Joyce's War (11 page)

There are so many things I should like to have remembered, but they don’t really matter, only the remembrance that at some times one has helped. These are the things that no one can ever talk about, the trivial things, which surprisingly enough become permanent and add considerable sweetness to the days. If by some chance I should become a war victim too, and who can tell who may or may not be – I should hate to think my name was inscribed on a brass roll of honour – as though I were some heroine – which emphatically I am not, and should be perfectly happy knowing I had done my job according to my own standards – although they may be a little odd at times.

We had lunch with three Australians today, nice men: one from Queensland, one from Sydney and one from Donald in Victoria. They drove us back to the flats. They are flying to Cairo today and return here tomorrow – then back to Mersa Matruh and the dust and the sand storms. How they remain so cheerful these days, I can’t think.

May 22nd 1941

HMHS Karapara
27

The second phase has begun.

When we were dressing to go on duty last Monday, a note was sent up to Mona and me telling us to pack at once and be ready to leave forthwith on a hospital ship. We dashed up to the mess and were told that we would be required to go on duty until midnight. The ship was HMHS
Karapara
and Miss Scot-White was to be the theatre sister. The rest of the staff were being transferred except for the Indian girls who were in our mess pro tem. We felt rather numb about it all, especially Mona, I expect, as she didn’t even know that she was destined to come along too. I was distinctly annoyed, for various reasons which I shan’t be able to remember when I read this after many days so they’d be better left unmentioned. I hated the thought of leaving the men in Hut 7: Westacolt, Symmers, Stewart, Arnold, Haynes, Sarnham, Rigby, Hogg, Lautar, Browne, Downing, Sang and the rest. And in Hut 8 Piggott, Hooper, Johnstone, Davies and so on. In Isolation are Cornish and Cope and, more recently, my old friend General Merkovitch and his
Capitaine
. Sad indeed.

And the men were so sweet about it. I felt they really were sorry that I was going. I never felt a happier atmosphere in any ward I’ve worked in, no one could have been nicer to me – I loved them all. I left at midnight after having made a round of unofficial farewells. We had supper then and walked down the road in the Egyptian night, to the flats – for the last time for goodness knows how long. I wrote one or two letters and then went to bed, too weak to attempt any packing until morning. Then I was up fairly early trying to restore some order among many hundreds of trunks and cases and we had coffee on Mona’s bed, Beatrice being in commission for the last time. I left her behind
avec
saucepan. Then some of the night staff came up to say
au revoir
, including Teddy, Bedwell and Jockey, and we left by taxi for town about 10.30am, visiting Khan Khibil for some money and doing some last-minute shopping. A taxi back to the flats and then we went up to Fairhaven
for lunch or rather in order to see as many girls as possible who would be there for first and second lunches at that time.

I’d only been there about three minutes when I was told that Rochester wanted to speak to me on the phone. She asked me to go over to the ward for a few minutes as the men had something to give me and wanted to say goodbye. I was quite shaken about it as, of course, one never dreams of farewell presentations, on leaving a ward in wartime. But I had to go, very hot and bothered, and feeling totally undeserving and extremely minute. Pigalt was on his break when I arrived and they gave me the packet, which I opened. I was never so surprised in all my life to find a travelling clock of brown leather with my initials on the front of it: luminous, alarmed and eight day. A perfectly lovely clock – something I never dreamed I should possess. I could have wept, not so much for the gift itself and its worth, but for the thought that had produced it. Pigalt told me that he had gone round first with the thought of a modest box of chocolates, but they gave so liberally and willingly it grew to this. He was so sweet and told me in all sincerity, ‘You have no idea the esteem in which you have been held, Sister’. So I went around again, in my
boootiful
tricolene, blushing furiously and shaking hands and muttering some sort of thanks to all and sundry.

This is something that goes much deeper than having a mere present given to me. I know now, and I knew before that really, I had the real affection of every single man in those wards, although I was there only two weeks and could do very little for them at night time. And I knew, alas, that I’d rather have had just that than any RRC or OBE or empty glories of that nature. Well – it’s all behind me now with promises to look them up if ever we are anywhere near HMS
Ajax
,
Formidable
, and
East
… and all the rest, and promises to write. We probably shan’t – still it’s nice to feel that way about it at the time. We hated leaving Teddy, Bill and Lynnette and oh so many others we’ve been with for so long but thus it was and so at 3pm we scurried off for the taxi to catch the train at 3.45.

It was a long tiring last journey to Port Said. Miss Baldwin was with us – the ex-matron of this ship – and Hood, a New Zealand girl, who had only been on her for two months and was now posted to Helmieh and had to go back to the Ralapala to recall her baggage. We didn’t arrive in Port Said until 1.20am and then we were taken to the Eastern Exchange for the night. Next morning up betimes we presented ourselves to the RTO at 9am and then to the ship by launch. There she was well at the mouth of the canal, white and green with large red crosses on her – our future home for the ensuing six months, I suppose. We were taken to meet the CO and then on a tour of inspection around the wards and theatres. Quite nice really.

We have our own sitting room and the officers can come over the threshold if asked! We will dine together but at our own tables. The IMS girls join the ship tomorrow probably. We are waiting here patiently until we can get through the canal, until it is demined and the ships preceding us have gone their ways. It seems that six have moved through today, which means we may go through with the next batch unless Jerry decides to come and lay some more mines tonight. It is the sort of game that he plays – as soon as the coast is clear or almost clear and the ship all ready to move off, over he comes again to hold up the works. It appears that we may take 200 or more convalescent patients at Suez; anyway we are bound for Bombay where on arrival we shall lie in the dock for perhaps two months, for repairs to damage done in Tobruk this last trip. The ship was dive-bombed and had direct hits and has large holes through several decks and shrapnel holes through many of its walls. They had 500 patients on board, all of whom have had a really frightful time but got back to Alexandria on one engine, which will take us, we hope, to Bombay.

Mona, Scotty and I have quite nice cabins and there is an iron and ironing board and altogether we are extremely comfortable. Everyone has been most kind and helpful and I feel we shall be very happy here if the monsoons don’t lay us too low. The commanding officer and second-in-command, Major Duncan, are British IMS but the rest of the medical personnel are entirely Indian – Hindus and very charming men. The crew and all the orderlies are Indian, with the exception of two British orderlies, and the officers and the captain are British. Whilst in port we have to go to bed by candlelight and, of course, we are completely blacked out, so hurry on ‘orders’ so that we can sail all in a glitter of lights. What a day, or night rather, that will be! So now we have to think in rupees and annas, heaven preserve us, and it’s only a few months since we got used to piastres and milliemes.

Germany has been landing troops in Crete by parachutes from gliders, over 3,000 of them. Most of them, it seems, are out of action for some reason or another, but Churchill doesn’t belittle the business at all and says we must hold on to it at all costs. Perhaps they’ll turn us round and sail us for Crete. Who knows? How we shall miss letters – beyond everything.

Matron, Miss Tyndall, came up on deck about 11pm and seems very nice […]
28
She is Irish and has an excellent sense of humour, which will help considerably. We went ashore in the afternoon and had lunch at the Casino place opposite.

May 23rd 1941

The IMS girl plus Wright and Goodrich came aboard last night. And here we are at 3pm sailing up the canal, having left about 10.30pm and lying up for an hour further back. We shall probably tie up near Lake Timsah, Ismailia. Shades of our last leave. We actually saw the ship that we are now on at anchor when we were there and we even met Matron – Miss Baldwin – in a shop there. And we had our grey blouses on, which she said she admired very much!

It’s getting hotter. We have to have a typhoid inoculation tonight as it’s rather overdue.

May 24th 1941

Anchored in the Bitter Lake last night and we had to get up for an hour and a half for an air raid warning. We were very annoyed having our sleep disturbed last night and today is very hot. We passed Khartoum yesterday and I had hoped I’d see Jean or Enid among the bevy of beauties bathing on the beach. But didn’t. I gave them all a wave however, for the sake of old times. Yesterday, also, I was dressing for dinner when I heard from some desolate spot on the shore as we went by, ‘Spot any Aussies on board?’ I nearly leant out of the porthole and shouted ‘yes’ but hadn’t the energy. Such a barren and parched-looking shore on either side with outposts the whole length of the canal to watch for the parachutes that tell where the mines fall. The canal is 87 miles from Suez to Port Said and we have 27 miles to finish, today, I suppose.

May 27th 1941

Anchored in Suez now because we didn’t get away on Sunday as we had thought. After bringing the pilot on board and taking him off half a dozen times, we actually got underway. There were two danger zones where we went dead slow so as not to disturb the acoustic mines which it was thought were dropped here during the air raid two nights ago. I certainly heard a plane go over the ship that night. Once onto the canal we were safe enough and it was an amazing sight to see the wreckage of odd ships sticking out of the water. No wonder there is a muddle with the shipping: one unlocated mine in the canal holds up all the ships and sometimes for weeks. No-one could have any idea about such things unless they had actually been through and seen it for themselves.

We got into Suez the night before last, ships of all sizes and nationalities in the bay around us, including two destroyers and four other hospital ships –
Manunda
(Australian),
Tyreah
(British),
Manganni
(New Zealand) and the
Llandovery Castle
(British). We didn’t go ashore until this morning. Mona and I went across in the launch to Port Tewfik, ostensibly to see if we could get on board the
Manunda
, only to learn that she had sailed for Australia early that morning. So we went walking through the tree-lined street of the little port, a perfect day with flame trees and oleanders and frangipani. While I was admiring the flame tree, an Egyptian passing by came over and, grinning, said, ‘You like it Missus?’ And thereupon snapped a small bunch off and presented it to me and went on his cheerful way. It wasn’t his tree, of course. They are awful rogues these Egyptians but likeable often times.

We took on coal at Suez. It was a fantastic scene to watch in the evening light. The great barge, flat and still and low in the water, the natives seemed more incredibly filthy than anything one has ever imagined, clad in the most amazing collection of rags possible, each with a gleaming silver identity disc on his wrist, gifts of a grateful coaling company I suppose! Raking the coal into large raffia baskets on the floor of the barge, they hoisted them onto their heads and walked up a long standing plank to the barge’s side, then along the narrow ledge, their feet pattering over the sharp fallen coal and along another plank which led onto the ship’s hold, then down again to begin all over again.

It reminded me of something I can’t quite remember, a frieze, an old painting, a scene from an opera, even a ballet: the little ragged filthy procession, pattering endlessly up and down. It had a certain artistic effect, the odd colouring among the rags they wore, the quiet sky, the green oily sea and the great ships lying around at anchor. Not to mention the incessant chatter and screaming and arguing that went on among them every single moment of the many hours they were there.

May 28th 1941

Off again at 6am, bound as far as we know for Aden, but no patients thus far at least. Getting awfully bored.

The news is rather depressing this morning, except that the
Bismarck
has suffered the fate that she dealt out to HMS
Hood
. The Germans appear to be establishing a foothold in Crete although we are, it seems, sending reinforcements. The New Zealanders appear to be doing some counter-attacking but with what success it is difficult to ascertain yet. The king of Greece has escaped to Egypt. The Germans have forced us back a short distance at Sollum also. I hate the thought of moving away from it all with nothing to worry about: safe with every comfort. How I loathe it all … I never wanted to come on to a hospital ship and certainly not this one. Besides, it is very difficult indeed with prevailing attitudes to the Indian personnel. Well I suppose it will have to be endured for six months at least.

July 4th 1941

Bombay

More than a month has passed since I wrote herein. Now the first fine careless rapture – if there ever was one – has passed long since, and I expect lots of things have happened that I shall forget to record.

To return … we reached Aden on June 2nd: Aden with its grim barren cliffs and the sun pouring down relentlessly. We went ashore in a launch in the morning and I nearly passed out with the heat. We were told it was 125 degrees the previous day and it couldn’t have been much less that day. I bought some cotton material and made it into a frock on returning to the ship. Mona and I went ashore again in the evening with Bruce and Major Ramchandani to the open-air cinema. It was rather lovely sitting there with the starry black night above us and all around, high above the walls, the fascinating corrugated peaks of the mountains. The picture was an old one with Jack Colbert and pleasantly silly.