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This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Elizabeth Perez of Stockport Libraries on behalf of Mary Blood and has been added to the site with her permission. She fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.

Mary’s story, together with the war story of her husband, Harry Blood, was transcribed onto a floppy disc by Fred Kennington, thereby saving Stockport Library Service staff an immense amount of work!

After six weeks I was posted on my own from Martlesham Heath to Wittering, near Stamford. I arrived late in the evening and just fell into the billet to which I was allocated. Next morning the inevitable job was to go the rounds to get my ‘arrival chit’ signed. That was the standard process always in the R.A.F., with the reverse ‘clearance chit’ when you were posted out. You had to take this form to various places in the camp; the Equipment Section, Sick Bay, etc. to sign for anything you had received and, conversely, return it when you were posted. I hadn’t got very far round the station, when an officer stopped me, ‘Why aren’t you wearing your gas mask? ‘I didn’t know I had to.’ ‘How long have you been here?’ ‘Since last night.’ ‘Well, put it on now and off you go.’ The rule was that you had to wear the thing for about an hour once a week – which was that morning – but nobody had told me. Anyway, I disappeared until the hour had expired. I never did like wearing that gas mask. I always felt I was choking. Well, I had ‘done’ the arrival chit, I took it back to the Orderly Room only to be told I was posted elsewhere.

So round I had to go with the ‘clearance chit’, and next day I was off to R.A.F. Coltishall. Now posting was not quite a simple thing. You had to take all your gear. In those days the W.A.A.Fs. had kit bags, the same as the men, and you carried them on your shoulder. It was not designed for comfort or convenience. It was a long bag, white canvas, a blue bar round the middle, and your R.A.F. number on it. It could carry a great deal – and we had a great deal to carry. They had to be packed very carefully, or risk a pair of shoes sticking into your neck or, worse, the contents to slip, so that half fell forward and half fell back making it unsightly and uncomfortable. There was also a side pack, a gas mask and a steel helmet. Of course, you needed proper shoulders to carry this thing. If you had ‘shoulders like a kipper’, you had difficulty keeping everything together. You went by train; in this case it was a lift to Peterborough in a truck, train to Norwich, train to Coltishall, and then truck to the R.A.F. station. On arrival I found I was one of fifteen W.A.A.Fs., the first to be posted to Coltishall. It was now early June 1940.

We arrived about noon and were sent straight to lunch. The standard Airmen’s Mess was a huge hall, downstairs for the men, and upstairs for the W.A.A.Fs. and sometimes the male Corporals. Here at Coltishall there was a room for the W.A.A.Fs. upstairs, but it was this huge hall with one table in the middle. There we ate in splendid isolation. That didn’t last, and we went downstairs to our own table at one end of the men’s area. In time, they built a separate hall for the W.A.A.Fs.

At this time there was panic to get R.A.F. stations built or extended, and Coltishall was in the process of extension. This first day, having had a meal, we were taken to our ‘accommodation’. There had been no provision for W.A.A.Fs. and, in those circumstances, it was usual for W.A.A.Fs. to be placed in vacant Airmen’s Married Quarters and this happened to us. The Married Quarters were blocks of, maybe, four small houses; a living room and kitchen downstairs; a bedroom, box room and bathroom upstairs. All the rooms had fireplaces and that was the total heating. The living room and bedroom accommodated either two or three W.A.A.Fs. with a N.C.O. in the box room. Here, at Coltishall, these houses were newly built, to the extent that the day we walked in, the builders walked out. It was just bare boards with lumps of cement stuck on them. We had a bed, the three R.A.F. ‘biscuits’ which constituted a mattress, sheets, blankets and a hard pillow – and that was it. The first house in the block was to be the W.A.A.F. Guardroom; another was earmarked as a W.A.A.F. sick bay. We were told to report to the Guardroom after breakfast (and a cold water wash). The instructions were that all W.A.A.Fs., irrespective of trade, were to clean these newly built Married Quarters to house themselves and provide accommodation for future postings in. In saying ‘irrespective of trade’, the thing was that we were each given our R.A.F. trade; at that time there were only six trades available for women, trades which a junior power-that-was thought matched our talents. At some stage we hoped to get training for that trade. We were to be anything from cooks to motor transport drivers to ‘Clerks/SD’, who were to man the Operations Rooms. We each collected our bucket, scrubbing brush, block of hard soap, etc., and were given a house to clean and scrub out from top to bottom – not the ideal occupation for the budding Clerks/SD! Now in the kitchens in these houses were coal-fired boilers so, first, we had to light the fire, get some hot water and start scrubbing. We got a bag of coal each week for each house. That was the standard ration until, at a later posting to Kirton Lindsey, the place froze up and we got a second bag.

Vaccinations were part of service life, and after a few days at Coltishall, the M.O. (Medical Officer) decreed that we must all be vaccinated – the full treatment. I don’t remember what they all were, but they included TABC and ATT and whatever else – all at the same time. Now I had never been vaccinated, as my Father did not believe in them. For most of those girls, who had had childhood vaccinations, it was not too bad, albeit leaving them a bit groggy. The surfeit of stuff pumped into me was too much for the system. I didn’t just feel groggy, my arm became blazing red from wrist to shoulder, blazing red in colour and feel. The M.O. decided I should have my arm in a sling for a week and I got ‘light duties’. Light duties were not given out freely and I still had to do work with the free hand. One other girl was worse than me. Her arm swelled with huge blisters from wrist to shoulder, too bad to be bandaged and she had to go to bed. Her bed was stuck in this small room, which constituted the sick bay, with all the other girls who needed medical attention coming past her bed. She was eventually sent home on sick leave.

Over the next fortnight, we got the place cleaned, curtains were put up, airmen came and laid lino, and green metal cabinets that sufficed as wardrobes were delivered, so we could put our stuff away. We were then given our jobs; in my case, it was to work in the W.A.A.F. Officers’ Mess, a detached house a short distance away. I didn’t like it as it was making beds, waiting on officers, etc., something I had done in civilian life and joined up to get away from.

By now it would be late June or early July 1940 – and the Battle of Britain. One day we had a senior W.A.A.F. Officer come from Group HQ – Coltishall was part of Fighter Command, 12 Group. She came for lunch, during which we had an air raid. Coltishall was only eight miles from the coast and we never got a ‘yellow’ warning, only the ‘red’ warning, by which time the raiders had reached you. Had we had the air raid siren sounded every time an enemy aircraft came within range, we would have been back and forward to the shelters and got nothing done. Everybody took to their heels to get to the air raid shelter. I happened to be last, and when I went out of the front door, there was a German aircraft heading towards me at bedroom height, pilot visible, swastikas visible, and him machine-gunning. I thought that discretion was the better part of valour and went back inside. I waited a couple of minutes, and set off at the double to reach the others, who had left before me. Before I reached the shelter, I found they had dived into a ditch, one of the officers complaining she had fallen into a bed of nettles, but otherwise unscathed. I thought it wasn’t done to pass the Group Officer to go into the shelter, so I settled near the ditch, until things seemed to quieten down. Led by the Officer, we all headed towards the shelter, the nearest to the Officers’ Mess to find it was occupied by workmen, with a little lad standing in the entrance holding a huge teapot of tea. They were told to move on, and we finally got in the shelter, long after the air raid had taken place and the pilot was half way back to Germany. Once into the shelter and trying to get our breath back, the Group Officer came along to us and asked if we were alright. We said we were, but omitted to stand up. When she had departed and we were back into work, we got a good telling off for not standing when we spoke to her. We came out unscathed that time, but personnel at the airfield did not. A hangar was being built and a bomb dropped, causing a partially built wall to fall, killing two workmen.

This was not the only air raid we had. They were numerous and, on one occasion, a stick of bombs intended for the airfield missed it, one of the bombs falling on a nearby farmhouse, killing the farmer and his wife, an elderly couple.

No leave had been given to anybody at this time, and I had not been home to Lincoln since my call-up. There were no phones, so we had to keep in touch with home by letter. One or two perks came. There was a N.A.A.F.I. grocery hut, which had butter available. I asked if I could have a pound of this lovely yellow farm butter. The answer was, ‘yes’, so I bought it, put it in a small parcel to send home, and it did arrive.

After that air raid, an edict was given that two-thirds of the personnel in each section must always be available for duty. Throughout 1940, we had air raids on the Station. The one on 5th November caused quite a lot of damage to the Control Tower. But there was one, which was a split second away from a disaster. A dance was taking place this particular evening, and the Airmen’s Mess was crowded with R.A.F. personnel enjoying themselves. It was then that a lone German aircraft came over dropping a stick of four bombs within the confines of the airfield. When we arrived at Coltishall as the first W.A.A.Fs., there were no female toilets at the station. Very quickly the builders were brought in and erected a wooden hut just behind the cookhouse to provide toilets for the girls. Going back to this air raid, three of the bombs fell on soft ground and did no damage. The last bomb fell near a narrow tarmac road behind the cookhouse, but not on the road. For some reason it went under this tarmac road before exploding. It damaged the road, but also demolished our toilets. Had it been that second later, it would have struck the hall, where the dancers were with disastrous effects. There were no casualties except that one of the W.A.A.Fs. who was in the toilet at the time suffered a loss of dignity. Sometimes you realise that somebody up there is looking after you.

Looking back to those early days at Coltishall, it seems as if there was total confusion there at the time we arrived. Only now, so many years later, have I found out the reasons for the chaos. Coltishall was a new R.A.F. station. It had only been conceived in February 1939 with war impending. The original intention was that it should be a Bomber Command unit. After the disastrous fall of France in 1940 and the air battles, it was realised that the only fighter station in East Anglia was at Duxford, leaving the other (bomber) stations vulnerable. A quick decision was made to turn it into a fighter station, and it opened in May 1940 as part of 12 Group, Fighter Command. The first fighter aircraft, 66 Squadron, arrived on 29th May 1940 – about a week before the W.A.A.F. contingent – and it became fully operational on 23rd June with 242 Squadron. Little wonder there were no facilities for us and that the aircraft hangars were still being built. 242 Squadron had, as its commander, no other than the legendary Douglas Bader.

Shortly after the incident with the Officer from 12 Group, I was moved from the W.A.A.F. Officers’ Mess to the Airmen’s Mess, without regret. I had joined up to get away from domestic service where I had to wait on others, answer bells, etc., and the Officers' Mess was no escape. Into the Airmen’s Mess, it was back to the same job as I had at Martlesham Heath, all ‘wellies’, boiling water and caustic soda. But it had its advantages. There were many more personnel there so, socially, it felt better. We had to work shifts, 0600-1400; 1100-1900, so everybody was on duty over dinner time. The atmosphere was very pleasant; there were always people coming and going, posted out and posted in, and, because all the personnel ate there, we became known to everybody. There were perks, too. If you didn’t like what was on offer for dinner, you asked the cook, ‘Is there anything special?’ ‘Yes, there’s a dozen lamb chops in the oven.’ So you had a couple of them. As we had a little room off the Mess, we could eat in there without others seeing your perks.

However sociable it was, we still had air raids to contend with to the extent we got a bit blasé. There were also the casualties. A couple of pilots might disappear, then limp in a day or two later, having landed safely elsewhere. Conversely, if weather conditions had been bad, we might get an influx of aircraft from other stations. It was the ‘lost’ aircraft we felt. You would hear that so-and-so hadn’t returned, but it wasn’t discussed. It wasn’t a lack of sympathy, it was a way of you, yourself, coping with the potential emotional stress.

There was a strange incident sometime in the summer of 1940. I can’t date it, but think it must have been around August. At 11.30 one night, we were hauled out of our beds and told to parade outside the Guardroom with respirator and small pack (the small pack contains toiletries etc.). So, we paraded, and waited, and waited. Still there at 6.30 next morning, some of us objected as should have been on duty at 6 am. Eventually word came back that those who should be on duty should go, which we did, leaving the rest, who were allowed to go an hour later. Now why we should have been paraded is a mystery and the stuff from which rumours arise. We never got anything official, and the rumour came that there had been an attempted invasion by the Germans, and that the women were to be taken by trucks further inland. Further rumour was that the sea had been set on fire to counter the attack, but in times of war, rumours can abound. All I would say is that I was very tired, having been up all night and then going to do a day’s work in the Mess. That matter just died.

In August 1940, Winston Churchill visited Coltishall. He did not come to the Airmen’s Mess, and I did not see him. He must have thought the personnel looked tired, because he decreed that everyone on the camp had to have fourteen days leave within the next three months. I went home at the end of August for my first ever leave and went again at the end of September.

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