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.
I am hearing from Ken again, so I’m happy. Until yesterday I thought he was in Libya, now I know he is in Cyprus. It seems I should have heard from Monica (Thompson) about this but unfortunately the letter has not yet come. The wireless and papers insisted also upon talking about the 5th Indian Division in Libya and so I was so worried every time I heard the regiment mentioned. Now for Ken’s postscript, ‘I still like Cyprus wine’, I know that the CO knew what he was talking about when he told me that the 5th Division was in Cyprus. I didn’t believe it then but now I know he was right. I am so relieved that Ken is not in Libya and hope that Cyprus will not prove to be another Crete. I do hope the poor lamb will get his parcels in time for Xmas; they went off early enough. Our hampers are presumably on the pile at HQ where they’ll stay until someone throws them out, or it suits them to change the staff. I am so sick of this ship at the moment, more particularly of the bridge and Matron and Scot-White. I could cheerfully push them overboard. It just annoys me to see them, day after day, sitting in a group on deck or in the bar, drinking, eternally drinking. If by doing so they get something out of it, it might be justifiable, but I’ve never heard an intelligible remark or an original thought from any one of them, sober or otherwise.
I have had a letter from home on Christmas Eve and two fat envelopes containing letters that Clwyd sent home but nothing from him personally, however, for ages. Oh, and a delightful surprise in the shape of a parcel from the W to W campaign – Nurses’ Comforts Fund, Victoria. It weighed nearly 11 pounds and it contained tinned fruit salad, cream, asparagus, tomato juice, fruit cake, plum pudding, anchovy and salmon paste, Epson’s fruit salts, lamb’s wool, powder puff, talcum powder, toothbrush, lipstick, soap sweets, nuts and raisins and eau de cologne. I was awfully thrilled to be specially recognised by an Australian Red Cross Society – we had all been ignored heretofore.
Just this minute we have been informed that we are to move on Monday at 7am and no one knows where. Well, at long last perhaps, we may be able to do something useful.
1942
Bombay – Basrah – Batavia – Colombo – Karachi – Massawa Bombay – Calcutta, 47th British General Hospital
New Year’s Day
And now we are heading for the Persian Gulf, bound for Basrah! We slid gracefully out of Bombay harbour at 7am last Monday. Mona and I got up early to wave to Evelyn in the Dorsetshire as it moved off. Last night, knowing it was useless to go to bed, we were dragged down to a party in McDonald’s cabin. It was a two-foot squeeze and there must have been quite twenty of us there. It was hot and dusty and extremely noisy, to put it mildly, and we thought we could escape after a modest hour or so. But alas for our guile, we were still there when s
omeone rang a large brass bell and we gathered round and sang ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and everyone kissed everyone else at midnight. I got down to my cabin about 1am and started a letter to Ken in Cyprus, where I hope he had a cheerful happy celebration and didn’t think too much. One shouldn’t think too much, I’ve discovered. Such a nice surprise last night too: there was a book on my table when I went down at midnight and a letter. It was from Tich, dear Tich, who, although a Hindu, is much more of a Christian than most people I’ve met in my life. In the note he had written Tagore’s lines:
Once we dreamed that we were strangers
We woke up to find that we are dear to each other.
He is a dear little soul. He and Nellie will stand out always as two of the most delightful and loveable people I have ever known – not only among Indians either. Nellie is a Christian, her father being a missionary in an American mission, but Tich is a Hindu and an ardent disciple of Gandhi and a passionate Indian Nationalist or Congressman. Being in the army his style is cramped and he has no bitterness or hatred towards Britain in any case, only a great sadness in his dark eyes that so many millions of his people are starving and that no-one seems to care. I have a deep and abiding sympathy for the peoples of all conquered countries emanating, I suppose, from some remote and woaded ancestor, nearly two thousand years ago.
Well, I am all for India having her independence. It seems all wrong, when we are fighting for so-called democracy, that we can keep virtually enslaved, 400,000,000 people. It wouldn’t be so bad if they were an unintelligent race, which they are not, and although they are divided amongst themselves, I believe we have encouraged this for our own ends. At least they should be allowed to work out their own salvation. If we don’t give in gracefully, I feel we shall have to pay for it in the end, for this generation is sensitive and proud and ready to defend its independence, come what may. I feel it is only Gandhi’s pacifist policy that has kept India in check up to this time. And Gandhi is an old man. His successor may not favour non violence, and it wouldn’t take much to fan the fire among 400 million people. If I do end up living in India I shall have more sympathy with Indians themselves than with most of the British people, who speak so disparagingly of them. I quite despair of there ever being a thousand years of peace when I hear on every side such thoughtless, cruel and unjust criticisms of whole races of people and in their own country. And we think we are more civilised and Christian than any other race. Ah me!
January 10th 1942
Karachi
Basrah is now behind us and ‘one with seven thousand years’ and we are at Karachi. But to go back a week – it blew up cold through the night about three nights before we reached port. Oh my! We’d forgotten what it was like to feel cold but we soon knew. Out of the bottom of the trunk the warm winter woollies, thick suits and coats, hot water bags, bed socks, winter pyjamas and the rest – things we’d long forgotten we possessed. And then we tied up at Magil about 6pm. The river looked cold and dreary and not so romantic this time – nothing is the second time, so blasé have we become in our roaming around and about. We walked up and down the deck in the hard clear cold air, our teeth literally chattering.
Then Bob arrived and went straight up to the captain, later sending down word to us. Mona and I went ashore with him and picked up Danny at the transport office en route for their house, new, since our last trip there. Mona and Danny went to some official dinner that couldn’t be avoided and Bob and I dined at home. It was rather fun and I got four fils43 pieces out of the Christmas pudding. We went up on to the roof and I wrote my name on the frost on the wall. Oh, bitterly cruelly cold! Then Mona and Danny returned and we played the gramophone until – I was going to say it was dawn – it wasn’t far short of it anyway, at 3.30am. I was hung with, there is no other word for it, Bob’s enormous navy overcoat, gold epaulettes and all, and eight foot of thick navy blue wool scarf around and around my head. He can have them both – they nearly crushed my spirit completely. It was cold in our bunks and we had only about two hours’ sleep at the most, when we had to get up, as the patients arrived at 9am.
We had about 60 boys in C Ward and a grand lot they were: mostly medical cases and up and about with only one or two sick ones. All the asthmatics decided to have attacks to begin with, but once acclimatised settled down nicely. They had a gramophone and we lent them our records as well as Red Cross ones and it was well used from early morning until bedtime. I believe they all enjoyed their cruise and wished it had been longer. They particularly approved of the food (and it was good) and they were allowed to do pretty much as they chose. I don’t believe in being officious with patients – it’s bad enough to be ill. The cold continued until we were a day off Karachi and we landed everyone intact except one Hindu, whose mortal remains were consigned to the sea a few days out of port. It was a simple ceremony: the guard and the officers and the colonel who attended stood at the salute when the body was sent down the slipway.
We got into Karachi on Saturday about 4pm but the patients did not disembark until Sunday morning. We hated seeing them go, having just got to know one from the other. It’s always this way on a ship. Yesterday after tea Katie, Mary and Harold and Mona and I went to town and to the cinema. Looking around for the first time the town seems scattered and provincial, but of course, it was Sunday and all the shops were closed. It may look more businesslike during the week. The weather here is delightful although rather chilly in the shade, but warm and balmy in the sun. We have moved out about 100 yards at most and go to the port in one of the many colourful balham-cum-tonys that congest the little quay; very colourful they are with large red flags in their main masts and scarlet cushions on the seats. They are larger than the Basrah balhams but more after their fashion than the Bombay tonys. No less than five men rowed us across tonight and it cost us a mere two annas a head, so they can’t be literally rolling in wealth, although they seem cheerful souls.
The American clipper and the Australian–Dutch airmail sea-planes are moored quite close by. They look retiring and unimportant camouflaged and floating on the tide as they are. Yet what tales they would have to tell if they kept a journal, like me. The docks are interminable, apparently: I certainly can’t see the end of them and there are ships of all kinds loading and unloading their various cargoes. But it is the numerous and varied fishing craft and native sailing boats that lend colour and atmosphere to the little harbour one way or another – especially after our mail begins to arrive. We feel we shall like Karachi; it’s odd to think that we now know such places as Basrah and Alexandria and Bombay and Karachi – which before were only names.
The gong has just gone. I have retired to bed early, having a cold and not wanting dinner. It’s nice to be alone for a while – it seems impossible on this ship, short of being rude to everybody and locking myself in my cabin.
January 23rd 1942
On deck in the sun. The weather is still delightful, some days rather coolish in the shade but whenever we have been ashore, it has been almost too hot. The nights remain deliciously cool, however, which is sheer heaven after Bombay. Here as I write the gulls wheel and turn and fly about us. Hundreds of river craft – fishing and cargo – with beautiful curled sails, large ones and tiny ones, go up and down every hour of the day and late into the night. More graceful and lovelier than a dream these sailing boats and long after Karachi has become blurred in my memory the little butterfly boats will remain. But directly opposite, about 300 yards from us, is the wharf, or rather the beginning of it, for it seems to go on forever, as far as the eye can see.
Daily, fairly large ships come and, within 24 hours, are gone again. Mostly cargos from all appearances, but sometimes, as today, long lines of troops embark, quickly and silently and go their ways. The flying boats, too, arrive and depart, usually at night. And how skilfully they are handled by their pilots landing on the water, at length, and in the pitch darkness (except for their own lights) with scarcely a ripple or splash. Yet we accept our airmail without qu
estion or thanks and merely complain when our mail is overdue. So much do we consider these feats as part of our desserts in these advanced days!
Karachi we find more or less adequate for our needs although more expensive than Bombay. I have had a red dress made. I’ve wanted a red winter frock for a long time now and I’ve got it. The colour is more or less what I wanted but the tailor has not turned out to be quite the best although we went to the best-looking shop in the place. I’ve bought myself some shoes too, wine ones and being English, K shoes. I had to pay Rs28 and so for the remainder of the month I go penniless. Well we can’t have it both ways and really I don’t need anything. We managed to get Rs100 from the field cashier a few days after we arrived and are simply awaiting the first of next month to collect the same again and more if possible.
We’ve been into town several times to the pictures and dinner afterwards. There isn’t anywhere we can eat except Chinese restaurants. Actually they are clean and cheerful with scarlet screens and scarlet Vs all round and about, which amuses one at first and then doesn’t! The food is good but one gets fed up with noodles and prawns and such, or ham and eggs – not that it matters really. We went out on two occasions with Harold and two of his engineer friends, nice ones, a Scot and one from Liverpool. We had a few tense moments on India’s behalf but it passed off quite well, eventually. Those moments!
We’ve had some mail but to my mind not nearly all we should have had. I had about ten letters on two successive days, last week. Nothing since. Mother’s appear to be up to date and there was one from Edna, Clwyd and Mona and various others. But only one from Ken. I can’t quite understand this as his letters should be getting through quite well.
Joyce's War Page 12