by Mary Arden
One evening, my father said that he had noticed that I had mentioned Duncan rather a lot in my conversations, and wanted to know if he was ‘special’ to me, so I told him that he was a good friend, but nothing more at present, and that I was unlikely to see him again until after the war anyway. He nodded in understanding and then smiled at my mother, who for once said nothing, but I could see that she was smiling too.
Agnes was far more interested to hear all about my ‘new young man’. She had eavesdropped shamelessly while she’d been dusting and had overheard me telling Jane on the phone how Duncan had kissed me goodbye. I had told my cousin that, ‘It wasn’t a brotherly kiss but a long, slow lingering film-star kind of a kiss that had made my legs go all quivery, and not in the same way the Scrumpy did, I can tell you!’ Agnes told me that when she had overheard this, she had nearly dropped a precious piece of Dresden china!
As we listened to the nine o’clock news one night, we heard that Italy had signed an unconditional surrender with the Allies. William and I cheered, but my father’s reaction was a bit subdued.
‘What’s wrong Daddy?’ I asked.
‘The Italians may have surrendered, my dear, but this war is still far from over,’ he warned.
The day before I was due to leave, my parents received a letter from Peter to say that he was fit and well but longing for the war to end, so that he could get on with a normal life. He told them that he had just received a batch of letters, all tied up with string that had been written over several months, which had been waiting for him to return to base, hinting that he’d been out in the jungle during that time. My parents told me that they had become used to reading between the lines of the rare and censored letters that Peter managed to send.
He finished his letter, ‘Let William know that I will play tennis with him everyday once I get home, and tell him that I’m sorry I was such a nasty brother to him when he was little.’
I felt tears pricking my eyes imagining that Peter must be terrified of getting killed, and that he was wanting to make his peace just in case. I then thought of all the other families that must be receiving similar letters, and I was grateful that I was working in Britain and that my family weren’t being put under the same kind of emotional stress about me.
My mother was a bit worried that I would be lonely in Scotland, as I didn’t know anybody in that ‘distant land’, so she offered to write to my Great Aunt, Lady Margaret, to see whether she knew of anyone who lived near Arbroath, as she had good contacts all over England I was informed, ‘And possibly even as far away as Scotland!’
On the day of my departure, my father insisted on coming with me up to London to see me safely across the city to Kings Cross station to catch the overnight train to Edinburgh. As I was boarding, he had a word with the guard, who was obviously used to worried fathers, as I overheard him say, ‘Don’t worry, Sir, I pass up and down the corridor all night long, so I’ll keep an eye on the young lady.’
‘I’m not your little girl any more, Daddy!’ I said laughing, as I kissed him goodbye, ‘I can look after myself now.’
It wasn’t until we had left the station that I wondered if those words were the reason I had detected tears in my father’s eyes, as I had waved farewell to him through the carriage window.
It was a long journey; we had to stop twice on the way due to air raids and I had to change trains at Edinburgh too, so I didn’t arrive until the following afternoon, and then I had to arrange for transport to collect me and take me to the naval air station. When I finally I got to HMS Condor, it was nearly dark. I reported to the billeting office and introduced myself to a weary looking Third Officer, who seeing that I was swaying on my feet with fatigue, told me to sit down immediately before I fell over. She spoke in a soft Scottish burr and asked me when I’d last had something to eat. I thought for a minute and then told her that the last thing I had eaten was a Mars Bar in the middle of the night, which my little brother had given me before I left home.
‘He must be a very kind boy,’ the Third Officer smiled, ‘I wouldn’t give any of my chocolate away!’
She looked at a piece of paper on her desk and said, ‘You’re billeted in an old manse called Letham Grange, about a mile away from the air station, but as there’s no official transport until eight-thirty this evening, and it isn’t your fault that you’re so late, I’ll ring through to the Transport Office to see if someone’s available to take you to your billet straight away. You can leave your cases there, have a quick wash, and then come back here for a hot meal in the Wren’s mess.’
I thanked her and then sat quietly until a van arrived about ten minutes later. The driver helped me put my luggage in the back seat and then I sat in the front next him. When we arrived at the old manse, he said that he would come back for me in an hour and take me back to Condor.
I rang the doorbell and a woman of about fifty greeted me. She told me her name was Mrs Anderson, and that she was the housekeeper. To my relief, the house was warm and I noticed that there were big old-fashioned radiators in the hall and on the landing. Mrs Anderson warned me that the lights were inclined to go out every now and again but that I would find candles and matches dotted about the house on many of the shelves and window sills, just in case. I was then shown to a large bedroom with three beds in it. The housekeeper explained that I’d be sharing with two other girls.
On the way to the bathroom she pointed out a cupboard on the landing where the suitcases were kept and explained that the bathroom was shared with one other bedroom. She then told me that there was a bathroom rota pinned on the door, but that there were no strict rules really, and that the girls changed the timetable to suit their ever-changing shift patterns.
When I asked Mrs Anderson who the Petty Officer in charge was, she replied firmly, ‘I’m in charge here, but so long as you keep your room tidy there’ll be no trouble.’ She then added kindly, ‘The other lasses will tell you about the timetable for transport, meals, and so forth.’
I asked where I could do my washing and she explained that there was a laundry room downstairs with ‘a wee washing line with a ‘poolley’ on the ceiling, and the girls use the indoor line if the weather is too wet to hang their clothes outside.’
‘Oh, there’s just one other thing,’ I said, suddenly remembering, ‘could you please tell me if there’s anywhere I can stow my bicycle when it arrives?’
‘Aye, in the ’oot hoose’,’ she said, ‘there’s another lass that keeps hers in there too.’
When Mrs Anderson left me to unpack, I opened my suitcase and took out some clothes that needed hanging up, but discovered that the wardrobe was already crammed full of my roommate’s clothes and that there didn’t seem to be any spare coat hangers left. I made a mental note to buy some coat hangers, a bigger torch and some spare batteries in case the lights should go out, and to find out where the ‘oot hoose’ was.
Once I had washed and changed into clean clothes, I felt much more refreshed and went downstairs to explore the house. The first room I entered was a large sitting room, which I was pleased to see had a big fireplace laid ready for an evening fire. I smiled as it already felt quite homely to me, and I felt grateful to be billeted here.
Before the driver came to pick me up, I decided to let Mrs Anderson know that I hadn’t finished putting away all my belongings, but that I would do it later that evening, when I’d negotiated some hanging space in the wardrobe with my roommates. I then asked her if she’d like me to get her anything from the Wren’s NAAFI, while I was at the base. She looked at me as if I’d just landed from the moon, ‘Nobody has ever asked me if I’d like anything from the NAAFI before.’ She then smiled at me and said, ‘Well, I could do with some toothpaste, Miss, as I’m a wee bitty short of it, and it’s a fair way to the ‘toon’ from here just for one tube.’
As I was driven back to Condor, I asked the driver, who was the person that I should talk to about collecting my bicycle and my other suitcase from the station, when they
eventually turned up.
‘McDougal in Transport: he’ll know; wait until the morn’ at yon office,’ he replied, pointing to a collection of sheds in the distance, as we drove through the gates into the base.
As I signed in at the gatehouse, the Petty Officer in charge looked at my pass, but his accent was so strong that at first I couldn’t understand what he was saying, so I had to keep asking, ‘Sorry, would you mind saying that again?’
‘You’re a Sassenach,’ he said waggling a finger at me.
I hung my head in shame, ‘Yes, I’m very sorry, Sir, I’m afraid I am.’
This made him laugh, ‘In that case I will speak ver… ree.. slooooow… lee!’
We both laughed and as he handed my pass back to me, he said, ‘Welcome to Scotland Leading Wren Sassenach!’
By the time I had found the Wren’s mess, I was feeling very hungry. When I opened the door, the familiar chatter and fug enveloped me immediately, as this mess was almost identical as all the other ones I had eaten in since becoming a Wren. I got my meal and then sat down next to a group of girls sitting at one of the tables nearest to the serving counter. One of them looked up and smiled, ‘Hello, I haven’t seen you around here before.’
It didn’t take long before I was chatting with the entire group at my table. When I told them where I was billeted, one of the girls got up and went to a nearby table to fetch a girl with jet-black hair, who was also billeted at The Grange. She introduced herself as Kitty Campbell, and said with a smile, ‘Stick with me!’
I couldn’t place her accent, as it didn’t sound English or Scottish, so I asked her and was surprised when she told me that her mother was French.
‘Oh good I can practice my French with you,’ I said.
‘Yours is most probably better than mine!’ she laughed.
When I’d finished my meal, I went to the NAAFI and bought the tube of toothpaste for Mrs Anderson, before going back to The Grange in the lorry with Kitty. On the way, I asked her if she’d heard of a Petty Officer called McDougal; explaining that I needed to ask him to pick up my bicycle and cases from the station.
‘Everyone knows McDougal,’ Kitty said with a grin. ‘He’ll try to get to know you too all right!’ she giggled. ‘Old Mac has an eye for all you blondies.’
‘Too late,’ I laughed, ‘I’m saving myself for a Scotsman with gorgeous auburn hair, called Duncan Ogilvie!’
‘Are you referring to a rather handsome Lieutenant who smokes a pipe?’ Kitty asked with a note of astonishment.
‘Well, he is certainly handsome, but I don’t remember him ever smoking a pipe,’ I said a bit surprised. ‘How on earth do you know him?’
‘His squadron flew in here about two weeks ago, and all we girls noticed him at once, as none of us had ever seen a man with hair that colour before,’ Kitty chuckled, ‘and such blue eyes!’
‘And don’t forget his lovely smile!’ I giggled, and then asked hopefully, ‘Is his squadron still here?’
‘Their next operation has been delayed,’ Kitty said, ‘so they were all sent on leave, and we haven’t seen any of them since.’
I found it amusing that Kitty and her friends had thought that Duncan was so handsome, as I hadn’t really thought of him as a ‘heartthrob’ before, although I certainly had noticed that he had lovely deep-blue eyes, and I did rather like his lovely auburn hair, and of course ‘that’ smile!
After leaving the toothpaste for Mrs Anderson in the kitchen, so that she would find it in the morning, I went straight to my bedroom and introduced myself to my roommates, Glenda and Marie-Anne. I apologised to them for making the room look so untidy, explaining that I needed a bit of wardrobe space and a few coat hangers.
‘Are there any spare anywhere?’ I asked them.
‘I doubt it,’ Marie-Anne said. ‘The last girl that slept in your bed must have taken them all with her, but there are plenty of spares at the store.’
I then noticed that my hot water bottle wasn’t where I had left it on the chair, but was delighted to find out that it had already been filled, and was now warming my bed. Mrs Anderson must have checked our room, seen my hot water bottle, and decided to air my bed, which was a lovely gesture. One good turn deserves another, I thought, as I snuggled in between the sheets.
I was just nodding off, when I heard strange scratching noises behind my bed, and wondered if perhaps the house was haunted but I was so tired that I soon fell back to sleep.
When I arrived at HMS Condor, the next morning, I reported to First Officer McFarlane, who made it clear from the outset that my arrival had caused her some ‘considerable inconvenience.’ I soon discovered why. Apparently when the other NV Tester had arrived the previous year, the First Officer had been ordered by Surgeon Captain Timpston to find her a quiet billet in Arbroath, and now she had been ordered to find a similar one for me.
‘What is so special about you NVTs that you get preferential treatment?’ she snapped.
I had to think quickly and replied, ‘Well, Ma’am, as we have to work long hours in a dark, sealed room all day and then have hours of paperwork to do at the end of the day, I think that Surgeon Captain Timpston is concerned about our health, so he prefers us to have somewhere quiet to sleep. He also likes us to walk in the fresh air from our billet to work whenever possible,’ I added.
Fortunately, the First Officer seemed satisfied with my explanation, although there wasn’t an ounce of truth in it.
I was halfway between the Administration hut and the Sick Bay, when I heard alarm bells blaring all over the air base. I then saw two ambulances and two fire engines speeding towards a distant runway past the control tower. I hurried to the Sick Bay, but the moment I arrived I was told to keep out of the way. Two planes had failed to heed the warning, by the runway control officer, to abort their take offs and had collided.
I made my way to the NVT office where I hoped to find the other Tester, Fiona McIntosh, and could wait with her until everything had calmed down a bit, but as I walked down the corridor towards the office, I heard the sound of running feet and doors slamming, and then saw two young doctors buttoning up their white coats, as they hurried towards the emergency room.
When I opened the door to the NVT office, a tall slim girl with brown hair and lovely green eyes looked up.
‘Hello, I am Fiona McIntosh. You must be Mary Arden. Come in and shut the door. I don’t want to see what is going on out there, as I can’t stand the sight of blood.’
Fiona then showed me around the unit and explained her filing system to me, which was very similar to Anne’s, so I knew that I wouldn’t have any problems.
‘This morning’s tests will be postponed because of the accident,’ Fiona said. ‘I suspect it was due to the silly fools larking around and drinking too much last night.’
‘At Heron, Anne and I tried to persuade the pilots not to drink for forty-eight hours before night flying,’ I told her.
‘And did they follow your advice?’
‘As a matter of fact most of them did,’ I said proudly, ‘and it made quite a difference.’
Our conversation was cut short by the sound of two ambulances roaring past our office. I automatically rushed to the window to see what was going on.
‘One of the ambulances is driving towards the gates, Fiona,’ I said.
‘That means that one of the pilots must be very badly injured, so they will be taking him to Dundee,’ Fiona replied, ‘but what about the other ambulance, which way is that one heading?’
I leaned out of the window, so that I could get a better view, and told her that I could see the second ambulance drawing up outside the Sick Bay. We then heard running feet, followed by one of the doctor’s shouting orders. When I asked an SBA if he needed any help he told me that this pilot had been lucky and only broken an ankle, which meant that they could deal with his injury in the Sick Bay, but the other poor chap had crushed his ribs and had head injuries, so he was now on his way to hospital.
Fiona t
hen took me to see the Testing Room to show me where everything was kept. I was glad to see that it was an almost identical layout to the other two NVT units I had worked in. However, there were two things that I noticed were missing: one was our internal telephone, so that we could arrange tests directly with Commander Flying instead of having to book them through the doctors, and the other was our own electric kettle! I mentioned this to Fiona.
‘We don’t need one,’ Fiona said, ‘we have a kettle in the cloakroom ante-room which we share with the Writers, that’s where we make our teas and coffees.’
‘I could do with one now,’ I said cheekily, looking at my watch and was surprised to see that it was already eleven.
While the kettle was boiling, we went to the Writer’s office so that Fiona could introduce me to the three Wrens, who worked as private secretaries to the doctors. We then carried our hot mugs back to our office and while we enjoyed our coffee Fiona asked me a bit about myself.
‘Why did you choose to be an NVT?’ she asked.
‘I didn’t choose it, it chose me,’ I said, and told her all about my dear friend Andrew, who had been caught in searchlights, and how I had felt when I had found out that there was something positive I could do to try and help other pilots see better in the dark and possibly avoid a similar tragedy.
‘Goodness, Mary, what a strange thing,’ Fiona said. ‘It’s almost as if you were meant to do it.’
‘Yes,’ I replied quietly ‘that’s what I thought, at the time, and, thankfully, so did Daddy-T.’
During the lunch break, I went to the Transport Office and asked to see CPO McDougal. A young mechanic took me through a door and into a shed where the Chief was sitting at his desk. I told him that my bicycle and suitcase needed collecting from the station and asked him if he could help me retrieve them.
‘You’ll need authorisation first and then I can make arrangements to collect them for you,’ he explained, finding the necessary form and showing me where to sign it. ‘Do you have a padlock and chain for your bike?’ he enquired.