I Married a Barrack-Room Brat: A wife's experience of life in the Armed Forces

By Jenny Willis and Don Willis

When 19-year-old self-styled ‘skivvy’, May, met airman Don, she could not have foreseen how her world would be transformed. Ripped away from her large family in the Scottish Borders, her initiation into military life began on a troop ship as she made the 6-week journey alone to join her new husband in post-war Singapore. By the time she arrived in the Far East, she had already been assimilated into the service ‘family’ which, like all families, would play both a positive and destructive role in their lives.
Having been raised as an ‘army brat’ between two world wars, Don had opted instead for a career in the RAF. He met May following a tour of duty in Singapore, and their marriage had been brought forward when he was unexpectedly posted back to that country in 1949. May would be beside him as he rose from the ranks to become an officer, moved from pillar to post around the globe, saw his mental health crumble under the strain of the highly secret work which he could not discuss, even with her. When he was scape-goated for a tragic fire that destroyed his workshops, his health and ultimately his career, she continued to support him, picking up the pieces in defiance of her own near-death experience of cancer – a death which was postponed by many years thanks to superb RAF medical provision.
Set in the decades immediately following WW2, with the ever-present threat of nuclear war, the book gives first-hand insight into military life and the foreign lands to which Don was posted, revealing both the best and the worst of the wider service family. It describes the impact of constant upheaval on family life, not least the emotional development and education of their three children, until Don’s early retirement from the RAF and purchase of their own house – the 29th home they had had in 24 years of married life.
The narrative is in May’s voice until her death in 2004 but is based on the memories and reflections of 96-year-old Donn to whose voice it switches after May's death. It has been reconstructed by their elder daughter, Jennifer, another victim of service life. It exposes the inherent prejudices and petty rivalries of the services of the day which vied with the camaraderie and challenges to make it the career Don loved, despite its toll on his mental health.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9781365101373

Book preview

I Married a barrack room brat

Chapter 1 From Skivvy to Wife

Let me introduce myself: I am Mrs Elizabeth May Willis and I became the wife of a barrack room brat on 23 July 1949. Many books have been written by former service personnel or their children – I believe these children are called ‘barrack room brats’ - but few by their wives. In recounting my experiences of 24 years as a military wife, of which I am immensely proud, I hope to share the rollercoaster lifestyle, sailing calmly one moment then thrown into total disarray as another posting disrupts routine, destroying normality yet promising exciting new horizons. For life in the services is all-embracing, dictating not only the career of the serviceman but impacting on the whole family. And, as you will see, the ripples continue even after retirement from the Forces, insidiously nibbling away at our lives and mental health.

My early years

I was born in Carlisle Infirmary on 29 April 1929 and lived in Cumberland with my family until I married Don Willis at the age of twenty. By family, I mean my parents and five siblings, three brothers and two sisters. I was second eldest: my older sister, Jean, was favoured by our grandmother and well educated, whereas I was kept at home to help my ‘disabled’ mother. Unlike the other children, I had minimal formal education, even less self-esteem and effectively became skivvy to the Boyd clan.

My father was a victim of the Depression, who, desperate for work, had left his native Cumberland and illegally entered New York, seeking employment as an engineer. Like so many, he failed to do so and returned to Carlise before settling in nearby Longtown where he took various jobs, both remunerated and voluntary. By the time I married, he was a railway signalman, devoting his spare time to the Church and Fire Brigade. Mam, perhaps worn out by her six pregnancies, suffered from constant, but elusive ailments hence her need for me to care for the family and home in her stead. We were a happy family, despite our modest means, crammed together in what had once been a public house – ironic, given my mother’s abstinence and lifelong abhorrence of alcohol!

Meeting Don

Post-war life in the Scottish borders town of Longtown was peaceful and uneventful by the time I met serviceman, Don. None of my family had had any involvement in service life. My father was exempt from military service, partly because of his age, but also as he was an auxiliary fireman and had a full-time job as a railway signalman. Later my three brothers would serve in the Royal Navy, one as a full-time regular and the other two on national service – but I am getting ahead of myself.

I met Don Willis at the dancehall in Longtown Memorial Hall during June 1948. The weekly dance was one of the principal entertainments on offer in our small, Border town, other than Church, the Guides and Scouts. I was there with my best friend, Margaret and her boyfriend, Rob. Rob noticed newcomer Don when he came into the Hall and thought he looked lonely. Typically considerate, he said, I’ll go and bring him over.

1948 Don and May

We introduced ourselves; Don told us that he had just been demobbed from the Air Force, after returning to the United Kingdom from the Far East. He said he was living with his parents at Mossband, the Central Ammunitions Depot a couple of miles away, where his father was stationed, and that he was working in the REME workshops there. My first impression was that he was different from the local lads: his wiry, gingerish hair was neatly cut, his clothes immaculate and his voice devoid of the local accent which we all sported. Little did I know that this was the moment when my whole life changed.

When the dancing was finished, Don walked me home. Would I like to go to the cinema with him? Me? The naïve, wonky-toothed skivvy? With him, this handsome engineer who had travelled far? I readily accepted and we agreed to meet on the following Monday.

Our May’s got a man! hooted my youngest brother Donald, spying through the closed curtains as Don left me.

He wasn’t wrong. Before long, this became our normal routine and I gradually learned more about my boyfriend.

Don’s background

Don came from a military background. His mother was 8 months pregnant with him when she joined a troopship with her husband and his 5-year-old sister to return to the United Kingdon at the end of his father’s 7-year tour of duty in India. It must have been an uncomfortable journey for her, sailing from the tropics, through rough seas to a comparatively balmy England summer. On entering British waters near Southampton, her own waters broke. The family disembarked and were taken by army vehicle to Dover Castle, only to find on arrival that his father’s posting to the School of Musketry had been cancelled. They stayed in Dover overnight, then proceeded to Colchester the next day where they had another overnight stay. The following day they travelled to the Beds and Herts depot in Kempston, Bedford, where Don finally decided to appear, 4 days after his mother’s waters had broken. It is a wonder that they both survived and perhaps an indicator of the grit he would display in later life.

To his sister’s dismay, his father was overjoyed to have a son - even more so that his birthday, 13 August, was the anniversary of the Battle of Blenheim.  So it was that Don arrived on this auspicious day in 1926, becoming a barrack room brat. This pejorative title came about many years ago when the families of service personnel were perceived as hangers on, no more than goods and chattels, with no provision being made for their housing. They were obliged to camp in a corner of the barrack room and shield themselves by hanging up a blanket between them and the soldiers. Fortunately, things had progressed over the years and by the time Don was born, families had proper accommodation.

He grew up in numerous army units and lived by the trumpeter’s calls, from reveille to sundown. Though he loved army life, his hero was Biggles so his ambition was to join the RAF and fly. His father, a veteran of World War 1, saw this as a betrayal of the army and had no time for this upstart new service.

Don’s father had to return to India with his company, but would come back to England in 1936 before the rest of his regiment, when he reached his pensionable date. Exceptionally, perhaps because of his senior status as Sergeant Major, the family were allowed to remain in quarters until he returned.

On leaving the army, his father decided to join the War Department Constabulary and he was posted to the gun factory in Nottingham. Whilst they were there, Don sat whatever was then the equivalent of the 11+ examination. He told me that he remembered seeing the question, What is an MP? and immediately answered, Military Police. He never lived that down, the anticipated answer being, of course, Member of Parliament! But fortunately, he must have done well enough and was offered a place at Henry Mellish School, an all-boys Grammar School in Nottingham. Unfortunately, after a few months, he had to leave this school because his father was promoted and posted to Corsham, in Wiltshire. Don opted for a place at Chippenham Grammar School over one at Bath, because the daily travel there was too great.

At Chippenham, he became very involved in field athletics, in particular, 100 yards, 200 yards and 400 yards relay, always taking the last 100 yards run because he was supposed to be the fastest. He was even selected to represent Wiltshire County in these events at White City, in the athletic games.

Once again, though, his education was disrupted by his father’s posting, this time to Radway Green, Cheshire, once more on promotion, now to Inspector. They left Corsham in 1939, after the war had started. Don recalls, with fright still, that on the train journey to Bristol, they were interrupted by a lone German fighter machine gunning their train. I was enthralled by his peripatetic childhood, little realising that a similar lifestyle lay in wait for me and our as yet unborn children.

1940 duly arrived, Don was 14 and his father asked if he wanted to carry on at grammar school. His answer was unequivocally, No. He would serve an apprenticeship in preparation for joining the RAF.

Radway Green was an armaments factory, at its peak employing some 20,000 people. On leaving school, Don was taken on as a tool room apprentice, one day a week attending Stoke on Trent Technical College for day and evening classes. The factory had its own Home Guard, which he joined, despite being underage. He also joined the Air Cadets (later renamed the Air Training Corps), where he was able to study the air crew education programme and pass the qualifying exams. By that time, he was a Flight Sergeant; his father was now a Chief Inspector.

Don’s training with the Home Guard was in bomb disposal, in particular German bombs. In December 1940, he attended the Central Medical Establishment in Birmingham to assess his suitability for air crew. His qualifications were fine but unfortunately, he was not selected because he was found to be colour blind. He was devastated! His sole ambition had been to fly. I suspect, though, that his parents were less upset to learn that their teenage son would not be engaged in front line action in the skies!

After being judged unfit for flying duties, Don was recruited into the RAF reserve, given his service number and basic training, then he was posted to RAF Leicester East. This unit was involved in training glider pilots using Dakota aircraft for dropping para troops, weapon containers and so on. Everything was being readied for invasion of the continent.

One night, he was on duty and had just come back into the Guard Room after completing his first 4-hour shift. The Guard Sergeant told him and the other men to collect their rifles and personal effects and get into the vehicle that was waiting outside. They all boarded and settled into their seats before they were informed that they were going to a place called Scraptoft, where a bomber on its way home had crashed and all on board had been reported dead. When they arrived at the scene, parts of the aircraft were still on fire and they were instructed to search the area for any loose items. Groping in the dark and smoke, the first thing Don picked up was a size 7 flying boot – most unusual, and just his size! Then he saw its partner. He went over and picked it up and to his horror, a foot connected all the way to an ankle was inside it. He hastily added it to the pile of other items retrieved. There was no place for sentimentality or fear. The young men were to watch over the site until they were relieved by the guard next morning. I recoiled at the thought of this gruesome work and wondered what the real impact had been on his teenage self.

Don’s training went on, aircraft taking off with the gliders right behind. Most of the glider pilots were sergeants and they had dual roles: first, they had to get their men off the ground and into the air safely. Once they landed, they became an infantry sergeant whose duty it was to lead their platoon. Don described to me how he then trained on Dakotas which took off with the tow rope following. A glider would be positioned on the ground, with a loop of nylon in front of it. The Dakota would fly down with a trailing hook and make contact with the loop, picking up the glider, leaving it airborne and in controlled flight. He explained that the stacked pick-up was then extended to two gliders.

Everything was centred on Tarrant Rushton, but, on occasion, he was detached to other units with Dakotas and gliders to help prepare them for the pending action. He and other personnel were transferred to RAF Syerston when Leicester East closed, and eventually he was posted to 411 squadron, based at RAF Lyneham.

After the Ally crossing of the Rhine, the role of tanks and Dakotas tapered off and they were redirected to the Burma campaign. Once that mission was completed, Don and others were posted to Changi on Singapore island.

Apparently, following the war and Japanese occupation of the island, Forward Planning had changed the role of Changi: the buildings that had previously belonged to the Army were now charged to Headquarters Far East Air Force. RAF headquarters staff were moved from Kuala Lumpur to fill these buildings. During the occupation of Singapore, the Japanese had built a single runway, starting at a swampy area of the island and finishing at the sea. Labour for this task was provided by British prisoners of war, who had few earth-moving machines so it was down mainly to manual labour. Now, a new cross-runway was under construction but the old runway remained in use until it was completed. This time, it was Japanese man-power that was deployed to lay the perforated steel plates on which it was built.

A flight of workshop tradesmen was formed into 5790 Plant Repair Flight. Their task was to service and repair all earth-moving equipment, for use in construction of the new cross-runway and ancillary buildings. Around this time, Don fell ill with dengue fever and was taken to Changi Hospital. I listened, aghast, as he told me how his condition worsened and he had to be resuscitated twice by injections directly into his heart. This was late in March 1948 – only a short time ago - and he had been due to return to the UK in May. Consequently, he was held in hospital until he was released to join other personnel at an ex-Japanese camp in the Jahore jungle. From there, they were conveyed to the Singapore docks and the awaiting troopship, destined for England.

The journey took a month and Don said it went smoothly, with stops in Ceylon and India. One funny incident occurred, though, as they approach Bombay: the assembled locals, on seeing British uniforms, began yelling and welcoming them back – this was despite their country having just gained independence from Britain!

When they eventually entered Liverpool docks, Don was on the upper deck watching the ship’s manoeuvring and finally tying up. As he gazed down at the people on the dockside, he told me that he was thinking how drab and colourless they were, everyone, male and female, covered with some form of headgear. What a contrast it must have been with the vibrant colours of Malaya. I found myself wondering what he must have thought of us when we first met at the dance – were we just as dowdy?

Suddenly, as they docked, Don heard a tannoy calling for him to report to the ship’s orderly room – what had he done? Panicking and mystified, he made his way to the office. There, he received a telegram from his father, telling him not to go to their house in Cheshire, but to come instead to their new house in Mossband, in Cumbria, somewhere between Carlisle and Gretna Green. Used to the wiles of army life, he was unfazed by the change of plan, but annoyed by the inconvenience it caused: he had to obtain fresh leave passes and railway warrants before he made his way to Preston mainline station, making it rather late in the day when he got there.

Again, he was struck by how colourless everywhere was, and grimy. This was 1948, the