| Hetty Munro’s War Diaries (by
Elizabeth Rintoul) The following extracts
from the War Diary of the late Henrietta Munro of Thurso come from the
North Highland Archive and are published with their permission. Earlier
extracts were published in Caithness Field Club Bulletins – Vol
6 No 8 (April 2004),
Vol 7 No 1 (April 2005) and
Vol 7 No 2 (April 2006).
22 February 1942 (Sunday)
Well, “Victor Two” is over. It was fun while it lasted. On Sunday 15 Feb.
I reported to the umpires at 2.30 and did practically nothing for ages as
things hadn’t really got going - so in the evening Patrick and I went to
see Flanagan and Allan at Craigmillar. It was very enjoyable and we got
back at 10.30 when I worked until about one. I slept in the “G” office in
my fleabag and Patrick’s camp bed in front of the fire and things began to
happen. Col. Sandeman - thin, dried up looking, sense of humour: Col.
Fenton - tall, youngish, good looking, - fussy but pleasant to work with:
Capt. Keith - oldish, terrific sense of fun and loves practical jokes;
these were the principal people there. Capt. Keith did fifth columnists
and had a whale of a time composing messages, “re: Walter Grants whisky;
Mrs Gordon’s calving cow” etc and sending time bombs and faked guards all
over the countryside. The whole thing was very interesting and instructive
and, of course, being with the umpires one got both sides of the picture.
We finished on Thursday at lunchtime and I was dead tired as I’d worked
most days from l0a.m to midnight but I wouldn’t have missed it for
anything.
On Friday night Alan, John and Joopy came to dinner with Dee and Connie
and me. Very pleasant.
I had to work on my half day on Saturday, but on Sunday Bill took Connie
and Dee and I to Borwick where we saw a picture called “Unholy Parties”
and then had marmalade tarts for tea. Good.
March and April 1942.
Ref AC1 3 87/42. I’ve talked to Col. Roper about this and he seems to
think that I’d be a good Staff Secretary so he and the General have
written my recommendation and it has gone to Command. Luckily for me, no
matter what my Comp. Comd. thinks, she’s got to put up all the
applications.
Tuesday.
I do hope that letter comes from the War Office soon as I’ve just heard
I’ve to go to live in the Artery next week and IPII die WI get that for
long.
Saturday.
My last night of living at Standing Stones. Thank goodness George has left
- I’d have hated leaving so much more if he’d still be living here.
Sunday
Hatston threw a marvellous dance for me last night - we had dinner first
in Joopy’s cabin with Uncle Bell and Johnny and lots of people and then
danced until after 2. Art Gregory played and the more they played, the
more they drank. Eventually the band were all flat out and the Navy were
playing for us but eventually they “died” also and then we had a lovely
party in the “bar” parlour. I certainly celebrated my last night as a
“lady” in no uncertain fashion. Many hours later we got home and to see
Joopy carrying Norman upstairs was one of the funniest sights which I
shall always treasure. After many farewell cups of tea, Dee and I got
Joopy to go home and, still later, we got to bed.
Tonight I am sleeping in a hut - actually its very
comfortable and warm and the foods riot bad but the rules are irksome and
I hate washing with crowds of women. The girls are very good though, and
give me a shout in the mornings, keep my fire on and fill my hot water
bottle; but even although I have a room to myself there is no privacy at
all and I miss that more than anything. Stupid, isn’t it? Because I don’t
mind so much being with a crowd when its people I know and like - in fact
I’m rather fond of it. It’s this meeting strange females in a state of
undress and not being able to do anything without someone knowing about
it. Having to report my arrival after a late pass annoys me - if I’m told
to be in at 12 - I’ll be there, but if I’m told to report in at 12, I
immediately have a desire to stay out until 2. Badly disciplined mind, I
suppose. However, its not nearly as bad as I expected - but I still hope
that War Office interview comes through.
Wednesday.
Whoops! it’s come and I’ve to be at the War Office next Tuesday. I’m
frightfully excited and I don’t expect anything will come of the affair as
thousands must have applied for the job but I’ll chatter to the Generals
and wear my tartan skirt, so maybe something will happen.
Sunday.
I’m all packed up ready to fly to DoniB. (Donibristle) The CO. [Commanding
Officer] hasn’t tumbled to the fact that I’ll have two days in Edinburgh
by going this way and that will be rather fun I hope. It’s a lovely day
and the flight should be very smooth.
Later.
Edinburgh at last - in exactly 1.5 hours to be precise - and a lovely tea
at Braid Mount.
Tuesday.
After a lovely “leave” in Edinburgh and a dull train journey to London,
here we are, Hilda and I both dressed as very good A.T.S. - hair all tied
up, buttons shining, uniforms pressed, shoes glistening, just sitting in a
rather large bare office with lots of trestle tables with pads of paper
set out on them - there must be 20 of them. A most charming civilian lady
takes us to wash, by this time there are about a dozen of us - two people
stand out - a very young, very pretty dark girl called Kay Pallant and a
fat, rather stodgy looking Scots girl called Gordon who has a delicious
dry sense of humour. We’re all very nervous so we chatter brightly to the
kind young lady and pretend nothing really matters.
Lunch.
The big test is now over - I think my paper work was all right but I’m not
sure. We got 55 minutes to write a letter - I dashed off a draft and
completed copy in 20 and decided that if I messed it around I’d only make
it worse so left it, got up and walked out, to the intense surprise of
everyone. I’ve got to be back at 5 for my interview so I’m lunching with
Hilda and then going to telephone George Tuck.
Train.
It’s all over and I think I was all right. They certainly asked all kinds
of questions - the General, the Colonel, the A.T. [Auxiliary Territorial]
woman and the Major. It lasted for ten minutes and I think they all like
me except the A.T. who took an instant dislike to me I’m sure.
P Afterwards I met Col. Tuck and we went to pick up Mrs Tuck and then go
on to Bryan Cadogan’s engagement party in the Berkeley. When I told him
(Col. Tuck) that I was sure the A.T. hated me but that I’d talked fishing
with the General, he said I would certainly get the job. I think they
liked me anyway and, now that it’s all over, I think I really enjoyed my
first interview.
The only really worrying thing is that I rather “blew” a bit with my
answers to the questions in my anxiety to get the job and I’m rather
worried now that they’ll think I can do lots of things which I’m sure I
can’t do. However, sufficient unto the day.
Thursday.
Back to Orkney after a lovely flight north only to be met with the news
that I’ve to go to Lichfield on Tuesday!! Dreadful thought. I know nothing
about A.T. S. at all and still less about being an N.C.O. and I’m very
furious about the whole thing.
Tuesday.
Edinburgh again. After a frightfully hectic time trying to pack three
years accumulation of stuff into suit cases which got smaller every
minute, see everyone in case I don’t come back, be medically examined, try
to get out of going at all, clean up in the office and bump Hatston into
giving me another ride down, I at last proceeded on Sunday in getting away
about lunch time accompanied by Margaret Baikie who was on short leave. As
we took off and the whole panorama of these lovely islands was spread out
below us, I wanted so much to go back and refuse to go. I felt I was going
for good and didn’t want to go at all. There was the Flow, sparkling in
the sunshine and the ships looking like toys; Kirkwall - a cluster of
houses with the cathedral rising proudly in the centre, its red sandstone
glistening in the sunshine: - patches of snow over Wideford and the stark
trees at Binscarth, slightly frosted: now the two lochs and the narrow
road between, with the Standing Stones, a sinister circle to the left:
Stenness itself, where I’d spent such a happy two and a half years in
spite of the grim threat of war hanging over us: now Waithe and Stromness
- with its houses huddled by the waters edge, in the shelter of Brinkie’s
Brae: the Holmes - lovely tea parties: now Hoy, grim and forbidding hill
with Pegal Burn shining in the sun: the waves dashing against the Old Man
as they had done for centuries: the white sands of Rackwick - my last
glimpse of Orkney and before me the angry waters of the Pentland and the
shores of Scotland.
Just before we made landfall, we saw the good old Arc ploughing her way
across that narrow stretch of water that seems so interminable when one is
a passenger.
Again I managed to get two days in Edinburgh and spent
one heavenly evening at the Anglo Polish Ballet and the other just talking
to my old friend John Taylor. It was a lovely break, getting all dressed
up again.
Now I resume my “free issue” and don’t wear anything
else at all for three weeks -a dreadful thought. |