View source for BARNFATHER: London 1940

==London, 1940==

There was just less than a week to go before Christmas and we were to have seven days leave. Afterwards we were to report to an address in Gloucester Road, London. On the Saturday before we were due to leave Tidworth I pulled a muscle in my thigh whilst playing hockey. My first thought was "I'll be left behind". I needn't have worried. After all this was a hospital and there was a practising physiotherapist among the V.A.D.s on the staff. That same evening and the following day I was given intensive treatment, and by Monday I was able to travel.

Christmas at home with mother and my sister's passed all too quickly. We thoroughly enjoyed everything, especially being together. Food did not yet seem to be in short supply nor did the extra Christmas goodies although we were into the fourth month of the war.

On reporting to Gloucester Road we nurses discovered that this address was that of the Q.A. Club. Several members were Q.A. veterans of the First World War and were eager to tell us of some of their experiences. Like arrogant youth, we were not so keen to listen. The club was extremely comfortable and we enjoyed being there, but that pleasure was short-lived. It was too expensive a commitment for the army to keep us there, and so another billet was found. This time it was an old, empty house in Eaton Square, old and neglected. This was "Bleak House". We were obliged to use some of our camping equipment as they were only a few chairs and tables available, but we did have a roof over our heads. Our Sister-in-Charge, one of the very old school, thought we should become Mrs. Mops and do some cleaning since we had nothing else to do. We started on this task and had made some headway with soap and scrubbing brushes, cold water and much grumbling when the Commanding Officer discovered what was going on. He was really cross and put a stop to it instantly. Then one of the senior Medical Officers thought it would be a good idea if we were to be lent to the hospital for tropical diseases. This idea was squashed immediately by the C.O.

Once again we moved and this time to a billet in a large old house in Victoria, which was subdivided into flats. The rooms were heated by gas fires and these were operated by putting some money into a slot in a machine which then release some gas. It was bitterly cold that January and it was too expensive to run the gas fires all day, so we used to take turns congregating in one room and so that room became our favourite meeting place.

All this time we were not working and time was hanging heavily on our hands, so we were able to do plenty of walking and exploring London. Our salaries were small and did not allow much spending on entertainment or eating out.

By now we were wondering if we would ever move overseas and get busy on the job for which we had been mobilised.

Then one day, the C.O. gave a cocktail party for the Medical Officers and the Nursing Sisters of number 7C.C.S. At the party he told us things were beginning to move but we must continue to be patient for just a little while longer. We were to take 48 hours embarkation leave immediately, and after that we were to be confined to quarters on standby. That was a merry cocktail party. After it was over a group of us decided to go out for dinner and carry on the party. This we did at Lyons Corner House in the Strand, and what a party that was. My friend V.J. missed all the fun. She had fallen asleep after the cocktail party and had to be left behind. Incidentally, she slept right through the morning and was very disgusted when she realised what she had missed.

Embarkation leave passed very quickly and once again we were waiting, but this time not for long. Movement orders came through. We packed all our gear and were taken to Kings Cross Station at midnight, all very hush-hush. We had been warned previously not to let anybody, not even Family, know where or when we were to embark. Security reasons! When we reached the station there were troops everywhere. Not only troops, but obviously their families too, who had come to see them off. We felt very letdown.

Eventually, the train filled up and pulled out on the start of its journey to Scotland. It would be a long journey and still that would not be journeys end. Where next? Although we were not crowded in our compartment, it was an uncomfortable journey as there was no heating and very little lighting. The stations were dimly lit and without names. A halt was made at a couple of stations and a very welcome site greeted us. There were Red Cross ladies handing out hot tea and buns. Those ladies deserved medals – but that was Red Cross – always there to help.

The cold and dreary journey ended eventually at Gouroch in Scotland. There we actually saw some winter sunshine, pale and weak but sunshine, accompanied by a light breeze. Everybody felt rather more cheerful. The troops tumbled out of the train, "fell in" to orders barked at them by their sergeant and marched off in an orderly fashion. Transport was waiting for us and we were driven to the docks. This was exciting – where were we going? – even our C.O. didn't know. There were several ships tied up alongside at the docks and we were driven to the largest of all, the "Monarch of Bermuda”. She was a peace time cruise liner based in the United States of America. She was a beautiful sight, majestic and powerful; smoke blowing from her stack ready for action. We were taken on board and shown to our accommodation. V.J. and I were to share a cabin - our cabin turned out to be a twin state room furnished in blue and with real beds. This was luxury indeed, above and beyond the call of duty, but we weren't grumbling. We did a little unpacking and then joined the other girls in search of food. We found our way to the dining room where the Chief Steward welcomed us and showed us to our table. The dining room was huge and all around there seemed to be a sea of tables all beautifully dressed with snow white linen and gleaming cutlery. We sat down and were handed menus. The Steward served us with coffee and explained the various dishes. It was then we realised why such comfort and splendour the staff were American and the "Monarch", although already on active service, had not yet been stripped and refitted for Troop carrying. This did happen at a later date and such was her speed that she was able to travel unaccompanied, out of convoy. Even now we did not know where we were headed, but amidst such luxury who cared?

At long last the seemingly endless job of embarking all the troops and their equipment was completed. The gangways were pulled up, the ships siren boomed out, the ship to shore lines were released, the engines developed a steady throb. Gradually the gap between ship and show widened as the "Monarch" gently responded to the pull of the little tugboat guiding her into the river.

As we sailed slowly down the Clyde, the "dockies" on both sides of the river shouted and waved to us and gave us a terrific sendoff. Twenty-four hours out, the C.O. opened his sealed orders and gave us the news for which we had been waiting all these past weeks. Norway was our destination, the north of Norway 500 miles inside the Arctic Circle.

[[BARNFATHER: Norway 1940| Next: Norway, 1940]]