Pat Steadman

My first impression of Bletchley Park was as a young Wren, arriving by military transport from the station, with a group of other new wrens from Mill Hill – about June 1943 I think. We halted outside large gates, closed and with an armed guard outside. We were escorted into a gate house, where an impressive gentleman greeted us with, “Do you realise the implication of the ‘Official Secrets Acts’?” – we shifted, a trifle nervously, and muttered, “Yes Sir.” At that time we had not the faintest idea what Bletchley Park was or did; no one had been able to tell us, beyond the fact that it was very, very important and that once there we would stay until the end of hostilities.

The ‘Official Secrets Act’ was read out and we all duly signed it. He then proceeded to put the fear of God into us by saying that once through the gates (into ... what?), which incidentally required a ‘pass’ to be guarded with our lives – lose on pain of death etc., we would hear, see and learn of things which must never be divulged: not between ourselves outside our own section, nor with anyone from any other section within the Park, nor in the transports, nor in our billets, and never outside the Park. If family and friends enquired, we were to say we were a “writer”, releasing a man for active service.

Life began in Bletchley Park immediately, with a rather casual introduction to “The Newmanry”. We were met at the door of the hut by a Leading Wren, brandishing a slide rule, who introduced herself and said airily, “Oh, you will soon get the hang of it all! I’ve just been given this slide-rule, told how to use it, so I do and I haven’t a clue why!” (This L. Wren was Odette, who later married Shaun Wylie!!)

The place was full of the noise and clatter of machines and smelt of hot oil – not much of a welcome, but we soon knuckled down and became part of the team working 24-7, as they say!

‘Home’ was Woburn Abbey, rather grey, inside and out. Drab grey parcels had been erected to protect the precious Chinese silk wall coverings. It was a bitterly cold winter and we had some extremely cold, snowy days on which even our hot-water bottles would freeze if we failed to empty them before going on duty.

There were definitely ghosts too! Several! From the depths of the cellars to the walled-up nun at the top of the Abbey! We did encounter one – well almost! During one ‘fire watching’ duty which we did in pairs, two hours at a time about every six or eight weeks. This involved going around the whole silent, dark building, with our torches, making sure corridors and vacated rooms were safe and secure. The rooms had double doors, heavy oak enter and baize doors inside. One of the areas visited would be the Crypt, used as a chapel. We made sure all the doors were closed again on leaving. On this particular night, having done the rounds and visited the Armed Policeman on duty at the back of the Abbey (we would dearly loved to have known what went on in the buildings that side!), we retraced our steps, passing the door to the crypt to find it wide open! The room was dark, no one there, so we thought the other watch keepers had started their rounds already – but they hadn’t! Years later, sometime in the 1960’s or 70s, I was listening to “Women’s Hour” on the radio they were interviewing the Duchess of Bedford – the French lady, prior to Lady ‘T’. When asked about ghosts, she said yes, there were several, one extraordinary one always opened doors! So we almost saw a ghost!

Incidentally, also many years later, in fact just two years ago, I was reading a book about Churchill and Hitler, and the Secret of Woburn was revealed! GV was the Government Propaganda Establishment where well-known folk from the Entertainment and Literary world cooked up the most extraordinary ideas, supposedly to demoralize the German population!

Food! A very important item. Well, luxury was the ‘Bread, Butter and Jam’ plus a pot of tea! Two sisters had a lovely little teashop in Woburn Village, where we indulged ourselves before catching our transports for a spot of duty at Bletchley Park. Generally speaking, food was not exciting – filling maybe! I can still see the giant slab of margarine and the bread on the table in our mess – eggs appeared spasmodically – always a great mass of cold congealing fried eggs, lying on huge trays on a table in the corridor outside our mess! Some hardy (or starving!) souls made egg sandwiches, but I could not bear to look at them, much less eat them!

Recreation was limited to enjoying the beautiful grounds and animals roaming around. Some evenings, as a special treat there might be a concert of classical music on records, brought in by one of the mechanics from the Newmanry.

Dances were held at the American Army Air Corps Base – we would be collected and brought back in army vehicles. It was fun and the FOOD was fabulous, we danced to Glenn Miller and his Band and we learnt to LIVE! A bit hectic, but we were young after all.