Britain’s WW2 veteran centenarians who broke conventions

Pronounced in the aftermath of the Dunkirk evacuation, Winston Churchill’s “Never Surrender” discourse in June 1940 is celebrated for the Prime Minister’s inspiring call: “We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets.” These pronouncements galvanised a nation unprepared for conflict, standing on the precipice. However, subtly woven into Churchill’s rhetoric was a recognition of the formidable task facing Britain’s depleted armed forces: “We must so thoroughly organise our island defences that minimal personnel are required to ensure effective security.”

The PM was referring to Anti-Aircraft (AA) Command and the critical imperative to shield Britain’s airspace from invading Luftwaffe aircraft while simultaneously engaged in a global war abroad. Churchill faced a profound quandary: he urgently needed to release servicemen for the front lines, yet in 1940, the conscription of women was still an unthinkable proposition.

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These days, Muriel Harvey is 102, but 85 years ago, the shadow of war had already shaped her youthful existence. At a mere 15 years old, she was relocated to Nottingham as a typist for the hosiery company I & R Morley. Return visits to London during the Blitz served as a stark reminder of the immense challenges Britain faced by the winter of 1940.

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“I believe it fostered a greater sense of patriotism within us, witnessing the repercussions of all the aerial attacks,” she reminisces.

However, sentiment alone was insufficient to secure victory. Relentless bombardments led to the proliferation of gun emplacements across Britain, and AA Command saw its numbers triple. Yet, as its commander, General Sir Frederick Wise, discovered, many of the new recruits were far from ideal – for every 25 men, “one had a withered arm, one was mentally deficient, one had no thumbs, one had a glass eye that would fall out whenever he ran to the guns, and two were in an advanced and more obvious stage of venereal disease.”

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Left with the least capable individuals from the army, Wise took a decisive step and proposed that women be permitted to serve at operational gun sites.

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Grace Taylor, 101, from Poole, was among the trailblazing teenagers who embraced the opportunity after “advertisements began seeking girls to work behind the guns.” She misrepresented her age to enlist in the Auxiliary Territorial Service (ATS) at just sixteen and a half. “That is correct, dear, I was chosen to serve with AA Command,” she states. “They evaluated us, and I operated the height-finders and the predictors, while the men manned the heavy artillery. I found immense enjoyment in it; it was the camaraderie that I cherished.”

Grace exchanged her previous role as a domestic worker for service at a gun site – the uniform, the camaraderie, and the autonomy were defining features of a position that liberated her from subservience.

Churchill’s youngest daughter, Mary, similarly became a prominent figure advocating for service behind the guns, while the Minister of War extolled the value of these emerging roles. Secretary of State for War, David Margesson, informed Pathe News at the time: “Women of Great Britain are stepping into the places of men, enabling the men to undertake duties that only men can perform. I sincerely hope that more women will volunteer.”

Nevertheless, volunteers remained consistently insufficient. By the winter of 1941, the harsh realities of an expanding conflict necessitated an unprecedented policy reversal. Having suffered defeats in Greece, occupation in Crete, setbacks in North Africa, heavy losses at sea, sustained bombing at home, and critical shortages of supplies, Churchill reluctantly accepted that women must be mandated to serve.

Eighty-five years ago, in early December 1941, the PM set aside his personal reservations about potentially demoralised men and concerned parents, and addressed the House of Commons. He argued for the necessity of compulsion to ensure adequate numbers of women entered the armed services, before gently assuring wartime Britain that there were no intentions to “extend compulsion to join the services to any married women, not even childless married women.”

For the first time in our nation’s history, it was legally established that men could not wage war and achieve victory without compelling women to serve alongside them. Many young women did not wait to be enlisted. At 18 years old, Muriel Harvey joined the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force. “I suppose it seemed more appealing to serve in the air force, and I was inspired by all the airfields in Nottinghamshire,” she recounts to me.

As a wireless operator with Bomber Command, Muriel served under their highly respected (and later much criticised) leader, Sir Arthur “Bomber” Harris. “You wouldn’t dare speak to him; he was up there, and we were down here,” she explains, gesturing with her hand. “I was a very proficient wireless operator. Initially, I doubted my own capabilities, but our training course was condensed into one year, and I was among the youngest.”

A sense of pride emanates from her voice, alongside a degree of bewilderment. “At the conclusion of the war, they inquired if I wished to board an aircraft and witness the destruction wrought by the Lancasters, which had been bombing nightly in retaliation. ‘No!’ I responded. I was appalled.” Grace and Muriel were minor components in a vast military apparatus; one contributed to Britain’s defence, while the other aided in attacking Germany. Their work was technical and by 1941, compulsory. Women could not be forced into military roles – but contributing to the war effort in some capacity became unavoidable. Even Princess Elizabeth, pictured, joined the ATS.

Hannah Potter, aged 103 and residing in Basildon, Essex, laughs heartily: “My entire formative period was spent in the forces. You were obligated to enlist; you faced imprisonment if you disobeyed orders. Everyone had to contribute in some way.”

She recounts the case of a conscientious objector who was incarcerated on the Isle of Wight. “I received a letter, as did my sisters. We were all summoned simultaneously.”

None of this was unforeseen. Having been displaced from their London residence by the Blitz at the war’s outset, Hannah was residing in Salvation Army accommodation and sewing military uniforms when she was called for selection.

She had an aversion to animals, which disqualified her from the Land Army, and she did not favour military service: “So they suggested the Timber Corps?”

“And what does that entail?”

“You fell trees.”

“Ah, I can fell trees.” Hannah pauses and laughs again. “I had never actually felled a tree, but I had taught myself to operate a sewing machine. So I presumed it would be manageable.”

Hannah became a “lumberjill,” part of a small contingent of women equipped with axes, cross-saws, and basic instruction.

“Timber was required for telegraph poles, railway sleepers, and pit props. I felled and processed three trees daily in the Forest of Dean.”

Similar to Grace and Muriel, Hannah expresses satisfaction with her service. It shaped her formative years, imparted new competencies, and integrated her into a shared national experience, fostering a version of Britain where everyone played a part. All three women take pride in their wartime contributions and their British identity. However, as they reflect on the past century, they express dissatisfaction with current trends.

With renewed discussions about conscription and national service emerging across Europe, they do not express concern about a lack of patriotism among today’s youth (“they will contribute their share, you will witness it”), but they are apprehensive about further conflict. Muriel expresses alarm that “millions of people perished, and now it is happening again, the same old cycle.”

Aerial bombardments deep within Ukraine cast a shadow over our initial conversation, and our second discussion occurs in the wake of antisemitic attacks in London. The concern evident in the voices of these courageous women serves as a poignant reminder that the senselessness of conflict leaves enduring scars. Hannah is resolute: “All that emerges from war is devastation and a multitude of fatalities. Is it worth it? There are no victors in war; convey that message to Putin.”

  • Lest We Forget: 100 Stories of Love, Loss and Heroism, by Tessa Dunlop (HarperCollins, £10.99), is available now

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