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As the war progressed raids from Europe became less frequent and our watches became boring. Then we were told of the enemy’s new weapon the VI - or ‘the doodlebug’. It could be picked up by radar and the Observer Corps. The airwoman who received the plot had to call out ‘Diver, Diver, Diver’, to alert the controllers as she placed the arrow in position. As we plotted these terrible weapons, they would suddenly disappear - we knew that a home, factory or hospital had been destroyed.

When hitching back from leave, they would come chugging overhead and we hoped they would keep chugging: the danger came when the engine stopped. Once we were coming back after a short leave, when a doodlebug crashed on the waterworks roundabout at Woodford. It was a miracle that we were not killed or wounded - this was a favourite spot to try for a lift. In the Ops Room at Blake Hall we had little to do with D Day, but, around this time, the next horror, the V2 rocket, hit the population. Fighter Command could do nothing about this.

An airwoman might pick up a plot in Holland, but that was all; shortly after, it would explode in the London area. There was no air raid warning, no sound, just an explosion. My own home was badly damaged by one. Luckily, no one was hurt, although my mother just escaped serious injury from splintered glass. From that time and for the rest of her life, she suffered double vision from the shock of that explosion.
The only defence was offence. Bombers sought out the launching pads and bombed them but the explosions continued until the Allies overran the rocket sites. I remained at Blake Hall until VE day, but there was nothing for us to do. WAAFs were released according to their length of service. I had joined relatively late, so they needed to find some occupation for me and other late joiners. I was sent to Biggin Hill in Kent. We were no longer needed for Ops Room work, but had to help check that refugees, flying in from Europe, were genuine but not many did fly in. Most arrivals were VIPs or reporters. I remember Bob Hope and the Duke of Luxembourg and his family. There was not much for us to do, but we could not be released. We lived in bleak, but sturdy, barrack blocks and all sorts of trades were in the same dormitory. I remember putting one girl to bed, maudlin drunk. Her evening’s entertainment had not cheered her. I spent ages trying to bring her out of her drunken depression. The food at Biggin Hill was awful and most of our wages went on meals. On one occasion the rice pudding included a cooked mouse! I realised I had a double: when I was refused a meal because I had already had one. I would not have willingly eaten two meals there and I managed to persuade the mess staff that they were mistaken.

Then I was sent on indefinite leave. My friend, Daphne Gage, who had remained at British Drug Houses throughout the war, was working in the Export Credits Department and needed help. It was impossible to obtain shorthand typists then and I was bored. I suggested I should help her. I would not need pay as I was being paid by the Air Force. The Office Manager agreed I could help Daphne but said that I would have to be paid. So, for a period, I was paid by both British Drug Houses and the Air Force. I remember that with the money, I bought a very nice suit.

Finally I was sent to do office work at the Air Ministry in London. I was billeted in a block of luxury flats opposite Regents Park. I remember one of the sergeants was so foul-mouthed that I asked for a change. We had to be on call at night but were allowed to sleep in the duty room. Once they changed the WAAF duty room into the RAF duty room and there was I happily in bed when the airmen walked in. They were horrified and so was I. I hurriedly dressed and when I left the room found a string of airmen outside. The Admin Office had not found it necessary to inform WAAF personnel that the rooms had been changed.

At last the time came for my demobilisation at Wilmslow RAF Station. I handed in my kit and was discharged as a civilian after just under four years in the WAAF. I still have my ‘Demobilisation Booklet’ which includes, among other items, a reference stating that they could recommend me to anyone needing a good shorthand-typist/secretary. During all my time in the WAAF I had never done secretarial work!

I have never regretted joining the WAAF. The experience broadened my outlook and I mixed with a far greater variety of people than I would have done in my fairly restricted home environment. In fact, the WAAF was to me my University of Life course.

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