War time work on self sealing and overload aircraft fuel tanks at the Sorbo factory, Woking, Surrey

In 1938 I had started work as a housemaid cum cook for Mr Parker, the curate of St Paul's Church, Oriental Road, Woking

At the time of the announcement of the declaration of the war Mr Parker was taking a service at the adjacent church and I was in the kitchen making a blackberry and apple pie. As the declaration had been anticipated, Mr Parker had previously tasked me with listening out for the news on the radio so that I could let him know the outcome by signalling it to the Verger. Once the announcement had been broadcast I duly rushed outside (complete with apron) and waved my still floury hands at the verger who had stationed himself outside the church entrance; By this means the assembled congregation of St. Paul's - and I daresay, by similar means, a good many others across the country - learnt of the outbreak of the war.

By the time of the evacuation of Dunkirk Mr Parker had been appointed as Vicar of Kingsteignton in Devon and I had moved there with the family. One evening, when fears of a possible enemy invasion were at a height, there was a full scale panic when the alarm was given, falsely as, of course, it subsequently turned out, by the church bells ringing. Mr Parker was a captain in the local Home Guard and rushed off to carry out his duties; the rest of the family were away at the time, so I was left alone in the house to fend for myself. Needless to say, as a sixteen year old who had been well briefed on the tactics likely to be employed by the enemy, I spent, at least until the return of Mr Parker some hours later, an extremely uneasy time keeping a very wary eye on the open fields surrounding the house for Nazi paratroopers dressed as nuns; I don't think I've ever been so scared and, to this day, have absolutely no idea of what I'd have done if I'd seen any.

Shortly after, and probably because of, that incident I decided I wanted to be at home with my family and moved back to Walton Road in Woking to live with my mother, elder sister, and younger brother. I was given a job at the Sorbo Company (famous pre-war as manufacturers of rubber balls, foam rubber for mattresses and cushion fillings, and other rubber products) helping to make and repair self-sealing and overload fuel tanks for aircraft. These tanks came in all shapes (some extremely odd) and sizes (some only holding a few pints; some hundreds of gallons), being made to fit in any available spare space in the aircraft to maximise its fuel carrying capacity. "self sealing" meant that the tanks were supposed to, and so far as I know did, seal punctures inflicted by bullets and shrapnel to prevent fuel loss and reduce the risk of fire. My work was laminating the metal tanks with the several layers of pre cut rubber sheet which were vital to making them "self sealing". The first stage of the process was to prepare the basic metal tank with a coating of primer. Next a layer of thin "RI" rubber (ReInforced with a layer of linen) , which had previously been coated with a special blue "goo" and allowed to cure before the sheet was applied to the tank. (I never did know what was in this blue "goo" was as it could only be mixed by the foreman; whether this was because it was a secret, or because some of its contents were considered hazardous, I still don't know to this day). Next came a layer of thin foam rubber which had been pre coated on both sides with an adhesive. These sheets had to be hung to allow the adhesive to cure and, as some of these sheets were very large, particularly those for the Wellington Bomber overload tanks, they often seemed to have minds of their own, which, needless to say, could lead to tremendous fun and games and leave us covered in adhesive!. This layer was followed up by a further two "goo" coated layers: one of thin rubber and the final one of RI rubber. To finish off, all the corners and seams were covered with a fabric type sealing tape. Great care had to be taken at all stages to ensure that were no air bubbles, particularly around any rivet or screw heads. Towards the end of the war rubber was in extremely short supply and felt had to be used instead. The final process with felt was to apply a coating of "dope" which fortunately, being under 21 years old, I was not allowed to work with, which pleased me no end as it had evil smelling fumes. By this time, as well as working on the tanks for British aircraft with which we were now very familiar - mainly Spitfires, Wellingtons, Typhoons, Sunderland Flying Boats and Beaufighters are the ones I remember for certain - we were also getting tanks from American planes in for repair. My special favourite tank to work on, despite its size (it took two strong men to lift them), was the Wellington overload tank.

In the final months of the war we were working in a "shadow" factory which stood by the side of the Basingstoke canal and overlooked common land. One day, even though there was an air raid alert on we continued to work as usual. (there were aircraft spotters on the roof who normally gave us more than enough time to get to the shelters should anything hostile be seen heading in our direction) However, this was the time of the Doodlebug, the flying bomb which once its engine had cut could glide silently for some distance before delivering its payload, and suddenly the building was rocked unexpectedly by the loud explosion of one that had impacted close by. Luckily all the windows were protected so, other than minor cuts and bruises, no one was seriously hurt, only very shaken. That was the good news; the bad news was that for many years previously the building had been used by a nail and wire manufacturer and the rust and dust that accumulated over the several decades of this company's occupation got shaken from the roof, rafters and, all the other nooks and crannies overhead, on to us down below. We were covered in rust and dust, and looked a real mess. Needless to say we were all sent home, but the next day were back at work clearing up - no easy task — before resuming our usual tasks.

Once the war was over I was released from the Sorbo when the company began to return to its normal pre war activities and, consequently, no longer had need of my services. I do remember my final day there when I was ceremoniously and affectionately "drummed out" of the premises by my friends and now former colleagues, who had remained behind after their shift, to celebrate my departure by beating their tools on the benches. Today there are very few mentions of the self sealing and overload fuel tanks which I spent the war years helping to make and repair but I know that, like tens of thousands of other unsung and anonymous war workers, I played my part, albeit it an extremely small one, in helping to bring the war to a successful conclusion, and am proud to have done so.

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