'My Time in the WRAC ' by Rosie Pugh

I sat on the bed with an empty suitcase by my side and tears streamed down my face. Once more I was on the move. How many times in my short life had I moved and it was not from choice. I was nearly eighteen. I sobbed, ‘What will become of me?’
The coach would be arriving and I needed to get on the move or my parents would be calling me. I was on my way to train for the WRAC. ‘You’ll make friends, see the world and learn a trade,’ my father kept telling me and it’ll do you good. My father had been in the RAF. ‘It did me no harm,’ he said. Those were the days when you were under the control of your parents until you were twenty-one and you had to have permission for everything you did. Now I was on my way to the women’s barracks in Guildford. A new barracks I had been told. Fear gripped my chest. ‘What lies before me?’
I arrived at my destination where we were greeted by a woman sergeant. ‘Stand to attention,’ she bellowed. They marched us into an office, information was exchanged, then we went to another room to be fitted for a uniform and then we were shown our bedrooms all before we could eat. I was to share with three other girls. So many rules to know and obey, how would I remember all this. My roommates were nice but different to the girls I had known.
We had to be out on the parade ground by six in the mornings, marching around and learning all the different ways of right and left turns before breakfast. My head was buzzing. Later it was education, different flags of the world had to be learnt as well as other issues. Then lunch was served, but everything one had you had to salute for even down to collecting your wages. I did not like this and felt very uncomfortable with.
After dinner you had to clean your room and those in charge would arrive unexpected then everything would be inspected even down to your shoes, which were cleaned with spit and polish and that was hard work.
Days rolled into weeks and I was struggling to cope. Nothing was sinking in. Rules I could cope with but it was the attitudes that were the hardest. One of my roommates was from London and quite a tough cookie; but there was a search party out looking for her as she had gone A WOL.
I learnt swear words I had never heard before and about certain issues like lesbians. ’What were they?’ I thought; but I had no one to ask as I had been warned not to discuss certain things as it could cause trouble.
‘I can’t take any more, it’s all too much,’ I cried. But what could I do? I had nowhere to go, as there was no room at home. My parents had let my room go, as it was an extra room to their apartment they were renting.
As if in answer to my cry I received a letter from my friend Violet saying her son Michael was going to Earl’s Court to see the motor show and if I could get away he would meet me as they were concerned about how I was coping. It was a letter inviting me to leave the army, come and live with them and they would travel there to bring me home. ‘Let me know,’ Violet said.
My sergeant helped me to get there and told me when I arrived I was to go to get someone in authority and get them to make an announcement as Michael did not know when and where I was arriving. But once again it was not easy as they had changed the rules and would not make the announcement. I crumbled and felt gentle hands lift me and a hot cup of tea was given. I heard a familiar voice, turning I saw Michael standing in the doorway. He asked me questions and could see from my answers that all was not well.
Next morning I made an appointment to arrange for permission to leave the WRAC and it had to be then before my six weeks were up, as after that it would be more difficult to leave. The sergeant asked so many questions and informed me that they would have to write to my parents for them to agree with the situation and also they needed to contact the family I was moving to. My heart sank, what if they refused? The days moved slowly.
Eventually, I received the call to go to the office. What was my fate? I was greeted with a salute and ordered to sit. ‘Your parents have agreed for you to leave the army and to live with Violet’s family. Please make your arrangements to leave within the week and pay the £4-10 shilling that was given at the beginning of your arrival.’
Saluting, I left the office and got permission to use the phone to make the arrangements. Violet and her son Michael would arrive the next day.
‘What is to become of me?’ I thought as I packed my suitcase once more.