The Final Blog - Farewell Queen Alexandra's Royal Army Nursing Corps

 

The Grey Lady Ghost of the Cambridge Military Hospital by Chris Buswell

Many of our former military hospitals were said to be haunted. Often by grey ladies. Perhaps this wasn’t surprising since this was the colour of nursing uniforms from that period. For example, the now all-but demolished Netley Royal Victoria Military Hospital had a grey lady ghost that was reputed to be an accomplished pianist and many a nervous nurse on night duty heard her piano music drift down dark corridors. Only the chapel exists from this once magnificent building. I haven’t heard if she switched to playing the organ!

My experience of a grey lady was hearing tales about her on night duty during tea breaks at the Cambridge Military Hospital in Aldershot. More experienced and time-served nurses and ward stewardesses, the forerunners to modern health care assistants, would regale me with tales of witnessing her or sensing her presence. This often involved first smelling a heady scent of lavender. Next came bone-chilling sensations and more fortunate ones either glimpsed her out of the corner of their eyes or had a full-on manifestation. In revered tones, these men and women of all ranks would talk about her sitting by a dying patient or, remarkably, appearing to be hands on nursing by turning or cleaning a comatose patient.

I never met the grey lady, though I tried! During night shifts, walking down that long corridor on the way to collect my meal, I would peer into the closed doors which led to units used during the day like physio and the med centre which was formerly the officers’ ward. When collecting supplies from other wards, I would walk along the top corridor, sniffing the air and waiting for a temperature drop. I even worked on two of the wards she was said to haunt. When stagging-on as the Night Orderly Sergeant, I had the perfect excuse to wander the entire hospital on the duty of ensuring the hospital was secure. I still didn’t meet her. Not even when checking the mortuary fridge temperature at midnight. This duty gave me the shivers though! Especially as the light switch was located on the opposite wall and I had to enter through the Chapel of Rest and then the postmortem table before getting to the fridges. Fortunately, the dial was on the outside of these. I’ve had to do this duty in a mortuary in Cyprus where the temperature dial was on the inside of the fridge. To read it, I had to open the door and lean over one of the trollies. Often there would be bodies in situ. I never knew whether it was polite to say hello or not!

I tucked away these ghost stories deep in my mind and promptly forgot all about them as I got busy with my career and raising a family with my wife, Karla, a fellow former QA. However, they came flooding back when Karla and I started going to the cinema regularly with an unlimited pass. We often watched three or four films on a day off. These included horror films which I loved, but Karla didn’t. It was fun watching her jump in her seat and the popcorn go flying. This got me thinking about what would make a scary film. Then I remembered about the grey lady of the CMH. Bingo! I had a long career writing articles and opinion pieces for most of the nursing magazines. But could I write a novel? My experience from the army is that I and my fellow soldiers and nursing/medical staff were capable of most things with planning and commitment. So, I set to writing my first novel, The Grey Lady Ghost of the Cambridge Military Hospital.

After it was published, I was privileged to hear from former matrons, nursing sisters, staff nurses and HCAs/ward stewardesses about their sightings of the grey lady. I also heard from patients who had near-death experiences and had been comforted by a lady in old-fashioned uniform, unlike those worn by the nursing staff who cared for them. This led me to believe in this grey lady who was said to have jumped from the clock tower because she had inadvertently killed a patient by a mistaken drug overdose or after hearing her fiancé had been killed in action in France in the First World War. Though these stories varied, what they had in common was a feeling of peace and that she was there to continue her diligent nursing duties.

Do you believe in ghosts and the afterlife? Was the Cambridge Military Hospital and other army hospitals haunted? Maybe time will tell. The building has been preserved, cleaned and converted into apartments. It looks magnificence and has been a sensitive conversion. Perhaps the spirit of the grey lady resides there and watches over the occupants. Maybe she is waiting for the first resident to become gravely ill and help nurse him or her and take them on their last journey to the otherside…

I’d love to hear of your ghostly experiences or thoughts in the comments box below.



Buy The Grey Lady Ghost of the Cambridge Military Hospital and other books in the Grey and Scarlet series at https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/1517284740 or read the first chapter at https://cgbuswell.com/The-Grey-Lady-Ghost-of-the-Cambridge-Military-Hospital-Novel.php

Chris Buswell continues to write under the author's name C.G. Buswell. His tenth book continues a popular military post-apocalyptic series, The Fence. He has also recently released a crime horror, Dancing unto Death, about dancing contestants who have been kidnapped and face fatal dance offs.

Chris lives in Aberdeenshire with Karla and his Bravehound assistance dog, Lynne.

A QAIMNS Nursing Sister involved in the D-Day Operations of June 1944, and beyond by Maggie Lane

 

I feel unable to let this 80th anniversary of D-Day pass without mention of the Nursing Sisters involved in such historic events.

One was personally known to me throughout my life, who I remember well.

Her name was Kate (Nellie) Kearsey, from Charlbury in Oxford, who had trained alongside my mother at the Radcliffe Infirmary in Oxford. She was always known to me as Aunt Kate for all her life. Her Mother was a WW1 war widow, leaving her and two brothers who were both farmers.

Much is written, filmed and documented about this defining moment in history, but less is written about the Nursing Sisters, who landed and followed the invading armies, three days after D-Day.

Kate volunteered for Nursing Duties with the Territorial Army Nursing Service (TANS), at the outbreak of war in 1939 and was mobilised at Fenham Barracks in Newcastle. She was then posted to a field hospital being sent to the Middle East. I am unsure if she was part of 201 Field Hospital or another unit.

This posting lasted for a while until both she and her colleague asked the CO during his regular round with his retinue, if the patients could have a little more food in their rations, as they were still hungry.
Although the request was not dismissed, the pair felt that this request was classed as ‘trouble’ because both sisters were posted to another unit shortly afterwards!.

Moving on in time, Kate found herself back in the UK at the Royal Victoria Hospital (RVH) with many colleagues preparing for D-Day with lectures, kitting out and training.

The photo below shows Kate (at the front) and her colleagues in 1944 in front of the RVH Netley,  between training sessions, prior to D-Day. The large cedar tree up the bank behind them exists to this day, despite the long-gone main hospital. One exception is the deconsecrated hospital chapel, now serving as a museum.

In Normandy somewhere near Caen

Kate mentioned little of the crossing and disembarkation, but clearly recalls the tentage, and hessian screening used to provide some privacy around the latrines. It is well known that hessian sags and drops in time, and more so when wet. She recalled with amusement when a Frenchman daily passed by on his bike always shouted a ‘bonjour Madam’ to which she responded. Initially the man could not see her face, but as the hessian began to sag slowly, her face was more visible, but the courtesies continued despite facial recognition of each other, until the unit ‘moved’ on.

Moving on through Europe

Once Normandy and Brittany had been liberated, Kate’s unit moved on through Belgium and the Netherlands, and on into Germany.

It was in Germany where Kate and her medical colleagues came across their biggest ever challenges, never previously experienced.  Most know of the horrific conditions found in the concentration camps, but it was new to the troops who encountered these places. Bergen-Belsen was 11 miles north of Celle, and although not an extermination camp, deliberate starvation was the policy of the Germans causing thousands of deaths. Disease was rife, such as Typhus, which accounted for hundreds more deaths (including Anne and Margot Frank) shortly before the liberation.

Kate worked within a team that washed and clothed inmates. She recalls as soon as they gave out blankets some of the prisoners made them into a rough type of clothing. Food given out was secreted away by inmates. Some of the prisoners' names were so complicated to spell and document, because many came from countries with complex spelling. Kate said this was where the Red Cross were most valuable with assistance in helping writing down details and nationalities of each patient. Some of the Red Cross workers themselves were of mixed nationalities with language skills. Over time local nurses and health care professionals took over care of these poor emaciated survivors in temporary set up hospitals. Sadly some local nurses even died from disease contracted from the patients they were looking after. Of course, many patients continued to die after liberation or shortly afterwards.

Tasks Completed

Once the Medical units had completed their difficult and heart-rending tasks, many of the Nursing Sisters were sent for demobilisation. No counselling ensued, or was even offered in those days.

Kate was demobilised from Hannover and returned home to Charlbury where she remained for the rest of her life, caring for her mother in later years.

Later in 1946 she was recognised by the award of ‘Mentioned in Dispatches for Northwest Europe (Including D-Day).  I have been unable to find out where and what part of her service warranted her this award.

Post war

After the war Kate returned to Charlbury, where she became a Health Visitor (of the old school), visiting families living in any type of building they could find, albeit an old large sentry type building on a disused airfield, with a sack used to cover the door. When on holidays to stay with her as a child, I was taken and saw these places.

Kate never gave the impression of being traumatized, quite the opposite, and we chatted about her time in service. I mentioned I had visited Bergen-Belsen when in Germany. She was not surprised that so many inmates had been buried in several large communal graves of 5000 – 1000, as they were so thin and skeletal.

Kate was happy to narrate the activities and events she had been involved with. She had a great sense of humour which always served her well and cheered her colleagues.


Postscript

This group of nurses still amaze me, as they just went home with their thoughts, some of which must have been grim, and they just ‘got on’ with their lives.

I have been to both Normandy and Germany many times. Travelling through Germany, usually on route to Poland or other destinations I have several times called in at Bergen-Belsen during one of our stops.
I was very impressed to see that the hut I saw in the 1970’s with a few photos pinned round the sides is long gone. A brand new large excellent museum and information centre with many artifacts discovered on the site are now sunk and displayed with glass covering into the floor. A whole wall of the centre is dedicated to personal photos and the audio accounts of survivor's stories from their time spent there. Headphones with different languages are also provided.

I noted German Military and other nationalities visiting the site which is encouraging for future generations to ‘take stock’ of past events.

My last visit 2 years ago made me feel very proud that all British Units involved with the liberation of the camp are now well listed and strategically and clearly placed on a large wall.  Proudly on that list is included:

QUEEN ALEXANDRA’S IMPERIAL MILITARY NURSING SERVICE

Maggie Lane 2024

Marjorie's Royal Red Cross by Marjorie Bandy

 

The Royal Red Cross (RRC) is a military decoration awarded for exceptional services in military nursing. The award was established on 27 April 1883 by Queen Victoria after nurses had served in Zululand and their work was not recognised officially.  The first recipient was Florence Nightingale and the second Jane Decilia Deeble, who had served in Zululand.  The award is made to a nurse who has shown exceptional devotion and competence in the performance of nursing duties, over a continuous and long period, or who has performed an exceptional act of bravery and devotion at their post of duty. 

Source: Royal Red Cross - Wikipedia

Where were you when you were informed?

I was working as a Staff Officer at MOD that I was to be awarded the RRC in the New Year’s Honours of 1985. I think that it was at the end of November.

How was I informed?
Brigadier Rooke handed me an envelope from her safe.

Did I know why I was being honoured?
My RRC was for the response of the QARANC personnel serving in The Falklands response to the devastating fire which occurred on 10 April 1984, some 40 years ago.

How long did I have to keep it a secret?
Not too long as I was given a New Year’s honour.

How did the family react to the news?
Obviously, everyone was delighted.

Did I celebrate before the Palace event?
As I was living in a flat in Greenwich my parents came to stay and we went out for supper the evening before locally.

How did I feel to see my name in the newspaper?
Seeing your name in the papers always gives a buzz, especially the local newspaper at home. My Mum saved every newspaper cutting of me doing something, usually meeting a member of the Royal Family.

Who went with me to the Palace?
My parents came with me and as it was such a special occasion MOD provided an official car to take us.

Who presented my medal?
Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth gave me my medal and of course she was well briefed for all medal recipients.

What did we do afterwards?
I was still a member of the RAF Club at the time and we went for a meal there as of course I was still in uniform.

Other observations
The presentation was only 4 weeks before my wedding and so it was a bit sad that I was only allowed two guests as it meant my then fiancé couldn’t come. As my wedding was the next month my mum insisted on a different outfit for each event – much to my dad’s consternation!

Lt Col (Rtd) Marjorie Bandy RRC

The Sash of Merit 1989 - by Jan Westbury

Officer training at the Queen Alexandra's Training Centre, Aldershot 1989.  

I really enjoyed the eight week training programme, I think because of the variety every day from drill, PT, military classes and so much more. Spending all that time on ironing, bulling shoes and starching veils was a great discipline and I loved being smart.  My biggest problem was dealing with my curly whirly hair, with wisps always escaping and I became determined not to be caught out again.  One of the girls had a great way of stretching her head during inspections so her hair was off the collar.

The girls I joined with were such fun and the social side was great, we seemed to have a party every week.  It is sad all these years later to only be in touch with one of them. We should have a reunion.

As a mature entrant I had to keep up with the younger ones, so the effort to not be last on runs made me push hard to be at the front, with first place occasionally.  I loved the challenges. I didn't need to be the best, but I was motivated to do well.

At the end I was awarded with the Sash of Merit. It was a shock, but of course I felt very proud.  The picture below was taken for the local newspaper. 

There were a couple of disappointments, in that we could not have our last parade with our families in attendance outside. It absolutely poured with rain and we had to march into the gym. That was a challenge trying to keep in step.  The other disappointment was that my parents were in the Caribbean on holiday, so missed the whole event.  My closest friends were to attend, but they were stuck in Cheltenham, snowed in.   However, it meant I could circulate with everyone else and still enjoyed the special lunch.

Happy days.

Coronation of King Charles III and Queen Camilla. The view from The Palace garden. By Carol Kefford

It was pure luck that I had this amazing experience. I was in my final couple of months as Colonel Commandant QARANC so a few more weeks and I’d have missed it. The original Coronation plan had been for the Master General to represent all of the Army Medical Services, so without the timely and vocal intervention of Colonel Graham Johnson as Colonel AMS successfully making the case for the individual Corps' Colonels Commandant to also parade, I would have missed it. So, on two counts at least I was very, very fortunate.

We were to be part of the 100 strong senior officers' cohort which included all but the Service Chiefs who were in the Abbey. However delighted I was, I confess to anxiety creeping in very quickly. I had not marched in formation for at least 20 years and more on this later.

The detailed instructions were only being released close to the event but we knew that they would include a video of the hat's off routine required during the 'Three Cheers'. So, after 20 years of not marching and never having done 'Three Cheers' while on parade, I could only wait to find out what was required. More on this later too.

There was then the matter of changing my rank crowns and cap badge to the Kings Crown. These were in very high demand and very short supply, but mine arrived in the nick of time. The cap badge was a different fitting to the Queens Crown I had on my No 1 dress hat so required some nifty work with a scalpel to get it fixed, and changing crowns on gold cord shoulder boards required some strong arm manoeuvres with a large pair of pliers. With only minor damage to my fingers the job was done.

Overnight rehearsal! By this stage I had my niggling concern about the drill, hoped that I had got the uniform right and now remembered that I hadn't actually stayed up all night for at lest 20 years either. I did remember though that if things were as interesting and lively as they often were on night duty then it would not be difficult to stay awake.

We were briefed during the afternoon in the Guards Chapel by the Garrison Sergeant Major the now very well known WO1 Vern Stokes, Coldstream Guards, at which point I think we all recognised that the overall Coronation plans were way beyond anything seen before. This was indeed going to be interesting. GOC London District spoke and found a polite way of telling his fellow Generals and not quite so very senior officers that our job was to suspend any notion of independent thought and simply to do exactly as we were told.

It was lively too as we assembled in Main Building, changed into No 1 dress and caught up with colleagues and friends. A sense of excitement and 'Aren't we lucky?' was evident. Then on to the coaches at 2200 for the short drive to Wellington Barracks. 100 senior officers did exactly as they were told to exit Main Building in good order, but still nothing had been left to chance and there were guides posted at every doorway, lift and staircase to make sure we didn't wander off.

We were held at a road junction and so witnessed the procession from Waterloo Station. Imagine. In the dark, band after band with troops marching behind each one, all in full dress uniform, across Waterloo Bridge to the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben with the London skyline lit up behind. Quite a sight.

Off the coaches and we were formed up in a pre-determined order. I was middle of the left flank and so to my delight found that I would be front row at the Palace. Just one rehearsal for the three cheers and then into the Officers Mess for something to eat and the long wait.

The QARANC contingent and their AMS colleagues were now held, along with the rest of the Army, in the (massive) underground car park at the Barracks so one of the highlights during the rehearsal and on the day was spending time talking to our personnel. They were in tremendous spirits in spite of the tough rehearsals that you will read about elsewhere. I was incredibly proud.

After a few more hours spent watching the spectacle of the Army elements of the procession form up and march off behind their respective bands, we formed up. I think this was about two in the morning but having carefully followed the GOCs instructions to suspend independent thought I had quickly got into the swing of not thinking for myself and so had lost track of time by then. "This is going to be interesting" I thought to myself.  About 100 of us, completely out of practice and with no rehearsal were about to step off. But we came to attention pretty smartly and got underway without embarrassment. I confess I needed to change step here and there to begin with but behind the Massed Bands of the Irish Pipes and Drums we all settled very quickly.

Now, I have only ever marched on a parade square. The route to the Palace garden involved cobbles, speed bumps, gravel, kerbs and grass and quite a lot of changing direction. But we arrived in good order.  Fascinating just how deep in our brains these skills have embedded. I needn't have worried.

We were able to move around and chat for a while then formed up to wait for the main procession to arrive. On the day the procession would go behind us onto the grass but it was flooded in parts so they marched between us and the Palace and straight out of a side gate. Or at least that had been the plan but it was locked!! The man with the key was duly found and everything started up again. Another unexpected and unique treat to watch the entire procession march past just a few feet away. We followed the procession behind 'our' band round the Victoria Memorial, up Birdcage Walk and were brought to a halt on Horseguards. There, the Guards officer designated to keep us in order passed on the feedback from the GOC London District that the Senior Officers Cohort had generally done well but please could we not fidget quite so much on the day.  It was generally agreed among the senior officers that we would not need to fidget quite so much on the day because we would not be quite so incredibly cold on Saturday afternoon as we were in the very early hours of Wednesday morning. We were freezing and had been very happy to set off marching again just to warm up.

Walking across Horseguards as dawn was breaking was magical. Still wide awake I captured the memory and started to look forward to doing it all again in daylight.

Buckingham Palace Garden

 Others will describe their experience of     the Coronation procession and the       overall day so I will return straight to     Buckingham Palace Garden.  

The 'Three Cheers' was incredible. Concentrating hard on getting the hat off onto shoulder, up in the air, back to shoulder, back on head routine correct and in time with everyone else I was completely unprepared for the wall of sound. The volume and resonance was immense. Fortunately there were two more to go, to focus on and enjoy. 

Having been delighted to find myself on the very front row I had realised once in-situ for the rehearsal that we were so far to one side that however much I tried to swivel my eyes (without fidgeting of course) I was not going to be able to see The King and Queen.  All I could see were a couple of the ground floor french windows and net curtains. But those curtains twitched and Prince George appeared resplendent in his red tunic followed by the King. They opened the door and watched the parade leaving the garden while chatting and pointing at the activity. What a bonus.  

A guardsman had been positioned at the garden gate to say repeatedly as the senior officers passed, "Sirs, Ma'am's, you are moving into public view, please stay in step". Cheeky I thought. We had completely nailed it some time ago.

There was one last treat to come. The march up Birdcage Walk behind the Pipes and Drums. I was very conscious that this would be my last ever and I needed to not only concentrate on what I was doing but take it all in and remember the moment, how special it felt, what it meant, and once again how extraordinarily lucky I was to have had such an experience.

Master General AMS, Senior Health Advisor (Army) and the AMS Colonels Commandant in Buckingham Palace Garden

 
Col (Rtd) Carol Kefford Former Colonel Commandant QARANC

QARANC AND ATTEMPTING P COY - PART TWO by Rod Eldridge

Part one described how I passed pre para, also known as "beat up"!  If successful at regimental level pre para, you then go to Catterick for the all arms Parachute Company "P Coy".  Part two is all about attempting P Company.

It was only a few days after passing pre para and still feeling sore, it was off to a bleak Wathgill Camp N Yorkshire with 5 other 16 CSMR unit members.  This would be our home (house of pain) for the next 3.5 weeks. 

As with all things Army it was up at a ridiculous o’clock, eat a hearty breakfast, kit up, collect weapons and then get bussed to Vimy Barracks. It was November 2003, it was cold, wet, and foggy! Just lovely for doing extreme constant phys! The idea was to be the grey man, which wasn’t difficult as I had grey hair, but being the most senior rank and given the number 1 to write in white on my lightweights it made me stick out rather more than I wanted. 

Day one is a full-on assessment/screening with a BFT which must be completed under 8.30 mins, the high air assault course trainasium and lastly 8 (very quick) mile tab. We numbered 106 at the start we were down to 76 after day one! As an officer you are always pushed to back at the start of events, whilst not proud of myself, but being so keen to pass I pushed many a body out of my way to ensure I made the cut. I had made it and so I was officially on the course, every day we had to undergo at 2 least and sometimes three grueling training events, including, 10 milers, 20 miles runs and tabs, CFT, Stretcher races, log runs, gym work, swimming tests, hill reps, day, and night nav exercises, sections attacks, assault courses and a steeplechase. Over time we were eventually reduced to 42 with only one other 16 CSMR colleague remaining with me. We were given presentations to do, and if we were picked up on our kit, weapons or not having totally filled water bottles we given show parades “show cleans” most evening just to keep them tempo of pressure. Evenings were about kit prep and personal admin, treating blisters, aches, and pains etc. being the “medic”, I was always asked for advice, treatment, and medications if appropriate. It struck me to what lengths folk would go to keep going and pass P Coy, even if they were in severe pain or had suspected stress fractures, they wanted to medicate up and keep going this was not what I couldn’t endorse. It was better to stop, recover and try again. I recall on 26th November which was my 40th birthday, we did a ten-miler tab, with weight and weapons to the aptly named Land of Nod! We stooped at a hill and were made to run up and down the hill 20 times, at the end when we reached the bottom. We were marching on the spot when my name was called out congratulating me on reaching my 40th birthday and I was made to do another rep of the hill whist the rest of squad were kept marching on the spot whilst singing happy birthday Maj Eldridge (airborne humour).  Not one of my best birthdays presents but one I’ll never forget!

So having endured 2.5 weeks of thrashing you are entering into test week, one more week of hell that includes eight tests and it’s done. Steeple chase, CFT, stretcher race, Log race, 10 miler quick tab under 1.50 hr, 20 miler, milling and trainasium. You must get 45 points to pass as I recall some events are worth five point and some 10 points, the bottom line is it’s best not to fail anything. I struggled in the milling I was pitched against a very large and muscular Welsh Sapper who was looking forward beating up an officer. I gave as good as I could knocking him down and he returned with the same, apart from the bout being stopped to due to my use of inappropriate language deemed unbecoming of an officer when over we drew, so it was 5 points in the bag much better than losing and having no points at all. The other events whilst tough were OK, I didn’t mind the infamous log race, it was extremely tough, but the stretcher race was horrendous, keeping the heavy stretcher above your shoulder whilst moving at pace with little respite when swapping out, nearly caused me to quit but a little voice said no way you have come too far, and this was the final event. The P Coy CSM gave words of encouragement! and pushed me down the last hill and it was done.

I passed all the events and thought I’ve had made it, but it was most reassuring during the pass-fail parade that afternoon, when I was called to attention on hearing my number, No 1, I stood to attention and I replied yelling out :539939 Major R Eldridge QARANC 16 CSMR, a most welcome reply said “pass”. I was so relieved and elated it was hard to stand at attention whilst they read out the other 36 passes and 3 stand up fails.  The latter are cruel because you have made it to the end having endured so much, but didn’t quite meet the standard to undergo parachute training and join airborne forces.

I was absolutely chuffed, but hadn’t given too much thought to parachuting, I’m not keen on heights and it wasn’t easy but once you’ve passed P Coy you will do the jumps. I was caught off guard when returning to the unit as I was greeted like a  hero for my achievement. Once back from P Coy I could legitimately wear a parachute smock, so I made a B line for the QMs clothing store. You are called a penguin until you get your wings, so I went to Brize ASAP for the next jumps course. I did some jumps with recently qualified SAS which again was interesting as they still have to undergo the basic parachute course.

This was my first all arms course and it gave so much more than a badge and the meagre para pay, I met and trained with other arms and services and gained insights into their roles, some of these I worked with back at brigade and later on when deployed. So, for me it was a change to day to day running of a DCMH or MH Nursing and it helped me feel included and others who were badged felt they could approach me, this had a definite impact clinically as we saw an increase in referrals. The doubters are for me those who know deep down they are not able to pass this formidable and arduous course and it’s their way to rationalise this realisation. So, for me yes it was worth it on my levels and it’s an important achievement in my life.


Lt Col (Rtd)  Rodney Eldridge 

QARANC AND PRE PARA COURSE- PART ONE by Rod Eldridge

 

PART ONE

Why do Pegasus Company (P Coy)?  And if successful why then jump out of a perfectly serviceable aircraft? 

It’s like most worthwhile challenges it’s because it’s there!  And it is indeed worthwhile, for the doubters the following may offer some insight to support my personal assertions. 

When I joined the Army in 1986, I became extremely fit in basic training, gaining the best recruit and best recruit PT awards on passing out. 23 Parachute Field Ambulance (PFA) came on a visit (sneaky recruiting I thought) to Keogh Bks and tried very hard to coax me into their unit. I was a qualified RMN and destined for QEMH, and as there was no established role for me at 23 PFA, I’d be employed as a CMT 3 painting boxes and erecting tents.  Not for me, as I wanted to nurse and join my brother Malcolm who was then a Serving Captain in the RAMC at the QEMH in Woolwich.

This experience and subsequent meetings with 23 PFA, mainly at sports competitions and events, not only planted a seed but further sparked a curiosity in these fit, capable, and confident guys.  Once dual qualified I subsequently commissioned and I then sought to join 23 PFA as Training Officer.  I applied and submitted numerous posting preferences, but records came back with some reason why it was not possible at this stage of my career.  There was a sense at the time that being a QA serving in the field army was frowned upon and not the best career move, thankfully this is no longer the case.  My service career path had very much leaned to the mental health setting rather than general nursing. Whilst I never gave up on the idea of doing P Coy, I got on with my mental health nursing. 

It was when attached to 23 PFA on operations in KOSOVO in 1999 and then then 16 CSMR during the Iraq war in 2003 I joined in with the unit PT and extracurricular training and not only did I keep up, but often beat some of the fit guys. They said I should do P Coy, I said I wanted to but my current posting and likely future appointments had no requirement for a RMN military Parachutist.

It all changed when posted to 16 CSMR Colchester in 2002 the home of 16 AA BDE and on the held strength with a parachutist PID.  The only issue was, I was 39 yrs of age and the cut off for volunteering and attempting P Coy was 35 yrs of age. I was given dispensation by the CO and was passed medically fit. So this was it, I had finally got the chance to earn my wings or BBC! (Blue Badge of Courage). I always believed you should be trained for your role, and it seemed logical to attempt and pass P Coy if you were in an airborne unit. I wanted to lead by example, but also fancied the personal challenge.

I began training in earnest with watching my diet, stopping drinking, and planned 3 months of gradually increasing exercise in preparation for the Pre Para course to be held in Aldershot. I worked on speed, endurance and carrying weight in my bergen etc. I did something every day; sprints, hill repetitions, long runs, long marches, gym work and swimming. This prepared me well and I passed Pre Para without difficulty. I was however the butt of many jokes being the old timer, but those much younger than me were challenged not only physically, in that I kept up with and on occasions beat them on events, but also psychologically, thinking I can’t let a crusty old Major (nurse) beat me. Our CO loved it and used my age as an example to many who had sat on the fence with attempting P Coy.

Look out for part two next week and attempting P Coy!

Lt Col (Rtd)  Rod Eldridge 

We Will Remember Them - A Weekend of Remembrance 2023 by Domini Barrett

 10th -12th November 2023

I am known to keep myself busy, but this year’s Remembrance Weekend held more commitments than normal. All very different, but each one an important part of my life as an Army Reservist and National Health Service Nurse.


Friday

I love being a member of the Middle Wallop & Andover Military Wives Choir (the seventh one I have been part of as different postings have taken me to different places). I not only get to sing with a group of like-minded women, wives and those with a military link, but enjoy the camaraderie, friendship and support this gives me as a military wife and Army Reservist.

The choir had a wonderful evening performing a Remembrance Concert at the Army Flying Museum in Middle Wallop. We sang not only songs that are part of our core repertoire; but linked to remembrance, as well as some more lively pieces. We interspersed these with poems, readings and sharing our experiences of being military wives and the challenges this brings especially when your partner is on operations or long military exercises. This includes for me, having had 9 military moves in 14 years and having gone through periods of separation.

The venue was full and we were very well received. A wonderful, memorable and moving evening.

Saturday

As a paediatric nurse working at Salisbury Hospital with long waiting lists we had an additional day of surgery. 15 children needing dental treatment under a general anaesthetic. Working a full and busy 13 hour shift in the Day Surgery Unit it was impossible to observe the Armistice Day, 11 o’clock, 2 minute silence, but I managed to take time and reflect over my lunch break of those who had gone before us and made the ultimate sacrifice. I wore my poppy with pride. I have also just completed a course at the hospital to be an ‘Armed Forces Advocate’. This involves wearing a nice badge (!) and supporting and signposting those who are linked to the Armed Forces, including veterans.



Thankfully I was home in time to watch on television the Royal British Legion Festival of Remembrance from the Albert Hall. It is always such a special occasion.

Sunday

The choir rehearse every week at the Middle Wallop Station Church in Hampshire - this is one of the bases for the Army Air Corps and is where many learn to fly the Apache Attack Helicopter. Each year therefore, the choir sing in the main hanger at the Service of Remembrance taken by the Station Chaplain for those serving, their families, veterans and guests. This is followed by the Act of Remembrance at the War Memorial close to the camp entrance. This part of the morning included a fly past. It was an emotional and sad time as I reflected on the operational tours I have supported in Afghanistan and those who lost their lives there.

It is an honour though to be involved in this event and I am always so proud to be in uniform to represent the Reserves as a Nursing Officer in the QARANC.

Major Domini Barrett

Memories of being in the Territorial Army - 219 Wessex Field Hospital by Jan Westbury

 Before I joined the regular army I was in the Territorial Army and have fond memories of my colleagues, the drill nights, weekend exercises and two week camps.  In between I took advantage of anything on offer, such as sailing and earning my competent crew certificate.  I think back to camaraderie and fun.  Here we are at the pub for some well earned refreshments!  I seem to have a lot of photos from my army days where I am snapped eating.

As we expanded and developed, in April 1988 we officially became the Gloucester detachment with a grand opening.

On parade prior to the grand opening.  Not everyone had uniform!

With my surgical trolley, scissors at the ready, for the cutting on the ribbon

It was great to be part of a team that won the Nutbeam Shield that year for our military skills.  At that time our colleagues in the regular service did not necessarily appreciate the skills we had and we seemed to be the butt of many jokes, usually called weekend soldiers.

                                                                                                                                                                                           

I like  this photograph of two Captains,  Sally and Elaine, as their marching looks so synchronized. There is something about marching together that makes you feel proud and even better if you have a marching band to help you along.

Happy Days!

Proper War Stories - By Bob Price

Seated with a pint, down at the legion, amidst army veterans of several eras and regiments, you might feel just a tad under gunned when, inevitably, the war stories get rolled out again. Look, if you were armed with a syringe, there are going to be limits on the war stories front aren’t there? You might even feel a different sort of veteran altogether, having been part of the ‘little army’, rather than the ‘big army’, the teeth arms (no, not the dental corp). But in support of you all, keeping the side up I want to assure you that I did once try. Down at the legion I trotted out some of my war stories, about the tour I completed in west Belfast with the Scots Guards. That should impress I thought, you know, the Guards division. 

It started very well. The medical team consisting of a very experienced Colour Sergeant who had been with them since they tackled mammoths, a lugubrious Corporal Gibson (Gibbo) and an eager guardsman who had trained up in first aid were in place already. I commanded one Saracen armoured ambulance and the Colour Sergeant the other. Within days I had my first proper casualty. In the ambulance we monitored both the civilian ambulance network and our battalion one. I think we muddled to two up. So, when I heard that there was a major casualty in the White Rock community centre Gibbo and I were straight there. The guy had been knee capped, and I got a tourniquet on the leg where he was bleeding from an artery. Off to the Royal Victoria Hospital we went, quick step, to the applause of onlookers who were astonished to see the army picking up a civilian. Afterwards, I got roasted by the CO. I hadn’t waited to get a platoon in place, to cover our evacuation. He reminded me that (logically) it could have been a trap. But there was a certain kudos afterwards. It was said on the street, that the new battalion couldn’t be such a bad lot, if we showed that amount of compassion for a local. Our guys reckoned in retrospect it was a useful (if ill planned) move. We finished the tour without one soldier being shot in West Belfast. 

Saracen Armoured Ambulance
Curtesy Army Medical Services Museum

Conflict can be dull they say, most of the time, and so it was for us. I completed public health inspections of the various camp canteens and shops and a daily sick parade. Then though (the legion men waited with bated breath) I collected a guardsmen from the basement of a block of flats who had broken his ankle, searching for stashed arms. We reversed the Saracen in, almost beneath the overhang, to limit the risk of being shot at. The casualty retrieved; we were about to move off to the military wing Musgrave Park Hospital when there was an almighty bang! I thought the opposition had shot a shoulder launch missile at us. Travelling at pace down the Falls Road the radio came up, ‘Hello 83 (our call sign) this is 0 ( battalion ops), do you realise that you have a calor gas cooker on your roof?’ They’d dropped it from the top of the flats and the door had caught on the Saracen railings. Now it flapped like a dog’s lop ear as we retreated to hospital. How astonishing were the traffic cameras, that they could tell it was a calor gas model. Must have been the trailing piping. 

Complete blank expressions. I hadn’t moved the veterans a jot! For pete’s sake, what did it take? I’d been under fire, hadn’t I? ‘Cooking on gas?’ one of them asked cynically. Right, I thought, share the camaraderie humour memoire, that will please. It was customs in the guards division for the men (out of direct earshot) to refer to their commanding officer affectionately by his rank and first name. So, our CO was Colonel Johnny. I struggled with it at first, having spent some time working in a venereal disease clinic you see. Anyway, the Colonel was hugely popular, greatly respected, and I thought, goodness, wouldn’t it be good for me to have a nickname used amongst the men? But it wasn’t going to be won checking sweat rashes, was it? Nor would I win it for completing a pre and post interview medical check when the authorities’ interviewed suspects, some of them subsequently very famous. 

Then it happened. By chance I overheard one of the platoon commanders assure his men that ‘Doctor Bob’ and his ambulance would be in close attendance when they went to check out a disused factory building. Doctor Bob….I’d arrived! The men loved me! Gibbo smiled. Yes, he assured me I was popular with the troops. I taught in a ‘weird way’ and I was diligent responding to concerns. I glowed for the rest of the day. That night Gibbo put me straight. ‘You do know sir, where Doctor Bob comes from don’t you?’ I shook my head. ‘He was a mad surgeon in the Muppets and Miss Piggy was the theatre sister.’ 

You’d better get the next round in mate,’ said one of the proper veterans at last. Look, I tried, I really did. 

Bob Price did one RMO(A) tour in Northern Ireland, some of you did many more. Yet he ventures that such tours made a real difference, to health, morale, as well as humour.

POSTINGS (tongue in cheek) by Bob Price

There came a moment the other day, over the marmalade and toast don’t you know, when I pondered postings. You might naturally recommend that I get out more, but bear with me. Stop to recollect this process, that which shaped many of our memories of service. Postings are sometimes how we catalogue the remembered career. We had good postings and bad postings. There were better places to be posted and terrible places to be sent. Taken quite literally it can make you feel as if you’re something passed inelegantly through the Royal Mail entrails. It started with the posting order, probably handed over to you with a smile or a look of grim determination. I remember after qualifying as a nurse (yes, a product of our own system) in 1975, I was sent off to the Military Wing Musgrave Park Hospital, Belfast and for two years. Initially, that seemed like an invite to the trenches. I arrived there as a wet behind the ears staff nurse cynically received by an established team who weren’t sure that they needed me thank you very much. I wonder if you ever harboured the thought that postings were sometimes handed over with a sense of glee?

Your next memory might relate to the MFO box. Nearly everything you owned went into that. It sounds like a joke about remembered poverty, doesn’t it? ‘When I was young, I lived in a two up two down hovel’. ‘Oh, that’s nothing, I lived in a bed sit’. Trump it all with the MFO box. I (or at least all my worldly possessions) existed in an MFO box. There came the day in BMH Rinteln where colleagues had to pack their MFO boxes to go off to the war in Iraq. As you weren’t allowed to include opened bottles of alcohol within the box, we had a goodbye drinks party. There was this bottle of Tequila (truly vile stuff), ‘fat wallet’ the civilian hospital accounts manager, my future wife and I who made the final of the slamming competition. The next morning it felt as though my head had Moved Forward Overseas.

I suspect something happens when you live and work within a system where you can be readily posted. There is a perverse mix of eager anticipation and horror as you anticipate imminent change. Here’s how I think it works. On the upside you think of the new posting in terms of locale. Clearly, Hong Kong (back then), Cyprus and exotica places like Brunei had much to commend them. You flick through the holiday brochures that link to the favoured new locale. But then, inevitably, you realise that postings were never just about locations, they were about people. Someone in MOD was playing a crazy game of reassemble the village community. It was as if you were injected into a long running series of the Archers, and whether you liked it or not you would live with Peggy, Jazzer, Dan and the rest. For goodness sake, when I was posted to one of our hospitals, no one advertised it as a Pyjama Dash exercises resort, that designed to counter the IRA, everyone drawn up on the car park at midnight, in your pyjamas, with your teddy bear in hand. Postings were about people, and you landed amongst the joys, suspicions and tensions that existed there. Was there really a witch in the attic, and if so, did you really wish to be posted there?

This is the point, isn’t it? Really, we were all victims, subjects in a social mix experiment. You were probably a victim weren’t you- just think about it. How many others, in different walks of life, get ‘posted’. In sharp contrasts to battalions (who were sometimes posted together, with the familiar comrades, as a family) we were posted individually. You might as well have been issued with a gas mask, a label describing your name rank and number, a consoling bar of chocolate and sent off to the countryside whilst the war carried on. No one explained the slightly bizarre family that you were about to be inserted into, the one that had a dozen grates to clean.

If you were lucky though, if you were very fortunate, you landed in a wonderful place and amidst some astonishing people. One such was the Army Medical Services School of Nursing. Oddly, it wasn’t one location (though the brochures about Woolwich on Thames were entirely beguiling). 

The school comprised a group of people, with significant talent and a clear commitment to training some of the very best nurses, those who went on to forge considerable careers in the Corps, and civilian life. People who worked here offered the most astonishing humour (‘Price, there is only one problem you face, you suffer from delusions of adequacy’).  

Gestetner machine for producing
 copies of handouts

They helped the neophyte teacher to plan education that was not only professionally sound and workable, but which seemed enjoyable to learn as well. For goodness sake, they taught me how to work the gestetner handout machine and the overhead projector. I won’t name names, you know who you are, and many others knew who you were. Of all the mats that a package could land upon, after traversing the system, this was surely a great one.

Bob Price served in the AMS between 1972 and 1990. He taught nurses in the Cambridge Military Hospital, Queen Elizabeth Military Hospital and in BAOR. The habit persisted afterwards, at the Royal Marsden Hospital, the RCN and the Open University. He is now making more toast, the last went cold.

Remembering the Queen Elizabeth Military Hospital by Tom Barry

 I started my career as a CMT from 1983 at 1 AFA then 19 Fd Amb. In July 87 (shortly after completing my CMT 1 course) I started nurse training at the QE. Absolutely loved my time at Woolwich and met my wife while there (she also did her nurse training at the CMH / QE). I qualified as a registered nurse in 1990 then did a tour of NI followed by a stint on St Kilda. I finished off my time in the army with a couple of years at BMH Iserlohn before leaving in 1994 for life as a civilian.

I recently returned to the former Queen Elizabeth Military Hospital (QEMH) to have a look round. It had been opened as a military hospital by the late Queen Mother in 1978, but closed in 1995, due to defence cuts and changes to army medical services. The main hospital was rebuilt and opened by Queen Elizabeth ll in 2001 as an NHS hospital. 

However, there were still many of the old buildings in the photos below that brought back many memories.

The Old Accommodation Blocks

The Old Officers Mess (tall building) with School of Nursing Opposite

Remember nights out?

By Tom Barry

The QARANC Association Jurassic Coast Branch on a Day Out 2023

 

The Branch members had a great day out at the Sculpture By The Lakes in Dorset June 2023.   A well organised day (as always) arranged by our Chair, Marjorie Bandy and her committee.  It started with the usual gathering and chat before the most delicious lunch, using local produce.  

After our long leisurely lunch we realised we wouldn't get to see the Sculpture Park if we didn't stop talking!  A QA get together is always lively and our Branch is friendly and welcoming and perhaps why we are growing in numbers.  As regular, reserved and retired QA's we have a special connection.

The Sculpture Park is really the most amazing place to walk around on the flat, with sculptures everywhere amongst the grounds and lakes.  Very peaceful and tranquil.  Mindful of this Marjorie advised we all went round in small groups  so as not to disturb the other visitors and no doubt the wildlife!  With so much space it felt as though there were not many visitors there, it felt as though we had the grounds very much to ourselves. 

2023 King Charles III Coronation by Jan Westbury

 

The blog this month had to reflect on the momentous occasion of the Coronation.  What an event the Coronation turned out to be on May 6th 2023, together with the preparations before and the events after over an extended holiday weekend.  It goes without saying that a highlight was seeing our military personnel in their uniforms and playing their part in the Coronation parade.  It made us proud to be British.

Of course, as a former army nurse I was particularly proud to see the photographs of our QARANC marching contingent of 27.  The Association website reports the next Gazette will provide stories of the day.

On a personal note I was invited with my husband to the Kings Coronation Garden Party.   This was a huge honour and we were very lucky to have a lovely sunny day.  I wasn't sure what afternoon tea would be like, but it was delicious!   I met so many amazing people, volunteers who had been invited in recognition of their contribution.  There were quite a few military personnel there too, at the garden party but also on duty.  Two military bands played all afternoon. There is always a connection between those who have served.  I met a 6'8" Guardsman who was to carry the Commonwealth Flag in the parade.  We had our photograph taken, but at 5'4" I looked tiny beside him, but unfortunately I did not seek his permission to publish.  Such a memorable day.

Jan Westbury - former QARANC Captain