Secret Life of Bletchley Park - McKay Sinclair [67]
For a teenager like Mimi Gallilee, there were other food priorities, which the war made extremely difficult to satisfy. She recalls: ‘Everything was rationed and you couldn’t walk into a sweet shop unless you had some of your sweet coupons left – and need I tell you, mine would go in the first week! That was the month’s worth.’
A couple of veterans recall that in the later stages of the war, a NAAFI van would periodically turn up at the edge of the Park – its arrival would especially be noted by those within the house – to be greeted with enthusiasm similar to that of six-year-olds crowding round an ice cream van. This one, however, specialised in such delicacies as chocolate and cigarettes, both very rare commodities at the time.
Cigarettes were especially sought after; this was a more innocent age in which most adults smoked. The scarcity of tobacco led some to try other brands, sometimes American; but these were deemed inferior to more familiar products such as Black Cat and Passing Clouds.
Eschewing the allure of the canteen, Gordon Welchman would often duck into the town of Bletchley for some fish and chips, which he recalled as being especially good, although thanks to shortages, one sometimes had to provide one’s own newspaper in which to wrap them. Bletchley caterers offered other lures: one could, apparently, procure ox heart at the Station Inn, though it was ‘very pricey’. The railway station itself boasted a buffet – ‘a gloomy place, almost a replica of the film set for Brief Encounter’, said Irene Young. And the coffee was akin to snake venom.
Back at the Park, there were comforts other than food on offer. Beer was available from Hut 2. Staff on their breaks could come here and indulge in general (never work) chit-chat – or indeed anything else that might break the knot of tension. In the early days, people also went to Hut 2 for afternoon teas and coffees, while a tiny library was also provided. According to one veteran, as staffing levels at the Park crept up, so Hut 2 became almost intolerably popular: ‘There were times when if one wanted to move down the central corridor, one had to shuffle sideways.’ Eventually, the tea operation was moved to the purpose-built canteen, and the library inside the big house.
Occasionally there were transgressions, such as the time when Alan Turing established a barrel of cider in the corner of Hut 4, and was informed in unambiguous terms that it was not to stay there. Others managed to secrete barrels of beer in their billets and spend summer evenings consuming it by the jug. On top of that, the men tended to favour the very many local pubs in the vicinity, though even here there was rationing and shortages. One veteran recalled how whisky became a rarity and thirsts had to be slaked with sherry instead, a most unsatisfactory substitute.
Sarah Baring vividly recalls how she was introduced to alcohol at Bletchley Park:
There was the Recreation Club. My friend Osla and I were too shy at first to apply for membership, but eventually plucked up courage, hoping to be treated to a glass of beer when as applicants we were considered suitable. I am sure everybody was welcome, but we didn’t know it at the time. It was in this Recreational Hut or Beer Hut as it was commonly known that I was first introduced to alcoholic spirits.
It was something called Dutch Gin, a pale yellow oily looking liquid. I practically burst into flames at the first sip, like a volcanic eruption, but as it sank lower into my system, my stomach produced a warm glow and I promptly took another swig …
The night shifts proved to many to be the most wearing, not only in terms of work but of refreshment. Tea was stewed until bright orange – and milk was often of the ‘dried’ variety, which tended to produce big, unappetising