Madge showed him where the soldier’s bed was and then left the Padre to do her rounds.
When the ward finally began to settle for the night, Madge decided to take a fifteen-minute break and walked over to join the Rev, who had been encouraging the young soldier to relax and take things day by day until he was back on the road to recovery. Reverend Davies’ words seemed to strike a chord with the corporal because Madge could instantly tell from the expression on his face that the depression in which he had sunk had already begun to ease.
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, sir,’ he suddenly said to the Padre, ‘but where did you get those tattoos and how did you end up in Chittagong?’
Madge followed the corporal’s gaze and spotted some very prominent tattoos on the Reverend’s forearms.
Madge had brought three cups of tea with her in the hope that the corporal would take a few sips as well so she handed one to each of the men and began to drink her own as she listened to the Padre’s extraordinary reply.
‘In answer to your first question,’ replied the Padre, ‘when I was working with troops in Orkney I wanted to show I was a missionary of the church and one of them, not a superior officer, and that was why I decided to have both arms tattooed. There was a slight problem, however, because there was no tattooist in Orkney!’
Madge thought she had detected the faintest hint of a smile from the corporal, who was listening intently. For the first time since arriving at 56 IGH his mind was focused away from his terrible injuries.
The memory of the time and trouble he went to in trying to find a tattooist on Orkney made Rev Davies smile and he added that it wasn’t until he arrived in Bombay on a troopship after a six-week journey from Liverpool that he eventually found a tattooist.
‘I drew the designs on a piece of paper before having “God with us” put on one arm and “Who loved me and gave himself for me” on the other. There are also images of Jesus on the cross and with his mother Mary. It took two hours to complete and it was terribly painful, but definitely worth it,’ he said.
The Reverend then went on to tell the corporal more of his story. ‘On the voyage over to India I had to conduct a burial at sea, but unfortunately there was a submarine around so the troop carrier had to continue at full speed. That was tricky to say the least!’ he said, chuckling slightly. ‘I wanted to get to know the troops I was with better so I joined in with a bit of sparring one day with a group of keep-fit fanatics, but one caught me with a punch that sent me spinning onto the metal deck. That’s why I’m slightly deaf in one ear,’ he said.
His determined effort to communicate with the troops had paid off, however, because he conducted two baptisms, but the naval tradition of using the ship’s bell as a font had to be ignored this time because it couldn’t be removed.
‘We used a pie dish, disguised with a silk scarf, to hold the baptism water instead,’ he said with a smile.
From Bombay he travelled by train to Calcutta where the Rolex he was given as a twenty-first birthday present was pickpocketed. He had placed it in his breast pocket after the strap broke and the corporal actually smiled when the chaplain added, ‘The watch cost £50 but I got £70 in the insurance payout!’
Madge’s break was over and the Rev had put in another long day so they left the bedside of the sleepy corporal and discussed his chances of recovery.
‘Time will be the greatest healer,’ said the Padre. Madge agreed but knew from her experience on Professor Kilner’s team that long-term pastoral care would be even more important once the physical damage healed.
In the early hours of the morning shift Madge found the corporal wide awake and filled with utter despair so she told him about the wonderful things that she had seen accomplished with plastic surgery patients, in particular RAF pilots, who had been taken to Stoke Mandeville after suffering facial damage when their aircraft had burst into flames.
‘One of his specialities was rebuilding noses through skin grafts,’ she said, ‘and once the grafts settled down it changed their lives. With a bit of luck you will be back in England soon and I’m sure you’ll be able to have similar treatment.’ But even that failed to cheer him up.
‘I know it must be getting towards midnight,’ he told Madge, ‘but is there any possibility of having an omelette? My mother always made me an omelette when I was poorly as a little boy. It’s just what I fancy now.’
‘I’ll see what can be done,’ promised Madge, who was only too aware that the corporal had hardly eaten since his arrival. The problem was that as the only nurse on duty she was worried about leaving the ward even for a few minutes. There were no ward-boys around at that time of night and the kitchens wouldn’t be staffed, but as she wracked her brain for a solution Big Arthur, one of the night guards from the RASC (Royal Army Service Corps), strolled past, said hello and asked if everything was OK.
When Madge explained the omelette problem the giant Yorkshireman simply nodded and said, ‘Right, love, leave it to me.’ Just fifteen minutes later he reappeared with his rifle over his shoulder and a very tasty and fluffy-looking omelette ringed with sliced tomatoes. He had even brought a knife and fork. ‘Couldn’t find bread,’ he said, ‘but them there tomatoes make everything look right luverly.’
It looked so good Madge could have eaten the whole lot there and then. Instead she thanked the guard. ‘Where on earth did you manage to perform this little miracle
