The Journey Begins
Darkness fell as the VADs joined hundreds of troops boarding the lone train at a strangely quiet but heavily guarded King’s Cross station. The train stood at a platform the furthest distance possible from public view. While Madge was sorry to leave the glamour of her London life, with the cinemas, the parks and The Curb, she wouldn’t miss the palpable threat that haunted every night there. She didn’t feel that she was being brave heading off to India; she believed that all those people living in London with the constant threat of bombs were far braver than she’d ever be.
As everyone began filing onto the train, Madge couldn’t help but recall how Field Marshall Bernard Montgomery had stated at a briefing that nurses were the most important people in the army. Hmm, how strange then that all the male officers are being directed to the first-class carriages while we’re all being herded into third class! At least they were finally told over the tannoy that the destination would be Gourock, a west of Scotland port on the Firth of Clyde near Glasgow. The window blinds were to be kept firmly closed in the hours of darkness, and, when they weren’t turned off for safety during air raids, the light bulbs on the train were blue.
An endless mass of cases, trunks and crates had to be loaded onto the train and grumbles began over the lengthy delay.
‘This train is about as punctual as you and Phyl,’ said a smiling Madge as they settled into the crowded third-class carriage and tried to get comfy.
‘Now, girls,’ said Vera, ‘if any of you start snoring, there’s going be a lot of trouble.’
But the delay became so tedious that eventually even the laughing and joking came to a halt.
It ended with the shrieking toot of a whistle and the wave of a green flag at precisely 11.15 p.m., and King’s Cross station went into total darkness as the mighty steam-driven locomotive huffed and puffed into the night on a journey that would take close to fifteen hours.
Within an hour the comforting clickety-click that resounded throughout the cabin lulled the girls into a deep sleep. Madge blearily opened her eyes as dawn broke and the heavily laden locomotive pulled in to Newcastle to have its depleted coal supply replenished, but she quickly dropped off again, exhausted from her week of excitement. They stopped again at Edinburgh’s Waverley station and then at Glasgow before arriving in Gourock at two o’clock in the afternoon.
The Scottish WVS ladies knew just how weary the girls would be after the fifteen-hour journey and were overwhelmingly kind as they bustled about handing out tea and sandwiches.
‘Dinna worry, hen,’ said one lovely old granny in a broad Glaswegian accent. ‘You’ll be on those wee boats soon enough.’
As the girls stood looking out across the bay they saw why there had been such intense secrecy over the details of their pending voyage. A massive convoy that would transport more than twenty-one thousand troops to theatres of war in both the Middle and Far East had begun to assemble. Code-named KMF.33, the convoy would involve fifty ships, of which twenty-one were naval escorts. The reason for the hold-up also then became apparent. The vessel on which they would play cat and mouse with Germany’s killer submarine ‘Wolfpacks’ over the next weeks had been busy boarding hundreds and hundreds of troops. RMS Strathnaver was one of five similar vessels that became known as the White Sisters of the P&O shipping line. Even after being requisitioned as a troop carrier in 1939 and painted a very sombre grey it was difficult to disguise the elegance and style with which the Strathnaver had graced the high seas as a luxury cruise liner earlier that decade. Madge looked at the great ship with awe and the slightest bit of trepidation.
‘This is going to be a bit of a struggle,’ said Phyl as they approached the tenders, but there was certainly no shortage of helping hands!
‘Thanks. You’re such a gentleman,’ laughed Vera as a burly old boy virtually lifted her into the boat. As the tender taking a group that included Madge, Vera and Phyl chugged across the short distance from the mainland they could see that the portside bow and decks of the Strathnaver, 688 feet in length, were crammed with soldiers cheering and waving. The closer they got to the boat the more noise they made. The nurses had been loudly applauded by the dockers on the quayside but when they got closer to the troopship the noise was like being at a football match.
‘Mmm,’ said Vera, as she took a long, deep breath. ‘Thank goodness that train journey is over. This fresh air is wonderful.’
‘Well, it’s nice to see we’re welcome, even after fifteen hours on the train!’ Madge said, and blew a particularly handsome blond soldier a kiss.
As she joined the rest of the girls in waving, she instantly forgot the tiredness of that never-ending train journey on which they had been packed like sardines and instead concentrated on clambering aboard the troop carrier and up a very steep gangway.
A porter greeted them. ‘Welcome to the RMS Strathnaver, ladies. This way, please,’ he said, leading them down the corridor marked ‘First Class’.
Madge raised an eyebrow at Phyl. ‘This must be somebody’s idea of a joke.’ Just then, Vera squeezed past them. ‘What are you up to?’ Madge asked her.
‘Picking the best of the bunch,’ Vera said, as she almost ran down the corridor ahead of them.
A few twists and turns of the corridor later, and it seemed it was no joke at all. The catch was there would be ten girls to a cabin that usually accommodated two. The plush beds of yesteryear had been torn out and replaced with five sets of two-level bunks. Still, there was a porthole and the bedding looked comfortable enough even if the linoleum-covered floor was a little careworn. Unfortunately, all the cabins seemed to be full.
‘Maybe we won’t be able to bunk together after all,’ Madge said to Phyl, feeling suddenly quite worried.
‘Here!’ Vera’s head popped round the doorway. The Stoke Mandeville girls were lucky; Vera’s speed had paid off and she’d nabbed a single cabin in which there were just four bunks. For the next ten minutes the Stoke Mandeville trio actually thought they would have the cabin to themselves, until a weary-looking soul on the verge of tears knocked politely at the open cabin door.
‘Hi there. I don’t suppose there’s space for a little one in here, is there?’
‘Come in. Of course there is,’ said Madge. ‘I’m Madge, and my friends here are Phyl and Vera.’
‘I’m Sally, Sally Mallins. You’re so kind, thank you. I thought I was going to have to sleep in the corridor,’ said the newcomer.
‘The cabin may be smaller than a double,’ said Madge, ‘but we should be thanking our blessings there are just four of us sharing a bathroom instead of nine. And there is a bath, no less!’
She peered into the tiny room and picked up the soap which was labelled as being ‘suitable for saltwater’. A sign on the wall declared that there would be fresh water from the basin for one hour in the morning and evening.
‘I don’t know what we’ll do with our hair!’ Phyl declared.
‘Just to help you girls, I will very kindly delay washing my hair until that one hour in the evening,’ said a laughing Madge.
‘As I found this little haven in the first place, do you mind if I have a bottom bunk?’ asked Vera, who was trying to keep a straight face.
To avoid cluttering up the space completely, the girls unpacked only the bare minimum from their cabin cases. With one tiny cupboard and two drawers there was simply no other option.
The nurses may have drawn the short straw with third-class travel on the train journey up to Scotland, but they were in luxury on the boat in comparison to the majority of the men. The girls heard talk of how the lower ranks had been herded in their hundreds like cattle into cargo holds that had been converted into sleeping accommodation even more cramped than the VADs’.
Madge settled in to life on the boat by having her first ever bath in salt water. Then she went with Phyl, Vera and Sally to the 8.30 p.m. dinner sitting.
‘This is a bit late to eat, don’t you think?’ said Phyl. ‘Perhaps we should try the seven p.m. one tomorrow night?’
The other girls all nodded but none of them said a word. Their mouths were too full of food as they were all so hungry after the day’s excitement.
The four nurses wandered out on deck for a breath of air after dinner and Madge then wrote a letter to Mum and her sisters before tucking herself up in her bunk. She fell into a deep sleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.
For nearly three years, when on night duty at Stoke Mandeville, Madge had prepared breakfasts at 7 a.m., made tea for the ward, and helped bed-bound patients with their morning ablutions. The realisation that she had entered a very different world came when she awoke at 7 a.m. to a steward knocking ever so courteously at the cabin door.
‘Breakfast will be served in the dining room at eight a.m.’
When they arrived back at the dining hall they were presented with a feast. There were bowls of sugar and jugs of milk and butter on every table. Back home, tea was limited to four ounces a week, but there was no shortage on the Strathnaver. No dry toast here, Madge thought. She couldn’t remember the last time she had had a tasty, thick bacon sandwich because rationing meant that adults were allowed just four ounces each per week, along with one fresh egg. On the Strathnaver there were even sausages to go with as many slices of bacon as you fancied!
As they tucked in to the breakfast feast, Madge said, ‘You know what I couldn’t believe? That after all that lovely food last night, the tomato soup and the roast beef and those tasty roast potatoes, they brought round bananas!’ Vera chuckled at this. ‘I had to look twice at them,’ said Madge. ‘I hadn’t actually seen a banana since I was a child, let alone eaten one. In fact, I could barely remember what they tasted like. But now I do remember – they’re delicious!’
Once breakfast was over, she spotted a noticeboard in the corner of the dining hall. On it was a note that all mail had to be in the post box by 11.30 a.m. as the ship was due to set sail that evening. Madge dropped the letter she’d written the night before into the wooden box and wondered when she’d next be able to send word home. Then she followed the swarm of VADs as they went to the Ladies’ Lounge, which looked like the inside of a great English country house she had once seen in a magazine. Gentle pastel blue curtains were set against cream and pink coloured walls that featured elegant swans on a lake. Mahogany-coloured tables were in vivid contrast to a herringboned parquet floor. The girls began chatting to while away the time, but Madge could barely focus on what they were saying. She was too busy looking around in awe.
Next, all 250 nurses were ordered to assemble on A Deck, where group Commandant, Miss Corsar, gave a short but entertaining welcome address and underlined the dos and don’ts of life on board the one-time liner that would be their home for the next five weeks.
‘Some of you must be wondering,’ she said, ‘about the guards outside your cabin doors. There is no need for the slightest concern. They’re not there to keep you ladies in. Their job is to keep the men out!’
Madge soon found out why exercise gear had been included on the equipment list as the next day all VADs were required to take self-defence classes, which were provided in case they came into contact with the enemy, but Madge couldn’t help but remember Commandant Corsar’s comments the previous day, especially when she noticed that soldiers were all too keen to volunteer to lend a hand. The girls were shown how to blind an assailant by jabbing their fingers deep into eye sockets, thrusting knees as hard as they could into testicles and jabbing with elbows if they were attacked from behind.
‘Pay close attention, girls,’ said the burly army instructor at the end of the incredibly tiring session, ‘you just might learn something that will save your lives one day.’
They were flipped onto their backs, sent crashing face first into mats, grabbed from behind and squeezed in ferocious bear hugs.
Word quickly spread that there was a shop on board the Strathnaver and, best of all, that there was no rationing. As soon as she finished her first self-defence class, Madge was off like a shot to buy Coty face cream, Yardley shampoo, Johnson’s baby powder and a great big packet of sweets.
The air of relaxation on board the ship turned to intense activity the following day, however, as tenders buzzed to and from the Gourock quayside to transport last-minute supplies and personnel. From grubby old freighters to elegant one-time cruise liners, there were dozens of boats waiting for the hours of darkness. As Madge watched the evening sun setting over the Scottish hills the huge guns on the foredeck of a battleship just a few hundred yards away captured her gaze. She found it hard to tear her eyes away; the guns were a stark reminder of the dangers they faced.
That evening was the last time she would be allowed on deck without a life jacket. Miss Corsar had just issued the first warning to the VADs that jackets must be worn at all times when on deck, a rule that officers in charge of boat drill were only too keen to reiterate. Madge had heard that they’d even confined a couple of the girls to their cabins for an afternoon!
Evening fell and the turbo generators and electric motors of the Strathnaver began to hum. After dinner, Madge retired to the girls’ cabin. Portholes had to be covered at night meaning she wouldn’t be able to see a thing once the voyage began so she put her life jacket back on and returned to the deck for a final glimpse of her homeland. I may never see Doris, Doreen and Mum again, she realised. Tears welled over and she carefully made her way through the moonless night back down to where her three cabin mates were already fast asleep.
A few minutes later, the twin anchors rumbled and grumbled as the Strathnaver began to ease away from her mooring. The noise slowly increased and the 22,238-ton vessel began the month-long voyage to Bombay. This is it, Madge thought to herself, feeling the ship easing away from port. This is where my new life begins.