大象传媒

RECOLLECTIONS OF AN ATS GIRL 1943-1947

I had just left school when the war started. Mum and Dad thought bombing might start right away and sent my brother and me to my uncle鈥檚 farm near Kendal, and my sister to an aunt鈥檚 in Kendal. Neale andDoropthy were very envious of me staying behind on the farm, whilst they had to go to school. Mind you, I had to work hard, getting up early to help with the milking, then mucking out etc. My favourite time was when a calf was born. It come out front feet first, and when the hooves appear we would tie a rope around them and gently pull the calf out, with it鈥檚 poor mother bellowing like mad. I never failed to be surprised at how quickly the new-born calf would struggle to it鈥檚 feet in search of it鈥檚 mother鈥檚 milk.

I was thoroughly enjoying farm life and going to all the village 鈥榟ops鈥�, but it was my downfall to get too friendly with a local farmer. My aunt had three sons and was not too happy at having the responsibility of a teenage gil around the farm, and as there had, as yet, been no bombing she told my father that I should come home and get a proper job. I was heartbroken, and remember travelling home with a huge lump in my throat.

In December 1940 we had the dreadful air-raids on Wallasey. During the longest night of the year, the Luftwaffe made good use of it. There had been heavy bombing the previous night, and my parents felt apprehensive about me going to a party the following night 鈥� it was our Youth Club Christmas party. Everyone was having a great time until the siren went off at 10 p.m., and before we could take cover, everything plunged into darkness and we were thrown to the ground by a huge blast from a bomb landing by the Church. Everyone struggled to their feet except me 鈥� I couldn鈥檛 move! I was carried to a little store room where about twenty of us huddled together. My leg was badly injured from flying glass. Mrs King used some of the boy鈥檚 ties to use as tourniquets, which she applied for about 3hrs before help arrived.

My Dad was told that I had been injured he went home for his bike to try and find out where I had been taken. Eventually he found me in a hospital which had a casualty ward open for children with TB.

I spent five months in that TB Sanatorium. On my arrival in the Casualty Ward, I was immediately sent into theatre for an amputation of my leg, but by a miraculous stroke of luck, the surgeon due to operate was called away and a young surgeon took his place, a Mr Liddle. Apparently the older surgeon was afraid of gangrene affecting the injury and spreading up from the leg, but Mr Liddle took a chance based on me being a healthy 17 year old with a badly damaged thigh, but being cut by glass it was relatively clean. He decided not to amputate.

After a few weeks I was the only patient left in the Casualty Ward so they closed it down and transferred me to one of the open air wards with the TB children. I remember after a skin grafting operation to remove healthy skin from my other thigh, the smell was really vile. Mum and Dad were convinced my leg was becoming gangerous. Even though they were assured that the smell was normal they weren鈥檛 convinced. They were also concerned that I might catch TB.

The time of the March blitz was a bit scary. I and the other children were moved to the ground floor and put underneath other beds for protection, but apart from incendiary bombs the hospital was not badly damaged. I was discharged after five months looking very fit due to all the fresh air I had had.

In 1943 my conscription papers arrived for the Auxiliary Territorial Service 鈥� the ATS. I had wanted to join the WAAFS but no matter 鈥� the Army would be fine. I wanted to join up with a view to being sent overseas.. After a few weeks I was asked top attend a Medical. I was devastated when the Medical Office pronounced me unfit. He could see how upset I was but said the service life with an injury like mine was not feasible.

After a few weeks, to my surprise, I was asked to attend a further medical, and this time I passed Grade 3, which meant I was in, but could not go overseas.

My Mum shed a few tears when she saw me off at Lime Street Station en route for the Training Camp at Dalkeith. It was February 1944 and bitterly cold. On arrival we were issued with kit-bags, respirators, steel helmets and out khaki uniform including khaki knickers and blue and white striped pyjamas!
Scissors were at the ready to ensure that no hairs touched our collars, and our heads were inspected for lice! It was a large camp with endless rows of Nissen huts, with just one small stove in the middle of twenty beds. Never in my life have I felt so cold.

I spent six weeks there. Hours spent on the parade ground doling drill exercises. Punishment for breach of rules, was a stretch of 鈥榩arade bashing鈥�. Another punishment was cleaning the latrines!

A party of us were invited to the very grand house of Lady Elphinstone, a cousin of our present Queen. She introduced us to a friend of hers 鈥� Sybil Thorndyke, who later became a Dame of the theatre. She was a great character and entertained u with humorous monologues.

After the six weeks training I joined the Royal Corps of Signals as a Teleprinter Operator, and was sent to the Signal School at Craigmillar. I was a very intensive 8 week course, having to learn touch-typing at speed, a basic knowledge of Morse Code and hardest of all to memorise were the numerous Code Signs of Army camps all over the country and abroad, which had to be contacted through the switchboard.
We were challenged to play hockey against a team of Signalmen, we had never experience such a physical match before and had it not been for our shin pads we would have been badly bruised. They won of course!

One of the proudest days of my life was when I marched with other service men and women, led by Scottish Highlanders down Princes Street in Edinburgh. With onlookers, bagpipes and the Armed Forces in all their regalia 鈥� it was indeed a memorable occasion!

After that memorable day, I then spent a most miserable 21st birthday 鈥� I had to report to Plymouth on that day. I went to the Mess for supper, and to my amazement the cookhouse sergeant walked in with a cake alight with 21 candles, and the sea of strange faces sang 鈥榟appy birthday鈥�. All my birthday cards had been sent to Edinburgh.

From our barracks we took lifts down to the underground Signal Office, where it was a hive of activity day and night. Around 鈥楧鈥� day there was an air of tense excitement. Along with other TPO girls my machine was connected to France and on June 6th messages were sent to and fro, non stop, and for the following days. As we were underground, we were unaware of what was happening at ground level, but off duty we could see the activity in Portsmouth harbour, and could hear the continual drone of bombers crossing the Channel. It was tremendously exciting.

A list of fatalities came through on my printer. I recognised one of the names as the husband of the NCO in charge of our Signal Office. I had to give her the message to sign and will never forget the look of shock on her face as she glanced down that list and saw her husband鈥檚 name. She completed her shift 鈥� I don鈥檛 know how, but once off duty we heard she had collapsed. Such is the tragedy of war!

I wasn鈥檛 happy working underground 鈥� it was too oppressive. I asked for a ground level transfer which would only be given for compassionate reasons. However I managed to get my transfer.

I was posted to a place called 鈥楾he Wilderness鈥� near Southampton. I spent the happiest time of my ATS life there until something happened which caused me to put in for another compassionate posting nearer home.

I enjoyed working in the Signal Office at Southampton, where I was promoted to Lance/Corporal; we had dances at the camp and games of Bingo. I became friendly with one of the Signalmen, Bill Spooner, and I mentioned it to my parents on a visit home. Dad asked what he did in 鈥榗ivvy street鈥�, and when I said he was a Pigeon Fancier, Dad was not impressed! However, as he was only a friend I wasn鈥檛 too bothered.

One occasion, the Captain of a ship docked in Southampton invited a group of us to tea in his cabin. We were treated like V.I.P鈥檚 and taken on a conducted tour. We often went to London on a 48 hour pass and stayed at the YWCA in Baker Street. Our favourite venues were the Stage Door Canteen Club and the Nuffield Centre for all servicemen and women. The Hammersmith Pallais was a favourite too, with its revolving bandstand. Every ATS girl in the country was beholden to Lord Nuffield 鈥� he bore the cost of supplying thousands of us with 鈥榮anitary towels鈥� 鈥� what a gesture!

Hitler鈥檚 V2 Rocket began hitting targets in southern England. We had some very scary moments in Southampton, and with the experience I鈥檇 had of the blitz on Wallasey, I sort of went to pieces, and was posted to Western Command Signals in Chester, to be nearer to home. Our billets were at the Theological College in Northgate Street. Unlike Cosham and Southampton, the Signal Office was staffed by females, so of course we had to call our Officer, Ma鈥檃m. It came as a shock to discover that one of my officers used to be a prefect at my school 鈥� Wallasey High. I think she was a bit embarrassed at first, at me having to salute her and call her Ma鈥檃m!

At the beginning of 1945 I was promoted to Corporal. Western Command was a buzz of activity. We had been warned that Field Marshall Montgomery was to visit, so of course, it was 鈥榮pit and polish鈥� all round. Monty had a reputation for being rather curt and brusque, but I felt so proud to be on duty at the time of his visit. As he entered the room I remember being surprised at how small he was, but immensely impressed by his regalia of medals, bars and ribbons.
When he was escorted to my area, I gave him a very smart salute, and then in answer to a question I replied 鈥淵es Ma鈥檃m鈥�. How I wished the ground could swallow me up. He made no comment, but must have thought it was time I got demobbed!

A few months later the war in Europe ended 鈥� VE Day, May 8th. A crowd of us joined in the celebrations in Chester Town Hall Square. Everyone singing and dancing, and hugging complete strangers. I remember being slapped on the back by an unknown woman who thanked me with tears in her eyes for helping to win the war.

My demob came through in February 1947 in York, and so ended a period of my life in which there were some experiences I could well have done without, but there were many many experiences I would not wished to have done without.

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by June Woodhouse of the CSV Action Desk at 大象传媒 Hereford and Worcester on behalf of Miriam Beck and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions

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