- Contributed by
- MisterB
- People in story:
- Vida Barnett
- Location of story:
- London
- Article ID:
- A2069480
- Contributed on:
- 22 November 2003
THE YEAR WAS 1942; my husband had joined the RAF in 1939. After 2 years of happy married life my husband was posted overseas. Like many others I was not allowed to know where — only a phone call goodbye. After a month I was told where he was. Letters were censored and I was very lonely as were many. Loneliness in the evenings made me join the ARP. This took me out every evening to help others, donning my uniform made me feel good. If there were no alerts we were allowed to sleep, we all had daytime jobs. One very bad night we rushed to a string of houses that had been bombed to help rescue dead or injured. This made me realise that these families that we were helping to rescue would not feel lonely or be there when their loved ones came home. My husband came home in 1945 alive and well. Now I am alone again. In 1989 my darling passed on but I have been rewarded I have a wonderful son.
I will never forget those days or the great people I got to know.
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