August 13, 2013

Finest Hour 125, Winter 2004-05

Page 19

A Wren’s Memories

By Fanny Hugill, WRNS

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My friend and ex-Wren colleague, Alison Gregory, and I are honoured to be with you to be able to add a personal footnote to the story of the momen tous days of 1944. Both of us became “Ramsay Wrens” before we joined his D-Day staff, since we had served with Admiral Ramsay at Dover.

At Norfolk House, next time you are in London, do look for the plaque commemorating the use of the building by General Eisenhower as his Headquarters. One of my jobs there was to dust the large and beautifully-made model of the invasion beaches, complete in every detail and housed in an inner room, the key to which lay in my unlocked desk drawer.

Security—much in the news recently—was tight for those days. When I walked to work through sandbagged streets, it was surprising and encouraging to be greeted by smart U.S. Marine Sentries, wearing very white gloves. Many of the Wrens were very young—straight out of school—I was only 21 myself. But our standards were high. After years of war and knowing that we were trusted and our contributions valued, it was unthinkable that we would spill the beans—any beans.

To quote from Kenneth Edwards’ book Operation Neptune: “Nor must the work of the WRNS Officers and Ratings be forgotten. In spite of working very long hours, they remained keen and cheerful, and I know of no instance of even the smallest lapse of security.”

On 26th April 1944, we went by train to Southwick Park. Living and working conditions were very cramped. About 150 Wrens slept and messed in huts on the grounds, and sixty Wren officers slept in three rooms at the top of Southwick House. Facilities were limited. There was one bathroom and one loo on the top floor. Tolerance and tidiness were essential, and mixed together, day staff and watchkeepers found sleeping in the day chancy. Still, to be out of London was wonderful, and we made lasting friendships.

Southwick Park resembled a village, with streets lined with huts, tents and caravans. Everything was sign-posted, busy and orderly, with redcaps directing the traffic. As watchkeepers, we were able to be out in the perfect summer weather. We rolled our sleeves up and our stockings down and sunbathed on the roof. Letters from home took three or four days. Our families had no idea where we were—and knew better than to ask. And of course we had no access to a telephone. Leave, other than compassionate, was non-existent, and we worked a seven-day week. This was hard enough for us; the strain the senior officers were under showed on their faces, but rarely in their tempers.

As D-Day approached, the pressure of work eased. Some members of staff moved on to take up their forward positions, and the weather was wonderful. The typists completed the typing of Operation Overlord, over 1,000 pages of printed foolscap, and on Whit Sunday, many of us found time to go to Church in Southwick Village. At Admiral Ramsay’s suggestion, two cricket matches between the chaps and girls were organised on a nearby, grassy field, with only the square hastily mown. Admiral Ramsay and the Senior Mess took on the Wren officers and beat them by four wickets. Ramsay himself made sixteen runs but noted in his diary that he was “very stiff.” One of the girls was a lethal underarm bowler.

On 30th May, Admiral Ramsay found time to speak to about sixty Wrens of the Secretariat, to thank them for their hard and good work. This is something that those who were present have never forgotten. The Admiral’s attitude to his junior staff was always impeccable, and, with hindsight, I’m sure that his friendliness and good man ners were copied by all our seniors. We were a truly happy ship.

I was on watch in the Operations Room for the night of 5/6 June. We were all subdued. Admiral Creasey, the chief of staff, kept watch and Admiral Ramsay went to bed, to be called at 5am if all was well. So it was, but the wind howled and the shutters rattled all night long.

At 8am I went off watch and in to breakfast, to hear Alvar Liddell announce on the wireless that the invasion had begun. I should have gone to bed, and indeed I lay down, but I couldn’t sleep and went for a walk. Later that day King George VI broadcast to the nation—a very solemn king, urging us all to pray for peace.

Within about three days, a trickle of staff who had crossed with the first waves of ships returned, bearing as trophies gifts for the Mess of Camembert cheese and Armagnac spirits. They filed their reports and returned to Normandy.

The effects of bad weather and reverses in the field delayed our move to France. Early contingents of Wrens sailed during August, and the full staff moved to Granville on the Cotentin Peninsula early in September.

We crossed the Channel overnight, wearing life jackets, and landed at Arromanches on a beautiful morning. A fleet of lorries and cars awaited us, and the sound of the tyres on the ramp of the Mulberry harbour is something I shall never forget. The long drive to Granville was like a royal progress. We waved and waved. Battle-hardened as we were by the effects of bombing at home, we were shocked to see the devastation of so many French towns and villages.

Arrived at Granville, we viewed our filthy quarters in houses only recently vacated by the Germans. Before erecting camp beds, we opened the windows and washed the floors. There was little electricity, and, not allowed to drink the water, we got a taste for the plentiful wine. The beach was not mined, so we paddled, and the pretty little casino, which only recently entertained the enemy, was in full swing.

Two weeks later, we moved to St.-Germain-en-Laye, not far from General Eisenhower’s Headquarters at Versailles outside Paris, where we were to remain for eight memorable months, before moving to Germany. But that is another story!

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