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“The young Mrs Barrington”? again. A lot of this is so so much tripe, as was the first account earlier on in this book. The damned Jerries used to bow and scrape to her when she visited Chris at camp.”

Son in the RAF Husband in the Luftwaffe

Winston Barrington fought with the RAF during the war. His step-father fought with the Luftwaffe. Winston Barrington today is recovering from his ordeal in the German prisoner of war camp. His step-father is in a prisoner of war camp in England. The story was told me to today by Mrs Florence Barrington, Winston’s mother. Mrs Barrington disguised herself as a British soldier POW – donned battledress and cut her hair short – so that she could be near her son while he was a prisoner. “My first husband was English and his name was Barrington” Mrs Barrington told me, “I was born in Durham. We had a son, Winston who was at school in Purley. In 1933 my husband died.”

In German Bombers.
“Later I met my second husband, a German, Helmuth … he gave me skiing lessons in the Black Forest. We married and in 1935 I went to Germany for good. When war came, my son joined the RAF and my husband was drafted into the Luftwaffe. He made many trips over England in German bombers. It was his job to take pictures from the air. Then I learned my son was a POW at Muhlberg. The Commandant let me see him alone. My son said, Mummy darling, you’re as pretty as ever. We both cried…[text missing?]

Then my son met my husband and they laughed and joked like old times. Helmuth was a Luftwaffe lieutenant. I got a British battledress from the boys, a red Paratroop beret and cropped my hair short.”

Her cubby-hole.
“Eventually I moved in altogether and lived in a cubby hole in a storeroom. But the boys in the know picketed the storeroom and if any strangers came near I hid until they had gone. They treated me like a queen and brought me my breakfast in the morning. I listened to the BBC and copied down the news. In the camp I became Edward Solway no. 403457. Born in Newcastle. Age 21. Captured in 1942. Solway was the name of a boy who escaped. Sometimes, my heart in my big boots, I had to answer roll-calls.”

20 mile march.
“When the Russians liberated the camp we had to march 20 miles. Mercifully it rained and I was able to pull a greatcoat over my head. We lined up before an American officer. My son said, “This is my Mother”. The American was friendly and courteous. Three days later I was flying back to England, a few airplane trips behind my son.”