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At the outbreak of the War I was 14 years old. We didn鈥檛 realise at that age how serious it was or how long it would last. By 1942 I was 17. I applied to join the W.A.A.F鈥檚. Had I not done I would have been called up at 18 to either to join the services or to work in munitions. My mother was devastated to think that I was going to leave home. Understandable, as I had hardly left before.
I eventually left home, on September 16th, 1942. First I travelled to Gloucester, to be fitted with uniforms, to learn how to salute the Officers and learn how to march. After some hilarity about the clothes we were given, four days later we were marched to the station and put on a train to eventually arrive in Morecambe, Lancashire.
We were put into civilian digs, which were quite comfortable. I can still remember where, it was 19 Heysham Road. The next few days were quite traumatic as we had to have our inoculations. I can鈥檛 remember what they were for but they were dreadful. I remember standing in the queue and watching the ones in front of me, passing out. We were given a few days to recover, and then the square bashing started. This took place along the sea front, but first there was the P.T. If you can imagine hundreds of us doing this, no shorts, just our blue shirts and the navy blue 鈥榖loomers鈥�. We must have been a sight for sore eyes for the locals I鈥檓 sure.
It took three weeks to get us marching well enough to have our Passing Out Parade. Then it was off to the 鈥楽chool of Cookery鈥� at Melksham in Wiltshire. Another march to the station. Here we lived in huts. Beds, about 30 to a hut, a bomb box to keep your clothes in, and one big black fire boiler in the middle.
We went through all the stages at the Cookery School, including field kitchens and cooking in a hay box. This lasted until the end of November and we were all given leave before being posted to our respective Stations. It was lovely to get home for a few days but then it was back to the hard work.
I was posted to Warboys Hunts, this was a bomber station. The home of 156 Pathfinder Squadron. When I arrived at Huntingdon Station, I was met by a truck driver who threw my kit bag in the back of his truck and said,
鈥淵ou'll lose those Rosy cheeks before long.鈥�
300 people came. Some even from Canada and Australia. We have done this every year since and we also have weekend reunions too.
The church collections have helped the church, by buying Conifer trees for the cemetery and also hymn boards in memory of Air Vice Marshall Don Bennet who always attended. His widow (Ly) still does. We all donated to a marvellous memorial window. This was unveiled by Group Captain Hamish Mahaddie. One time Camp Commander, it was so wonderful to meet them all again.
From Canada there was Alvin and Nell Fast who were married at Warboys in 1943. Our old Sergeant, Charles McCartney and many more. Far too many to mention. My friend Cicely Versey, who was an M.T. Driver, used to drive the tractor and trailer loaded with bombs to the aircraft. She had a lucky escape one day when a Blockbuster Bomb exploded killing four men. She had to rush one man to hospital with shrapnel sticking in his back.
Our last great event was at Wyton Hunts for the 50th Anniversary of the 鈥楶athfinders鈥�. Many a tear was shed when they brought the Lancaster of the B.B.M.F. to the runway so that we could all climb in it.
Sadly, our dear friend Taff Jones died in January 1994. He will be so greatly missed. About 200 of us, attended his funeral at Warboys Church.
I was demobbed in 1946. My war years, were a time that I can look back on with many happy memories as well as the sad times. It was something I am glad I didn鈥檛 miss.

D. Search.
Bishops Stortford.

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