Joyce's War Read Free Page A

furniture and they have to be removed before we can turn around.
    We manage somehow, however, with the two cabin trunks under the bunks and the coal scuttle which serves as a blackout – later on – under the washbasin, the surplus blankets and rugs somewhere on rafters under the roof, the cases along the lobby and the remainder where it will best fit. There is so far no water in the cabin so we have to trek upstairs to the ‘ladies’ where there are neat rows of washbasins and plenty of cold water but no hot water, nor will there be, we are told, for the duration of the voyage. This is very sad because we shall have to do our washing in cold water. We can have hot sea water baths but no fresh water hot baths. At present the scene in the bathroom morning and evening is a fair replica of any Grecian frieze: beauty in varying stages of unadornment, a new angle of the QAIMNS(R) 2 but hardly for publication!
    Monday. We left under cover at 10pm and were allowed on deck to see the sights. It was dark, or nearly so; the English coast to the right as we went upstream, and the coast of my beloved Wales on the left. The dim outline of ships, in irregular procession – 12 we were told – several destroyers in front of us and behind us, and a torpedo last, painted in black with seven white stripes like a zebra, and probably other protecting craft that one can’t see. In any case we retire to bed feeling quite safe and think no more at all that we are on the sea, and that there is a war on, and that we are involved. This morning the usual boat drill and a conference about what we may do or not do. And now I am at long last attempting to write a resume of what has happened since I joined up, or rather was called up last March. For this I need to go back a few months.
    March 19th 1940
    I leave 31 Prince’s Drive, Colwyn Bay, 3 for the last time I think. Cousin Gwen nobly comes up to London with me. We fearfully approach Millbank 4 and I go up to be medically examined. This is a very cursory business and I am passed fit. I am given a sheet of paper on which is an address of my billet, 92 Cromwell Road, SW7. It conveys nothing to me at this time but I become extremely well acquainted with it as the months pass. Gwen and I go to Emlyn Williams’ The Light of Heart and enjoyed it thoroughly. The next night we see Edith Evans in Cousin Muriel and afterwards I see Gwen off at Euston. A dreary spot to farewell anyone, at midnight, among the debris and boxes that always seem to collect there. As it happened it had to be done all over again, some weeks later, but that is another story.
    The following five weeks were almost entirely given over to shopping and fitting and altering. Harrods saw us almost every day and must have been as tired of us as we were of them at the end of it all. There were bi-weekly visits to Millbank 5 , to report, but in all that time we had nothing definite to do. There were theatres of course and Sadlers Wells – ballet and opera and the Old Vic with Gielgud in King Lear.
    April 28th 1940
    We left London for Waterloo and Southampton and went on board at once, but anchored off the Isle of Wight in rather thick fog until we picked up a convoy sometime after midnight. We went to bed on bare mattresses and used our own military blankets and a rug. Next morning found us nearing the French coast and we got into Cherbourg about 10am. This was our first introduction to a real war atmosphere. Many thousands of troops were disembarking, all very cheerful, khaki predominately as to colour, except for a smattering of grey and red, twelve QAIMNS(R) and all – we hoped – bound east. We toured the town, not a very big one, with the usual market square. We even had our coiffures done, which was a treat, considering how little English the French knew and how little French we knew and remembered. We had lunch and dinner at the Casino – omelettes for both meals and the most delicious French bread and butter. We got on our