This last diary entry requires some elucidation. ‘Major Seago’ was the already acclaimed artist Edward (Ted) Seago, who went on to become one of the foremost British landscape painters of the twentieth century, and a favourite of the Royal Family. Despite a recurring heart condition which from childhood had caused him to suffer frequent ‘turns’ that left him debilitated and bedridden, Seago’s single-minded determination to enlist at the onset of the Second World War – albeit with an element of subterfuge regarding his health record – led to a mobilisation commission in the Intelligence Corps. It was only natural that his talent should have been put to use in the wartime art of camouflage, and by the time of his visit to Ditchampton Farm in February 1942 he had been appointed Camouflage Officer, 5th Corps, Southern Command. He was on particularly friendly terms with two of his consecutive commanders-in-chief at Wilton House, firstly General Claude Auchinleck, and after the latter’s appointment to Commander-in-Chief in India, with his successor, Lieutenant-General Harold Alexander. Both generals were amateur artists who, when strolling in the glorious grounds of Wilton House, found Ted Seago’s company a refreshing change from that of the majority of their more deferential junior officers. General Alexander even went so far as to make available to Ted Seago a hut in North Street, Wilton. This was divided into two halves, one for the use of his camouflage team, and the other as a private studio, where Alexander himself would come to paint whenever possible during off-duty periods. This hut would become Pamela’s workplace for the next few months of the war.
Arthur Street would have been aware of Ted Seago’s reputation and position through his connections both with Southern Command and local cultural circles, and clearly used his influence to persuade Seago to visit Ditchampton Farm and give Pamela an informal interview regarding her suitability to join his camouflage unit. Following her somewhat ignominious resignation from the military hospital, her father obviously hoped that her artistic talents could be put to use in a more agreeable form of war work. An additional benefit of working in Seago’s unit, situated a short walk away in North Street, Wilton, meant that Pamela could be billeted at home.
Unfortunately, however, Pamela and Ted Seago, on first meeting, did not ‘hit it off’, Pamela immediately realising that the latter had come to Ditchampton Farm under a sense of obligation. What she failed to understand was that Ted Seago was – to use the parlance of the day – ‘not a ladies’ man’. With a handful of exceptions, Seago found women difficult to deal with, and the naïve Pamela – who at that stage had never even heard of homosexuality – would have been mystified by his lack of normal chivalry. It is also quite possible that he was about to undergo, or was recovering from, one of his heart ‘turns’, and was not at his best. In any event, whilst he agreed to give Pamela a two-month trial at his camouflage unit, this new period of Pamela’s life got off to an inauspicious start.
At the beginning, however, Seago’s offer to Pamela was by no means a fait accompli. The following morning Arthur and Vera Street drove Pamela and her friend Joan back to Aldermaston for the remaining few days of their ATS course. Pamela’s orders came through later that day, though they were not what she had been expecting: ‘February 9th To my great disgust I have been posted as a filing clerk to Bulford even after my interview with Miss Brittain this morning …’ Pamela’s spirits were raised in the evening by the end-of-course show, however, which evidently went far better than she had expected: ‘We had a drill competition which we lost – and then a final inspection and then the concert which was a huge success, which was surprising seeing that we hadn’t rehearsed.’
Two days later Pamela set off from Aldermaston to take up her new posting at Bulford Camp on Salisbury Plain, but on arrival she found that – yet again at the last minute – her orders had been changed:
February 11th Got up at an unearthly hour and wetted the hut – can’t say scrubbed because there wasn’t any soap* – also my box. Caught the 9.30 … Terribly long day with masses of changes. Reading, Basingstoke, Porton and then Bulford. It was grim but when I arrived a telegram had arrived cancelling my posting. It seemed too wonderful but they wouldn’t find out about it for ages but finally put me on a bus to Salisbury!!! … then, heaven, they sent me home to sleep!!!! It was like a dream …
The very next day saw the beginning of Pamela’s two-month trial under Ted Seago:
February 12th Started at Major S’s camouflage hut in North Street!!!!!!! It seemed so queer – he didn’t say a word and looked as though he hated me being there. Apparently he wasn’t feeling well but he’s terribly touchy. Made models and things and Helen V V [sic] was awfully nice and a girl called Judith Buxton, Vera and Pat and Tim the batman.
The last mentioned member of the team would have been Alexander (Tim) Parker, an old school friend of Seago’s; a keen amateur jockey, he had been demoted by the army for having gone absent without leave to take part in a race meeting. Ted Seago made it his business to surround himself with loyal friends and colleagues who would willingly conceal from the authorities the severity of his heart condition, of which his old schoolmate was well aware. Disillusioned with army discipline, when asked by Seago to become his driver/batman and cover up for him during his heart ‘turns’, Tim was only too happy to oblige.
On Pamela’s second day at the ‘hut’, things were marginally better, chiefly owing to Ted Seago’s absence. Later she had a reunion with an old friend who had now become her ATS commanding officer, much to both girls’ amusement:
February 13th Major Seago out most of the day which was a relief. Carved etc. Have to be told twice about things … We work from 9 till 6 … Saw Prudence Perkins. She’s in charge of me – it does seem odd. She threw her arms round me!! How can you ‘Ma’am’ anyone like that??? It’s too ridiculous …
The Allies had recently suffered a number of setbacks, and Pamela goes on to chastise herself for not recording more about the progress of the war: ‘I never put down about the news these days but it’s too ghastly. Singapore is nearly lost and 3 German ships got through the Straits in spite of us – only 20 miles to play in. It’s awful.’ Pamela was referring to an incident that became known as the ‘Channel Dash’. On 11 February 1942 three German warships, Scharnhorst, Gneisenau and Prinz Eugen, made an audacious run from the French harbour of Brest back to German-held North Sea ports via the narrow Straits of Dover, whilst British naval units failed to sink any of them, a considerable blow to the nation’s morale.
Pamela remained mystified by Ted Seago’s attitude towards her, which did nothing to boost her self-confidence:
February 14th This morning went for a ride with Pat to guard the Major’s car – don’t seem to do any work at all. I do wonder what will happen and if he’ll kick me out – he doesn’t say a word which is so depressing. They let me have this afternoon off but in a way it is a bad thing because I think they want to get me out of the way …
This unexpected period of leave extended to the following day, a Sunday, when Pamela finally had a chance to write to David and catch up with the latest war news:
Lovely day off. Went for a walk & it was marvellous – all cold and sunny. Everything very clear … Wrote to David – I’m afraid the first since I went to Aldermaston. David where are you? I haven’t heard since before Christmas. I do wonder what is happening to him. The news is so terrible. Singapore has fallen. The Japs are overrunning everything. Africa is still [?] and the three German ships walked out of Brest and through the straits of Dover just like that. Winny spoke. It’s all so unbelievable.
A surprise announcement was made to the camouflage team when they returned to work on Monday morning:
Started again. The strain is terrific. I only mess about & the Major looks glum and goes into his sanctum … Then he announced we should all fly tomorrow. Fly think of it – and it has got to be very hush hush. Didn’t dare tell Mummy so got Pop’s permission …
Pamela’s ecstatic diary entry for the next day records her impressions of this, her fir
st ever, flight:
February 17th Today we flew. It was the most wonderful sensation out. I would never have believed it. Everything was so clear and concise and showed up like dollshouses and wooden things & not real at all. Anything white was an absolute landmark. Saw this house and it was so funny. Like a little cream villa an 1/8” high. Went downstream to Fordingbridge & back. Think I saw the Bensons’ farm at Rockbourne. Saw lots of forestry land and sandy paths – the country houses were lovely – lots of greenhouses. Saw several bomb craters & one filled with water – dark camouflage is marvellous, anything light hopeless. Tracks are amazing – and also places where there’s been a haystack. Saw piles of lime at regular intervals on plough showing up like mushrooms – anti-tank ditch is a gift – see it easy as anything. Rivers are dark & light grey according to the light. Paths show even through woods at this time of year …
No doubt Ted Seago’s decision to take his team flying was made in order to take advantage of the current snap of clear weather; however he needed little excuse to take to the skies, for this was the aspect of his camouflage work he most enjoyed. Although he was an army officer, Seago’s work required close liaison with the air force; earlier in the war he had lived at the School of Army Co-operation at Old Sarum RAF station, where the officer’s mess was shared by both army and RAF officers. There he found himself in his element, making numerous friends. Before long, despite his health problems, he became determined to learn to fly himself, and enlisted the help and tuition of an air force friend who frequently piloted him on camouflage reconnaissance expeditions. Although it was highly irregular, Seago was soon making solo flights in the station’s small low-level training plane.
As a member of the ATS, Pamela was obliged to attend regular platoon meetings. Her first one took place a couple of days after the flight experience, and proved an eye-opener of a rather different kind:
February 19th Went to a Platoon meeting at Flemings. Prudence [her friend and commanding officer] spoke. It was rather a revelation. The ATS here seem much worse than Aldermaston – awful language & plenty of it. She says it is a very slack platoon & I should jolly well think it is …
Despite the excitement of the camouflage reconnaissance flight, during the coming days Pamela continued to be plagued by misgivings about her competence within the unit: ‘February 20th Did something wrong. Stuck two notices on wrong way round & Pat spent over half the day correcting …’
By now Arthur and Vera Street would have been aware that things in camouflage unit were not going as smoothly for their daughter as they had hoped. This time it was Vera Street who took action, using the now tried and tested formula of inviting Pamela’s work colleagues to a meal at Ditchampton Farm, as Pamela’s diary entry for 20 February goes on to record: ‘They all came to supper excepting Vera who wasn’t well & Tim who said he was too shy! And had a cold! Ha! They enjoyed it awfully I think. It was nice having them out. Of Mummy & everything …’
Pamela would soon be worrying about a far graver matter than her competence at the camouflage unit.
Notes
* The nearby military aircraft manufacturers.
* The ATS Clerks’ School in Strathpeffer, Inverness.
* Soap rationing was introduced in February 1942, since the fat content was deemed more essential for the preparation of foodstuffs.
Eleven
Missing in Action
(February–April 1942)
Despite the fact that the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor in December 1941 had brought the Americans firmly in on the Allied side, for the first half of 1942 the outcome of the war was very much in the balance, with the Axis forces seemingly in the ascendant. The Japanese were taking full advantage to further their expansionist policy in South-East Asia, and the overrunning of the British colony of Singapore in mid February was already being perceived as something of a national humiliation. On the Eastern Front, the fight for Stalingrad was at this stage still indecisive, with huge losses on both Russian and German sides. On the high seas the German U-boats continued to take a heavy toll on Allied shipping. In the African desert, the very territory over which David McCormick had fought so strenuously some months earlier would soon be back in the hands of the Axis forces, who would go on to take Tobruk on 21 June and succeed in forcing the Allied troops back behind the Egypt–Libya border. Later in the year the tide would begin to turn, but for British citizens back home who could only listen, wait and hope, the spring and early summer of 1942 was a particularly harrowing period.
* * *
Back on the home front, for the McCormick parents and Pamela, February 1942 was the most harrowing time of all. On 2 February Edward McCormick, whose wife Phyllis was still bedridden with pneumonia, received the following telegram from the War Office:
REGRET TO INFORM YOU OF NOTIFICATION DATED 23RD JANUARY 1942 FROM MIDDLE EAST THAT 2/LT D F H MCCORMICK WAS REPORTED MISSING ON 12TH DECEMBER 1941 LETTER FOLLOWS = UNDER-SECRETARY OF STATE FOR WAR +
With admirable self-restraint and solicitude for her well-being, Edward kept this news from his wife, though he felt obliged to inform Pamela’s father:
5th February 1942
Dear Street,
This is a difficult letter for me to write, and I hope you will forgive me if I blunder. We have had bad news. A telegram from the W.O. to say that David was reported ‘missing’ on the 12th Dec 1941. Although that was many days ago, one must still hope to get news of him. Prisoners-of-War lists take up to six months to come through, and many strange things happen in this desert warfare.
I am writing to you to ask you to repeat what, in your parental wisdom, you deem it right that Pamela should hear.
David has confided to me that, if all went well, he hoped to ask Pamela to marry him after the war. He is one of those sensitive, and sensible, young men who realise what war is capable of doing to a man, and that it is unfair to hold a girl to any pre-war engagement.
I have no right to presume that there is any understanding between them, but it is obvious to us all that Pamela is interested in David.
My great difficulty just now is that my poor wife has been very ill indeed with flu and pneumonitis. I cannot possibly tell her about David and I am taking all possible steps to prevent her hearing about it.
If you decide to tell Pamela anything, will you please ask her not to write to either of us.
If I hear anything further, I shall write to you about it.
My kindest regards to you all.
Edward McCormick
Arthur Street would have found this letter waiting for him on his return to Ditchampton Farm on the evening of the day on which Ted Seago had called earlier to give Pamela her informal interview. However he kept the news from his daughter for a further fortnight whilst her new posting was uncertain, and then to allow her time to settle into the camouflage unit. No doubt Arthur hoped that in the meantime more definite news might be forthcoming, rather than having to leave her in agonising suspense. However, once the successful supper party for Pamela’s new work colleagues was over, he evidently felt the moment had come to break the news to her. On Saturday 21 February she wrote in her diary:
Daddy told me tonight that David was reported missing on the 12th December. He had had a letter from Mr McCormick a fortnight ago but hadn’t told me till now because of everything. I don’t know what to think – it all seems so unreal – I just haven’t taken it in. His father says Prisoner-of-War lists take 6 months to come through. I shall just hope and pray that somewhere he may be safe & sound. Oh David I don’t think I was nearly nice enough. If only I’d helped a bit more before he went – it’s awful. I can’t believe it – I wonder when they heard. He hasn’t told Mrs McCormick because she’s been so ill. It must be dreadful for him alone like that. He says he will write directly he hears anything. Daddy says he’ll help find out too. If only I knew someone in the regiment who was with him. It’s awful like this.
Pamela’s numbed reaction continued the following day. Like so m
any civilians whose loved ones were reported missing, she experienced a sense of helplessness; typically in her case this was tinged with guilt at having somehow let David down before his departure:
February 22nd I just feel quite sort of blank – it hasn’t sunk in. Took Judy for a walk to Grovely where we went that Sunday – it’s nearly a year ago now – it’s unbelievable. Oh God please send him back & look after him. I don’t want Weston ever to fade – it was so wonderful – I want to go and see it again if I can – if only we could find out about it all. I have sketched a letter to send by airgraph to the C.O. and to Ian.* After that there is nothing to do but wait except Daddy’s going to find out at the Command. I don’t feel worth anything – if only I’d been more sure and said it then instead of him going not knowing – feel cold and hard – what he must have been through. I shan’t give up hope … Oh Darling you wanted to marry me after it all and you never said or tied me & never thought about yourself at all.
On Monday, despite receiving such devastating news over the weekend, Pamela was back at work as usual in the camouflage unit. Her diary entry reveals that she and her colleagues were – perhaps mercifully – kept so busy that by the time she rushed down after work to air-graph the letters she had drafted to Ian Crombie and David’s last commanding officer, the Wilton Post Office was already closed.
Pamela carried on working as normal all week, but after hours made various efforts to contact family acquaintances with military influence, and clearly derived support and comfort from several girl friends aware of her plight. Fridays were paydays for members of the ATS, when they were expected to rise early and attend pay parade before work. One rare note of humour creeps into Pamela’s diary for the Friday of that week: ‘February 27th Pay Parade so got up early. Have been paid for lodging allowance too. It seems so incongruous. Mummy makes a wonderful landlady!’
Farming, Fighting and Family Page 21