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.
6
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
