Joyce's War
Page 7
1941
Alexandria – Cairo – Ismailia – Hospital Ship Karapara Suez – Aden – Bombay – Basrah
January 31st 1941
I’ve allowed this to lapse for about six weeks, which is sheer laziness and now I shall have forgotten so many things that have happened. I see I was in Hut 4 when I last wrote herein, but we closed down the day before Christmas. I went to AIW Medical for a few days then but as soon as the next British convoy arrived, I was packed off to Hut 1. Miss Thoms was in charge and we got on very well together, although she was a bit of a muddler. I was very happy there when Matron suddenly decided to send Mona and me on leave.
Continued February 21st
We didn’t want to go because (a) we hadn’t enough money and (b) with only a few days notice, and 14 days required, we couldn’t go to Palestine. This broke our hearts entirely but Matron seemed to think it was now or never and so we decided to go anyway. We thought we’d have a few days in Cairo en route and then spend the bulk of time in Ismailia. There seemed to be nowhere else to go in Egypt, except Luxor, which didn’t quite fit our bank accounts at the time. We booked our seats on the plane to Cairo but the day turned out to be so filthy – a terrific sand storm – that the plane didn’t go and we had to go up by train. We got talking to a charming Egyptian – Sabri Batos – who was in the Ministry of Agriculture and he asked us to go to tea at his sister’s house the next day. We went and found them a delightful family, the sister, three small girls, a boy of 18 or so, who was a medical student at Cairo University, and a friend who was a doctor. They were all Coptics as distinct from Moslems. We were given, or I should say ‘forced into’, the most exotic and enormous tea that we have ever seen, and then we went again to lunch the next day and to the zoo and the Gardens of Mair afterwards.
We spent these two nights at Shepherds where lying in bed and ringing for breakfast gave us the unbound satisfaction that it is possible only for two weary nurses to know! We arrived at Ismailia about 10.30pm and taxied out to the United Services Club. The room we were conducted to almost made us weep, enamel beds and red blankets! Busman’s holiday! The club however was superbly situated on the shores of Lake Timsah through which runs the Suez Canal. Sitting on the veranda in the warm sunshine, it was heavenly to look across the lake at the far shore, with honey coloured sand hills and groups of dark palms, and away to the right the high road that runs on its desert way to Suez and Port Said. The sweet water canal that runs through Ismailia was always crammed with barges and ancient wooden craft that looked as if they’d been in the same spot since Cleopatra was a girl. Their tall curved masts against the sky were strangely beautiful.
The town itself was hopeless: dirty and uninviting, but the French gardens were very lovely indeed. We stayed two nights at the YMCA and the rest at the club. We drove out to the Australian hospital one afternoon. Enid Baker had come into town in the morning on a day off and it was marvellous to see her again after many days – and then once again I met Jean Oddie. She is just the same Jean and I felt mean to let her slide out of my days for so long a time. We had tea in the mess, a long narrow brick hut, and inspected the tents and huts in which they lived. They seem happy enough there; their uniforms are very nice indeed and much superior and more sensible than ours are. Jean came into the club on her day off which was the day before we left and we talked and talked. While we were going over the old days, by coincidence, an airmail letter came for me from Connie Short, which mentioned Jean.
We left next day for Cairo, travelling up with some RAF men we had previously met and who were bound for the Sudan. We had tea with them at Grappi’s before seeing them off on their long journey to the desert. We stayed the remainder of the time at the Metropolitan Hotel which we liked very much. Our old friend Bimbashi Abbas Ali came up to meet us that night and he and Mrs Jaques Bewish took us to dinner at the James, and then to the film of Rebecca afterwards which we’d seen in London, so found it a bit boring.
Next day Bill came out, having a day off, and we all went to the tattoo given by the police at their barracks in Abbasia. It was a grand afternoon, sitting there in the glorious sunshine, watching the superb Arab horses and their riders, balloon shooting, tent pegging and Cossack riding. We went to the Bardia, a night club, later to see some Egyptian dancing and then had supper and went to bed. We also met, through Bimbashi in Cairo, a charming couple, Mr Baileu, who was Swiss, and his wife, a Jewess. And two very gallant gentlemen, Felix and Ralph Green – also Jews and very wealthy bankers. Felix lives in Alexandria and Ralph in Cairo. Ralph asked us to go and see him next morning before leaving and we did. He has the most amazing collection of treasures I’ve ever seen. There was much too much to take in at one glance; odds and ends from all corners of the Orient, Greece, Japan, China and Palestine. Dear old Bimbashi came along to the train to see us off and bought us a box of sweets each; he really is the kindest soul I have ever known and he just can’t help it.
On return from leave, I was sent to A2 W (Dysentery) with Miss Silb in charge. They were very slack and Silb is delightful to work with but I was there only three days when Matron sent me off to Hut 9. They were frantically busy there with a new convoy of badly wounded men, mostly Australians. I hated it at first but got to like it very much, as usual, so much so that about a week ago I was really disgusted and disappointed when Matron sent word that I was to go at once and open Hut V for Italian Medical. I’ve never been in charge before and my head spun round counting sheets and going over the equipment with Steele from whom I was taking over.
We started out with about nine patients for B1 but odd ones drifted in and then the next day we got a convoy of about 16 patients and we really had a busy time for a few days, until most of them were evacuated on a convoy a few days ago. Keary is with me at the moment and three orderlies who come and go in addition to five Italian orderlies who remain. Surgeon Lieut. Phillips is the medical officer and quite nice to work for. It’s quite a picnic getting anyone to understand what I want to know and what I want them to do; but somehow or other under some special providence for POWs, they have all so far survived. Today we have been made all medical, so perhaps it’ll be more straightforward from now on.
Duncan rang me on Tuesday. I hadn’t heard from him for quite three months and I had thought he might be in Greece or even killed. But it seems he has been in the desert, Bardia, Tobruk and the rest, and is back in his original camp for a while. I went out with him last night after 8, which is, of course, strictly taboo. We had dinner at Le Petit Coin au France and then drove home and talked for a long time. He looks graver and older but is not so very much changed, although he thinks he is. It is nice to see him again. I had a letter from Major Dalt too, from the Abyssinian border, I imagine, at the 11th IGH and from Ted, who was in the Bardia, Tobruk and Dernia23 business and who is now convalescing in Palestine after some slight illness. Padre Helman has also arrived in Alexandria but I’ve seen him once only as they left to go up to Tobruk some weeks ago but were turned back before they arrived and are back now at the King of Maru hotel again. Mona and Hugh and Major Jones and I went to the Union club on Saturday night and another night Mona and Hugh and a Polish officer and I went to the pictures and to dinner afterwards. Oh and I went with Cpt. Marshall to dinner at the Carleton one night. That, I fancy, is the extent of my gallivanting since my last leave.
But Mona and I had a delightful day off on Wednesday. We caught the bus out to Aboukir about 1 o’clock and lay on the sands under the palm trees. We wore mufti and took our lunch with us and I wrote to the family. It was heavenly to get right away from the army atmosphere for a few rich hours. In a letter from Mother this week, I learn that Clwyd, ‘little Clwyd’, has been appointed to Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea. How we Parrys are getting around the earth! Poor Mother: how she will hate the thought of it as it will mean two years at least, I suppose. I hope he doesn’t get malaria or any of those horrid infectious diseases. I can imagine Clwyd in a topee and shorts – very dashing.
March 31st 1941
It’s exactly a month since I wrote this up – very disgusting really as so much and so little too has happened. The Western Desert affair is drawing to its logical conclusion or so we are led to believe. Gerabub and Keren have fallen at long last and most of the crowds who were at Benghazi and round about are now waiting to set sail for Greece, Salonika or some such spot. Turkey is still lying doggo but German troops have taken over Bulgaria, which made no resistance at all and issued an ultimatum to Yugoslavia, whose government signed a pact within its axis, but who, a day or two afterwards, overthrew the government, the regent and his wife fleeing the country and the young king taking over. So good for Yugoslavia and its people and its eighteen-year-old king. Yesterday, we had splendid news of the fleet in the eastern Mediterranean, three cruisers and two destroyers sunk and no loss at all to our ships or personnel. We were told to stand by last night for seven officers – but none has so far arrived – and it transpires that only five casualties came to us, to B Ground as usual. It was a grand show – good old NAVY. The officers were thrilled and as excited as boys, even the commanders!
I am in Officers now, where I went about ten days ago and like it quite well. We aren’t busy and Mona is in charge, having taken over from Kirsten, who is on sick leave. I have sixteen rooms to do, comprising mostly senior officers, naval and military, majors and commanders and what nots and two head cases, one a young RAF fleet officer (of Duncan’s squadron), a nice lad, and another fractured base of skull, a Norwegian from a minesweeper who was beaten up in the town last night. There is a nice Australian lieutenant commander who, in a taxi accident, unfortunately lost the sight of one eye, and then there are one or two other Victorians on the ward.
Duncan came back out of the blue, or out of the desert, about three weeks ago but has been transferred recently to Cairo to do ground work duties for three months. I rather think he has become somewhat unnerved after the desert business anyway and he doesn’t trust himself flying at the moment. He brought us some yards of the Italian parachute material, pure silk, white, a lovely quality and I shall get it made up into blouses or something. Ted came back for a night last week too, from Mersa Matruh. He has been back with the regiment beyond Benghazi but they are just waiting now to go off to Greece – probably gone by now, I think. He is completely fed up with the army and utterly disillusioned with the war in general. The usual thing, I fear.
The padre came down to the ward recently and has been up at Gerabub and was very thrilled about it. He said it fell in two hours at the last stages. He brought me a piece of broken pottery and a little saucer as souvenirs. Mona and I have gone all Australian in the last week or two, with the MO, Colonel G., field ambulance and a Captain Mac. We and two other Melbourne MOs with Annie Nixon and Teddy Head had a jolly party at the Hussein Club on Saturday night and we fell into bed at 3am. I am really dead today as a result.
The weather is warming up nicely at long last. It has been so cold and soon I know it’ll be too hot. We go into whites soon – a doubtful advantage. Anyway it’ll be something to get out of black stockings.
Enid Baker and Jean Oddie have had leave and have each spent three days in Alexandria. It was delightful to see them. They came out here and had tea with us on our balcony and later we took them over to the hospital.
April 5th 1941
Benghazi evacuated by us. Not so good.
April 6th 1941
Germany declares war on Greece and Yugoslavia and hostilities begin. Addis Ababa entered by British troops.
April 8th 1941
Massawa24 taken.
April 9th 1941
We have evacuated all Western Desert towns officially as far as Tobruk, but rumour has it as far as Mersa Matruh. This is a great shock to Mona and me and, having just had our supper of tomato sandwich and coffee, we are finding ourselves in a state of stupor at this last bad news. It all seems so incredible and swift. Well, the next move that we must consider is possible evacuation of the hospital. I hope this isn’t defeatist but it is quite on the cards. We can’t decide what to take and what to leave, but we have definitely agreed to leave our tricolenes and black stockings and to take my Albatross Anthology in case they don’t go in for poetry in German concentration camps!
The wireless news tonight reported that 2,000 of our men have been taken prisoner and three of our generals are missing, probably captured – Cannon, Gambier-Parry and Tree. I had a letter from Ted yesterday telling me that instead of being sent to Greece he is being sent to the OTC but I fancy his course will now be interrupted. Actually, although we are talking extravagantly and laughing and saying ‘malesh’25 in the best Egyptian manner, we are very worried at this news. The Greeks are cut off in Salonika also.
April 10th 1941 Good Friday
Mona and I went to a non-conformist service in the hospital chapel. Two very nice young padres took the service but only about 12 of us there.
April 13th 1941 Easter Sunday
Mona, Bill and I go to church again.
April 14th 1941
The blow has fallen! I am being transferred to a hospital ship. I feel absolutely dead when I think of it and all that it entails. Seven months here in Alexandria with good friends everywhere and now to be thrust solitarily into the mess of a hospital ship – how I shall loathe it. If only Mona and I had been sent together, it could have been different, but now – well goodness knows – if ever during the war, we shall see each other again. C’est la guerre. I don’t know the name of the ship yet or where she goes and where from, but now I must get to work and pack and how!
April 16th 1941
I haven’t gone yet. Still hanging around in a state of chaos and confusion. This room is a depressing sight but I feel too weak to do anything about it until I hear more definitely what I am to be doing. I had a half-day off today and don’t need to go on until 1pm tomorrow. So time for a sleep in. I forgot to mention that the Velta was machine gunned off Tobruk and sunk. Blunden was on her, but everyone was saved and the staff are in our mess, having lost everything. A cheerful prospect for me.
April 30th 1941
And still here. Although Matron tells me that I am still on call, I doubt very much whether I shall be transferred to a hospital ship but I still live in and out of my trunk, which is somewhat trying.
We’ve been evacuating Greece for the past week and part of their army has capitulated. I suppose the poor things are weary after all the fighting in the past six months and one can’t presume to criticise them, although we are told that the 5th column is rife there, as it has been in all countries that have fallen to the Nazis and we have been betrayed over and over again. The Australian and New Zealand troops seem to have been pushed to the fore again, and as before, have given good account of themselves. It remains to be seen if they will all get out alive as the Germans have been in Athens for some days and I suppose will do their utmost to cut them off. One can’t help thinking of the troops all the time and of the families who are wondering where they are and what is happening to them.
We ourselves are more or less CB at present. Only a special military pass will get us into Alexandria and even then we have to be out of it by 7.00pm. No one knows quite why this is but there are rumours of riots and impending air raids and troop landings and enormous convoys preparing for Greece. The latter is the most likely, I imagine. Mr Churchill has spoken and even he doesn’t sound over-optimistic for the moment. I can’t help thinking we will be evacuating Egypt before too long. I hope I am wrong but I can’t see anything else for it. And then where? At the moment we are holding the Germans in the Western Desert, though they are beyond Sollum, a few miles inside the Egyptian border. The Tobruk
siege is holding out, we are told, and Dessie has fallen to us which should free many of our troops there. John has been in hospital with phlebitis on his elbow but is now out again and presumably back with his regiment. Luckland, who was to have been married about a fortnight ago, has heard nothing from her fiancé until a few days ago. She was terribly worried as he is in Tobruk and can’t get away. I’ve had letters from Colonel Green and the padre, both it seems in the Western Desert. I don’t know whether Ted has rejoined his regiment or is still at the OTC, the latter I hope. Otherwise he will be caught up in Greece, as his regiment is there – the 21st.
General’s son Bill came up to see me yesterday and, although I had half a day and was in the flats, no one had enough sense to tell him so and I missed him. I fancy he was on his way back to Palestine, or else back to the desert. PO Strong is back from Tel Akabir and on a fortnight’s leave. He came up to the mess the night before last, somewhat inebriated, I am told, and demanded to see ‘old Parry’ and couldn’t be got out! I was in bed blissfully unaware of what was happening until Mona told me he was at the flat door. She advised me not to go down to him and lectured him for a good half hour. I promised to have dinner with him last night at the Beau Rivage if he hadn’t drunk anything all day. He didn’t, so we had dinner and I lectured him again for his own good. But I feel awfully sorry for these boys, particularly when they are on leave. There is nothing for them to do in this place but drink, if they don’t know anyone to talk to. It is all very sad but they look so pathetic and lonely and they are missing so much because of this war. Sometimes I think to myself I shan’t do anything about it, I simply won’t go out with them and then, I remember that tomorrow, next week maybe, they may be dead. And I change my mind. Mona thinks I am soft, but I’d have more to reproach myself with if I refuse them an hour or two occasionally. After all, we haven’t given up much in this war and it’s little enough to do for our fellow creatures. I know I am right in this, although it mightn’t always be wise. But, ‘It is not wisdom to be only wise and on the inward vision close the eyes. But it is wisdom to believe the heart’.26