A Factory Girl

I worked on a milling machine in the Vickers-Armstrong factory for four years, making parts for Spitfires.
I was given my first job making slots for screws. It was so noisy and smelled so much of slurry and oil; I thought I would never be able to cope. But by the time the war ended and I had been promoted from screws to sprockets, it seemed just a way of life.
We worked twelve hour shifts and were timed for all work. In fact a notice on the toilet wall said:"Two minutes is allowed and three minutes at special times, to use the toilet for females"!
When it was change-over from day to night shift, I had trouble adjusting and I remember falling asleep on the toilet about three in the morning and the charge-hand (female) banging on the door calling "MISS Pearce, number 172, wake up!" No-one in the factory was on first name terms, even amongst the girls I worked alongside.
We earned good money compared to peace-time and even had money stopped for Post War Credits.
But our little town came alive when we were on day shifts. Every nationality - American, Canadian, Polish, Australian, New Zealand, Free French could be met at the local Corn Exchange Dance Hall Or we could get into American trucks and be taken to the local Air Base. No alcohol was served at either venue: tea or coffee at the Corn Exchange or Coke at the Air Base.
We walked or cycled miles for dancing, never worrying about being stopped or molested at any time.
I do remember when Glenn Miller and his band came to the Corn Exchange. It was so crowded (mostly servicemen and women) that there was no room to dance and we just stood and listened to the music.
I was pen-pal to many service men; boys that I had been at school with or just knew as neighbours. Often my letters were returned because I had inadvertently mentioned something about local troops.
The war for me, with a brother and father in the RAF and my mother and I working in a factory was just another world of yesterday.
M Hunt
And from my neighbour:
My modest contribution to the war effort, as a 12-year-old, was saving up my sweet ration and raffling it. I raised the grand sum of eight shillings and sixpence and sent a postal order for that amount to "Mrs Churchill's Aid to Russia Fund". A few weeks later I was thrilled to receive a thank you note duly signed "Clementine Churchill".
S Kennedy

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