Voices from History: Joyce's War

The Second World War Journal of a Queen Alexandra Nurse

Joyce Ffoulkes Parry, Rhiannon Evans

• Publisher: The History Press
• Year: 2015
• Print ISBN: 9780750962308
• eBook ISBN: 9780750963282
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: Historical Biographies
• Index: History

Joyce Ffoulkes Parry was an Australian nurse who came to Britain in 1937 to rediscover her Welsh roots. When war was declared, she signed up as a Queen Alexandra nurse and from 1940 until 1944, when she left India to begin her married life in Wales, she served as a sister in France, on hospital ships and in hospitals in Egypt, India and the Far East. Her journal came to light after her death in 1992. Out of the chaos of war emerges a unique voice telling a vivid, compelling and honest story of adventure, bravery, friendship, homesickness and wartime romance. Edited by her daughter and published for the first time, Joyce's wry observations about everything from the bureaucracy of the army to how poetry and shopping helped sustain her through four difficult but extraordinary years offer a fascinating glimpse into a vanished world.

1942

Bombay – Basrah – Batavia – Colombo – Karachi – Massawa Bombay – Calcutta, 47th British General Hospital

New Year’s Day

And now we are heading for the Persian Gulf, bound for Basrah! We slid gracefully out of Bombay harbour at 7am last Monday. Mona and I got up early to wave to Evelyn in the Dorsetshire as it moved off. Last night, knowing it was useless to go to bed, we were dragged down to a party in McDonald’s cabin. It was a two-foot squeeze and there must have been quite twenty of us there. It was hot and dusty and extremely noisy, to put it mildly, and we thought we could escape after a modest hour or so. But alas for our guile, we were still there when someone rang a large brass bell and we gathered round and sang ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and everyone kissed everyone else at midnight. I got down to my cabin about 1am and started a letter to Ken in Cyprus, where I hope he had a cheerful happy celebration and didn’t think too much. One shouldn’t think too much, I’ve discovered. Such a nice surprise last night too: there was a book on my table when I went down at midnight and a letter. It was from Tich, dear Tich, who, although a Hindu, is much more of a Christian than most people I’ve met in my life. In the note he had written Tagore’s lines:

Once we dreamed that we were strangers

We woke up to find that we are dear to each other.

He is a dear little soul. He and Nellie will stand out always as two of the most delightful and loveable people I have ever known – not only among Indians either. Nellie is a Christian, her father being a missionary in an American mission, but Tich is a Hindu and an ardent disciple of Gandhi and a passionate Indian Nationalist or Congressman. Being in the army his style is cramped and he has no bitterness or hatred towards Britain in any case, only a great sadness in his dark eyes that so many millions of his people are starving and that no-one seems to care. I have a deep and abiding sympathy for the peoples of all conquered countries emanating, I suppose, from some remote and woaded ancestor, nearly two thousand years ago.

Well, I am all for India having her independence. It seems all wrong, when we are fighting for so-called democracy, that we can keep virtually enslaved, 400,000,000 people. It wouldn’t be so bad if they were an unintelligent race, which they are not, and although they are divided amongst themselves, I believe we have encouraged this for our own ends. At least they should be allowed to work out their own salvation. If we don’t give in gracefully, I feel we shall have to pay for it in the end, for this generation is sensitive and proud and ready to defend its independence, come what may. I feel it is only Gandhi’s pacifist policy that has kept India in check up to this time. And Gandhi is an old man. His successor may not favour non violence, and it wouldn’t take much to fan the fire among 400 million people. If I do end up living in India I shall have more sympathy with Indians themselves than with most of the British people, who speak so disparagingly of them. I quite despair of there ever being a thousand years of peace when I hear on every side such thoughtless, cruel and unjust criticisms of whole races of people and in their own country. And we think we are more civilised and Christian than any other race. Ah me!

January 10th 1942

Karachi

Basrah is now behind us and ‘one with seven thousand years’ and we are at Karachi. But to go back a week – it blew up cold through the night about three nights before we reached port. Oh my! We’d forgotten what it was like to feel cold but we soon knew. Out of the bottom of the trunk the warm winter woollies, thick suits and coats, hot water bags, bed socks, winter pyjamas and the rest – things we’d long forgotten we possessed. And then we tied up at Magil about 6pm. The river looked cold and dreary and not so romantic this time – nothing is the second time, so blasé have we become in our roaming around and about. We walked up and down the deck in the hard clear cold air, our teeth literally chattering.

Then Bob arrived and went straight up to the captain, later sending down word to us. Mona and I went ashore with him and picked up Danny at the transport office en route for their house, new, since our last trip there. Mona and Danny went to some official dinner that couldn’t be avoided and Bob and I dined at home. It was rather fun and I got four fils43 pieces out of the Christmas pudding. We went up on to the roof and I wrote my name on the frost on the wall. Oh, bitterly cruelly cold! Then Mona and Danny returned and we played the gramophone until – I was going to say it was dawn – it wasn’t far short of it anyway, at 3.30am. I was hung with, there is no other word for it, Bob’s enormous navy overcoat, gold epaulettes and all, and eight foot of thick navy blue wool scarf around and around my head. He can have them both – they nearly crushed my spirit completely. It was cold in our bunks and we had only about two hours’ sleep at the most, when we had to get up, as the patients arrived at 9am.

We had about 60 boys in C Ward and a grand lot they were: mostly medical cases and up and about with only one or two sick ones. All the asthmatics decided to have attacks to begin with, but once acclimatised settled down nicely. They had a gramophone and we lent them our records as well as Red Cross ones and it was well used from early morning until bedtime. I believe they all enjoyed their cruise and wished it had been longer. They particularly approved of the food (and it was good) and they were allowed to do pretty much as they chose. I don’t believe in being officious with patients – it’s bad enough to be ill. The cold continued until we were a day off Karachi and we landed everyone intact except one Hindu, whose mortal remains were consigned to the sea a few days out of port. It was a simple ceremony: the guard and the officers and the colonel who attended stood at the salute when the body was sent down the slipway.

We got into Karachi on Saturday about 4pm but the patients did not disembark until Sunday morning. We hated seeing them go, having just got to know one from the other. It’s always this way on a ship. Yesterday after tea Katie, Mary and Harold and Mona and I went to town and to the cinema. Looking around for the first time the town seems scattered and provincial, but of course, it was Sunday and all the shops were closed. It may look more businesslike during the week. The weather here is delightful although rather chilly in the shade, but warm and balmy in the sun. We have moved out about 100 yards at most and go to the port in one of the many colourful balham-cum-tonys that congest the little quay; very colourful they are with large red flags in their main masts and scarlet cushions on the seats. They are larger than the Basrah balhams but more after their fashion than the Bombay tonys. No less than five men rowed us across tonight and it cost us a mere two annas a head, so they can’t be literally rolling in wealth, although they seem cheerful souls.

The American clipper and the Australian–Dutch airmail sea-planes are moored quite close by. They look retiring and unimportant camouflaged and floating on the tide as they are. Yet what tales they would have to tell if they kept a journal, like me. The docks are interminable, apparently: I certainly can’t see the end of them and there are ships of all kinds loading and unloading their various cargoes. But it is the numerous and varied fishing craft and native sailing boats that lend colour and atmosphere to the little harbour one way or another – especially after our mail begins to arrive. We feel we shall like Karachi; it’s odd to think that we now know such places as Basrah and Alexandria and Bombay and Karachi – which before were only names.

The gong has just gone. I have retired to bed early, having a cold and not wanting dinner. It’s nice to be alone for a while – it seems impossible on this ship, short of being rude to everybody and locking myself in my cabin.

January 23rd 1942

On deck in the sun. The weather is still delightful, some days rather coolish in the shade but whenever we have been ashore, it has been almost too hot. The nights remain deliciously cool, however, which is sheer heaven after Bombay. Here as I write the gulls wheel and turn and fly about us. Hundreds of river craft – fishing and cargo – with beautiful curled sails, large ones and tiny ones, go up and down every hour of the day and late into the night. More graceful and lovelier than a dream these sailing boats and long after Karachi has become blurred in my memory the little butterfly boats will remain. But directly opposite, about 300 yards from us, is the wharf, or rather the beginning of it, for it seems to go on forever, as far as the eye can see.

Daily, fairly large ships come and, within 24 hours, are gone again. Mostly cargos from all appearances, but sometimes, as today, long lines of troops embark, quickly and silently and go their ways. The flying boats, too, arrive and depart, usually at night. And how skilfully they are handled by their pilots landing on the water, at length, and in the pitch darkness (except for their own lights) with scarcely a ripple or splash. Yet we accept our airmail without question or thanks and merely complain when our mail is overdue. So much do we consider these feats as part of our desserts in these advanced days!

Karachi we find more or less adequate for our needs although more expensive than Bombay. I have had a red dress made. I’ve wanted a red winter frock for a long time now and I’ve got it. The colour is more or less what I wanted but the tailor has not turned out to be quite the best although we went to the best-looking shop in the place. I’ve bought myself some shoes too, wine ones and being English, K shoes. I had to pay Rs28 and so for the remainder of the month I go penniless. Well we can’t have it both ways and really I don’t need anything. We managed to get Rs100 from the field cashier a few days after we arrived and are simply awaiting the first of next month to collect the same again and more if possible.

We’ve been into town several times to the pictures and dinner afterwards. There isn’t anywhere we can eat except Chinese restaurants. Actually they are clean and cheerful with scarlet screens and scarlet Vs all round and about, which amuses one at first and then doesn’t! The food is good but one gets fed up with noodles and prawns and such, or ham and eggs – not that it matters really. We went out on two occasions with Harold and two of his engineer friends, nice ones, a Scot and one from Liverpool. We had a few tense moments on India’s behalf but it passed off quite well, eventually. Those moments!

We’ve had some mail but to my mind not nearly all we should have had. I had about ten letters on two successive days, last week. Nothing since. Mother’s appear to be up to date and there was one from Edna, Clwyd and Mona and various others. But only one from Ken. I can’t quite understand this as his letters should be getting through quite well.

Yesterday came the bad news that New Guinea was threatened with an invasion and that Rabaul has had several full-scale air attacks. This morning I got myself up in time for the 8.15am news to hear that Rabaul had been silent since 4pm yesterday. No wireless communication at all. So that, I suppose, is that. The idea is of course to use New Guinea as a base from which to attack Australia. And one wonders, now, with all the air reverses everywhere, how they are to be stopped from getting their objective. Oil supplies have been cut off between America and the ME and even from Borneo and the East Indies now, where they have had to destroy them – and communications are difficult generally anywhere between the Far East and Australia. I am wondering of course about Clwyd and whether he is still there or back in Australia again. I expect that they will be frantic at home, although as long as he does escape successfully I expect he won’t mind at all, being involved for the moment. It’s rather ironic that Clwyd, with his pacifist principles and his seemingly safe job for the duration – although it just happened that way – should really be the first one to be involved. I couldn’t hear the news this midday, which is extremely irritating with all this going on – so I don’t know whether the Japs have met with resistance or not. One wonders how, where and when it will all end. Fantastic to think that of all countries anywhere, the eyes of the world are on Australia.

February 4th 1942

Onward bound from Colombo 44 to Batavia

We stepped out of the harbour about 8am this morning and now with Singapore as our first goal, we are en route for Batavia.45 We left Karachi on the morning of the 27th of January – a Wednesday I think – and we were told of it the afternoon of the previous Monday. We had more or less made up our minds that Karachi was to be our spiritual home henceforth, instead of Bombay, and when the news came that we were off again and this time to the FAR EAST, we could scarcely believe it. We did some quick thinking, and as it was the end of the month and there was no field cashier in Colombo, we decided to storm the citadel and ask for our next month’s pay in advance. Scotty and Wright between them worked the oracle and lo and behold we each collected Rs150 with no bother at all. Now at long last there was a gentleman amongst field cashiers – a rare specimen indeed and as such, to be revered and treasured against another such rainy day – in Karachi. So of course we dashed into town in fine frenzy, in the train – our usual means of transport when alone, five pies (paise)46 from Keamari into town (about 8 miles) as against five rupees in a taxi! There we squandered a lot of our newly acquired subsistence but only, actually, on essential things.

We took...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Dedication
• Contents
• Acknowledgements
• Introduction
• Map of Principal Places
• Dramatis Personae
• Abbreviations Used in the Text
• 1940 How little any of us suspected what lay before us
• 1941 Great speculation about what will become of us
• 1942 Strange how one becomes accustomed to a new mode of life
• 1943 Who can see the end of it all?
• 1944 Return to my native hills
• Postscript
• Notes
• Copyright