In the summer of 1944 Kathleen Oates - a Wren assigned to the Women's Royal Naval Service during the Second World War - was transferred to the Isle of Man. During her time on the island, she wrote dozens of letters to home which provide a unique commentary on the operations at Ronaldsway and what life was like on the Isle of Man 80 years ago. Her daughter, CHRISTINE SMITH, pores through her mother’s letters as part of a series of columns based on Kathleen Oates’s writing...

Eighty years ago this week, Kathleen Oates started a letter detailing her continuing hunt for another ride in a plane from Ronaldsway—and it continued to prove elusive. To start, her quest was foiled by the weather.

‘Am mad—fate seems against my flying! Tony Capes, a Lt with whom I did night flying, rang me up this morning and asked me if I would like to go up in a Barracuda this afternoon, on torpedo diving bombing practice. Of course, I was thrilled and said I could be there at 1:30. Then just about 1 o’clock, it came in awfully foggy and heavy and flying was cancelled! However, he’s going to ring me tomorrow if there’s an empty seat, so maybe I’ll be lucky. Whitey [Kathleen’s boss, Lt Whiteaker] says if I don’t come down in one piece, he won’t let me go up again! Of course, when there’s any likelihood of a trip, they all try and frighten me by telling me what awful planes Barracudas are—the wings fall off occasionally and all sorts of terrible things happen! Don’t worry, though, I was going up with an instructor and not a pupil pilot.’

With nothing exciting to tell her family, Kathleen allowed herself to grumble once more: ‘This afternoon it poured down and all flying of any description was cancelled. It was mad being there, really! All I did was listen to a conversation on all the terrible sorts of beetles and spiders etc., which are to be found abroad. I didn’t even get any letters written! To put it mildly, I’m getting rather tired of this quiet life—it’s either the YW in Ballasalla, or the canteen here, or a cinema flick… All the girls in the cabin are sewing—one’s making a dressing gown, another a nightdress—I think I’ll get some material and make some pyjamas. In Liverpool, there was so much to occupy oneself with there that the time flew by. I can also remember it being horribly cold in the cabins there—freezingly so. We shan’t get that here because all the huts have stoves which throw out tremendous heat... I’m now waiting for the only bus of the evening to Ballasalla—8:30 pm—then I shall retire into my bunk with a book and try and enjoy myself that way! The YW canteen in Ballasalla hasn’t any table-tennis balls—which also makes me cross.’

However, there was her upcoming birthday to distract her. Mum Elsie had asked Kathleen what she would like, so she requested ‘a cake that I can give the girls—they wouldn’t mind what it was’ and some ‘fully fashioned stockings’ using a forces chit, as ‘I shan’t be able to buy any presents here—Douglas is hopeless as far as shops go.’

Otherwise, her routine continued as normal, writing her first letter of the week from Castletown Canteen, having walked to the NAAFI there for her chocolate ration, followed by supper at the café: ‘Eggs seem to be growing less frequent these days, so I had sausage and chips—very nice though.’ She picked up the letter the next day from her bed, as she could have a lie-in after finishing at midnight: ‘It’s about time I got up—I’ll have to sweep the cabin as there is no-one else in—clean away the ashes in the stove, etc.… Duty 12:30 till 6:30 today.’

At last, however, the desired trip in a Barracuda occurred. ‘Well, I had part of my wish granted yesterday—I went up in a Barracuda—but not on torpedo practice, unfortunately. They weren’t doing that in the afternoon when I was free—but I went up on a test flight for about ¾ hr. A Lt Russell-Jones (considered the best Barra pilot here) took two of us up. I sat in the gunner’s seat again—facing the rudder—haven’t flown the right way round yet! I could see out well and swivel my chair around if I wanted to. We wore the helmets with the ‘Inter Comm’ system attached, so that we could all chat to each other and Russell-Jones told us where we were as we flew around the island. The IOM really seems small when you get up in a plane and see the sea all around and the hills below. We flew over Snaefell but the loveliest part was when we flew through clouds—and you can see them flying past all around and below. It’s certainly lovely to be up there, above the earth. I felt my ears pop a few times, but otherwise, I was alright. We were presented with tins in case we fell sick! When we’d flown all around the island and were roaring home—Russell-Jones suddenly swooped down and flew so low over the sea that I was certain that the waves were splashing us! Suddenly we appeared to be flying into a cliff side—and over the inter-comm he said, “Don’t think we can make this!”—but up we swooped, over the hills and fields again! The landing seemed to be bumpier than the one we made in the Swordfish—but as I don’t know anything about it, I can’t say. When we taxied back to the hangar, the C.O. of the Squadron met Russell-Jones and told him that the captain had rung up—and he had to report immediately for low flying! However, he was only pulling his leg and everything was OK. I’d like to have gone up this morning but they’ll be taking off about now—10:15 and I’m still in bed. Capes told me I could go down and see if there was an empty seat! Another day perhaps, but I feel much more contented now that I’ve been “up” in a Barracuda—but I want another trip so that I can sit in the observer’s seat—climbing in and out of the plane is one of the most difficult parts of the flight.’

After this account, Kathleen’s second letter of the week ended more contentedly. ‘Sunday [October 15th] was my Make Do and Mend, and I spent it very energetically pressing my two suits, raincoat, and dressing gown. I had a sudden burst of energy! After that, I cycled out to Port St Mary for tea. I stopped at the top of the hill to watch the Barracudas coming into land—I am almost as attracted to the planes as I was to the ships—but not quite! The sea air is grand!’