A Conversation with a Lady WWII Gunner on Duckett's Common

I dropped in to the Community Day on Duckett's Common on my way past this afternoon. Like so often is the case with this sort of thing, I'm not necessarily anticipating having a ball, but very often end up meeting some great new people who make it so worthwhile to have made the effort.

So, to begin with, 'Hi' to the new people I met and to those I already knew.

A particularly warm hello, though is reserved for Dorothy. I'll stick with first names here since Dorothy didn't want me to publish the wonderful photo I have of her (a recent experience with Channel 5 has made her wary). So I'll apply a degree of anonymity to her identity too.

Dorothy describes herself as 92½ years old, which age, I imagine, makes her one of the oldest people in Harringay and a member of a group of around one half of one precent of the UK population. Originally from Stafford, Dorothy and her husband moved to the Ladder early in the 1960s. No doubt there's a wealth of local history waiting there for me.

The story Dorothy told me today, however, was a simple everyday one of wartime elsewhere in England. It was nothing earth-shattering, just a simple everyday story of those who fought for us all those decades ago. Perhaps it was the way Dorothy treated it as so ordinary that touched me.

Our nonagenarian was an ack-ack gunner who spent her war helping to target the bombers who devastated the UK's cities. She was based all over the East Midlands and East Anglia.

When I invited her to share a memory of what the War meant to her, she spoke of a particular 1943 night near Norfolk. 

"That night we worked really hard on the guns. We got 1500 rounds up as the bombers flew over. It was a long long night.

"When it was all over, we went back to base for a debriefing. We were all exhausted, but the Brigadier gave us a terrible dressing down.

" '1500 rounds and not one plane shot down', the Bridagier roared. 'What type of a record do you call that!'. I wasn't at all happy with this. We'd all be working like billy-oh. So I put up my hand and asked "Sir, how many bombs fell on Norfolk tonight?' 'None', he replied. I simply shrugged my shoulders in response. I mean the cheek of the man!"

Well Dorothy, the Brig may not have had thanks for you that night, and I know you're not seeking it, but may I salute you and offer you my thanks for all you did - even if it is seventy years too late.

(And, oh yes, should anyone ever share this with you, Dorothy, do get hold of that iPad. It's time to begin learning before you start getting old).