the DIL – he was moved to the Anglo-Swiss because our place was too noisy in the daytime and there wasn’t a room to give him – who patted me on the hand before he went and said with a sweet sad smile, ‘Your name should be Miss Nightingale’. He’s probably dead now. And a midshipman who sent me a note on the back of a section of the daily orders early this morning – presumably because he didn’t like to tell me himself – ‘Sister, you were awfully sweet to me, early this morning. Thanks a lot.’ This because I merely went and stayed with him for a minute or two during the air raid. I know how they unnerve him; he was on the Southampton when she went down and then on the Huntley when she went down.
There are so many things I should like to have remembered, but they don’t really matter, only the remembrance that at some times one has helped. These are the things that no one can ever talk about, the trivial things, which surprisingly enough become permanent and add considerable sweetness to the days. If by some chance I should become a war victim too, and who can tell who may or may not be – I should hate to think my name was inscribed on a brass roll of honour – as though I were some heroine – which emphatically I am not, and should be perfectly happy knowing I had done my job according to my own standards – although they may be a little odd at times.
We had lunch with three Australians today, nice men: one from Queensland, one from Sydney and one from Donald in Victoria. They drove us back to the flats. They are flying to Cairo today and return here tomorrow – then back to Mersa Matruh and the dust and the sand storms. How they remain so cheerful these days, I can’t think.
May 22nd 1941
HMHS Karapara 27
The second phase has begun.
When we were dressing to go on duty last Monday, a note was sent up to Mona and me telling us to pack at once and be ready to leave forthwith on a hospital ship. We dashed up to the mess and were told that we would be required to go on duty until midnight. The ship was HMHS Karapara and Miss Scot-White was to be the theatre sister. The rest of the staff were being transferred except for the Indian girls who were in our mess pro tem. We felt rather numb about it all, especially Mona, I expect, as she didn’t even know that she was destined to come along too. I was distinctly annoyed, for various reasons which I shan’t be able to remember when I read this after many days so they’d be better left unmentioned. I hated the thought of leaving the men in Hut 7: Westacolt, Symmers, Stewart, Arnold, Haynes, Sarnham, Rigby, Hogg, Lautar, Browne, Downing, Sang and the rest. And in Hut 8 Piggott, Hooper, Johnstone, Davies and so on. In Isolation are Cornish and Cope and, more recently, my old friend General Merkovitch and his Capitaine . Sad indeed.
And the men were so sweet about it. I felt they really were sorry that I was going. I never felt a happier atmosphere in any ward I’ve worked in, no one could have been nicer to me – I loved them all. I left at midnight after having made a round of unofficial farewells. We had supper then and walked down the road in the Egyptian night, to the flats – for the last time for goodness knows how long. I wrote one or two letters and then went to bed, too weak to attempt any packing until morning. Then I was up fairly early trying to restore some order among many hundreds of trunks and cases and we had coffee on Mona’s bed, Beatrice being in commission for the last time. I left her behind avec saucepan. Then some of the night staff came up to say au revoir , including Teddy, Bedwell and Jockey, and we left by taxi for town about 10.30am, visiting Khan Khibil for some money and doing some last-minute shopping. A taxi back to the flats and then we went up to Fairhavenfor lunch or rather in order to see as many girls as possible who would be there for first and second lunches at that time.
I’d only been there about three
There are so many things I should like to have remembered, but they don’t really matter, only the remembrance that at some times one has helped. These are the things that no one can ever talk about, the trivial things, which surprisingly enough become permanent and add considerable sweetness to the days. If by some chance I should become a war victim too, and who can tell who may or may not be – I should hate to think my name was inscribed on a brass roll of honour – as though I were some heroine – which emphatically I am not, and should be perfectly happy knowing I had done my job according to my own standards – although they may be a little odd at times.
We had lunch with three Australians today, nice men: one from Queensland, one from Sydney and one from Donald in Victoria. They drove us back to the flats. They are flying to Cairo today and return here tomorrow – then back to Mersa Matruh and the dust and the sand storms. How they remain so cheerful these days, I can’t think.
May 22nd 1941
HMHS Karapara 27
The second phase has begun.
When we were dressing to go on duty last Monday, a note was sent up to Mona and me telling us to pack at once and be ready to leave forthwith on a hospital ship. We dashed up to the mess and were told that we would be required to go on duty until midnight. The ship was HMHS Karapara and Miss Scot-White was to be the theatre sister. The rest of the staff were being transferred except for the Indian girls who were in our mess pro tem. We felt rather numb about it all, especially Mona, I expect, as she didn’t even know that she was destined to come along too. I was distinctly annoyed, for various reasons which I shan’t be able to remember when I read this after many days so they’d be better left unmentioned. I hated the thought of leaving the men in Hut 7: Westacolt, Symmers, Stewart, Arnold, Haynes, Sarnham, Rigby, Hogg, Lautar, Browne, Downing, Sang and the rest. And in Hut 8 Piggott, Hooper, Johnstone, Davies and so on. In Isolation are Cornish and Cope and, more recently, my old friend General Merkovitch and his Capitaine . Sad indeed.
And the men were so sweet about it. I felt they really were sorry that I was going. I never felt a happier atmosphere in any ward I’ve worked in, no one could have been nicer to me – I loved them all. I left at midnight after having made a round of unofficial farewells. We had supper then and walked down the road in the Egyptian night, to the flats – for the last time for goodness knows how long. I wrote one or two letters and then went to bed, too weak to attempt any packing until morning. Then I was up fairly early trying to restore some order among many hundreds of trunks and cases and we had coffee on Mona’s bed, Beatrice being in commission for the last time. I left her behind avec saucepan. Then some of the night staff came up to say au revoir , including Teddy, Bedwell and Jockey, and we left by taxi for town about 10.30am, visiting Khan Khibil for some money and doing some last-minute shopping. A taxi back to the flats and then we went up to Fairhavenfor lunch or rather in order to see as many girls as possible who would be there for first and second lunches at that time.
I’d only been there about three
Similar Books
The Evil That Men Do: FBI Profiler Roy Hazelwood's Journey Into the Minds of Sexual Predators
Stephen G. Michaud, Roy Hazelwood
