大象传媒

Leaving The Nest - 1944 -1947

Instructions arrived, along with a travel warrant, to report to Leeds recruiting centre from where, along with others, I boarded a train for Cheshire for basic training. First we had to undergo tests both physical and mental which presented no problem for me until the eyesight test. This found that I was colour blind and therefore unsuitable for training as a wireless officer, the trade I had opted for. I could therefore, either call the whole thing off and go home or remuster in another trade. There wasn't much choice, I didn't fancy being a cook or a parachute packer and certainly not an admin clerk, I'd just done eighteen months of that which was more than enough for me. However, the trade of flight mechanic was open, presented an exciting challenge and promised a chance of working on aircraft. That settled, the basic training started after I'd been kitted out with a uniform and all the accoutrements. I have to say I quite enjoyed the next few weeks, mixing with people of my own age and, although we were not allowed off camp, with so much to learn the time passed pleasantly enough in spite of 24 hrs of misery following our 'jabs' which made us all ill.

While I was here I celebrated my 18th birthday and I must have been allowed out of camp, I can't remember how, because my Mother, sister and neice arrived on the train and I was able to meet them in the nearby town for a little while. I suppose my Mother wanted to see for herself that her 'little girl' was alright. [Talk about 'Dear Octopus']. She must have found it very hard to let go and it wasn't until I was much older and found out about her early life that I appreciated her feelings. Back at camp the basic training continued. Square bashing, rules, regulations, RAF slang and everything seemed to have a number - one's identity card was referred to as 'your 1250'. No computers or discs in those days, we sorted it all out in our heads and it stayed there - I dare say that anyone who served then will still remember their service number even after 60 years. The end of the course meant a passing out parade when we had to present ourselves in immaculate condition for the march past some gold braided officer. Uniforms were pressed, bottons polished, hair worn well off the collar, shoes shining as never before - many a teaspoon had been heated up the night before to help get a good shine on the leather. After the parade it was into the MESS for dinner then back to the huts to collect our gear and pile into lorries to the railway station. We'd been given 7 days leave and no idea where we'd be posted to after that, we were to await instructions. Mine came towards the end of the week along with a travel warrant. I was to report to RAF Halton to start my training as a flight mechanic by 2300 hrs the following Sunday. After a flurry of enquiries at the railway station my route was mapped out, my duffle bag packed and I was on my way to 20 weeks of learning to be a mechanic. Looking back I find it laughable really - after so short a training how much could we possibly know? Small wonder the Apprentice Trained Corporals and Sergeants had misgivings about us.
Now instead of sleeping in Nissen huts we were quartered in Barrack Blocks - oh the joy of not having to go outside to the ablution block and of having a bath in a warmish though sparsley equipped bathroom. The next day we were marched to work at some Godforesaken early hour and met our first instructor. We were given our toolbox and told to guard the contents closely, any losses would be paid for by us. And so I learned how to handle a screwdriver, various hammers, pliers, files, rivets etc.. This took all of a week - thank you Sergeant Cant. There followed weekly or two weekly courses covering pneumatics, hydraulics, airflows, lightening holes, splicing cables, aerodrome procedure with one Sgt. Fisher, a real one for discipline, and taking a Tiger Moth to pieces and putting it back together again, oh and 'fabric bashing' which I have to say came in handy later on when I was working on Mosquitos. At the end of each course we were tested and any failures were held back a week or two.

It was now June 1945, hot and very dry, no rain fell for what seemed like weeks. Baths were rationed and we were told to make sure taps didn't drip otherwise the camp would have to close down as we were very short of water. Rumours of leave started to circulate and strangley taps started to drip. Except for a skeleton staff the whole camp was given ten days leave. Who organised the exodus I don't know but it was very well done. Hundreds of personnel were on parade immediately after breakfast and marched like a long snake down to the railway station which was very small. The trains, put on specially for us, started to arrive and as each one arrived its destination was called out - north, south, east and west and we made our way on board. The train north was one of the last to arrive and I found myself on York station at midnight, tired, hungry and feeling somewhat lost. I must have looked very forlorn - an RAF officer with more gold braid than I had ever seen in my young life called me over, giving me the fright of my life and asked where I was headed. When I told him and said that my train wasn't due for another hour he suggested I wait with him. I did so gladly. I arrived home at 6.30am the family still asleep. Mother eventually answer my knocking and after a quick kiss Dad came down. By now the kettle was on- I can still remember that cup of tea - however I had run out of cigarettes hours before. I asked my Mother for one, big mistake. My Father had been bald for ever so there was nothing to stop his eyebrows rising over his brow and beyond, then they came crashing down "It hasn't taken you long to pick up a bad habit has it?", "Oh be quiet love and drink your tea the poor girl's tired out", replied my Mother. And I was, it had taken me 23hrs to get from Buckinghamshire to the West Riding. After 10 days of meeting up with old friends, enjoying talking with my family and sampling once more Mother's cooking I made the return trip which seemed to take no time at all. Back at camp the water crisis was over and it was back to work to finish the training. I think it was at this time that we started to hear the drone of aircraft engines every night and a few hours after they'd faded we'd hear them again going in the opposite direction. The bombing of Germany had begun big time though we didn't know it then.

The course ended and the final exam loomed. I prayed that I'd pass even though everything was jumbled up in my head. Strangely when I stood before the examiners my head cleared and the two things I had most dreaded, hydraulics and pneumatics, suddenly became very easy to explain. I passed - what a relief.

During my stay at Buckinghamshire I had received a letter from an old school friend asking me to write to a mutual friend who was serving in the Fleet Air Arm in the Far East and who was desperate for letters from home. Of course I wrote to him and so started a chain of events which led to 55 years of marriage ending only with his death in 2003. We lost touch for some time in 1945 and it wasn't until he rang my parents that I learned he had crashed his plane and had been on a hospital ship before being sent back to England. We met up again when I was on a 48 hour pass home, his face was gaunt and I had to hold his hand steady so he could light a cigarette - he hadn't yet celebrated his 21st birthday. My Mother was appalled at his condition and made a point of 'feeding him up' whenever he was under her roof, rationing or no rationing. If he said he wasn't hungry she ignored it, so between her and his own Mother he started to put on weight but it took much longer to get rid of the shakes.

At the end of my training I had been given leave and waited at home for my next posting. I was to report to RAF Pershore - we'd never heard of it. My Mother, for reasons known only to her, convinced herself that it was in India and I wasn't going. After the rest of us had stopped laughing at this display of a tigress defending her cub my Father phoned a friend and was told that Pershore was in Worcestershire. So that was alright, rest easy Mr Churchill she'd save the phone call for the next crisis.

So I was back on another train heading south and again getting off at another small railway station - this one crowded with RAF personnel. Kit bag in hand I followed the crowd as it made for the road. Time to ask a few questions such as how far did I have to carry the darned thing and what exactly was at the end of the road. 'Transport Command 'Waafery' to the left and main camp to the right' I was told by an airman striding out at my side. Why I wonder were all RAF stations so far from civilized transport and mostly on top of a hill?

I reported to the WAAF Guardroom, was booked in by an obviously bored WAAF Sergeant, given a hut number to find and told to report back there at 0800 hrs the next day. I don't like Nissen huts and I liked even less having to sleep in a top bunk, but you can get used to anything and after a few weeks it was like home - well almost. My hut mates were a good crowd, very mixed, but fun to be with. We were each given a bike and escorted to the airfield and hangers to be introduced to Bruno, a Warrant Officer whose real name I never knew but who, it was obvious to me, had been born in the RAF many moons ago. I always feared him but I did come to quite like him. We were split into gangs each under a Corporal and once more given a tool box with dire warnings about losing our tools. And so to work complete with blue overalls and boots exactly like the men. My first aircraft, a Halifax bomber, was unbelievably huge to me standing there in the hanger. Again I realized how little I knew and what a lot I had to learn. So until the war in Europe ended we WAAF's worked alongside the men on a variety of aircraft as they came in to be serviced. Beauforts, Beaufighters, Dakotas and many more including my absolute favourite the Mosquito. I still look on it as one of the very best aircraft ever. Then, of course, there was what was known as the C. O.'s Proctor, his little runabout, used by some pilots for visiting nearby airfields. Myself and another girl were put in charge of its daily inspections - we had a super time keeping it serviceable and smart. It was in this aircraft that I first flew - highly irregular of course but I talked the pilot into taking me with him on a visit to a nearby airfield. I must have been mad but if he trusted my work why shouldn't I? I loved it and had quite a few trips after that. I thought it wiser not to let my parents into my secret, I didn't want the CO getting irrate phone calls, a not impossible scenario with a Mother like mine.

By now D Day had come and gone and we were fighting our way to Berlin. One of my family's Highland Light Infantry friends had been wounded when we landed in France and was in a military hospital in Oxford. My Mother phoned to ask me if I would go and visit him. So on my next 36 hour pass off I went. I feel quite ashamed of myself over this incident. The idea of my visit had been to cheer him up since his family was so far away in Scotland. I took one look at him, burst in to tears and threw myself into his arms sobbing "What have they done to your hair". It ended with him comforting me and taking me out for a cup of tea and a bun. Still, I think he was glad to see me and swap news of our families especially of his new baby.

It appeared to be a long, hard slog for the Allies, the British and American Forces trying in the west to get to Berlin before the Russians from the east. Eventually the German forces realized that they were beaten and the Peace Treaty was signed - the war in Europe was over. Of course we all celebrated that event but for the life of me I can't really remember how, and in any case the war went on in the far east until July when the Americans oversaw the signing of the surrender of Japan. These two events enabled those of us at home to realize the full horror of what our fighting forced overseas had gone through. My little stint in the WAAF was so, so insignificant and yet I was proud to have done it. So that was it - the end of WWII and the RAF let it be known, to my mind, with unseemly haste, that they no longer needed WAAF Flight Mechanics and we were to remuster. I opted for P.T.I. and whilst waiting for my posting was sent on a short course where I gained my P.T.I. badge and certificate as a P.T. Leader. Returning to camp until my full course came through.When it did I had to do a three week admin course somewhere in Gloucestershire before going on the full course for Cpl. P.T.I. I never did that course - when I finally arrived I was told the whole school had been posted overseas. Oh well, more leave until I my fate was decided and seven days later I was working in an RAF hospital in the Wirral. Worse was to come, soon I was posted to a camp on Carnock Chase to work in the gym. Now I really don't want to offend the people of Staffordshire but anyone who spent the winter of 1947 at this camp gained a fair idea of what Captain Scott must have felt like at the Pole. We couldn't get out and no-one could get in because of the snow. We ran short of coke so no fires until 6pm and then only until lights out; we were short of food and the milk from the farmer nearby froze solid in the churn so was useless. However, most of us were young and healthy and I'm sure it all looks worse with hindsight than it really was. We survived, grumbled a lot and many of those who had been called up in the early forties couldn't wait to be demobbed. The old camaraderie and the common enemy had gone, "I'm alright Jack" became a much used phrase. My fiancee had left the Navy and was waiting at home anxious for me to be released. My demob number came up in the autumn and I took the train North in uniform for the last time. From the demob centre I joined the family on the east coast for a weeks holiday then it was home to civilian life again. Audrey's war was over - but at least she'd found her wings!

I'm glad I joined up. I learned so much about life, about people but most of all about myself and perhaps I helped just a tiny little bit.

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