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My husband, Claude, was serving in the air force, working on aircraft maintenance, in particular, Lancaster bombers. As his wife, I followed him around the country as he was moved from one aerodrome to another. For a couple of years, before and at the beginning of the war, I carried my life around in a large, wooden trunk as we journeyed around the country by train.
I found myself living in lodgings around the country, looking after my young baby. In some of the houses, I found it difficult to settle if the landlady and landlord weren’t very friendly. It was hard enough living in somebody else’s home but loneliness and uncertainty made matters worse. On one occasion, I was so unhappy I had to leave and return to my parents’ home back in Cambridgeshire.
In 1940, Claude was posted to Porthcawl in South Wales and I went with him. It was an exhausting journey just to get there. We had to get a train from Peterborough down to King’s Cross, London, then across the country, over the River Severn and into Wales. My life was yet again packed into my wooden trunk and I had my baby Nina in my arms.
When we arrived in Porthcawl we went to live in a bungalow, set back off a road, near a beach. I found it very hard at first. Claude was working nights at the aerodrome so I was spending all night, alone, in a desolate bungalow with my young baby. I didn’t have any friends close by, so I started to feel very lonely and scared. Claude suggested we get a dog, so we got a small black spaniel and Claude managed to change his shift from nights to days. It was still too desolate a place so we decided to move into lodgings where we lived with a lovely, welcoming Welsh couple. We had two rooms, a sitting room and a bedroom as our own and we shared the kitchen.
While we were there, a ship sank and its passengers, Polish soldiers, were rescued and brought into Porthcawl. The whole community welcomed them and provided them with baths, shelter and food.
One day, I was putting Nina to bed when I looked out of the window and was horrified to see three German planes diving down towards the aerodrome. I recognised them because they were black and I could see their swastikas. I was so scared I screamed because Claude was at work, at the aerodrome. I started making frantic phone calls and was relieved to find out that Claude had managed to dive into a crowded shelter just in time. Though sadly, two WAAF’s were killed that day.
I lived in Porthcawl for twelve months until I fell pregnant with my second child and decided to move back to my parents’ house in Cambridgeshire. Claude followed a few months later.

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