grappled abstractedly with the enemy. Night and day we evoked evil spirits from the ether. Like spiritualists purging a malignant ectoplasm we hunted their echoes on our screens. Once spotted, their ethereal path was plotted, analysed and telephoned through to Central Control. Minutes later a new echo would appear on our screens as Royal Air Force fighters rose to intercept. With mounting tension and in silence broken only by the clipped voice of the plotter tell-taling Central Control the evasions of the enemy we would watch the silent drama unfolding on our screen. Sometimes the opposing echoes joined without equivocation in a perfect interception as the hunters found their foes. Or, slid past each other like strangers as the enemy skulked cleverly in the clouds. A violent volte-face of the enemy’s echo would bring a smile to our faces and a jibe to our tongues on the few occasions that he turned and fled for home.
Anxiously we appraised the results of our work until the two echoes joined in combat in a single oscillating blur that told of Tally-ho , twisting evasion, screaming engines, the shrill rat-a-tat-tat of machine-guns or the throatier bark of cannon. We watched the eloquent echo as fathers, brothers and lovers fought on the razor edge of life or death and were silent if the echo, after battle, moved steadily eastwards towards enemy territory leaving behind a dying echo that remained stationary for a few tragic seconds before fading, as the life it represented faded into oblivion.
10
On leaving the training school four other girls and myself were posted to a Radar station near Rye on the south coast of England. Our arrival caused considerable uplift in morale amongst the incommunicado male operators. The nearest town was seven miles away and shortage of trained personnel had virtually confined the men to camp. The air, for the first few days, was heavy with gallantries as claims were staked and counter-staked in the bid for feminine companionship. Initially, there being no suitable accommodation for Waafs in the camp, another Waaf and I were billeted with a bricklayer and his family.
We slipped easily into the unchanging routine of constant watch. Our period of duty was eight hours on and sixteen off with a team of four Waafs for each watch. One to operate the screen, one to fix the position of the echo and inform Central Control through a mouthpiece and earphones attached to the head, one to record events in a log and the fourth who acted as camp telephonist and tea-swindler. To relieve the eye-strain we alternated our duties every two hours. The hut, beneath the towering masts and situated for safety reasons 2 miles from the camp, was the first word in comfort. Completely blacked-out it creaked and groaned as the full fury of the biting wind struck from the English Channel. Inside we shivered in Balaclavas, greatcoats and scarves and interminably sipped stewed tea.
The girls were a sophisticated lot. Helen, with whom I was billeted, had come from New Zealand to study drama and had already obtained her L.R.A.M. which, she assured me, was a considerable achievement. She had remained in England to ‘do her bit’. She did that, and more. Vera was a film extra. Obviously. Her hippy walk, long flaxen hair (despite orders to cut it), scarlet nails and lips, caricatured the severity of the uniform and brought agonized frustration to the faces of the airmen as she prowled around the camp. She was in constant conflict with the Queen Bee over her hair and unofficial silk stockings but somehow managed to retain both and her freedom.
My billet introduced me to a way of life that depressed me by its monotonous indigence. Our hosts lived a pinched existence that seemed peculiarly contrived. Their income was balanced so precariously with their cost of living that an involuntary expenditure, no matter how trivial – a broken cup to be replaced, shoes to be repaired – brought crisis. These crises though never sufficient
Anxiously we appraised the results of our work until the two echoes joined in combat in a single oscillating blur that told of Tally-ho , twisting evasion, screaming engines, the shrill rat-a-tat-tat of machine-guns or the throatier bark of cannon. We watched the eloquent echo as fathers, brothers and lovers fought on the razor edge of life or death and were silent if the echo, after battle, moved steadily eastwards towards enemy territory leaving behind a dying echo that remained stationary for a few tragic seconds before fading, as the life it represented faded into oblivion.
10
On leaving the training school four other girls and myself were posted to a Radar station near Rye on the south coast of England. Our arrival caused considerable uplift in morale amongst the incommunicado male operators. The nearest town was seven miles away and shortage of trained personnel had virtually confined the men to camp. The air, for the first few days, was heavy with gallantries as claims were staked and counter-staked in the bid for feminine companionship. Initially, there being no suitable accommodation for Waafs in the camp, another Waaf and I were billeted with a bricklayer and his family.
We slipped easily into the unchanging routine of constant watch. Our period of duty was eight hours on and sixteen off with a team of four Waafs for each watch. One to operate the screen, one to fix the position of the echo and inform Central Control through a mouthpiece and earphones attached to the head, one to record events in a log and the fourth who acted as camp telephonist and tea-swindler. To relieve the eye-strain we alternated our duties every two hours. The hut, beneath the towering masts and situated for safety reasons 2 miles from the camp, was the first word in comfort. Completely blacked-out it creaked and groaned as the full fury of the biting wind struck from the English Channel. Inside we shivered in Balaclavas, greatcoats and scarves and interminably sipped stewed tea.
The girls were a sophisticated lot. Helen, with whom I was billeted, had come from New Zealand to study drama and had already obtained her L.R.A.M. which, she assured me, was a considerable achievement. She had remained in England to ‘do her bit’. She did that, and more. Vera was a film extra. Obviously. Her hippy walk, long flaxen hair (despite orders to cut it), scarlet nails and lips, caricatured the severity of the uniform and brought agonized frustration to the faces of the airmen as she prowled around the camp. She was in constant conflict with the Queen Bee over her hair and unofficial silk stockings but somehow managed to retain both and her freedom.
My billet introduced me to a way of life that depressed me by its monotonous indigence. Our hosts lived a pinched existence that seemed peculiarly contrived. Their income was balanced so precariously with their cost of living that an involuntary expenditure, no matter how trivial – a broken cup to be replaced, shoes to be repaired – brought crisis. These crises though never sufficient
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