Joyce's War (18 page)

Later

We arrived in the outer harbour of Batavia in the early afternoon. The CO and the captain went ashore in a colourful little mine-sweeper for orders. It seems, as usual, no-one knew we were coming or even what we were. We were put on eight hours sailing and thereupon settled ourselves for the night. It was a broken one, however, for an air raid siren went at 1.15am and, reluctantly, we crawled out of our bunks and got into some clothes and a tin hat in total darkness and foregathered as pre-instructed along the corridor. We sat on our lifebelts for extra comfort, listened to fatuous remarks from the matron, who always, for some obscure reason, feels she has to entertain the company assembled. After about two hours of it, the CO allowed us to return to our cabins on the condition that we did not undress. The all clear did not sound until 7.15am although it seems there was nothing in it from beginning to end as far as we could tell. The previous night we got up at 2am to see Krakatoa looming blackly on our portside, but to all intents and purposes, asleep and disinterested. We passed numerous small islands, dotted here and there, all thickly covered with trees and vegetation – some very tiny indeed. I thought I’d like to buy one, a completely uninhabited one, and retire there at weekends, when I’m suffering from a superfluity of irritations brought on by careless, stupid wild talk against which I seem to wage unceasing war.

We all went down to our cabins after lunch intent on making up for last night’s thwarted slumbers, but we suddenly moved off at 5pm and came alongside. We were told that a cruiser was bringing in some patients and that probably we should have them on board tonight. And just as the dinner gong was sounding, there came an armed merchant cruiser
Durban
, which had run the gauntlet of 27 attacking planes from Singapore; they had received two bombs and missed the other 170. Nine of the crew were killed and we got the remaining 13, about ten of whom are very badly wounded.

Mona and Mary stayed for a while and then Scotty retired to theatre, where she still is at 3am and is likely to remain until daylight or until the dressings run out. Major Ramchandani and Parnan, half the BORs, MacDonald, Kitto and various others are still about. In spite of the entire disturbance some of the boys are managing to sleep, from sheer exhaustion, I suppose. They all have the same tale – it must be absolute hell in Singapore. There are conflicting stories as to whether the hospitals are still there, although it seems the 13th AGH has had several bombs anyway. There are two RAF POs in for the night, both Australians – one, it seemed, worked in Fords, Geelong, and used to live in Pryce Street! Unfortunately, there is a tale going about that some AIF ‘jumped the b------’ and manned the Tommy guns. And McDonald made me indignant tonight by telling me that he’s been told on the usual ‘good authority’ that the Australians weren’t fighting at all well in Singapore and that they’d ‘let us down badly’. Of course, I flayed him for repeating such idle, stupid and loose talk.

If only people would realise the harm of such words. If we can’t have unity and better manners and kinder feelings among people of the same race, it’s a poor outlook for the ultimate end of this bloody business. I feel so cross about this. Tomorrow I expect we’ll have some of those same AIFs here and, these tales having circulated in advance of their arrival, I rather fear the consequences. I hate all this childishness among grown people. It seems we may be here for some time; probably acting as a base and taking all the odds and ends of wounded that will drift in here from day to day. Once we have our complement we shall depart, I suppose, and we hope it will be soon.

The harbour is full of ships, near in and far out, and flying boats seem as ‘thick as leaves in Vallombrosa’.
50
As I write there are planes buzzing about but I presume they are Dutch and British as so far there has been no alarm.

I must finish this now. Oh, we walked for about 15 minutes on the docks this evening, just to get the feel of Java under our feet. Alas, Batavia is five miles inland and it seems a ‘forbidden city’ to us. I’d like to come here again, years hence when all is quiet again.

February 15th 1942

I had a good sleep today and here I am holding the fort again. We have our full complement of patients now and more, every bed is full and some are on mattresses on the floor. It’s an indescribable scene, with BORs and brigadier generals all sleeping gloriously and indiscriminately alongside each other. To do the officers justice, they accept it all very pleasantly and so far there has been no murmur of dissent. Of course, this is only the first day and complaints may crop up in due course. There are some very sick men in B Ward and we are still sending cases to theatre at midnight. It’s finished for tonight, I hope, although they will be at it again in the morning. There are a considerable number of Australians among them, liberally distributed in all the wards, and many of the Indian wards are almost entirely Australian. I’ve been greeted tonight with all the good natured chaff about that much maligned stream, the Yarra, but they seem pleased to know that there was someone more or less belonging to them on board.

We sail, it is said, about 7am and we shall all be mighty glad to be at sea again. The blackout at night is depressing and having the ports closed in those crowded wards doesn’t improve the already rather awful atmosphere. Almost every case of the 360 is surgical, either wounds or plasters, and often both. I imagine that we have every conceivable known variety of splint and plaster cast, a more motley unshaven grimy assembly it would be difficult to imagine. I do imagine that there will still be some having their first wash when we reach Colombo, that is, if the water supply hangs out that far. There are two Australians in the padded cells, one homicidal and the other suicidal, and neither will eat or drink or allow anyone to come near him. It is dreadful to think that these two men were sane and normal when they left home and that having been through the hell of this war, they probably will never be so again. And there will be hundreds, perhaps thousands more of them before it is all over. It is just too ghastly to think about. We have been told that there are 60,000 troops to be evacuated from Singapore and if 5,000 can be got away they will be fortunate. This may well be exaggerated but I expect it is a grim story at best. The
Empire Star
came alongside early this morning. Among the troops there were RAF wives and children and a number of AIF Sisters, some Dutch ones and at least one QA.

Those who have been at Narvik and Dunkirk say that Singapore is the worst of all. Talking with the second mate over the rails this morning at 3am we have decided that it is all too grim for words and still the wireless continues to soft-soap the public and say that all is being done and that indeed this is just what we had planned. Apparently, the government believes that the public is possessed of a very low intelligence, if it cannot see through the padding and the inane and fatuous statements uttered daily on air and in the press.

February 16th 1942

4am

I have just returned to the lounge after doing rounds. I must walk miles these nights and my feet feel like it – up stairs and companionways, scrabbling in and out between beds in C Ward. I’ve just had to go down to F Ward for some astringent as no other ward possessed any and that is about ten miles at least, I should say. I always saw to the dispensary myself in C Ward and although I’ve made a song about it each morning, A and B are quite hopeless with theirs so the result is that I am always borrowing. We took in a colonel from Surgery tonight after they had done his leg in theatre: compound tibia and fibula and a really filthy enormous wound; it is not in plaster and slung up in a cock-up splint and extension. I’ve given four lots of morphia at least and various 2/15ths and 3/15ths and so on in an effort to induce them to sleep. Most of them are asleep now actually, but a few are restless, still fighting the Japs mentally, I suppose.

There is a lot of criticism, so the wireless reports, about the escape to a home port of three large German battleships, which is to lead to the navy and army having their own air-arms. Singapore they are lamenting, but telling themselves that it isn’t as bad as when France fell. If the general public only knew the mess that was and is Singapore and all the bitterness and criticism on these boys’ lips, they might think twice before talking so glibly about necessary sacrifices on the altar of their arrogance and pride. Everyone is unanimous that there is and never was any organisation in Singapore and that, since we are going to lose it eventually, it should have been evacuated long before, and most of the men saved. But, of course, we had our ‘prestige’ to consider.

February 17th 1942

3.30am

So Singapore has surrendered unconditionally and 60,000 troops are left behind. It’s all very sad and depressing. From Batavia came the announcement that some town in Java had been occupied by the Japanese and an important airdrome in Sumatra has gone. We have landed some troops – Australian and American – in Java. I am wondering if my sister Mona will be sent there. If Java goes then one shudders to think of the consequences for India and Australia.

I’ve more theatre cases this evening. For some reason best known to themselves they begin operating at 8pm these days. I’ve complained about it as it disturbs my patients when they need to sleep. I hope it is the last night of this nonsense. More annoying innuendoes from Matron this morning. She announced to Mona in front of the patients – ‘there’s an Australian throwing his food around and he’s going to see the colonel’. The food is very poor indeed on this trip so he’s justified. She loves to make a point of his being an Australian – a very low breed they must be – and if there is any trouble anywhere it’s always one of my much maligned fellow countrymen who is to blame. I feel so resentful and irritated when I hear Matron’s remarks. Why she joined the QAs, I can’t think; it certainly wasn’t for the love of, or pity for, suffering humanity. She’s about as low and ignorant as any form of animal life and we realise it’s not worth getting upset on her behalf, although it does get under my skin.

February 18th 1942

5.30pm

Another night gone and we get to Colombo on Sunday morning, so it is said. After that, popular rumour has it that we go on to Bombay. I hope we do, if it is only for mail. I haven’t the slightest doubt that wherever we are sent we shall be told that our mail has ‘just been sent’ to Colombo or Karachi or Timbuktu. A few more years like this and I shall be resigned to anything. I can understand the British character better now with its general lethargy and apathy; their resistance has been worn down by years of inefficiency. And even when you are hopeful and sanguine by nature, it gradually wears you down in time. You find yourself either resigned or bitter, perhaps both.

February 21st 1942

1.45am

Two days ago we had a little untoward excitement. I was about to go down to bed at about 9.30 when I noticed a crowd on deck gazing ardently over the rails and I discovered that a patient had decided to jump overboard. We still don’t know if he wanted to drown or just go for a swim. He jumped deliberately anyway and it was too late for anyone to get him. Someone threw him a lifebelt and they stopped the ship in one and a half minutes! A boat was lowered after some time but it was scarcely necessary as he continued to swim about quite merrily in his pyjamas and shoes and he had almost caught up with the ship again before they picked him up. I believe he was quite non-committal and said merely that he didn’t have a long enough swim. It really was funny to watch him swimming so easily in mid-ocean and to all intents and purposes enjoying it. Fortunately it was calm and there were no sharks. It caused quite a stir of course and the colonel was flapping about with the result that all anxiety neurosis patients, however sane, have been placed under guard if not lock and key since.

Darwin has been bombed twice. In fact we don’t seem to be doing anything to redress the situation, anywhere. The Russians, alone, appear to be pushing on. We have heard from everyone that the Japs have been particular everywhere to respect hospitals – in each case giving ample warning for them to evacuate their patients. It’s rather surprising in the light of the Chinese atrocities, but it seems to be true nevertheless. The patients here have more or less settled down and everything is under control now. No one is really ill in C Ward, and then the only DIL patient has been transferred to B today, so I can keep an eye on him better at night. Carrol, my night orderly, is such a good boy and nice with the patients. The nights pass quickly enough generally speaking. First one then another comes along for a chat over the rails, the major, then Edwards (4th) after his watch, then Harold soon after 4am and Clarke (2nd). I start work soon after 5am and the time goes quickly then. But it is still very sticky and warm and there is lightning every night. One more night and then Colombo!

February 23rd 1942

Colombo to Bombay

We left at 3am today. Yesterday we disembarked all Dominion troops and all naval personnel to the Australian hospital. The harbour was crowded with ships, many of them packed with troops which we found out were Australians. It seems they are leaving the ME and returning en masse either to Java or Australia. Paso Pengharen, whom we met in Alexandria, came aboard this morning, looking for us and it was he who gave us the news that everyone was heading for home again. I expect Padre Helman and Bill Williams and Ted and many more of my old Alexandria friends are among them. A pity to miss them. We have many empty beds now so the nights seem easy, or would be except that Colonel Churcher insists on sending up for me every half hour or so. However, I’ve tried him on paraldehyde tonight and I am hoping for results. Twenty letters came aboard it seems, but none for us. The second mate has produced another book for me to continue my narrative – so here endeth the first!

March 11th 1942

Karachi

And so beginneth the second volume. We have been here ten days and so far there has been no sign of any movement on our part, or the
Tyrrhea
’s, and with the Far East almost a memory it would seem that there is nothing left for us to do now, except perhaps an odd trip to Basrah.