Some Sunny Day

Madge had just eight days from the arrival of the letter from the Military Department at the India Office before she was due to report to the designated assembly point at 108 Baker Street, London, on Monday 10 July 1944. Eight days in which to complete an all-too-short notice period at Stoke Mandeville Hospital, buy clothes suitable for the heat and humidity of the Indian subcontinent, say a thousand goodbyes and keep a stiff upper lip at the farewell family supper. Madge was so overwhelmed at just how much there was to do that she couldn’t dwell on the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

Instead she began packing the cabin case and trunk that had been delivered with instructions that the maximum weight allowed would be ‘one and a half hundredweight’. The weight limit amused her because they had been told by the authorities at the India Office that most English clothes would not be suitable so she hadn’t the faintest idea what on earth they expected her to take to use up that enormous allowance. The letter also warned Madge again not to reveal the slightest hint about the ultimate destination when she filled in the luggage tags and that really made her smile because she didn’t know where she would be ending up anyway.

The days passed in a flurry of activity and suddenly the last meal at home was upon her. As Madge would be aboard the troop carrier on her twenty-first birthday, Lily decided to turn the evening from a last supper into an early birthday celebration for her. Madge had been more than pleased to be staying for the last few nights with the family and sleeping in her own comfy bed away from that tiny room at the nurses’ home. In spite of the stringent meat rationing that had been in effect for what felt like a lifetime, Lily worked a minor miracle to produce one of her mouth-watering steak and kidney puddings, but Madge noticed that she seemed distracted and was glad that the evening’s conversation had been about the future and not the sadness of the past few years.

‘With a bit of luck the next time the family is together we will all be back in Dover,’ said Madge.

Doris and Doreen had gone to bed and Lily smiled, almost sadly, as she nodded in agreement. But then her face lit up with a flash of humour. ‘You know, Doris and Doreen were planning to make you an apple-pie bed as a special going-away surprise, but they changed their minds thankfully and that’s why you got those roses in your room instead!’ Lily’s smile faded again. ‘You will watch out for those doodlebugs in London, won’t you, love?’

‘Of course I will, Mum. Stop fretting. I’ll be fine,’ said Madge warmly, placing a reassuring hand on Lily’s arm.

‘I know you will . . . Like you said, we’ll all be together in Dover again before we know it.’

Eventually, after finishing their cups of tea, they said goodnight and made their way up to bed, each more quiet and subdued than normal as they contemplated what the unknown future would hold for their family.

The Baker Street billet, with accommodation over three floors and a spacious dining room, was one of many assembly points throughout London for the 250 VADs travelling to India. Another group of fifty were in a Salvation Army hostel in nearby Bloomsbury. Vera had positively demanded she be allowed to show Madge the sights once she arrived in London after spending the weekend up in Sunderland saying goodbye to her parents, but there was no sign of her.

There was a nice crowd in the room which Madge was to share with five other girls, including another nurse called Phyllis Yearron, a VAD who was a good five or six years older than the rest and let slip that an irreparably damaged relationship was among several reasons why she had volunteered for service in the Burma campaign. The afternoon simply flew by as Madge and Phyllis got to know each other better.

It drew to a close when Madge checked in at reception to see if there was a message from Vera but nothing had come through so she joined Phyllis and the other girls for a pot of tea and sandwiches at a Quality Inn. Then off they went to the Empire, Leicester Square, to see Two Girls and a Sailor with Gloria DeHaven and Van Johnson. Because of the threat posed by the very doodlebugs Lily had warned Madge about, the screening took place in the cinema’s cellar as an extra safety precaution. The Germans had started using these pilotless flying bombs shortly after the D-Day landings and Londoners soon learned that once the strange buzzing noise cut out it was time to race for cover. Madge had heard that air-raid sirens often wailed all night so it was no surprise when the film was halted and ushers gave directions to the nearest air-raid shelter. Posters in the cellar cinema showed a warden blowing a whistle and the instructions ‘In a raid do not run. Take cover quietly, then others will do the same.’

Madge and her new gang of friends waited to see what would happen but it soon became clear that no other person was going to leave even though the sirens were by then at full volume. Not wanting to cause a fuss, the girls looked at one another nervously and settled down to watch the rest of the film. Ten minutes later, just as gold-digger Jean (Gloria DeHaven) made a big play for the attention of sailor Johnny (Van Johnson) the film was paused once more. By the end of the third interruption, a handful of the audience eased their way to the exits but the great majority made it quite clear that even the air-raid sirens could not disturb a night in the company of gravel-voiced Jimmy Durante grinding out his much loved ‘Inka Dinka Do’!

The all-clear had been sounded by the time they left the cinema and they went straight back to Baker Street in plenty of time for the 10 p.m. curfew and the nightly check to ensure all the girls were safe.

On the way back on the bus, Madge said, ‘That was so much fun! It was a shame that the film wasn’t in colour, but it was still wonderful. I haven’t been to the pictures in ages!’

Phyllis looked preoccupied. ‘What would we do if one of those doodlebugs was actually flying over us?’ she asked. ‘We’d all be goners if one of those things exploded near us.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Madge replied. ‘As long as you can hear them coming, you’ll be fine as chances are they’ll just keep on flying. It’s only when the noise suddenly stops you have to worry, as they drop like stones then. The chances of that happening are really small so please don’t worry so much.’

But the look on Phyllis’s face told Madge that she hadn’t convinced her, and she wasn’t sure she had convinced herself either.

The next day, Vera finally surfaced at Baker Street, full of apologies as Madge stood shaking her head in mock dismay.

‘Honestly it’s not my fault this time,’ said Vera with one of her big toothy grins, knowing she was notoriously late for everything. ‘They cancelled all the trains because they thought that German bombers were going to have another go at the shipyards.’

Once Vera had settled in at Baker Street she suggested they go for an early dinner at a rather expensive-looking restaurant called The Curb.

‘I’ve never even seen a place like this, let alone been in one,’ said Madge as they walked through the big, wooden door that was opened by a flunky wearing a dinner jacket and bow tie. ‘Vera, I don’t know that I’ve got enough with me to pay for this!’

She knew Vera liked to spend and was more than a little concerned about ending up with half of a rather large bill.

The pair sat down at a table in the corner and a smiling waiter handed over the menu. It made Madge even more dubious because no prices were listed. She knew that Vera, a shameless but wonderfully generous spendthrift, would cover her if necessary but she hated the idea of it coming to that.

‘Shh!’ Madge eyed the ‘Careless Talk Costs Lives’ poster on the wall. ‘You know we’re not supposed to talk about it.’

‘Oh please, do you really think any of these ladies are Nazis? Honestly, Madge, we’re going to be on a ship for who knows how long. Let’s relax and have some fun.’

It won’t be much fun if we let something out of the bag, Madge said to herself before turning her attention to the menu.

Vera noticed that Madge wasn’t really sure what to choose as her main course and asked if she could help.

‘I’m still looking,’ said Madge. She had already decided on her first course and when a beautifully presented golden brown vol-au-vent with mushroom and chicken filling arrived she worried even more. She had never seen food like it and wondered just how much this fun would cost.

Vera had solved the indecision over their main courses by suggesting she order for both of them and saying that she would keep it as a surprise. Madge actually heard her ask the waiter for ‘tarte au lapin’. She didn’t know what it would be, but was certainly impressed when a rather splendid and substantial pie arrived surrounded by mashed potato, carrots and green beans.

The waiter cut in to tell Madge the answer was actually rabbit pie, but before he could continue Vera insisted that it was guaranteed to be tasty and very tender. ‘Sweet little bunnies with twitchy pink noses always are!’ Madge wavered for a few seconds before tucking in to the delicious pie. Both girls also had an apple crumble as a pudding because they knew they wouldn’t be enjoying such things where they were heading.

When the head waiter delivered the bill after the three-course culinary treat the surprised look on Madge’s face prompted him to explain that restaurants were not allowed by law to charge more than five shillings a head.

‘I assure you, madam,’ he said with a condescending smile, ‘that the Ministry of Food New Meals Order of 1942 includes even the Savoy and the Ritz.’

He explained that restaurants had initially been exempt from rationing but this caused upset as wealthier people were accused of supplementing their food allocation by eating out. To create a level playing field, new restrictions were introduced that meant the maximum cafes and restaurants could charge for a three-course meal was five shillings. Unless, of course, there was a cabaret show, in which case there might be an added cost!

‘Well,’ Madge said, ‘I can’t believe I haven’t been eating at The Curb every night!’

Having settled the bill, the pair treated themselves to another trip to the cinema, this time to see This Happy Breed at the Marble Arch Pavilion, with a cast that included John Mills. It was much more pleasant to watch as the evening passed without them being interrupted by air-raid sirens. As the 10 p.m. curfew rapidly approached, the girls hurried to get back to their billet but soon found that Marble Arch underground station was being used as an air-raid shelter. Whole families were bedding down for the night on mattresses they had brought from home. There were babes in arms, toddlers, families eating their dinner. Many found they had a better, safer night’s sleep in the Tube stations rather than racing back and forwards from home to the shelters when the sirens sounded.

It wasn’t until they drew closer that they spotted a jolly lady of mature years in a bottle-green uniform dress and a black beret at the centre of the throng.

‘Oh look, it’s a WVS tea point,’ Madge told Vera. ‘No wonder people love these ladies,’ she added, thinking of the endless hours they worked to keep the mobile canteens operational.

They watched with admiration as one of the WVS women handed a steaming mug to a mother who looked at the end of her tether keeping two toddlers in line, then bent to sweep the naughtiest child off his feet and give him a cuddle so Mum had a few moments of peace to have a thoroughly deserved cup of tea.

After weaving their way past the sleeping bodies, mattresses, toys and gas masks that all but blocked the platform, the girls managed to get on a train to Baker Street. Back in their digs, Phyllis Yearron handed Madge a beautifully wrapped early twenty-first birthday present that turned out to be a very smart silver hairbrush with a mirrored back. She was genuinely surprised, having only met Phyllis a few days previously.

‘How generous of you!’ said Madge. ‘Can you believe I’d forgotten to pack a mirror! What would I do without you?’

The realisation that she was perhaps not as organised as she thought she’d been encouraged Madge to make one last check on her cabin luggage case and she decided to go through the contents against the list sent from the Military Department of the India Office again:

EQUIPMENT FOR THE JOURNEY

Cabin luggage must include:

1 pair of navy blue slacks

Sports kit, including rubber-soled shoes

1 jersey or pullover

Bathing dress

1 cardigan

Extra shoes, shirts and stockings

2 pairs blue socks

White felt hat

2 nursing members dresses

Sunglasses

2 aprons

Looking glass

2 caps

Petersham belt

2 thin white shirts and navy blue skirts

Travelling rug

NOTE: VAD members will travel in their coats, navy skirts and white shirts and will carry their overcoats. Civilian clothes are NOT to be taken.

The evening was still not over because the VADs at 108 Baker Street were given their boat and destination index numbers and told to write them very clearly on the labels that were provided. The index numbers were basically a simple security system so there was no way that spies, or even nosy parkers, could find out where they were going.

When the girls were assembled in the dining room an army sergeant appeared and began giving them a short, sharp talk.

‘Now, I want you to please listen, ladies. This is of the utmost importance. You must remember at all times that careless talk costs lives. Please take a moment to look at the posters that I have placed on the walls.’

Madge glanced at the posters. The slogan on one said ‘Walls have ears’. She saw Vera looking at another poster, suppressing a giggle as she read it. It showed a big floppy black fedora decorated with a pretty yellow bow and a slogan that warned ‘Keep it under your hat’. Madge smiled to herself. Very clever, she thought.

‘Thank you, ladies. Bon voyage and goodnight,’ said the sergeant as he turned on his heels and walked out of the dining room.

Vera was laughing as she turned to Madge and said there was only one thing wrong with his little pep talk. ‘He’s presuming we know when and where we are going. The truth is, I haven’t got the slightest clue. And neither has anybody else. So who would we talk carelessly to?’

Madge held her hands up in mock surrender and said it had been such a long day it was time for bed. She was asleep within minutes of her head hitting the pillow.

A breakfast of scrambled eggs got the next day underway and the rest of the morning was spent shopping with Vera before watching an afternoon of ballet at the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden. They were well aware this would be the last week to enjoy the delights of London before service overseas so off they went to The Curb again for early evening cocktails and dinner, where Madge placed her gas mask discreetly under the table – so much more preferable to leaving it on view as a stark reminder of the terrifying times in which they were living. And the evening was rounded off with yet another trip to the theatre, this time to see Noël Coward’s Blithe Spirit at the Duchess near Aldwych.

After many months of endless hard work at the hospital, often on the night shift, making it impossible for them to go out and have fun of an evening, the nurses were creating memories of a war-torn London that would last a lifetime. There was one little problem, however. Life was becoming very expensive all of a sudden and by Thursday morning Madge was down to her last few shillings. There was nothing for it but to make a trip to the bank in the hope that she could arrange for the Maidenhead branch to wire her last £11 to keep her going until the day of departure. What she would do if the money was not available did not bear thinking about.

‘I appreciate there are many reasons for getting us together in London for almost a week before we are due to leave,’ said Madge over breakfast. ‘I mean, boats could be sunk or railway lines could be destroyed by German bombers, but it’s certainly been an expensive few days.’

They were informed that they were going to be briefed that night by Miss Gertrude Corsar, the VAD Commandant and Chief Liaison Officer.

‘She’s the big boss so don’t be late under any circumstances,’ they were warned by one of the sisters.

‘Never mind the big boss bit, this briefing has all the makings of being one big bore,’ said another.

The girls grinned at one another. I wonder if we’ll be like that one day, Madge thought to herself, glancing at Vera and Phyl.

Far from being a bore, the softly spoken, Forfar-born Scot soon had the gathering, which included the group from the nearby Salvation Army hostel, listening intently.

‘I’m not sure,’ Miss Corsar said, ‘just how many of you know about our history. We were founded in 1909 with the help of the Red Cross and the Order of St John and by the outbreak of the Great War we had more than two and a half thousand members. Although initially the military authorities didn’t want our services on the front line, believing we would be surplus to requirements and even perhaps a hindrance, I am proud to say that time and again we proved them wrong.

‘When you arrive in India it is essential that the great traditions of British nursing are upheld and that your personal behaviour is beyond reproach.

‘Now we’ve got that out of the way,’ the Commandant continued, ‘let’s talk about the journey by sea that may take more than a month. I’ve been told that it can become a little tiresome so let me recommend one or two books to read. Firstly, any by Agatha Christie, plus Testament of Youth by Vera Brittain and National Velvet by Enid Bagnold. I’m recommending those books in particular because all three authors were VADs,’ she added.

‘I shall be travelling on the boat with you ladies and I shall be based in New Delhi, where my door will always be open to any of you, whatever type of problem you may have. Now, I know the delights of London are much more appealing than listening to me,’ she said, ‘so goodnight!’

Her invigorating little pep talk received a standing ovation from nurses who were reassured to know they would have somebody prepared to stand up for them in India.

The reply brought the briefing to an uproarious and amusing end when Miss Corsar theatrically put her index finger across her lips, shook her head and smiled. ‘Walls have ears!’

‘That was one very likeable and impressive lady,’ said Madge as she headed to bed.

The following morning got off to the finest of starts with a letter from Mum, packed with news of home, including an admission that she’d tried her best but failed to keep a straight face when sisters Doris and Doreen had been late home after the school dance, and, best of all, a confirmation that Madge’s £11 was on its way from the bank! Of course, Madge went straight to the Royal Opera House to celebrate. Pleasant as the day was, Madge was becoming increasingly frustrated over the total lack of information about exactly when the nurses’ ‘big day’ would be.

The sheer bliss of a lie-in meant that she missed breakfast on Friday morning but not the issue of smart, olive-coloured, felt-coated water bottles for use in India. Vera had made an early start and left Baker Street on the double so she could be at the City branch of her bank when it opened, but had phoned the girls to confirm she would be back at 2.30 p.m. After a late lunch in the mess the nurses went to see Buckingham Palace in the hope of catching a glimpse of a royal or two.

In the early years of the war, Buckingham Palace had suffered no fewer than nine direct hits in the murderous German air attacks. Madge and Vera agreed that it was very impressive that King George VI and Queen Elizabeth had turned down officials’ requests to move them to safety; like the rest of London, they refused to bend to the Blitz. A surprisingly large number of visitors had come to view the palace on the day Madge and Vera were there but they were unable to see the damage that had been inflicted by a doodlebug the previous month. Palace walls and a summer house had taken the full brunt of the explosion. Madge and Vera lingered for half an hour in the serenity of Green Park, knowing that just a few hours later, the peace would be shattered with the inevitable storm of V-1s.

Time was running short so the duo moved on to Constitution Hill before stopping for afternoon tea and a stroll into the Haymarket to see Ginger Rogers and Ray Milland in Lady in the Dark.

Leaving the cinema, Madge said to Vera, ‘I don’t know about you but I thought the film was very disappointing. I was really looking forward to seeing it too.’

Vera laughed. ‘I think you’ve just become used to a very high standard of entertainment since coming to London, and this evening simply wasn’t up to scratch!’

The evening looked to be ending on a low note until the VADs were stunned into silence when details of the ‘big day’ were suddenly revealed. They had just forty-eight hours to get themselves sorted, and then they’d be off. The surprise announcement left Madge in a bit of a pickle and because her mind was turning over at such speed, instead of going to bed she joined a group of VADs who reconvened for a cup of tea at the nearby Moo Cow Milk Bar. Once she was there she found she couldn’t relax so she stayed for just fifteen minutes before turning in for the night, and lay awake worrying about how to solve what had suddenly become a very big problem. Madge had promised Mum that she would spend an hour or two saying goodbye to Ruby Toon, her favourite cousin, and the daughter of Dad’s sister.

‘It’s important,’ Mum had said, ‘because we spent many happy summers with that side of the family when your father was alive. You must make time for all your family.’

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.’

‘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?’

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.