Dulcie Bennett: A Personal Tribute to the Service of a Wren on the 75th Anniversary of D-Day

by Jane Cooke


Dulcie Bennett’s grandson is PGS pupil James Johnson.  

6th  June 1944 was a day of courage and sacrifice on an immense scale and the Normandy landings amounted to the greatest amphibious assault in history. The remarkable success of D-Day was thanks to years of careful planning, notably Operation Overlord led by General Montgomery, in which my mother, Dulcie Bennett played a key part.

War changes lives. We hear this often and know it to be true, but time passes and life-changing, calamitous memories fade remarkably or are safely stowed away. For post-war generations, WWII history can seem very distant, even though most of us readily recall family members who took part in the war effort.

As I began to read the extraordinary accounts of D-Day in the run up to the 75th Anniversary celebrations, I realised, more acutely than ever, that my own mother’s infrequent and understated accounts of her time as a Wren near Portsmouth had been precious oral history – much of which has now been shared in the media and special press with such wonderful reverence.

I intended to write about my mother when she died in 2013, but I recently moved from London to within three miles from where she was stationed for D-Day – and this week millions will acknowledge the Normandy landings as the turning point of WWII and dwell on the lasting significance of this vast international endeavour. Like many veterans, Dulcie seemed to recognise the enormity of her involvement in later years and always with modesty.

Her work as part of the D-Day landings took place about 100 feet beneath one of five Victorian Forts built into the cliff hills behind Portsmouth. Fort Southwick provided bombproof Underground Headquarters (UGHQ) for the Control and Communication Centre for Operation Overlord – for which Dulcie worked as a Switchboard & Signals Operator. ‘Overlord’ was the codename for the Battle of Normandy – launched to coincide with the Normandy landings on D-Day.

The main role in UGHQ on D-Day itself was gathering information and coordinating the allied naval forces. Reports from radar stations were crossed-referenced with messages from shipping to provide an accurate picture of all the action in the Channel – as close to real-time as technology then allowed. Speed and total accuracy were essential as one mistake could be fatal. This information was then plotted on a large table map at the fort, which is now on display to the public along with some of the fort tunnels.

Desperate to escape a dull job and, I surmise, a ‘chaotic’ home life – as she would obliquely refer to it – she managed to persuade her father to ask a high-ranking RN officer for a letter of recommendation for service in the Wrens.  As soon as she turned 17 (the earliest age of entry for service – for which parental consent was required), Dulcie set off to commence her fast-track training. Part of her training took place on Whale Island in Portsmouth, which I now drive past most mornings on the way to my son’s school.

From a Wren’s-eye, physical conditions were well managed: air conditioning, gas filtration and fresh water were installed, but work access was down three notorious staircases and there was no lift. My mother recalled the lack of sleep and the dreary food but, like many of her colleagues facing gruelling work but safe underground, her concerns were for those at sea or in the air preparing for battle against tremendous odds. It fascinated me that she and her colleagues managed to look so glamorous. Fastidious appearance, in fact, was mandatory for the serving Wrens and they would sleep in rags to create wonderful roll-mop hairstyles.

It seems my mother felt ambivalent about her time in service and she would often describe them as some of the best days of her life, albeit a little guiltily. I imagine the unexpected freedom and adventure, the strongest bonds of camaraderie and the ‘live now, you may die tomorrow’ mentality would have been a heady mix for a 17-year-old girl who went to a Catholic Convent.

The stories she repeated most often involved socialising – that generation tended to keep the dark accounts to themselves. She would cycle all the way to Chichester (26 miles round trip) by cycle at night (without lights due to blackout rules) to attend weekend dances. Her favourite off-duty hangout was The Bear Hotel in Havant, which was heavily patronised by dashing young officers apparently. My mother was a very good-looking woman and the men far outweighed women in number. The partying had to pause, however, because the Wrens’ work prevented them leaving UGHQ in the weeks leading up to D-Day for security reasons. All military leave was cancelled, movement around southern England suspended and even the postal service was stopped.

My mother generally took a fairly dim view of my generation (she had just me when she was 42). A child of the 80s, I took the freedom that D-Day afforded us for granted. I was hedonistic and giddy with life choices that were denied to her. She would say we were all enjoying a “prolonged adolescence” (social worker speak). Dulcie later trained as both a Social Worker and as a Probationary Officer. These were natural progressions for such a compassionate women after she had cared for displaced service personnel in Germany and Australia after the war in the Women’s Voluntary Service. 

I think she went too far once when, very late in life, she said, “What this country needs is another war!”, but I can understand her misgivings about post Baby-Boomers. My own mother helped our country achieve success on D-Day and I am only just skimming the details now. We do not need another war but we do need to remember the death, turmoil, heartbreak and hardship of war and reflect on the fact that D-Day afforded us peace and unity in Europe. Let’s unite to treasure that freedom rather than fall prey to bitter divisions going forward ­– it would make Dulcie and the switchboard girls very happy! 

This article has been kindly shared with Portsmouth Point by the author, Jane Cooke. It first appeared at  https://ddaywrenveteranoverlord.home.blog