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This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Elizabeth Perez of Stockport Libraries on behalf of Mary Blood and has been added to the site with her permission. She fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.

Mary’s story, together with the war story of her husband, Harry Blood, was transcribed onto a floppy disc by Fred Kennington, thereby saving Stockport Library Service staff an immense amount of work!

Next week was very quiet. I had no urge to go out. Friday and F/O Wardle came down and said, ‘You’re going to England for three days duty and Curly, one of the R.A.F. men, is going with you’. Our unit had to issue railway warrants and ration cards and we were having difficulty in getting them. The R.T.Os. (Railway Transport Offices) were complaining that they were having to issue them, when bods were going on leave, instead of the job being done by the men’s own units.

Having reported to the Air Traffic Office, Curly and I took the coach to Evere, and off to Croydon Airport by 10 am. There was a coach on to Victoria and Underground to Kings Cross. We had travelled in luxury so far. The 1pm train to Grantham was packed and I was lucky to get a seat in the guard’s van. I went off to Lincoln; Curly went home to Scunthorpe. This was us on three days ‘duty’.

When I walked in, Mum was totally surprised. ‘You’re early’, she said. ‘You weren’t supposed to be coming home on leave until 13th August.’ The surprise was not an unpleasant one. Dad was in bed. He saw my coat first and couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw me. Since VE Day we had wanted to see home again. The rest of Saturday and all day Sunday I was actually there – unplanned and unexpected. It was just so pleasant. Dad belonged to a local club. Someone at the club had taken a large bunch of flowers from their garden for a raffle prize. When Dad told them what had happened to me they said he must take the flowers to me.

I left early for Grantham and the London train, as did Curly, and we duly reported to the Endsleigh Hotel for the duty we were supposed to be performing. We couldn’t get a flight back to Brussels that day, so I went to the officer to explain that I had some official papers. Was there somewhere I could leave them? ‘Yes, bring them in!’ Curly heaved them in and the officer’s jaw dropped. ‘What have you got there?’ ‘50,000 ration cards and railway warrants’. Out came my letter of authority to show I had the right to have them. They were too big for the safe, and I don’t remember where they were put.

Thus, another night off! We got fixed up with beds and a meal and went to the London Pavilion to see ‘The Way to the Stars’. Next morning was still free, giving us time to walk through Regent’s Park and the Zoo. A late afternoon take-off from Croydon and an hour’s time difference gave me a late arrival back in the billet. Very tired, but very contented as it was all so unexpected. It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good so it was with a dearth of ration cards! Mind, F/O Wardle was not totally chuffed as we were a day late returning.

Harry and I were both due for leave, but getting it at the same time proved difficult. Letters between us took five days each way. We finally got it fixed for 11th August, when the Army threw a proverbial spanner in the works named ‘Python’. Python was leave entitlement for those, who had been abroad more than 4½ years. It was now to apply after four years and Harry had an entitlement. He could not have the ten days already arranged and he would have to wait until he was told to go. I could have my leave any time within reason, but there was this constant problem of communication between us. It came to 6th August with me becoming quite worried. I was talking to a Belgian girl telephone operator and bemoaning my troubles. ‘Have your lunch and I’ll try to get through on the phone.’ Yes, she got through, but nobody answered. A teatime call and I got through. All I could get from Harry was ‘Yes’ or ‘No’. That wasn’t much help. An evening call and Harry answered. He had been expecting a call from me and advised me to delay my leave until 19th August. The reason for the ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ was clear – the officer and Sergeant Major were having a conversation at his elbow! The Belgian operator contact had been useful. We took advantage of it and had several long talks over the next few days. Those talks were charged to Churchill!

15th August 1945 was VJ Day. It was the day everyone was waiting for as the war was really over – over not just for those of us in Europe. However, there was not the same degree of emotion as there had been for VE Day. We could have two days off or add two days to our leave. The personnel were to have a party. The Sergeant asked me to get flowers to decorate the sitting room. The little job was achieved with difficulty as the Belgian lady in the shop spoke only Flemish. The evening went well, a little too well, as I felt rather fragile the next day!

Harry rang me to say he was leaving for England that day and would be at Southend Transit Camp on Sunday. I was to be at Lincoln on Tuesday. Three cheers! The other news was that the unit was moving from Brussels to Bückeburg. I was to pack my kit which would go on to Bückeburg with the rest and I would travel there direct from home leave. Thankfully I had got rid of some of my kit whilst at Brussels. In the evening, I went down to Wesley House to say my farewells. The little gathering we had had there was slowly dwindling, as so many units moved up to Germany. Now it was my turn. Wesley House had given me so many good times and I had made many good friends. It was a fact of life that you made friends in the Forces – closer than you ever did in civilian life.

19th August saw me due to leave Brussels on a morning flight. Being due was one thing, getting on the flight was another. Forces had a priority scheme with three categories, 1,2, and 3. 1. was for ex-POWs and compassionate leave; 2. I don’t know; 3. was for leave or duty trips. My place went to a POW who had just arrived, so I didn’t go and someone else had to give up their place for me on a later flight. It was annoying but fair. The POW had far better reason to be on that flight than I had. So it was back to Wesley House. ‘I thought you were supposed to be in England!’ Some of us from Wesley went to the Monty Club, where I said my last farewell to Bill Taylor. He had been a good friend to me in Brussels.

By the time the flight had landed, I had got through customs, got the bus and then Underground, it was 6.45pm when I arrived at King’s Cross. After all that, there was no train to Lincoln until 11pm and that did not arrive until 5.30 am next day. Tempting fate, I got on the Aberdonian at 7pm, first stop Grantham. If all else failed, I had an aunt there. With luck and the train on time, I might just catch the last bus from Grantham to Lincoln at 9.30pm. After much sweat, and ‘doubling’ from the station to the Bus Station, I arrived there to be faced with an oversize queue. Normally that service went round all the villages but, luck again, there was a duplicate bus direct to Lincoln. I was there by 10.15pm. Only my sister, Doll, was at home, where was everybody? There were two railway stations in Lincoln; Dad had gone to one; Mum, Roy, and Jean had gone to the other. I had to go down and collect them all! It had been a long day.

It was now time to face introductions. Harry would meet my family at Lincoln; I would meet Harry’s at Stockport. Harry arrived at Lincoln first. We had not seen each other for seven weeks which seemed an age. It was a brief visit, but Harry got on very well with the family – ice was broken there! Next day Harry and I went off early morning to Stockport. When we arrived at his parents’ house, his mother was still running around in her mobcap. Again, ice was broken!

After four days at Stockport, I went back to Lincoln with Harry. He had arranged to meet his folk at Smeeth Road Station, Norfolk, after I had gone back. We did all the things you did on leave – dances, shows, and, of course visiting friends and relations at Hykeham and Grantham. It was a little hindered as Harry developed a rash (it arose from his time in Egypt and would be a nuisance later) and needed daily injections. Nevertheless we still had a wonderful leave that passed all too rapidly.

I was due to return from leave on 2nd September. I booked into the Endsleigh Hotel in London to be told there were no flights until the 7th. When I told Harry, he went round the corner and booked himself in at the YMCA. We had another four days to enjoy ourselves in London. This time we couldn’t charge it to Churchill! A slight black mark, too, as Harry’s Mum was less than overjoyed when he didn’t arrive at Smeeth Road until late.

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