In the summer of 1944 Kathleen Oates - a Wren assigned to the Women's Royal Naval Service during the Second World War - was transferred to the Isle of Man. During her time on the island, she wrote dozens of letters to home which provide a unique commentary on the operations at Ronaldsway and what life was like on the Isle of Man 80 years ago. Her daughter, CHRISTINE SMITH, pores through her mother’s letters as part of a series of columns based on Kathleen Oates’s writing...

Eighty years ago this week, Wren Kathleen Oates had been on the Isle of Man for just over a month and was showing her first clear signs of being unwilling to leave, should this possibility arise. The social and leisure side of the camp was finally being established, and she was less afraid of boredom. She also enjoyed the company of the other Wrens as she got to know them. The difference between how she was treated in Liverpool by the Navy and on the Isle of Man by the Fleet Air Arm (FAA) was striking and positive—and the Isle of Man continued to charm her with its beauty.

Another plotting Wren had arrived, meaning Kathleen would now work watches with her, which gave her more time off. ‘The problem is though, what to do with it here!’—such grumbles were soon to come to an end. Working watches meant a night duty routine, but Kathleen consoled herself with the thought of sleeping in the next morning.

Pleasant working conditions added to the attraction of the Isle of Man, and for the first time, Kathleen appeared reluctant to leave. ‘I’m really happy at work here—there is such a happy, informal atmosphere—plenty of laughs. I like the possibility of more flips [rides in a plane]. Whitey [Lt Whiteaker] has just said he’ll work me a “night flip”... I seem to have been lucky with the Wrens—first I was posted where I could go on ships, and now I’m where I can go for night flips! I expect my draft will come through next week and spoil everything!’

Kathleen continued with more examples of how well she was treated in the control tower at Ronaldsway. ‘We’ve had two observers in the Ops room waiting for drafts to a squadron, and they’ve amused me all week. I must be getting old—they’re only about 20, and I feel quite motherly towards them. One has the self-confidence of a man of 40—comes from a very wealthy home, I imagine. He started trying to boss me around when he first came, but I informed him otherwise. I consider that by now, I know as much about that Ops room as all the officers—I don’t know if I want to leave it!! I’m treated in a most amazing fashion—a rating was fetched to clean the blackboards for me, and after the filthy work I did on Liverpool docks, that is quite a change. A messenger usually makes the tea for all the Wrens in the control tower, and one afternoon, when she had a make-do-and-mend session, she left a note asking me to make the tea. Normally I wouldn’t mind, but as the kettle takes about two hours to boil and there’s no teapot, it’s a rather complicated procedure—especially when I’m busy. Anyway, I showed the note to Whitey—saying ‘Please say I can’t make it!’—expecting him to say ‘buzz off, you lazy creature’ or something like that. Instead, I got ‘Alright, if you don’t want to make it—you’re too busy!’… When I think how a male Petty Officer treated us like dirt on Morpeth Dock, I’m just amazed!’

On September 26, Kathleen reported: ‘Well, this has been my first day on Watch keeping—and so far everything is fine. All I had to do today was work from 8:30 till 12:30. I had the afternoon off, and I should have done night flying tonight, but it was cancelled due to the usual rotten weather! Tomorrow, I work from 12:30 till 5pm approximately—and no night flying. I don’t know when I’m on Wednesday, but Whitey says that according to the watchlist, I get the best of the bargain—and I didn’t even work out the watches.’

Kathleen wasn’t just enjoying her work. A letter from a Liverpool Wren, who had been drafted to Scotland to do carpentry in an isolated spot, helped her reflect on the positives offered by her posting on the Isle of Man. ‘I believe I’ve been here about five weeks now—on and off. I’ve enjoyed it, though it really seems a pointless existence so far.’

However, this didn’t stop her from complaining about Sunday’s ‘accursed Divisions—hair two inches off the collar, black thick stockings, etc.’ These took place on the parade ground and were not unique to the FAA, as she had described similar events the year before during her Pro-Wren training in Leeds.

The afternoon of September 26 was spent at the YWCA, as it poured rain as usual. ‘This evening, we’ve lit the stove in the cabin, and we’re all sitting around it. Sorry I can’t tell you I’ve been up flying again—that’s all I’m waiting for—another trip—and you needn’t worry about me falling out! There have been no crashes on the station so far.’

On September 27, Kathleen described a brief outing: ‘This afternoon, I took the train to Port Erin. It was very windy, and I stood and watched the waves beating up on the rocks. The sea was a really lovely colour—greenish-blue—just like in paintings. There isn’t much there now—all the hotels look empty and dull. I didn’t stay long—came back to camp for supper.’

Enthusiastically, she requested more items from home. ‘A badminton club has started in one of the hangars, and several of us have decided to join. For this, I want my dark red dress sent on—also my gym shoes, civilian navy shoes, and one pair of civilian stockings... If you have time, you can lengthen my dress before sending it, Mum—Oh! And I’d better have a skirt. But please send them as soon as possible. We have socials here occasionally, and we’re allowed to wear “civvies,” so I’d like a dress here.’

Furthermore, she was ‘hoping the French class will start soon, and they’re getting table tennis down in the village at the YWCA.’ Things were definitely looking up.

The letter ended on a brisk but positive note. ‘Afraid I’ve no more news for you. I’ll just tell you how nice it is to see the sea every morning when I cycle down to the control tower. Oh! The Isle of Man boat only sails every other day now—that’s why mail will be held up—some of it goes by plane though, I believe.’