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Patricia Bridgen Farley was a Wren (Womens Royal Naval Service) stationed at Portkil, Near Kilcreggan, Scotland during World War II, living in a house affectionately known to the group of Wrens that were based there as 'The Barn'. The Wrens came to be known as the 'Barnites'.
The Americans were not the only foreigners we met during those Portkil years. They were mostly men who had escaped from Europe, or who had been overseas when war broke out and couldn't get home.
Many of the young men, who got out of Europe in time, ended up in the British Isles and volunteered for their nations' armed forces. Some were sent up to Scotland for more training.
A randy bunch of Dutchmen came into our area for a few months before D-Day. They had managed to escape from the Dutch East Indies before the Japanese overran those islands. They were 'raring' to get back at Hirohito or Hitler and wouldn't take orders from anyone. They caroused. They womanised. However, by the time the reached us, they were a bit more subdued, ready to fight, and totally prepared to die in the attempt to reach the Netherlands.
They were stationed at Rosneath but the doctors invited them over for several parties, and we also invited them for tea and other refreshments. I have a wonderful memory of a group of these determined Dutchmen making snowballs and pelting us good and proper. It doesn't snow a lot near the water, and this was a freak storm, which delighted us all.
We met the free French, the free Poles, the free Belgians, and we also met the Russians! Two of their submarines were anchored in the Gareloch being repaired, and the crews were learning the news technology used on British subs. On several occasions, they came to the dances in the huge Rosneath hangar, also used for movies.
I evidently took the eye of a tall but stocky Russian petty officer. He would approach me, bow and away we went. He could waltz superbly and foxtrot, but we never said a word, just pleasantly smiling at each other. When a different tempo came from the band - loud, fast music, my companion would stop immediately, bring me back to the rest of the Wrens, again bow low and say, in bad English 'I am no jitterbug' but it sounded like 'shjeeterboog'.
We were involved in a scary incident that took place in the same dance hall. I must admit that I had grown up referring to black people as 'niggers', as the custom was then. As a people, however, the British had always been tolerant of these dark skins.
A party of black army soldiers came onto the dance floor and began dancing with some of the ATS (Army) girls who had arrived from Helensburgh. We had already decided amongst ourselves that if a black soldier asked us to dance, we would, out of common courtesy. He was fighting the same war, wasn't he?
I was dating a sailor from North Carolina at the time, and Caroline was also going out with a southerner. All at once, the two men came up to us with such expressions of their faces that we gaped. 'If either of you girls dance with those niggers,' said one of them 'we'll cut your throats and theirs!' And they looked as if they meant it. The threat was real, and we held back.
Luckily, the army guys didn't come near us, but the mood was very ugly and tensions were rising. A scuffle occurred and someone was knifed. We saw the Shore Patrol and MPs come in, and they were soon struggling with the crowds. Our group quickly left through a back door and was driven home in one of the Navy trucks.
A nasty, frightening situation, and it made us think that maybe, the United States was not as civilised as we had thought!
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