Joyce's War (14 page)

Then there was the extraordinary spectacle of about six or seven dromedaries laden with palm leaves which, as the beasts ambled along, waved and gyrated against the sky like some weird primitive dance from the South Seas. The bells jingled charmingly as the animals rolled along.

Zubair itself is a complete mud town: a market square, a mosque, Arab horsemen riding in from the desert, black-veiled women; the only modern thing at all, it seemed, was a telegraph system. Gertrude Bell was billeted in the Post Office here at one stage on a mud floor with her own camp bed and so on. Mr Hibbard knew her in the days that she came and went hereabouts. He said she was a veritable terror and everyone was scared to death of her. He told us too that she divulged some secrets later in her life and committed suicide. We didn’t know this – I suppose it’s true as Hibbard has been here more than 20 years and is a man of some authority. Away to our right were Coab and beyond Mecca and Jeddah. Not far away is Shiba (Beersheba), scene of the famous battle. And Hibbard told us an interesting story about how we won this important battle. The Turks, it seems, had the upper hand and our CO, who was almost desperate, had the brilliant idea of sending word to Zubair and insisting on every man, woman and vehicle being turned out to join the rest of the army. It had the desired effect: their numbers to the Turks looked like enormous fresh replacements – the illusion was helped by the mirage, which magnified their numbers and the Turks fled. The Turkish commander, learning of the ruse which lost him the battle, later took his life. Near Zubair, too, is a stretch of some miles of crumbling mounds composed of minute pieces of brick – this is the site of an ancient city: ‘nothing beside remains – the lone and level sands stretch far away’.
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We returned through Basrah and bought some jars and pottery and saw the rows and rows of pots lying like old Omar must have seen them many a time of old. We’ve been out each evening since, to dinner and once to an open air cinema and, always the most delicious bit, where we step into a balham at the wharf and, with two stout oarsmen, are punted safely home to our ship. Thus it ends. We have gone upstream this morning to Magil and are now alongside our ship. The patients are supposed to be coming on about 5pm. We had hoped to go out tonight but I’m afraid we shan’t although Bob is up with the Captain now, trying to work the oracle. We shan’t be allowed, I’m sure.

Later

We weren’t allowed but we went all the same. To the airport first and then we went and sat in Hibbard’s garden in the moonlight where we emptied his refrigerator and ate cold chops and Welsh rarebit at 2am. A memorable occasion because
verboten
! ‘Ah, moon of my delight.’
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September 28th 1941

We arrived back in Bombay on September 12th after an uneventful trip. We had only 21 patients in C Ward, and only two of these were in bed and not ill at all. It was unbearably hot in the Persian Gulf and, down on the ward ‘with the potatoes’, it was perfectly dreadful. However, our orderlies are so good and there was so little to do in any case that we didn’t have to do anything other than put in an appearance now and again. The one piece of excitement was when Major Ramchandani restored the speech to a boy who had been completely deaf and dumb through shock. He had been through the Spanish war, Norway, Dunkirk, Libya, Greece and Iraq; he was with the Australian Army and 47 men around him had been killed with one bomb and he alone was left. Also he had lost nine members of his family in England so it was little wonder he was suffering from shock. Major tried various electric rays on him to begin with, and we gave him sterile water daily for about four days (which was purely psychological, of course), then, nothing happening, the medics took him to theatre, put him under an anaesthetic and spoke to him as he was coming out of it, telling him that he had already spoken to them (which he hadn’t, of course). The boy insisted that he hadn’t, whilst shaking his head – but they said yes, he definitely had, and then he just spoke in complete wonderment and delight. It had been over two months since he had heard or spoken a word. We were all so thrilled and the boys in C Ward quite looked on it as a miracle, and crowded round the lad who, of course could hardly believe it himself and couldn’t stop talking.

We saw all the patients ashore next morning, en route for Poona.
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We had scarcely got to know them and it seemed a pity to see them go so soon. There was a young red-headed second lieutenant, not my patient, who had tried to commit suicide three times before coming on the ship. I had a most interesting chat with him on deck. It was awful to know that he was under strict guard day and night – always an orderly with him – enough to send anyone ‘mental’ and he was most sensitive about it. We had a strange conversation about modern poetry, pacifism (he was a pacifist) and nationalism – he was a Scottish Nationalist – and we talked about India. According to all the laws of the Medes
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and the Persians we could both have been shot for sheer heresy. As it was, he was considered mad and so put under guard while I was still at large, but no one knows for how long! It’s a queer world. This boy Dunnett was the son of a well-known Scots Presbyterian minister from Edinburgh. I feel so sorry for the lad.

We went ashore then and to the bank but no money had been paid into our accounts (nor has it been now on the 28th of the month) so I drew out my last 15 rupees, leaving about Rs2, I fancy, and thus equipped, we installed ourselves in the Grand for the weekend. We visited the paymaster on the Monday and after a lot of cogitating he decided he would pay us, there being some recent amendment to his list, in which he feared at first that we were not included. It was a slight relief, naturally, as we were on the brink of poverty.

We went to the church on Sunday and to a party on the cruiser
Hector
on the Monday evening. Mona and I were roped in to have dinner with the captain and his guest, who was a commander of a Greek destroyer, and so we spent the evening aboard. The captain had superb quarters on the old Alfred Holt ship. There was a lot of head-turning about our staying to dinner and it was all rather amusing, although annoying. Anyway, they could have stayed instead of us for all the good it would have done them, as it happened. We went aboard next morning in a tropical downpour and put out into mid-stream where we still remain. The
Atlantis
has been in for maintenance but she left yesterday for England, home and beauty, we believe. The
Talunda
is still here although rumour – which is rife – has it that she leaves any day. We stay on board most days, sewing, reading or writing. My correspondence is such that I could and should be writing all day long and every day.

The day we got back to Bombay I received 22 letters, several packets of papers and an anthology of verse from Mali, dear Mali, how thoughtful and generous she is. I had two letters from Ken in my bundle informing me that they would not be long in the Middle East and might be crossing the canal. The next one proclaimed they were in Iraq and still the poor darling had not had a single letter from me. I felt so sorry and wrote at once to the new address and cabled to say I had written frequently. Since then I’ve had two more letters, in the first of which he acknowledges two letters and my first cable and in the second, two more letters – earlier ones certainly, but at least as he says, letters. I feel so pleased about it. It seems that having spent 12 days en route through Palestine and Transjordan they have arrived back in Iraq, where they are now about to ‘unfold their tents like the Arabs and as silently creep away’
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again, back whence they came, or so they think. It all seems rather mad, but Iran is now quite quiet, the king has just gone off to Argentine or somewhere especially remote and his son is on the throne. Now, with Russia still fighting grimly for Leningrad and having re-occupied a number of villages out of Smolensk, the position in the south is rather precarious with the Kief gone. It is expected that there will be a big clash in the Crimea with, on one side, Turkey and, on the other, Bulgaria forced into it against Russia. So one day, or another, we shall slip out of Bombay to some place not so quiet, I suppose.

Yesterday, we left on the early launch and went to church. Then we went on to a cricket match at Colaba, between HMHS
Karapara
and the Welch! It was pleasant under the trees and watching the match took me back years to cricket matches in Shelford afternoons, when we were young. The Welch won, out of hand, and we all had tea together in their mess. They were a nice lot of boys, mostly from South Wales, I learned. They told me that of the 900 1st Welch that were at Alexandria and who went onto Crete, only 200 remained. They fought the rearguard action there and most of the 900 who didn’t get away were killed. It made me so sad to think about it. I received a letter today from Gwen, who is nursing in Llandudno, because her husband Ronald is in Barmouth. The airmail is taking about six weeks to arrive now, a little better. I wish I could afford to send all my letters by air but I just cannot. I’ve begun to send off Christmas cards and small gifts to one or another. I just can’t forget, even in the war, how good they were all to me in those happy years in
Cymru fy
.

October 20th 1941

Still sitting in the same spot of water and no sign of moving yet. I have done nothing of any note – been to the Taj
about twice and once went across to Elephanta Island. That was a pleasant day to walk under the shady trees and to see the sea rolling in surf hundreds of feet below us. We had an excellent lunch with a better view and explored the ancient Hindu caves afterwards. It was all exceedingly interesting. Much of the stone work is in an excellent state of preservation and the figures are finely proportioned and executed. It took two and a half hours to get there and the same to get back.

We have had some difficulty about pay again, pending some decisions as to where we actually belong. Nothing was paid in at all for two whole months. I shall not record our actual words on the subject. However, they have deigned to pay us the August salary and some arrears of pay recently, but September’s has still to come to light. It appears we are now to be paid from Poona, so this ought to be more definite than the ME, although we are still not on Indian rates of pay. What has infuriated us however is that they have taken out, for the third time no less, an advance of £5 which I drew in France in May last year. Investigations are being made, I hope. They certainly are not getting away with this latest piece of infamy – not if I can do anything about it.

Ken has left Iraq and I last heard when he was somewhere en route to the ME again. It sounded like Galilee or Tiberias as he was going to gather some tiny shells for a necklace for me. He sent me a charming silver bracelet from Iraq for which the customs made me pay Rs10. I feel this was grossly unfair and they were exceedingly nice and they said they would refund all but Rs2.8 of it. So I am more than happy about it. Poor Ken, I don’t know whether he realises it but I feel he is going farther and farther away from me. We shall probably never go to the ME again, whilst he is almost certain to be sent to Libya or north, if Germany heads that way. Goodness knows where and how and when it will all end. Japan is threatening again now that Russia is losing ground – Odessa is gone and Moscow seems sorely hemmed in. They have even mined the Great Barrier Reef and Thursday Island. I think we have been at anchor here for quite six weeks this time. I suppose one day we’ll be sheared out, if we haven’t got stuck to the floor with the barnacles before then. Poor Russia, how she has taken the hurt! Well, I hope we won’t forget it, when the time comes for the reckoning up of such things.

Clwyd is in Papua now. Sister Mona seems very happy in her camp hospital. Glyn’s throat is still bothering him a lot it seems and Mother’s dermatitis seems to be getting worse instead of better. I do wish she would go into hospital so that they could keep a constant watch on her. I have just had a birthday letter from General enclosing a canteen order for ten shillings. Of course, I can’t use it – at least I wasn’t able to in Egypt. I’ll enquire when I next go ashore. Sweet of him to think about it, however.

We have had two sports meetings with the
Talamba
, our sister ship. I didn’t go over there but had to put in an appearance here at the return match. Mary didn’t however, and that caused a mild sensation in various quarters. Now they’ve invited us to tea on Thursday and to stay to supper and a dance later. No one wanted to go but Matron thought two should go and it was decided to draw lots and Marcia and I turned up. We would! I loathe these polite social affairs. It is Diwali, the Hindu festival, this week so shops and banks are closed for at least two days and Tich is running around presenting us all with dreadful sweets, such as they are in India on these occasions, it seems. We tell him they are delicious so he is quite satisfied and then we get rid of them via the porthole. I have had several
John O’London’s
and about six
Horizons
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from Mali this week. She is so good and we all enjoy reading them immensely – it is a link for me, with a world I was so fond of and familiar with – we never see this type of magazine from one year’s end to another.

The harbour is very busy these days with all kinds of sea-going craft from tiny scarlet yachts with snow-white sails to heavy cruisers. The
Exeter
is in and one or two Greek ships. The
Yara
(HMAS of ancient memory) has been in and gone out and there is an Australian armed merchantman beside the
Windsor Castle
, the
Felix Rousseau
, a large Free French ship,
the
Orion
with a piece of her bow in some collision or other, the
Strathallen
, numerous breakers and smaller ships of all nations, mostly Norwegian, Dutch or American and even including Japanese. The little island fort near the ‘Gateway’ seems to be undergoing reconstruction into something really considerable. The docks are stocked with Bren gun carriers
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and such things for export to the Middle or Far East. Everywhere is activity, although the army itself appears to function socially more than any other way, at the moment.