Work Text:
August 1941
Dear Alec
Miss me yet? I can tell you I definitely miss you, or at least, life in Bridstow. About the only benefit Aldershot has, is that it is closer to London, although it seems very unlikely I’ll be able to spend any time there. Stupidly, I thought I’d already finished my training. But no, being a doctor doesn’t exempt one from learning the army way of doing things. It just means a different kind of training. Free time doesn’t come into it.
Just fancy: my first lesson was in guns! All those years learning medicine and they handed me a rifle and taught me how to strip it down and put it together again. I went into medicine to get away from things that shoot. Some of the other chaps protested but the sergeant explained we could have to secure weapons before treating the patient. I think I acquitted myself reasonably well. Of course, Dad uses a shotgun which is nothing like an army machine gun; but having grown up the son of a gamekeeper meant I wasn’t a complete greenhorn around weapons. Not like the chap next to me who held the gun up to his eye so he could look down the barrel to see if it was loaded. Sergeant came up unnoticed, pulled the trigger and said “bang your dead laddie.” I remember my Dad doing the same to me; mind you I was five at the time.
The canteen’s not up to much; but at least I no longer have to queue only to find the shop’s run out by the time I am served. Give my best to Theo; tell him they serve spotted dick twice a week for afters and he’ll be green with jealousy. Just don’t tell him its light on the currants.
All the best,
Sandy
January 1942
Dear Alec:
I know we are not allowed to say where we are, just in case, but I am immensely proud to say this finds me now, deployed as a graded physician with the RAMC to a ‘theatre of war’ (not your kind of theatre at all) where I shall not have to worry about being cold. I am well behind lines – no bombing raids here, unlike the hospital in Bridstow last year. Not that that was the only danger there. Remember how we used to have to watch out for Matron? Especially at that EMS place. A few days ago, I was told the nickname for the RAMC is ‘Run Away Matron’s Coming’. I wonder what wag thought that one up? I assumed it would be different in an army establishment but apparently Matrons rule the army too. It’s all ‘yes doctor’ to your face and ‘no doctor’ when your back is turned. They never lose an opportunity to remind me I am newly qualified.
The powers-that-be encourage us to write regularly; we are told that people back home live for news from their loved ones. I know I treasure all the letters I get. My sister wrote in November to say Mum passed. It was a duty letter; I don’t expect I’ll hear from her again, unless to say Dad has died. Her letter did say he was well and still won’t allow my name to be mentioned. I had a letter from you in late October, then nothing, and two arrived together earlier this week, Army post being what it is. Keep them coming please.
I envy you your Christmas, privations and all. Mine was spent with seasickness – my own and that of my compatriots. It gave me renewed appreciation for our mutual acquaintance. Good old Ralph. I used to look up to him as that stalwart, loyal, brave man, never flinching in his duty, always to be counted on in a crisis. Now I envy his iron stomach! I never realised until my recent holiday at sea that it is the quintessential requirement for a sailor. They went on as normal even in rough seas; it was the orderlies, nurses and doctors who needed nursing.
All the best,
Sandy
August 1942
Dear Alec
So, the home front now knows about our exploits here in the bloody sandbox. Bloody being the operative word, from my perspective as the physician adviser to three BTUs. We ran out at one point and used Gum Arabic and water instead. Remember that Alec, just in case. And tell them at Aldershot when you get there. I can’t take credit for dreaming it up but it was a lifesaver, quite literally, and for more than just our own men. Censors be damned but I hope they let that through.
I know you know we entertained the great man recently for the scenic tour. Not that I saw him, except on the Pathe news reel. He came to look at the guns, not hospitals and field units. Where I am, I meet the world on the doorstep as they embark on their own holidays, the sea air being very healing. I would have said I’ve had to learn pigeon Eytie and Jerry, except pain pretty much has its own language, so no real need to do much more than make soothing noises, try to look knowledgeable, and wield the doctor’s kit. Picked up a few more swear words though. And it made a change from dysentery and the clap. I’ll not say a welcome one.
I’ve been told I’m overdue for leave, likely a few days at a local resort.
All the best,
Sandy
November 1942
Dear Alec
Your last letter took some time getting to me; I am back on home soil again, in a convalescent hospital in Yorkshire. The voyage back was just as awful as the one going out. I arrived back just in time for the bell ringing – nice celebration for little old me reaching terra firma again. I am all too conscious this pigeon has flown home at the point when you are likely to be finishing in Aldershot and flying off somewhere.
Your friend Ralph and I have something in common now, apart from both knowing you. Except I lost toes rather than fingers. Surgeon told me I was lucky not to lose the whole foot, and not to be so stupid next time when in a forward area and disinfect and dress all wounds, even the superficial ones, properly. He reminded me a bit of you. Anyway, it got me home; and a country view with plenty of footpaths to practice walking.
Remember to write when you get where you’re going and tell me all about it.
Best wishes,
Sandy