Winifred Arabella Baker

A Civilian, Winifred died on 13th of January 1942 at the age of 22. 

Winifred was born on 19 December 1920, a daughter of James George and Fanny Baker of 4 Gisleham Road, Carlton Colville. In 1939 she worked in domestic service.

Died at London Road North.

=============

14th January 1942, Evercreech. A quiet, tiny place, under a blanket of snow.

The Captain sent for me. He gravely told me a telegram from my Father had reported a serious raid on Lowestoft, my home town. He told me “Winnie is missing”. I almost collapsed, a pain shooting through my very soul.

The Captain continued, “Who is Winnie and what is she to you?” “My future wife, Sir” I said. “Good God” the Captain replied, and immediately arranged passes and transport home for me.

As I sat hunched on the train to Paddington, my thoughts were full of dear Winnie — my Winifred Arabella.

Just six months earlier, I had again sat on a train, going home on sick leave from hospital. I was 20, never had a girlfriend or even kissed a girl, just a young lonely soldier. When I reached Ipswich I found there were no more trains! I rang my Father who came to pick me up. As the car pulled into the station yard, to my surprise a pretty young lady stepped out from the passenger side.

As we made for home, I whispered to my Father “Who is the young lady?” He muttered “You should know.” My family had left Lowestoft and moved to the nearby village of Gisleham, allowing my sisters and brother to go to school, and the young lady lived close by. By the time I went to bed that night, I realised I had a girlfriend and had kissed a girl at last!!

There followed six months of ardent letter writing, and I was home again for Christmas, 1941. Just before I stepped onto the train once more, Winnie cried bitterly and I promised her a beautiful engagement ring on my return home.

Now, as I sat on that train a little hope flickered in my breast. My train arrived at Lowestoft about midnight. I hurried to the High Street. My heart sank when I surveyed the amount of damage. I wanted to help but I was stopped. “Go home, you cannot do anything up there” a kindly voice said. So I walked the 3 miles home through deserted streets and lonely, snow covered country roads.

My parents were still up when I arrived home at 1.30a.m. Before the door closed behind me I knew Winnie was dead. It was then I lost my mind, I swore and cried, and cried.

Morning came and I was told I couldn’t see poor Winnie although they said she was not too badly damaged. Much later I discovered she had been identified by a small piece of embroidered vest.

The grave diggers had great difficulty as the ground was frozen hard. After the funeral I walked back alone. The snow had already laid a new blanket over her grave and the tiny hot house flowers were already frozen in the snow.

The next day I said my goodbyes, gathered up my kit, and returned to my Unit to gather up what remained of my life!

CREDIT:BBC/WAR?PEOPLES_STORIES This contribution to WW2 People’s War was received by the Action Desk at BBC Radio Norfolk. The story has been written and submitted to the website by Rosalie Davis Gibb (Volunteer Story Gatherer) with the full permission and on behalf of Frederick A Wright.