PART OF A SCHOOL PROJECT FOR NINA
"Mayfair to Mud, Grease and Mechanics" ---- By Dot ---- 1941 to 1946
War had been declared and I was a Milliner in Mayfair. This particular day had been very harassing. Why I wondered, was I pampering to the Rich? My friends and my loved ones had been called up for service. That day I walked into the Salon and straight to the Recruitment Office. I joined the W.A.A.F. What to do? I hadn't even thought about it. "What about Flight Mechanic?" said the officer. A new trade just beginning for the W.A.A.F. So I found myself leaving the Recruitmemt Officer as a Flight Mechanic.
That night on the train home I began to have butterflies. What on earth would my parent say? Well, I reached home, put the key in the door, marched straight in and announced I had joined the W.A.A.F. No time to worry, in days I had gone.
October 11th 1941 with tearful farewells, a bulging suitcase and with my very understanding elder sister, I was on my way to London and the train to take me to Gloucester. It was a very motley crowd that left the train that day on arrival at Gloucester and piled into waiting trucks. Then began the day that altered my whole life. This was our kitting out station, and where we were given F.F.I. (that being free from all infection). Having got over that little embarrasment and found healthy in mind and body we were given some food and prepared for the next day. This was kitting out day. St Trinians' had nothing on us. It was the funniiest dress parade I had ever seen, but finally after several attempts we found something to fit and we marched out with uniforms, Blackouts(pants), Bra's(like a couple of parachutes), lisle stockings and Policeman's 9s(shoes). Back at barracks we really got cracking and finally emerged as proud W.A.A.Fs. Next step was called, "Knocking you into shape," and to do that we were all sent to Morecombe. Morcombe Pier never knew what hit it.
WARRANT OFFICER HARRY SMITH, would I ever forget him? A little man with bellows for a voice. Make or break he was going to turn this miserable little awkward squad, all with left feet, into something resembling an Air Force. We no longer had a name, just a number which lives with me even today. We right dressed, quick marched, halted, stood at ease, stood to attention. Eyes right, Eyes left from morning to night. As the days passed we took great pride in our squad and finally made the grade. Passing out day came at last and we were on our way to standard training. I was posted to Hednesford in Staffordshire. I arrived at Brindley Heath Station with several other would be Flight Mecs. I can only describe Brindley Heath as a scene out of Cowboys and Indians. We trudged off the train tired, hungry and cold only to find, we now had to drag our kit bags up what became known as, "Kit Bag Hill." At the top were the camp gates and standing in-side a very fierce looking Flight Sargeant and an even fiercer Alsation dog. We were marched to Nissen huts and allocated a bed. How my heart sank that day. We were on CANNOCK CHASE in mid winter, it was snowing, we had no fire or warmth and surrounded by iron bedsteads on which three strange looking square things sat. These became known as biscuits and you put them down to lay on at night. I had reached the point of no return, when a small voice behind me said, "Can I have my bed next to you?" I had found a friend and still have 51 years later.
Well, you can't keep youth down for long and soon we were all in the swing of things. We found out how to get into the coal bunker and with lookouts at strategic spots, soon had enough coal and stoves going, the stack pipes were glowing red. The atmophere became quite cheerful. However we were there to learn a Trade, Exams had to be passed every week, and I was a very dedicated W.A.A.F that swatted long into the night. Our entry was 122 and we were all determined to see it through together. Each week we learnt a different part of the engine. What gobbledygook it all was at first, when they spoke of threads I could only think of reels of cotton. Eventually it all fell into place and after 18 months we finally passed out as Flight Mecs, having taken a final 2 hour exam. I passed out A.C.W.1 one step higher.
I was now posted to a Maintenance Unit in Sevenoaks. I was now part of a gang and given a tool box I could hardly lift. The R.A.F boys did not accept us. We were women and we were doing a man's job. We had to safe guard our tools with our life or they disappeared. We were four women Flt. Mecs among many men, but we never asked for help. We devised many methods to undo or tighten nuts and bolts, often swinging on the end of a ten foot crowbar. We won the day and were finally accepted and took our place on the low loaders that went out to repairs or bring home the aircraft that just didn't make it. It was on such an occasion in Broadstairs I had my most embarrasing moment. A Stirling had crashed, we had released the engines and the crane was about to swing round and pick them up. Instead the hook somehow caught in my dungarees and zipped the buttons off, and everything fell apart, including me. I couldn't think of what to do for an encore. There was never a dull moment. Life was hard when we were stuck in the middle of Manston air field De-icing aircraft in the freezing cold. But hilarious moments when we had to cycle into camp with a W.A.A.F who once, put on her bycycle, couldn't get off until she reached camp. She rang her bell all the way, but the sheep didn't always understand, and she found herself among the Fleece. Also the day German Fighter planes found our camp. Once again we were on our bikes as they tried to shoot us up. We all finished in the hedge hoping we looked like ants.
Life went on. We went out to some dreadful crashes. Planes that had just made it back before they crashed hoping the boys had got out before it was too late. One day the full W.A.A.F. FLT. MECS. were called to the office and told we were being sent on a FITTERS COURSE. A big step up. So off we went to Halton in Bucks. Althought we were more converse with mechanics this really was a challenge. It took every moment of concentration to get through, but we did. Ironically, we all went out to celebrate the night we passed and return late to camp and then I walked straight into the arms of the duty officer. I was put on a charge and spent my last week of free time cleaning and scrubbing much to the amusement of my fellow conspirators who had got away with it. Anyway we were heroes when we got back to Sevenoaks having all passed out as Leading Aircraft Women. But this means another posting and I was off to Newark in Nottingham. Our camp there was near a bone factory. The smell lived with me for years. One day I was cycling home after late duty and took a short cut through and suddenly realised they were not cows running around the pile of bones, but rats. My bike never made a quicker U turn, and you couldn't see me for dust. Our work at Newark was all done on the aircraft in the hangers and I no longer journeyed forth on my low loader. At Newark after some further exams I was made a corporal, I now had two stripes. So my duties included more than just mechanics.
I was at Newark when when my fiance was killed in a bombing raid on his last tour of ops, before we took our leave together. It was not to be.
After a period of time I had yet another posting this time to St. Athans in Wales. It was more like working in a factory. Checking, measuring, inspecting etc. I was also responsible for getting the girls to work. Guard room duties, waking cooks at some unearthly hour and other duties. I was also approached to join their very professional Concert Party. My spare time was now full of rehearsals. We sometimes visited Welsh villages to put on a show. It was all great fun. It was after returning from one such evening and ready to fall into bed that the Tannoy suddenly blared forth. The war in Europe was over. The camp went crazy, every possible type of transport was flying round the parade ground horns blaring. Then again the Tannoy erupted. "Concert Party get to the Cinema." This was easier said than done. However we all arrived and were ordered to put on a show before things got out of hand. We put on the show of our lives, there was laughter and tears for those we knew would not be coming home. But the war was not over and there was work to do before the final Peace on Sept 2nd 1945, almost six years to the day it started. The Concert Party's final show was a Pantomime Aladdin. De-mobbing started and finally it was my turn and I was on my way to Birmingham, to become a civilian once again. My uniform changed for civilian clothes and armed with a travel warrant I made my way home. I was now 5yrs older with a world of experience behind me. How would I cope with close family life? How would I pick up the pieces and no Bob behind me, to help on my way.
I had really had enough of mud, grease and mechanics. I returned to Mayfair and the world of fashion which was badly needed after the drabness of the Clothing Coupon war years. It was amazing how one slots back into life. I finally met the man who was to become my husband. That is another story.