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I was a nurse during the war. Just before ‘D Day’, I was spending some time with friends in the South of England. Their son was in the Army and he was stationed nearby. The village was situated just over the ten mile limit from the coast, which was out of bounds to civilians.
On our walks, the sight of hundreds of camouflaged trucks and tanks, lining the verges and concealed by leafy hedges, made us think that the longed for ‘Second Front’ was soon to materialise. We were so war-weary in 1944 and we all hoped for a quick ending.
In order to prepare myself and my uniform for entry to Pinderfields E.M.S. Hospital, Wakefield. I returned to Yorkshire on June 5th. I awoke the following morning to the momentous news. I passed the day agonizing over the safety of my service friends; especially those of the Church Youth Fellowship.
On ‘D-Day plus one, I joined my colleagues to prepare beds with hot water bottles and packs filled with dressings, in readiness for the wounded who soon began to arrive at Wakefield station. They came in Red Cross marked hospital trains, manned by the Queen Alexandra Sisters and Medical Orderlies.
They came. The men, who hours before were superbly trained, physical specimens of humanity, but now they lay on stretchers, bandaged and helpless. Men who risked and gave so much, so that we ourselves and future generations could live freely and democratically.
We worked through the night and most of the following day to help them. After each convoy, we would grab what little sleep we could on the hard straw mattresses. Our hearts bursting with thanks and indeed sorrow for the men who fought in the ‘D-Day’ Invasion.

Joan Walker.
Longlee. Yorkshire.

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