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FELTWELL - NORFOLK

In 1939 when war broke out I joined the W.A.A.F. and found myself in Edinburgh training to be a wireless operator.Up to then the farthest I had ever been was to Ascot, Berkshire, to visit my Grandparents.

Originally I wanted to go in the Land Army. They said I must get a certificate from my Doctor to say I was strong enough to drive a tractor. I’ve laughed about that ever since. The Doctor signed the paper but I still can’t imagine myself driving a tractor. The wait to get in the Land Army was six months, when you are seventeen years old there is no way you can wait six months for anything, so I got on my bike and cycled from home in Chelsea to Westminster to see about joining the Women’s Royal Air Force, known as the W.A.A.F. So anxious was I to get to the Air Force Headquarters that I promptly cycled into the back of a bakers delivery van on Westminster bridge and fell off my bike. Bruised and shaken I got back on my bike to continue my journey. In the Air Force Headquarters I signed a paper to say I was born in September to make me eighteen. I got away with that! Then came the medical — I was anxious because of my fall on Westminster bridge so when the doctor approached me with his stethoscope I felt I had to explain why my heart was beating so fast. He was not bothered about that; said I was OK but only five foot one and a half inches tall instead of the required five foot two. However he said as I was young (little did he know I was not yet eighteen) I would probably grow a bit anyway. “So I was in” that quick! To hell with Land Army and their six month wait.

They immediately offered me “Barons Court” I was horrified and said “My
Dad works there — I don’t want to get up and go to work on the same train as my Dad — I have joined the W.A.A.F. to see the world. So they then offered me Feltwell, near Lakenheath, Norfolk. I thought, well that’s a bit better than Barons Court which is only central London. Three weeks later and I was off. First I had to find my way to Stanmore — that was a journey into space to start with, as I had never been there in my life. However a study of the map of the underground and district lines got me on my way. Once at Stanmore I was faced with a very long walk indeed with a heavy suitcase, with all the wrong clothes in it. Eventually I got to Stanmore R.A.F. Station too excited to be tired. I was introduced to about eight other girls and given a raincoat, which was all the uniform available at the time. A railway warrant, a lift in an R.A.F. lorry and back to Stanmore station, on to Waterloo, to pick up our connection for Norfolk. How proud I was to be Aircraft Woman Barnes 887928, known to my friends as Barney (never will I forget my number).

We were met at Lakenheath station by another R.A.F. truck and taken to R.A.F. Feltwell. There we were lucky — they had turned out all the Officers and their families to put us in their rather nice houses. I always wondered where those families went. Still with only a raincoat each we were told to buy ourselves flat black shoes — lace-ups, of course. I bought mine from a sample shoe shop in Shepherds Bush on my first long weekend leave. Also we were told to buy grey stockings and suitable gloves as winter was coming.

At the time there were only five trades available for the W.A.A.F. In those days one had to take one of those, if you could do it — or not get into the WA.A.F. The trades were nursing orderlies, cooks, telephonist, clerks or jobs as Batwomen (looking after the Officers). Luckily I had been a telephonist (switchboard operator) at Eustace Watkins, Chelsea, so was able to go as a telephonist. When at Feltwell it got near to my Birthday in October and I had to write to my Mum asking her not to send me a Birthday card as I had said I was born in September to make me eighteen. Had I said it was October it would have made me underage.

On arrival at Feltwell we were all at a loss as to what was required of us. The poor sergeant and Irish man with many years service could not believe he had to try and drill us. We were all very young and stupid, when he said left turn; half the girls turned the wrong way. When he said “about turn” many found themselves looking into another’s face. But Sgt. Murphy persevered and after much perspiring on his part he managed to get us to do it right.

I thought that I would be clever and save the Aerodrome, if it was bombed, by being able to write with my left hand — after of course my right hand was blown off. So whenever I was on duty — stuck on the switchboard for eight boring hours, I spent much time practicing writing with my left hand. This skill needless to say was never required.

The W.A.A.F. were vastly outnumbered by Airmen and dances were held in a hanger every Friday night. The R.A.F. band was very good but the hangers were enormous, very cold, with rough concrete floors. They put coke braziers in, which smoked badly and made our eyes red, watery and sore. The smell made me think of roast chestnuts from Petticoat Lane, where my Dad took us as children.

Most of the Airmen came from Blackpool and had grown up dancing in the Tower Ballroom, or the Winter Gardens, so they were excellent dancers. None of us W.A.A.F. were much good but the Airmen could not believe their luck — all these W.A.A.F. suddenly on their station and they were more than pleased to show off their dancing skills and teach us how to dance. After six months we could all dance, tango, waltz, foxtrot, quickstep etc, the dances of that time.

About this time I got a telegram from my Dad saying Mum was ill. The W.A.A.F. Officer gave me leave but when I got home my Mum was in the local pub — The Hour Glass on the corner of Crescent Place, where we lived. I was not very pleased. Dad said “they all do it” but I was so wild that I went straight back to camp.

Then the war got serious and one awful night we (all the W.A.A.F. not on duty) were marched down into the air raid shelter in full uniform. There was nothing down there — just a wooden floor (duck boards), wooden slats, which we all had to lie down on all night long, with our heads on our respirator cases. It was cold, very hard and uncomfortable. While we were down in the shelter, tired and dirty, we heard that the laundry had not returned. Our clothes were collected once a week and this time it never came back — we were all devastated. The Friday night dance — no clean underwear, stockings or shirts. We could not believe it — the W.A.A.F. officer just said that we would have to spend more time on our faces.

When we came up from the shelter all the sky towards London and this is from Norfolk, was bright red. We heard later that the East End of London and the docks were on fire from the bombing. All leave was cancelled and it was some time before I could go home on leave. When I did the left hand corner house of Crescent Place was completely flat. My Mum said some eggs that she had on the dresser were addled by the blast. We had to spend the nights in the air raid shelter in the back garden of my home in Crescent Place. I needed a dressing gown to take back to camp with me, so I bought one in Dorothy Perkins in the Kings Road, a saxe blue one — warm material as we were now in the winter. I had some butterfly transfers at home so I embroidered on both sleeve cuffs, the collar and the ends of the sash in bright colours. We were in the air raid shelter in our back garden all night, every night of my leave, so I had plenty of time to do my sewing by the light from my Fathers Tilley lamp.

Back at camp they had a visit from a famous group of entertainers called “ENSA” but we W.A.A.F. felt hard done by as it was rather a risqué show, the Airmen told us later and all W.A.A.F. were forbidden entrance to the show. One W.A.A.F. called Penny, I forget her surname, was the same height and build as me and also had dark brown hair. Penny was given to visiting the local pubs and more than once I was accused by my friend, an Air Gunner, of being out when I said I was staying in to wash my hair.

Because it was a Wellington Bomber station (Feltwell) we W.A.A.F. used to count the Wellington bombers as they flew out on night raids and when they returned in the morning. Many times one would come chugging back and we wondered if it would manage to land safely. Worse still was when we had counted twelve out and only ten came back. Because we knew most of the aircrew it was always rather upsetting.
November 1939

Armistice Day and we W.A.A.F. were told to sell poppies (with a tray hung round our necks full of poppies) to the Airmen in their cookhouse.

There was no way I had the courage to do that. I was far too shy and absolutely refused. I was a rookey and had no long been a W.A.A.F. so in great disgrace I had to clean one of the sergeant’s cars.

EDINBURGH

Then a notice went up saying any W.A.A.F. with knowledge of the Morse code, could if they wish, apply to be trained as a wireless operator. I had been a Girl Guide and knew my Morse code and could not get my name down quick enough. To my joy I was posted to Edinburgh to do wireless training. Even better still — further away from Barons Court. Edinburgh seemed to be full of Polish Airmen. We W.A.A.F. were trained by G.P.O. Telegraphists, in a basement almost opposite Holyrood House, not far from Waverley Station. We were in a long “school room” with desks that had Morse Keys fixed up on each one. One Morse Key for each of us trainees. The Instructors, like teachers, sat at desks in the front. The girl in front of me, quite a pretty girl, with fair hair, had a very high colour, a very florid face really. I heard later that she had died. Next to her was a rather statuesque girl, with beautiful thick black hair. She said she came from Bonus Aires, her English was perfect. At one o’clock every day, war or no war, they fired a cannon in the grounds of Edinburgh castle. I actually did some thing dreadful there — I pinched a brass knob off the fireplace fender in one of the staterooms in the castle. Three years later, I went back to Edinburgh on a visit and yes — I put the brass knob back. The security staff must have been very puzzled by that.

In Edinburgh we were at first, put in civvy digs. Four of us were put in an attic. When it rained, it rained on us in bed. We put our great coats over us on the beds. When we told the W.A.A.F. officer, the next morning, she said that we would be moved. She then sorted out a dis-used top floor of a very old tenement building — to get it cleaned up and it was very dirty, she caught every W.A.A.F. she could and said they were on “Jankers”, which means you are in disgrace and must do “Hard Labour”. I cannot remember what she got me for, but got me she did and all the rest of us too. My chore was to scrub down a long flight of stone stairs leading up to the top floor. Hard and dirty work but then we all found we were doing chores of some sort but we liked it when we could move in and all be together. That meant about six to eight in a room. The rooms were quite large and we had a lot of fun. The W.A.A.F. officer then had to engage a cook and she found a very young girl, who seemed to be a bit slow, but she was a good cook. Soon she very much wanted to become a W.A.A.F. like us but she did not get any encouragement from the officer who wanted to keep her as a cook.
I did a silly thing one day when my collar was dirty (the collars were separate from the shirts), I scrubbed it in the sink at about seven in the morning, dried it a bit on a towel and promptly put it on and ran down Princes Street to our Morse code lessons. Of course, I got a cold — what else could I expect.

Another silly thing I did in Edinburgh, well there were three of us actually and none of us had been used to drinking in our homes. We went into a bar in a hotel — it seemed to be quite deserted, in fact almost empty. However we decided that we would only have three drinks, one round each, a gin and tonic, a whiskey soda and a rum and blackcurrant. As you can imagine we had much difficulty getting out of that lounge — we found it extremely difficult to weave between the chairs — we never did that again!

One night, on a return journey to Edinburgh, after a visit to my home in Chelsea, the train was very, very full of troops. I got a seat but because it was nighttime a soldier (who I did not know) fell asleep with his head resting on my shoulder. I did not dare move; when he finally woke up he was more than embarrassed. On my early arrival in Waverley station, Edinburgh, I went into the station canteen and for the first time in my life, I had banana fritters for breakfast. On my journey down to London I had been horrified to find so many people sleeping on the platform at South Kensington station. I had to step over them to get out of the station. I had not realized that they slept on the platforms every night because of the air raids, they were wrapped in sleeping bags, brewing tea and eating sandwiches.

Because they celebrate New Year in Scotland our first landlady bought us up a small glass of sherry in bed on New Years day. As I said, none of us were used to drinking, so sherry in bed, so early in the morning, was quite a shock. Actually we would have preferred a coffee.

My Father had somehow got my bicycle to me in Edinburgh — I can’t remember doing so but I must have asked him for it. He must have walked it across London from Chelsea to Waterloo — he had never ridden a bicycle in his life and I don’t think he would have taken it on the underground. I remember collecting my bicycle from Waverley station, Edinburgh — I needed it to cycle up to Arthur’s seat, a very high hill, and a well-known beauty spot in Edinburgh, possibly Calton hill. I used to take my notes and book (my homework), a bar of chocolate with me and when I got tired of studying I could look up and gaze at the ships going to and fro in the Firth of the Forth.

I nearly came to grief one day on my return journey from Arthur’s seat — as I said it was a very steep hill — on the way down I suddenly realised I had no brakes. The bike was going faster and I could not control it. I knew at the bottom there was a busy cross roads. I could only think of one thing to do, so I did it — I rode straight into the hedge. Scratched and bruised but glad not to have shot over the cross roads — I took my bike in for repair and was told the back brake had been put on the wrong way.

Still on my wireless course in Edinburgh, my friend and I decided to hitch hike to Glasgow. It was quite safe to hitch a lift in those days, especially in uniform. A lovely bright winter’s day, we soon got a lift in the back of an open truck. We huddled under some sacking but it was winter and there was snow about, when we arrived in Glasgow, we found we were too stiff to move, frozen stiff I suppose. The driver had to lift us out of the lorry — we staggered to the nearest shop front and held on until we could stop shivering and get going a bit. Then we went to the nearest Y.M.C.A. had a hot coffee and scones until we were able to continue our journey. We got to the River Clyde to look at more big boats and on to Greenock. A good night’s sleep in the Y.M.C.A. and then we hitched back to Edinburgh.

Much of my spare time was spent cycling down to Leith. It was so pretty — under a very old stone bridge and then to the waters edge — so peaceful by the water. I often did my homework there on a bench, watching the boats sail by. Too far to cycle, I took a local bus to Musselburgh and some times to Portobello, complete with my homework books, once again to look over the Firth of the Forth. Tired of cycling towards Leith, sometimes I cycled in the opposite direction towards the Forth Bridge and there I found myself a very quite beach with silver sand and palm trees on the foreshore. I only went there a couple of times, as it was a very long cycle ride. I never did know the name of the place.

We had been in Edinburgh for six months, December to June and in the spring the weather was absolutely beautiful, I wanted to stay there but our course came to an end. We had our exams and were all “Wireless Operators” and how proud we were to sew those wireless badges on our uniforms. I had thought of failing the course to stay on in Edinburgh but then I was not sure that it would work that way. Of course we were all split up and sent to various stations.

While we were in Edinburgh we were ordered to go up to Edinburgh Castle to learn with the soldiers how to do the Scottish dances. In fact it did not work out that way. We found that we were in a small hall with one or two officers and a W.A.A.F. sgt. who were our instructors. It was all a bit exhausting. We only got to go three times because on our third visit during a very strenuous dance the Sgt W.A.A.F instructor’s false teeth shot out and slid across the very highly polished floor. This in front of two army officers and us W.A.A.F. was too much for her to bear — to make it worse no one knew whether to laugh or try and keep a straight face. That was the end of our Scottish dance classes.

So now our stay in Edinburgh came to an end. I found, with several of my friends, that we were in “Y” section, which meant we were sent to British Wireless Stations on interception, which was where Bletchley Park got some of it’s coded messages from. We were told never to tell anyone what we were doing, just say we were in “Y” section. Actually I never mentioned it to anyone until long after the war, when it became public knowledge about Bletchley Park. What we did was to sit for eight hours at a time, except for a tea break, in front of a wireless set trying to hear a particular call sign, or identification letter from the enemy aircraft. One just had to keep moving the dial of the wireless set round in the hope of hearing the right signal and hopefully reading the following Morse code messages, or any other information they might reveal and getting it written down. If we picked up “Q.A.L.” Boden we knew the pilot was in trouble and possibly going to crash land. We had a copy of the International “Q” code, so we were able to look up with quite a lot of interest if they used it. Telegraphist messages in code were picked up in the wireless stations by Air Force, Army, Navy, civilians and many other personnel. Many ex G.P.O. W/Ops were working with service stations. We in Edinburgh were trained by G.P.O. W/Ops and we had a lot of civilian W/Ops working with us at Cheadle — Some were ex. Retired men who had kept their wireless operating up as HAMS, sending messages all over the world and had their own call signs, becoming great friends with their distant contacts.

CHEADLE — STAFFS

From Edinburgh, some of us were posted to Woodhouse Hall, Cheadle, Staffs. A very large old house with many rooms. They eventually built a small hut at the side. A N.A.A.F.I. for cups of tea etc but before they did that we were given jam sandwiches, which we did not think much of. The house was at the end of a long drive. They said that at midnight sometimes one could hear a “coach and horses” coming up the drive.

We were at first billeted out in various villages. My first billet was at Stoke on Trent in a fairly new housing complex. All new houses and very young families. The couple I was billeted with had a little girl fifteen months old. What I could not get used to was the very affectionate couple, as my Mum and Dad were not like that and it embarrassed me very much. What I did like was the “Rookery” on the corner — the noise from the rooks was unbelievable and there again it was a sound quite new to me — there were no rooks in Chelsea. We were just a bus ride outside Stoke-on-Trent. The landladies, young as they all were, did not like our coming and going on the various shifts (we were taken on an R.A.F. lorry). Our shifts were midnight — 7am, 7am — 4pm and 4pm — midnight. We were soon all moved on to our second billet, further along the village, still on the outskirts of Stoke-on-Trent, this time into a lovely old mansion house, four or five of us in a bedroom. I did not mind that so much but what I did not like was bath nights — the authorities had put four baths in a big room. We did not like that at all and tried not to look at each other — luckily we were soon moved again, which was a good thing, as I found it being winter, if I went into Stoke-on-Trent or Handley, which was also quite near, it was a long, creepy, very dark walk along the country lane to the W.A.A.F. hostel — my own footsteps used to frighten me. We were all on different shifts, so more often than not we were off duty on our own.

It was whilst I was there that three of us had cycles and went into Stoke one day — on the way back I took a corner too quickly and came off my bike. Back at camp I had to go to sickbay as I had gravel rash on my face — they had to pick the gravel out with tweezers — I did not like that at all. I should mention that we all had a drink with our lunch — perhaps that explains it.

On all the Wireless Stations they had, of course, very tall Aerial masts, but only once in all the six years that I was a Wireless Operator, did we have a storm severe enough to necessitate us taking off our headphones. Most of the time we were on duty, we were sitting in front of our Wireless sets, head phones clamped to our ears, both hands on the dials, moving the dial very carefully and frequently to the left and the right, hoping to pick up Morse signals from enemy aircraft. Perhaps the weather was not favourable for them to fly, so not much excitement in the room. If that was the case between 2am and 3am was the hardest time to keep alert on the night shift.

LEEK - STAFFS

Now we were moved to our third billet in Leek, Staffs. I liked it very much in Leek. A market every Wednesday, as we were on shifts it did give us lots of time off during the day. More exciting than that to me, was the cattle market, as a Londoner I had never been to one before. Unfortunately the cattle market has now gone but it was nice to watch all the cows, pigs, sheep, goats and horses etc arrive in the farm lorries and of course, the noises and smells from the animals was quite exciting to me.

In Leek, I was billeted with an elderly lady and her daughter who was engaged. They were very religious but their goodness did not stretch to me at Christmas — of course we were all on shifts — the R.A.F. coach used to pick us up from the village square — Christmas week I was on night shift — midnight to 7am — admitted it must have been awkward for my landlady, anyway on xmas day, I came home as usual, after the night shift, had breakfast, toast and coffee and went to bed, tired after being awake all night. The smell of roasting turkey woke me up at midday and guess what, the good lady brought my dinner up to me in bed, on a tray — sausage and mash — I could not believe it and the turkey smelt so good — I could have cried.

Because I had my bike and the summer had arrived we (four W.A.A.F friends) found a dis-used open-air swimming pool, outside of the village. Very dilapidated but even so we managed to get in the old wooden changing rooms. I actually went down the water slide but only once, as when I opened my eyes under the water, I could see the very green water and frogs, so I never did the slide again. Green though the water was, it was quite warm and we had a lot of fun together. All our towels were very green when we dried ourselves. One day we were there, the local policeman came along on his bicycle and asked us what we were doing, however he was a good sort and told us that the local grocer was the owner and we should ask his permission. We cycled back to the village, about three miles and saw the grocer — he was more than surprised to hear that we had all been in his very green swimming pool but did not hesitate to give his permission.

One of my four friends, Margaret Hunter, was engaged to a solider and wanted to get pregnant to get out of the W.A.A.F. The medical officer told her to eat lots of cheese — which she did and it must have worked because Margaret had twins. I have a snap shot taken on the edge of the green pool of the four of us including Margaret’s Mum who was visiting and had managed to borrow a cycle from someone in the village.

To get on duty, we were picked up by the R.A.F. coach in the village square. One time when we were on the midnight shift and it was very dark, one of the W.A.A.F. (Beccy) walked into a lamppost, she had a very large lump come up on her forehead. It must have been very painful.

We were in Leek during a very hard winter. It was very hilly there and everything was white with snow. Very picturesque. The journey from Leek, where we were billeted, usually only one girl to a house, to Cheadle, Woodhouse Hall, the wireless station, was quite a long journey, up hill and down dale in the snow, was again something I had not been used to as a Londoner.

I was pleased when I was moved to another billet. This time (Shoobridge Street) with a nice lady, Mrs. Goldstraw, whose husband was away in the Army. It was a very small house (two up and two down) but very cosy and very near the cattle market. Mrs. Goldstraw taught me to wrap my fingers around my cup of tea to warm them during the very hard winter. No central heating in those days. It was a bit cold in her kitchen having a wash in the mornings. There was actually a nice bath in the kitchen with a board over it to hide it. It was a bit of a chore to fill the bath with hot water, saucepans and kettle from the gas stove. Mrs. Goldstraw worked part-time homework for the local wool mill and she taught me — when I was off duty — to put the woolen fringes on the bottom of scarves. It was not too difficult to make the fringes from the wool — it was a nice cosy thing to do in front of Mrs. Goldstraw’s little open fire and of course it upped her earnings for her. I don’t suppose she got much money for all her work. I kept in touch with her for sometime after the war. Unfortunately Mrs. Goldstraw’s husband died soon after returning home. I had long been gone from Leek by that time. She wrote and said how sad it was, as they were getting on so well. Mrs. Goldstraw herself is dead now.

While in Leek it was nice to cycle to Rudyard Lake, buy an ice cream and sit by the water — so very pleasant. Whilst in Leek I had my twenty first birthday. As far as I was concerned I already had the best birthday present ever. Having got to corporal it was my greatest wish to become a sergeant before I was twenty-one and this I achieved. What I wanted, since I could not get home, was a birthday cake to share with my W.A.A.F. friends. I went to the local bakery and ordered my cake a couple of weeks in advance, but when I went to collect it, on the day, there was not one there. They just said “sorry — couldn’t manage it” and muttered something about being unable to get the fruit -a sponge cake would have pleased me, with a bit of icing on it. I felt very let down. My friend Margaret Hunter gave me a rather nice small notebook with silver, or perhaps it was chrome, front cover, which I still have.

UTTOXETER — STAFFS

Again we were all moved on. Perhaps it was to give the landladies a break. Although they were building a W.A.A.F. camp at Cheadle, it was a long time opening and we all found ourselves in digs in Uttoxeter. A big surprise for me, my first billet there was with a family of business people. The husband had a grocery shop. For the first time in my life I was served breakfast in bed on a silver tray complete with silver teapot and the best ever china. This lady had a teenage daughter — not much younger than me and the lady was hoping that I would be a friend for the daughter. It did not work out — for one thing I used make-up and the daughter was not allowed to. Also when not on duty I kept going out at night to dances in the local village hall and the daughter was not allowed to go out at night. Needless to say I was not in that billet long.

My next move was to a council house (a come down from the last one). The landlady was not pleased to see me. Her last lodger, an R.A.F. boy had been a market gardener and did a lot of work in the garden for her. She was not very happy when he was moved on. She was a widow and now there would be no one to do the vegetable garden for her. In those days I was not interested in gardening.

Abbots Bromley was not too far out of Uttoxeter, about eleven miles, my father’s Aunt Louis (my Grandad’s sister) lived there in a tiny paper and sweet shop with her son Jack Wilton and his wife Alice. So off I went on my bicycle to visit them (I seemed to cycle miles in those days). The shop was very tiny and I had to sleep in the attic. Once a year in Abbots Bromley they have a Mummers Play (Actors in a dumb show, in weird costumes, stags heads with antlers, doing all sorts of buffoonery). My Aunt said it was very special and I must come to see it. Another lovely day and long cycle ride — whatever would I have done without my bike. This time I was to sleep in a small cottage belonging to the local nurse who was on night duty. Once the nurse had gone on duty it seemed very quiet and strange, a bit un-nerving, no one else living in this house.

Aunt Alice always entertained the local Airmen with tea and cakes and she arranged for one of the Sgt Pilots to take me in his aircraft, a small open-air, two-seater used for training. Another cycle ride for me — I cycled to the R.A.F. camp (a very small camp). It was all very unofficial of course. When the airmen put the parachute on my back — not expecting the weight, my legs just collapsed under me. Of course, the airmen laughed — then they felt embarrassed and tried to get their faces straight. After that, as it was only a training flight of a short circular journey, they decided I could sit in the seat behind the pilot and they would put the parachute on the seat behind me and put the straps over my shoulders. Because of being an open-topped aircraft I had to wear one of their helmets and some goggles.

Still in Uttoxeter, I used to cycle to the local racecourse and on to the river Dove. The local children spent a lot of time there with their tiddler nets, fishing rods and paddling in the water and I enjoyed having a packed lunch of cake and a bar of chocolate there.

My brother, Jack, was stationed at Ashbourne, Derbyshire and we arranged to go together, one day, to a dance in Ashbourne. I took the local bus, Ashbourne being a bit further away and I had to think about getting back to Uttoxeter in the dark. Never a good timekeeper, my brother was nowhere to be seen, so I had to go to his barracks and ask for him. The guards laughed their heads off, said it was the best one they’d heard that day. “His Sister” you say — ha, ha, ha,. However they sent someone to get him. Of course, he was not ready, knowing my brother, he wouldn’t be. He came out still putting his tie on. I expect he got his leg pulled when he got back to camp. The boys in the guardhouse just did not believe I was his sister. We had a few dances together. Because it was very hot in the dance hall, Jack had rolled his shirt sleeves up and I was surprised how hairy his arms were. Our mother had made us both go to dancing classes with her, when we were teenagers. The classes were held in a basement in Lilly Road, Fulham. The male teacher, Mr. Gardener, was so old; at least he seemed so to us. His knees were permanently bent and kept digging into my legs as I struggled to get the steps right. Unless of course, that was his way of teaching his pupils to get their legs out of the way. He always wore a black velvet suit. Jack, of course, had to dance with the teacher’s wife. I have always been grateful to mum for making us go there with her. I had to leave the dance in Ashbourne before the end. No way could I miss the last bus back to Uttoxeter — it was too far to walk — about sixteen miles!

There were a lot of Americans in Uttoxeter and naturally we W.A.A.F. got to know them and we all had our special friends. The one I was friendly with, knowing I came from London, asked me to show him over St. Paul’s Cathedral. I had to admit that I could not do that, as I had never been there myself. He then said “In that case he would take me” I never did know where he slept in London, possibly the American’s had their own hostel; anyway I was pleased to have the odd weekend staying with my parents. So I got to visit St. Paul’s and walk round the “Whispering Gallery”, so many steps to climb up.

The American Ladies Clubs were very good and held lots of fund raising events for the English Forces Girls. They sent us all a nice small pillow — such a luxury. Our bedding consisted of three equal size mattresses that butted together to form one long mattress. They were very firm and never came apart once on the bed. We had three blankets and every morning had to fold them in four identical squares and put them at the head of the bed. They were not the nice soft ones but grey, heavy, thick jobs. We all loved the comfort of our tiny pillows. I went into Stoke-on-Trent, into a pram shop and got a nice pillowcase, just the right size, with a small blue motif on the end. Later I used that pillow in Sue, my first daughter’s pram. I think the American I was friendly with, must have told his sister that I was small because she sent me a beautiful hand made pair of gloves — such soft leather, but they were too small for me — I think they would have fitted a girl of about eight years old. Ernst Hamilton of Wisconsin said that he wanted to take an English bride home with him but there was no way I could have spent the rest of my life with someone who chewed gum all day; so it was lucky for me when, at last, they finally opened up the W.A.A.F. camp in Cheadle.

CHEADLE — STAFFS
IN THE NEW W.A.A.F. CAMP

The camp in Cheadle was ready for the W.A.A.F. Cheadle must have been a male camp at one time, as all the showers consisted of was a nisson hut with partitioned off cubicles but no curtains for privacy, just a bench outside the cubicle that ran the length of the hut, to sit on for dressing. It was very draughty, the bath hut was better, and at least the four baths were partitioned off with their own doors.

It was at Cheadle that I saw a rainbow. It came down to the base of an electric pylon, about three in the afternoon. I could not stop looking at it out of my window. I had, by this time, a very small room at the end of one of the nisson huts. Eventually I decided I would like to go out and stand in it’s base - this I did — I know that they say there is a pot of gold at the foot of the rainbow — well I never believed that anyway, but I wondered if it would bring me luck. I stood there, like a fool, for a couple of minutes but as I did not feel much different, in the end I gave up and wandered off.

From the W.A.A.F. camp to Woodhouse Hall was not too far. They lay on a lorry to take us from the camp up to the house, where we worked. The driver never knew who would be going on duty, so they did not hang about. If you missed the lorry, as we sometimes did, it meant walking across three fields. Even in the daytime it was hair raising — the horses used to chase after us — especially a white one. The farmer said that they were after our sandwiches, which we had to take on duty (until they eventually opened a canteen for us) when we were on the midnight shift, it was even worse. If there was no bright moon we used to fall over the cows, which chose to sleep across the footpaths. I do not know who was the most upset — the cows — or us. We tried not to miss the lorry but often did. One dark winter’s day I lay on my bed at four in the afternoon and did not wake up in time to catch the lorry taking the girls on to the midnight shift, so I went sick. The next day I said that I had eaten something that made me feel ill; the Medical Officer gave me several days off duty. I felt such a fool and did not know what to do with myself for those days. I could hardly leave the camp as I was supposed to be sick.

One of my friends who worked in the cookhouse jumped out of a lorry and caught her hand on the side, as she jumped down and her ring caught on a nail, there she was hanging off the end of the lorry. Her finger was out of joint forever after that, poor girl.

In the spring it was an amazing sight to see thousands of small frogs, all crossing the lane that led to Woodhouse Hall and dreadful really, as there was a lot of transport going to and fro, they just had to keep driving and so, of course, many got squashed.

One thing I hated, was the walk on Sundays from camp to the village church. By now I was a sergeant and being small, a doubtful five-foot, I felt such a fool out in the front, leading the church parade. Luckily I did not have to do it many times.

One weekend after nightshift, my friend Eileen Earls and I hitched a lift to Blackpool. Of course, working all night, when we sat on the beach in the hot sun, overcome with tiredness, we soon fell asleep. When I awoke I was horrified to find my money had somehow fallen out of my top pocket and there it was all spread out in the sand. We had a wash to wake us up, in the Ladies on the Prom, found the YWCA (Young Women’s Christian Association) where service girls were always welcome. Booked ourselves in for the weekend, the accommodation was excellent, a comfy bed (softer than the camp beds in Cheadle), chair, small bedside cabinet with drawers and a mirror and along the corridor the bathroom with toilet. Down in the basement was an excellent canteen with very good cheap food. We visited Blackpool Tower and their dance hall with it’s many glass floor tiles in various colours. In the interval the organ seemed to rise out of the ground and played all the popular numbers. The next night we visited the Winter Gardens dance hall. In those days the music was so nice to dance to and during the war Blackpool was full of service men, so we were never short of partners.

On our next long weekend, which did not come round all that often, Eileen, my friend and I decided to hitch a lift to Rhyl (Wales). It took us all day to get there — no doubt we were late leaving the camp. It was quite dark when we got to Rhyl and we did not know where to look for accommodation so we visited the local Police Station for advice. There did not seem to be a YWCA in Rhyl, so the Police took us to an Asylum for girls. I think they were mentally retarded. They took us in — I suppose they had to, as the Police had taken us there. We were shown beds in a large dormitory with many females in coarse, white, linen nightgowns. I was somewhere down the left of the dormitory and my friend was somewhere up the other end. Of course, we had to have what bed was available. The inmates could not take their eyes off us as we undressed in our W.A.A.F. attire, Being locked in there I do not suppose they had seen many service girls anyway — never mind their underwear, It was a bit unnerving as the Matron locked us all in very securely. None of the inmates moved all night, but we were both glad to see the morning. We did not really have a good nights sleep. We were given a cup of tea and we left — with all haste I may add. After a worrying night we had a lovely day in Rhyl, the weather was glorious.

I decided now it was time I had a better uniform than the one I had been issued with by the W.A.A.F. The next day off I got a local bus to Hanley, Stoke-on-Trent and found Moss Bros. I went in and said I wanted them to make me a uniform in better material than the one I was wearing. The Assistant looked aghast — went to get the senior assistant — possibly the manager, who said “we are not allowed to do that, with special pockets and braid etc.,” “That’s fine” I said “I don’t want any of that — just a plain uniform exactly like I am wearing but in nice material for walking out off duty.” So they measured me up and three weeks later I ended up with a really beautifully fitted uniform in a very nice material — far superior to the issued uniform. Naturally I could not wear it on parade or on duty, only when I was going to a local dance or elsewhere off camp. Incidentally I always took my coat off in the Ladies Cloakroom of any dance, as soon as I found out the forces boys did not ask Sergeants to dance, so I simply left my jacket off, then rolled up my shirt sleeves until it came time to go home. Then I either had to carry my coat, sgts stripes inwards and freeze (it always seemed to be Winter) or put my coat on and make sure I lost my escort in the crush at the end of the dance.

I soon learnt, in the dance halls, it was better to ignore my girl friends and stand or sit alone. The forces boys were a bit shy and did not like approaching a crowd of girls, but one standing alone was a different matter.

Now I had a big panic. I was horrified to get another telegram from my Father. The telegram said “June (referring to my sister, now sixteen years old) coming to Cheadle — she is your responsibility now.” I then set about looking for somewhere she could stay. There was no way she could stay in the W.A.A.F. camp that would not be allowed. I was on eight-hour shifts. Lots of airmen were in private billets; there was no R.A.F. camp for them. A few enquiries among them and I was soon suggested a lady in the village. It was quite a comfortable house, but very homely. The lady had small children and I can still see her frying chips in a saucepan over an open fire.

To meet June proved to be more of an adventure, if that is the word, than I had anticipated. At Stoke-on-Trent Station I went into the ladies toilet, came out, but had left my W.A.A.F. cap inside. In those days one needed a penny (old money) to put in the slot to open the toilet door. No more pennies to get the door open again. I dashed up and down the platform — no sign of a porter or anyone else. There was only one thing to do and I had to hurry up at that, as June’s train was due at any minute. How I did it I shall never know. With much difficulty I climbed up and over that toilet door. Believe me it was very hard for me to get over that door. I had a great struggle, not being very tall and having a tight skirt on. I was quite disheveled when I emerged from that toilet. Once inside, no problem getting out of course, by that time I was feeling a bit scruffy, but met June from the train, it arrived just as I came out of the ladies. I then took June to her digs. I cannot remember how long she stayed in Cheadle but do not think it was very long. June tells me now that I did not seem very pleased to see her, in fact I seemed quite cross. Looking back now I can quite understand that. I probably did not tell her that I had just climbed over the ladies toilet door.

June must have been very bored on her own as I was always working eight-hour shifts. When off duty myself I would go to Stoke-on-Trent, Handley or Manchester but I do not think June would have wandered off like that on her own.

About this time I had a letter from my friend’s sister in Morecambe to say that her brother, sgt, Frank (Francis) Kershaw, had crash-landed in the sea at Lossiemouth, whilst on a training flight, in a Lancaster Bomber. I had met him on my first station in 1939, at Feltwell, which was a Wellington Bomber station. I have since been to Lossiemouth camping with my husband and had a look at his grave and taken a photograph. Frank actually took me to Morecambe one time to meet his family and I had stayed with his sister Emily. Unfortunately his family did not like me because I was not Roman Catholic and worse than that they had a very poor opinion of all girls in the services. It was really hard luck because the airplane he was flying in India crash-landed in the jungle. It was when he was on special leave after that, that he took me to Morecambe to visit his sister. He said that it had taken them (the Wellington Bomber crew) a month to get out of the jungle, traveling only at night. He never said what they existed on but did say that one of the worst things was not being able to clean ones teeth in all that time. Also when they did get back to camp the Adjutant could not believe his eyes and said they smelt awful, which I am sure they did. Prior to going to India he had been injured in a night raid over Germany, in a Wellington Bomber. He was a Rear Gunner, they were known as “Tail End Charlie’s” The airmen would never talk about their injuries so I only saw that his arm was in a sling and on my visit to Blackpool to see him, I had to cut his dinner up for him. I would have liked to send his sister a photo of the grave but had not kept her address and could not remember where they lived in Morecambe.

WADDINGTON - LINCOLN

Now I was posted to Waddington in Lincoln. The W.A.A.F. were billeted in a large old house. It must have been a sudden posting as nothing was ready for the W.A.A.F. We had wooden tables along a verandah. It had a roof but only one side along the back wall of the house. The two ends and other side completely open. Because it was winter we had to sit down with our great coats on. Actually it was such a novelty to me I really enjoyed it but the Cooks had the hump and definitely did not like it, Although they did not have to walk the food out to us as we all served ourselves and carried our own food outside. Shortly after that a large room was converted into a Dining Room — not nearly so exciting!

Of course I had my old faithful bike with me. There was a bike rack in the back garden, so naturally that is where my bike lived. One morning I went out to get it only to find that my handle bar grip had disappeared. To my surprise, as I looked along the rack of bicycles, I suddenly saw my cycle grips on another bike. I took them off and put them on my own bike — they were never removed again.

The Wireless Station was some distance from our accommodation. A tin hut very basic. It was in the middle of nowhere, but we did have a very tall wireless mast. Inside the hut were about two-dozen wireless manned by W.A.A.F and R.A.F. Wireless operators. The only thing was there were no toilets. We had to go into a small back room and piddle into a large oil drum. The trouble was however one tried it “tinkled”. All of us W.A.A.F hated it but as we did eight-hour shifts it was difficult to avoid it. There was only a tiny wall between a piddle pot and about a dozen W/Ops (both men and women)

We W.A.A.F used to catch a local bus into Lincoln, which we could do by walking about three miles to the nearest village post office bus stop. Of course we were in uniform. This didn’t please us much so we used to take civvies clothes in a carrier bag into Lincoln, go into the ladies toilets, which was under Stone Bow (a very old stone bridge in Lincoln high street).
Change our clothes and go into the Saracens head, which was always lively. Of course we had to get back to the stone bow to change into uniform again. One day we misjudged the time and missed the last bus back. There was nothing for it but to start walking. We knew it was about 7 miles but had no option. We must have walked along dark country lanes for about 3 miles when a car stopped and offered us a lift. How embarrassing that — of all people it was the wing commander from Wadding ton. I was with my friend Margaret Ripley. We nearly died of shock but by this time our feet were beginning to hurt so we were really glad of the lift and dreaded to think what the W.A.A.F officer would say when she heard about us. Perhaps she never did hear, as nothing came of it.

My friend Margaret was a great one for chatting up the boys and she arranged for us both to be on the perimeter of the local aerodrome at a certain time. It all worked out according to plan. A huge Wellington bomber taxied up reasonably close to where we were standing tucked into a hedge. We were called over as fast as possible and were ushered into the Wellington. I got put in the top center turret. I do not know what happened to Margaret.

The planes went up daily on training flights to check all was well and everything worked in order. They just used to fly round locally. This Particular pilot (I never did see who it was — I never knew all of Margaret’s conquests anyway) decided to fly round Lincoln cathedral. To start with it was very enjoyable, looking down onto the green fields and farms etc. But then the pilot decided to show off and tipped the plane over on its side. After a few of these turns I felt quite queer. I was conscious of an airmen coming up to my turret. One look at me must have been enough. I heard on the intercom a voice saying, “You’d better straighten up — this one gone green.” When we landed and got out of the plane my legs felt like jelly and I cannot for the life of me remember how we got back to camp, which was some miles away.

We walked, or rode our bikes if we had them, to the local village, about 3 miles. The kind post office lady said we could leave the bikes behind the shop/come post office. The buses only traveled that far so we always had to get to the village P.O some how, and of course that was also as far as the bus went on the return journey. Then we had to get back to the W.A.A.F hostel some — how (Mostly walked). Behind the post office shop was a very primitive toilet, which we were only too glad to use. It had a wooden seat that stretched from side to side of the hut with two round holes in it. No toilet seat, with a bucket underneath. Most of us had seen these toilets in our granny’s house anyway so were not unduly shocked. Most times we chose not to use our bikes on the evening trips into Lincoln because of the dark country lanes when we returned — no street lamps in the country.

On one trip of my many to Lincoln on my own when all my friends were on duty I decided to have my lunch in the rather nice café over Boot’s the chemist. It was always popular and crowded but I soon found a seat and studied the menu. What a surprise when I saw that “dish of the day” was roast pigeon. I thought, “well I’ve certainly never had that before and I may never see it on the menu so I will have that”. It was duly served to me and looked quite attractive. Very small of course without it’s feathers, but nice and golden and with the usual roast potatoes and sprouts etc. it was really quite good. Nothing special about the taste but not tough as I thought it might be.

I went back to Lincoln in 1997 to see the Christmas market with my husband. What a disappointment. It is now so built up that it is no longer possible to see the cathedral from the high street, which was such a pleasure. The new buildings are so tall. Also the Christmas Market was a disappointment too. It was very crowded indeed. We did get a pub lunch in the end but had to walk along way down to the end of the high street to even get in a pub. Then it was only lucky that a couple got up to leave just as we walked in the door. I must say the meal was nice anyway. It was not the Lincoln as I remembered it.

I made up a foursome one evening as a favour to my friend. Unfortunately the airman I was with missed the last bus back to his camp, some distance from Waddington. He knew he was flying that night so I loaned him my bike. His plane was one that did not come back! I was most anxious to get my bike back and some-how got by local bus and “shanks pony” to his aerodrome. I asked the guard on the gate who I should see about it, he sent for the Padre. I had to explain to him how Bob Knight, for that was his name, came to have my bike. The Padre thought it a tall story and I had to explain that I did not want my bike returned with his belongings to Hinkley, Leics, where he came from.

I had only done him a favour and I knew he had a fiancée and I did not want to upset her. Eventually the Padre said in view of the fact that I was a Sgt. he felt he had to believe me and took me along to a Nisson hut. When we went in it was a very, very sad sight. Many small heaps of Airman’s belongings, in neat piles along both sides of the hut (and so many). We walked the length of the hut and sure enough there was my bike with various other belongings to this Bob Knight. Sadly as it was, I was mighty glad to see my bike and understandably I suppose I had to sign for my own bike.
I then had a good long ride back to my own camp, about eleven miles, on a hot and upsetting afternoon.

RETURN TO CHEADLE (STAFFS)

Once again I am posted back to Cheadle. Now an N.C.O. (Non Commissioned Officer) Sgt. I have a small room to myself at the end of the hut. Previously when in Cheadle camp I just had a bed down one side of the hut, with about eight other W.A.A.F. down each side.

I was in the habit of going into the main hut to chat with the girls. One winter’s day, when they had a really good fire going in the stove, which was in the center of the hut, I put my hand out to lean on the stovepipe. My goodness — I soon took my hand away from that pipe — it was red hot!

Bored with being on my own, off duty, I frequently went to Manchester to have a manicure — well it was something to do. One mid-day in Manchester I decided to go into an Indian Restaurant. For me, in those days it was quite daring. I had never been in one in my life before and during the war there were not as many about as there are now. I asked the waiter for something “not too hot” as I could not understand the menu. I don’t know what it was, only that I quite enjoyed it. Strangely enough I was the only customer there.

There were many Chinese Laundries during the war, run by Chinese families. They had very small shops — always full of steam but their laundry work was excellent. We W.A.A.F. were always in their shops having our collars starched. The modern washing machines put paid to that but now they have Chinese Restaurants and Chinese Take-Aways instead.

Not now doing Radio Interception (Wireless Operating) I missed the challenge of trying to hear and read the Morse code. I was writing up a thing called S.O.D.I. (Signal Office Daily Log) in one of the offices upstairs in Woodhouse Hall. A silly job really but no doubt it was of importance. On a foolscap sheet of paper, it was necessary to write first the call sign of the aircraft, followed by eleven other details, although in code, which we did not understand, but I am sure Enigma did.

We had a very nice W.A.A.F. Sgt. who said she was a White Russian. Her English was perfect. Not a Wireless Operator, she worked as a De-Coder. One day she just could not work things out to her satisfaction and finally went home to have a bath and a meal. She was billeted somewhere in the village. Sitting in the bath suddenly the word she could not de-code came to her. She was so excited she leapt out of the bath, threw her clothes on and cycled, on a very cold dark night, all the way back to Woodhouse Hall. For this she received an Oak Leaf from Buckingham Palace to wear on her lapel.

I had a friend in Cheadle called Beverley. Although younger than I was, when we went into the local pub to have a drink with the airmen, Beverley kindly always stealthily exchanged her empty glass for my full one, as I never wanted to drink more than two glasses of whatever it was. Everyone wanted to stay in the pub until closing time so I was very grateful to have Beverley sitting beside me and I must say I never saw her drunk once.

One of my friends was a Medical Orderly called Allen Pilkington and knowing how much I had liked it when I was billeted in Leek, because he lived in Leek and went home for the odd weekend, he said his Mother would welcome me, so off we went in his little old car. Mrs Pilkington was lovely; she made me so welcome and kept a nice cosy pair of slippers by the fireside for me. I must confess I liked Mrs Pilkington better than her son. However, she gave me a nice little room to myself for any time I liked to visit her, but she frightened the life out of me by showing me a couple of bottom drawers, in a chest, that were full of bed linen, towels, tea cloths etc., and telling me that she had always put things in there for Allen’s bottom drawer should he ever get married. This did throw me no end as I had made my mind up, from day one of joining the W.A.A.F. that I would not get married to anyone while in the W.A.A.F. so sadly I felt it necessary to ease off on my visits to see Mrs Pilkington. Actually she did eventually tell me a very sad story, how Allen and family had arrived at the local Church for his wedding and the girl just never turned up. I expect that was how she had started the “Bottom drawer”.

Up high in her kitchen she had a wooden hoist for hanging wet clothes on and apologized for Mr. Pilkington’s long johns dangling down. Mr. Pilkington was very nice, quite a big fellow and the Lord Mayor of Leek. I am sure he was not pleased at all when one dark winter’s evening, with much snow and ice, Allen left me sitting in the car at the top of a hill, in the center of Leek, while he dashed into the pub to have a quick word with a friend, suddenly the car took off and started to slide down the hill. I was out of that car quicker than I’d ever moved in my life. I ran into the pub to tell Allen (who was not pleased to see me, as he was deep in conversation) that his car had taken off. It had run into a shop at the bottom of the hill that had, but no longer, a big glass window. Mr. Pilkington, as Mayor, could not have been very pleased. Because he knew the owner, Allen and I were able to get into the local cinema for free — it was a real little old fleapit.

At that time Stanley Matthews was playing football in Stoke-on-Trent (Port Vale I think). We had to queue for ages and ages, and this was on a very hot afternoon. When we reached the pay booth Allen had the cheek to say he had no money. I felt such a fool but paid for us both. I never did like football anyway so was not very pleased.

Another long weekend and all my friends on duty, so I decided to hitch to Warwick. It was winter, cold and snowing. When I got to Warwick I had trouble finding the Y.M.C.A. (Young Women’s Christian Association) where we W.A.A.F. were always welcome. I did eventually find it in the most unexpected place = Warwick Castle. It was evening by now, dark and cold. I knocked at the door. When it was opened they did not refuse me but it appeared to be empty. I was the only occupier of the dormitory. All beds stripped of sheets and blankets. They brought me one grey army type blanket but no sheets and then they disappeared. I have never had such a cold night in my life. I do not remember what they gave me to eat except that it was something cold but at least they never left me out in the cold snow.

A small gas chamber was erected outside Woodhouse Hall front entrance. Horror of horrors we all had to queue up to go in the beastly thing. When we came out, we were not long in there thank goodness; we all had red, sore, watering eyes. I suppose we learnt something by that exercise.

When we were bored, not busy and the aircraft did not seem to be flying, never mind sending out Morse code messages, we would scan the dial of the wireless set until we found Reuter. The Morse code they sent out was very, very quick, which made it difficult to read but we were so excited one day to read that the Bismark had been sunk.

HANDLEY — STOKE-ON-TRENT

At the end of the 1939-1945 war there was a big parade in Handley. All the forces for miles around had to gather there. We W.A.A.F. from Cheadle were on parade from very early in the morning. We stood at ease for so long we watched a Lady who lived in one of the little old two up and two down Victorian houses. She looked out of her upstairs bedroom window and we could see she was horrified to see so many Service Personnel lined up — filling the whole street that would normally be quite empty. The Lady had obviously just got out of bed. Hair in a mess, dressing gown clutched to her bosom. She quickly disappeared from the window. Much, much later and we were still standing there, standing at ease, rooted to the spot. The Lady came out, to walk away, obviously to find a nice place to watch the parade. What a transformation, she now had a smart suit on, hair immaculate, face beautifully made up. If we had not stood there so long, with nothing else to look at except the houses opposite us we would never have believed it, she was so different now, so glamorous.

We did eventually move off, out of that street and how relieved we all were, to finally be on the move. We marched past the Lord Mayor and that was it.

Whenever I watch the Horse Guards Parade, or the Trooping of the Colour, I think of those soldiers who most definitely must have been standing there since dawn. It is much more exciting to watch a parade than be in it.

The war had ended (1945). Our Commanding Officer arranged for our very good R.A.F. band to play on the lawn, outside Woodhouse Hall to celebrate the occasion. Lots of chairs were put round the edge and everyone seemed to be off duty but it was near impossible to dance on the lawn (those days still being waltzes, foxtrots etc., with just the occasional jive).

I had joined the W.A.A.F. in October 1939 so I had done six years, four months and ten days. I had to make my mind up either to become a Sgt/Major, which I did not fancy or leave the W.A.A.F. so I decided to do that and that was when they noticed that on joining I had said I was born in September. On my application form for dismissal I had forgotten what I had said all those years ago and put my correct date of birth as 17.10.21. They picked me up on it immediately but I said “Well it’s a bit late now as I am on my way out”. My De-mob book gives D.O.B. AS September, altered by the Officer to read October — she had spotted it at once.

I had sold my beautiful uniform that I had made by Moss Bross to a W.A.A.F. who was not due for De-Mob and was my size. I also sold a round electric heater that I used to attach into the electric light in the ceiling of my small Stgs room. Very dangerous no doubt but I never gave it a thought. Although the girls in the hut had a stove in the center of the hut there was no heat in my room and we seemed to have hard winters in Staffordshire, but lovely Springs and Summers.

I do wish I had been able to keep my cap badge. It started out with a rough surface and horrid rough edges but as we had to polish our buttons and badge so frequently at the end of six years, my cap badge was as smooth as silk and shone like gold.

When we got home we had to return our Great Coats (and how lovely and warm they were) and also our Uniforms to a clearing depot.

I had kept a diary all through my life in the W.A.A.F. I had a wonderful six years, four months and ten days, but on Demob day I burnt my diary. I thought, well that’s the end of that life and now I start another, as I was getting married but I do regret burning that diary now.

End

Dorothy Parish - nee Barnes

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