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This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Pennie Hedge, a volunteer from ��ѿ��ý London, on behalf of Win Bryan, and has been added to the site with her permission. Mrs Bryan fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.

I volunteered for the WAAF in 1942 and joined at the beginning of 1943. I was stationed in Bournemouth, it was where the colonial troops — Canadian, Australian, New Zealanders - came for their rest periods: breaks from flying, or if they had been injured. Towards the end of the war, our released prisoners of war were also sent to the station. We were looking after them — making sure their rooms were OK. If they had been injured we were almost like nurses. If they hadn’t been injured, and they hadn’t had female company for a very long time, we often had to lock ourselves in our rooms!

When it came over the tannoy that the war was over, they sat down and cried like babies some of them, they were so relieved that they wouldn’t have to fly any more tours. And they got as drunk as they could. We spent the night putting them to bed. They would say “One drink for me, one drink for you” but we would say “one drink for the plants”. They drank rye whisky which was a lot stronger than ours. I can’t remember if the plants survived.

One day there was a serious air raid over Bournemouth. Service people didn’t have shelters, we either went into the garden or stayed in our billet. This day we had been told to scatter. A bomb fell on the hotel the Canadian airmen were billeted in. One of them was in the bath, at the top of the building. The force of the bomb blew the bath out of the front of the building and onto the beach, with the airman still in it. The airwomen fell over themselves running to help him.

We had a room that held about 9 New Zealand airmen in it, and they all decided that they wanted to use the bathroom, at the same time. One said ‘first to get their clothes off gets the bath first.’ So of course they all managed to get undressed at the same time, and an officer lined them up.

My WAAF friend had to deliver a message to that room and asked me to go with her — we always had to go in twos. She was ahead of me in the corridor, and I reminded her to knock on the door, but it was too late. She flung the door open and there were the 9 men stark naked, with their backs towards us. “Oh look!” she said, “what a sight….” and then they all turned round. I was rooted to the spot. “Oh look, all sizes” she said. With that they made to charge towards us. Then I turned and ran.

My husband was in the army infantry and he went over on D Day and I didn’t hear from him for ages. We’d been moved to Gloucestershire by then. And we were kept up all night by the sound of the airbourne troops flying overhead the night before D Day. The next day the planes came back with their doors open and the ropes hanging down, so we knew that the invasion had started.

The officers said “if you’re husband’s out there, Win, you’re a widow.” I had got married in March 1944, and this was June 1944. It wasn’t until September time that I got a postcard saying he was safe. It was a card printed with “I am safe and well” and he had signed it. There were no personal messages.

He wrote to me from a fox hole, just before the they crossed the Rhine and said that it was very quiet. Then he wrote afterwards that they had crossed the river in a thick mist, led by bagpipes. My husband reckoned that the Germans were more frightened of the bagpipes than of the soldiers. He was in the Battle of the Bulge, and ended up in Berlin, but he didn’t like to talk about it much. In later years he told more to our children and grandchildren.

When he first came home on leave he called in at Bournemouth for me. I thought that I could get special leave, but they told me that he hadn’t been overseas — France didn’t count. I asked them what they thought the Channel was — Scotch mist? Eventually I was allowed some days leave.

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