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

Stories From My Scrapbook - The Falklands by Kay Foster

I was posted to the Falkland Islands in 1987-88 on a six-month tour as Matron at the newly built King Edward V11 Hospital. The previous Military Hospital had burned down with a number of civilian casualties. The Military worked jointly with civilian medical and administration staff as the hospital looked after both the civilian and military population of the islands.  The majority of military personnel were stationed at RAF Mount Pleasant, whereas the military medical staff lived in Port Stanley. At the time of my posting, we were accommodated in portacabins in Port Stanley and had a comfortable Mess, with a church and a pub on the island. 

At that time many foreign fishing vessels from the Far East, Russia and Europe obtained fishing licenses to fish in the fertile fish stocks in waters around the Falklands. The hospital was kept quite busy with a number of trauma injuries suffered by the fishermen.  

The Islands were a perfect wildlife sanctuary, whale's, sea lions, dolphins' various breeds of penguins, also an array of birds including the elegant huge albatross. I even had a wild cat that took up residence with me in my cabin and I would often find a mouse or a bird waiting to greet me. On my days off I would walk the area around Port Stanly and visit the site where the fierce fighting took place, against the Argentine military. There were occasions when I found human bones, e.g. bones from a finger left from the debris of war. We also got the opportunity to get a lift on a working helicopter and visit different areas and islands. 

I visited Fitzroy where the Sir Galahad was bombed with loss of life to the British Troops.  A dear friend L/Cpl Andy Mortimer, REME, was on board at the time and survived the horrific attack by the Argentina airforce. Some years before while serving in Hong Kong I had a return trip on the Sir Galahad to Brunei. I often wonder what happened to the crew of the Sir Galahad, as many foreign staff made the ship their permanent place of work. I had a memorable tour in the Falklands Islands, one of many wonderful postings and experience's I had while serving with the QA’s. 

We featured in Soldier Magazine, as can be seen below.

Major Kay Foster QARANC (Retd) Served from 1977 to 1996

Reminiscences of a Second World War QAIMNS(R) Nursing Sister by Maggie Lane.

This ‘blog’ will relate some the reminiscences and experiences of a Nursing Sister who served in WW2.

This Nursing Sister was my mother, Alice Irene Parkinson, the daughter of a tenant farmer and the village wheelwright living in Bitchfield near Grantham. She left school at twelve years of age, due to family poverty and the death of her father, which precluded any further ongoing education. However, she read enthusiastically to ‘broaden’ her education, in between assisting with the farm, until she was age 21 years, the legal age to start nurse training. She completed her Nurse training at The Radcliffe Infirmary in 1938, and her Midwifery Training at the Simpson Maternity Hospital, Edinburgh.

 

Her direct accounts and reflections, passed on to me over her lifetime, remain firmly in my memory. Since her death in 1994 I always regret not asking her to expand more on her experiences. Many of her related ‘snippets’ were of course sad, but her clarity in the telling of events was very clear, and elicited several periods of humour during nursing in Algeria and Italy during World War II.

‘Parky’ as she was generally known, had just completed her Midwifery Training in Edinburgh, and joined the Civil Nursing Reserve, prior to enlistment into the QAIMNS(R) at Maidstone Barracks in Kent. Following enlistment and kitting out, a tailor fitted her with an outdoor suit and working dresses. After that it was off to the Queen Victoria Hospital at Netley, Southampton. She told me she didn't do much in the hospital, except attend compulsory security lectures, and often enjoyed tea in the YMCA canteen, which still exists in Victoria Country Park today. 

A group of happy QA’s and TANS(Territorial Army Nursing Service) at Netley Hospital awaiting deployment.

Mother was fortunate and billeted in Netley Village, being very well looked after by a naval captain's widow. She never knew when she would leave,  perhaps never to return, but every day she had to go to the hospital with all her kit ready to move. Suddenly one day, she had ‘a hunch’ that ‘today would be the day’ they would leave. Surely enough, it happened, and the 103(GH) was transported by train from Netley to Avonmouth Docks, no one knowing where they were sailing to, except, probably the captain. She left behind a new dressing gown to show appreciation to the widow for all her kindness and care. The ship that embarked them was the ‘Oranje’, having been used by Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands. She said it was quite luxurious! A few dockers waved them off.

The ‘Oranje’, a Dutch Ship converted to a hospital ship

The voyage took them around Northern Ireland then down the Bay of Biscay to Gibraltar, where they were allowed to disembark for a day, enjoying a quick tour of ‘The Rock’, then onwards down the Bay of Biscay. During the voyage Mother recalled a Luftwaffe plane circling low around the ship, whilst she was sitting on deck. No action was directed at the ship and the pilot must have seen the crosses on the sides and funnel, and also women in nursing uniform on deck confirming the status of the ship.

Still no clue was given to their destination, but it was assumed that if the course from Gibraltar was down the South Atlantic, they were likely heading for the Middle or Far East. However, they turned into the Mediterranean, and knew then it would be to North Africa for them! The ship docked in Oran, French Algeria.

Their next move in 1943 from Oran was to a place called Chateaudun in French Algeria. Here was where the tented hospital was erected. All tentage was of the ‘bell tent’ type, with all staff assisting in the construction, as can be seen in these photos taken in Algeria.  Tents and nursing dress were not very practical in comparison to modern Field Hospitals!

The nursing included wounded allied service personnel, German and Italian prisoners. Her recollections were that many of the patients had severe burns to their backs whilst escaping from their burning tanks or vehicles. Sadly, on a very rare occasion an allied soldier would die suddenly from an undiagnosed cause. This upset mother and her colleagues. Perhaps death from shock or infection?

Mother and her colleague were assigned to the POW prison wards, these prisoners having already been segregated into German and Italian prisoners, due to the animosity by the Germans towards the Italians who felt the Italians ‘gave up’ the fight too quickly!

One recollection from this time was of a German prisoner being ‘cheeky’, and asking mother if she was going ‘dancing tonight’, then telling her confidently he would teach her how to dance when they got to London!  On another occasion her colleague was attending to an older German soldier festooned with medal ribbons. Asking him  jokingly ‘are you Herman Goring?’ The whole ward of Germans erupted with uncontrollable laughter. A pleasant memory was that every evening the Germans would all sing beautifully before sleeping.

The battle then moved across to Italy in 1944. Landing at Salerno, once the port was cleared, the 103 GH was moved to a small village named Nochera Inferiore. Mother said it certainly was an apt name for a ‘mucky’ area. Mussolini’s Barracks were commandeered as the hospital, with the nurses ‘housed’ in tents. 

One morning her colleague looked out, and said ‘Good heavens, I think Vesuvius has erupted’. It certainly had, and piles of ash were ‘raining down’ all over the compound. The sisters were issued with wellington boots, and ash was swept into piles. Mother retained these boots for a couple of decades after the war.

Ash from Vesuvius piled high in the hospital compound.

Although Mussolini had cleared the Pontine Marshes of Malarial mosquitos, there was still a risk from insect bites. Hence, slacks and blouses, being issued and worn specifically in the evenings and night time. This was a regulation.

By 1944 the allies were on the offensive moving up through Italy. Already casualties from Monte Cassino were being nursed. A sad reflection witnessed by Mother was that so many captured Germans were only young, and often teenagers, being terrified if an orderly went to help them shave or wash. Such was Nazi propaganda instilled by their regime as to encourage ‘fighting to the death’ rather than surrender,

Her other recollections of Italy outside the hospital were that of abject poverty and near starvation, especially in the Naples area. Armed guards had to put on the lorry convoys to stop supplies being stolen. She well understood the dreadful predicament these people has endured. Another topic not widely discussed in Italy during the war was ‘holding’ the VD patients for treatment in the hospital. This could be difficult for the guards and orderlies as on occasions they had to pursue patients attempting escape from treatments.

On a lighter note, Mother recalled a trip to Capri by Motor Torpedo Boat, where they visited Gracie Fields Villa, now designated for visits by the allies, and a large group audience with Pope Pious X11, in Rome.

The battle then moved north, the hospital closed and staff were redeployed to other Field Hospitals following the battle north. Mother, with others was then returned to England for demob. She later married my father an RAMC Staff Sergeant.


Maggie Lane (Rtd)

WACKY WEDNESDAYS IN RINTELN by Eileen Nolan

Anyone who has ever been in the army knows that provided they are not actually on duty at the time, Wednesday afternoons usually mean one of two things – Sport or Mandatory Training or occasionally a mixture of both. I have specific memories of three Wednesday afternoons in Rinteln and I have decided to call them “Wacky Wednesdays” for reasons which will become clear.

Sport - In September 1975, Maggie and I arrived in Rinteln at the start of the second year of our student nurse training. We wanted to get to know people quickly and our tutor suggested sport but neither of us was particularly sporty. Then, as Rinteln had an established orienteering team, it was suggested we might like to join them.

 So, on this particular Wednesday, we joined the team behind the hospital. As we were complete beginners, we were briefed on how to use the map and compass and instructed on what we had to do as we went round the course. We assured the tutor that we understood. I mean, how hard could it be running from A to B with a map, a compass and a whistle, looking for checkpoints? 

The orienteers were in pairs but instead of pairing Maggie and me up with an experienced orienteer each, we were sent off together. Big mistake!

It all started well enough and we found the first marker. However, after a while we realised that there didn’t seem to be anyone else around and we couldn’t find any more markers. It got to the stage where we weren’t even sure we had the map up the right way!! We were hopelessly lost and blowing the whistle didn’t help as there was no one around. So here we were newly arrived from the UK, lost in the german countryside, unable to speak a word of the language. We decided the only thing for it was to find a road and try to make our way back to Rinteln.

It took a while but eventually we heard the sound of traffic and found a road. We saw a village up ahead and as we walked towards the village we caught sight of the name of the village – “HOPE”! I kid you not – that was the actual name of the village. We then found a sign pointing to Rinteln and made our way back to the hospital on the safety of the pavement! Strange thing was that when we arrived back at the hospital, nobody seemed to have missed us! Perhaps orienteering wasn’t for us!

Mandatory Training - Do you remember being issued with your respirator at the QATC? I remember clearly being handed this box which contained this hideous heavy rubber mask with a filter at the side. We had to try it on to make sure it fitted and off we went with our essential piece of kit that may well save our lives in the event of an NBC (Nuclear/Biological/Chemical warfare) attack. Now, how many of you put it in a wardrobe and didn’t think about it again until you came across it when you were packing your bags for a new posting? I mean, it was not something you were likely to be wearing on a regular basis.

One Wednesday afternoon in 1976, we were given notice of mandatory NBC training. We were to report to the field at the back of the hospital in timed slots armed with our respirators. At the appointed time we arrived and we saw a building probably not much bigger than a very large double garage. We were given an NBC suit and reminded how to put our respirators on. Of course, the glass in our respirators steamed up and we were shown, not how to spray a nice anti mist spray on the inside of the glass, but how to spit onto the glass and give it a good rub! It was at this point that I wished I had brought my camera!

Initially we practiced in the open air taking our masks off and on until we were quite proficient. Then we were told that we would be going into the building to practice talking quickly without the mask and putting it back on at speed, eating at speed etc. All easy enough. Then we were told that we were going to do it all again but that a helpful sergeant was going to throw a CS gas canister into the building and we had to do it all again with the company of the gas!! We were instructed not to breathe in the gas or we would regret it and if we did, we should head for the door and get out as quickly as possible. Oh, and keep your eyes closed when you have your mask off! How are you supposed to find the door?

In came the canister but as we were still all masked up at this stage, no problem. The thing about being in a room filled with CS gas is that you can only control your own behaviour! I wasn’t too far from the door which I thought was a good position. The first exercise to remove our masks, recite our name, rank and serial number and get the mask back on again without breathing in the gas, went well. However, as more exercises went on, there I am doing well with my eyes tight shut when I am sent flying by someone who had breathed in the gas, kept her eyes shut and headed in the general direction of the door i.e. me! When you are hit by a flying missile in a room filled with CS gas, the only reaction is to open your eyes and get a lungful of gas!

Oh well. Just glad we didn’t have to experience an NBC attack for real.

When Sport and Mandatory Training Collide - It was a typical Wednesday afternoon with the usual sports in action but we had been informed that those not involved in sports and not on ward duty would be required to participate in mandatory Major Incident Training. We were allocated our roles and informed that we should expect an influx of “casualties” (soldiers from the nearest army base in appropriate make up). As a third year student nurse, I was part of the group tasked with assessing and prioritising the “casualties”. I don’t think we called it Triage in those days!

Now, Rinteln didn’t have a formal emergency unit as such so all the ”casualties” were left in the front hall which was not a large area. As we were working through assessing the “casualties” who incidentally were using a lot of dramatic licence, in through the door comes another casualty in full rugby gear. He was holding his left arm which was in a very peculiar position. He looked in pain but was very controlled unlike those lying on the floor. After a few seconds, I recognised him as one of our doctors who was genuinely injured and not one of our actors.

I mistakenly thought we would be able to get him straight through for treatment but no, it was Major Incident Training and the Officer in Charge felt he had to be prioritised along with all the other “casualties”. I felt so sorry for him but he sat there quietly and he eventually went to theatre that evening to have his shoulder put back in.

Just goes to show that as far as mandatory training goes, it doesn’t matter who you are! Rank certainly had no priviliges that day!

Eileen Nolan

CMH - Sept 74 - Sept 75

BMH Rinteln Sept 75 - Feb 77

Royal Herbert Feb 77 - June 77

QEMH June 77 - July 78

From Infantry to Infirmary by Danny Shilling

31st May 2009, I was 18 years old and sat on a train, feeling both nervous and excited. This was the start of my new chapter. I was heading to the Infantry Training Centre, Catterick, to conduct the 24-week Combat Infantryman’s Course.

11th December I passed out into the 2nd Battalion, Royal Regiment of Fusiliers in front of my proud family. I was looking forward to some much-needed leave before joining my new unit. Thinking I would get a week or two, you can imagine my dismay when I was told to report to Cavalry Barracks’ guardroom in Hounslow, London at 0800hrs on Monday 13th!

The first half of 2010 was spent preparing for and conducting Public Duties. The pride felt whilst standing outside Buckingham Palace and Windsor Castle compensated for the hours spent starching my Number 1’s and bulling my Ammo boots. One particular memory stands out: being told to fill my boots with sand, melt beeswax onto them using a mini blowtorch and then bull them made me raise an eyebrow. I’d already been sent to the stores for the keys to the indoor tank range!

In August 2010 the battalion moved to Celle, Germany for 2 years. We were told we were going to deploy to Kenya and started Pre-Deployment Training. One morning our Platoon was late for transport due to a heavy night on the lash. As soon as our boots hit the training area, our Platoon Sergeant taught us the implications of missing transport. He gave us an orientation to the ground in 30 minutes! Finishing off with the well-known phrase: “It pays to be a winner”. I did not want to go again! I sprinted up this mound used as a tank firing point, wearing kit weighing more than half my body weight. Overdoing it on the descent I lost my footing and tried to combat roll out of it. Instead, the weight of the body armour, webbing and daysack caused me to hit the ground, shoulder first!




Screaming in pain, the other lads thought it was part of this “remedial training”. They threw me on a lightweight stretcher and casevac’d me 200m. the bouncing caused further pain, causing louder cries. They thought I was going for an Oscar! I was lowered to the floor and told to get up. Our Sgt realised something was wrong as I continued to clutch my arm close to my chest. Turns out I had dislocated my Acromioclavicular Joint, requiring 3 months off and physiotherapy. Instead of deploying to Kenya, my fate was to be on rear-party over Christmas, limited to light duties.

August 2012, the Fusiliers continued on to our next rotation: Cyprus! Based in Dhekelia we were 30 minutes from Ayia Napa. A dangerous location for young soldiers who get paid Local Overseas Allowance! 2013 I passed the Fire Teams Commanders Course (FTCC) and returned to battalion 7 weeks later as a Lance Corporal. Despite nearly 2 years living in the sun with the beach as our back garden, the Battalion’s darkest day was upon us. Due to Army cuts, the battalion was to be disbanded.

This resulted in the majority of us being posted back to the UK and joining the First Battalion in Tidworth. 1RRF were an Armoured Infantry battalion and was equipped with the Warrior Armoured Fighting Vehicle. Before I knew it I had completed my Gunner’s course and was appointed as the Platoon Commanders gunner. One day we were on exercise and I was scanning the ground using the Warrior’s sighting systems, traversing the turret to get a 360 view. The commander’s turret control overrides the gunners and without warning the turret turned, trapping my legs down the driver’s tunnel! You can imagine the obscenities I unloaded on the young boss.

In 2016, I returned back to Sennybridge and the Brecon Beacons to complete the Section Commanders Battle Course (SCBC) which promoted me to Corporal. This promotion also meant I was a prime candidate to be a Vehicle commander and then was sent on the Regimental Instructor of Gunnery course. Despite coming second on the course, I was not confident with teaching gunnery. I did not enjoy the armoured role and became disengaged.

I began to question my career, not only in the Fusiliers but also in the Army. Fortunately, a posting to the Army Training Centre (Pirbright) became available and in October 2017 I became a Phase 1 instructor. This 2-year posting was one of the highlights of my career so far. Being able to take a civilian on day 1, spend 14 weeks training them, and then watch them march of the parade square as soldiers was an incredibly proud moment. A feeling which never dulled and always reminded me of my own pass out in 2009.

With Pirbright being a multi-cap badged establishment, I was able to explore the other roles the Army offered and gain feedback from other instructors. Being part of Chavasse Company, I was introduced to the 4 Corps making up the Army Medical Services: the RAMC, RADC, RAVC and QARANC. The Queen Alexandra’s Royal Army Nursing Corps... wait... the British Army has their own nurses?! How did I spend 8 years not knowing nursing was a thing in the Army?!

I decided a medical profession would be my preferred job role. I thought about becoming a Combat Medical Technician but something there was missing. I wanted more. I wanted to get the most from the Army. I wanted to help people and have more opportunities in the future. I looked into nursing and was sold immediately. It ticked all the boxes and gave me a new challenge. A new purpose. However, I did not tick all the boxes. I only achieved a grade D in science at school and Nursing required a C or above. Many people didn’t believe I could do it and said I should “just be an HCA”. This made me more determined. One, to prove to them I was capable and two, to prove to myself I was able to complete a university degree. I spent 9 months completing an Access to Nursing course and then attended the nursing board.

January 2020, I moved to Birmingham and became a phase 2 trainee again.......

Cpl Danny Shilling QARANC Student Nurse

In Good Times and In Bad

 

BMH Iserlohn

It's me again and I promise this is not a takeover of the blog. We do have other people lined up but as it's December everyone has other things on their mind. It was ever thus in the military as well - the month leading up to Christmas took on a whole new level of frenzy. Where ever you were posted, December was always magical. This got me thinking about the good times and the bad times in the QA's.

I'd like to start with the bad. Not that there were that many bad times as I loved every minute of my time as a QA. There was always a particularly stern matron whose look could turn you to stone at some imagined transgression. And the times you booked theatre tickets only to find someone had gone sick and you were suddenly on night duty. My most hated part was the BFTs. I did them. I passed them. I forget about them until the time came around again when a sadistic PTI reminded me I needed to get myself out running. I know, I know, many people loved them but I'm a sprinter and the 100 yards was my thing. A BFT was much longer than that. Let's leave the bad times in the past where they very firmly belong.

The good times far outnumbered the bad and were glorious. The many postings, seeing the world, getting to know new people, all of that made us better people ourselves and much more compassionate and friendly. You always knew, no matter how often you were posted that you would fit right in and everyone would welcome you with open arms and look out for you. When saying goodbye to friends you knew you would see them again in a future posting. The nursing experience we gained was second to none and the social life could not be imagined by anyone other than military personnel. I remember the balls with funfairs and partying throughout the night until dawn brought breakfast. The Christmas Balls were particularly spectacular. From regimental breakfasts to regimental dinners, from cocktail parties to wine and cheese evenings, from junk trips to barbecues we did it all and enjoyed every minute. 

In terms of postings we often had to take the good with the bad. Some of the accommodation was phenomenal as in the Officers Mess in BMH Iserlohn. Other accommodation we shall say was less than luxurious with cracks in the walls which seemed to grow bigger by the day and were pretty much held together by blueback. It didn't matter because in the end the camaraderie, our fellow QA's and the friendships we made pretty much made up for it all. I would say that the good times far outweighed the bad and I would do it all again in a heartbeat.  

About the Writer

 

Wendy H. Jones served as a Nursing Officer in the QARANC between 1987 and 2004 leaving with the rank of Major. She never went on an operational tour but undertook many exercises as well as serving in numerous units in both the UK and overseas. Hong Kong and Jerusalem had to be two of the highlights. Moving into nurse education, she was proud to have served as Tri-Service Head of Pre-Registration Nurse Education. This brought her full circle to where she started as a student nurse in the QARNNS. She is now an author and lives in Scotland. 

Covid 19 A QARANC Student Nurse’s Experience by Bethany Neame

After many years of attempting to get into nursing, having undertaken an access into nursing course, retaken my maths functional skills course and completed my basic training, what seemed the impossible finally happened and I moved into my university accommodation ready to start the 3 year nursing degree. However, just 8 weeks into the course the global Covid 19 pandemic hit and we were sent home. As first years we were pulled from all placements as we were deemed more of a burden to mentors and wards who supervise and look after us.

After almost a whole year of waiting we were finally allocated 8 weeks of clinical placement at the end of our first year. No amount of preparation can prepare you for your first big day on your ward. I had visited the week before with another fellow nursing student I knew was on the same ward so I knew where I was going on my first day. I had called up and introduced myself, got my shifts for that week and found out who my mentor was, but the moment I arrived I felt totally lost. I had no experience of working on wards and in hospitals before, so I hopelessly followed my mentor round to the morning handover, but didn’t understand a single word. Only that on the night shift a patient had died and we were waiting for the porters.

I hadn’t been on placement during the first wave, but I was told in the second wave there were a lot more deaths, so the porters were always very busy and often late, so we would find ourselves struggling for bed spaces when we were waiting for a patient to be collected after they died. This ward was previously an elderly care ward, but in the pandemic, it became a closed Covid positive ward where elderly would go if they were Covid positive or to complete their isolation before they were discharged. Unfortunately, many didn’t often survive to be discharged.

After a few weeks of clinical placement, I began to understand how the ward ran from an HCAs perspective, but didn’t manage to get much time with my nurse mentors as it was always so busy. Almost every handover reported a patient loss and I finally had my first experience of doing the last offices. Previously I had been a carer for 9 years, but I never saw or experienced any death, I thought I would be okay but in that moment I found myself thankful for having a face mask to cover my quivering chin and a visor to hide my glossy eyes.

My mentors were good with checking on me but for the most part I found myself mostly left and lost, unsure of what to do and stressed about getting my competency book signed. As our only clinical placement for our first year in nursing, we had our entire book of competencies to get signed in such a short time frame. Plus, I then found myself needing to isolate for 14 days following exposure to Covid. I attempted to plead my case that I worked on a Covid positive ward and that was a lot more exposure. However, that didn’t matter, and I completed my 14 days isolation and lost two weeks’ worth of clinical hours that I will be required to make up in my third year.

After my isolation was finished, I felt deflated and didn’t really want to continue but I knew I had to complete it to pass first year. The first handover back every single patient was different, and it was like starting brand new again. I am thankful for the other student nurse on my ward as it was nice to have someone to voice concerns to and talk about our days too, I think this really helped us both get to the end.

I finally manged to get some time with my mentors to sign my book and it was such a relief to have passed despite losing two weeks of hours and the it only clinical time in my first year.

I look back on my time on the ward as a real eye opener to the struggles of working in a busy hospital ward and commend the way all the staff conducted themselves, no matter how busy or stressful in such a demanding and uncertain time. I never could have predicted that I would be working on a Covid ward through a global pandemic in my first year but I gained valuable experience and insight through being thrown in at the deep end.



Pte Bethany Neame Intake 01/20

Service in Bosnia with 24 Armoured Field Ambulance 1997. By Maggie Lane

I was called for service in September 1997 with 24 Armoured Field Ambulance (24 Armd Fd Amb) based in Catterick, who were being deployed to Bosnia in the former republic of Yugoslavia (FRY). Bosnia was being ‘stabilised’ by SFOR/NATO forces. This operation was named OP LODESTAR.

With ongoing unrest in Bosnia, the main ethnic groups remained volatile throughout FRY.

Various packages of training were a pre deployment requisite and were called UNTAT training (United Nations Training Assistance Teams), These were located around the Salisbury Plain Training area. We spent this period billeted in Knook camp near Warminster.

The next days were spent in the Copehill Down Training facility. This being a mock-up village resembling the buildings and villages in the old Eastern bloc countries. The training was geared mainly to the infantry, but we still had to join in. We would to be carrying a loaded pistol with 6 rounds whenever travelling throughout Bosnia. I enjoyed the pistol training at Warminster, which was important but also fun, especially rolling around on the ground then having to shoot targets down the range.

Navigating the buildings in the mock-up village was something new for me! Jumping and climbing up and down buildings then crawling along underground drains was challenging, but all the females completed this. However, I hoped it was never going to be such a bad enough situation in theatre to employ these newly acquired skills.

Once this UNTAT training was completed, we were transported to 24 Armd Fd Amb in Catterick.

On arrival It was the day of Princes Diana’s Funeral, so everyone in the mess was ‘glued’ on the service, as were four Icelandic medical staff, two nurses and two doctors. Despite being part of NATO Iceland has no standing army.  However, their government provided doctors and nurses to accompany the Brits or the Norwegian medics. All spoke perfect English and had studied much of their medicine in English.

After meeting the CO and other staff of the unit, a few days later we set off on a Hercules for Split in Croatia. Split being the POE (Point of Entry) via Croatia into Bosnia.

After landing, we collected our baggage and weapons from a transfer store and proceeded in a coach up through Croatia to Bosnia.

I was ‘dropped off’ at a pre located isolated country junction to the east of Tomislavgrad where I was met by a waiting Land Rover and taken to our small camp called Lipa. 

Lipa was situated on a Divisional Supply Area between two rough roads named Route Gull and Kite. Weapons and fuel were located at this site for resupply to bases up country, including Sarajevo. Munitions and fuel were kept well apart! All the MSR’s (main supply routes) in Bosnia were named after birds.

Med Centre

Accommodation was in 2-man portacabins which were comfortable and warm. 

The medical centre was in a portacabin. 

The RLC (Royal Logistic Corps) oversaw the whole site.

I had been designated as the Officer in Charge of this small medical team which consisted of a Driver/Radio Operator, a sergeant plus seven medics.

Their training had been excellent, and our role was to attend any accidents within the camp and RTA’s on our sections of the MSR’s. My role was as a primary health care and minor injuries nurse to all troops, including Malaysians who patrolled the area in armoured vehicles. Patients requiring hospital treatment were evacuated by our ambulance or helicopter to Sipovo.

There was no water in the camp, therefore water was brought in by a ‘bowser’ (water tanker). This precious commodity was used very sparingly. Most of us managed to stand in a washing up bowl, then use a plastic bottle to recycle the water over our bodies from the bowl. Very refreshing!

There was great excitement when about 700 meters outside the camp a water source was found. Engineers attached a pump to provide a water supply up to the camp. All worked well until unfortunately, the locals spotted this valuable equipment, and it got ‘nicked’. So back to the bowser again. Another little bit of ‘fun’ indulged in by the locals (probably drink related) was to occasionally drive up past the camp and fire a few shots inside.

Our nearest SMO was based an hour away, at Kupres, and both he and the Icelandic doctors would alternate their visits to do small sick parades. This was a nice chance to meet up and for them to see some of Bosnia, which is a beautiful country. Likewise, I found an excuse to visit the medical facility at Gorni Vakuf further up country to drop off some mail and see the countryside. Sadly, much dangerous debris left by the Serbian army was still lying around.

Occasional visitors passed through the camp enroute to Sipovo. One American Officer introducing himself said he had been advised when introducing himself, was to say “Hi, my name is Randy”, not “Hi, I’m Randy”!

The main HQ of 24 Armd Fd Amb, and the hospital were located in Sipovo, the Serbian area. Getting there was a two-hour rough road journey via Kupres, crossing the IEBL (Inter Entity Boundary Line) but only if the snow had not blocked the route. The poor Malaysians guarded this very cold dividing line at a place called Rastacevo.‘Ice Station Zebra’.

During my six-month tour I was dispatched to Banja Luka medical facility for a break and asked to go out on patrol with the Queens Dragoon Guards around local areas.

Having completed my six month ‘tour’, my last duty was to be in charge of weapons being returned to UK. I wasn’t keen on this responsibility!

I enjoyed my time in Bosnia, a beautiful but ‘trashed’ country in parts. I have since read much about their past and recent history. I learned that not all was bad about the Ottoman Turkish rule. Any place name ending in Vakuf became communities, well established with schools and hospitals. Many Bosnian Muslims are converts due to this and were then well prized by the Turks as administrators.

Major M Lane (Rtd) 

BANGLADESH - A REFLECTION by Marjorie Bandy

I first went to Bangladesh by default. Our TA unit had been asked by the Bangladesh Armed Forces Medical Services [AFMS] to provide a team of nursing officers to teach and improve standards within areas of high dependency care for the Military. At that time our unit was commanded by a consultant anaesthetist of some renown, who spent a fair proportion of his time lecturing world-wide. He considered that based on his own experiences in the third world it would be necessary for the team to take with them an administrator to ensure that the team could spend its limited time in the country actually teaching.

It was decided that the unit admin officer should take up this task. Unfortunately, the planned time frame for this exciting venture had to be changed and the admin officer was then not available. Based on my previous experience I was asked to take his place. So it was that I became “the fat controller!” The first team deployed to Bangladesh in 1993 to work in a very administratively efficient AFMS and my skills as a nurse together were far more necessary than my skills as an administrator. To be fair it subsequently proved our CO right that it was essential that a fairly senior officer was needed to head the team to ensure the programme running “nearly” to plan, but able to manage unexpected and sometimes unusual changes.

To be able to appreciate the difficulties of working in Bangladesh at that time it is necessary to have some understanding of the country’s history. Bangladesh was originally part of the Bengal area of India but unlike much of the Indian continent the predominant religion was Muslim. Following independence for India there was conflict between Muslim and Hindu areas resulting in 1947 with an independent Muslim Pakistan of which Bangladesh was part. This was not a happy marriage and following a very bloody war and the loss of 3 million soldiers and civilians, Bangladesh became an independent country in 1973. The country is overpopulated and very poor, despite 3 rice crops a year unable to feed itself without importing food. The discovery of natural gas in the Bay of Bengal has helped to reduce poverty to some extent.

Each year the team was asked to provide a programme to teach three groups of 10 nursing officers,  ICU technicians and medical assistants. The first year was the most traumatic as the team had no idea what to expect. The culture shock and different way of working were much more difficult that we had imagined despite having done our best to be prepared. Added to this many of the hospital staff were not enthusiastic at our arrival, perhaps thinking that we would attempt to change things completely with no account being taken for their customs, culture and religion.

Within their system staff only look after patients of the same sex and indeed female patients and children are treated in a separate building with the exception of theatres, ICU and CCU. Medical officers who had an opportunity to undergo higher professional training in a western hospital were anxious to improve standards and to introduce a more hands-on care approach for nurses. Picture the scene where wards of 50+ beds had only one trained nurse on duty 0800 – 1400 six days a week and then on call for the rest of the time because there is no trained nurse relief. The task of trying to promote change without causing offence was initially daunting.

On the first visit little was available in the way of visual training aids. The maxim being if you need it take it with you. All of this does not take into account the enthusiasm and thirst for knowledge of our students. On the first visit, aids such as Resus Annie were so old they were almost unusable, as was the overhead projector. On future visits equipment was gradually replaced and upgraded.

The initial plan was to run courses for the full duration of the visit, running separate and joint lectures. Lectures had to take into account the necessity for translation and explanation as we were teaching a group who overall, only spoke Bangladeshi. Once we arrived in theatre, we discovered that the students would be expected to sit a final examination in English. This meant some re-arrangement of our initial programme, that continued on for all successive visits, sometimes because of requests of change by our hosts or illness in a member of the team.

One of the most difficult areas was always practical teaching and hands-on practise by the students. Traditionally nursing officers led the wards in a mostly managerial capacity with nursing aids and relatives carrying out basic nursing care. We soon realised the nurses had little strength for such things as lifting. In addition, the Muslim culture doesn’t allow for physical contact with male patients or indeed work as a pair with a male colleague. Once these boundaries had been realised and our teaching plans adjusted it became easier to plan and implement teaching programmes.

Over a period of time changes and improvements took place. This was noticeable in ICU where patients were provided with nursing care such as washing and passive physio for the unconscious patient. Humidifiers were no longer being left with the same water in between patients, increased response times to dealing with emergencies achieved and protocols gradually being written and implemented are examples of improvements. All of this might seem very little for the cost of sending 6 people annually to Bangladesh, but when one considers the cost of extra days spent in hospital because of pressure sores and the lack of infection control measures, it is a cost saving expense. With the numbers passing through the one military hospital in Dakar alone the potential saving is enormous. 

For me personally the greatest satisfaction came in 1997 when I was given a copy of the Defence Advisor’s report to the Foreign Secretary which suggested that our team was one of the most cost -effective sent to aid this Commonwealth Country [military] during that year.

For everyone who took part in this venture it was a challenge and educationally stimulating, requiring a great deal of preparation to ensure the highest standards of teaching despite the limitations. Everyone learnt to be adaptable to meet with the unexpected. Without doubt everyone who took part gained from experiencing the difficulties of the Third world and to appreciate our NHS. Lastly it would not have been such a success without the work and enthusiasm of all the people who accompanied me.



Marjorie Bandy

Chair Jurassic Coast Branch

Travelling on the Main Supply Route Op Granby (The First Gulf War 1990). By Penny Moody

I had not long been posted to BMH Hannover when our daily routine was totally changed by the news that a large percentage of the hospital staff were to be deployed in our operation role as 32 Field Hospital, part of Op Granby. We were lucky enough to have Christmas at home and returned to depart to Saudi Arabia early January 1990.

We flew via Cyprus and on landing in Saudi travelled to Al Jubail to initially stay with 33 Field Hospital and were accommodated in large warehouses, in what had been a tyre factory. It was at this point that we realised that nearly everyone we had ever know during our service was in Saudi which was very reassuring and made us feel quite at home. 

After a couple of days a 32 Field Hospital forward party of about six people, to include a QA nurse, went ahead to do a recce prior to the main body arrival. Unfortunately, for reasons that were not quite clear, they accidentally crossed the border into Kuwait and the BBC news, for a short period, full of this story and we were all on tenterhooks until we were all eventually reunited.

After a few days the rest of us were to head off on the Main Supply Route (MSR) to our destination near the town of Hafar Al Batin, which is 94km from the Kuwait border and 74km from the Iraq border. The 12th of January was the allocated day. I should just say that the MSR was rather like the M1 on speed. Every vehicle was given a twenty second window to join their slot and if they missed their allocated space had to wait a further 5 or so days for another allocation, so planning was of the essence.

Our coach, with an assortment of 32 Field Hospital staff, headed off at the allotted time. It was a bit of a culture shock for us uninitiated to be on such a busy road with every military vehicle imaginable, mostly huge juggernaut transporters, not only British and American but many other allied nations, heading north towards the Kuwait and Iraqi borders. The busyness also translated to the sky along our route where an assortment of military helicopters from Apache to huge transporters also headed north.

Our journey was as peaceful as could be in this frenetic environment until about 3 pm in the afternoon when we took a break at a military ‘watering hole’ where the vehicles refueled etc. Some of us were asked to wait in an empty tent where we napped lying on the sand waiting to continue onwards. Although all seemed tranquil (ish) to us, obviously there was generally heightened tension, because after a short while an officer charged into our tent and told us we must get back to our bus and head back to Al Jubail immediately, as it was thought Iraq was about to invade. (Not quite how he put it but words to that effect). Our return journey is a bit of a blur but we arrived back quite late with only minimal kit as our Bergen’s etc had all been put on separate 4 tonners! However, our hosts at 33 Field Hospital were mega accommodating and pulled out all the stops with toiletries and other requirements to fulfil most of our needs. We remained at Al Jubail until the 17th of January when we were given another timed slot on the MSR.

So again, we said our farewells and headed back up the MSR into what we thought was familiar territory. How wrong we were in that at some point in the journey, I think mid to late afternoon, it became apparent that the war was about to, or had begun. We first got an inkling that all was not quite as it had been when we saw most, but not all, military personnel along the route had donned their NBC kit, but we knew nothing! We remained fairly uninformed as far as I can remember for the remainder of the journey. (I guess it’s called the fog of war). Those with long wave frequency radios tried to tune into a very crackly BBC world service and we eventually discovered that the war had started. It felt like a bit of an inauspicious day to be travelling, as in the mind, having watched too many war films, supply routes seem to be a good target option. However, we continued our journey with slightly heightened tensions making slow progress until around 6 am the following day we were again delayed because at some point one of the coaches ahead of us had collided with another. I think this was quite common as many of the drivers on this arduous journey became extremely tired. If my memory serves me correctly, we finally arrived mid-morning at Wadi Haifa Al our home and hospital for the next 2 months and nicknamed Desert Rose. However, those experiences are another story and all I will say is, that it was called ’WADI’ Haifa Al Batin for a reason!


Lt. Col.(Rtd) Penny Moody

A BMH Nepal Experience by Penny Moody

I rejoined the QA’s in 1976 and as a midwife I was almost immediately posted to BMH HongKong arriving in January 1977. Although I was very happy and thoroughly enjoyed all that HongKong had to offer I also had a yearning to experience BMH Dharan, Nepal. I therefore regularly found an excuse to visit Matron Anne Healey’s Office to request that I be considered for a 9 month posting. I don’t know if she weakened because she got fed up with seeing me but eventually I got my posting order and was privileged to serve at BMH Dharan from January to September 1978.

From the moment of my arrival I knew I was somewhere very different. The mess and hospital were very colonial in appearance, both single story and the mess was surrounded by exotic flowering trees. 

The hospital had 70 beds in total and a long roofed open sided corridor connecting the two main wards and departments. These wards were divided relatively equally, one looking after all female and young children both medical and surgical with a maternity facility attached, whilst the other looked after all the male patients both medical and surgical. The Medical team was made up of a physician, surgeon and anaesthetist plus the CO and there were 5 QA Nursing Officers to include two theatre sisters, two midwives and matron. The midwives worked on female and maternity facility and the two theatre sisters were on the male ward covering both ward and theatres. The rest of the staff were made up of local qualified and auxiliary staff and were absolutely brilliant.

Nepal only opened its borders to the outside world in the 1950’s having been a closed country since gaining independence from India and the British in 1816. This meant that even in 1970’s there had been minimal foreign influences so we were lucky to experience Nepal in a relatively preserved state. Dharan, situated in the east of the country was almost 400 miles from Kathmandu and 30 miles from the Indian border so was little effected by the influx of those on the popular hippy trail to Kathmandu and Phokara . The hospital was first established in the 1960’s to look after Gurkha soldiers serving in the recruiting and pensions establishment, those on leave and British staff and their families. However as most of us living on the Cantonment were young, well and healthy this gave the hospital the opportunity to treat quite a few of the local population. Health service facilities throughout Nepal was very limited and people travelled for days on foot, or being carried by another person often over the Himalayan foot hills, to try to get into the BMH. To insure the hospital was not overwhelmed there was a daily selection procedure at the Cantonment gate which must have been a very difficult task. Relatives were asked if they would donate a pint of blood if the sick person was admitted.

The Cantonment was quite large with military personal from different Corps and Regiments. The town of Dharan was a 20 minute walk, a great outing but with minimal shopping opportunities. There were no telephone links and most communications came by signal. We were not able to drive in case we knocked over a cow( a sacred animal) so for the occasional outings were were able to order a gari with driver which was usually a land rover. The Cantonment had its own local radio station and this would link into the world service service several times a day, our only up to date contact with the outside world except for the UK Sunday papers, usually a week late, sometimes not at all, but a wonderful link with home.

In Hong Kong we regularly worked with Gurkha mums and their families but working in BMH Dharan was where we really experienced the amazing Nepalese people . The patients were a delight when bearing in mind their living conditions, great poverty and the distances required to travel, mostly on foot for the most rudimentary of treatments before maybe being lucky enough to be admitted to our hospital. 

For the average patient there was little idea of western medications and I remember that some of the long standing TB outpatients would often swap their prescribed medication with someone else’s because in their view a different colour pill would get them better more quickly! This was particularly common amongst the older patients who probably had experience only of the local medicine man.

Sheila Cooper, our Matron, was always keen that we should make the most of our time spent in Nepal, encouraging us to go on various trips. Planning a holiday from Dharan was no simple feet. There were no travel brochures or travel agents. Firstly you needed to work out your itinerary, all gleaned from others experiences. Then a signal was sent to Kathmandu for the bookings to be made. As this was quite a challenge we often did more local things. Dharan was tucked into the base of the first Himalayan foot hill. If you kept walking in a straight line over all of these hills and mountains you would eventually arrive at the foot of Everest. At the top of the first foot hill was a ‘lodge’ belonging to the Cantonment nestled in the amongst wild rhododendrons. The lodge was very much on most people’s ‘ to do’ list not only for the experience but to be able to spend a little time in the the ‘loo with a view’.

One weekend Sheila decided we need a trip to the lodge and started planning. It would take approximately 4 hours to walk to the top, and I am talking proper Himalayan foot hill here, so embarrassingly volunteer local workers from the cantonment and our mess were employed to guide us and transport all our food and other needs for the weekend, plus be chief cook and bottle washer. Five of us set off around 6am. The climb whilst pretty arduous offered up the most spectacular views and gave us the opportunity to observe the local people on the move. The well worn dirt track would be almost the equivalent to one of our major roads in the U.K. We were to see, ‘talk’ with, and have great hilarity along the way as we constantly passed all and sundry carrying everything on their backs in baskets with a looped strap over their head. This would include families with all there personal good, or trades people with wares to sell, heavy loads of fire wood, or maybe a sick family member. Children were not excluded from this task. We were regularly invited to stop and partake of tea and have a sign language gossip and laugh.

The lodge was rustic but with the luxury of an open fire, good food, oil lamps and a little alcoholic beverage we all fell into slumber mode after the days stimulating and arduous activities. And of course there was the most important joy of using the loo with a view. Did I ever imagine that one day I would be in a remote corner of the world sat on a wooden box, legs a dangling, gazing out at a distant view of the Himalayan range with the summit of Everest summit rearing up at the back. Sadly, as is the way with these things, I think it was misty throughout our visit so I had to do with the picture hanging on the lodge wall!! But in my memory I can dream.

My time in Nepal was one of the highlights of my Army career and life. In many ways one day drifted into another but at the same time work, the mess, cantonment life and the amazing Nepalese people made it the most wonderful experience you could wish for.









Lt Col (Rtd) Penny Moody

A FRILLY CAP, A DUSTBIN LID AND MUD, GLORIOUS MUD!! By Eileen Nolan

Anyone who has waited for their exams results to drop on the mat will recognise the mixed emotions of excited anticipation and dread! It was the same for us waiting for our SRN results at the QEMH in 1977 except that we had to wait for the post room to open.

We had been told by our tutor that our results would arrive on this specific Saturday and she gave us our orders on how to proceed when we got our results. A “Pass” meant that we had contact the tutor who would be in her office to hear the news then go straight to the Stores where we would be issued with our frilly caps and red belt. The following day, we were to proceed to the QATC in Aldershot where Staff Nurse Block would begin early on Monday morning.

A “Fail” meant that we had to contact the tutor who would advise us on submitting a resit application.

The problem was that no contingency had been made for the Royal Mail and the possibility that someone may not get their results!!!! Yes, that was me! The poor soldier in the post room looked high and low, checked every pigeon hole and even checked the bottom of the sack but alas, no envelope for me. What to do now that I couldn’t follow orders? Of course, I contacted the tutor who told me in no uncertain terms that it must have been my fault and that I couldn’t have addressed my envelope correctly! Really?

I was then instructed to pack for Aldershot but wait until Monday morning and if I passed, I had to get myself to the QATC as quickly as possible. There would be no time to collect a frilly cap or red belt. I did pass and I managed to get there in time for the afternoon session. Of course, I had to have a meeting with the tutor there who again gave me a right telling off for being late for Staff Nurse Block and of course it must have been my fault. I think my name was mud but it wasn’t the last mud I would see that week!

The week went well and we had been told we would get our badge on Friday. We were so excited as we had been looking forward to getting our “dustbin lid”, the cherished 2” gunmetal grey badge proudly inscribed with “Army Trained Nurse”. However, when we were given our badges, we looked at them in dismay. What were these little blue badges and where were our dustbin lids? We were told that they were no longer being issued and these little blue badges were the new SRN Army Medical Services School of Nursing Badge. We left the QATC feeling very deflated.

On the way back to Woolwich I realised that I was on night duty the following night and I did not have a frilly cap or red belt. Whilst I could have got them on the Saturday morning, the frilly cap needed to be soaked in starch and dried overnight in time for me to spray starch it within an inch of its life if it were to stand tall the following night. Fortunately, my room mate wasn’t due at work until Monday so she let me have one of hers and I repaid her when I got mine.

On Saturday, I spent ages starching this cap and getting the frills to stand up nicely. I then had a rest in the afternoon ready for night duty. Although not a great quality photograph, you can see how proud I was ready for my first shift as a Staff Nurse. But pride comes before a fall…….

While we had been in Aldershot, the weather in Woolwich had been wet and windy but, on the Saturday, it was good, if a little breezy. At that time, we were still living in the accommodation on Academy Road which meant that to get to the QEMH, we had to cross Woolwich Common.

I realised as I was walking across that it was a bit wet underfoot but there was a well worn path which I followed. Then disaster struck. An almighty gust of wind took my gorgeous frilly cap and promptly dumped it in a muddy puddle!

I think I was in shock as I stared at it for a moment and then had to make a decision. Do I run back to the accommodation in the hope that someone can lend me a frilly cap? If I did that, I would be late on duty (and a QA is never late) and that would inconvenience the staff I would be taking over from. Or, do I carry on and risk being charged with being improperly dressed? So, I rescued my now very muddy cap and carried on.

I was working on Ward 1 so didn’t have far to go once I had got past the reception desk. To my sheer relief, the nurse I was taking over from was a Staff Nurse and not a Sister and when she saw how upset I was she gave me her frilly cap for the night and I returned it in the morning so all was well.

Going back to the dustbin lid, the following week my room mate came in from work and I noticed she had one. Apparently, she had chatted up the Stores Sergeant and he had found one for her. She swore blind that she asked him to try to find one for me as well but he could only find one.

Whilst I was thrilled for her, I never did get my dustbin lid but despite the wording on the little blue badge, I am still proud to call myself an “Army Trained Nurse”.

RAF to Army or PMRAFNS to QARANC - Lauren Griffiths

I joined the PMs in 1985 having been advised very strongly by my brother, a WOI, NOT to join the QAs – ‘I’m not having a sister of mine joining that mob!’ Moving on to 1991. I had just completed teacher training at Cardiff University. I’m just getting ready to be posted to RAF (H) Wegberg as the Inservice Training Officer. I’d started packing, ordered my new duty-free car and then STOP! Matron in Chief is on the blower, ‘I need you to go to the Army as they are short of nurse tutors.’ Damn! So, I continued packing, cancelled the car and wrote my posting letter to Col Numbers at CMH Aldershot.

First challenge. I arrived at the CMH Officers Mess late on a Sunday afternoon; couldn’t get in – all entrances locked and no one in the office. Eventually, after circling the building, I managed to catch the attention of one of the nursing officers – I’m in! I was then met by Marion Hart who had been tasked to show me the ropes. As you can imagine I was a fish out of water – an apparition in white in a sea of grey and red! Nowhere to hide – something to be gawped at!

I joined the School of Nursing as a junior nurse teacher and the only non-QA member of staff. My role covered teaching pre-reg on two sites, CMH and QEMH. Fairly early on in my posting I caused a bit of a stir at QEMH when I was summoned to Matron’s office! She wanted to know who this Australian Officer was who was wandering around the Hospital in a white ward dress. Probably not the best start at QEMH!

Back at Aldershot I soon integrated with my Army colleagues, however, there was a line that I had to draw. I’m Airforce and we don’t do running. we don’t do circuits and we don’t do guns! Wrong! I’m with the Army now.

My nemesis – Cpl Holmes, Army Physical Training Corp, yep, Kelly Holmes of Olympic fame. Our new CO decided that we were all to do physical training weekly, no excuses. So, off I went, with Marion Hart, Lynn Adam and some of the students for our weekly session. A beasting doesn’t even cover it. The next day I couldn’t put my long hair up into a bun – Lynn had to do that for me – I thought I would never regain the use of my arms again. On the plus side my fitness improved and I did manage to evade annual fitness tests for my complete tour, although Merrill cottoned on to this – she was going out with an RAF Officer who told her that we did do running and we did do circuits. Thankfully she only found that out at the end of my tour.

I shared an office at CMH with Gary Searle. One sunny afternoon we were in the office and unbeknown to me the RMP were training their dogs to disarm someone with a gun – this was happening just outside our window. I heard a shot and I hit the deck. Gary looked quite amused as he watched me disappear under my desk. Obviously, a new experience in this Army environment.

My role evolved and I became engaged in the wider pre-registration and conversion training. This took me to more Army and some RAF sites. It was good to be engaged across the two services and to use my skills to enable nurses to develop and qualify. I found myself drawn closer to the Army and identified more and more with the Corps. However, Col Numbers’ efforts to draw me even deeper and transfer to the QARANC failed despite various offers to tempt me. My brothers warning still rang clearly in my brain!

I thoroughly enjoyed my two years at CMH and was rather sad to leave the School, colleagues and newly found friends to return to RAF (H) Wroughton. I found it hard going back to the PMs and never really settled. Two years later we all ended up working at the Royal Defence Medical College at HMS Dolphin, later Fort Blockhouse – reunited once more with my Army colleagues and friends. A new chapter in Defence Medical training had begun.