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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'.
One of the only places to eat in Kilcreggan on the main street was the ice-cream parlour, run by a family of Italian origins. The owners made good use of whatever little cream or rich milk they could get. I am sure that condensed and/or evaporated milk were the mainstays of most of the ice cream. They may have had saccharin in place of sugar, and fake flavours, but on a hot day, we slurped them up along with the rest of the younger folks.
What was missing was a good fish and chips shop. You would have to go into Helensburgh or across to Gourock to find one of those. You would be lucky if you found much fish in your portion because of the war and rationing. Most of it would be greasy chips wrapped in newspaper, and sprinkled with malt vinegar.
Another shop was a cobbler's or shoe-repair man. An ill-lit store, smelling of leather and heavy oils and a most unprepossessing cobbler, thin of face and body. Clad in a heavy, black apron, smeared with shoe polish, he would grimace slightly as he handed over your shoes, showing a mouthful of uncared-for teeth.
His assistant, a young girl who languished outside most of the day, would take your money and give change without any greeting at all. I think she was dreaming of a Prince Charming to take her away from the dark den. Her wishes were sort of granted when the Americans arrived nearby.
We would see her at the village dances, an unbelievable hair-do reaching to the stars. Plenty of mascara and lipstick, the young siren vamped her way in short skirts through a parade of naive sailors.
Whether she ever found the right prince, we never did find out. Her best friend, another skinny lass with dirty blond hair, also did her best to cuddle up to as many guys as we could. We never saw them after the dance and presumed they had chosen their dates for the evening, and were offering their favours elsewhere. Mention the 'cobblers daughter' and my Wren friends will chuckle and remember.
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