By the time the hospital corpsmen had been stationed in Portkil for a few months, a nice crowd of them regarded the Barn and its inmates as a home away from home. We liked that, and tried to please them with 'cuppas', teaching our transatlantic chums how a good cup of tea should taste. I often wonder if some of them had withdrawal symptoms from Typhoo Tips when they returned home!
We would plan birthday parties for unsuspecting sailors if we found out their birth dates beforehand. And, of course, we also threw a party at Christmas and New Year. We had a reasonably good phonograph and we would play records and dance, although the living room was not very big and could only hold about three dancing couples.
One of the games I instituted used my talents as a writer. I would write a one-page story, trying to include as many names of our friends as possible, but always leaving spaces for any adjectives. Then I would ask everyone, in turn, to provide me with an adjective, the funnier the better. I would finally, read the finished tale. It was hilarious, especially when the party really got going and the words became ruder.
Another time, we asked the men to get dressed in female attire. We pulled out some of our 'civvies', and had a beauty contest, judging the corpsmen as to who made the best woman.
One such evening occurred when I was dating John, my future husband, in his six weeks stay at the base. He was most embarrassed about the whole thing, and objected when one of the Wrens wanted to shove some face cloths into his blouse to produce more of a bosom. I think he wondered just who we were, a strange crew of young female sailors.
We managed to keep going, to keep ourselves amused, and prevent the awful boredom that accompanies service life when you're stationed way from the big cities.
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