Here on the high seas, our days are as flowing and as uncoloured as a dream. The rest of the convoy accompanies us faithfully, although they often veer off alarmingly and change places with each other for reasons least known to the commodore, who is on this ship. This morning, a light cruiser, not ours, appeared ahead of us, and cutting through the water and between our convoy, passed us in a flash, low and clean out of the water. Also we hear that the Empress of Canada had a fire on board this morning. Everything apparently is under control or so we hope. John has come over to sit with Mona and I have cleared off to try to finish this in peace. Mitchell is threading his way, in and out, to the accompaniment of tinkling glasses. The usual groups sit about, reading, playing cards or chess but mainly just talking. It always seems to end thus. There is a dance tonight in the enclosed part of B Deck, beyond the annex. As a special privilege we are allowed to wear evening dress and as I haven’t brought a long frock with me, I am borrowing one of Bill Williams’ – black and straight. It fits very well but I feel I shall look a trifle sombre, if I can’t think of something to brighten it up a little. But now I must write some letters so they won’t be filling up the very last day, as is usually the case.
September 8th 1940
The dance is over, and I believe we are all feeling the after effects, even at this late stage. The heat and various other things have laid most of us rather low, and no one except Mona looks really energetic. The dance was an entire success because first and foremost we were allowed to wear evening dress, and for once, we all felt and became human beings and not merely registered numbers in the QAIMNS(R).
Mona looked, as John said, ‘smashing’ with her hair done ‘dauphin style’, and in her floral black frock. I wore Williams’ black frock, which fitted perfectly, and with the aid of Cameron’s belt with two large crimson poppies on the front of it, and my dear cherry amber beads, I felt fairly happy. The boys had dinner with us, John having dug us out of the hot cabin with a martini. Mona had had an exhausting day, setting, out of the goodness of her heart, at least eight heads of hair, including mine. Dinner was a noisy and hilarious affair, and ended with a Grand Marnier in the lounge, followed very soon, for me, by a cup of vegemite. The dancing was practically impossible, but we got up just the same, but I was tired, tired, tired. I simply sat on the basin in the cabin, when we eventually got down, as I hadn’t enough energy to undress and get into bed. Yesterday, being Sunday, we attended church parade where the singing was very good and the choir was composed of about 30 men from the ranks. They looked so young and had such delightful faces. I always think, when I look at them, that they are being asked to give too much – to destroy and be destroyed – ‘to pour out the rich sweet wine of youth’.10 But it all seemed beyond our control just now.
The news is grim again this morning, hundreds of planes over London, fires, explosions, machine gun fire and bombs.11 What devastation and loss of human life. Swanton has just asked me if Mona and I would be afraid in an air raid and, as I don’t feel that I could ever be afraid in any situation and, in any case, one has to face such things sometime, I said, ‘certainly not’. So it is arranged that Mona and I, in such an event, would take over stations in the ship’s hospital to render first aid and so forth.
September 13th 1940
Hot – hot – hot. So hot my hand sticks to the paper as I write. Mona and I are sitting as near as we can get to one of the spitfires, in our usual spot at the far end of the lounge. We have done nothing for days but sit languidly and mop our brows, or when we are not so occupied, we drink the coldest and longest drink we can persuade Mitchell to produce. The passion fruit has become exhausted, and also the orange, so now we have descended to pineapple with large lumps of ice. It pours from us almost before we have finished it and the whole thing has to be done again, in endless succession and with no lasting result.
Yesterday at about 4pm, a long convoy of ships passed us, going in the opposite direction, far away on the horizon, bound for India or Australia or elsewhere – all under escort, of course. I suppose at that time there were about 30 ships to be seen, including their escorts and ours, which consists now of two cruisers, three destroyers, HMAS Hobart, among them. Dinner from now on is at 6.30, instead of 7.30, and as we were leaning over the rails about 8, the Empress of Britain and the Empress of Canada and the Andes suddenly get up speed and left us. The Hobart came cutting through the water, between the Andes and us, and shot out of sight in no time. We passed Aden and Perim last night. So odd to see the lighthouse flashing out to sea – all lights are strange sights to us now. We cluster around and look like children at any lighted ship or beacon in these dark nights.
Yesterday morning we were told that there was air activity and we must carry our life belts, strictly at all times. Also as Mona and I have to take up action stations at once if there is an emergency, we have to carry our ‘shipwreck bags’ and our tin helmets as well. The men are censoring letters alongside us and reading the spicy bits out such as, ‘There are a number of nurses on board but they are for officers only!’ and ‘I’ve never seen such a flat footed lot of nurses in my life!’. There was some more about officers being absolutely incompetent and having no faith in them whatsoever, except for one or two who were worth their weight in gold and so on. In a moment we have to attend a lecture on Palestine; it’s rather late to start this sort of thing as we are rumoured to be arriving in Suez at dawn on Monday – and this is Friday.
September 15th 1940
More heat, day-long and night-long but these last two nights we have had permission to sleep out. Mona was not allowed to go up on deck because she has a bad cold, but I went and had John Newman’s bed and felt so happy to be lying under the stars again. I believe I was too excited to sleep, but wakened many times to find the moon staring down at me, shining silver, from a clear starry sky. The rest of the ships glided like black etchings in a sea of pure silver. We had to rise at 5.45 to clear the decks for Physical Training and, leaning over the B rails from 7–8am, I had a heart to heart talk with John N. again about Mona. It is all arranged – they are going to be married après la guerre and I am really delighted about it all. They will feel sad at heart tomorrow when John goes on his way to Khartoum and Mona – who knows where? We celebrated at dinner last night, the boys dined with us, it being guest night, and we all had a happy evening. The last deck was the scene of much horseplay, mostly by the guards, who seem to want to relax for once. We went off to bed at about 1.30am and rose before 6am.
The cruiser Shropshire, which has been with us since Liverpool, left us yesterday afternoon. She came close alongside, portside, and signalled ‘goodbye and good luck’ and her crew were plastered against the rails and up and down the rigging. All our troops collected on portside to wave them farewell and to sing ‘Rule Britannia’; so much so that we have had a distinct list to port ever since. We go on alone now, making a dash for Suez, which we are supposed to reach tomorrow at dawn.
And so the final stages are reached. One more lap, by train I suppose, and we shall arrive – where and what and when is another story, of which I know nothing at this moment. I met a Welsh boy from Harlech today – rather late in the trip – such a nice lad, from Radio Telephony, who is going to Cairo. So this is the last record that I shall write here, whilst on board this ship, unless we receive orders tomorrow that we are to return to England, the same way. Even that wouldn’t surprise me. I doubt if anything can in these mad days. There is talk of invasion of England today.12 I keep wondering what is happening all day.
September 19th 1940
So this is Egypt!
But first to pick up the threads. We got into Suez at dawn on Monday morning, the hot sun blazing in the sky, the bare yellow hills, the gleam of sand beyond incredibly green water, ships lying at anchor all around us, and the engines silent after all these long weeks. After many rumours we learned that we were disembarking on Wednesday. Some of the crew got off that day, some including John W. the next day and so on un
til Friday. We watched them go off under their officers on curiously primitive-looking black barges pulled or pushed along by a funny little tug affair. That night after a very late dinner we had a final toast to John and he insisted on our going out on deck as a final gesture and, very solemnly and melodramatically, we threw our glasses into the sea and in a second, in a moment in time, the sea had swallowed them up in the darkness. It was a marvellous night with brilliant moonlight and the knowledge that so soon everyone must go his separate ways, not knowing whether any of us might meet again, made us sad enough to loathe going in and leaving it all. I gave John my Oxford Book of Verse, because he is fond of poetry too and I have other anthologies.
Mona and I went on duty the next day in the hospital. As it was the first time we had been asked to do it, apart from outpatients, we couldn’t complain, although it did seem unfortunate that we were not in for the last day and had all the discharging of the men to do. John W. left the ship that morning, bound for Geneifa, some outpost in the desert, but no one seemed to know quite where. We had an exhausting day in hospital, finishing up about 5.30pm with things more or less straight, and had a party before dinner – John N. and Mona, Michael, Jackie and Andy and myself and consequently arrived at dinner very late indeed. After dinner we had another ‘extra special’ with Mona, John and Michael and I. We took our glasses out on deck, in the pitch darkness, for’ard, under the bridge and there we drank a toast to Mona and John, to the years between and the years afterwards that they might be together again, very soon and live happily ever after. And then we all threw our glasses into the darkness, heard the thin sound of them hitting the water below and then turned and went our ways. Later, hearing about the engagement, various people came up and joined the party: Bill and Sydney, Andy, David and Walsh, Nigel Davidson and Dr Denton and we made exceeding merry till 11.30pm. Mona went to bed then but John took me out again on deck for a deep discussion on Mona and other matters. I have solemnly promised to cherish her and look after her, until the end of the war.
Next morning, our heavy luggage having gone ahead the previous day, we had nothing to do but sit and wait for the time of our disembarkation. We left immediately after lunch, and piling into a launch with our hand cases we left the old Otranto and, in about 20 minutes, were in Suez. It was hot and dusty there, waiting for our cases in the midday sun, and apart from visiting the local NAAFI for a very warm lemonade, we sat in the train, tired with the heat, until we left at 4pm. It was a dreary run across the desert, nothing but sand and an occasional village, with squalid flat-roofed houses and some straggling palms. We eventually arrived at Cairo at 9pm, thankful to have arrived. The New Zealand girls were collected into a van and sent off to the NZ hospital at Helmieh and were put on duty next day. Mona, Bill and I got into the next van but, on discovering that my hand case was missing, I got out and Mona followed suit. Unfortunately Bill was left behind, and that bus went off to Helwan and the girls, except Bill, who isn’t well, are now on duty. It is sheer luck that we remained behind because we are now at the Victoria Hotel, 50 of us all told, and the remainder at the Heliopolis House. The latter is more luxurious than our place, and as it is seething with QAs and their respective matrons, and we have only Fossie, and she doesn’t count anyway, we feel we have the best end of the stick. The Victoria is full of Aussies, mostly on leave from Palestine. We have orders that the grey tricolenes may not be worn, and we have to order the white tricolenes to be made at once, and also to buy a white felt hat.
We have done quite a lot of sightseeing already, and have adopted a real gem of a Dragoman13 – one Mahomet Ali el Shair. The first morning we set out on a shopping expedition and Mahomet Ali accompanied us, paying our bills, carrying our parcels, looking after us like a fussy old hen. We all climbed up into a horse-drawn gharry and went off to the bazaars. There we visited the perfume king of Cairo and bought extravagantly, perfumes to the sum of £1 for a small bottle. Mine is ‘Secret of the Desert’ and Mona’s ‘Tutankhamun’. They also gave us a little bottle of anything else we wished. Mona chose ‘Wattle’ and I ‘Attar of Roses’. Then we went to a silk merchant’s and each ordered a dressing gown and slippers to match. Mine is heavy oyster silk, embroidered in pinks and blues, in reproduction, so I am assured, of a 1713 piece of old English embroidery. Very lovely anyway. They are being made alike in Persian style and will cost £2.
In the afternoon Mahomet collected us and we set off in a taxi to visit the mosque of Hassan. We walked under the pulpit and, turning to Mecca, made a wish, this being the correct thing to do. It was a fine mosque, lofty and austere and dignified, with lovely mosaics on the walls. Then we went to the citadel, which is a fortress, to the Alabaster mosque. Surely this is the most lovely church I have ever seen – thick red Persian carpets on the floor, solid carved alabaster columns and hundreds of crystal spheres hanging from the roof. How entrancing it must have looked when the lights were lit; the sun shining in from the western windows made the crystal chandeliers miracles of beauty, and all the colours of the rainbow. There were two pulpits, one built with the mosque 120 years ago, and the other opened only a week ago by King Farouk. It was perfect, in a modern style, with gates of solid gold in an intricate pattern of leaves. All was peace and light there and we were loath to leave and go out into the hot sun again.
But we piled into the taxi once more and made for the pyramids. I have always wanted to go to the pyramids and it seemed strangely familiar to stand under their shadow in reality. The Great Pyramid took 30 years to build, ten years to quarry the stone, ten to lay the foundations and ten to finish it. There is no cement used anywhere to hold the stone together, and the men were changed every three months. We had a camel ride too, three of us, and had our photographs taken at the top with the pyramids behind us.
We went back to the hotel later for dinner but the night was yet young and at 8.30 we set off once again, two taxis this time, with Mahomet as our guiding star as before. The idea was to see the pyramids by moonlight with the dervishes and the feasting and carousing which went on all night, the occasion being a sort of thanksgiving for the cotton crop. It appeared that after the crop was harvested, all the eligible young men of the village decide to get married, and did so forthwith on the one night around much jollification and very much noise. We marshalled camels once again and a long string of us rode in the moonlight, weaving in and around the houses, watching the dervishes wailing and chanting from the Koran, small groups drinking tea, the thick sweet tea with lemon that we had drunk in the afternoon at Mahomet’s house, or tiny dolls’ cups of Turkish coffee.
We visited the house of one bride, a young, frightened, rather lovely girl, sitting on the roof top with her maids and her family and as many others as could squeeze in. She was awaiting the arrival of the groom, who had probably only seen her twice in his life before, and everyone was standing or sitting or dancing. He came then, the young groom, flying up the steps in his colourful robes and into the room where the young bride had been hurriedly conducted. But in a moment or two he was out again, flourishing her handkerchief high over his head in triumph, and was off to join his friends. Apparently he came to claim her permanently some time later. We had been to the houses of the bride and her bridegroom in the afternoon, and had shaken hands with them and wished them luck. As we arrived at the house of the bridegroom, the band, which was evidently hired to play to the company, somewhat strangely switched to ‘God save the King’, which we did recognise, fortunately, and we were quite touched. We went at length to Mahomet Ali’s house again, to drink the sweet lemon tea and had our fortunes read in the sand – under the moonlight. We were tired but entirely happy as we climbed into the taxi and set off for the hotel, arriving somewhere between 1 and 2am.
Friday, September 20th 1940
We had a quiet day, much needed, and at night there was a dance given by the Australians. They were pathetically delighted that so many of us were Australians and New Zealanders and we were told that many of them had not spoken t
o their own womenfolk – or any English – since the war began. One persistent gentleman badly wanted me to accompany him to the zoo on Sunday, but as I didn’t care for zoos and didn’t care for him, I declined. Not daunted he found out the number of my room at the desk and rang me up at 1am and again when I was in the bath the next morning, since when he has been silent and, I hope, moved far away. I met quite an amiable boy from Sydney and as he had his chief’s car we went for a run in the moonlight, and to the fort of the pyramids for the fourth time in two days. Home at 2.30.
On Saturday, we took Mahomet and in two cars about seven of us went out to the ancient city of Memphis and Saqqara14 where very little remains but flat roofed dirty hovels and an enormous lime-stone figure of Rameses the Great, lying prone on great stones. On his head the crown of Upper and Lower Egypt and the false beard which was a sign of royalty. His wife is carved on his leg. It might have been done yesterday instead of 6,000 years ago. Nearby, in an enclosure, is another colossal statue of Rameses, in his heyday, with the crown of Upper Egypt only, before his later conquests. There is a belt swathed around his waist, with his name thereon and his sword in its sheath. The face is superb, with its perfect cast of features and the smile so real it was positively uncanny. A most amazing piece of work.
We packed in again and set off across the desert to Saqqara where it was desolate enough in the middle of the desert: nothing but the lone and level sands stretching far away. We descended into one of the tombs where Mera15 was buried in the first dynasty. The mummies and the gold and such treasure which were buried with them are, of course, in the Cairo museum, now alas closed for the duration of the war, but the walls are carved with inscriptions and perfect bas relief scenes depicting the various interests of the king during his lifetime. Here fishing from a boat, Mera watching the dancing girls, Mera hunting or supervising his cooking – all this and more perfectly plain for any eye in any century to read. A good deal of the work was coloured with dye from flowers, and, except for where tourists have with their customary imbecility rubbed or scratched it away, the colour remains perfect after 4,000 years. In an alcove was a statue of Mera himself. In another apartment, Mera’s wife and scenes illustrating her days covered the walls there. Across another stretch of sand we entered another tomb, the SRMO of the Egyptian court, the court doctor in fact, and there was an enormous theatre table, where apparently he got someone to sit on the patient, while he proceeded to remove something or another. Next door was a smaller tomb, the last resting place of the doctor’s daughter – it seems this girl married the king’s son. In the car again and down into another tomb where the colouring was marvellously fresh and clear. In another room were two mummies, rather revolting but a very amazing sight.
Joyce's War Page 4
