大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Elizabeth Perez of Stockport Libraries on behalf of a lady who wishes to remain anonymous. It has been added to the site with her permission and she fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

Introduction - September 3rd 1939.
My brother, then aged 23 years and soon to join the R.A.F., was standing at the breakfast table, to attention, as the radio played the National Anthem after the announcement of the Declaration of War. I, bewildered but somewhat excited, was reprimanded for my irreverent grinning!
On Monday morning I went to my place of employment, a chemist鈥檚 shop in the city, and was met by a constant stream of customers all in tears. They were older, and wiser, than I was at just 18 years of age.
Then in December 1939, I volunteered for the A.T.S., and got into trouble with my mother, who accused me of being led astray by my workmate, Grace. The reverse was the case, of course 鈥� I had persuaded her to volunteer with me.

January 1940.
Called to Lancaster Castle for induction training. Memories: exceedingly cold weather. Drill training. Marching for the first time ever, to church for Sunday service. Foot inspection afterwards 鈥� some amusement (and some resentment) when my feet were declared in exemplary condition.
On each night of our three days there, we all soaked our caps and laid them on the windowsills, over radiators, upside down for the night, so that by morning the crowns would have a nice firm edging crease, like the officers鈥�, instead of the puddingly inflated things.
After three days, transferred to G.H.Q. Second Echelon, Margate for office duties. Billeted in a requisitioned hotel, where after a few days, I discovered in my bedroom floor a trap door leading to a cellar filled with all sorts of goodies 鈥� cakes, biscuits, chocolates, tinned fruits, which we excavated after several perilous climbs up and down, and distributed amongst ourselves.
Still icily cold weather. Fascinated to see by the shore, great mounds of squashed, crushed ice where the sea had frozen overnight. Also an Atlantic convoy being 鈥渟trafed鈥� out at sea.
Remember feeling great indignation when a female colleague, much older than I, was promoted to Lance Corporal 鈥� presumably on account of her age, for she did not do a stroke of work, but devoted all her time scouring the cellars for fuel for the office fire 鈥� whilst I did all the office work alone.
Next memorable event 鈥� my menstruation ceased, and I was sent off by train to a medical unit along the coast (can鈥檛 remember where, though I do remember being fascinated and delighted when at some point the train lines ran right alongside the shore鈥檚 edge). The medical officer, who consulted me kept repeatedly asking whether I had been doing anything I shouldn鈥檛 have 鈥� to which I repeatedly replied 鈥淣o, Sir鈥� (which was true), the while, trying hard to keep a straight face because he, as embarrassed as I (and presumably almost as young) was continuously twirling his stethoscope around and kept hitting himself in the face with it.
Went on weekend leave at some point with another colleague, Betty Osborne 鈥� a Londoner who introduced me to the Thames and Hampton Court, and then to the village of Lamberhurst in Kent, where I saw hop fields for the first time. We stayed in a cottage with of course no inside loo 鈥� so you can imagine how mightily embarrassed I was when I went down the garden to the outdoor privy in the middle of the night 鈥� clad only in my nightie 鈥� only to find the garden full of laughing soldiers on night exercises!
Received my first Valentine cards 鈥� from my male sergeant and his mate.

Dunkirk.
Suddenly awakened in the middle of the night and told to rise as we might be needed to help the soldiers ashore. Officers had great difficulty 鈥渕ustering鈥� us, as we were all sitting on the stairs taking out our curlers and making ourselves presentable. I don鈥檛 think we鈥檇 have been of much use 鈥� and in the end we were not needed.
Next day or so, sad and most memorable sight in the office, several great, burly, tough Sgt / Majors weeping as they read out from lists of their 鈥渓ads鈥� 鈥� missing, wounded, killed in action.

March 1940.
G.H.Q. moved over to (I think) East Cliff Hotel, Bournemouth. Fascinated by the sight of soldiers, with lorries lined along the coastal road, ready to repel invasion, shaving in the early morning by the roadside, with the aid of their driving mirrors. Tank traps all along the (out of bounds) beaches.
Really grew up when I listened to Churchill鈥檚 鈥淲e shall fight on the beaches鈥� speech on the radio in a little caf茅.

April.
Home leave. Clambering over massed Londoners lying on makeshift beds on the Underground platforms.
I think that this was the time when, being hungry but with little money (only 10 shillings a week pay, of which I sent 2s. to my widowed mother) we boldly walked into the Savoy Hotel for a meal and were served with great dignity and not a sign that anything was abnormal, by the waiters, with one dish sufficient to sustain and fill us. (Memory tells me a 鈥渞um baba鈥� 鈥� but were they known in England at the time?)
Near to tears when I arrived in Manchester and the tram conductress greeted me with the word 鈥渓uv鈥�.

June.
Another home leave. Crossing London Underground with a friend when we were suddenly and unceremoniously ordered above ground, where we found ourselves on a bridge over the Thames and stood, entranced, watching the 鈥渄og fights鈥� 鈥� parachutes dropping everywhere and fires all along the river. But suddenly we were grabbed from behind by the habitues of a nearby pub, thrust inside and given a drink 鈥� whilst they carried on with their game of darts!

September.
Another move, this time to Weston鈥攕uper-Mare, to escape the bombers. We were, I think, two days on the train, dizzying back and forth from line to different line, to escape the overhead bombing. During this journey we had neither food nor drink, and I clearly remember us all hanging out of the windows whenever we reached a station, hollering for water, which the station staff gallantly supplied as best they could (in fire buckets!) and we greedily gulped down.
Arriving at Weston-super-Mare, we were formed up to march smartly to a large church hall, where umpteen smiling, motherly W.R.V.S. ladies 鈥� who had presumably given up some of their family rations to help 鈥� had a sumptious meal awaiting us. Ham, hard-boiled eggs, fresh rolls, butter, marmalade, tea. Never was there a greater or better appreciated feast. Happiness. Bliss.

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