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This story was submitted to the People’s War website by Marie on behalf of Doreen and has been added to the site with her permission. Doreen fully understand the site’s terms and conditions.

In February 1943 I went on a remustering board — they felt balloons were a defensive measure and were going on the offensive so I could choose another trade — wireless operator, flight mechanic or safety packer. I fancied being a Flight Mechanic but the powers that be decided I had to do a test to be a Wireless Operator, so I did. In April my posting came through and I was sent to Gosport.

When I arrived with 2 other WAAFs they didn’t have a billet for us so we ended up sleeping in the detention room for 2 nights before they found us beds. Gosport was a rest camp for us though — my hands started to soften up again and I was taught about electricity and magnetism and managed to get up to 8 words per minute in Morse code. Of course we had more air raids as Gosport was nearer to France but it didn’t worry us unduly, and as Gosport had an aerodrome I was able to get plenty of practice at spotting different types of planes which I’d always liked doing. It didn’t last though — in July I was posted up to Blackpool which took nearly 12 hours to get to. When we finally arrived we were all x-rayed — nobody told us what for and as we didn’t hear anything else about it we assumed we were all ok. It seemed strange to think that this time last year I’d been pestering Mum and Dad to let me join up. Such a lot seemed to have happened since then. They were so far away that even when I got 48 hours leave it wasn’t worth trying to visit. Blackpool was a place with lots to do though - and lots to part you from your money so it was good that we were kept busy with exams and studying. I came 2nd out of the whole unit and then got sent down to Compton Bassett to finish my course. My first impressions were that it was a dump — but it was nearer home so I didn’t care. Once I’d passed out as an A.C.W. though - and only 2 of my intake did - I was on the move again to Cranwell to do my technical instructors course. By now I was wearing my “sparks” badge so had something to show for all the hard work.

When I got to Cranwell though, once again there wasn’t a bed for us and I began to think I was jinxed! We ended up in married quarters but as the course started every three weeks and we’d just missed the start of one we were told to make ourselves scarce. Once we started on the course though I soon became very interested and got into the swing of preparing and giving lectures. I was doing quite well, but then went blank during one where I was being assessed. Afterwards I was convinced I wouldn’t pass, but I did so was very lucky. I was told I was going to teach Morse code but I hated being an instructor so I got myself posted again. While I was waiting for my posting to come through I reported to no 4 Wing School Office for a month — being the only WAAF on a RAF wing took some beating — when I left I had eight of the Corporal Instructors queuing up to give me a kiss and it seemed a shame to go! When my posting came through though it was to Yatesbury which was just up the road. I settled in at The BFS (Bristol Flying School) got on with all the other girls and enjoyed training the crew. The food at the camp could be diabolical though — some days I would walk up the stairs to the cookhouse, smell the food and turn on my heel and go to the NAAFI instead! We would have a dance once a month and I’d always have a smashing time. Once it was a fancy dress ball and I managed to get some blue woollen material that my mum turned into a lovely full length dressing gown. I decorated it with a moon and stars and some musical notes and wore a sash over one shoulder saying “how blue is the night” which was a current song sung by Dick Haymes. I had a marvellous evening. I had my 21st birthday at the BFS as well — I visited home first and my mum managed to make a lovely big cake that she had iced and decorated with a plane, and some other nice eats for me to take back to share with everyone so we could all have a good old feast.

As a child I had always been a bad traveller, but all the to-ing and fro-ing since I’d joined up had helped me get over it. But flying — and we had to do so many flights — put me back to square one and one day after a particularly bad flight where we’d hit air pockets and dropped like a stone, I said I didn’t want to go up again. One of my last exercises was along the South Coast in a Dominie when we were invading France. I shall never forget seeing all the aircraft — fighters and bombers — flying past us with the black and white stripes on the wings and fuselage so that we knew friend from foe. But Yatesbury was now becoming a bind and for something for us to do, they sent me on a refresher course for a month. I ended up getting my props and becoming L.A.C.W Davis. Mum and Dad were very proud and all the revision and studying was worth it for the joy it gave them. But after this, and feeling like we were skiving off I got moved to the cookhouse. I was only there for ten days but during that time I became an expert in shelling peas and beans! Then news came that 25 wireless operators were being sent to RAF Madley, near Hereford. The journey was quite pleasant but the reception we got from the WAAF C.O wasn’t. And the huts were either nissen or brick and very small and scruffy. I was quite lucky in that I was near the bath hut, but we were about a mile away from the wings and I had a bicycle issued to me which I was glad of. At least until the day when I was cycling along one of the little country lanes and it was all icy and I parted company with the bike. Unfortunately it was in front of all the V/T W/Ops Aircrew who were being marched to their sections so there were roars of laughter! I could see the funny side myself though.

Hereford was lovely and I would visit the cathedral and the museum, and then my friend and I would go for something to eat. A posh café if we had funds or alternatively a transport café where we could get huge meals with lovely big fat chips for very little money. Work-wise though there wasn’t any real incentive anymore as V.E. Day had came and went while I was still at Yatesbury, so everyone was going through the motions and waiting for their demob papers to come through. But wouldn’t you know it — the Air Ministry in their wisdom froze w/Op releases so we had to grin and bear it. I occupied myself with a dressmaking course and cookery classes but finally after 4 years as a WAAF June 6th 1946 saw me on my way home.

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