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England was at war with Germany and so after my nineteenth birthday, I was conscripted into the A.T.S. A letter arrived and enclosed was a railway warrant; I was to report to Honiton, Devon Railway station at 11.00 hrs in two weeks time. I had always lived in London with my parents and worked in an office in the City and had never lived away from home, so Devon seemed to me to be very far away. We were told to bring only a dressing gown and a suitcase and no civilian clothes were allowed apart from what we were wearing.

I was apprehensive but was very willing to help in the war effort, and anyway, I had no choice so duly reported to Devon. The station platform was full of young women. We were smartly dressed; after all, we were starting a new career and wanted to make a good impression. The fashion in 1940 was smart suits, or pretty dresses with padded shoulders and we wore gloves, even in the summer it was short white gloves. Some really stylish people wore dinky hats jauntily tilted over one eye. We stood there looking at each other shyly when two soldiers appeared and bawled 鈥淥utside鈥� we obeyed nervously and there waiting for us were a line of huge Army lorries. 鈥淕et in, get in鈥� was the next yelled instruction and we scrambled up (in our high heel shoes, laddering out silk stockings. No nylon in those days). We sat in rows facing each other on hard wooden forms. The journey through the country lanes seemed endless but we eventually arrived at the Army camp, and as we fell out still clutching our suitcases I noticed there were soldiers with rifles guarding the huge gates. Were they there to stop us getting out? I wondered, but now, of course, I realise they were there to stop the enemy getting in.

This was the Training camp and we were to be turned into smart soldiers. We were there for six weeks, we had no leave or days off, and it was very hard work. We felt bewildered and very home sick. We lived in Army huts and the camp had a vast square parade ground, where we drilled and marched all day and every day, regardless of weather. With a soldier bawling 鈥淟eft right, left right鈥� we marched backwards and forwards until we could obey without hesitation, and even know our left from our right! Eventually, in spite of blisters on our feet we became a smart efficient squad and became quite proud of ourselves. Other days we had fatigues and we were issued with a bucket and mop and marched off (yes, marched off!) to clean the latrines, or maybe marched to clean all the windows of the many huts, or to scrub the floors and the tables in the canteen, or, of course, to spend the day in the cookhouse peeling massive mounds of potatoes. We were not allowed to walk anywhere (or talk!) we marched in a squad, even to the ablutions first thing in the morning to wash. No showering allowed, we were marched there later in the week. I think that this lack of privacy was one of the most difficult things to except. There were a lot of young women, from all walks of life living together in a hut and we were a very mixed bunch. There were two very well spoken dainty young ladies, a bank clerk, two shop assistants and among others was a young woman from Grimsby who proudly announced she was a fish wife. Her language was crude, and we were easily shocked, as people in those days did generally not swear, certainly not women, at home even 鈥榙amn鈥� was frowned upon. However, we all helped each other and pulled together and worked hard to become an efficient squad, and we somehow survived.

Eventually it was time to leave and we were posted to Army camps all over England. We marched smartly in a neat squad towards the huge gates and waiting for us there were the large Army lorries. Now we were well trained and fit and, with alacrity, jumped aboard clutching our suitcases which now contained the civilian clothes we were wearing on our arrival. We were also carting large canvas kit bags filled with Army clothes and kit. We were wearing thick khaki serge uniforms, with bright brass buttons all over, and brass badges, and brass buckles on our belts (they all had to be cleaned everyday, sometimes twice a day for a special parade). Strapped across our shoulder was a large square canvas case which contained our respirator (gas mask) and strapped to that was a heavy steel helmet. On our feet we wore thick brown leather lace up shoes with metals embedded in the soles and heels. Our legs were encased in thick lisle khaki stockings. Out transformation was complete. We drove back through the lanes to the railway station and never saw the town of Honiton, Devon.

There was of course a ghastly war raging and our soldiers were fighting for survival, so we accepted that it was our duty to help in any way.

With hindsight, I realise that it must have been a formidable task to turn a large group of frivolous young women into a smart serious well drilled squad of soldiers, and so although the A.T.S Training camp seemed rather harsh it was necessary.

By good luck my two special friends and I were posted to London District where we settled down together, and in spite of Air raids and rationing of food and clothing we managed to enjoy life in its restricted Army way. In time we were promoted and I eventually became sergeant!!!

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