Heartwarming and emotional story of one girl's courage in WW2

by Fenella J Miller

  ‘Thank you, Mary, but I doubt it will ever reach the ears of the commanding officer. I’m quite prepared to be put on a charge – it was worth it to be warm.’

  For all her bravado she jumped every time she heard a noise thinking she was about to get her comeuppance. When half an hour had passed and there was still no sign of Iris she became concerned.

  ‘I’m going to put on my outdoor things and go and look for her. She should have been back by now.’

  ‘Maybe there’s a telephone extension somewhere in this barracks,’ Daisy suggested.

  They split into pairs and searched each icy dormitory with no success. This only left the sergeant’s quarters. ‘I’m going to look in here. The rest of you go back into the dormitory. There is no point in all of us being involved in another breach of the rules.’

  All the girls apart from Daisy and Mary vanished immediately. ‘We’re coming with you, Ellie, it’s not fair for you to stick your head above the parapet every time,’ Mary said firmly.

  The door opened with a creak that echoed down the corridor. This room was no warmer than anywhere else. ‘It’s over there, on that table by the window.’

  Ellie picked it up and waited for an operator to answer.

  Twenty-six

  Ellie was connected with a lowly being who promptly passed her on to the CO. She gave her name and then explained the circumstances.

  ‘Let me get this straight, Simpson, you walked from the station and were then left in the barracks in subzero temperatures? I’m glad you had the gumption to disobey orders and light the stove. Duvall has since wandered off into the snow?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘I’ll organise a search party. You remain where you are until someone comes to take you to the canteen. Be at the door in half an hour.’

  Daisy and Mary were waiting eagerly to hear what had been said. Ellie explained and they were delighted.

  ‘Hopefully that horrible Fitzwilliam will get a strip torn off. I hope Iris is all right – I don’t like her very much but wouldn’t like to think of her freezing to death,’ Mary said.

  ‘I’m certain she went out to snitch on us so I’ve no sympathy for her,’ Daisy replied.

  ‘I’m sure the others will be pleased we’re going to be fed soon. I wonder why our sergeant hasn’t put in an appearance.’ She led the way back into the wonderfully warm dormitory.

  Someone had made up Iris’s bed for her and put her suitcase in the locker which made the room look tidier.

  ‘Does anyone know what’s going to happen to us over the next two weeks? Do we get to choose what we do?’ Ellie asked.

  ‘The leaflet said we get a basic training here, medicals and inoculations, and then get sent for further training if necessary. I’ve put down for admin as I was working as a secretary.’ The speaker was a short, plump girl with hair the same colour as Jack’s. Being reminded of him brought a lump to her throat.

  ‘I want to be a radio or wireless operator – but as they are both the same thing – I don’t know what the difference is,’ she told them.

  Her flying jacket, helmet and goggles were much admired, as was the news that she had made her living as a flying instructor.

  ‘It seems a terrible waste of your skills not to be able to fly,’ Daisy said.

  ‘At least being in the WAAF will mean I’m close to the aircraft even if I can’t fly them. I did train half a dozen RAF recruits before my airfield was shut down.’

  The conversation became general and, by the time they were all muffled up in their outer garments, Ellie thought she was going to enjoy spending the next few weeks with them. Having spent a few years at boarding school it was going to be easier for her to adapt to the new environment than for those who were away from home for the first time.

  They were escorted to the canteen and issued with a small canvas bag with a knife, fork and spoon inside. These were referred to as irons and had to be brought to all meals. The food was no worse than she’d expected and she wolfed it down. They were served a steaming mug of cocoa, at least she thought that was what it was, and then marched back to the barracks. There’d been no sign of Iris and nobody she spoke to knew anything about her whereabouts.

  *

  When they were woken the next morning by a jolly corporal, Ellie was so cold she thought she wouldn’t be able to get dressed. The stove had burned out during the night and even if they were allowed to, there wasn’t the wherewithal to get it going again.

  Her teeth were chattering by the time she’d had a perfunctory wash – no hot water – and returned to the dormitory. The other girls were in no better shape and the cheerful mood of the previous night had vanished. No one chatted, they all did as instructed and gathered miserably at the main doors waiting to be escorted to the canteen for breakfast.

  She was issued with a number and a uniform. They returned briefly to the icy barracks to change from their civilian clothes. Ellie, like her fellow recruits, became a second-class aircraft woman – or ACW2. They had been instructed to parcel up their clothes in the brown paper provided. They then had to address them and leave them on the table outside the barracks.

  It was now clear why they only needed two hooks and a small locker for their belongings. She was relieved to be escorted to a recreation area where they were told to remain until sent for.

  ‘I think we all look very smart in our uniforms, don’t you?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘At least they’re lovely and warm. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life when I was asked if I wanted to wear my own knickers,’ one of the girls said.

  ‘I’m wearing both,’ Ellie said with a laugh. ‘I wish we could wear trousers like the RAF. I’m not used to wearing skirts all the time.’

  ‘I wish I knew what’s happened to Iris. Surely someone knows where she is and if she’s all right?’ Daisy said to a chorus of agreement.

  ‘I’ll go into the sergeant’s room and ring when we return to the dormitory,’ Ellie offered.

  They discovered half a dozen board games, two boxes of dominoes, a chess set and several packs of cards in a cupboard. The remainder of the morning was spent in these pursuits and despite her concern for the missing recruit, Ellie was feeling more positive by lunchtime.

  They had been told to report to the canteen at twelve o’clock precisely. They no longer needed an escort as they were becoming more familiar with the depot. She walked with Daisy and Mary. As she pushed open the doors of the canteen the noise almost overwhelmed her.

  The long room was heaving with an assortment of girls still in their civilian clothes. Automatically she straightened her shoulders and marched briskly to join the line.

  *

  Ellie didn’t discover what had happened to Iris until several days later. The girl’s belongings had disappeared and she had thought nothing of it. However, Iris Duvall had been given the option to change her mind about joining up and she’d taken it.

  The next few days were spent in learning how to drill, listening to lectures on ‘Kings regulations’ and several visits to the medical centre for a variety of inspections. One girl was mortified to discover she had nits – but they rallied round and cheered her up.

  Two weeks later she went before the selection board whose job it was to decide if any of the candidates had special qualifications. She did – but she didn’t think they would be of any use to her in the WAAF.

  They were seen in alphabetical order so she had to wait all day for her turn. Thankfully the waiting area was heated. Eventually she knocked politely on the door and stepped in, her log book and flying licences tucked under her arm.

  The room was vast. In the far distance was a table behind which two grim-faced WAAFs and three male officers sat. They watched unsmilingly as she did her best to march smartly. She halted in front of them – and saluted.

  ‘You may sit down,’ said one of the WAAF officers, gesturing towards the chair placed centrally in front of the table.

  Ellie was relieved to sit a
s her legs were about to give way beneath her.

  ‘It says here that you are a qualified pilot,’ the other female officer said.

  ‘Yes, ma’am. I have my licence and log book here if you would care to see them.’

  The woman snapped her fingers impatiently and Ellie pushed them across.

  ‘There are no flying posts for women in the WAAF,’ one of the male officers said.

  Did he think she was a complete idiot? ‘Yes, sir, I do know that. If I can’t fly, then at least I can be close to those that do.’

  This response failed to impress the men but the women exchanged glances that were slightly less frosty. She was asked about her education and work experience – which was nil apart from farming and flying– neither of which would be much use now.

  They ignored her for a few moments whilst they talked in hushed voices together. ‘I see that you expressed a preference for being a wireless or radio operator. We are in need of some girls for a classified operation. Are you prepared to volunteer without knowing the details?’

  Ellie hesitated, remembering that she promised her family she wouldn’t volunteer for anything but keep her head below the parapet. They were all looking at her, waiting for her answer.

  ‘Yes, ma’am, I should like to volunteer.’

  Finally, all the board looked relatively pleased with her. ‘Good show. You will receive details of your posting in the next few days. Are you aware what the Official Secrets Act means?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, I am.’

  ‘Then that’s all. You may go. Good morning.’

  Ellie jumped to her feet, her heart thudding, and hastily smoothed down her skirt which had ridden up her thighs. This time her salute was perfect. She about-turned and marched out. The drill sergeant would have been proud of her.

  The next day postings were on the board. She desperately wanted to tell her friends that she’d volunteered for something important but remembered the warning about official secrets.

  ‘Ellie, I’m so pleased you’re being posted with us,’ Mary said. ‘There’s only a few of us on this list. Isn’t it exciting?’

  The following morning the select group were ferried to the station and told to get on the next train. They were accompanied by a less than friendly male sergeant. They steamed and rattled for the remainder of the day, stopping and starting, reversing and shunting until eventually they were told to disembark. She had no idea whereabouts they were. They could have been travelling in a circle for all she knew.

  There was no transport waiting for them. They were expected to march through the countryside, down winding lanes with high hedges over which they couldn’t see. These new escorts were equally taciturn, and also male.

  ‘I can smell the sea, Ellie,’ Daisy whispered.

  ‘You’re right, I can too.’

  After an hour’s brisk marching they arrived at a wooden jetty which stuck out into a silent estuary. Not the sea – but close. This was deserted apart from three rowing boats.

  If anyone dared to speak they were immediately told to be quiet. In silence, they stowed their bags and scrambled in to the boats. Fortunately, they weren’t expected to do the rowing themselves, this was the job for their escorts.

  A further thirty minutes was spent on the water. Night had fallen, but from the light of the full moon she could see they were travelling inland. The boat bumped against another wooden jetty, but this one was more dilapidated and much smaller.

  It moved and swayed under their feet and she was glad to be on terra firma. They marched in the darkness until wrought iron gates appeared. They continued and there was the crunch of gravel under her feet. This was the drive to a large, stately home of some sort. It was impossible to see clearly exactly where they’d arrived.

  There was no supper offered before they were directed to their accommodation. She fell asleep hungry and still not sure exactly what she’d volunteered for.

  *

  Jack had only to complete the navigational sections of the initial training as his log book made the basic training unnecessary. He found himself billeted with half a dozen blokes with similar experience and they were all destined to be fighter pilots.

  They seemed a reasonable bunch although none of them had the flying hours that he did. He passed the exam with no difficulty and was shunted off to an Operational Training Unit – known as OTU – where he would learn how to fly a Spitfire or a Hurricane.

  He’d become close pals with a fellow recruit. Ian was the same age as him, but there the resemblance ended. Whereas he was an inch under six foot, Ian was several inches shorter. He was best described as wiry, with thick black hair. His father was Chinese, which you could see in his slightly oriental features.

  They were lounging about in the local pub when another member of the group burst in. ‘What’s up with Rollo? Never seen him so animated,’ Ian said as he slurped his warm beer.

  Jack beckoned him over. ‘Bad news, mate? Has the missus run-off with the milkman?’

  Rollo shook his head. ‘Worse than that. I’ve just heard there aren’t going to be any Spitfires to train on – we’ll have to make do with Hurricanes.’

  ‘Is that all? I thought Hitler had invaded. They can’t build them fast enough to let us loose on them in case we go for a Burton. I’m sure you’ll get to fly one eventually,’ Jack said unsympathetically.

  ‘I suppose you’re right, as usual. I need a couple of pints to cheer me up. Are you buying?’

  ‘Bugger off! It’s about time you stood us a round.’

  The banter continued and became noisier when the remainder of their group arrived and joined in. He left them to it after three drinks and made his way through the inky streets with only the pinpoint of light from his pocket torch to stop him breaking his neck.

  *

  The instructor was a veteran from the previous war, but he’d flown Hurricanes and Spitfires often enough to be able to fulfil his job efficiently. Rollo had been right and they were to complete their training on Hurricanes.

  The next few weeks were spent on night flying, navigation, cross country and all-weather practice. The final two weeks of the six-week course was devoted to flying mock battles. They were divided into two groups and took turns chasing each other around the sky. At the end of each day Jack’s neck was raw where the stiff collar of his shirt bit into him every time he turned his head.

  Staying alive in a fighter plane was dependent on the pilot being able to see an enemy plane approaching. Firing blanks at each other wasn’t the same as using live ammo, but obviously a lot safer.

  At the end of the training four of the blokes were commissioned and only he and Ian became flight sergeants. It hadn’t been suggested that he became an officer and he thought that was because of his association with Joe who was now languishing at His Majesty’s Pleasure in Wandsworth.

  He was being sent to Croydon to join 17 Squadron and would be flying a Hurry as expected. He was pleased his friend Ian was coming with him. He began to regret that he hadn’t been commissioned when he discovered that the Officers’ Mess was where most of the pilots congregated. The Sergeants’ Mess might have better beer but it wasn’t where you got all the gen about what was going to happen.

  He was a bit cheesed off about being treated like an inferior specimen by the toffee-nosed lot. No doubt when it all kicked off, and he proved his worth, things would be different. The RAF only took volunteers which meant that even the lowliest ACM2 had chosen to be there.

  It rankled that he had ten times the flying hours than anyone else in his squadron but he was still spoken to as if he was in need of advice. Until the weather improved, there wasn’t even the pleasure of taking his kite up for a spin. He played cards, but as he wasn’t a gambler he didn’t join the games of pontoon and poker.

  He and Ian, now nicknamed Bob, played darts and dominoes together most of the time.

  ‘Hey, Ginger, there’s a letter for you,’ an orderly yelled across the room.

  ‘Chuck i
t over then, I’m too bloody idle to come and get it.’ His response was received with a rude gesture but the envelope spun across the room and landed in his lap.

  ‘That from Ellie?’ Bob asked as he stared morosely at his hand of dominoes.

  ‘Nobody else writes to me, so it must be.’

  He looked forward to his weekly letters from Ellie. The dogs were earning their keep as there had been no further visits from the fox. Fred and Mrs B were happy and there’d been no further aggravation from the ex-Mrs Simpson.

  He’d been surprised when she’d written to tell him she was joining the WAAF but didn’t blame her. She was the sort of girl who needed excitement in her life and planting spuds wasn’t going to suit her. The last letter he’d had she’d told him she’d just finished her training and was about to be posted. He’d heard nothing since and it was more than three weeks.

  He examined the envelope and the writing was unfamiliar. He tore it open and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

  Dear Jack,

  I’m sorry to tell you that your Uncle Joe passed away last week. The doctors said it was his heart. I got your present address from Mr Simpson. There will be a letter coming from the solicitors about his will.

  The funeral will have taken place by the time you receive this. I hope you’re keeping well,

  best wishes

  Joe dead – terrible for the poor old bugger to end his life in prison, even if he did deserve to be there. There was no forwarding address on the letter so he couldn’t reply.

  ‘What’s up, mate? Bad news?’

  ‘My uncle died last week. I told you about him. I don’t think he was more than fifty, but I expect the strain of being inside did for him.’ He tore the letter up and tossed the bits into the nearest waste-bin. ‘It should have been from Ellie. I’m going to give Fred a ring just to make sure everything’s all right.’

  There was no queue for the one phone. He dialled the operator, gave Fred’s number, put sufficient pennies into the slot and waited with his finger poised. As soon as he heard Mrs B he pushed the button and heard the money drop.