After a four-day journey, the weary VADs arrived just outside Howrah Junction station at 2 a.m. Madge despaired at just how much further they would have to travel before reaching their allotted hospitals. As they awaited instructions while still aboard the train, Madge decided to take an early morning stroll down the corridor with Sally.
‘Just think how lucky we were that every one of us survived the week in London,’ said Sally thoughtfully. ‘We had a few close escapes, though, didn’t we?’
‘We definitely did. We were incredibly lucky.’ Madge nodded solemnly.
‘Did you hear about that group that were in Trafalgar Square,’ Sally went on, ‘when a doodlebug engine cut out? They hid behind one of the big lions as it crashed to earth just a few hundred yards away towards the Thames. I was over near Leicester Square at that point but even from there I saw huge amounts of debris flying through the air. I could barely believe it when I heard there’d been no injuries . . .’ Sally trailed off before holding her tummy and appearing to be in a bit of a hurry to get moving along the corridor.
Surely that was the Sunday morning on our final day in London? Madge said to herself, and remembered just how calm the vicar had been when the grinding, throaty snarl of a doodlebug suddenly turned to deafening silence.
Before Madge could ask if that frightening incident had been on the same day, Sally excused herself and literally ran to the toilet with an upset tummy.
The train had been stationary for four hours and once it was light again Madge and Vera turned on their charm and the night orderly responded by bringing them cups of tea. But it was not until 9.30 a.m. that the train left the siding and pulled into a platform at one of the busiest junctions in the whole of India. Madge marvelled at the organised chaos that seemed to be par for the course at every station.
A short while later some of the girls were packed into lorries which would take them to the Grand Hotel in Calcutta. The VADs waved one another off, and the girls laughed about just how long their colleagues were going to soak in the great big baths at this major hotel, but Madge couldn’t feel too envious. She knew their postings would range from hospitals in the north of Assam to the banks of the Brahmaputra River, and she couldn’t begrudge them even the tiniest of luxuries.
Madge’s group had to wait a little longer and they sat on their trunks and cases in a tightly knit circle on the platform. After what seemed like a whole afternoon they were escorted to ambulances sporting giant red crosses and taken straight to the docks at Kidderpore where the SS Ethiopia was waiting.
Evidence of the damage inflicted by Japanese air raids in which 350 people had been killed and hundreds more had been injured was still visible from the ship. A deckhand told the girls the Japanese had actually been trying to bomb the bridge across the river and pointed out gaps along the waterfront where warehouses once existed and buildings with blackened, fire-damaged walls stood forlornly. The SS Ethiopia eased down the Hooghly River, a tributary of the mighty Ganges, and along the coast on a voyage that would take three days before the VADs finally docked in Chittagong.
Being aboard the SS Ethiopia reminded Madge of the good old days aboard the Strathnaver. Happily there was no need for destroyer escorts or Sunderland flying boats this time, nor was there the nightmare thump of depth charges in the dead of night. After her exhausting coast-to-coast train journey, Madge was delighted to be awakened the following morning by a knock on the cabin door from a steward who, bless his soul, was standing there with a pot of tea.
But the best was still to come because after a really enjoyable breakfast she went for a stroll on deck without a life jacket or comical pith helmet and then took all the time in the world to indulge in washing her hair for the first time in days. The heat of the afternoon sun and a gentle breeze soon had it dry and Madge spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on letters home, writing an extra-long one to Mum who she knew would be anxiously waiting to hear about India.
The sea was calm and the wind gentle as the SS Ethiopia chugged into Chittagong harbour, a frontline port at the mouth of the Karnaphuli River on the Bay of Bengal. Several VAD units headed for the railway station and further journeys, but for Madge, Vera and Phyl it was an overnight stay at the Women’s Forces Hostel, which was a short distance from their final destination.
‘What a lovely building,’ said Madge. ‘I reckon this was probably a colonial mansion in the good old days.’
‘Shame it’s out of town,’ said Vera. ‘It would have been nice to have a look at Chittagong before we actually start work.’
That night the girls, tired as they were after their endless journey, still had the energy to accept an invitation to attend a dance at the Officers’ Club in Chittagong.
A free day the following day turned out to be a godsend.
‘Let’s make a trip to the shops,’ Phyl suggested. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m after getting myself some trousers. I’m fed up being eaten alive by all these mosquitoes!’
So off the girls headed, all managing to find some suitable trousers and lots of khaki ‘drill’, which they knew would keep them more comfortable. Tired as they may have been, they still found the energy to attend one more dance at the Officers’ Club. They were collected and then driven back to
