大象传媒

We were a mixture, us girls: two farmers' daughters; a daughter of a postman; fishermen's daughters; three WAAFs from Rochdale who were factory girls, miners' daughters, shop and hotel keepers' girls. "A right load of erks" as we were called as well as "officers' groundsheets", which sounded frightfully naughty.

But amongst us all, we had a very lovely, flighty, rich girl, Deirdre, who had been given a beautiful green Lagonda racing car as a Christmas present by her doting father from Canterbury. The car was the pride of the base and took fourteen pilots and girls comfortably. It was often said it was better guarded than the Spitfires that went off to battle every day.

One day after breakfast, whilst we were strolling to the Catholic school, where we were housed, Deirdre said "What's all those hockey sticks doing in the school room, Ruthie?"
"No idea, but I saw blokes from D10 unloading them this morning".
"C'mon" said Deirdre. "Let's find out".
The Flight Lieutenant told us that as the invasion was about to begin they didn't have enough guns for us girls, so they had to rustle up anything they could lay their hands on for us to defend ourselves with!
Deirdre looked the Flight Lieutenant straight in the eye. "If the Hun puts his head around my door, he'll get more than a hockey stick. How many of us are there, Molly?"

Ten of us had a few hours off - we weren't allowed away from the base for long - and Deirdre marched us towards the car.
"Where are we going?"
"We are going to get some b****y rifles and ammunition to go with them".
We all stood looking at her, dumbfounded. Where on earth did she think she was getting guns from?
"C'mon. Pile in" said Dierdre.
We drove to the main gate. Several "Hello darlings" from the sentries as we sped towards the Dover road.
"Where are we going?"
"We're going to break in to the small arms depot at Hythe" said Deirdre. "I've got a friend there. It might work. He's a Regimental Sergeant Major, and we had a thing going once. He owes me one!"

We could not believe what she had just said - "The Small Arms School" - the place was bristling with bayonets and soldiers!
So there we were, in a car - not just any old car - but one that turned men's heads. And besides that, we were ten pretty girls going pinching, not for food, but for guns and bullets to go with them to kill Germans if one happened to be around. We had already been told to stay near the base and warned that the German Army could attack any time at any of twenty points along the coast. Dymchurch, Romney Marsh and Hythe were the prime targets, and we were heading there, past lines of tanks and anti-aircraft guns lining the roads; past soldiers taking signposts down; and underneath the planes fighting above us in a clear blue sky.

A mile out, near Saltwood Castle, we were brought to a sudden halt by four Red Caps who looked like professional boxers, demanding pay books and "Why the hell didn't we realise this was a no-go zone for anyone that morning without special permission, so if you girls are at all sensible you'll turn that b****y car round and go back the way that you've come from".
"Like hell" said Deirdre. "We'll wait a bit".
They had turned away from us, and it seemed as if all the regiments of the British Army were in the Military Road, leading to where we wanted to be. But somehow Deirdre had stopped the 20ft long car right across the main battery gate and got mixed up with the whole lot, in front of a dozen Churchill tanks, blocking half the British Army.

Now remember: these were dark, dark days. In one disastrous week we'd lost 86 ships and the unthinkable had happened: France had fallen; everyone was surrendering. Stuka dive-bombers were doing their best to create terror at all the fighter stations. Lewis & Hylands and Plummer Roddis were on fire in the middle of Folkestone. Dunkirk was about to take place, and it seemed as though nothing could save us.

No wonder everyone was shouting "Get that~ car out of here!"
We were grinning. Hazel, Molly and Gwennie eyeing up all the soldiers around us and they in turn thinking we were the cat's whiskers. "Blimey" said Deirdre. "Now we're for it!"
Two officers were approaching with red tabs on their shoulders. Chief of Staff!
Salutes all round as they walked towards the car. The atmosphere was electric.
"Well, hello Deirdre" said the tall Captain. "I haven't seen you for ages. This is a surprise. What is the trouble? What can we do for you girls?"
"We want some b****y guns, that's what the trouble is. They've given us hockey sticks: we want guns and ammunition, and we're not moving from here until we get something to defend ourselves with."

The car was manhandled out of the way by 8 ft. tall guardsmen and a whole squad of Seaforth Highlanders, with us girls still sitting in it, all thinking it was one huge joke. And there was Deirdre marching up the parade ground to the Battery Gate in between her Captain and his friend the Brigadier.

All systems go! Deirdre was now helping to push a gun cart full of rifles towards us! It was truly unbelievable, to watch the Scots Guards unloading guns and rifles of all shapes and sizes on to the floor of the green racing car!

"Goodbye" said Deirdre's friend, the Captain.

So there we were, bowling along again, not saying much but smirking like the proverbial cat. And we were ten girls in WAAF uniform with our flat black shoes resting on gleaming Enfield rifles and a decent looking machine gun!

The long green car was brought to a sudden halt at Capel-le-Ferne, between Dover and Folkestone Hill, when we were flagged down by an Air Force wagon.
"What's up?" I shouted.
"We don't know what you girls have been doing, but there's hell to pay back at the base. You know, you lot haven't just left a fighter station on full alert, but you've now got the Air Force police waiting to tear you apart. To put it bluntly, angry isn't the word. We thought we'd try and warn you. Take care when you get to the main gate. Whatever is said, don't answer back. Keep shtum if you value your lives. Keep your mouth shut. But before you go, can we have a look and see what all the trouble has been about?"
Vi pulled back the blanket.
"Blooming hell! Where on earth did you filch that lot from?"
"The Small Arms School at Hythe. Two officers gave them to us".
"Now I've seen everything" one of them said "From now on, don't drive fast. I dread to think what would happen if the civilian police stop you. Head inwards, past Hawkinge Aerodrome, Pedlinge and Bridge. That will bring you out at the back of Canterbury. At least there is less chance of being stopped by the Dover Police: that would really put the cat amongst the pigeons".
"Thanks a lot, boys" we called, as Deirdre turned the car away from the Elham Valley and the Dover Road.
"Sing you devils, sing" said Deirdre.
"What?"
"There'll be bluebirds over - what else?"

When we got to the main gate we were met by a senior aircraft-woman, our Warrant Officer and four burly Royal Military Police. Not a word was spoken as the rifles and ammunition were quietly removed. The machine gun was hauled out from under our feet and, looking up, I could have sworn the two Air Force officers and the Military Police were smiling.

They didn't find the large revolver that the soldier from the Durham Light Infantry had hidden in the folds of the green Lagonda's hood, but even that went missing three days later. Some of those rotten pilots pinched it. We were sure of it.
But to tell the truth, we couldn't have lifted it even if the dreaded Hun HAD put his head round the door of the Catholic school!

This story was entered onto the site by Kairen Kemp on behalf of Ruth Godding who understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

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