Joyce's War (15 page)

November 3rd 1941

It was my birthday on Saturday. Mona arrived with burning incense at 7.30am plus two parcels, one a little Peter Scott copy of
Brent Geese Flying in a Mackerel Sky –
lovely! And a set of most exquisite lace table mats. She is so extravagant, but it is no use telling her. Mary gave me a dear little pocket edition of Thomas à Kempis. During the course of the morning arrived letters from Ken, Mother, Mona, Glyn and Edna, and Bruce. I was so thrilled to think that they all arrived on the very day. And Ken’s included a picture of himself – a forerunner of a bigger and better one, apparently. This one however is splendid and I am delighted to have it. Mother, in St Andrew’s hospital, east Melbourne, appears to be slightly improved. I hope it is true and lasting. Some delightful stories from Bruce. Mona is happy in her camp hospital and, from an extremely minute snapshot, looks extremely nice in her uniform. Clwyd, it seems, is charmed with Port Moresby, although I haven’t heard from him so far since his arrival.

I have sent Ken’s Christmas parcel off. Such a to-do, thinking what to buy and then packing it and sewing it all up. Such fun! I do hope he has half as much fun opening it as I had packing it. Mona has sent a parcel to him too. I had a parcel of books from Mali – Geraint Goodwin’s
Conversations with George Moore
, and the sixth number of
New Writing
.
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It’s so kind of her to do this, so often. Today from Gwen and Ronald, I received Louis MacNeice’s latest collection of poems
Plant and Phantom
. Lovely to have some new poetry and they are so good to think about me all this distance away.

I am knitting a pullover for Ken, in a rather nice cable stitch, simple but effective. He has bought a cine camera and I’m terribly thrilled about it. I’ve always wanted one – there is nothing to equal it for holding precious moments. Just think that the films that he takes now we can see over and over again, ‘When we are old and grey and full of sleep’.
41
Only he can’t get film in Egypt, he says. I want to try and smuggle some in to him occasionally in the odd, inoffensive looking parcel. Wicked girl! Tomorrow it seems we are going into dock once more for about a week, which means we go off to a hotel, The Grand, I think. We liked it last time – it’s quiet and unpretentious.

November 13th 1941

Well, it wasn’t the Grand, it was the Taj again. We were herded together in what they fondly call a ‘suite’ on the fifth floor: four bedrooms and a bathroom minus doors. All very friendly, but we didn’t appreciate it. I do like a room to myself. I prefer even my postage stamp of a cabin on the ship to having to share: ‘a poor thing but my own’.

The week we were ashore was notable for nothing except that I spent my whole month’s advance from the field cashier and almost all I possessed in the bank and have arrived back almost penniless. However, I’ve been in this state so often since I joined the army, it doesn’t worry me much, although it does irritate me to think that they haven’t paid us one anna since August and it’s now the middle of November. Of course, I did buy myself a frock which I don’t care for much and the shoes (wine court ones, which were made to my measurements) turned out to be complete failures. Much too short and I feel so cross about them. They fit Mona quite well so she is wearing them. It was Mother’s birthday yesterday so we drank her health in shandy last night. In her last letter she appeared rather better and was going home, I hope not too soon.

I had a letter from Ken too and two not very clear enlargements of snaps taken en route by his CO. However they are most acceptable. He had posted two photographs a few days before he wrote to me. He wrote on my birthday and he said he was celebrating it by packing up and getting ready for the road. He had got in touch with Mrs John the previous evening and hoped to be able to see Monica Thompson that night. I do hope he did because she could then let me know odd things that Ken could not perhaps write himself. I am sadly afraid that they are bound north and east perhaps to the Caucasus as there is some talk of our joining the Russians there. Ken sounded rather depressed and I am so far away – he says there is no hope of him returning to India for the duration of the war – and I can do nothing to cheer the poor lamb up. It’s useless worrying, I know, but I find it impossible to do anything else somehow. I want to get off the ship and unless we are frantically busy by the end of the year, I’m definitely going to ask to be transferred back to the ME. Quite apart from Ken, for I don’t really think we shall meet until the war is over, I can’t bear the climate in India, or at least in Bombay. I’m always tired and lethargic and the nights are scarcely cooler than the days. There is some talk that we may move up to Karachi to hang around there for a while. British Intelligence seems to think we take up unnecessary space here. Personally, I think they should put wheels on us and run us into a garage for eleven months out of every twelve. That should cover all the work we have to do. Karachi, they say, is much cooler, but then what about our mail? That’s the only thing I object to moving on for. It’s dull enough on the ship at any time, but while we are here there is always the possibility of some mail every day. It undoubtedly helps our morale. Major Doran, who came up to the ship yesterday, says that
Dorsetshire
is in Karachi and that Evelyn Cameron is still on her. I hope she is there, when and if we are sent north.

They are coaling today – the awning is down to minimise the coal dust, and the row that is going on, on all sides and below on the barges is indescribable and incredible. There will be no peace anywhere all day. Nickels (IMS) is leaving in a few days to marry Ianto Thomas, who was 3rd mate on this ship, now transferred. He is a dear boy, a general favourite and, being a fellow Cymro, I’m more interested in his welfare. We are all rather staggered and very sorry that this has happened. She’s a nice little girl and an extremely pretty one, but, well, I genuinely hope it turns out alright. He is very young and I suppose after all, it’s no one’s business but his own.

Russia is still holding out magnificently on all fronts, although the winter is settling in.

November 25th 1941

I am writing this in slightly different surroundings – having moved into Nickels’ cabin today as she has gone to Calcutta for a few days, prior to finishing altogether and being married. I like it much better than my own in most ways. I have at last got room to put my books out – before I almost had to get on my hands and knees to get them out of the drawers under my bunk.

Well, much has happened in the outside world in the last 100 days, although we remain as static as always. The offensive in Libya has begun in deadly earnest and it is almost certain that Ken is there and not, as I first thought, in the Caucasus. According to all sources we are doing well, having recaptured Bardio and Fort Capuzzo and a garrison from Tobruk which had set out from there to meet up with them. It all sounds terrible and horrible to me and, supposing Ken to be alright, there are always others who are not. I can’t help imagining how awful it must be for them, particularly for those who are at all sensitive and there must be so many of them. Of course, I worry and wonder every ten minutes, all day long, although it’s silly, I know.

Ken’s photograph arrived on Saturday, having been opened by the censor and the customs. I think they must suspect me of some international intrigue! I am delighted with the photograph and I now have more room to display it on my new chest of drawers.

We heard today that our long overdue pay is reposing peacefully in MALAYA. We know that we are marked down for the Far East but whether we shall ever be sent there remains to be seen and depends, I suppose, on whether Japan is bluffing or not. The real reason why they have put us on the Malaya payroll is because we are no longer connected to the Middle East. The Indian Command will not be responsible for Indian rates of pay, even though we’ve spent the last six months here and the only British rates of pay allocated out here at all are from Singapore. Therefore to save the army a few pounds they have transferred us there. The whole system of pay is perfectly rotten and should be revised, surely. Anyway this is the last straw – nothing paid into the bank for three months and then they send it to Malaya! I made up my mind then and there to ask for a transfer. This is the direct reason for hurrying things along but I have been restless for some time and ever since the Libyan campaign began, only a few days ago, truly, although it seems like years to me already, I have been impatient to get back to the Middle East. It seems a far cry to Libya, as indeed it is. I feel I’d like to be nearer just in case by some miracle we should meet again.

Tonight’s news doesn’t sound terribly bright; perhaps the first reports were too glowing. Oh dear! How I wish it would end and it’s only begun. We are writing out an application for transfer tonight, although I’m sadly afraid that it may have to wait sometime before it transpires, as Evelyn Cameron (from the
Dorsetshire
) and whom we saw today, at the Taj
,
says she put in for a transfer four months ago and nothing has happened yet. A gloomy prospect indeed. Whilst I was writing this the news began in the bar, and although I wasn’t actually listening to it, the words 5th Indian Division fell on my ears, like a blow. I was too late to hear what it was actually about, except that they had captured some desert spot. Now I know for certain that Ken is in this ghastly battle, which they say is still raging – the Germans having brought up fresh planes and troops from without, from Crete and Greece and elsewhere. I must write home now. But I can’t think of anything else just now. A letter from Bill this morning, now married. She has been to see General and Miss Williams and is making arrangements to try to see my family. I am so pleased about it.

December 10th 1941

Two days ago Japan declared war, or rather attacked British and American possessions without any warning
.
Of course we all knew it was possible, even probable, but now that it is actually upon us it comes as a shock just the same. Japan attacked the American fleet in Pearl Harbour, Hawaii, landed troops in Borneo, the Philippines, bombed Hong Kong and Singapore, surrounded Ocean, Swains, Midway and Wake Islands and succeeded in getting Thailand to capitulate – all on the first day. Tonight comes the shattering news that the cruiser
Repulse
(1,200 men) and the battleship
Prince of Wales
(1,500 men), the flagship of the Far East fleet, have been sunk by a Japanese air attack. It is a bitter blow.

How far this is going to affect Australia no one yet knows. I expect the mail may not be so regular anyway. In Libya there have been ups and downs but at the moment the situation is supposed to be satisfactory with two or three isolated outposts only holding out to the west of Tobruk where we have regained the corridor. 700 New Zealand wounded have been recaptured, much to their delight, I am sure. What an escape!

Russia is holding out magnificently and driving the Germans back on all fronts. How grateful we should feel for allowing us this extra time. What an incredible state of affairs it all is – literally the entire world at war. With what utter inane stupidity mankind has brought about, and has allowed to grow, this dreadful, wanton waste and killing. And I doubt very much if, when it is all over, we shall have learned any valuable lessons from it. The ‘inhumanity of man to man makes countless thousands mourn’,
42
and so it goes on. I am afraid I feel very bitter about it all. I got so mad at the inane conversation tonight that I picked up my things and departed hence, to my cabin.

No word from Ken and it’s over a month now and I suppose it may be as much again and more before I do hear. At times I feel hopeless and despairing that I shall ever see him again. And one can do nothing, absolutely nothing to alter things. That’s the maddening part about it. I just walk around this silly deck day after day, listening to Mary tell her oft-repeated tale of one relative or another, until I could scream. The end, alas, seems further off than ever before and there is nothing to do but wait.

The family very kindly sent me £5 for my birthday and Xmas and sister Mona has sent me a collection of really good laces and a draft for £1. Clwyd, I believe, is also sending me a draft. They apparently think I need the money, and how right they are! Still no word about our pay; I should think the Japs will get it before we do.

We have gone well out in mid-stream again after a spell quite near the Gateway. Only three motor boats ashore daily because of petrol rationing.

Mona and I attended a meeting of the recently formed Australian Association of Bombay who hope to raise funds for the general war effort. We also went over to the
Dorsetshire
for tea with Evelyn Cameron on Monday. She takes 750 patients. The
Talamba
is back again, having picked up 400 patients at Suez, Port Sudan, Massawa and Aden. Of course, we still remain static with the decoy ship, the
Centurion.
I’m distinctly fed up tonight. Everyone on the ship annoys me at the present moment. They’re uninspiring at any time but tonight – well, they just get under my skin.

December 27th 1941

Christmas day is over and I can easily say thank heaven. I hate these bursts of festivities in the army and besides, I think it is entirely misplaced in a war. We started out with a party at Major Ramchandani’s on Xmas Eve. It was a nice party and we enjoyed that. Mona, Hardy and I left at about 9pm and had coffee and sandwiches at the Chinese restaurant and then went on to the cinema. It was a good comedy and at the end we went to the Taj lounge and, over further sandwiches, awaited the hour of the launch’s departure. We saw numerous QAs in their grey beiges or grey suits and were congratulating ourselves on not looking like they were, when, to our amazement, in walked Owen and Watson. It was grand seeing them and we made arrangements for them to come onto the ship today. We were very grieved to hear that Hilary Glazebrook had been killed outright in the same accident as Sarah Davidson. I had roomed with them both in London for over three months and they were in Alexandria with us until they went to the Sudan. We felt they were amongst our oldest and best friends. It is all very shocking and even now I can’t somehow believe it.