Alison Wilkinson

I expect that you have already been sent this quotation which is from a delightful review produced at Bletchley. We were fortunate that amongst us the personnel there. There were talented actors and, as maths and music often go together, there were some recitals. I remember standing in a packed club one evening, shoulder to shoulder, listening to the first broadcast of the Bartok Violin concerto.
I was a member of the WRNS and arrived at Bletchley in 1944. I joined the naval section on the Japanese side. Having been born in Japan this made sense and I later discovered that there were various fellow members of the section who had known my parents. Our work was very humdrum dealing with “place, Name and Time of Origin” of the messages – no machines were involved. It really wasn’t very exciting but we were encouraged to think that our work was vital! We were in I think, Block B, which was a building, not a hut, on the far side of the lake to the huts. It was near the path to the station, convenient for nipping off early on leave and arriving back late.
My sister was also there working as a wireless operator in the W.A.A.F. Her shifts were much tougher than mine change every three or four days including night shifts. My section remained on the same watch for a week at a time and only did days and evenings, coming off watch at midnight. One December, i sneaked into her building, which was behind ours, to wish her a Merry Christmas. As we were forbidden to visit other buildings I suppose she ricked being court marshalled and I of being clapped in irons. 
We worked with civilians and ate with them until the other services complained that we were getting special treatment so we were moved to a mess of our own. The Deputy Head of our set of offices, a Mrs Wainwright, had escaped from Singapore b the skin of her teeth. She was known as Mrs Feather, called after a popular character on the radio at the time. Her crepe de chine petticoats rustled as she walking along the corridor much to the envy of us on our “Passion Killer” long blue knickers.
As we were on the Japanese side, we were given most interesting talks about what was going on in Europe, e.g. at Pennimunde. We therefore heard about the doodlebugs, rockets a V2’s but never about the atomic bomb. On one occasion, a Wren was very shocked to hear that we were spying on their French. “But they are our allies” she protested. The rather laconic young man who was giving the talk said dryly that we had always sped on the French.
I always dreaded moonlight nights during the war because it meant bombing. Coming off watch at midnight i would search the sky for the moon. However, i was assured that the Germans would never bomb us as we were too useful to them. I wonder why?
When the secrecy was broken after the war, and books written, i remember being somewhat disconcerted to read, in one book that the Japanese section at Bletchley had contributed nothing to the war effort. Just think of us beavering away for nothing.
There was a legend that Woburn Abbey would be burnt down by women. When 200 WRNS were quartered there, it was small wonder that the Duke of Bedford, perched on his shooting stick, glowered at us through his binoculars. We all had to do a stint at fire watching – a bit spooky at times. At one point, because of the threats of “foot and mouth” we had to disembark from the bus at the main gate and walk through the disinfected straw because of concern for the deer. Rumour had it that the Duke had tried to make peace with Hitler.
After a night on the floor and a week in an attic, where condensation ran down the walls and formed a pool on the floor and froze on the inside of the windows, four of us ended up in a “cabin”, the size of a broom cupboard, in an army hut in the courtyard. At least we had heating. Three of us made friends with the “factor” looking after the building. He showed us two or three of the rooms that had been closed and shrouded with dust sheets. One was the Blue Drawing Room where there was a large portrait of the Duchess over the mantelpiece. She had a pilot’s licence and her own plane. She had taken off one along the grass avenue below the lake. Flew over the cottage hospital she had founded and on into the blue. No one knew what had happened to her.
V.E. Day found us working. We had to wait until V.J. Day to celebrate the end of the war. Bletchley was an experience, in many ways enriching, if curious.