Authors: Joyce Ffoulkes Parry
The ward is fairly quiet tonight at least, except for coughs and such like. Athenordon, the Greek, is better it seems and Rifleman Smith, our special bugbear, has had his plaster removed and now is on a Balkan beam and has a pin through his ankle. He does seem more cheerful and looks less tired. Poor kid, no wonder he was so miserable with those awful plaster sores. I quite like Smith now. Upstairs in B11 things are more settled too, although Graves, a New Zealander, died there last night. In the PM today they found a lung abscess and TB lesions and amoebic dysentery. The struggle was too much for him, which we could see at first, as he was a pathetic figure, I always felt.
November 30th 1940
Mona and I got up today at 2pm to see the film
Balalaika
which we meant to do yesterday but it was raining at that time and, glad of any excuse not to get up, we decided against. It really was a delightful film, ‘The music in my head long after it was heard no more’
as the poet sayeth. We were just leaving the mess this morning when the phone rang – after me. It was Frank speaking who said that Bill would be in Alexandria today. So we saw them both in the foyer of the cinema before we went in. Bill looks so tired but she is the same otherwise. She went back by train, leaving at 4pm.
No admissions to B Ground this week and I am glad to say only one or two upstairs. I wrote to Mali and Gwen last night, which I really meant to do a fortnight ago but have slipped badly, I fear so far. Cold today, really cold. I shall have to look out my winter woollies. Odd letters still drifting in from General. This last one addressed to British Medical Service, England! In it he seems to take it for granted that I have been ‘through the hell of Dunkirk’! When I think of our pleasant month in La Belle France, of the almost entire peace of it, it makes me smile a little …
The boys are coming back after the concert, making a fearful din, singing and whistling to each other, just as I have got the ward dark and everyone asleep. It would happen. Now everyone is awake again. Smith has been put on the dangerously ill list. Today I was worried about him as his pulse was very unsteady. I can’t think why they don’t take his leg off and I’m sure it will have to come off in the long run, if he doesn’t die first, which he probably will, poor kid.
December 12th 1940
3.45am
I have just come back to B Ground from taking over the report book to CIW for the last time – I hope – for at least six months. Mona and I finish up tomorrow morning but aren’t allowed to go away from Alexandria. The big push has begun and it was announced tonight that Sidi Barrani has fallen and that we had taken 4,000 prisoners and some of the wounded, we hear, are expected here early this morning for the huts.
22
I am very glad indeed to be off night duty. The report last night was painful enough to read but completely agonising to write. I found that in the morning I had written that Athenordon’s ‘pulse was very thin’ yet I had not the slightest remembrance that I had taken his pulse all night, so why I should have elaborated on it is beyond me. I’ve had the greatest struggle this time to get my ‘short and simple annals’ written at all. The ward has changed rather in the last fortnight. We had very few in at first but now there are more than 80, many of whom are Australians. Poor Rifleman Smith died – the worst leg I have ever seen. The poor kid must have gone through absolute hell for many weeks. An awful pity they didn’t remove his leg weeks ago. Then we had a youth of 20 admitted with multiple shrapnel wounds. He developed gas gangrene and although I rang up the orderly medical officer and they rushed him to theatre at 3.30am, he died before coming back to the ward: a sad business.
Then, there is a case of Mona’s: a survivor of the
Warspite
. He came in here with a history of insomnia and night hysteria and as a result of weeks on the
Maine
and incessant air raids, he’s had two lots of shrapnel and had been through Narvik
as well as Taranto
.
So no wonder his nerves are frayed. He’s been very good really, sleeping quite well but getting fearfully depressed at times. Today he had a cable from the War Office saying that both his parents have been killed in air raids on Liverpool last week. His younger brother and sister had fortunately been evacuated to Canada at the outbreak of hostilities. Poor Morris, no one had been near him all day – I suppose they would feel that he wanted to get away – but he did want to talk about it and go over and over it. I felt that he did so I went to sit on his bed, which I imagine is still
verboten
, and stayed with him for a very long time. Poor kid – he feels that everything beneath him has crumbled away and he hasn’t seen any of his people for over the three years and now they won’t be there when he does go back.
Then there is Hetherington, an Australian, who has been very ill and Chapman, who is on the DIL and NYD lists. Such nice boys and, of course, there is Stewart, who has been transferred to the huts. He is ready for discharge and goes on Friday so I shall see him again. And now tomorrow, for a sleep! ‘Hark, hark, the dogs do bark’ everlastingly here and the cats scream and scramble without – a noisy country, Egypt.
December 14th 1940
I have just made myself some coffee on Beatrice at 7.30pm and hope shortly to get to bed for the night. This is the end of our leave and tomorrow Mona goes to AIW Medical, and I to Hut 5, Surgical. Only 56 beds so it won’t take long to get to know the patients. I remember how hopeless it seemed when I first went to B, with 108 beds.
Events have been moving fast in Egypt in the last three days. We have taken 40,000 casualties and the RASC has been instructed to get supplies for 60,000 prisoners here and we are told they don’t know where to turn to get food. There is no doubt that they will, and have, become a problem for, of course, the poor wretches have to be fed. There is a rumour also that Sollum has also fallen, or soon will. That leaves Egypt practically free but I suppose we shall continue to push on into Libya. It looks as if Mussolini’s number is up, as there is also talk of revolts in parts of Italy.
There has been a marvellous moon for nights and we haven’t had a plane over. Quite a change. They had one convoy in at 1.30am, but although everyone was on call, it wasn’t necessary to get everyone up. It seems, however, that they are expecting a large convoy in tonight and everyone is on call again. Those who successfully escaped and are in town have to ring the mess every two hours. I was to have gone out myself with an MO from the 11th General but he didn’t turn up; presumably, he couldn’t get away either. Mona, however, is having a first fling and has gone out with Hugh Bebb to a cinema, unless she is recalled to Monseigneurs later.
We’ve had a very delightful leave and actually, we are better off financially at least, not having gone to Cairo. We slept most of Thursday, got up and had some tea and went into Alexandria by train and managed to do a little shopping before going to the pictures. It was the
The Light that Failed
(from a story by Kipling) and a more depressing picture I have not seen for years. At the interval, Mona spotted Bebb and said there was someone with him. After the show they beckoned to us and we met them outside. The other one turned out to be Major Jones and it was decided to go to the Carleton for dinner. It was quite bright there if rather too bristling with uniforms. We danced and ate alternately which was very jolly. The cabaret was only fair but we enjoyed ourselves. About 11.30 we decided to move on and try somewhere else so we ended up at Monseigneurs, which is more continental and less military-naval and we liked it better. We did some more dancing there and left sometime after 1am. It was heavenly driving along the Corniche home again with a full moon glinting on the surf with golden light. Lovely.
We had arranged to meet next afternoon, all four of us, and go walking for a change. In the morning Mona and I dashed out for more shopping and had coffee and a ham sandwich at Harricha and then out to the flats again, in time to meet the men at the station at 2.30. It was a beautiful afternoon, very warm with brilliant sunshine; so odd for winter time. We were about 20 minutes in the train, I suppose, and got out at El Marama or some such village, having passed en route the King’s Palace and little else but squalid villages, and sand and palm trees and then still more sand and more palm trees. We started walking along the road with the usual string of small boys following us, very black and filthy and charmingly attired in the oddest mixture of clothes imaginable. One had a bright pink skull cap which he obviously cherished. A muddy stream ran along the road side, and it seems this serves the villagers for drinking and washing purposes.
People seem happy enough, however, sitting about in the sunshine, idling, presumably without any responsibilities. We saw a number of water wheels along the banks of the stream, worked by a donkey. They were blindfolded, with straw casings over their eyes, and walked endlessly around and around.
We came at length to a path and left the road for sand and still more sand. The only vegetation was sand, trees and a few odd plots of beans and potatoes, usually hedged around with rushes or pampas grass. We were walking towards the sea and very lovely it was when it came into view across the sand hills, deep blue and very calm. There was nothing to spoil the scene at all and nothing indeed at all but fishing boats and the men casting their nets as they have done, I suppose, for hundreds of years. Aboukir, as it came into view, looked like a coloured picture in an illustrated Bible. These places have changed so little in the years between. We had tea in the local ‘pub’ – on the terrace, as the winter sun went down, orange, over the desert.
We left by train about 5.30pm and got back to the flats about 6 o’clock. Mona and I changed into mufti, which, of course, is strictly
verboten
and Bill called for us at 6.45 when we met Jones and Copack, ate at the Metropole and then we all went on to the pictures. I was awfully sleepy and remember very little of it. Afterwards we went on to Monseigneurs for dinner and danced for a while. We had to be back at the flats by 11.30 however as a convoy was expected at any time. Today I slept until nearly midday whilst Mona rushed into town to the little Romanian dressmaker who alters and stitches for us these days and when she returned I had lunch ready on the balcony where it was lovely in the warm sun.
Well it’s over now and tomorrow we start work again. I received some delightful snaps of my nephew Bruce last night and he thinks of me, Glyn says, as ‘a fine fellow on a camel’. He wants me to send him one and so I shall, bless him. I had quite made up my mind to send him a wooden one that I recently saw in a fascinating shop, the Sherif Pascha. It is 50 piastres but a lovely piece of work and I’d love to send it to the child. I believe they will send such things directly from the shop and that makes things easier for me. I must get something really nice for each of the others too as soon as I can manage it. But now I must fill my last water bag and crawl into bed and I fervently hope that I am not dragged out of it before morning.
December 19th 1940
I went to Hut 5, Minor Surgical and Polish wounded, which is lit only until 5pm. After that I was told to go to Hut 4 – eye cases – admitted the previous evening – 65 of them. The place was pandemonium when I arrived, with a fearful mixture of unshaven men, kits, sand, dressing things and nursing staff falling over each other in an effort to restore order. I’ve been there since, although it’s not final even now I fancy, and I like it very much. Thorn, who is in charge, is elderly but a great sport, never interferes or dodders, and works like a Trojan. Bennett, who has just come with the rest of her CCS to help us out, is also with us: an awfully nice girl and long may she stay.
The orderlies are nothing short of stupid and incompetent and the sick berth attendants are not much better. I’ve quite made up my mind that very few men are any good at nursing, even of the most elementary variety. There is some sort of order established now and quite a number of patients are up and about and they help in the galley and round and about. They are a jolly crew generally speaking and I believe that they are much happier with us than if they were back in the desert. I expect it surprises them that they are being treated like ordinary human beings – indeed the attention, the food and the clothes are exactly the same as our own men receive. We are having the greatest fun picking up a few words of Italian. Those that we do know we work overtime, but they enjoy our efforts and we don’t mind at all.
Bill is up in Alexandria on leave. They have been hectically busy in Helmieh, getting a lot of casualties that we missed through not having any room. Among the boys whom we knew on the ship is the one who has had his foot blown off, an Alun Griffiths, who is seriously ill from some war injury. He was from Harlech and such a nice lad and I do hope he’ll be alright. Bill doesn’t look at all well and I do hope she will pick up with these 14 days’ leave. She hopes to finish up at Luxor.
I arranged to purchase another iron on my last half-day off. I wanted a French one similar to the one we got at Cairo, whilst they are still available. The struggle I had was unbelievable. I had priced one a few weeks ago and they told me 125pt. I was horrified and after telling them that I had got the same thing in Cairo for 80pt, I departed in high dudgeon. This time I tried a bigger shop, and they had the effrontery to ask for over 200pt for the same thing exactly. I told them exactly what I thought about it, and of them, and bounced out. A few shops further down they asked me 150pt and, although that was better, I said I’d wait and see. Nothing happened so I marched off back to the original place and this time they asked me to pay 140pt. I looked very grieved and told them that only three weeks ago they had told me 125pt. They agreed but said that everything had gone up twice since then. After a long discussion, he completely floored me by asking how much I would like to pay. I could not think of any answer to this one, so we agreed by closing the deal at 130pt! Really, these Egyptians are the limit. They think that because we are British we have plenty of money and they put their prices up as soon as they see us entering the shop; it really is too bad. I’m going to be more painstaking in future – it seems to pay – at least I hope it does.