same mistake all the others do when they first arrive. They love to sunbathe and think they look so attractive with a tan, but the sun will ruin your lovely peaches and cream complexions and you will end up a wrinkly old prune like me,’ she added, before returning to the party, leaving a trail of a faintly floral perfume behind her. The girls looked at one another, astonished and smiling at the encounter.

  When they returned to the grand room where the ball was being held the master of ceremonies announced that the next dance would be the last waltz, which prompted Vera to express concern that their gold carriage home would turn into a pumpkin on the stroke of midnight.

  ‘No need to worry about that,’ laughed Madge, ‘but I certainly can’t see any sign of four prancing white stallions either.’

  ‘We should be so lucky,’ chuckled Vera.

  Instead, the perfect end to a wonderful evening came when the same fleet of station wagons that had transported the VADs on their first night on Indian soil also took them back to Kirkee.

  ‘I could get used to a life like this,’ said Madge.

  The three girls pushed their beds together and sat up late into the night talking about the ball. They made a vow there and then to follow the order to enjoy themselves to the bitter end, and they would soon find that there would be no shortage of posh afternoon teas, cocktail parties, dinners and dances. Madge was particularly thrilled to be invited to the legendary Poona races, where the social elite drank their pink gins. Now that should be a fun day, Madge thought once she was finally in bed. I can see I’m going to enjoy myself here.

  Race day so
on arrived and as they walked into the main enclosure, a trinket seller with bright white teeth greeted Madge’s group with a beaming smile. ‘Welcome to the most corrupt race track in all of India, memsahibs!’ Madge couldn’t help laughing out loud.

  She looked around in wonder. The stands reminded her of cricket grounds in England, where there were impressive two-storey pavilions for the chosen few and everyone else was accommodated in what looked like open-fronted corrugated-iron sheds or simply on open-air terracing. Madge couldn’t imagine any event in England other than the Derby being simultaneously glamorous and boisterous in quite the same way. Ladies wore sweeping, full-length dresses, magnificent wide-brimmed sun hats and carried patterned parasols to protect themselves from the sun. Men wore ties and stiff collars even though the temperature was almost 90 degrees Fahrenheit and the humidity was touching the 85 per cent mark. The traditional Indian love of a flutter was reflected by the earsplitting cheering that accompanied the final furlong of almost every race. Even the fact that the girls didn’t back a single winner couldn’t spoil their day.

  The fun continued with a dance at the Forces’ Club in Poona, which started happily enough when Madge was introduced to Billy O’Gorman from Totteridge who, she soon discovered, knew her auntie Em as well as several other friends from back home.

  Madge had a wonderful time and danced so much she was glad to kick off her shoes when she got back to Kirkee Hospital. Her feet were killing her, but she admitted with a beaming smile, ‘This certainly is the life!’

  Be that as it may, Madge wondered one morning after another particularly enjoyable dinner that went on until the early hours if some of the girls had been overdoing things. They had arrived in India with golden tans that had been carefully nurtured in the sun traps of A Deck on the Strathnaver but she noticed that the healthy glow had been replaced in many cases by a delicate, slightly yellow pallor.

  ‘They’ve either got hepatitis or yellow fever,’ Madge said to Vera, then laughed as she added, ‘It’s either that or the effects of the mepacrine!’

  Everything suddenly clicked into place for Madge, who just two mornings earlier had been taught that one of the side effects of the anti-malaria drug they had all been taking since their arrival in Bombay was yellow colouring of the skin and eyes. She kicked herself for not working it out immediately. Perhaps she was the one overdoing things!

  With her time at Kirkee coming to an end, Madge began to wonder where her new posting would be, and if there would be any shops. Just in case they were heading somewhere in the back of beyond, she and Vera caught the hospital transport to Poona from Kirkee the next afternoon where they found they were spoilt for choice by the number of fashion outlets. There were the usual stalls in front of the many shops and they steered clear of the bazaar after being warned that in hot days it was ‘a little too smelly’. Instead they concentrated on clothes.

  ‘Well, this is a surprise,’ said Madge. ‘There seem to be quite a few shops selling dresses, and even offering to make them within a day or so.’

  ‘That is a plus,’ said Vera, ‘but it’s pretty grubby as well as being dusty. I don’t like the look of those bars, or those snooty colonial women in the cafes, but I suppose it’s best not to look a gift horse in the mouth.’

  It was the first time in years that Madge had been able to buy clothes and not worry how many ration coupons would be needed or if she had enough money.

  She and Vera entered the first shop they saw. Dazzled by the display, Madge stroked the multi-coloured silks, cottons and brocades. The turbaned shopkeeper told the girls to choose any item they liked from a battered old copy of a catalogue on the counter and it would be ready the following afternoon. Madge was tempted but opted for an off-the-hook, elegant blue and white striped piqué dress. She knew it would be perfect for afternoon tea parties, cocktails and dinners under the stars.

  Vera settled for a patriotic little number in red, white and blue and a pink suit for good measure. After a few minor nips here and tucks there everything was delivered to the hospital at Kirkee the following lunchtime by a man on a bike.

  ‘Girls back home would give their eye teeth for the chance to buy beautiful dresses at such prices,’ said Madge to Vera as they admired their purchases.

  ‘I know,’ Vera exclaimed. ‘Isn’t this heaven!’

  Fun as the social whirl of Poona was, it certainly wasn’t the reason Madge had volunteered to nurse in the Burma Campaign and, as the shine wore off, she began paying more attention to her morning nursing shifts at Kirkee Hospital. This was proving to be excellent practice for treating numerous diseases, many of which they would rarely have experienced in the UK. Malaria, yellow fever, sandfly fever and typhus were all included and Madge mentally thanked the young doctor who had lectured them about those very ailments so patiently on the Strathnaver.

  Madge was also increasingly interested in the demonstration sessions where the nurses dispensed TLC to wounded soldiers who hadn’t talked to girls from home for months and, in some cases, years.

  On the first Sunday in September, little more than two weeks after first treading on Indian soil, there was another reminder of the problems people were facing back home when a special service was held to commemorate the fifth anniversary of the outbreak of war. Madge had been to church both Sundays since her arrival in Kirkee, but found this service the most moving because it reminded her of the day she and her sisters had run home in terror and hidden under the dining room table after Dover’s air-raid sirens were tested. She found the similarity to the Wesleyan service back home in Dover of great comfort.

  The days soon seemed to blend. Mornings were spent working on the wards at the military hospital in Kirkee, and the afternoon eating a small lunch, sunbathing or playing tennis and then taking afternoon tea. Early evening cocktails were a must before dinner or a dance. It all became routine, until the girls were finally given the information they had been so impatiently awaiting for days.

  ‘Apparently we leave on Monday,’ said Madge. ‘As in Monday the eleventh of September.’

  ‘That’s a surprise because it’s only Wednesday today and we have plenty of time to arrange farewell dinners and things,’ said Vera.

  ‘I thought they would tell us just forty-eight hours before we go, like they did when we left Baker Street,’ said Phyl.

  ‘It’s a shame all this fun is coming to an end,’ said Madge, ‘but I have to say, I’m actually really quite keen to get back to serious nursing.’

  ‘Me too,’ Phyl and Vera both said at the same time.

  Madge was told that she would be going to an Indian General Hospital, or IGH, in Chittagong and the best news was that she, Vera and Phyl would all be together. The bad news was they hadn’t a clue where Chittagong was.

  ‘I suppose we’ll get used to not being told things in case we divulge information which we haven’t the slightest knowledge of anyway,’ said Madge.

  ‘It reminds me of that song which goes something like “You’re in the Army Now”,’ said Phyl.

  To complicate matters further army security experts had lectured the VAD group about how important it was to be aware at all times of not participating in careless talk, because within a short time they would be nursing in hospitals dealing with casualties from the Burma Campaign. The nurses were instructed not to ask questions, under any circumstances, about where injured soldiers had been or what they had been doing. That was all well and good but the lecture left the Stoke Mandeville trio too worried to even ask where Chittagong was or find out how long it would take to get there. So they gave up trying to piece together the puzzle and instead concentrated on preparing themselves for what lay ahead. As departure was not scheduled until the following Monday it meant they had plenty of time to organise those all-important farewell drinks and give their cases and trunks a good dusting down.

  When the Sunday morning before departure came round, Madge went for a walk, had a couple of lunchtime drinks at the Boat Club and spent the afterno
on packing because all luggage was to be collected by 5 p.m. That meant she could write to Mum, Doris and Doreen, wash her hair, get that new dress out and look forward to dinner at the Ordnance Club for the last time. Unfortunately things didn’t quite work out that way because instead of romantic, farewell dinner dates under a starlit night, or an evening of partying with friends as Madge had planned, every single one of the 250 VADs who caught that train at King’s Cross station back in July were confined to barracks on the Sunday night.

  The girls were hit with a stark realisation – the party was over.

  10

  Chittagong, Here We Come

  If ever there was a reminder that the good times were over, it came when the Bombay Monday morning rush hour slowed to a crawl and then a halt when a sacred cow ambled into the middle of the road. The 1,500-mile journey across India from Bombay to Chittagong by bus, train, lorry and boat started for Madge with a 7 a.m. breakfast of her favourite scrambled eggs on toast. Roll call followed at 7.45 a.m. in the relative cool of a cloudless September morning at Kirkee Hospital and at 10 a.m. coaches arrived to take the VADs to Bombay.

  The nurses disembarked from their ramshackle fleet of coaches along with more than 500 cases and trunks at the magisterial Victoria Terminus. The Gothic station was originally named Bori Bandar in the 1850s but was redesigned, rebuilt, renamed and re-opened in 1887 for Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee after becoming the most expensive building to be erected in Bombay.

  The magnificence of the station took Madge’s breath away. It looked unlike any of the stations back home – a splendid, mock-Gothic building complete with gargoyles. Inside, huge volumes of commuters crowded the concourse and platforms. Outside, disabled and deformed beggars bowed constantly as they held out withered arms and hands and homeless vagabonds slept soundly on pavements in the morning sun. The station seemed to epitomise the polarised wealth and poverty that Madge had seen so far in India.