Some Sunny Day

by Madge Lambert

  Madge eventually fell into a fitful sleep, and dreamed about a faraway land that felt so different from anything she had ever encountered.

  On Saturday morning, the usually chatty atmosphere at breakfast was replaced with a sense of urgency as the reality of what was soon to take place began to sink in. But Madge had more immediate worries and phoned Ruby shortly after 7 a.m. Those warnings about security were very much on Madge’s mind as she thought about the best way to make Ruby understand the urgency of the request at such short notice without revealing the reason.

  They had become very close, however, during the many happy years they had spent on those family holidays and Ruby knew her cousin well enough to instantly detect the strain in her voice.

  ‘Hello, Ruby, do you fancy a drink in the Paxton Arms around lunchtime?’ asked Madge.

  ‘That’s an invitation out of the blue,’ laughed Ruby, ‘but the answer is no because the Paxton is closed and so are many other places in Anerley after being hit by a doodlebug a couple of days ago.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Madge. ‘Is there anywhere else we could meet?’

  ‘The damage is terrible,’ said Ruby, ‘but how about going to see a film? Maybe in Bromley?’

  They arranged to meet at 1 p.m. and once the phone call ended a relieved Madge happily waited until her bank opened so she could withdraw £5 before popping off on another shopping spree that turned out to be a disappointment. Toiletries had become increasingly difficult to find and she had run out of clothing coupons.

  ‘This is terrible,’ Madge told Ruby, as she viewed a scene of utter devastation after arriving in Anerley by bus. Gentle summer sunshine cast shadows on roofless houses and shops without windows that were yet to be boarded up because the damage was so recent.

  As they ate an early lunch, Ruby asked how Auntie Lily had coped without Uncle Charles and Madge told her, with great pride, how Mum had tried so hard to make sure that Doris and Doreen had a happy life. ‘She really is a wonderful woman. I’m so proud of my mum.’

  They talked and talked in the little cafe where they enjoyed sandwiches and tea before heading off to the pictures to watch Merle Oberon and Laurence Olivier in The Divorce of Lady X. As they walked to the bus stop, Ruby couldn’t help giggling when Madge said that because of security reasons she wasn’t allowed to say when she was leaving.

  ‘You sound like somebody from the Secret Service!’ Ruby said. ‘I take it you can’t tell me where you’re going either then?’

  ‘I don’t even know myself,’ Madge admitted.

  When they saw Madge’s bus coming round the corner Ruby threw her arms round her favourite cousin in a loving and emotional farewell.

  ‘Good luck, my darling Madge. You are just like Auntie Lily, you know – a very brave lady,’ she sobbed.

  On the bus Madge glanced at her watch and saw that it was 8.45 p.m. I’ll reach Baker Street in plenty of time for roll call, she said to herself. But a bomb had landed close to St Thomas’s Hospital on the Lambeth side of the Thames opposite the Houses of Parliament. There were no casualties but it wasn’t the first time the hospital had been hit – twelve nurses had died in the Blitz of 1940 when it had been hit by a high-explosive bomb. The lengthy delay meant that for the first time in her days at Baker Street Madge missed the curfew that she had so meticulously observed. She found herself in trouble when her apologies and explanation for her lateness were not accepted. I’ll be pleased to be free of all these rules and regulations as of tomorrow, she thought. But then she felt those butterflies creep back into her stomach as she realised she had no idea what she was getting herself into and what life in India would actually be like.

  Sunday 16 July 1944 would become a date etched in the minds of all the 250 VADs who had volunteered in response to the plea from Lord Louis Mountbatten. It was the day on which their five-thousand-mile journey to India would begin. For Madge it meant a 6.30 a.m. start and one last check of the cabin case she had so carefully packed and repacked just to be sure. Everything she would wear and need for the sea voyage was in there and the labels that showed the ID, boat and destination index numbers were firmly secured.

  Over breakfast Vera asked Madge how she felt now that the time had finally arrived.

  Madge realised then how much the wait had been getting to her. ‘The truth is, I’m glad to finally be getting going,’ she said.

  ‘Me, too,’ agreed Vera. ‘It’s been a non-stop week, and lots of fun, but I think it’s high time we got cracking.’

  As it was their final Sunday in London they decided to attend the morning service at St Martin-in-the-Fields church in Trafalgar Square. A short way into the vicar’s sermon the unmistakeable groan of a doodlebug could be heard. It became louder and louder and the girls looked at each other and raised their eyebrows. The vicar had to raise his voice to be heard but refused to let the threat interrupt his service. Suddenly there was silence, which was replaced seconds later by the surprisingly distant sound of an explosion. Throughout it all the vicar continued with an unwavering calmness that left Madge convinced somebody up there was looking down on St Martin’s that day.

  Rather than sit around the mess brooding for the rest of the day the girls decided to go to one last film showing to help them while away the afternoon. Follow the Boys was a musical film produced as a war-time morale booster and starred Marlene Dietrich alongside George Raft. But there was no hanging round once the film was over. Curfew that night had been brought forward to 6 p.m. and it was made abundantly clear that there would be very serious consequences if it was not observed by every one of the VADs.

  At an early dinner provided by the Auxiliary Territorial Service, who put on a very tasty hot pot in the mess, the nurses began receiving details about the evening’s departure. Then everything seemed to happen at once. Organised chaos reigned as trunks and cases were lugged downstairs from the bedrooms. Movement Control officers issued orders left, right and centre and a fleet of heavily camouflaged trucks drew up outside. Madge and all the other nurses found themselves caught up in the hubbub, following instructions and rushing from here to there making last-minute checks. But finally they were on their way.

  The journey to King’s Cross station was another new experience for Madge, who had never travelled in a lorry, let alone a three-tonner with a canvas roof. As she sat alongside the other nurses from Stoke Mandeville it all became crystal clear. At long last this was it. The girls were off to war.

  6

  The Journey Begins

  Darkness fell as the VADs joined hundreds of troops boarding the lone train at a strangely quiet but heavily guarded King’s Cross station. The train stood at a platform the furthest distance possible from public view. While Madge was sorry to leave the glamour of her London life, with the cinemas, the parks and The Curb, she wouldn’t miss the palpable threat that haunted every night there. She didn’t feel that she was being brave heading off to India; she believed that all those people living in London with the constant threat of bombs were far braver than she’d ever be.

  As everyone began filing onto the train, Madge couldn’t help but recall how Field Marshall Bernard Montgomery had stated at a briefing that nurses were the most important people in the army. Hmm, how strange then that all the male officers are being directed to the first-class carriages while we’re all being herded into third class! At least they were finally told over the tannoy that the destination would be Gourock, a west of Scotland port on the Firth of Clyde near Glasgow. The window blinds were to be kept firmly closed in the hours of darkness, and, when they weren’t turned off for safety during air raids, the light bulbs on the train were blue.

  An endless mass of cases, trunks and crates had to be loaded onto the train and grumbles began over the lengthy delay.

  ‘This train is about as punctual as you and Phyl,’ said a smiling Madge as they settled into the crowded third-class carriage and tried to get comfy.

  ‘Now, girls,’ said Vera, ‘if any of you start snoring, th
ere’s going be a lot of trouble.’

  But the delay became so tedious that eventually even the laughing and joking came to a halt.

  It ended with the shrieking toot of a whistle and the wave of a green flag at precisely 11.15 p.m., and King’s Cross station went into total darkness as the mighty steam-driven locomotive huffed and puffed into the night on a journey that would take close to fifteen hours.

  Within an hour the comforting clickety-click that resounded throughout the cabin lulled the girls into a deep sleep. Madge blearily opened her eyes as dawn broke and the heavily laden locomotive pulled in to Newcastle to have its depleted coal supply replenished, but she quickly dropped off again, exhausted from her week of excitement. They stopped again at Edinburgh’s Waverley station and then at Glasgow before arriving in Gourock at two o’clock in the afternoon.

  The Scottish WVS ladies knew just how weary the girls would be after the fifteen-hour journey and were overwhelmingly kind as they bustled about handing out tea and sandwiches.

  ‘Dinna worry, hen,’ said one lovely old granny in a broad Glaswegian accent. ‘You’ll be on those wee boats soon enough.’

  As the girls stood looking out across the bay they saw why there had been such intense secrecy over the details of their pending voyage. A massive convoy that would transport more than twenty-one thousand troops to theatres of war in both the Middle and Far East had begun to assemble. Code-named KMF.33, the convoy would involve fifty ships, of which twenty-one were naval escorts. The reason for the hold-up also then became apparent. The vessel on which they would play cat and mouse with Germany’s killer submarine ‘Wolfpacks’ over the next weeks had been busy boarding hundreds and hundreds of troops. RMS Strathnaver was one of five similar vessels that became known as the White Sisters of the P&O shipping line. Even after being requisitioned as a troop carrier in 1939 and painted a very sombre grey it was difficult to disguise the elegance and style with which the Strathnaver had graced the high seas as a luxury cruise liner earlier that decade. Madge looked at the great ship with awe and the slightest bit of trepidation.

  ‘This is going to be a bit of a struggle,’ said Phyl as they approached the tenders, but there was certainly no shortage of helping hands!

  ‘Thanks. You’re such a gentleman,’ laughed Vera as a burly old boy virtually lifted her into the boat. As the tender taking a group that included Madge, Vera and Phyl chugged across the short distance from the mainland they could see that the portside bow and decks of the Strathnaver, 688 feet in length, were crammed with soldiers cheering and waving. The closer they got to the boat the more noise they made. The nurses had been loudly applauded by the dockers on the quayside but when they got closer to the troopship the noise was like being at a football match.

  ‘Mmm,’ said Vera, as she took a long, deep breath. ‘Thank goodness that train journey is over. This fresh air is wonderful.’

  ‘Well, it’s nice to see we’re welcome, even after fifteen hours on the train!’ Madge said, and blew a particularly handsome blond soldier a kiss.

  As she joined the rest of the girls in waving, she instantly forgot the tiredness of that never-ending train journey on which they had been packed like sardines and instead concentrated on clambering aboard the troop carrier and up a very steep gangway.

  A porter greeted them. ‘Welcome to the RMS Strathnaver, ladies. This way, please,’ he said, leading them down the corridor marked ‘First Class’.

  Madge raised an eyebrow at Phyl. ‘This must be somebody’s idea of a joke.’ Just then, Vera squeezed past them. ‘What are you up to?’ Madge asked her.

  ‘Picking the best of the bunch,’ Vera said, as she almost ran down the corridor ahead of them.

  A few twists and turns of the corridor later, and it seemed it was no joke at all. The catch was there would be ten girls to a cabin that usually accommodated two. The plush beds of yesteryear had been torn out and replaced with five sets of two-level bunks. Still, there was a porthole and the bedding looked comfortable enough even if the linoleum-covered floor was a little careworn. Unfortunately, all the cabins seemed to be full.

  ‘Maybe we won’t be able to bunk together after all,’ Madge said to Phyl, feeling suddenly quite worried.

  ‘Here!’ Vera’s head popped round the doorway. The Stoke Mandeville girls were lucky; Vera’s speed had paid off and she’d nabbed a single cabin in which there were just four bunks. For the next ten minutes the Stoke Mandeville trio actually thought they would have the cabin to themselves, until a weary-looking soul on the verge of tears knocked politely at the open cabin door.

  ‘Hi there. I don’t suppose there’s space for a little one in here, is there?’

  ‘Come in. Of course there is,’ said Madge. ‘I’m Madge, and my friends here are Phyl and Vera.’

  ‘I’m Sally, Sally Mallins. You’re so kind, thank you. I thought I was going to have to sleep in the corridor,’ said the newcomer.

  ‘The cabin may be smaller than a double,’ said Madge, ‘but we should be thanking our blessings there are just four of us sharing a bathroom instead of nine. And there is a bath, no less!’

  She peered into the tiny room and picked up the soap which was labelled as being ‘suitable for saltwater’. A sign on the wall declared that there would be fresh water from the basin for one hour in the morning and evening.

  ‘I don’t know what we’ll do with our hair!’ Phyl declared.

  ‘Just to help you girls, I will very kindly delay washing my hair until that one hour in the evening,’ said a laughing Madge.

  ‘As I found this little haven in the first place, do you mind if I have a bottom bunk?’ asked Vera, who was trying to keep a straight face.

  To avoid cluttering up the space completely, the girls unpacked only the bare minimum from their cabin cases. With one tiny cupboard and two drawers there was simply no other option.

  The nurses may have drawn the short straw with third-class travel on the train journey up to Scotland, but they were in luxury on the boat in comparison to the majority of the men. The girls heard talk of how the lower ranks had been herded in their hundreds like cattle into cargo holds that had been converted into sleeping accommodation even more cramped than the VADs’.

  Madge settled in to life on the boat by having her first ever bath in salt water. Then she went with Phyl, Vera and Sally to the 8.30 p.m. dinner sitting.

  ‘This is a bit late to eat, don’t you think?’ said Phyl. ‘Perhaps we should try the seven p.m. one tomorrow night?’

  The other girls all nodded but none of them said a word. Their mouths were too full of food as they were all so hungry after the day’s excitement.

  The four nurses wandered out on deck for a breath of air after dinner and Madge then wrote a letter to Mum and her sisters before tucking herself up in her bunk. She fell into a deep sleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  For nearly three years, when on night duty at Stoke Mandeville, Madge had prepared breakfasts at 7 a.m., made tea for the ward, and helped bed-bound patients with their morning ablutions. The realisation that she had entered a very different world came when she awoke at 7 a.m. to a steward knocking ever so courteously at the cabin door.

  ‘Breakfast will be served in the dining room at eight a.m.’

  When they arrived back at the dining hall they were presented with a feast. There were bowls of sugar and jugs of milk and butter on every table. Back home, tea was limited to four ounces a week, but there was no shortage on the Strathnaver. No dry toast here, Madge thought. She couldn’t remember the last time she had had a tasty, thick bacon sandwich because rationing meant that adults were allowed just four ounces each per week, along with one fresh egg. On the Strathnaver there were even sausages to go with as many slices of bacon as you fancied!

  As they tucked in to the breakfast feast, Madge said, ‘You know what I couldn’t believe? That after all that lovely food last night, the tomato soup and the roast beef and those tasty roast potatoes, they brought round
bananas!’ Vera chuckled at this. ‘I had to look twice at them,’ said Madge. ‘I hadn’t actually seen a banana since I was a child, let alone eaten one. In fact, I could barely remember what they tasted like. But now I do remember – they’re delicious!’

  Once breakfast was over, she spotted a noticeboard in the corner of the dining hall. On it was a note that all mail had to be in the post box by 11.30 a.m. as the ship was due to set sail that evening. Madge dropped the letter she’d written the night before into the wooden box and wondered when she’d next be able to send word home. Then she followed the swarm of VADs as they went to the Ladies’ Lounge, which looked like the inside of a great English country house she had once seen in a magazine. Gentle pastel blue curtains were set against cream and pink coloured walls that featured elegant swans on a lake. Mahogany-coloured tables were in vivid contrast to a herringboned parquet floor. The girls began chatting to while away the time, but Madge could barely focus on what they were saying. She was too busy looking around in awe.

  Next, all 250 nurses were ordered to assemble on A Deck, where group Commandant, Miss Corsar, gave a short but entertaining welcome address and underlined the dos and don’ts of life on board the one-time liner that would be their home for the next five weeks.

  ‘Some of you must be wondering,’ she said, ‘about the guards outside your cabin doors. There is no need for the slightest concern. They’re not there to keep you ladies in. Their job is to keep the men out!’

  Madge soon found out why exercise gear had been included on the equipment list as the next day all VADs were required to take self-defence classes, which were provided in case they came into contact with the enemy, but Madge couldn’t help but remember Commandant Corsar’s comments the previous day, especially when she noticed that soldiers were all too keen to volunteer to lend a hand. The girls were shown how to blind an assailant by jabbing their fingers deep into eye sockets, thrusting knees as hard as they could into testicles and jabbing with elbows if they were attacked from behind.