大象传媒

The summer holidays in 1940 were utterly miserable when, with my sister, we were sent back to the convent boarding school where we were anyway reluctant pupils in term time. Our parents thought we were better away from the R.A.F. Station in South Wales where my father was stationed. The airfield was constantly bombed and frankly I didn`t think he wanted children added to his worries. His long career in the Air Force included flying in both wars and being posted abroad so we had no settled home and were expected to stay in the Catholic establishment in Farnborough, a gloomy gothic mansion once the residence of the Empress Eugenie, widow of Napolean III.

It was not a cosy place for a child of eight, suffering from homesickness and bewildered by the black robed nuns one had to call "Mother" and curtsy to the Sister Superior if you passed her on one of the endless twistings staircases. Barbara, my senior by seven years, blamed me for my parents decision which she considered crazy as the school was near Aldershot, a town centred round the Army, and also within walking distance of the R.A.F`s experimental aerodrome. My sister was right. The German bombers seldom left us alone. How I wished to be at home facing danger with my Mother and Father. They could not visit and I was now allowed to use the one and only telephone. Writing letters home was my only link with the outside world. The only concession was for me to help sister Moira on the school farm where I helped to boil up swill for the chickens and pigs.

When the winter term started I looked upon Hitler as my very personal enemy but he could be useful as a distraction from lessons. To Mother I wrote in September 1940 "We had an exciting time on Thursday; we had an Air Raid Warning in the night. It was funny, mistresses in dressing gowns, nuns half dressed. We were down in the shelter about an hour. We played games and tbe next day we were tired and had to rest."

Soon these nightly alarms were far from amusing as the whole Convent camped underground in the stone flagged wine cellars built by the late Empress; in daylight the shelter was used for piano practice. At night I slept on a hard mattress with my head on level with a piano pedal. Beside her gas mask each girl was allowed to carry a small box containing her treasures; a polyphoto of my Mother, a bag of sticky Bulls Eyes, a battered teddy bear and my denture came down with me. The plate I loathed because my front teeth stood out like a rabbit and were being straightened by this wire contraption which Father told me sternly was expensive. Eating was so uncomfortable I sneaked the fitting out behind my table napkin. I was utterly devastated when my form mistress, Mother Mary, found it wrapped in my handkerchief lying on the refectory dining table. The subsequent reprimand ("very unladylike behaviour") in front of the whole school was far more frightening than any siren.

I was ten years old. I really did not understand what the nuns meant when they said we must not become too sentimental with our school friends and avoid behaving like the heroines in the novels of Angela Brazil. My favourite book was "Black Beauty".

I remember the Allied Victory at El Alamein because I was isolated in the school infirmary with chicken pox, and the sufferers listened to the wireless as a special treat for exactly one hour each day for three weeks. The good news inspired my love for my country, and eager to help our fighting men I wrote letters to my sister`s current boy friend (she had quit Farnborough as quickly as her age would allow to join the WRNS) Bill was an eighteen year old submariner and I described how fervent my prayers were for his safety; all very innocent but I gave the envelopes to a day girl (non boarder) for posting. Of course I was found out and was promptly expelled because "Iwas a bad influence".

Swimming was the only activity I missed in that hated place except perhaps being in the chorus of many Gilbert and Sullivan productions. My Father`s anger was in accordance with his belief as a Catholic that nuns could do no wrong. His revenge was to make Mother find another Convent. This she did in the Buckinghamshire countryside where not even doodle bugs penetrated. The surprise was a nun who drove a car still dressed in her uniform and drove it fast. The rules were much the same except letters to my home (I had moved with the RAF about every 6 month) were not read before they reached the post and now most remain in the Imperisl War Museum who are glad to retain this childhood saga.

On DDay the sound of planes roaring overhead cheered us all and The Daily telegraph was allowed reading in the senior common room. At fourteen I had journalistic ambitions and I did not let May 8th - VEDay pass without writing about is as follows:

"We were told it was VEDay at breakfast. We just cheered our heads off and everybody changed into red,white and blue colours. I hung my flag out of the dorm window. I wore my red blouse, white belt and somebody else`s blue skirt. After Chapel the school union jacks were displayed and then we played a jolly good game of sardines. Afterwards inside we sang "England" with all our might and "Land of Hope and Glory". It seemed so marvellous we had all come through. During lunch we sang, clapped and shouted while one of the juniors played popular songs on the piano; we even got up and danced round the tables. In the garden at 3 o`clock (like the whole world must have done) we listened in dead silence to dear old Churchill`s speech and how the rest of England was celebrating. Following tea we played charades and sang at intervals. At nine we heard the King`s broadcast, and so to bed.

I know none of this sounds a bit thrilling but what could we do? That night when everone slept, I watched the search lights and flares, and felt glad at least that night half England would not rest and at one minute past twelve (when the War officially ended) I lent our of the dorm window while Germany crashed. Just like that Nations don`t totter and fall every day." My home letter ended "Please thank Granny for her sweet ration. Our summer dresses only get washed once a fortnight There is still no hot water in the morning but we are not complaining."

No one in the family had died, or been injured or posted as missing so we were lucky. However only a short period later I was again writing numerous letter. This time from another institution, a Tuberculosis Sanatorium. The doctors suggested those war time months spent underground clinging to my teddy had weakened my resistance to disease. The patients were nearly all ex service men and women who had survived the War only to fall ill on reaching home and facing the austerity of peacetime. Some were exprisoners of the Jap camps so TB in a comfortable country hospital in Sussex was not treated with too much respect and a spirit of cheerful companionship made an optimistic atmosphere.

The Queen`s Coronation in 1953 was celebrated with parties on all the wards as usually alcohol was prohibited. My jubilation was increased as I was to be discharged in August. A combination of the new wonder antibiotic drugs and the surgical removal of my right upper lung cured the TB. The future glowed for a stunning progress of peace and progress. For me at last the War was really over

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