大象传媒

During the summer of 1939 I enlisted in the Women鈥檚 Auxiliary Air Force (WAAF). I attended meeting and lectures on a once a week basis in Victoria Street Bristol. It was know as the 鈥淲AAF 17th Company) A Miss Stevens was the Officer-in-Charge.

On September 3rd 1939 we were officially 鈥渕obilised鈥�. In the event, after reporting for duty was told to go home and await further instructions for posting to an RAF unit. Our weekly visits continued. We now had some instruction in RAF drill. This required attending Bristol Zoological gardens having the necessary space! An RAF Sergeant took us through our paces. This appeared to cause distraction and amusement, both to the Sergeant and the animals! (In particular 鈥淎lfred鈥� the gorilla!). At last, on my 20th birthday, in November my posting papers arrived! I joined three other WAAF鈥檚 at Temple Meads railway station, duly given travel warrants to Southampton, then by bus to RAF Calshot. We had no training and no issue of uniform as none was available!

Nevertheless assisted with a 鈥榗ash allowance鈥� we appeared dressed in a blue skirts (made by a local tailoress; woollen pullover, black shoes, grey stockings. A blue raincoat, a navy blue beret, (to which we attached the RAF badge provided) two Van Heusen blue shirts, collars, and black tie. Having equipped ourselves we commenced our service days, albeit inadequately kitted out for what turned out to be one of the coldest and prolonged winters for many years. I recall my first night in camp, beastly cold, uncomfortable bed, it was an effort to stifle doubts! We were housed in the hastily vacated 鈥渕arried Quarters鈥�. Very basic accommodation. Two WAAF were allocated to each room, there were three bedrooms and one living room. The kitchen had a covered bath and hot water gas geyser! And an outside lavatory.

Before too long we were allowed to use the bathing facilities in nearby Sick Quarters as the existing situation was unacceptable. We shared the Airman鈥檚 Mess dining arrangements.

Every day we took the small station train from the Eaglehurst Camp to the offices, workshops, and aircraft hangars situated on the Calshot Spit-head. As my roommates and I had enlisted as Equipment assistants we worked in the Main Equipment building. We were taught by two middle aged Reservists. Who had been recalled at the outbreak of war. A delightful duo. A Sergeant Robinson and a Corporal (sadly I cannot remember his name) they were kind, and unfailingly patient, and had a great sense of humour. This helped our morale, as the business of trying to keep warm, accommodation so basic and unlike our own comfortable homes so recently left, took toil on our will to cope and survive! Before long we were issued with men鈥檚 RAF greatcoats as a temporary measure. Some weeks later full uniform became available. We then looked less like 'Fred Karno鈥檚 Army' (This is what was known as Dad's Army). We resolved to make the best of our lot and never complain in letters to home.

Those WAAF who desired Christmas leave (1940) with their families were granted a railway warrant and permission to take a few days off. I accepted, it was good to be home for the family festivities. I returned to Calshot carrying a case of 鈥渃omforts鈥� and gifts 鈥� A traveling rug as a supplement to the standard issue blankets. Several delicious eats (so welcome from the cook-house menu). A gramophone and a few records. After the rigours of a long harsh winter came the 鈥減honey war鈥� 鈥� no bombs, just an occasional drone overhead by a German reconnaissance aircraft. My work in the Equipment office progressed to my being in charge of a Section. 鈥� This consisted of keeping records of all equipment on tally-cards. The issue of spares to the Squadron responsible for repair and service the Sunderland flying boats. Occasionally I was sent to the Saunders-Roe factory, East Cowes. Isle of Wight to pick up urgently needed spares. This necessitated a trip on one of the units high speed launches (Air, Sea Rescue Service). And was a highly enjoyable treat!)

May 1940 brought the tragic evacuation of Dunkirk. During this period we saw many assorted craft bringing back the exhausted soldiers. I remember the curious atmosphere as these ships slipped silently past Calshot into Southampton water. It was an ominous calm before the storm soon to follow. On one such day, our Squadron Leader Equipment Officer, detailed two of us to assemble as much clothing as possible from the stores, and load up a station transport vehicle and proceed to an Embarkation Unit in Southampton Docks.

I recall it was a very hot day, perspiring and working flat out, handing out clothing replacements to these exhausted men. Unwashed for days, sleeping rough, and begrimed. The stench was terrible. Most had lost all or nearly all their belongings. The floor was strewn with wet clothes and a few photographs, personal memorabilia in disarray. Some were half naked. A deeply distressing sight. On our return to Calshot my companion, Air Craft Women Foote, said to me 鈥淚 think the real war now begins鈥�. And so it was.

There were two RAF funerals - One was a Battle of Britain pilot and the other was a Radio Operator who was killed on the high speed rescue launch Number 116. It was shot up and the Skipper was injured and the Radio Operator was killed somewhere off of the Isle-of-Wight. Battle of Britain pilots who came down, were were buried with full military honours at Fawley.

The following months were anxious times indeed. Every night brought bombers overhead, we spent hours in the chilly, damp air raid shelters. Mostly the bombers were on route to our towns and cities. Eventually, Southampton was the target of an air raid. A frightful incendiary bomb raid which destroyed so much and caused the inevitable tragic casualties.

My boyfriend (later to become my husband) and I had spent our half-day off in Southampton, a cinema show, and tea at The Bungalow Caf茅 in the High Street. As the siren sounded, the bombers were overhead, sending down flares which lit up the town. We discussed whether we would take cover in a nearby shelter, joining a great number of people, or 鈥渓eg it鈥� to the ferry which would take us to Hythe, we would then hitch a lift (hopefully) back to Calshot - (a fortuitous decision as the nearby shelter got a direct hit). The occasional vehicle hurried past ignoring our pleas for a 鈥榟itch鈥�. It was a lengthy walk over those miles to Calshot we arrived after midnight. We checked into the guard room and explained our plight, my boyfriend was put on a charge for being AWOL (absent without leave) and I was allowed to go to my quarters 鈥� no penalty!

Despite disturbed nights with bombers overhead, and spending hours in the shelter we managed to capture some pleasant hours of respite after our duties ceased. Mostly we formed a party of friends and walked to the pub. The Jolly Sailor in nearby Fawley. A few modest beer shandies and a game of darts and back to camp.

These unlighted homeward journeys were spent keeping up our spirits by singing. Most of my companions had good voices, looking back I would describe these vocal efforts as the forerunners of Barbers Shop 鈥淐hoirs鈥�! We were never bored.

One of my 21st birthday presents was a copy of The Seven Pillars of Wisdom by T E Lawrence known as Lawrence of Arabia. This I read by candlelight during hours spent in the air raid shelter. I had learned from Sargeant Robinson that Lawrence had spent some time at Calshot after he joined as a non-commissioned airman. I was fascinated by the anecdotes related by my two 鈥淩eservists鈥� who served with Lawrence at Calshot. They spoke kindly of him, he was a loner, but not a snob. He also provided small comforts for the communal use of the airmen in their shared quarters, for example; a radio; then known as the wireless. The purchase of which would be far beyond the slender pay of an enlisted non-commissioned airman. Such gifts appeared un-announced and were much appreciated. As history relates Lawrence left the RAF and joined the Tank Corps at Bovington. It appears the RAF was unable to come to terms with the once famous soldier, an intellectual who chose to join the lower ranks of the service. He became an embarrassment.

During the summer and into September of 1940 we duly watched the dog-fights overhead, the vapour trails which streaked the sky, the Victory Rolls by our fighters, after the conflicts ended and the intruders winged it back to France. It was noisy, exhilarating, sometimes frightening. It became an every day occurrence, we would evacuate our offices on hearing the siren, and sprint hot-foot to the welcoming safety of Calshot Castle. (I for one, quietly blessed Henry VIII鈥檚 memory for he was responsible for these sturdy coastal defences against our invading enemies.

So to Christmas 1940 away from home for the first time, it was others to take their turn to take leave. I with my companions were determined to make our own celebrations. There was Church parade in the morning, Calshot had a small pre-fabricated church on the camp. Parade was compulsory after church came lunch in the Airmen鈥檚 Mess. It was customary for the officers to serve at table, no standing in a queue to receive our plate from the kitchen hatch. Each place had a menu, this became autographed, passed from one to the other until all spaces were filled, I kept mine for many years but could remember little or nothing of many signatures.

The RAF Padre joined us for lunch, he sat next to me and during the conversation which ensued asked me if I would like to go our to the light-ship in the Solent? He explained that the Station Commander made a ritual visit on Christmas Day to take a crate of beer, mince pies etc to the crew of three on board. And would be departing together with other officers in his official launch directly after lunch. At first I hesitated, saying how could I explain my uninvited presence being a lowly 鈥渙ther ranks鈥�? The Padre explained that there was no argument as I would be his guest, because he had invited me. I accepted and indeed it was a memorable experience. We boarded the Launch and slipped over the slate gray smooth water. A small naval craft passes us, and saluted the Station Commanders pennant flying from the mast. The honours were duly exchanged soon we reached this small light-ship which had always looked so vulnerable during the dog-fights overhead throughout the previous months.

We climbed the ladder to the deck and greetings were once more exchanged. After the good will gifts. Were presented we were shown over the living quarters, which were all miniscule but spotless and shining. The galley where meals were prepared was particularly fascinating, there was a small cast iron stove, burnished with black-lead polish. The space in which all preparation of food and cooking was carried out comes best described as 鈥渘ot enough room to swing a mouse, much less a cat鈥�.

Then we said our goodbyes, and descended the iron ladder into our craft, and so back over the Solent to our own quarter, that was a unique Christmas Day. It represented a very special memory.

During 1941 came my posting orders to No 10 Fighter Command. Rudloe Manor, Wiltshire. It was with regret that I said goodbye to some very dear friends. These friendships survived by occasional correspondence and a regular Christmas card over a great many years well until our old age by those survivors. How very different was Rudloe Manor. It consisted of administration offices, equipment and an operations room. Several requisitioned properties over a big area and some billeting out on local householders. Here my duties were both equipment and admin, being put in charge of a hostel, this was a rather imposing Georgian house. It also had a very strange atmosphere, much disliked by the cooks who had to descend some stairs into the basement kitchen. I was frequently asked to accompany them as they said it was haunted. No spectre manifested itself to my knowledge1 but it was indeed an odd house. In due course my name was put forward to Air Ministry for a commission. I attended Adastral House, Kingsway for interview and a medical. During the summer of 1941 I set off for Loughbrough College, the WAAF Officers School. The Prime Minister鈥檚 daughter Sarah Churchill was also attending this college on another course.

After a few weeks of lectures and much parade ground practice, I found myself posted to No 7 MU (Maintenance Unit) Quedgley. In the Stock Control office. it was nearer home, I was able to take a train on time-off and visit my family. They had also endured disturbed nights and bombs. I noted that they looked strained, and much older, which concerned me. At this time my boyfriend became my fianc茅, and he also sailed to Canada and flying training, where he earned his wings. He was selected to become a flying instructor. Our engagement became a longer one than anticipated, our affections never wavered, and we kept up a regular correspondence.

I was posted to 61 MU Handforth, Cheshire, fortunately this was another enjoyable posting. Then I was sent to No 40 Group Headquarters, Ramridge House, near Andover. This was a handsome Georgian mansion in a spacious parkland. Here I remained until demobilisation.

By the autumn of 1944 my fianc茅 returned, and we were married as planned. I was indeed fortunate in having a real two-tier wedding cake. The fruit had been sent in several consignments from Canada.

Within three months my husband was posted to South East Asia. He collected his Mosquito fighter-bomber Mark VI from Filton, near Bristol. Flying over St Mary鈥檚 Church in Yate, where we were married. On VE Day, the Station Commander of 40 group, Sir William Havers, requested all personnel to appear on parade and he would address us to celebrate Victory in Europe. I deceided not to attend as my husband ws in a fighting unit in the Far East, I explained that my war was not yet over. This was respected.

Whilst on VJ day we had a great party and a bonfire in the grounds, burning the blackout blinds and curtains.

Our story ended happily, I was demobilized in early March 1946. My husband returned safely from 82 Squadron three weeks later. We found ourselves "civilians" again .... but that is yet another story, which continued for fifty two happy years.

PS: When we found ourselves 鈥榗ivilians鈥� once again after the long years. My husband like many others was demobbed. Suddenly we had no job and nowhere to live. By law pre-war employers were expected to take back their male employees who had gone to fight in the war, but they did not always have the facilities, nor vacancies, and my husband's employer did not have the money to pay him a decent wage. Times were very hard not just for us but for lots of other returning personnel.

During 1954 I received a letter from the Air Ministry that I had been "gazetted" in the London Times as officially retired - a joke as I was pregnant at the time.....

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