‘This is absolute heaven,’ laughed Madge to one of the brown-eyed beauties, who was maybe just a year or two younger than her English customer. ‘It is luxury beyond a dream!’
While her hair was being permed Madge took the opportunity to ask if coconut oil was the reason why their hair looked so shiny and healthy. All said they used it but opinion was split on whether to leave the oil on or wash it off. The nicest surprise of all came as she left the salon after tipping and thanking the girls and they gave her a gift of a bottle of coconut oil.
When she returned to her basha the light was fading as Madge made one last check of her new hairdo, had a little twirl to make sure there were no creases in the piqué dress she had bought in Poona, and off she went for a jolly night at the SIB (Special Investigation Branch) mess. After being virtually danced off her feet Madge realised she was beginning to feel a little jaded as she was being whisked round the floor during a Glenn Miller number. That was until her partner said he loved her dress and then asked how on earth she kept her hair in such amazing condition. She felt like the belle of the ball!
Later an RAF pilot won a competition by drinking a pint standing on his head. Another won a bet with his pals when he stood with his back to Madge before he completed a backflip. It left her so open-mouthed in surprise that she simply couldn’t refuse when he asked her if he could have the next waltz.
The dancing went on and on and it was only when the master of ceremonies announced that ‘the lovely ladies who have graced us with their presence here tonight need a little break’ that Madge realised the midnight curfew on returning to her quarters had long since passed. You’re in trouble again, young lady, she told herself.
Madge’s escort drove her back in an open-top jeep from which she enjoyed the sight of a crisp new moon and a million twinkling stars. By the time she got back to 56 IGH it was close to 1 a.m. and it looked for the entire world as if her perfect day was going to end in tears. After she identified herself, the gate was opened by two heavily armed Gurkhas. She was asked to step into the office and introduced to Havildar Bahadur, who checked her pass and looked pointedly at his watch. Just when Madge convinced herself that things couldn’t get worse he caught her completely by surprise when he burst out laughing.
‘Memsahib very late,’ Bahadur said. ‘Safer if I walk with you to your basha.’
Best of all, as he escorted her down the hill he promised that nobody would know she had arrived back an hour after curfew.
‘You remind me of the Welsh missionary lady who taught me to speak English in a little school a day’s walk from my village,’ he said, and explained that he had grown up in the Himalayas, on the Nepalese side of the Indian border near Darjeeling.
As Madge tried to say thank you he stood to attention and gave her a big smile which was accompanied by an impeccable salute, turned on his heel and marched back to the main gate.
The following morning at breakfast Madge happily told her companions about the salon and what a lovely evening the military police sergeants had staged, but thought it better not to mention just how late she had returned from the dance. She felt as if she was almost floating on air as she strolled down to the hospital wards, but that soon changed when she was told by another of the nurses to be at Matron’s office for 10 a.m. She was absolutely certain that Havildar Bahadur had not gone back on his word but try as she might, she couldn’t think of the reason for the summons and it worried her. She did not understand either, as she walked in, why there was a giant of a military police sergeant standing by the side of Olive Ferguson’s desk.
The MP was far from courteous when he virtually demanded to know, ‘Where were you yesterday afternoon, Nurse Graves?’
‘I was shopping in Chittagong,’ she said, ‘and then I had my hair permed in a salon down a side street off the main road.’
There was a prolonged silence during which Madge thought she spotted Matron shaking her head. The strict but always fair New Zealander was sitting leaning on one arm with a hand across her mouth.
‘Standards have to be upheld and it’s an utter disgrace for a young lady to go into a place like that,’ said the increasingly unpleasant MP.
Madge felt herself getting quite hot and before she knew it she said, ‘I’ve worked without a day off for more than a fortnight and I wanted to look nice for a dance. What could possibly be so wrong with that?’
‘The salon had been under surveillance for some time and has now been closed down. A repeat of any such behaviour will result in serious consequences,’ the red-faced MP spluttered in response. ‘You had your hair permed in a house of ill repute!’ With that he thanked Matron for her co-operation, turned on his heel and marched out. Madge turned to Matron expecting another telling-off but instead the Aussie was doubled up laughing.
‘Strewth,’ she said, ‘I can’t believe you had your hair permed in a brothel! What was it like?’ With tears rolling down her cheeks she just about managed to point to the door and wave Nurse Graves out. As Madge walked smiling down the corridor, there, standing on the corner, was the MP, with his peaked hat under his arm. He was well over six feet tall but she noticed that the surety he had displayed in Matron’s office had all but disappeared. He half stuttered as he
