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In 1940, my husband, Claude, was stationed in Porthcawl, South Wales and we were living there in lodgings, with my baby daughter Nina. When I fell pregnant with our second child, Gillian, as much as I hated the thought of leaving Claude, I decided that I wanted to move back to my parents’ home in Field Terrace, Ramsey, Cambridgeshire. It was nice to be back at home, surrounded by my family, but I was glad when Claude moved back and was stationed nearby, at RAF Upwood, where he was working with the 63rd Squadron.
I was twenty-three years old when Gillian was born on the 17th May 1941, but within six weeks, Claude was posted as a rigger, to South Africa. On the voyage to South Africa, his ship was torpedoed but thankfully, he arrived safely. Working in aircraft maintenance, he stayed in South Africa for three and a half years and while there, was promoted to Sergeant.
Letters had to be censored but we wrote to each other every week by airmail. I remember how delighted my two girls, Nina and Gillian were, when their Daddy sent them a cuddly teddy bear and dog all the way from South Africa. I always made sure we talked about their Daddy and showed them photographs. Nina was just over two years old and Gillian only six weeks old when he left and they wouldn’t see him for another three and half years.
It came as no surprise when Claude was called away. It seemed inevitable that it would happen at some time and we — I, had tried to prepare myself as best I could. The war was a time of people pulling together and living with my mother and father made bringing up two small children easier. During the war, we tried to make the best of it and lead a normal life. There was always somebody else in the same or a similar situation. It was good to be able to talk to other people that understood, we provided a network of support for each other and we shared news and information about things that were happening. As it was a long time before television and up-to-the-minute news coverage, we had to rely on the radio, which we listened to avidly each and every day.
Because our house was situated close to RAF Upwood, we were used to noisy, rumbling Lancaster bombers, constantly flying low over the house. We used to count them on their way out on a mission then count them on their return, to see if any were missing.
When Claude finally returned home, after all those years away, he was stationed at RAF Upwood, then RAF Wyton, until he was demobbed in 1945.

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