WWII: Serving in India was not all curry and chips

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Stationed in India during the Second World War, Derbeian Stan Tacey describes how he gained a brother-in-law, developed his artistic skills and nearly lost his sight.

Pin-up: Stan Tacey used to draw scenes from home and curvacious ladies to entertain his mates in his spare time, while stationed in India during the war

Gotcha: Left: The two culprits who fell asleep while trying to catch thieves and mistakenly grappled with each other in the dark in Stan Tacey's tale of army life in India

HAS she got a friend? Above: Stan Tacey’s mate, John Christie, who ultimately became his brother-in-law

SIXTY-THREE years ago, I was sitting in my tent in the Sind desert wondering what my girlfriend and the rest of the world were doing.

I had not heard from her for months. She did not even know where I was.

I had a photograph of her with her sister by the side of my charpoy (bed) and I remember my friend, John Christie, looking at it and saying: “Your girlfriend’s sister looks very nice. Do you mind if I write to her?

“Go ahead,” I said, “and the best of luck”, little realising that my friend would become my brother-in-law for the last 58 years.

One day, gazing at the next tent (the tents were erected on concrete bases), I saw a silver krait (a very dangerous poisonous snake) slithering up the concrete into the tent.

The next moment, there was an almighty shout and the occupants dived out. I had never seen any of them move so fast before, even though it was siesta period.

What did we do in our spare time? I was a bit of an artist in those days and I used to sketch my mates, memories of home and curvacious ladies to entertain them. After a year, we moved on to Cawnpore, which was almost civilised, as we moved in to huts accompanied by our own punka wallah.

On many occasions, we were plagued by thefts in our billet. Thieves would break in and take anything that they lay their hands on.

One night, the lads decided to try and catch them and I remember waking up at about 2am to a terrific noise. It appeared that the two lads who were on watch had dozed off. They were woken simultaneously by a noise and both seeing a movement, dived and found themselves grappling with each other.

Conditions were not very good where we were working and, coupled with the shortage of water, many of us caught impetigo. We were covered in scabs, which had to be lanced off by medical orderlies every day.

Unfortunately, I got it on my head and my hair had to be shaved off and my head treated with Jensen Violet (anyone remember that?). It proceeded to run into my eyes, which were replaced by two large scabs.

I was sent to the medical officer, arriving at about 10am. He finally saw me at two in the afternoon, owing to the length of the sick queue. He took one look at me and then uttered the well-known words “medicine and duty”.

I crept outside and was feeling my way, clinging to the outside wall, when I heard a car draw up and a voice say: “Airman, what are you doing breaking out of sick quarters?”

It was the Group Captain. “I have never been,” I replied.

“He has not sent you out in that state?” said the Group Captain and, with the help of his driver, they lifted me in to his car and drove me to Cawnpore General Hospital, where I spent the next four weeks until my eyes recovered and I regained my sight.

The best part of my stay was being escorted, hand-in-hand, by young nurses round the hospital to ensure that I got some exercise.

The monsoon season in that part of the country was very severe and monsoon trenches were dug to drain the water away.

I shall always remember one day when, marching to work shin-deep in water, the fellow next to me suddenly disappeared, sinking up to his neck in the water. He had blundered into one of the monsoon trenches that was impossible to see because of the lying water.

Even in this modern age, we cannot forecast the future but we all have our good and bad memories.

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This article is from the Derby Evening Telegraph and is reproduced online here.