Coming of Age: 1939-1946 Part 2

A few days later I was at Devonport railway station awaiting a Southern Railway train bound for Salisbury. On arrival there I found my way to the private house where I was to be interviewed. I forget the officer's rank, he was probably a major but it was an informal affair, one-on-one.

I suppose that my answers to his semi-technical questions were satisfactory and eventually he asked, "Have you ever thought of a commission?" Now in this world there are leaders and there are followers and in matters concerning the life or death of others I come in the second category. "No, Sir." I replied. "You could be compelled to." he said. I was non-committal and we left it at that.

Back in Bowden Battery I was called in front of a visiting officer, Captain Barbary, son of the brigadier. Apparently certain selected individuals were to be sent on an intensive physical training course to develop their full potential and Barbary was there to sort out those most likely to benefit from the scheme. Reflex actions and the speed thereof were checked and I suppose that a general a.s.sessment of physique was made, anyway a couple of days later I was bound for Westward Ho on the north coast of Devon with all my kit. My destination was a pre-war holiday camp, taken over by the military but the holiday spirit was gone and the conditions were spartan. However before my course really got started I was ordered to get moving once more, this time to Tidworth to take a trade test.

I had only ever heard of the place before as being the site of the Tidworth Tattoo and I wasn't quite prepared for the fact that it appeared to be in the middle of nowhere and that the railway tracks finished there; my spirits sank. The one redeeming thing was that I would only be there for a couple of days. Military personnel of all corps and regiments seemed to be there and it had an atmosphere of bustle, squads marching and counter-marching, urged on by the drill-pigs, little dictators strutting their stuff. There were military vehicles also including a few tanks, probably the only ones Britain possessed at that time and pips and crowns abounded together with some red tabs. But there was one little haven of relative peace, the Drawing Office where I took my trade test and for two days I could shut off the military world. When it was all over I returned to Bowden Battery as it was too late to re-join the intensive physical training course.

Some days later I was ordered to go to a holding battalion at Oxshott.

Once again I gathered up all my kit and headed east, this time as a private in the RAOC, a draughtsman cla.s.s III. I detrained at Oxshott station and plodded up the hill to the holding battalion that was in a large private house set in a very large garden on the road between Leatherhead and Esher. It was about five o'clock when I got there and the first thing to do after reporting in was to get something to eat.

This done I next went to the QM stores to get my kit sorted out. I exchanged my leather bandolier and black leather gaiters for webbing bren gun pouches and gaiters all in pieces and in different shades of khaki. I also exchanged my gas mask for an identical one which seemed silly to me but I still didn't have a complete issue of army equipment.

OXSHOTT

It was Sat.u.r.day. I was shown to my billet and started to get settled in, finding out the lay of the land, questioning my new companions.

Were conditions very strict? No, not really, I was a.s.sured. What about Sunday, was there a church parade? Well, yes but you don't have to attend, many don't. My sister and her husband lived in Surbiton, close to a bus route pa.s.sing through Esher and Esher was within walking distance from Oxshott, so on Sunday I set forth, catching a bus at Esher and spending a pleasant day with them. Arriving back just before midnight I a.s.sembled all my new webbing equipment and then slept well.

In the morning my new companions informed me that there was to be a sergeant-major's parade at eight o'clock, in s.h.i.+rt-sleeve order and I felt a little apprehensive because I now had no time to blanco my equipment; there was nothing for it but to go on parade multi-coloured.

Since we were not wearing battledress blouses I had another little problem. The previous Christmas one of my sisters had given me a pair of braces (suspenders in North America), very patriotic, in red, white and blue stripes and these didn't improve my appearance either. We a.s.sembled in the roadway not far from the big house and with the rest I fell in, waiting for the axe to fall.

The sergeant-major came down the lines, inspecting his charges. When he reached me he paused for a second or two as if he couldn't believe his eyes. He looked me up and down and then launched into a long tirade concerning my appearance. He drew my attention to the lad next to me and informed me that he had come all the way from Cyprus just to fight for Britain and just look at him, how soldierly he was. Without turning my head I looked out of the corner of my eye and took in this exemplar; in all honesty I had to admit to myself that there was no comparison between us but of the two I thought I was the better looking. Mentally I told myself that I had come all the way from Bristol via Filton, Plymouth, Westward Ho and Tidworth with the same idea but I had been in the army long enough to know that it was impossible to win an argument with a higher rank so I put on my wooden soldier's expression and stared straight ahead. Eventually he ran out of steam as I knew he would; he took my name and number and charged me with being improperly dressed.

Fortunately for me the officer hearing the charge was not so impetuous and gave me the opportunity to explain that as a territorial I had never been fully kitted out; he dismissed the charge.

But Sergeant-major McCullom had seen his little fish slip through his fingers and I was now introduced to one of the meaner, petty characters that the army had seen fit to elevate. I was ordered to blanco my equipment immediately in the approved khaki colour and had to treat my gas mask cover with the mandated blanco, Pickering's khaki-green No.3.

I often wondered who were the major shareholders in these blanco companies, most units required slightly different shades, but perhaps I'm being a bit cynical. Unfortunately the new gas mask cover had a flaw, it had a large grease spot that refused to take the blanco. The orderly sergeant said, "Do it again." I did. The results were the same, as were the third, fourth and fifth try. These orderly sergeants, there were two of them, now had a victim; at no time did either of them offer any suggestions or watch me as I a.s.siduously blancoed away at that confounded gas mask cover. Eventually the truth must have dawned on them and I had the cover exchanged but from then on my name was the first one to come into their little minds when an unpleasant task came up or one invented especially for me and for three weeks I had practically no free time for myself.

One other incident stays with me from those days, a sad one really. A young lad of about 19, infantry I believe, was in quite a state. He told me that his mother was a widow and that he was the youngest of three sons. One brother had been killed in North Africa and he had heard that very morning that his other brother had been killed in a training accident; he himself was waiting for a posting to Lord knows where. I believe the army has been known in such cases to discharge a lone survivor but this lad was not to be consoled. I don't know the outcome.

Oxshott does not evoke very happy memories in my mind and for a long time afterwards I harboured thoughts of meeting those three after the war, on more equal terms or on terms more favourable to me but now I can't even remember what they looked like. The future became a little brighter when on a later postings parade my name was called out and I was en route to Aldershot, to Parson's Barracks.

ALDERSHOT

Accommodation in Parson's Barracks was in the comparatively new spider huts, six corridors emanating from a common hub terminating in our sleeping quarters. Again the beds consisted of three bed boards on wooden trestles and three biscuits; Four blankets completed the ensemble. I think that we were there just filling in time before we were sent on an overseas draft and each morning we paraded in front of the Company Office for roll call before being marched off to the Ordnance Workshops, there to be split up into our various trades.

Initially I was sent to a fitting bench where my main unofficial job was to convert an English penny into a spitfire brooch for my sister. Later I was transferred to the Drawing Office. I don't recall exactly what I worked on, nothing earth-shattering but this was to be the pattern of things for the next couple of months.

This was a peacetime undertaking employing mainly civilians both in the offices and workshops and supplemented during the war by army tradesmen.

There were relics of a bygone age when time was not of the essence; on the walls were some drawings on thick cartridge paper of weaponry with the various metals indicated by colour washes, blue for steel and yellow for bra.s.s while some drawings were in ink on tracing linen. Current drawings however were in pencil on tracing paper.

It was not all office work because we were also given some military training including physical exercises, running around a battle course though not under live firing as some poor souls were. Additionally we were instructed in unarmed combat but it was nowhere near as intensive as infantry training. Also on Sundays we had church parades, marching up the main street behind a band to have our souls saved. With others I objected to this religious nonsense and asked to be exempt. I was offered two alternatives, either march to the church and stand to attention for the duration of the service or opt for fatigue duties; twice I chose the former but then decided that peeling potatoes gave me the opportunity to vent my frustrations on the poor tubers, slicing them into cubes or sculpting faces on them. I thought that my best move would be to approach the padre and ask to change my religious designation. "To what?" he enquired. "To agnostic," I answered, "it means I don't know." "I'm well aware of what it means," he said "but the army doesn't recognise agnostics and since you say that you don't know then keep coming to church and we'll teach you to believe." I realised at that moment why so many of the soldiers' bawdy songs are sung to hymn tunes, sung quietly to themselves it let them feel that although the army had control of them physically it could not tame their thinking.

About this time, having been in the army for more than three years I sewed the dog's hind leg, an inverted chevron, on my blouse cuff. This lasted until one evening when on guard duty the guard commander didn't turn up. "Who's the senior soldier?" asked the orderly sergeant. He looked around and espied my chevron and "All right, you, you're now the acting guard commander. March them off. I did. The next day I removed the chevron. It was then that I decided not to volunteer for anything, nor try to evade anything, I would let life unfold as it would. My rationale was that if ever I found myself in a tough spot I could always blame the system, never myself for being such a fool. I had volunteered twice, once when I joined up and again when I applied for a transfer out of the Royal Signals and I decided that was enough.

In the mess hall there were soldiers from an a.s.sortment of units, some being new intake; at one mealtime the Orderly Officer accompanied by the Orderly Sergeant arrived. The Orderly Sergeant yelled out, "Any complaints?" "Yes." came a voice. The pair approached the voice and the officer asked, "Yes, my man and what is your complaint?" "This tea."

"What's the matter with it?" "It's 'orrible." "Let me taste it," said the officer as he bravely sipped from the far side of the mug, "there's nothing wrong with tea, it's as good as I get at home." "Hmm, b.l.o.o.d.y fine 'ome you comes from then!" There was a stunned silence; this was beginning to look interesting. "Take his name and number, sergeant,"

said the officer, "and charge him." I believe some leniency was shown because this lad was very new to the army and the army had not yet had time to drill the lively civilian spirit out of him.

I was on three overseas drafts, for the first one I was "waiting man"; that meant that if any man were to be taken off the draft then I would replace him. I had seven days embarkation leave but the draft was complete without me. Again for the second draft I had seven days embarkation leave and I set off on the Southern Railway bound for Reading where I would change to the Great Western Railway. I was a bit like a Sherpa porter as in addition to all my normal gear I also had a kitbag with my tropical kit. On the first leg of the journey I was chatting to another soldier who was going on his normal leave to his South Wales home; he also would have to change trains at Reading but would be catching a different one. Seeing me struggling with all my gear he offered to carry some for me; I gave him my heavier kitbag. He got off the train before me and disappeared into the crowd and that was the last I saw of him. I searched the platforms and reported the episode to the RTO but there was no sign of my property. Disillusioned, I went on with my journey determined to enjoy my seven days at home.

When I got back to Aldershot I had to report my loss which consisted not only of army property but also a lot of my personal stuff; I had to repay the army, however I was able to tell the authorities the man's unit, rank, South Wales destination, train time and date, and they traced him for me. He didn't dispute the facts but said that as he was in a hurry to catch his train he left my kitbag on a platform. He was lying of course but we couldn't prove anything and I had learned a costly lesson. The draft was cancelled.

By this time many of us had been transferred from the RAOC into the newly formed Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers, REME, changing our ranks from privates to craftsmen, this sounded good but we were still at the bottom of the totem pole. Towards the end of 1942 I was on my third draft, identified as RDGFA which some wags said stood for "REME draft going far away". We gathered at Ramillies Barracks in Aldershot filling in time with some regimental training under a Canadian corporal who, disregarding our medical groupings for we were a very mixed bunch, proceded to run us around a battle course that included an eight-foot high jump. He was pretty tough himself; with one wrist in a plaster cast he led us in traversing across a gap by means of a horizontal rope.

At this time I began to ponder the future, weighing my chances of surviving unscathed, surviving maimed or not surviving at all. I had no sound data to base my reasoning on but knew that Germany, seemingly invincible, had taken over three years to advance well into Russia and North Africa and that the Allies would take at least that time to reverse the situation; surviving unscathed appeared to be a remote possibility but one could always hope.

Again we were issued with a second kitbag and tropical uniforms. Where were we going? None of us knew and with the army's art of deception we could have been going to a cold place. After a further seven days embarkation leave we returned to Aldershot, regrouped and took a train to London. From there we boarded a troop train and headed north on the old LNER line stopping at last at a transit camp at Cottingham near Hull. Lugging our two kits around was a bit of a ch.o.r.e. We were due to leave again the following day so a couple of us went into Hull that evening to a cinema along with two NAAFI la.s.ses. The incongruity of the situation struck me when we came out; it was too late to get anything to eat or to get a bus back to camp. Outside the cinema a man was selling hot chestnuts and these were our only nourishment but we went back to camp in grand style, we took a taxi.

The next day we entrained again this time bound for Glasgow but we didn't know it. At the docks we saw our floating home, His Majesty's Transport Antenor. At first sight HMT Antenor seemed to be not unlike my early childish drawings of s.h.i.+ps, high fo'castle, a low forward well-deck, high superstructure, a low aft well-deck and a high stern structure. Both well-decks had raised hatch covers that gave access to the lower decks and the centre superstructure carried the lone funnel.

We were told that she was part of the Blue Funnel Line that normally operated in the far-eastern waters carrying pa.s.sengers and freight. In single file, wearing our webbing and with our kitbags slung over our shoulders we slowly mounted the gangplank. At the top of the gangplank we were directed to our quarters, draft RDGFA went aft to the lowest deck; although there were portholes on that level the actual deck was just below the water-line and the portholes were sealed shut. Mess tables covered the deck, they were all of a similar pattern with attached bench seats but varying in length to conform to the contours of the s.h.i.+p. Overhead was a multiplicity of hooks to accommodate the hammocks with which we would soon be issued. Kapok life-jackets were given out with strict instructions not to use them as pillows but we were not told how long they could remain in the water before they became waterlogged. Soon we settled in.

GOING SOUTH

One of the initial joys of being aboard s.h.i.+p was to be supplied with soft white bread and ample amounts of b.u.t.ter, things that were un.o.btainable in wartime Britain. The s.h.i.+p still carried pa.s.sengers and freight, the commissioned ranks were the pa.s.sengers while the other ranks were freight; eggs were served daily to the former, sometimes returned uneaten but with a cigarette b.u.t.t stabbed through their yolks but nary an egg was seen at our tables We had jam and marmalade in plenty, coming in seven-pound tins, some of it from South Africa, apfelkoos confit that I believe was apricot jam, that's what it tasted like anyway. We were really quite well fed but being young and healthy we could always manage more; occasionally after dark the cookhouse would be raided and the raw carrots and turnips that had been prepared for the following day would be added to our diets.

It was not long before the army had us all organised into mess orderlies, guards, fatigue parties and anything else that would keep us out of mischief. Soon the engines rumbled and we were off or so we thought but the excitement was short lived, we moved down the Clyde and stopped off Gourock, in Loch Long. The wise ones among us said that we had to wait for a convoy to form but we waited there for two weeks while other s.h.i.+ps and convoys came and went; it was a frustrating experience in a confined s.p.a.ce.

Of the many s.h.i.+ps around one was pointed out to us, the Queen Elizabeth (the first one), she had never seen pa.s.senger service having been completed during the war, now in the distance we could see her, painted in battles.h.i.+p grey, serving as a troops.h.i.+p. One night or early morning when we were nicely tucked up in our hammocks we were awakened by the rumble of the engines again and we sensed motion; action at last, HMT Antenor was under way, going down the Clyde. With the coming of the dawn we could see other s.h.i.+ps in the convoy, merchant s.h.i.+ps and our naval escort. We pa.s.sed Arran and entered the North Channel and that was as far as our schoolday geography took us. Speculation was rife as to our eventual destination but there was no shortage of opinion amongst our amateur navigators who tried to calculate speed, distance and direction as we moved into the open waters. As time went by the seas became more and more disturbed and the good s.h.i.+p Antenor pitched and rolled with them; it would later transpire that we were entering the tail end of one of the worst North Atlantic storms of the season.

Life-lines were fitted to facilitate a safe pa.s.sage on deck. Down below we listened and watched with mounting concern as she creaked and strained, as she pitched the screw would come out of the water and the engines would race; all this was a new experience to us land-lubbers.

At the end of each roll she seemed to pause for a second or two -- would she recover? She always did and then she took about 15 seconds to reach the other extreme and pause again. Up on deck clutching at life-lines or anything else secure one could wonder at the strength of the s.h.i.+p as she rode on the crest of a wave and then plunged to the depths of a trough; crew members rated them as 40-foot waves and we didn't disagree with them.

Resulting from this roller-coaster action many of us had queasy stomachs and were not very happy though it was heartening to see that all ranks were treated equally by the elements. As the days pa.s.sed the seas became less turbulent but other s.h.i.+ps in the convoy, merchant and naval alike could still be lost to sight as they wallowed in the troughs. At intervals of time our course would change and on the third day out our escorts began changing their positions; "whoop, whoop, whoop" went their hooters; depth charges were dropped What surprised me was the speed of sound in water, no sooner did we see a plume of water rise than a resounding boom bounced off our s.h.i.+p's hull. These antics went on for some time then later things returned to normal for a while; about four o'clock in the afternoon HMT Antenor started to make smoke and fall back in the formation; not to worry advised our intelligent ones, it's all part of the plan. We went below and had a bite to eat then came back on deck 30 minutes later. Where was the convoy? We looked around but all that could be seen were faint smoke smudges on the horizon and what's more we were now silent and stationary. Our intelligent ones were nonplussed and our amateur navigators determined that we were probably west of Brest off the west coast of France; that together with the knowledge of the U-boat action earlier in the day didn't improve our contentment. At six o'clock a lone plane appeared from the west, going east; it pa.s.sed over us fairly low but none of us identified it. Our resident gunners took up their positions at our only gun, a four-inch, designed I imagine for naval engagements and probably unable to elevate sufficiently to engage an aircraft. We a.s.sumed the plane to be hostile and that it would report our position and static condition and we waited. Darkness came and we wallowed helplessly. I decided that I didn't feel like going to my deck below the water line waiting for a torpedo to come bursting through the side, I wanted to have a reasonable chance of getting off the s.h.i.+p if she were going down so I stacked out on the hatch cover of an intermediate deck and slept fitfully with my head upon my kapok pillow.

Dawn came and we were still without engines; we were told that the storm's buffeting had unseated one of the boilers and that a similar event had caused our departure from Loch Long to be delayed by two weeks. In the forenoon the engines started to rumble, a most welcome sound and we limped into motion. We must have been very fortunate because we took a long three days to reach the relative safety of Glasgow at dusk, having made the return journey without seeing anything more than a couple of small fis.h.i.+ng boats.

I forget the details but we disembarked and were whisked off to various destinations; our draft together with some others was sent to a disused distillery in Wishaw. We sorted ourselves out and bedded down for the rest of the night. Next morning, Sunday, we looked around the town and were amazed at the friendliness and hospitality shown us. Our stay lasted about three weeks or a month while HMT Antenor underwent surgery, transplants and general re-conditioning. At intervals during this period small groups of us were given a few days leave at home but all the time we were in Wishaw we were well looked after by the local population; one businessman took out parties of us for a meal (was it at Green's?) then on to a cinema show; this happened on many occasions.

Some of the lads were more or less adopted and lived out most of the time there only looking in at the distillery to find out when our next move was due. In the forces I always got on well with all the Scots I met but our reception at Wishaw was something else, it stays firmly in my mind and I have a very soft spot for the Scots and Scotland.

All good things must come to an end of course and we had to return to Glasgow to re-start our travels. Waiting for us at the dock was our troops.h.i.+p HMT Antenor, well repaired we hoped. This time there was little delay, soon we were steaming down the Clyde to form up with a convoy; again we had a naval escort on our flanks and although the seas were not as rough as before the screw still came out of the water and the engines raced. Day followed day uneventfully and we seemed to be on the same course as before according to our amateur navigators; for many of us this was the first time we had been so far from our island home and we were quite excited.

In order to keep up our spirits and inform us of the progress of the war the BBC news was frequently broadcast. These newscasts were usually preceded by a recording of Rule Britannia and while joining in mentally with the remembered words I reached the phrase Britons never, never, never, shall be slaves; I recalled the definition of a slave as being one who received little or no remuneration for his services and who could never voluntarily escape his predicament. I made the comparison.

I can still remember my first sight of a lone palm tree emerging from the early morning mist just before we made Freetown. Some s.h.i.+ps of the convoy entered Freetown but we lay off and paused for a while a half mile from the coast; we believed that mosquitoes couldn't make that distance but just to be on the safe side we tried out our mosquito-repellent ointment. The air was hot and very humid and soon we decided that we preferred mosquito bites to the discomfort of trapped perspiration. By this time we had changed into our tropical uniforms and this did nothing to improve our appearance; our cork topees were reminiscent of those worn during the Boer War and were probably surplus to that conflict. There was nothing remarkable about our s.h.i.+rts but the shorts were something else; worn in their extended form they reached down to mid-calf, the lower hems were fitted with three b.u.t.tonholes while at mid-thigh there were three b.u.t.tons. The idea was that in the bright sunlight hours they would be b.u.t.toned up to let our knees feel the breeze and get tanned but in the evening they would be worn at full length to frustrate the mosquitoes. To economise in footwear the army supplied knitted hose-tops, tubes, near khaki in colour that covered the socks just above the ankle while the tops were turned down just below the knee. Webbing gaiters covered the junction of boots and hose-tops; whether the gaiters were aesthetic or functional I don't know, either way they were two more items to be blancoed; perhaps they would deter an aggressive snake.

Duties on board were no different than before but there were free periods when we could indulge in the only gambling game permitted by the army, Housey, or Bingo as it is more usually called today. We spent a lot of hours gazing out to sea, I didn't find that boring, there was always something fresh to see, even when looking at nothing in particular there was the ever-changing pattern of the waves, not unlike the changing patterns in a glowing coal fire. For the first time we saw Portuguese men-of-war, jellyfish, with their little sails unfurled, and flying fish played around the s.h.i.+p. At night time another phenomenon was revealed, looking over the side the phosph.o.r.escent creatures disturbed by the s.h.i.+p's pa.s.sage brightly illuminated the s.h.i.+p's hull, so much so that we thought the portholes were uns.h.i.+elded; it made a mockery of our strict instructions not to show any light. In this context I put my foot in it once again; seeing a flashlight beam waving about the deck on a black night I yelled, "Put that light out." "Who said that?" asked flashlight. "Who are you?" I countered. "I am the Orderly Officer," said flashlight, "what's your name and number?" somewhat chastened I obliged and realised once again that even when you're right you can't win an argument when you're outranked.

The s.h.i.+p carried only limited amounts of potable water and the only water available for keeping clean was salt water; true we had showers and could purchase salt-water soap but this was not very effective and rinsing off was difficult; the end result was not satisfactory particularly when trying to get one's hair squeaky clean. This fact was brought home to me when one mealtime a soldier paused behind me as he spoke to a pal on the next table; we were in the tropics and it was very warm. He was holding a seven-pound tin of marmalade above my head; engrossed in conversation he allowed the tin to tilt -- need I say more?

I had started a head cold just before we left Glasgow and after a day or so at sea I did what was very unusual for me, I reported sick. The army had three or four standard remedies to cover most situations and I was dosed with one of them, mist.expec seems to be the abbreviation that stays in my memory; several doses brought no relief so again I reported sick. I was now coughing badly and felt quite ill. Same medicine, same result; I really should have been admitted to the sick bay but was not. Reporting sick for the third time brought accusations of malingering; at no time had I seen either of the two doctors on board, the diagnosis had been made by an NCO of the RAMC, so I soldiered on.

I don't know how far west we pa.s.sed into the Atlantic but the crew told us when we were nearer to Walvis Bay, eventually we pulled into Cape Town in South Africa, the "tablecloth" of cloud had settled over Table Mountain for us. Some of our convoy separated from us and docked there.

After a short stop in the bay we moved on to Durban and as we came into the dock area we saw a little group on the quayside waiting to greet us.

The central figure was "The Lady in White" as she came to be known. She was a trained singer and made it her duty to meet all the troops.h.i.+ps; armed with a megaphone (this was 1943) she sang patriotic and nostalgic songs to cheer up the lads who were bound for unknown parts. It was a nice warm welcome to South Africa.

For our last night on board I was picked for guard duty. Why? Perhaps they thought that someone would run off with the s.h.i.+p. Next morning we disembarked and marched up to our new billets on Clairwood Race Course, I was quite weak and unable to carry all my kit, some of my pals carried my rifle and pack for me. I was feeling very groggy but that didn't stop me from being picked for guard duty again that night. I got the last s.h.i.+ft and when I was awakened at 4am I rebelled and said the waiting man could do my turn. Later in the morning I reported sick once more, this time to Clairwood Hospital where I was examined by a South African army doctor. When he had finished he gave me a chit that said, "Admit hospital, resolving pneumonia" and I spent the best part of the next three weeks there, two weeks in bed and a couple of days up and about. I believe I slept for the first 30 hours.

It was an army hospital run on army lines but there were some civilian staff mixed in with the nursing sisters and MO's. The food was very good and I was surprised to find chicken on the menu quite often; iced water or a lemon drink was kept at the bedside in a little jug covered with a lace cloth to keep the flies off but there were no mosquito nets.

At first I didn't realise what the high pitched buzz in my ears was until I had had a few bites. I recall two nurses, one was a Canadian, an army nursing sister whose name had a Ukrainian ring to it and the other was a South African civilian, Nurse Anderson. The latter who was probably a little bit older than I was prophetically gave us some words of wisdom. The ward cleaning staff was composed of black African men and the British not being particularly racist used to talk to them and give them cigarettes, something that they didn't from the South African whites. Nurse Anderson said, "You British are spoiling them, when the war is over you'll be going back to your own country and we'll be left with the consequences of your actions." Military discipline was upheld in the wards and when the MO and his following retinue of nurses came on the rounds those who could were told to stand to attention by their beds and those who could not stand were told to lie to attention.

More stupidity.

One hospital orderly amused me with his line of thinking; judging by his accent I asked him, "You are an Afrikaner?" "No, no, he replied, "I'm Dutch." "Surely not," I said, "the people of Holland are Dutch." "No, no," he said again, "they are Hollanders, I'm Dutch."