Yesterday I got the longest letter from you & an airgraph (Oct 16) & my Christmas present. Thank you most awfully Darling, they are lovely handkerchiefs & embroidered wonderfully, I think. I would say ‘a very useful present’ if they weren’t far too good to use in the desert.
On 2 September Pamela moved into a new, rather grand, billet, which evidently pleased her: ‘Moved into my billet … which is wonderful. The Bainbridges in 27 The Close!’ She goes on to record primarily her hospital work but also meetings with various friends, visits to ‘the flics’, the occasional dance, and time off back at Ditchampton Farm. Exhaustion – both physical and mental – continued to plague Pamela. The principal high points during this period were days when letters arrived from David. One letter in particular delighted her: ‘September 16th Woke up to another letter from David!!!! I think without exception the most wonderful letter anyone could ever have. Oh dear if it could all come true.’*
By now Pamela had new patients to worry about. Her entry for 17 September records a particularly long day which started soon after she accompanied Arthur Street to Salisbury to catch the 6.30 a.m. train to London for one of his broadcasting engagements. In it she refers to a ‘probably enteric man’. The next day was equally long with: ‘two men querie [sic] enteric. Had to special them. I feel I just can’t – get so worried. So afraid I’ve done something wrong. Do hope I haven’t.’ The entry for the next day is almost identical, but she added ‘might be typhoid for Goldfinch – might not’. Fortunately for Pamela, however, the patient in question was quickly transferred from Tower House: ‘September 24th Goldfinch has gone to the American Hospital – great relief as it was v. worrying looking after him but I do hope he gets better very soon – when you don’t know anything it’s so difficult.’
Just how personally Pamela took her responsibilities for the patients in her care can be judged from an entry made some three weeks later: ‘Went & saw Goldfinch with Susan Copp up at the American hospital. Awfully nice doctor showed us in but it was all against orders & we hadn’t got to touch anything – feel simply awful.’ Pamela, with her over-active conscience, feared responsibility above all else. A diary entry some two weeks later gives a further example: ‘October 9th Had the jolly old place to myself. Sister was off. It was awful. I can’t take it. Had to write the report & everything – oh dear oh dear oh dear.’ The following day Pamela had to do the ward round with the senior doctor in charge; she noted in her diary, not without some pride: ‘Had to go round with Dr. Burroughs!! Think of it. Me going round with Dr. Burroughs – my goodness – what a hoot – but oh this dreadful responsibility. Can’t take it.’
Arthur and Vera Street were painfully aware of how tough their daughter was finding her contribution to the war effort, and did their best to raise her spirits with social gatherings back at Ditchampton Farm on Pamela’s days off duty. Her diary records one particularly happy occasion which took place on Sunday 21 September: ‘We had a lovely party. Two friends of Pop’s from Upavon & 2 more airforce people came and Tom from Larkhill – Di Schreiber, Kay, Bridget & Hazel – Sybil. Tom & Sybil stayed to supper and we went egg collecting & it was quite like old times.’
However a sad family event overshadowed such jollifications. Pamela’s diary for September contains several references to visiting her grandmother Foyle during the latter’s final illness, and on 27 September she records simply: ‘Granny died yesterday morning – did not know till this morning when I rang Mummy.’
Pamela had for some time been longing for a proper break, encouraged by Vera Street who, following her own mother’s death and funeral, was now free to accompany her. Mother and daughter cast around, initially in vain, for a West country hotel with a vacancy (at the time hotels in the area were almost permanently occupied by military personnel and well-to-do townsfolk escaping potential bombardment). No doubt sensing Pamela’s disappointment, on 15 October Arthur Street took Pamela to London on a rare treat: ‘Pop & I London … Lunch at the Savoy. Saw Blithe Spirit – Noel Coward – then Scotts where had my first oyster. Lovely day.’ A few days later a vacancy finally arose at the Branksome Towers Hotel near Bournemouth, where Pamela and Vera spent the best part of a week. Pamela and her mother returned home on 24 October. That same evening Vera took her daughter to see the family doctor, with the following result: ‘Mummy took me to Dr. Stratton in the evening and what with everything I have decided to resign from the hospital! It is going to be very difficult.’ Pamela was initially obliged to return to work, but on her first day back only managed a brief word with the matron: ‘Saw Matron by accident & produced [the doctor’s] note & told her I wanted to resign. She asked if I was going to get married silly old thing.’ Pamela had to wait a further day before she could talk matters through and officially give in her notice:
Had my talk with Matron & it is all over. I am leaving next Monday. Well well well. She was awful & went on & on about it all & I said all the wrong things & that it was too hard work & heaven knows what which is ridiculous but anyhow I’ve done the interview.
Once Pamela’s week’s notice was up, Gertrude Best’s attitude seemed to have mellowed, causing Pamela guilt of a different kind. On 3 November she wrote: ‘The most dreadful day – waited until 6 o’clock to wish Matron goodbye which was painful in the extreme as she was nice – was very very busy most of the day – I’ve left now – it’s very odd – after 15 months it’s unbelievable.’ Not surprisingly, Pamela’s diary entry for the next day records her relief and gratitude to be back at Ditchampton Farm: ‘Well here I am at home. It seems too wonderful for words at the moment… Wrote to Mrs. McCormick this afternoon & then we all went to the flics which was great fun. It is lovely to be home like this for a bit.
Another treat was soon in store for Pamela. Her best friend, Sybil Edmunds, was due a couple of weeks’ leave from the ATS, and the two girls began to plan a trip away together. London was considered comparatively safe from bombing at this stage of the war, with Hitler concentrating so much of his fire power on the Russian front, and the girls managed to wangle a room at one of the hotels owned by the Streets’ friend George Cross. On 16 November Pamela’s diary records:
Sybil & I actually came to London. Phil, a Fanny, brought us in an Army car as we both wore uniform – we got the complete giggles on arriving and it was the funniest thing seeing Sybil barge through swing doors in uniform + suitcases … It is a terribly nice place.
During the next few days the girls packed in as much as they could of London’s cultural life then on offer:
Went to Leicester Square first thing to find out about ‘Gone With The Wind’. It was quite booked up except for standing at 10.30 this morning & the 90th week! Went in and chanced it – stood for 4 hours & it was well worth it although most people would have thought us crazy.
The girls went on to see ‘A Quiet Weekend’ at Wyndhams, the Russian Ballet at the Garrick (about which Pamela wrote: ‘which I didn’t enjoy frightfully – never have – but Sybil liked it’), a Vic Oliver review entitled ‘Take a Load of This’, plus visits to a Sickert exhibition and also one of war paintings at the National Gallery. Pamela even found time to have her hair permed at Harrods,* and at one point commented: ‘I love London – if only there wasn’t a war on, & you could do what you wanted but I’m very lucky anyhow.’
Notes
* Pamela frequently illustrated her letters to David with little cartoons of her life back in Wilton.
* Most probably the Gezira Club.
* Royal Horse Artillery.
* A type of tractor used to haul the guns into position.
* The military term for camp.
* A laxative pill widely used in the British army at the time.
* Grovely was the wood on the top of the downs overlooking the Wylye Valley from Wilton westwards. It had always been a favourite haunt of courting couples.
* This was almost certainly the letter about the fortune-teller that David had met at the foot of the Sphinx, during his time at base
camp outside Cairo, foretelling his and Pamela’s marriage the following year.
* This was by no means as extravagant as it might appear to today’s readers. Although already considered London’s most upmarket department store, it was still well within the budget of families like the Streets.
Eight
‘Operation Crusader’
(November–December 1941)
Despite Pamela’s brief taste of London’s high life, news of the start of hostilities in the North African desert had not been lost on her. On 20 November she wrote: ‘Sent David an air graph – the new offensive in the Middle East is terrific & he must be in the middle of everything.’
According to her diary, the first reports to reach England about ‘Operation Crusader’ were all positive:
November 21st We seem to be doing well in Libya and have taken them completely by surprise. Wonder where David is.
November 23rd The news from Libya is v. good.
By now, however, having received yet another of David’s letters from the desert, Pamela’s over-active conscience was at work again; she goes on to reflect on the differences in their current respective lifestyles: ‘I feel awful about writing him goodness knows what about London & everything & there he is terribly depressed going without everything & probably thinks me just a good time girl which is probably quite right.’
Pamela need not have worried; the letter in question could never have reached him. After all the months of preparation, David’s regiment was already in the thick of military action. David’s detailed and fast-moving account of his role in ‘Operation Crusader’ and subsequent capture, written in his post-war memoir in an understated, somewhat self-deprecatory manner, with frequent flashes of dry, period humour, is too long to reproduce here in its entirety. The following excerpts, however, provide vivid insights into the nature of the fighting. The overall impression is that of the general chaos and swiftly changing fortunes of desert warfare. Examples abound of narrow escapes, individual bravery and personal initiative. Almost as treacherous as the enemy forces was the deceptive terrain itself, in which vehicles constantly floundered. As with any rapid military advance, much depended upon the reliability of the supply chain bearing vital fuel and ammunition, not to mention the availability of reinforcements at scenes of heavy fighting.
‘Operation Crusader’ began on 18 November, only a few days before Rommel’s own planned offensive, which gave the Allies the benefit of the surprise factor, as David’s memoir explains: ‘I heard later that Rommel had planned his attack … for the twenty-third, five days later. This was quite an advantage to us as his troops were more prepared for attack than defence.’
David goes on to describe the last-minute preparations as follows:
The two days before ‘D’ day were the complete pandemonium which the older hands told me always occurred before an attack. Everything had to be done at the last minute. Maps, new codes, and orders were handed out, trucks had to be handed over to other regiments, and other trucks came to us. When we finally started off we had that uneasy feeling which you get when you set out for your holidays and feel sure that you have forgotten to pack some essential object.
Such misgivings notwithstanding, the regiment set off in high spirits. Having been told that they had a vast superiority of tanks and aeroplanes, all sections had every confidence in their eventual success. The beginning of the advance was for David, a novice to the battlefield, an awesome sight:
The desert was alive with guns, tanks and lorries all moving westwards in a cloud of sand raised by the thousands of wheels. Wherever one looked one saw military might. Fighters were sweeping round in circles overhead and groups of bombers kept passing over. There was a continual roar of engines. Our guns were rattling along with rows of tanks on either side. We felt so powerful that nothing could stop us.
They continued westwards unopposed all day, crossing the ‘wire’ between Egypt and Libya in the early afternoon at a point just above Fort Madalena, which David described as a ‘real P. C. Wren fort where you expected to see the foreign legion keeping guard on the mud turrets’.
Not everything went exactly to plan on that first day. Arriving late at a pre-arranged refuelling point which should have had overhead air support, and finding neither fuel nor fighter planes there, they continued on until darkness fell and they were obliged to camp for the night. The gun-towers were almost out of petrol, and much of the night was spent siphoning fuel from the smaller to the larger vehicles so that all would have sufficient to cover 20 miles the next day. Fortunately their ‘B’ echelon with fresh supplies caught up with them the following morning, so their advance westwards was able to continue.
David’s first narrow escape came on the second day. Major O’Brien-Butler, at the time at an observation post some 2 miles ahead of the main force, radioed instructions to David to take a gun-tower and rescue his armoured observation truck, which had floundered earlier in boggy ground, giving him fifteen minutes in which to complete the task. David duly succeeded in pulling out the Major’s truck, but halfway back it ran out of petrol. With enemy tanks approaching and Allied troops to his rear David found himself potentially in the middle of a battle, but luckily managed to radio back for another gun-tower to pull him back to their gun position. Fortunately the enemy column in question, composed largely of non-fighting vehicles guarded by a few tanks, realised that it was vastly outnumbered and consequently withdrew.
That afternoon the Allied advance changed direction northwards towards the coast and Tobruk, reaching the Benina aerodrome at Sidi Rezegh, where enemy aircraft were still landing, oblivious to the rapidly approaching Allied forces. David’s battery prepared for action, but was overtaken by the 6th Tank Regiment, which raced ahead to take the airstrip by surprise with practically no opposition. David’s battery followed on down to the aerodrome where they ‘shuffled around for an hour or so’ before settling for the night on the north-west corner, the guns surrounded by the Sixth Tank regiment.
In the small hours David was awoken by the rumbling of tanks and shouting of orders in German. It turned out that they had leaguered for the night only a few hundred yards from a well dug-in German anti-tank position, and during the night German troops had surrounded them on three sides. The Germans opened fire, and David described his first experience of being thus targeted as follows:
Mortar, shells and solid anti-tank shot came at us from three sides. The enemy used tracer shell of all colours, red, blue, green, yellow and white, which made a really beautiful firework display in the dark. You could easily watch the shells coming and they all appeared to be coming straight towards you personally.
The regiment retreated hastily some 5 miles south, where they dropped into action and returned the enemy fire. Only one of the gun-towers was lost, but a few tanks were set on fire. Most members of David’s regiment survived unscathed, though two fellow officers became separated from the unit during the night and were later reported prisoners of war.
The following morning David’s brigade went on the offensive again, led by their tanks, which overran the German anti-tank gunners. David described – with naïve amazement – the duplicitous nature of the enemy artillery:
They stood up with their hands up, and after the tanks had passed, got down to their guns again and shot up all our bren carriers who were following the tanks. We kept up a continuous fire, helping to repel enemy tank attacks from every side, putting down smoke screens to assist our tanks, and firing at the German infantry and supply vehicles in the distance. The desert all around us gradually became so covered with knocked out tanks and burning vehicles that a great deal of skill was required to recognise which ones were knocked out and which were not. One had to look in every direction in an attempt to observe enemy tanks before they observed us, and one had great difficulty in distinguishing our own from the enemy’s. We were bombed and shelled continually.
By nightfall things were looking bleak for David’s brigade, with several units sev
erely depleted. Major O’Brien-Butler gave his men a particularly grave pep talk, which David remembered almost verbatim:
The Major called the troop round him and spoke to us somewhat as follows: ‘I want you all to know the situation. As you know the Brigade has had a pretty rough time here and out of three regiments, a hundred and sixty-five tanks in all, there are only about fifteen left in their tracks. There is a thin line of infantry in front of us and nothing behind. It is thought that the enemy are preparing for a night attack. I want you all to understand there is no withdrawing from this position. If the enemy come in during the night we won’t use small arms, as we’ll only shoot each other in the dark, but I should like everyone to arm himself for the night with a pick or a spade and we’ll bash the Germans over the head. Of the two supporting brigades the 22nd is stuck in the mud to the south and no one knows where the 4th is. To your posts dismiss.’
Having been given guard duty from midnight to 3 a.m., David saw little point in setting up his camp bed, but instead spent the night in the front of his truck, reviewing the situation:
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