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Sometime in September 1940, I decided to join up - it was nearly a year later
that I was finally called to Bridgnorth for initial training. Apart from being
the last to get kitted out, the only thing I remember about that fortnight is
having sore arms and people fainting at the sight of the inoculation needle.
We were posted to Phwelli in North Wales for driver training, they were not
expecting us for some days so our first night was spent on the floor, and as the
welcome by the locals left something to be desired, quite a few of the girls
were none too happy. The locals were a bit unhappy at the influx of so many
young women as they had up until that time had all the attention from the local
Naval gunnery school, this changed rather suddenly once they found us there. It
was here I learnt about smoking navy shag, not something to be recommended at
our tender years or any time for that matter.
The roads on which we trained were quite horrendous since most of the girls had
never seen the wheel of a car never mind a lorry before. As it was all done
around Mount Snowdon its amazing there were not more accidents than there were,
as far as I can remember there was only one near tragedy when one of the girls
nearly went over a precipice avoiding a cow, fortunately there was a tree in the
way otherwise the WAAF would have been short of a few trainee drivers.
My lifelong friend and I were posted to Upwood which at this time was an
operational training camp. It being a peacetime camp seemed luxurious after the
camp in Wales, three to a room in married quarters although in my case only two.
The field was equipped with Blenheim’s and a training aircraft whose identity I
have forgotten, just remember them being flown by a number of Free French Air
Force personnel, ostensibly to teach them to fly our way which really was quite
funny as they could and did fly rings round some of the instructors, hardly
surprising considering where they came from and what they had already been
doing. No one I have met since remembers this -1 do, as I fetched two of the
pilots from their aircraft.
Spent evenings in the village cinema (Ramsey St. Mary) or at camp/village dances
plus odd trips to Peterborough. It was here that I had my first taste of a Fen
Winter, trying to drive in snow and fog was something a Londoner is decidedly
not used to unlike a Polish pilot-to-be who absolutely revelled in it, guess it
reminded him of the home he wasn't going to see for sometime if ever. It was
here also that I nearly got a flight in a Lysander, unfortunately the pilot and
plane were posted? (Possibly) or anyway disappeared overnight so never did get
that flight nor in fact ever until long after my days in the service. Had I gone
then don't think I would be quite so terrified as I am now.
Things changed very quickly though because in early '42 we became 156 squ, the
OTU being replaced by the squadron from Alconbury which in turn was to become
the home of the Americans.
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