Everything suddenly clicked into place for Madge, who just two mornings earlier had been taught that one of the side effects of the anti-malaria drug they had all been taking since their arrival in Bombay was yellow colouring of the skin and eyes. She kicked herself for not working it out immediately. Perhaps she was the one overdoing things!
With her time at Kirkee coming to an end, Madge began to wonder where her new posting would be, and if there would be any shops. Just in case they were heading somewhere in the back of beyond, she and Vera caught the hospital transport to Poona from Kirkee the next afternoon where they found they were spoilt for choice by the number of fashion outlets. There were the usual stalls in front of the many shops and they steered clear of the bazaar after being warned that in hot days it was ‘a little too smelly’. Instead they concentrated on clothes.
‘Well, this is a surprise,’ said Madge. ‘There seem to be quite a few shops selling dresses, and even offering to make them within a day or so.’
‘That is a plus,’ said Vera, ‘but it’s pretty grubby as well as being dusty. I don’t like the look of those bars, or those snooty colonial women in the cafes, but I suppose it’s best not to look a gift horse in the mouth.’
It was the first time in years that Madge had been able to buy clothes and not worry how many ration coupons would be needed or if she had enough money.
She and Vera entered the first shop they saw. Dazzled by the display, Madge stroked the multi-coloured silks, cottons and brocades. The turbaned shopkeeper told the girls to choose any item they liked from a battered old copy of a catalogue on the counter and it would be ready the following afternoon. Madge was tempted but opted for an off-the-hook, elegant blue and white striped piqué dress. She knew it would be perfect for afternoon tea parties, cocktails and dinners under the stars.
Vera settled for a patriotic little number in red, white and blue and a pink suit for good measure. After a few minor nips here and tucks there everything was delivered to the hospital at Kirkee the following lunchtime by a man on a bike.
‘Girls back home would give their eye teeth for the chance to buy beautiful dresses at such prices,’ said Madge to Vera as they admired their purchases.
‘I know,’ Vera exclaimed. ‘Isn’t this heaven!’
Fun as the social whirl of Poona was, it certainly wasn’t the reason Madge had volunteered to nurse in the Burma Campaign and, as the shine wore off, she began paying more attention to her morning nursing shifts at Kirkee Hospital. This was proving to be excellent practice for treating numerous diseases, many of which they would rarely have experienced in the UK. Malaria, yellow fever, sandfly fever and typhus were all included and Madge mentally thanked the young doctor who had lectured them about those very ailments so patiently on the Strathnaver.
Madge was also increasingly interested in the demonstration sessions where the nurses dispensed TLC to wounded soldiers who hadn’t talked to girls from home for months and, in some cases, years.
On the first Sunday in September, little more than two weeks after first treading on Indian soil, there was another reminder of the problems people were facing back home when a special service was held to commemorate the fifth anniversary of the outbreak of war. Madge had been to church both Sundays since her arrival in Kirkee, but found this service the most moving because it reminded her of the day she and her sisters had run home in terror and hidden under the dining room table after Dover’s air-raid sirens were tested. She found the similarity to the Wesleyan service back home in Dover of great comfort.
The days soon seemed to blend. Mornings were spent working on the wards at the military hospital in Kirkee, and the afternoon eating a small lunch, sunbathing or playing tennis and then taking afternoon tea. Early evening cocktails were a must before dinner or a dance. It all became routine, until the girls were finally given the information they had been so impatiently awaiting for days.
‘Apparently we leave on Monday,’ said Madge. ‘As in Monday the eleventh of September.’
‘That’s a surprise because it’s only Wednesday today and we have plenty of time to arrange farewell dinners and things,’ said Vera.
‘I thought they would tell us just forty-eight hours before we go, like they did when we left Baker Street,’ said Phyl.
‘It’s a shame all this fun is coming to an end,’ said Madge, ‘but I have to say, I’m actually really quite keen to get back to serious nursing.’
‘Me too,’ Phyl and Vera both said at the same time.
Madge was told that she would be going to an Indian General Hospital, or IGH, in Chittagong and the best news was that she, Vera and Phyl would all be together. The bad news was they hadn’t a clue where Chittagong was.
‘I suppose we’ll get used to not being told things in case we divulge information which we haven’t the slightest knowledge of anyway,’ said Madge.
‘It reminds me of that song which goes something like “You’re in the Army Now”,’ said Phyl.
To complicate matters further army security experts had lectured the VAD group about how important it was to be aware at all times of not participating in careless talk, because within a short time they would be nursing in hospitals dealing with casualties from the Burma Campaign. The nurses were instructed not to ask questions, under any circumstances, about where injured soldiers had been or what they had been doing. That was all well and good but the lecture left the Stoke Mandeville trio too worried to even ask where Chittagong was
