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Laughter in Uniform

While serving at RAF Filton, Bristol, I was employed on bar duty in the Officers’ mess. They gave me the nickname of Jenny, (a long story). My weapon of defence was the soda siphon. I used to wear my hair in a bun tied with black ribbon, and one Squadron Leader (he was a big teaser), used to get close to me and say ‘Patchway Harriers tonight, Jenny’, and start shouting ‘Tally-ho!’. On one of these occasions I chased him out of the bar with the siphon, stood behind the swing doors waiting for him to come back, heard what I thought was him, and when they got in line with the doors I let him have it full blast, only to hear hoots of laughter further down the passage, for the person I had drowned was the Chef walking by with two large dishes of food in both hands on his way to the dining hall!

Soot in the Sickroom

In the winter of 1941-1942 I was stationed at Concentration Camp No. 1 (RAF Weeton). My job at that time was training WAAFs to become Batwomen.

We had two girls (pals) who were hopeless, very seldom off the peg, and they had surnames more like a couple of comedians.

Well, in one of the Officers’ rooms was a Wing Adjutant suffering from the vaccinations which he had been given before going overseas. He was a big man, not one of he best liked people in the hut. He had a fire, plus a Valor Oil Heater, for warmth.

Everything was (or seemed to be) peaceful, so my mate and I went for breakfast. On returning we were greeted with a smoking Oil Heater sitting in the snow, the front door of the hut wide open, a bedroom window open with snow blowing in through the window, and smoke out of the door, and a big, fuming man, covered in soot, sitting up in bed shouting ‘Batwoman, Batwoman, where’s my b-----y Batwoman?’

Well, I cleaned him up, and peace was restored, but nor for long. The two girls decided to sweep the chimneys. This they did by climbing onto the roof and lowering a piece of pipe with some rope tied to it, and pulling it up and down the chimneys. When they got to the officer who was sick, he shouted to them not to do his flue, as he had a fire, to which they giggled to one another and one said ‘ Shall we sweep it?’ The other said, ‘Yes, fire or no fire, here goes ‘. With that there was a loud crash. The pipe leading from the stove up to and through the roof broken in half, showering the poor man in soot and smoke for the second time.

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