大象传媒

I was a twenty-year old nurse at Joyce Green Hospital in Dartford, Kent when I met my husband Tom, early in 1941. He was a patient on my ward, and our courting consisted of sneaking out the back of the hospital to meet, to a background of bombs dropping during the Blitz! He was in hospital for about three months 鈥� he鈥檇 only been admitted with tonsillitis, but in those days doctors tried to keep patients in as long as possible to save them from being killed in the war.

We were married in July 1941 at St Mary鈥檚 Church in Putney, and a few weeks later Tom was shipped out to the Far East with the Royal Army Ordnance Corps. He sent me a pair of silk stockings when stopped-over in South Africa, and that was the last I heard from him for months.

I wrote regularly to the War Office for news of his unit, and was told several weeks later that they had landed in Java. But that was all they knew鈥�

I had an address to write to Tom, via the army I think, but all my letters were returned to sender. I was depressed and anxious, desperate for news. Then one day, about three months later, a small brown card arrived in the post, with a short printed message: 鈥淒ear Peggy, prisoner unwounded, safe and well, thoughts always with you and those at home, love Tom.鈥� He was a prisoner of the Japanese. I was overjoyed, absolutely elated. He was alive, thank God, and my months of terrible worry were over. For the time being, at least.

We knew nothing of the conditions in Japanese prisoner-of-war camps at that time, and I heard nothing from Tom for about a year, when another brown card arrived 鈥� again it was only a short printed message, with no details of his experiences. But I could take comfort in the fact that he was alive and, as a prisoner, safe from harm.

My peace of mind was shattered, however, when news of the conditions prisoners were enduring were reported in the newspapers, a little over a year after Tom was taken prisoner: brutality from the guards, near-starvation diet (about half-a-mug of rice per day), slave labour and malaria. Prisoners were said to be dropping like flies. I was heartbroken, and wept all night.

And for the rest of the war I received only two more of the brown cards.

Tom was finally returned to me in October 1945. He had been released by the Australians at the end of the war, and I received a card saying, 鈥淏e patient, I鈥檒l be home eventually.鈥� I was staying at his parents鈥� house in Whitehaven, Cumbria, and was due to go down to Liverpool the next day, when his ship was due to arrive. And then he knocked on the door in the middle of the night!

It was a wonderful reunion, but I quickly realised the terrible state he was in, both physically and mentally. He was terribly thin, riddled with hookworm, and had recurrent bouts of malaria and diarrhoea. He was in and out of hospital during that first year back home. He walked around like a zombie, always in uniform. He was terribly depressed, and on edge all the time.

Two things saved Tom, in my opinion. If he hadn鈥檛 have been married to a nurse, he wouldn鈥檛 have survived. And nine months to the day after he set foot in England we had a little girl, and he started to live then, and take notice of the little girl, and we sort of went on from there.

This story was submitted to the People's War site by volunteer Steve Gothard on behalf of Peggy Priestman, and has been added to the site with her permission. Mrs Priestman fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.