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I was 17 and working with the Observer Corps when I saw an RAF promotional film which showed WAAF’s waiting on airmen. It all looked very glamorous and I decided to join up, advancing my age by 6 months at the recruiting office. Reality when I got to my first post, a Fleet Air-arm base near Weston-Super-Mare was somewhat different to the film!

The WAAF quarters were surrounded by barbed wire, to keep us in or the sailors out, I was never sure. So much for all those lovely air-crews. Waitressing turned out to be peeling spuds, hundreds of sprouts, washing-up and serving slabs of dried egg. We got out when they could but there were strict ‘booking-in’ times.

One Christmas Mum sent me a lovely blue satin quilted dressing gown. It came in handy after a night out in Weston, when we arrived back late. We crawled in through (our) hole in the hedge, but just as we reached our beds, we heard our WAAF Corporal arriving at our hut to check everyone was in. No time to undress, so I slipped my dressing gown over my uniform, and dived in to bed. Lucky for us, she just stood in the doorway and yelled our names!

I did end up waitressing in an officer’s mess where I met my future husband. Mum worked hard to give me a white wedding. She produced clothing coupons from somewhere for the bridesmaids, and I sold my record player, my collection of jazz records and my bike to buy enough lace to make my dress. Lace was not rationed, you see.

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