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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!

My diary for 12th May reminds me I was on duty until 10 pm. I thought it was a bit late to go out, but there was a dance at the barracks so I decided to go. What a show! Two dance bands, a cabaret, then a huge cake in the shape of Germany was wheeled on to the dance floor. Everyone was invited to cut themselves a piece of Germany. I had only just stepped inside the place, when a fellow looking like a tramp spoke to me. As it turned out, he was a Canadian Army officer, who had only just arrived in Brussels that day, having been released from a German POW camp. He was thrilled with the whole show. I spent most of the evening with him, it was the first time he had danced for four years. We even won the spot waltz, a small pair of Belgian clogs that I still have.

The next day, Sunday, was a Day of Thanksgiving. I was at Wesley House later that day with everybody glad that things would soon be back to normal and we could all go home. It had been a very eventful week.

The next couple of weeks seemed to be uneventful but, for me, they would turn out to be very eventful indeed. I had been down to Wesley House, and on the way back I had to change trams at the Place Madou. A soldier got off the tram at the same stop and we just got talking. He told me his name was Harry and he walked back to the Barracks with me. He had just returned to Brussels from his first home leave for four years, prior to which he had served in Italy. We got on very well and he asked if he could see me next day. I was to be on duty until 5pm next day and would then be going to Wesley House. It had been a chance meeting in the evening and, although I didn’t know it then, it would be a meeting that was to change my life. Yes, 26th May 1945 would be eventful!

Well, I did meet Harry and we spent the evening together at the usual service haunts of Wesley House and the YWCA. A film we saw about that time was about Nazi war atrocities. It was unbelievable at the time. Then people say the world is sane and civilised. I wonder!

I had a friend, Sally, who was stationed at Malines (Mechelen), an old and historic town, not far from Brussels. It was a chance to see somewhere else new. The short journey was in a crowded but fast electric train not taking many minutes. To reach Sally’s billet needed a trip on a tram, a really boneshaker, suffering from a lack of wartime maintenance. Malines was lovely, very old and very pleasant. The guide at the Cathedral was very good and, outstanding, was the way the bells were rung. It was from the keyboard to the bells via the music box. The oldest bell had been hung c.1400. Then the guide opened another door and we found ourselves inside the chamber housing the largest bell. He hit it with a stone – talk about deafening you! We were presented with a piece of chalk to write our names and hometown on the bell. Lower down was a treadmill used to lift the bells, if they needed to be rehung. The guide asked if I would like to try it. It was easy at first, but I wouldn’t have liked to do it for long. So much for the bell tower – we had climbed 512 steps to get to the top.

Wesley House was a bit of paradise for us at that time. There was no alcohol, but the inevitable cups of tea much beloved by service personnel. I wonder if the war was won on cups of tea! We had a bit of a championship to see who could drink the most cups. Bill Taylor held that for the men – as for the women? I still like my cups of tea and we never leave tea in the teapot!

By the end of May, the friendship with Harry had ripened into something more. As soon as work was over every day, we met and went to the various places of entertainment. There were theatres, opera, dancing, country walking around Woluwe and Terveuren. We went round Brussels itself, and even to a football match between the Army and RAF at Anderlecht. There were many professional players in those teams.

The war had been over almost a month and we could move freely. In consequence, personnel were moving to Germany with the HQ of the 2nd T.A.F. moving across to Bückeburg. We had to move out of the Barracks, becoming attached to the Brussels unit. This time the billet was in a large house overlooking the Congress Column. The new billet was an improvement on the Spartan conditions we had had, and it was also located in a central and pleasant part of the city. The bedroom had a balcony from which I could look out and see Harry waiting near the Column.

Four weeks had passed since the 26th May. It was 21st June and, in our café, Harry asked me to marry him. I said I would give him his answer on Saturday, two days later. Those two days later I said ‘Yes’. That chance meeting at a tram stop had blossomed into something more. As I write this, fifty-nine years have passed. I can look back to fifty-four years of happy marriage, ending only with Harry’s death due to cancer. ‘Yes’ would prove to have been the right decision.

One of Harry’s friends decided it was something to celebrate. That evening we met and went to a civilian friend’s house. They were kindness itself, giving us a wonderful time. There were freshly picked strawberries and cherries, drinks, champagne, and whatever. As we were leaving Harry slipped an engagement ring on to my finger. One of the Belgian ladies, who worked at Harry’s depot, had relatives with interests in the jewellery trade. She had taken him to get it. Late that evening, we left the house in the falling rain and just in time to see the last tram disappearing round the corner. It wasn’t too far to the billet, eight minutes uphill and even running I was late in – but without problems! Harry had another twenty minutes walk in the heavy rain to get back to his billet.

I had the chance, too, to introduce Harry to Mme. Tournier and to take him out to Terveuren.

The general topic of conversation at this time was the General Election. Many of us had never voted before. We had the choice of a postal vote or one by proxy. I had given Dad my proxy, but we were very busy at our office as we had to issue all the postal votes to all R.A.F. units in Europe.

It wasn’t long before Harry broke the news that he was to be posted on 1st July. It had had to happen, but he had wangled himself on to the last draft. We continued the next days as if everything would go on forever. That Friday afternoon Harry rang to say he had to work. We arranged to meet that evening. We had tea. What we did after that I don’t remember. We just walked. We had more tea and walked again. My pass finished at midnight so when it got to five past midnight I just had to go. I was a long time in falling asleep.

A bright, clear morning dawned. Late that morning, one of the chaps said I was wanted on the phone. It was Harry. He didn’t have to go until Sunday so could I get the afternoon off. Well, can a duck swim? I never got ready so fast! We did what we could together – the Red Shield Club; collected photos; the Forces Club; we danced until 10pm and then walked again. It was midnight and this time there was no reprieve. A ’Brief Encounter’? no, not at all.

So many times in this text I have said ‘went to Wesley House’. My first visit there was on Easter Sunday 1945, and I have already reported something about the background to this ‘haven’. I’ve told you that some of the Belgian staff were transported to Germany, from where some did not return. I’ve called it a ‘haven’ – it was a ‘haven’ for very many of the service personnel who passed through the city, not just me. Well, many of us felt that we should return something to Wesley House for what it had given us. I have a copy of a letter from Capt. R.E.Jervis and also a copy of an article from an English language newspaper from Brussels at the time, May 1945. Capt. Jervis pointed out that the organ in the chapel adjoining Wesley House was urgently in need of restoration to the point of almost ceasing to function. No repairs had been possible during the Occupation. He goes on to say:-
‘It has been suggested by a British soldier that it would be a fitting testimony of appreciation for the grand fellowship received in the Eglise Methodiste, Brussels, by British and Allied troops, if we made ourselves financially responsible for the cost of restoring the organ to its former beauty.’
The civil congregation of the church had considered such restoration, but the cost was far beyond their means. Now the service personnel were seeking an estimate for the work. Capt. Jervis, in his letter, sought contributions from any service personnel who had used Wesley House and was happy to accept any currency until 31st July. The cost was BF 20,000. That figure was raised and passed. At today’s prices, it would be about £2750. Contributions came in all currencies, and from various nationalities as well as many British troops. The work went straight into hand and was completed in time for a presentation of the donations for the full cost at the Harvest Festival. With those donations, came a letter to Dr.Thonger listing the subscribers and their home towns, where known. A commemorative plaque was erected, in French and English, in the church. There was also a special presentation to Miss Claire van Goethem in recognition of her work for the Forces personnel. I have a photo of members and workers there, together with the two Army Chaplains, Rev.J.R.McNeal, and Albert Stott.

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