‘If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.
‘Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
‘Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
‘Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.
‘And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.’
The silence at the end of the reading was palpable and even the square-jawed troops from Comilla had to swallow hard.
There was one last hymn, which, quite suitably, was ‘Love Divine, All Love Excelling’, and marriage vows complete, the congregation filed out.
Madge had told Basil in their brief conversation before the ceremony about the transport hiccup and he had a car ready to take the two bridesmaids ‘and that handbag’ back to the reception in the main hall. Jeeps containing the Gurkha guard of honour were at the front and back of the convoy.
After a few cocktails on the veranda the two bridesmaids strolled back to find that the multitude of lotus flowers that had graced the church had already been transferred to the main hall, along with roses, frangipani, jasmine, hibiscus, giant sunflowers and the most incredible orchids. Waiters walked round with a tray of exquisitely displayed hors d’oeuvres that had been brought over from the kitchens. One of the servers recognised Madge as ‘the brave memsahib who fought with the devil bird’ and gave her a mischievous smile when he explained that he was so worried about being attacked like she was that he had put a big cloth over the food.
‘You cheeky boy,’ she said with a big grin.
Within an hour or so one of the two army lorries loaded up its passengers and was on its way back to Comilla, with the intention of arriving before darkness fell. It meant they missed the speeches, which were short but witty, and the fun and games that went on later with a drinking competition between visiting soldiers and the Chittagong-based boys as the reception became entertainingly raucous.
‘Watch this,’ Vera told Madge, as they stood chatting at the reception, and she smiled at the handsome best man, who burst out laughing when she gave him the most outrageous wink before slowly turning her back on him. Within seconds he was at her side!
‘Good evening, beautiful bridesmaids. My name is Robert Adam,’ he said.
‘Robert Adam what?’ asked Vera in her cheekiest manner.
‘Just Robert Adam,’ he replied. ‘It’s been a wonderful evening, hasn’t it? I would like to thank you both for having always been so kind to Sally. She told me and Charles all about you two,’ he said.
‘When did you meet her?’ asked Madge.
‘When she was nursing Charles at your sister hospital over the past weeks. We thought he was going to die, but she spent her every waking hour on the ward and helped bring him back from the brink.’
‘What was the problem?’ asked Madge.
‘Malaria,’ answered the best man, who then invited Vera to partner him once the first dance was over.
‘My pleasure,’ she said, before half turning to Madge and whispering, ‘I think that finally solves the mystery of Sally!’
The dancing began with the bride and groom leading a tribute to Glenn Miller. ‘What else could we start with here in Chittagong other than “Indian Summer”?’ said the master of ceremonies. Madge and Vera were standing talking about how moving the Padre’s reading at the wedding had been and overheard a couple saying what a terrible shame it was about the American.
‘I’m not sure I heard that right,’ said Madge, ‘but I get the impression that something has happened to Glenn Miller.’
A wedding guest chipped in to confirm that there had been reports before Christmas that a flight taking him from an airport somewhere near Bedford to Paris had gone missing over the English Channel. ‘That was some time ago and nothing has been heard of him since,’ the guest added.
Basil rejoined the group and eased Madge away by saying that the next record was going to be ‘Moonlight Serenade’.
‘I know it’s one of your favourites,’ he said, ‘so could I have the pleasure of the next dance?’ The overwhelming sadness that Madge felt over the singer’s death in the very waters she had seen every day as a child growing up in Dover was tempered by the warmth and security that came from being held in Basil’s loving arms and she thought how lucky she was to have found him.
Basil guided her gently from the throng on the dance floor out to the veranda to look up at stars twinkling and a new moon glimmering over an impossibly romantic scenario. Then they looked down to the flickering lights of the wards of 56 IGH where brave young men were fighting so valiantly to recover from disease and combat wounds. As the dulcet tones of the Glenn Miller classic drifted away on the evening breeze, Madge realised just how strictly her life, at just twenty-one years of age, was being governed by love and war.
20
Nursing the Japanese
Since she had arrived in Chittagong Madge had relied on the South East Asia Command for news about the war. This forty-thousand-circulation daily newspaper, which was published in Calcutta with the intention of keeping Allied forces in touch with events back in Europe, was understandably circumspect about progress in the Burma Campaign. It was always a treat to see the occasional copy of SEAC, but as the weeks passed, Madge had the sense that there was much more going on behind the scenes than any of them were aware of.
By the
