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Matilda Hospital 17th December to 4th January 1942

Christopher and I arrived at the Matilda at 7.30 in the morning on a cold, grey day with all our possessions in a bundle and one basket. Lise Huttemeier and her baby were with us. I was desperate for shelter – at any minute the shelling and raiding might begin. I went in, there was no-one about. At last I met Mrs Lee who told me I must see Dr Montgomery. I saw him and told him our plight. “Who told you there’s a crèche here?” he said. “Mrs Valentine” I answered. “Yes, but it’s only for babies,” he said. “The mothers are away nursing, doing their duty.” “My friend and I are willing to work, willing to help with the other babies, or in the hospital if we can stay. I am a nursing mother and we are both Volunteers’ wives and entitled to rations.” “But this is a hospital and not…” he began. “God Almighty, Dr Montgomery,” I cried, “we are at war, we have been shelled from our houses and have nowhere to go. It is your duty to give us shelter.” “I will take the nursing mother and baby,” he said. “The other mother can leave her child here.” “I accept gratefully for myself,” I said, “but my friend will not leave her baby.”

Poor Lise, she went with Iris and Raeder [Reidar Johannessen] and lived in Captain Svarrne’s packed house. I don’t know where she went after the surrender, but that house was looted properly, I took a tiny bottle of Haliverol myself and the floors were covered with nappies so they must have needed to get out in a hurry. I never saw her again which was bad luck on her, as in the bundle was a baby’s blanket of hers, her nightdress and three baby pants. I am very grateful for these things but I truly didn’t mean to keep them. It comes of collecting in the dark.

I was taken down into maternity and was greeted by screaming. I cannot forget what I saw. It was under the hospital in the cellars of which the only windows were blacked out save for one door. Beds and sleeping chairs piled with luggage lined the chief passage, two cots were in the dim light by a poor breakfast table with a dirty cloth. Several girls stood about in thick coats for the damp was terrible. I was shown a camp bed and a space in the passage where I could park Christopher. I cannot describe the dirt, the dark and the cold damp.

Everyone crowded round me for news. I told them of the scuttled ships, the Tamar’s mast just showing, the APC burning, the shelling. Of course I talked too much, I was overwrought and excited but it did no harm. However, up came Mrs Owen, very bossy in charge: “Don’t stand about gossiping, there’s plenty to do. And you’re here, Mrs Potter, to look after your baby. You’ve done more harm in the ten minutes you’ve been here than all the rest of the war.”

After one night I couldn’t bear the cold and draught in the passage. There was only the room where the washing was hung, not blacked out, so we could never have a light, and I moved in there. It was still damp and smelled of wet clothing, but it was private and not draughty. I can see the then Miss Ferguson going round at night now, with her shaded torch, like the Lady with the Lamp.

Now we felt the water shortage properly. We had to scrounge for two cups full to wash our babies and the napkin water was used over and over again till it stank. The amahs were still here, unpleasant, know-all women with no-one in charge of them. Mrs Owen set them (and us) all by the ears. Two of the children whose mothers were elsewhere had dysentery.

We were the step-children of the hospital. We had the worst and least food, no consideration, no expert care. I lost 10 pounds in the fortnight I was in the Matilda. We were on very short rations, and as there was no supervision of the kitchen, it was badly cooked. Had I thought of anywhere else I could easily have gone, I should have gone. But anywhere else I should have been a nuisance, so I bore it.

The damp and cold were appalling. I took Christopher on my back into the sun as often as I could when there was no warning and no shelling.

And then the military put a gun about a hundred yards away from our end of the hospital!

Repatriation   ((This is the last entry in Norah’s diary.))

Repatriation was not comfortable. First, we were taken from the camp in rowboats to a much larger launch; we had to climb up into it by nets. Then we were taken to Hong Kong harbour to embark into the Empress of Australia. I think the really sick - Mr. Davidson was one - were taken on board the Mount Maunganui. We were allocated a deep cabin for 12, with 3-tier bunks, and set off for Manila where we embarked hundreds of soldiers and waited. Owing to the combination of the heat, the crowding and the lack of ventilation and fresh air, Christopher developed asthma. His relief with drugs was magical. They introduced us to food very slowly. Dehydrated vegetables in tiny portions, a cup of cocoa after many days.

Manila was full of wrecked ships, we actually tied up alongside a sunken Japanese hulk. Then we went on to Singapore where Lady Mountbatten welcomed us, but we were not anywhere allowed off the ship. There was a group of Commandos on the wharf as we were casting off who had tried to get on board and been refused. As the last ropes had been let go, they jumped into the water, caught the ropes and climbed up. And of course it was too much bother for the ship to be stopped, so they came with us. We got off to band music in Ceylon and were royally entertained by the local women.

Then at Suez we were shepherded off for clothing, thanks mainly to the Red Cross. Each was given a suitcase and a list, even Christopher. Then we went through huge hangars fitted up like small shops and chose everything from our lists, warm winter coats, skirt, blouses, shoes, underclothing, stockings and each time our list was ticked by a uniformed girl. No money, of course. Christopher even got two toys. Then we went on to Liverpool where again we were met by a band. ((The date was 26^th October 1945 – a long 45 days since we set off from Hong Kong.))

((Later Norah would tell people of an event on the Atlantic Ocean final leg of our trip which must have left quite an impression on her. We had been allowed on deck and, while she was briefly distracted by something, I disappeared. After an increasingly frantic search of the decks she saw me standing alone at the stern of the ship, mesmerised by the patterns of the wake as it spread behind us. As she saw it there was only a chain preventing me from joining that wake. She suppressed the instinct to scream a warning which would have had unpredictable consequences, and instead walked along the deck calling me away from the danger zone which she had no desire to approach. As a curious four year old in exciting new surroundings, I couldn’t see what the fuss was about.))

England did NOT look marvellous, only grey and colourless after the East. Here we met with officialdom: forms, tickets, money, and parcels of food from the Salvation Army.

Postcard from Doug Johnston, Quebec, Canada, 25 November 1945

Dear Norah,

I hope by now you and Christopher are enjoying life again in the manner to which you are entitled and accustomed…

I was worried about you both when I said good-bye on that hell-ship, the Empress of Australia – three days of it had been bad enough – what would a whole month be like? We had a very nice trip home from Manila, in great comfort all the way, the Americans being most kind to us and the Canadians even kinder. From Manila it took us just 23 days to get to Quebec, which we reached on Oct.11^th (blessed day). I’m still in the Army, on extended sick leave (but not sick as I weigh 150 lbs now – from 118 on the Express) and will start to practice law again next May. Hoping to see you in Quebec some time soon. Grant sends his love to Christopher.