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...

This week, eighty years ago, Kathleen Oates recounted the events of September 18, during which she began to find that the Isle of Man could offer rather lively possibilities. She wrote from the “Ops Room,” ‘during the usual lull whilst waiting for flying to start.’ It was clear that she felt, this time, she had a story to impart.

‘I must tell you that I’ve had my first trip on which I went yesterday! I was working very hard during the afternoon when one of Lt. Whiteaker’s pals came up to see him. He was about to set off on an hour’s trip to take some photographs of a destroyer. Whitey [Lt. Whiteaker’s nickname] said, “Have you a passenger?” The pilot replied, “No!”—“Off you go then,” said Whitey—“and you’ll get no sympathy if you’re sick!”

It all occurred as quickly as that, and in the next minute, I was riding across to the hangar, putting on a Mae West [this was WWII slang for a yellow inflatable life preserver jacket, named after a buxom American movie star], then a harness, helmet, and I carried a parachute! A pilot, an observer, and I went up in a Swordfish—affectionately called a “string bag” in the Navy.’

‘After climbing up the side of the plane, I was firmly attached by my harness and then left to enjoy it! My first shock was to discover that the plane was completely open—head and shoulders out in the fresh air—and that I could just stand up and hang over the side! I was sitting with my back to the pilot, and as we taxied down the runway, my view was the rudder flapping around. Sitting there waiting, I wondered what it would be like—if it would be cold—as I hadn’t my coat on and if it would make my nose bleed!’

‘We gathered speed, and before I realized it, we were rising up above the drome [aerodrome] and over the sea—it happened just like that—I didn’t feel a thing! It was lovely to see the island and sea from the air, and soon I saw the destroyer we’d come out to photograph. We wheeled around, dived, and banked, taking photographs from all angles. I stood up all the while so I could get a good view. There was a terrific wind, but as long as it was hitting the back of my head, I felt alright.’

‘All the boys on the ship were waving—it was good to see the familiar bridge, guns, and depth charges again. I waved to them every time we went down. Actually, I was rather disappointed—I had expected all sorts of weird feelings in my inside. Only once did I think, “Hell, what was that” (my exact thoughts!), and I realized we had dived very low and then up again over the ship. The sea and sky appeared at all sorts of weird angles!’

‘We went to Douglas and flew along the front, making all the people look up and stare and wave—then we came back inland, and I looked down on a pattern of fields and white cottages. I can’t really remember landing—again, it must have happened without me realizing it.’

‘I thoroughly enjoyed it and rushed back to the Ops Room to relate my story. Whiteaker said that if I hadn’t had enough thrills, he’d send me up in a Barracuda [airplane] on Monday, which is going round the island for some reason or other. The pilot is apparently a person who likes throwing the plane about—so if it comes off, and if I’m not sick, I’ll tell you all about it. Today my legs are stiff at the top—I think it was the strain of standing up against the wind when I was supposed to be tied down.’

The letter continued later in the morning, during a lull: ‘We’ve had a few planes up this morning, but they’ve been recalled owing to bad visibility.’ She returned from lunch and added: ‘I’ve just arrived to be told that I can probably have the afternoon off, as flying may be canceled again—it’s very misty here. What I shall do with myself if I’m free, I’ve no idea! That’s the trouble with this place: it’s not really a nice day for cycling, and I feel lazy—at least my legs do. They are awfully tired—as though I’ve been doing some really strenuous gym.’

On September 21, Kathleen went to Castletown with another Wren. ‘We had a really lovely lunch for 2/-6d at one of the cafés: delicious vegetable soup, lamb and mint sauce, baked potatoes and boiled cabbage, then lovely plum pie with delicious pastry! The best lunch I’ve had since arriving in the Isle of Man. Then we came on to the canteen where I am now. We had coffee and doughnuts, which we brought up to the ladies’ room where there is a lovely fire—then we settled down to write letters. I write the same news again and again: camp life, the Ops [Operations] Room, my trip in a Swordfish, etc., etc.—letter writing does get monotonous at times. Five other girls from the cabin [the Navy term for the Nissen hut where they slept] have gradually wandered in, and we’re all going for supper in a while—to the same café where we had lunch. We’re hoping that eggs and chips will be on the menu—chips, at least, are certain. There is a bus back to Ballasalla at 8:15—the last—so we will have to catch that. It’s strange writing and having to think of something to tell you—all days and nights seem the same here. I’ve been “Duty Wren”—that’s the only interesting news I can think of.’ The mixture of enjoyment and grumbling seems typical of her letters around this time.

Kathleen later reported that they did go for dinner that night and walked back to camp about 9:30 p.m., the last bus having gone. This may have been an interesting experience because although, post-VE Day, British towns were once more lit at night, and the village seemed very bright to her, ‘the camp is still completely blacked out. Luckily, I’ve been able to buy a battery for my torch—I nearly lost myself one evening wandering around after I’d been down for a wash.’

On Friday the 22nd, ‘everyone in the control tower had to muster and have the Demob Act read to them [The Demobilization Plan was announced to the public on September 22, 1944; it outlined welfare, jobs, and final pay for returning veterans]. I didn’t hear it because I had a “Make do and mend.”’

A later letter covered the rest of the week: ‘Saturday afternoon I went out on my own. Two of the girls asked me to go to Douglas, but I didn’t feel like it. Actually, I went for a walk along the rocks by Scarlet Point—back to Castletown canteen for tea, then to the flicks to see Phantom of the Opera, which I enjoyed. I had to walk back to Ballasalla camp on my own after—quite a good way! I just shan’t be used to civilization when I return to it again.’

After Sunday Divisions, Kathleen ‘had all today off—a lovely day. I cycled to Port St. Mary with two other friends—the sea was lovely; such beauty there is here—one couldn’t help feeling happy! We had tea at a little café they knew—so big a tea, I could hardly cycle back after it! For 2/- we had poached egg on toast, bread and butter and jam, home-made scones, home-made chocolate cake, and sponge cake—really lovely! On top of that, she let us have a bar of chocolate each. We had to be back by lightning-up time as we hadn’t cycle lamps, and now we’re in the YWCA writing letters.’

Kathleen finished on a very domestic note: ‘I’m going to use those two new towels, Mum. Then I’ll wash them and send them home to you. There are lots of things one is not allowed to send out from the Isle of Man, and towels are included.’ It would appear that used towels could be sent home, as Kathleen arrived on the Isle of Man with her own towels and then sent them home by post when she found that they were issued with them at camp. However, there appeared to be a different rule for brand-new ones. Back to reality after time in the sky.