Bereavement

Whenever it happens, bereavement is painful and disorientating.  In wartime, to see young friends cut away from life with abrupt violence is absolutely horrendous. In old age, it is no less shocking to find those around you succumb to illness or infirmity.  Many of our Members have had to come to terms with the loss of a partner, at the very time in life when they need a partner most. There are often dire consequences for the spouse left behind. All of our Members know the sadness of a funeral and the loss of so many former comrades bites deeper with every year.

When we stand quiet for two minutes, it is inevitable that we now also remember the friends and loved ones we have lost since the war.  The following article, by Albert Winstanley, goes some way to explaining how we all sometimes feel.  

Arabian Safari

My wife, Kathleen, affectionally known as Dolly by her friends, was a Nursing Officer (Q.A.I.M.N.S.R[1].).  She volunteered during the early years of the war and was posted to Gibraltar. From there she was posted to Tunis before going to Sicily, taking part in the campaign there. Then on to Italy, sailing there in a Landing Craft to set up a Casualty Clearing Station, after which she served in General Hospitals. It was no cotton wool existence.  During her service in Italy she was wounded in her left leg and bore the resultant scar for the rest of her life. Then Kathleen fell victim to Malaria and was posted to the 94th General Hospital a few miles outside Algiers. There she met me!  We 'hit it off' immediately but all our meetings had to he in secret because an Officer/Other Rank liaison would have been met with severe disapproval or worse. But we managed and without being found out, at least until the marriage.

As everyone who served in the 1st and 8th Armies will know, some of the locals were experts at pilfering and stealing. No great coat serving as an extra blanket was safe from theft. We were billeted in tents and, to increase vigilance, made directly responsible for any equipment that might be stolen from the vicinity. We fixed up our own alarms such as hanging mess tins, knives, forks, spoons, cigarette tins etc. to rattle if they were disturbed. Nevertheless, there were many thefts from the stores - blankets, sheets, mosquito nets and so on.

One lovely North African evening I had been out with Kathleen. We had stopped beneath a tree to say our 'goodnight', and though the Editor has asked me to leave out (some of) the sexy details, there were none - at least not that time! It was well after 23.59 hours when everyone should have been in their quarters and here I was, an 'other rank' out with an officer. Suddenly, as if by magic we saw four Arabs pass within yards of us, each bearing a bundle on his head, which I realized were blankets and sheets they had stolen from the Hospital Stores. They were oblivious of our presence underneath the tree. I froze, and whispered to Kathleen "I am going after them!" But she replied in a whisper, "Oh no you're not, think of the consequences". It was a fair point; the tea leaves for valiant intervention were not auspicious:

Therefore I decided to stay put and continued happily with our `goodnight'...

Shortly afterwards I escorted Kathleen towards a 'safe entry' of her tented quarters and I also crept stealthily via my own secret way back to my tent, bypassing the guard on the way.

Next morning, or should I say later the same morning for it was way after midnight when we parted, the theft was the talk of the hospital. I had to smile to myself but decided to keep quiet, even though I knew which direction the thieving Arabs were making for. Had I volunteered information I would have been asked what I was doing out at that time, and of course I was out with an officer. The outcome most certainly would have been at least a `posting' for either Kathleen or myself and we would have been separated from each other. Perhaps I did the right thing, perhaps not.  What would you have done?

From Algiers we eventually sailed to Marseilles in France and thence to Hamburg in Germany, where we set up the Hospital just a few days after the cessation of hostilities. I was demobbed in December 1945 and Kathleen followed in May 1946. We then were married and had 50 lovely years together.

I am sorry to say that Alzheimer's then took hold of Kathleen. I suffered the trauma and pain of watching her deteriorate. I was now the nursing officer in charge. She lost her mobility, then her speech and, on one of the saddest days of my life, she no longer even knew me.

Eventually Kathleen entered a home. In a way it was a relief but I felt that 1 was abandoning her. Every day I visited her in all weathers, often arriving soaked from torrential rain, sometimes carrying my bicycle through snowdrifts. I continued my visits until the day Matron informed me all was not well. I sat by her bedside holding her hand as she tried to mouth words she could not speak. She was restless and agitated and yet I am sure there was the faintest of smiles as if she knew it was me sitting there. When it was time to go I kissed her lovingly on the cheek - and somehow sensed it was for the last time. She died in the early hours of the next morning.

From the drawer I take a slim box. As I open it I cannot control my tears as I remember the years of happiness and the final ones of sadness. Inside the box are my wife's war medals, seven in all, each one a chapter of a proud story of the contributions she made to England during her war service.

The last time her medals came out of the box was for the 50 years celebration of VE Day. I proudly wheeled her in the Remembrance Parade in the town centre. Kathleen was acclaimed by the crowd and honoured by the Mayor, but she didn't know what it was all about. Her war experiences were lost in her dying memory.

There was something I had to do. A cardboard box was no place for her war medals. I made a frame for them and stood it between two treasured photographs of her. In both she is smiling radiantly. Though my tears will come for a long time, I know the medals will convey to me a silent message of our first meeting and the long years of happiness that ensued - they symbolise our life together.

Notes

[1] Queen Alexandria Imperial Military Nursing Service Reserve.  Possibly the longest name going for a military unit!.