Sand In My Shoes: Coming of Age in the Second World War: A WAAF’s Diary. Joan Rice
to return for the medical exam this morning. I have passed and am now in the RAF. I begin with 2s 3d a day in contrast to those not on special duties who only get 1s 4d, and I may (I hope) have to go abroad. I am now waiting to be called up to Hendon.
I'll explain my reasons for joining. Firstly, doing one's bit. I suppose that's there, though it doesn't seem particularly in evidence at the moment. Secondly, this life will get me away from home, make me adult and independent. Thirdly, it's a change and adventure. Fourthly and at the present most strongly, I want to swank around in a uniform.
I had lunch with Mother at the Bolivar today. There were girls, smart and sophisticated, drinking with men at the bar. I felt about fifteen. I want to be able to be at any time at ease, with poise and sophistication. I hope this new life will help me. It will be experience. Sitting in Claygate isn't going to teach me about life. The WAAF should. When the war is over I want to be fully equipped to go back immediately to my goal of successful writer. If I'm alive and there's any civilisation alive, I'll do it. Meantime this diary goes with me to Hendon.
8 October 1939
I am sitting on Betty's1 bed (a Shell colleague, now living with my parents). Opposite on my own is a pile of belongings and a far too small suitcase. Herewith the events leading up to my last day at home (excuse legal phrasing but I have just returned from making my will). I look at my packing and have the same sick and ‘wish I hadn't done it’ feeling in my tummy that was there on going back to the convent (boarding school) evenings. Only tonight have I realised that I'm going into this new unknown living. Even at Bunty's2 (a school friend with whom I had been staying), when she and her mother made up absurd adventures about me in the Air Force which ended with me dropping from the air onto a submarine, and much laughter in which I joined, it was impossibly far away. Even when Mother phoned and said I was to go on Monday it was still impossible to happen. Now it is my last night at home and no one but you must know how I feel or I's probably cry. Because of that it's going to be good for me. I've got to be adult. I've got to be self-assured. I've got to be able to go anywhere and not be shy. At least I'll have you with me.
9 October 1939
First Day in the life of a WAAF. It began with rain and nearly missing the train at Claygate; more rain, heavy bags and misery in the Strand; more rain, going the wrong way and arriving late at Hendon. Soaked and surly I filled in a ‘history sheet’ and went in the rain to my billet which is, or rather are, the old married quarters of the RAF. After that we went up to get our equipment which at the moment consists of one oversized raincoat and a service gas mask. Then we had to walk in the rain to the aerodrome to be vaccinated by a very large, very silent, very alluring doctor. Next the lunch, a dubious stew and a paper piece of tart eaten on one plate and a tin-topped table. After that a gas lecture and a mask demonstration. Next tea, a fish cake and bread and jam, and then à la liberté.
I have managed to cultivate a friendship with a girl called Joyce3 who has a car and we went out on a voyage of shopping and discovery. We discovered little except that the car wouldn't go and spent most of the time pushing it. Coming home I put on slacks and the rest of our house mates came in – the NCO4 (a nice girl called Mike) and a girl called Scotty with a squashed-in face – and we drank tea and listened to them talking. I must go to bed now. It's heroic writing this.
15 October 1939
It's unbelievable that to go from Hendon to home all that needs to be done is a short train journey. The two worlds are so much further apart than a journey through a wasteland; howling wind and outer darkness seems fitting to bridge the gap. Even now at home this evening I belong here no longer. I should have had my leave from Sunday night to Monday night, but on Saturday evening I learnt that I'm to be transferred to Ruislip tomorrow and so was allowed home before the change. I'm lucky to get a permanent job so quickly. Hendon is a training centre for the WAAF and most people are there longer than I've been. The thing I've hated most about Hendon is having no definite work but hanging around a crowded orderly room all day with nothing to do and everybody looking at you as if you should be busy. In fact, had I written this up last Tuesday (can I possibly have been in the Air Force only six days?), I would have reflected on the deepest depths of despair to which the human soul can reach. I was so miserable I could no longer think nor reason, just move in a fog of despondence. Fortunately misery cannot go on being misery eternally (that's why hell's such a dumb idea), and my emotions rose until now, when I'm glad that while the war is on I'm in the WAAF.
After this war I might be quite well off. Shell are saving one pound a week for me for the duration in addition to my Provident fund (staff who volunteered for war work were still considered as employed by Shell), and I've heard that we may get gratuities at the end of the war. I'll have to go back to Shell for a bit for decency's sake and then Heigh Ho for the world and adventure. I haven't told you yet all about life in the WAAF but I'm going to have a bath and will maybe write more later.
(Much later in the afternoon. Raining and raining and raining outside and us all warm before the fire.) We light a fire in the downstairs room and sit around it, singing sometimes with a girl called Renee,5 just back from Germany, playing the accordion, and sometimes talking and going one by one to the bath if we have managed to coax the boiler into a blaze. I like all the girls in our house except the one called Scotty who unfortunately is in the same bedroom as me. I think there's something wrong about her. I've heard Mickey6 and Joyce talking about it but they won't tell me. I must look innocent. It's very annoying.
The working part of the day is, as I've said, foul (I am a trained secretary) but you can get out of most of it by going to games and drill. The food is really quite good if the way of eating it very primitive. I shudder to think of my table manners when this war is over, but I shall be tough what with marching, early rises and hard beds. They have some very good cheap cinema shows in the aeroplane hangars, concerts for the troops and games in the evening like fencing and badminton.
16 October 1939
Would you believe it? After all I'm not being moved. When I got back from leave yesterday I was told that the commanding officer wanted me to stay, and Frances (our NCO) told me kindly that she likes to hang on to efficient people. Well, I'm all for it. I like it here now. I like my billet companions except the before-mentioned Scotty, but there's hope she'll be going soon. I like the free concerts and cheap cinemas and railway service tickets, and the coming glory of a uniform and being different to the herd. I've also heard there's a library on the Station and that a hairdresser has been installed to shampoo and set for 1s 6d a time.
I'm all for the RAF. I'm beginning to be proud of the company and myself and spent the evening polishing my shoes, washing my stockings and pressing my mac. I like most of all being independent. (I mean free from the bondage of a life at home that there must be in the best of them. You can't grow up till you leave your parents. I know that now.)
I'm sitting writing this before the fire, waiting till Pat finishes with the bath. Upstairs Mike and Frances and Mickey are cleaning their rooms in readiness for tomorrow's billet inspection, and I've just heard them say that another lot of propaganda pamphlets went off from here to Germany today. Despite events like that though you might be miles away from any war here – there's no time to talk about it. Ah ha, this diary now contains a STATE SECRET.