The elegant saris and the natural beauty of the wives of senior Indian personnel sprinkled the ballroom with colour and glamour in what was almost a fairy-tale setting. Crystal chandeliers, an army band playing the most beautiful Viennese waltzes and torch-lit gardens under a full moon were part of the mystique. To add to the pomp and circumstance army officers were in their dashing formal dress, which featured gold-braided scarlet jackets and a red stripe down the side of their black trousers. But it was the VADs who stole the show. They looked splendid as they marched in together wearing their caps, aprons and dresses.
‘This is like being in a film,’ Madge said to Vera. ‘The music, the food, the beautiful gowns . . . Everything is so perfect.’
Later in the evening several of the girls strolled onto the terrace of Government House for a breath of fresh air and a cigarette or two. Phyl had never smoked before but thought if there was ever a night to give it a go, it was this one. She nudged Vera, who raised an eyebrow as she passed her a cigarette from her engraved silver case. Phyl lit it and copied the others as they inhaled then exhaled the smoke through pursed lips. After coughing and spluttering for a few seconds, she decided to give up and stubbed out the cigarette. ‘It might look elegant,’ she said, ‘but I can’t see what the fuss is all about.’
Once they were back inside they saw that they’d been bitten all over the back of their legs. The mosquitos weren’t their only problem, either. The humid atmosphere meant that Madge’s lipstick had melted and her skin felt like an oil slick. Madge, Vera and Phyl went to the ladies’ room to blot their faces with tissue.
‘I just can’t get rid of the shine,’ Vera complained. ‘I can’t look like this the whole time!’
‘Aha!’ An elegantly dressed older woman who Madge thought was probably an army wife overheard the conversation. ‘The secret is to use as little make-up as possible. Make sure your powder compact is full. And don’t make the same mistake all the others do when they first arrive. They love to sunbathe and think they look so attractive with a tan, but the sun will ruin your lovely peaches and cream complexions and you will end up a wrinkly old prune like me,’ she added, before returning to the party, leaving a trail of a faintly floral perfume behind her. The girls looked at one another, astonished and smiling at the encounter.
When they returned to the grand room where the ball was being held the master of ceremonies announced that the next dance would be the last waltz, which prompted Vera to express concern that their gold carriage home would turn into a pumpkin on the stroke of midnight.
‘No need to worry about that,’ laughed Madge, ‘but I certainly can’t see any sign of four prancing white stallions either.’
‘We should be so lucky,’ chuckled Vera.
Instead, the perfect end to a wonderful evening came when the same fleet of station wagons that had transported the VADs on their first night on Indian soil also took them back to Kirkee.
‘I could get used to a life like this,’ said Madge.
The three girls pushed their beds together and sat up late into the night talking about the ball. They made a vow there and then to follow the order to enjoy themselves to the bitter end, and they would soon find that there would be no shortage of posh afternoon teas, cocktail parties, dinners and dances. Madge was particularly thrilled to be invited to the legendary Poona races, where the social elite drank their pink gins. Now that should be a fun day, Madge thought once she was finally in bed. I can see I’m going to enjoy myself here.
Race day soon arrived and as they walked into the main enclosure, a trinket seller with bright white teeth greeted Madge’s group with a beaming smile. ‘Welcome to the most corrupt race track in all of India, memsahibs!’ Madge couldn’t help laughing out loud.
She looked around in wonder. The stands reminded her of cricket grounds in England, where there were impressive two-storey pavilions for the chosen few and everyone else was accommodated in what looked like open-fronted corrugated-iron sheds or simply on open-air terracing. Madge couldn’t imagine any event in England other than the Derby being simultaneously glamorous and boisterous in quite the same way. Ladies wore sweeping, full-length dresses, magnificent wide-brimmed sun hats and carried patterned parasols to protect themselves from the sun. Men wore ties and stiff collars even though the temperature was almost 90 degrees Fahrenheit and the humidity was touching the 85 per cent mark. The traditional Indian love of a flutter was reflected by the earsplitting cheering that accompanied the final furlong of almost every race. Even the fact that the girls didn’t back a single winner couldn’t spoil their day.
The fun continued with a dance at the Forces’ Club in Poona, which started happily enough when Madge was introduced to Billy O’Gorman from Totteridge who, she soon discovered, knew her auntie Em as well as several other friends from back home.
Madge had a wonderful time and danced so much she was glad to kick off her shoes when she got back to Kirkee Hospital. Her feet were killing her, but she admitted with a beaming smile, ‘This certainly is the life!’
Be that as it may, Madge wondered one morning after another particularly enjoyable dinner that went on until the early hours if some of the girls had been overdoing things. They had arrived in India with golden tans that had been carefully nurtured in the sun traps of A Deck on the Strathnaver but she noticed that the healthy glow had been replaced in many cases by a delicate, slightly yellow pallor.
‘They’ve either
