VAD Andy's War

Just before the war I had finished 2 years of chiropody training in Manchester, and had returned to my parents home to start my practice in Lancaster. Most of my friends were busy taking their Red Cross Certificates as war was imminent,so I started to go to the lectures too with a view to joining up like my pals.

At the beginning of June 1940 I was called up by the Civil Nursing Reserve, and travelled to Blackburn where another friend, from Cumbria, had started at a large hospital called Calderstones. Half of this hospital was for mental patients, and the rest for the Dunkirk patients we were told would be arriving in convoy at night. Naturally we had no idea what to expect, and standing there in the dark waiting to escort these poor badly wounded soldiers into the wards was a daunting experience for us all.
There were several VAD friends there, and Nancy from Cumbria was a great help as she had started her nursing training and knew a lot compared with most of us.

On my first ward I was confronted by some French soldiers, and the only French I knew to ask them was 'comme on t'ally view?' (how are you?). They were so delighted to hear even that bit in French they started to talk at speed, so of course I couldn't understand.
On this ward we had to start washing the patients as they were very grubby after their ghastly time travelling to England. One poor chap had rested on his gun which went off, blowing a hole through his hand. Young as I was, I dressed it with Eusol and ribbon gauze. I found it really difficult. Goodness knows where the sisters and doctors were on that occasion. My patient never made a murmur, and there were even worse cases that had to be seen. I was soon to see the full horrors.

One patient we all admired for his courage had his right arm and leg amputated. He remained at Calderstones until he was able to walk with crutches, on one occasion to the village pub. Another time we drove him to my parents house for the day. It shocked my mother and her friends in the middle of a whist drive to see Heath hop into the lounge. You should have seen their faces....the war had not penetrated their country lives.
Years later we were all delighted to hear that Heath had become the manager of a firm in Covent Garden. Sadly he died in 1976.

On one of my days off, a friend and myself went to Lytham St Annes to sign on with the mobile VADs. I was to become attached to the Royal Navy,and was to report to the RN Hospital Haslar in Gosport near Portsmouth.
It was all very exciting to catch the ferry from Portsmouth and to be greeted by a young sailor who offered to carry my case.
At the hospital, the Commandant, usually known as 'Madam' met me and I was shown to my 'cabin'....only naval names to be used from now on.
The first morning I was taken to meet the Surgeon-Captain, then the staff of the theatre where I was to begin working, and also the cellars where we had to go for safety with the patients that could be moved during the many air raids we were to experience. Fortunately the wards were not hit, but the nearby museum received a direct hit.

One of the most ghastly episodes I remember, as regards the admission of patients to our ward, was at the time of the Dieppe raid. A sudden rush of patients were admitted to E Block, mostly with horrific burns, having been rescued from the sea.
I was helped by a kind Sick Berth Attendant to attend to a sailor swathed in bandages from head to toe, resembling a mummy. Nothing could be done for him, and the SBA,having more experience than myself said he would do the laying out. From that poor boy I was asked to attend a patient in a saline bath. I was attracted by his northern accent, but I had to be brave as he muttered,'I've been in the bloody sea all day and now you put me in a bloody bath'. With these words he died.
Several of the men had shrapnel injuries, and one of these I was asked to 'special'. While changing his dressing I would use forceps to remove pieces of shrapnel from his stomach. After several days of this I asked him if he felt like a good meal yet. He replied that he would enjoy that, so against the rules I went to the ward kitchen and asked for a small steak...and got it!

After being at Haslar for some time I was sent to the WRENS Depot Millhill, which was where the Wrens started their training called 'On the house' where they cleaned the stairs etc. Many of the Wrens had been in the Land Army where they had slept on palliasses and consequently were infested with nits. These we had to treat with meths, and the unfortunate girls had to sleep in the cellars until they were cured.
I was also occasionally able to practise chiropody at Millhill.

I met Pam at the Depot and we decided to put our names down for overseas duty. Soon we were on our way to Ceylon in convoy, on the Merchant Navy ship called City of Hong Kong. It seemed an endless journey. We were diverted on several occasions when danger was imminent. This was obvious when the cadets raced slipping down the rails from the top deck for Action Stations.
We were the first convoy through the Suez Canal.....it was a relief to see land. We broke down soon after Suez and were able to do some bargaining with the natives who threw the things up to us as we were not allowed ashore. After being there about a week we were able to proceed to Bombay where we got our trunks off the ship and were put up in a very nice residence in the area called Malabar Hill.
During our time in Bombay we shopped without coupons which was wonderful, and visited the Taj Mahal Hotel. What a contrast after war-time England!
After one week in Bombay we had to go by train to Madras. We had seats, but luckily we met some Admiralty civilians who were kind enough to ask us to share there more comfortable compartment. The journey to Madras took five days with stops at numerous stations where the locals tried to sell us food and drinks.
Before we caught the ferry across to Colombo, we were invited to an air-conditioned home in Madras for drinks, which was wonderful. The lady of the house, who ran a gift shop, remarked that we looked very tired.
On the ferry later that day, we witnessed masses of people on the deck bowing to Mecca in the late afternoon.

I was posted to the RN Hospital at Colombo, and while working on the officers' dysentry ward I began to feel ill and after a few days Dengue fever was diagnosed. I was nursed in the VAD Sickquarters at the hospital. One of the nurses there, who was a tea planter's wife, suggested that I spend my sick leave at her bungalow in the hills. En route from the station we stopped to let some elephants pass the car, and one elephant popped his trunk into the car and jolly nearly took my handbag. I felt well and truly abroad.
After a week, feeling lonely, I managed to phone another planter who had offered all forces to spend sick leave at his bungalow, should thay have nowhere to go.
There were three officers there including one Royal Marine who had been at death's door at the Colombo naval hospital, although I did not nurse him. He was later to become my husband.

When I was recovered I returned to the hospital in Columbo, and when they asked for volunteers to go to the navy hospital at Trincomalee, a few of us jumped at the chance. The hospital was near the harbour, and I can remember nursing severely dehydrated patients who had been serving in submarines.
On our off-duty at weekends, we sometimes walked to the harbour and were often lucky enough to hitch a ride in a Catalina seaplane down to Colombo.

It was all a great experience which took me through to the end of the war. In October 1945, just married, we returned to England.

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