大象传媒

During the war, I worked on making the wings for the Lancaster bombers, which were assembled at Castle Bromwich. The factory was just across the road from the aerodrome. As each of them was completed, they were towed across to be tested by one of the test pilots. There was no hanging about. On being passed as air-worthy, they were dispersed to the various RAF stations. Do you know that those huge bombers were flown by girls to their destinations. Many of these WAAFs were of the aristocracy but became just one of us for the duration. As I said earlier, all in it together to live or die.
I had a lasting love affair with those Lancasters- they were beautiful. I could always recognise the sound of them coming home as opposed to the sound of the germans. Theirs throbbed where ours droned.

It was about this time that the powers that be decided that I must leave the work on the Lancasters to go to a small factory in Birmingham city centre to be employed wire-pulling whatever that is. I couldn't believe it- I was devastated. I told my husband about it and his first reaction was 'You are not going to that place' When he came home on leave, he took me down to the office from which my directive had come and we saw a young fellow behind the counter. Making himself known my husband told him I would not be going to that place, only to be told that I had got to go- adding 'Dont you know there's a war on'. Resplendant in his RAF uniform, he leaned over the counter, he grabbed the chap by his lapels and he hauled him over the counter saying, 'Get one of these on sonny' pointing to his own uniform- 'my wife can do your job' Never have I seen him so angry. Needless to say I heard no more and stayed with my Lancasters.
When we were married in Yardley Wood Parish Church in 1942 my husband was never sure if his leave would come through as planned, so no taxi could be booked in advance. He and my in-laws had to come to the church by bus. Our wedding cake was covered in chocolate because of the non-existence of icing sugar.
I registered for my meagre food rations at the nearby corner shop. I cannot remember whether the ration was 20z of butter and 10z of cheese, or vice versa, but I do know that I used to get het up when I collected them. In those days, scales were just a balancing act. You looked for the turn of the scale, at the slightest sign of movement your bits were whipped off the scales and wrapped in grease-proof paper. When it was the turn of the cheese to be weighed, I watched in anguish as sliver after sliver was pared thinly off my morsel of cheese with a knife as sharp as the nose of the woman wielding it. When the scale turned and the time came to whip it off forwrapping she calmly gathered all the bits into her hand and ate them. To this day I still love my cheese, but that resentment remains.
With the war over and having been demobbed in 1946, my husband Stan was given his war medals and a gratuity of sixty pounds for having given five years of his life in defence of his country, which we both loved so dearly. EAch Armistice Day he goes on parade wearing his RAF cap and medals. It coincides with the date of his birth - 11.11.20. We have never accepted the nearest Sunday replacement. Now in his 85th year he is physically and mentally disabled. Now in my 83rd year I am his sole carer, still looking after him. I drive us about in ourtwelve year old car with his wheelchair in the back. I am the driving force of the chair, but I just wish that I could regain the energy and stamina of those unforgettable war years of 65 years ago, when ladies could walk alone at any time and not be attacked.

This story has been submitted to the Peoples War site by Rupert Creed on behalf of Margaret Jay and has been added with her permission. The author is fully aware of the site's terms and conditions.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.