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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!

Now I was off to Germany – a new country for me. Time was when I was in service. Now I was in service, but another type of service, which took me further afield. It was 7th September 1945, and I was off to Bückeburg by air. On the way, we flew over the Dutch island of Walcheren. There the Dutch had blown up the dykes and flooded the island to stop the German troops. How war touches everyone.

The billets at Bückeburg were superb – a real 5 star hotel. The hotel was in the shape of a square with a courtyard in the middle. The hotel’s owner still ran it. Our bedrooms were on one side, and we walked across the courtyard to the dining room. It was laid out with white tablecloths, silver cutlery and cloth napkins. We were waited on by men in uniform and wearing white gloves. As we walked to the tables, they drew the chairs out for us and put them back when we left. If anybody put a cigarette in their mouth, they were there instantly with a light. After snowbound rooms at Kirton and stark barracks at Brussels, this was amazing. We were on the other side of ‘service’! Here money was of no value, but cigarettes were, so we left them at the side of the plate as tips. On the black market they were very expensive and otherwise virtually unobtainable.

Bückeburg was a small town at the junction of three roads with a Y-junction in the centre. Our hotel was on one road; our office was a shop on the opposite side of the junction. It had been some sort of clothes shop. We had to clear out old coat hangers, ribbons, etc. (I still have some), and set up the unit once again. On the third side of the junction was a shop taken over as a N.A.A.F.I. Every morning we used to go across for tea and cakes; cream cakes such as we’d never seen for years. The window was set out like a high-class pastry shop. We lived there in 5 star luxury.

That is not to say everybody lived like that. Local kids used to come to the office with bunches of grapes, for which they wanted cigarettes or chocolate in exchange. A Military Policeman was nearly always on point duty, and through the large shop windows we could see what was going on. We heard a bit of an argument one day, looked out, and saw a German officer in a smart blue uniform. He had done something he shouldn’t have, so the M.P took him by the collar and the seat of his pants and marched him off.

We W.A.A.Fs. were not allowed to move without an armed guard nor were we supposed to fraternise. Being a new unit, it was too early for there to be much entertainment, so when we were not working, we had to spend the time reading, catching up with letters or just talking in the N.A.A.F.I. Letters were vitally important. We always looked forward to letters from home and friends, as I had made very many during my five years service.

Stock came to our office by the usual 60′ trailer. The driver was telling us all about the concentration camp at Belsen, a few miles up the road. He offered to take us there but F/O Wardle, who was normally an easy-going person said, ‘No’. Perhaps he was right.

On 23rd September the unit had an invitation to Hanomag Speedway with transport sent down for us. It was a cinder track. After the racing finished, we were invited down to the Sergeants’ Mess for a meal, after which there was a dance. We got back in the early hours after a very pleasant day.

As I said, we made many friends and they would appear out of the blue from time to time. One of them, Joe, knew I was at Bückeburg, and had been posted to Celle, not far away. He rang up one day and said he would come across for the day. Joe duly arrived complete with rifle. We set off for a walk through the woods, and had not gone very far, when a riderless horse galloped by. We went on to find a girl looking battered and shaken. Despite the ‘armed guard’ requirement, Joe dropped down from the track to the road to try to get help. I followed down, more slowly, with the girl. Joe had managed to stop a passing car, the driver of which was a nurse from the local hospital. We got her comfortable and settled and off she went to the hospital. We continued with our walk. It was another pleasant day and it was good to see him again.

As I write this, I wonder how many times I’ve said about going for walks. It was part of our life. R.A.F. stations were obviously out in the country. There was entertainment of some kind in the camp, but there was always the need to get out and walk. Country pubs within reasonable walking distance of R.A.F. stations always did good trade.

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