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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'.
Brian, a former boyfriend, remained true to me, in spite of my 'Dear John' letters saying I had fallen for someone else. He came back from a trip in early 1943, right before my 21st birthday.
He persuaded me to get a weekend pass and I took the ferry and train up to Glasgow. Brian had reserved rooms at a midtown hotel in Glasgow. It was all so sweet, all so innocent, I can truthfully say. We both loved to dance and we went to Roseland, a giant dance hall in the city, and jitterbugged to our hearts' content.
We attended a performance of a musical and had several meals at little cafés and held hands and gazed into each other's eyes. We must have looked a sweet amorous couple, me in my little two-piece naval uniform and Brian, in his Merchant Navy outfit.
We would come into the breakfast room at the hotel together, and feel the gaze of the other occupants - as it they were saying, there's another service couple up to no good!
The last evening, as we were getting ready to go to bed, in our separate rooms, the air-raid siren went off. I threw my regulation raincoat over my underwear and rushed over to Brian's room. I was truly petrified. Here I was in Glasgow, the big port city, and the Germans were beginning to bomb it, and me.
Brian and I went out into the hallway where other hotel residents had started to gather. We sat in the lobby and waited. I didn't want to go back to my room. If I were going to die, I wanted it to be with people and, especially, with Brian.
I sat cuddled down on his lap and tried to sleep. The all-clear sounded after two hours, and everyone left the lobby and went back to their bedrooms.
After we checked out of the hotel, Brian made sure I got on the right train for Helensburgh. We kissed and said our good-byes, not really knowing when, or where, we would ever see each other again.
While I was home on leave, Brian sent me two telegrams from his ship, as they crossed the Atlantic. Both messages begged me to marry him. I was highly flattered but somehow felt that he was not the husband for me. He was still too young, although a very nice young man. In fact, he was the only ex-boy friend who seemed to get my husband a bit jealous when I mentioned him in later years!
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