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This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Anne Wareing on behalf of Winifred Graveson and has been added to the site with her permission…

I am starting to write this bit of ‘history’ on July 11th. This is a quite appropriate date because it is the date Norman was seriously wounded in Normandy 1944.

We both worked at Lancaster Castle Goods Depot offices and had started gong out together in summer 1942 and by the time Norman went into the army early December 1942, I think we both knew it was ‘special’. After initial training and posting Norman was recommended to go before an officer selection board, which he passed and was sent to Barmouth for officer training. He was commissioned on November 20th 1943 into the Kings Own Royal Regiment, posted to Holyrood in Northern Ireland, where he stayed for about 6 months. His next posting was to Sheringham in Norfolk on what seemed to be a really tough course to get fit. Following this he came on embarkation leave on June 9th and I remember him saying he had never felt so fit.

On June 14th we went to Lancaster and bought my engagement ring (£19). Our plan was to go to the Lake District for 3 days. However when we got home from Lancaster Norman’s mum had arrived with a telegram recalling him from leave. Obviously that ended our plans and we spent the rest of the day at Warton. He left by train next day and met another officer Tom Gardner, from Glasson Dock. They hadn’t met before but from that day they were together until July 11th when Tom Gardner was killed and Norman so seriously injured.

On July 15th the telegram came to Norman’s mum and dad to say he was dangerously ill in hospital. It was in a restricted area but a permit for two people to see him could be obtained from the Police Station at Carnforth. I was at work that morning when I got the phone call about Norman. So I quickly decided to go to Warton. On reflection it seems surprising, but the chief clerk said Betty should come with me, so we went to the bus station and got the bus to Warton. Norman’s mum got the local taxi to take me to Morecambe to tell my mum and dad what had happened and pack an overnight bag to take with me. What a shock it must have been for them. It sounds strange in the present day, when I say I was just 21 when this happened, but before that I had never made a serious decision without discussing it with mum and dad. But on that occasion I simply told them I was going with Norman’s mum to see him in hospital wherever he was. I couldn’t really give them much information.

The taxi took me back to Warton and Norman’s dad and I went to Carnforth Police Station with the telegram to get the permit for the train. I waited in the car what seemed a very long time, but eventually he came with the necessary papers. I think it was about 3pm when Norman’s mum and I got the train from Carnforth (Saturday afternoon, standing room only). When we got to Preston we had to change trains. It was the London train and absolutely packed. Norman’s mum just looked and said, ‘We can’t get in there.’ She was quite a big lady, but I said, ‘Yes, we can.’ I got behind her and more or less pushed her on to the train, where we stayed in the corridor to London Euston.

The ticket collector looked at our papers and said we needed a taxi to Waterloo, so he took us outside and fairly quickly stopped one. A sailor inside who seemed very drunk had to move over and let us in and off we went to Waterloo. By the time we arrived, there was an air raid and the railway official suggested we went to the Underground where most people were. We went down and the platforms were full of people, mostly laid down trying to sleep. After about two minutes Norman’s mum said. ‘I can’t stay down here, I would rather be upstairs.’ So we went back and sat in the waiting room until 5am. I remember everywhere seemed so dark and there were no ordinary passengers around and later we were taken to a platform where the train was waiting. We got in, but yet again were standing in the corridor, however after a short while a sailor came out of a compartment and gave Norman’s mum his seat and another one gave me his great coat to sit on.

Eventually we arrived at Portsmouth and it was now daylight. Everyone got off the train, there was Norman’s mum and me and what seemed like hundreds of sailors. The next official who came to help us said he would direct us to the ferry and immediately Norman’s mum said. ‘Oh! I can’t go on the water.’ And the man replied. ‘Don’t worry it’s only a 2d ferry.’ In a short time we arrived at what we learned was Haslar Royal Naval Hospital, Gosport. I next recall being seen by someone from the Red Cross who took us to get breakfast.

We traveled from 3pm Saturday to 8.30am on Sunday, after which we were taken to see Norman. It was a memorable moment. The telegram hadn’t explained his injuries, just dangerously ill from multiple wounds. His left leg was amputated below the knee, right leg very badly injured, less serious injuries to his face, arms, wrist. He was in a dreadful state and so very ill. It was a small ward with 5 men non of whom I felt were expected to survive. We stayed all day with Norman except when doctors or nurses came at various times to see him.

In the evening a lady came from the Red Cross to take us to a family who were letting us stay with them. I can’t remember much about the house, but it was a lady and her two children. We were taken to our bedroom, but she said. ‘You will probably have to come downstairs because the sirens will go.’ We were very tired and got to bed hoping to get some sleep, but the sirens soon went and we went downstairs. There was quite a good space under the stairs and we sat there all together. We hadn’t been there long when Norman’s mum suddenly said she had forgotten her teeth, so I went back to the bedroom to get them. Although this was a sad time, there were one or two funny moments.

The following morning we went to the hospital and stayed until 8.45pm. Norman’s condition had improved slightly, the sister told us. He talked a little and told us as planes were flying over. ‘It’s alright, they’re ours.’ We had to come home the next day, so we went to the hospital in the morning, stayed a short time and had to say goodbye, a sad and difficult time. The sister came to speak to us as we were leaving and told us she felt Norman was going to make it and he must have been extremely fit when he was wounded to survive.

We returned home and I went to work next day. Everyone was very sad about Norman, but although he was still seriously ill, I was sure he would recover. A lot of people prayed for him, friends and at church. It was during these early days that he wrote and told me that because of his injuries he would understand if I wanted to end our engagement. During the following week telegrams were sent to Normans mum and dad reporting his condition and finally saying he was being moved to another hospital, but not telling where. A day or two later they got a card to say he was at North Staffordshire Royal Infirmary, Stoke-on-Trent. The following weekend I told mum and dad I was going to Stoke to see Norman and my dad insisted he wanted to come with me. We got to the hospital and saw Norman, which was wonderful, he was improving. Later we saw a Red Cross worker who found us somewhere to stay overnight, these people were very kind and made no charges, so again we made a donation to the Red Cross.

At work the following week one of our staff said she had relatives in Stoke. She contacted them and by the following weekend they had invited me to stay with them. They were a lovely couple and I stayed every weekend, we became good friends and they came to our wedding in January 1946.

It was a small ward where Norman was, with a happy group of blokes, all with serious injuries. When I arrived on Saturdays the nurse always drew the curtains round Norman’s bed. It gave us some privacy, but constant comments from the occupants of the other beds. This routine went on for a few weeks, but then came the Saturday when I got to the hospital and there outside the entrance was this smart young officer in uniform, on crutches, waiting for me. I will never forget that moment and the hug and kisses. Remember he had been in bed all those weeks when I visited him. After this we went into town on Saturday afternoons. Wherever we went we never seemed to be allowed to pay for anything. Everyone was so kind.

I think it was November, Norman spent a short time at the limb- fitting centre at Leeds. He came home when he got his artificial leg and I know he worked hard to get used to it, walking until the stump was raw, but he felt that was the way to toughen the stump to stand the pressure. (He only told me this much later). His dad got him a Morris 8 car CTD 363. Petrol was rationed but we got around quite a bit.

Quite a time of sick leave followed and of course he could have been discharged, but wanted to stay in the army. During the following year he was stationed at Liverpool, Chester and Wellington, Shropshire. Because there was a possibility at that time of him going abroad we decided to get married on his next leave inJanuary. We were married on January 19th 1946 and went to Chester for our honeymoon for one week. We had a lovely wedding with 80 guests. Joan and Brenda were bridesmaids, both with second hand dresses, remember it was coupons for everything.

From then until early 1948 he was stationed at Chester, where he accepted his discharge because his medical grade was too low for him to be accepted permanently. By this time he was a Captain and Trevor was 9 months old. After leaving the army he went back to the railway, but didn’t settle, that’s another story. He made a great effort to live a normal life, but of course there could be no more rugby. He did however play cricket at Warton, but stopped playing when it was felt he should have a runner!

Winifred Graveson, July 2003

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