大象传媒

This story was submitted to the 大象传媒 People鈥檚 War site by Wymondham Learning Centre on behalf of Mrs Pleasance and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

Of all my working colleagues I shall never forget, nor indeed wish to forget, those with whom I shared the joys and tribulations during the last eighteen months of the War.
Our assembly shop was on the top floor of a large factory making aeroplane parts. A panoramic view of the neighbourhood, with several gaps due to the bombing, provided a constant reminder of the importance of our labours.
There were a dozen male 鈥極perators鈥� and their female 鈥楳ates鈥�. The men handled the heavy lifting, riveting, etc. and the women the lighter duties such as drilling, steadying the components for assembly and general fetching and carrying.
There was little opportunity to sit at our work benches but, between clocking off one job and waiting for the next to be set up, we women would grab a stool and head for the 鈥楲adies鈥� for a read or a gossip with who ever else was idle. It was then I became aware of the mixture of personalities we were, thrown together through the fortunes of war.
大象传媒ing day began sharp at eight a.m. (more than three minutes late meant fifteen minutes deduction in pay) and finished at six p.m. but, more often than not, a couple of hours overtime was expected when we were very busy. Each morning and afternoon we were treated to a broadcast over the Tannoy of 鈥楳usic while you work鈥� when, for half an hour we heard, and accompanied, the latest songs. Of course our singing was more shouting because of the general hubbub and naturally a lot of the words bore no resemblance to that of the composers! A weekly sweepstake on the frequency a song was featured meant that the lucky drawer of that song won the kitty. We made our own fun to help the days along.
One day I emerged from the ladies and remarked to Pat, the senior mate,
鈥淢adge is in there fast asleep again 鈥� she must be living it up.鈥� Pat smiled wryly,
鈥淭hat鈥檚 not late nights, we reckon she鈥檚 鈥楿p the spout鈥�.鈥�
I guess I was suitably shocked, especially as I knew the Junoesque Madge was upper crust, who always wore a smart tweed hacking jacket over her working clothes.
Pat came from a local family of florists and was courting our foreman, Jim; they married after the war. Mostly my contemporaries had previously worked in retail businesses. Peggy, who had a beautiful contralto voice, had been a jewellery assistant and Eileen, a buyer in the fashion department of a West End store. Lily, a chirpy cockney, with an endless fund of lewd jokes, came as I did, from a printing background. Our shop had no seamstresses, those drafted into the factory were placed in the fabric shop next to ours where the ladies sat all day stitching coarse linen-like material to fit tightly on to aircraft wings 鈥� a job that appeared extremely monotonous to me who
had never enjoyed a good relationship with a sewing needle.
Everyone liked our Winnie, a dark-haired lady of around twenty-eight. Married just prior to the start of the war she never laughed or screamed at the ribald jokes as did the rest of us, but she was no prude. Her frequent smile started in her eyes and lit up her face. Perhaps, because of subsequent events I recall Winnie more clearly than any of the other mates.
I soon settled in and was accepted as a true 鈥楳ate鈥�. I quickly learned about countersunk and
mush-head rivets, BA screws and bolts and that a 鈥榖astard鈥� was a type of file and not the works manager. Also, with the rest, earned as much as I could in overtime and bonuses. About once a month we would all adjourn on a Friday evening to the Victoria Cross pub nearby to ostensibly support the firm鈥檚 darts team. Really it was a good excuse to let our hair down, unwind and drink as much beer and spirits as the landlord could supply.
Most of the operators were older men who had seen service in World War One or had been exempt from the armed forces through medical reasons. Bette Davis sang in one of her wartime films 鈥楾hey鈥檙e either too young or too old鈥�. So we were paternally guided by the more mature men and we unmercifully teased the younger ones.
By early 1945 the pressure of work in the factory was easing, the war news was full of hope and we had to believe that the end was at last in sight. It was on one of these mornings that Jim called out,
鈥淗as anyone seen or heard what鈥檚 happened to Winnie?鈥� No one had.
鈥淚t鈥檚 not like her to just not turn up,鈥� said her operator, Doug. 鈥淧erhaps she鈥檚 not well, though she was fine yesterday.鈥�
At this point Winnie鈥檚 beaming face appeared at the top of the stairs, she looked a picture of happiness and we all downed tools to learn the cause. We knew her husband was serving overseas in the army and shared her joy when she blurted out,
鈥淩on came home about two o鈥檆lock this morning. He had to escort some prisoners of war from Germany and has been allowed forty-eight hours home leave.鈥� We couldn鈥檛 have been more pleased for her. They had a nice little home not far from our works and obviously were longing for the time when they could be together for good.
鈥淭ake as much time as you like鈥�, said Jim 鈥淲e鈥檒l see you when Ron鈥檚 gone back. Enjoy his leave.鈥� We never saw Winnie again.
That night we were treated to the usual air-raids and, beside bombs, incendiaries and rockets, there had been a number of mines dropped in our area. These dreadful weapons could demolish up to four houses in one blast. We learned that Winnie and Ron, on a visit to an aunt living nearby, took shelter in the Anderson dugout in the garden. A mine dropped directly on to the shelter killing all five occupants and, we were told, Winnie was identified only by the gold bangle she always wore.
The sudden loss of colleagues and friends was all part and parcel of everyday life. We had no counselling but were, of course, all devastated at the loss of such a popular workmate. We consoled one another by telling ourselves that at least they were together.

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