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Chapter Two :

Thus it was that we found ourselves being driven in a truck through the gates of Kinmel Park, Rhyl, on the North Wales coast. It was a large long established Army Training Camp, divided into two parts, one for men, and the other for women. The ruling was, that apart from meeting in the NAAFI for refreshments, the twain should never meet. The exceptions were the instructors, all of whom were men.

As the trucks halted outside the reception huts, we had an uninterrupted view of the large parade ground. All conversation ceased as we gazed in disbelief at the spectacle before our eyes. On the square, being drilled by a tall tough looking male sergeant, with a voice like a foghorn, was a squad of forty girls. They were in battle dress, which comprised battle blouse, slacks tucked into leather gaiters, and the inevitable ATS cap. Their uniforms looked trim and workmanlike, but it was their deportment and drill, which struck us dumb.

They were as precise and crisp in their movements as a ballet corps! As once they responded to the orders to advance, wheel, salute on the march, change step, slow march, quick march — in fact they were being tested with all the orders of the standard drill manual. We looked at each other in speechless dismay, convinced that it was all well beyond us. In a daze we got down from the truck and entered the reception hut, where another surprise awaited us. The hut was furnished with long trestle tables, on which were printed forms and pens. We were told to read one of these forms, sign it, then form up outside. The gist of the form was that we would be operating radar equipment, and would not make any claim against HM Government for any possible health consequences at any future date. As we had never until that moment even heard of radar, and had not the slightest knowledge of how it might affect us, we duly signed and left, to be taken to our new quarters.

The next three months were to be occupied with seemingly endless drills, regular route marches, PE, and training for our individual roles on a searchlight site. The drill sergeants, who were seconded from Guards regiments, proved exacting in their demands, as one would expect from the exponents of parade ground perfection. They were tough on us, but never unpleasant, lightening the routine with humour, and never making the square bashing the ordeal to which male recruits were often subjected. We ached and groaned, but learned to respond with precision to orders.

I found the selection for specific jobs a little amusing in my own case. The task fell to a psychologist, who presented us with a battery of tests, presumably to assess our IQs and aptitude. Two days later, he interviewed us individually and told us of his assessment. To my complete amazement he informed me that I had exceptional mechanical aptitude. My immediate reaction was disbelief. I was sure that he had mixed me up with someone else, or that I had mis-heard him. When he went on to explain that I would be trained for the most technical role in the team, the Number 5, responsible for the ignition of the carbon arc, and the correct burning, which created the light, my ego soared. I began to believe that I had undiscovered talents. Until then I had believed that I was at the other end of the spectrum of aptitude, almost incapable of re-setting the hands of my wristwatch! From that day, my opinion of psychologists has been tempered with cautious reserve.

The team necessary to operate a searchlight site could vary from nine to a dozen. The No. 1 was the Detachment Commander, an NCO, usually a sergeant. Nos. 2 and 3 were only found on all male sites, where a machine gun might be sighted near the lamp as a precaution against aircraft coming down the beam in an attack. No. 4 could operate the lights movement when a visual sighting was made. No. 5 was responsible for the burning process. No. 6 operated the target radar set, while Nos. 7 and 8 held the target when it was located, by moving the lamp in horizontal traverse, bearing and elevation of the beam angle. This they achieved with the aid of a radar controlled sighting unit. The No. 9 was responsible for the all important power unit, either a Lister power generator or a modified truck. On site, but accommodated in a small hut a little distance from the lamp, were Nos 10 and 11 ‘plotters’. They were in direct touch with Troop Headquarters by radio telephone (RT) and with the No. 5 at the lamp by telephone. Last but by no means least of our team, was the twelfth member, the cook, who had to try and perform culinary miracles with Army rations and the most basic cooking equipment.

All those selected for training as No. 5s attended a course of lectures given by a REME corporal (Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers). We were initiated into the mysteries of Ohms Law, the function of fuses, and the procedure of elementary faultfinding. This involved the deliberate setting up of common faults on the equipment, and our attempts to trace the fault using standardised checks. Gradually the mysteries seemed less mysterious.

The searchlights we were to use were of the larger 150 cms model, about five feet in diameter, and were usually radar controlled. The smaller 90 cms model was usually mobile, being mounted on a vehicle. Our light was mounted on a heavy trailer, stabilised by brick piers.

The powerful beam of light was produced by causing a high voltage electrical ‘spark’ to jump the gap between two carbon electrodes, the carbon arc lamp, which gave an effect like a continuous flash of lightning. This was achieved by passing a high voltage current through a circuit of which the two electrodes formed a bridge, then drawing the two slightly apart to form the vital gap across which the spark jumped, causing a brilliant incandescent light and a great deal of heat. The 150 cms mirror reflector behind the carbons reflected and focussed this light to form the beam. The burning process could be monitored through a darkened glass inspection panel. The front protection glass was the same dimension as the reflector, and mounted on the front rim of the casing were the radar aerials.

The approach of a hostile aircraft, by 1942, was monitored by long-range radar, so that ample warning was usually given. The exception to this was when hostile aircraft came in very low, almost at ground level to get below the radar signals. An approach of hostiles was signalled to the plotters on site, giving the bearings of the incoming targets, and they would then pass the order ‘Prepare for action’. The Klaxon alarm would be sounded and the order repeated verbally by the sergeant, when the whole team would assume ‘action stations’ at the double. This alert procedure took place each day, an hour before sunset, when we would all turn out in full battle-order, complete with steel helmet and gas mask, take up our positions, check our readiness, engage an imaginary target, and complete a dummy drill to the last detail. If everything was in order, the plotters would report back to Troop HQ that we were ‘Ready for action’. The team would then be ‘stood down,’ dismissed until the next alarm — practice or real. This in outline was the drill that we practiced time and time again at Kinmel Park — in preparation for the real thing.

Life in the training camp was quite strenuous but uneventful. We were still comparative ‘rookies’, liable to mistake the contents of the metal bath in the dining hall for washing up water, when in fact it was the evening cocoa. We were sure that we would never get used to the characteristic stale smell of the dining hall, and the monotonous food — but we did!

Within a couple of weeks we were eating like the proverbial horses. We put on pounds of surplus weight. We were required to return a shirt, a tunic, a skirt, and a pair of shoes to the stores, and in exchange we received slacks, battle-blouse, heavy boots, leather gaiters, and thick socks. The slacks were tailored as badly as most women’s were at that time, with elasticised waists. This probably deprived us of a timely indication of our spreading middles! It was as much the type of food we had as the amount we ate. Baked beans on fried bread were a regular item on the menu. Hardly conducive to keeping our figures slim. Fried potatoes were often served at breakfast.

Regular route marches of about twelve miles seemed to increase our appetites. We had a short session of PT each day, but by far the most vigorous exercise we did was squad drill. This seemed merciless at first, and when we were just about ready to drop, we were marched back up a steep hill to the ‘spiders’ at the high point of the camp. These spiders were an unusual arrangement of buildings. A central building contained the ablution block of baths, hand basins, toilets, and ironing and drying room. Radiating from this central unit were the dormitories.

Because of this unusual arrangement there was an added fire risk. This was brought home to us by the fact that a few weeks previously such a unit had burned down, as a result of an iron being left on and becoming over heated. This was before the days of thermostatically heat-controlled irons. As a result of this incident, fire drill received special attention. With typical Army thoroughness, it was thought necessary to subject us to an alarm one night, about an hour after lights out, when most of us were asleep. The ear shattering alarm bells had us tumbling out of bed in the dark, pulling on great coats over pyjamas, grabbing gas masks and steel helmets, and slipping our feet into whatever was handy, and forming up outside. We were then marched down to the parade ground. Heaven only knows why! Our progress downhill in the dark, with unlaced boots, or bedroom slippers, could only be described as a shambles. Our turnout at that unearthly hour had to be seen to be believed. Some had curlers in, others sported hair nets, and a few had their faces smeared in face cream, all of this surmounted, as per regulations, by the precariously balanced steel helmets. By the time we approached the square the whole camp was brightly illuminated, much to our embarrassment and the great amusement of our instructors, who were enjoying every moment of this unusual spectacle.

Training went on apace, and the time came when we were adjudged to be sufficiently proficient in our various jobs to be allocated into teams. Freda had been trained as a No. 6, and since friends were allowed to work together if possible, we became part of the same team.

To begin with we trained in daylight, picking up a Lysander, or a similar training aircraft. This we would follow on the radar screens, carrying out the full drill without exposing the beam. As No. 5, I watched the imaginary burning of the carbons through the inspection window, and relayed to the plotters through my telephone headset the bearing and elevation of the target. The next stage was more interesting. We were taken out to practice sites in the surrounding countryside for night practice drills. We began to understand the strategy of limiting the beams to four per target, and to avoid ‘trailing’ the beam — bringing it close to the landscape, so illuminating the immediate area to the possible advantage of a hostile aircraft. The equipment was very good, and we were pleased at our success. By this time we were aware that we must control our appetites, and although the fresh air and continuous exercise made us hungry, we refused the doorstep sandwiches and containers of cocoa, which were provided for these night exercises.

Now that we were doing the real thing, I found out that being a No. 5 faced me with a special difficulty, my lack of inches! It was necessary for me to enter the lamp to carry out cleaning and maintenance. This was done through a hatch on the side of the casing. The hatch was raised upwards, allowing access to the components inside the lamp. By far the most difficult and arduous job was changing the carbon electrode during an action. The fixtures in the lamp, and the remaining pieces of carbon were red hot; the latter had recently been white hot. The exhausted carbons had to be eased out of their retaining holders and thrown down outside the lamp, and new ones inserted. Special pincers were provided for this tricky operation.

The equipment had been designed to be used by men, and my lack of inches meant that I had to hook my toes beneath a metal support attached to my seat and bodily, head and shoulders, enter the lamp, supporting my weight with my thighs pressed against the frame of the hatch door. As a result of this contortionist act, my thighs were red, black and blue!

Our training in Rhyl was completed in three months. We were then to take part in a final passing-out parade, followed by our first seven days leave. On our return we would be sent ‘in the field’. There was much speculation as to where we would be posted. Some NCOs, who had been transferred from gun sites, were strongly of the opinion that we were to join the London Defences. This seemed likely, as German raids on London were in full spate, while most other cities were having a respite. At the time no one knew just how the situation would develop. London was still the prime target.

For me, a return for seven days to my battered hometown of Liverpool, to the luxury and anonymity of my civilian clothes, and the comfort of a real bed! Seven days of leave, which passed in a flash.

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