World War Two code-breaker Lorna Gayton has a confession. "I felt guilty for a long time because I found myself saying 'I enjoyed my war'." Even though she is no warmonger and does not condone fighting (“we are all pacifists at heart”), being in the Women Auxiliary Air Force (WAAF) gave her experiences she could only have dreamed of.
"It was a marvellous opportunity" says the 81-year-old, when interviewed in 2004. Perhaps some of her guilt comes from the fact her brother, Ray, was killed in action. And because her fiancé (later husband), Doug Gayton, spent more than four years as a prisoner of war in Greece.
Lorna (then Smith) became a WAAF in 1940, at the age of 17. She was drawn to the air force because of her father's flying contacts. Sydney George Smith, Minister of Education in the mid-1930s, was a friend of famous aviator Charles Kingsford Smith.
At that time, Kingsford Smith was doing his pioneering flights around New Plymouth in his plane, the Southern Cross, and Lorna's dad was offered free rides. "He was too scared, so he sent his children instead, which of course we adored" Lorna says. Later, her father discovered what he was missing. "He said if he had known flying was like that we wouldn't have had those trips."
When World War Two broke out, Lorna heard that a women's air force was to be formed, so she wrote away for information. "In due course I was called up." Her first posting was to pay accounts in Bell Block, where there was a training school for Tiger Moths. Being a woman, Lorna could not become a pilot. However, she did get to fly. "The boys out there said one day 'Would you like to go for a flight?' and I said 'Yes, I would'."
Sitting in an easy chair in her New Plymouth home, Lorna laughs: "They scared the daylights out of me. We looped the loop and flew upside down. I had never been so scared in my life. I don't think I had a spine at all - I think it had completely left my body." But she was determined not to reveal her terror. "When they asked me 'How was that?' I said 'Marvellous - when are we going back up again?' Had they invited me to go straight back up again, I think I would've passed out."
Next, Lorna was nominated for a cipher course in Wellington. "That was coding and decoding messages." In the capital, she stayed in the condemned Hotel Bristol in Ghuznee Street.
"While we were there, there was the big 1942 earthquake, which was quite horrific." It hit at 12.30 one Saturday night. "It woke me up - there was plaster coming off the ceiling. Under the bed I went. You could hear the plate glass windows breaking in Cuba Street. Lights went out; there was a power failure. When I went to come out from under the bed, they [two single beds] had actually swung together. The supervisor was in such a hurry to get down the stairs she broke her leg."
The women spent the night sleeping in the foyer of the damaged hotel, where they were visible to American soldiers who peered through the windows. Lorna, though unhurt, had other worries. Her room-mate had stayed out the night, so she felt compelled to answer for her during the roll call. "My room-mate didn't turn up until about noon the next day and I had been on the verge of confession. She couldn't understand what all the fuss was about."
After completing the cipher course, Lorna was stationed at Woodbourne in Blenheim, along with about 200 other women. Lorna's job carried a commission, which meant that in her early 20s she became an Assistant Section Officer (A/S/O). "They didn't send us to officers' training school. One day you were an erk and the next day you were commissioned." An erk is British slang for an unranked air force and navy person.
The day Lorna's promotion was announced, her rank was recognised by two flights of airmen marching towards her. "The officer gave them eyes right, which meant I had to hold a salute." Lorna held the pose, but veered off course while marching. When she reached her office, the phone rang. "It was the commanding officer and he said 'Terrifically good show, old girl, terrifically good show, but next time keep out of the rose garden'."
Another embarrassing moment was getting a 3am call to decipher a coded message. "It was talking about everything being on the move." But the commanding officer told her to look closer. "Tucked away in the words were the words 'This is an exercise'. I felt absolutely stupid. It was a big learning curve."
Lorna also learnt about leadership. "When the supervisor was away, which he was on lots of occasions, I had the responsibility of being WAAF supervisor. That, at the age of 20, was a big responsibility - 200 girls" she says. "It was during that time that I had a deputation of girls come to see me - they lived in the dormitories."
The WAAFs were upset because even with leave passes they had to be in their sleeping quarters by 23.59 hours. However, their corporal had been flouting the rules by sneaking her boyfriend into her single bedroom. "They wanted to know if they could tar and feather her and put her in the swimming pool. I said 'I have not heard this conversation - I cannot condone anything like that'."
Lorna later learnt the girls had carried out the humiliation. "They used boot polish and threw her in the pool, but there was never ever a complaint from the corporal."
Although she was a conscientious officer, Lorna herself was involved in some rule-breaking activities. During her one-year stint at Woodbourne, she was able to go home on training flights to New Plymouth. "That was in a Harvard. We did some things that we weren't supposed to, like wave-hopping up the Kapiti Coast."
Lorna says the pilots didn't literally touch the sea, but flew so low she could see sand hills and water rushing by. "That's when you get a sense of speed" she says. "It was quite thrilling. We would probably have been put out of the services if we had been caught."
But it was difficult to catch her mother unawares. Lorna tells of one homecoming when she expected to surprise her family. "I remember turning the key in the front door and my mother saying 'Is that you Lorna? I thought you would be home today.' It was actually the same when she got the telegram to say my brother had been killed." The neighbour came over to deliver it, but Lorna's mum didn't need the message - she already knew. "She said 'It's Ray, isn't it?'”
Major Ray Smith was in charge of B Company in the 26th Battalion, which took part in the Battle of the Sangro in Italy. "He was killed on Christmas Eve Day, 1943" Lorna says. "He was shot through the back of the head by a sniper. I understand it was at a little place called Castel Frantano."
Lorna says that her brother's batman (attendant) rescued his body from no-man's land. "He was given a proper burial in Italy, but when the [New Zealand] War Graves Commission collected bodies from here, there and everywhere, his grave could not be found. So his name has been added to the names at Cassino."
In May 2004, Kiwi war veterans attended a special commemorative service marking the 60th anniversary of the Battle of Cassino. "As an aside - he was the highest ranked officer that was killed in action from New Plymouth Boys' High School" Lorna says.
Three other siblings were in the armed forces during World War Two. Lorna's eldest brother, Captain Ned Smith was in the second echelon of the New Zealand Army in England and was taken a prisoner of war (POW) in Greece. He spent his time in an oflag near Munich. An oflag is what Germans call a POW camp for officers, while a stalag is a camp for non-commissioned troops.
Youngest brother, flight Lieutenant Harry Smith, piloted bombers in Africa and later flew with the Chindits dropping supplies over the Burma line. A Chindit was the name given to a member of the Allied forces behind the Japanese lines in Burma from 1943-45.
Lorna's elder sister, Ethel, was also in uniform. "She was a WAAF, but she did not go overseas and spent most of her service in Levin and New Plymouth."
While Lorna survived World War Two, she is now feeling the fallout. Before the war, she had been a non-smoker, but the Government changed all that. "We were encouraged to smoke" she says. "No one ever told us they were bad for us. In any parcel sent to us there were always cigarettes."
After Blenheim, Lorna was transferred to the Northern Group Headquarters in Auckland. She continued to be a code-breaker and worked long shifts, from 6pm to 8am. "And we were expected to leave our desks clear in the morning and I consider that if it had not been for cigarettes and cups of tea we might not have made the grade" she says.
Smoking became a habit. "And by the time we left the services we were addicted. What you see now is the after-effects of that." These days Lorna has a wet rattling cough and gets short of breath walking around her small home. Her health services card states she has "chronic obstructive airways disease", plus heart and vascular disease.
But she doesn't feel sorry for herself and has little anger towards the Government or tobacco companies. "I don't give any brownie points to anyone suing a tobacco company at this distance" she says. The distance, in this case, is time - it's nearly 60 years since the end of World War Two. "I would never sue anybody for it. There were mistakes made about a lot of things over the years. If I can be quite honest, I have enjoyed my smokes over the years."
In Auckland, after long shifts fuelled by tea and tobacco, Lorna would sometimes face a long march.
"Invariably, I would come off one those shifts and be told I was on parade: 'Get yourself to Auckland Domain'." The ‘Bonds For Britain’ marches were held to raise awareness and money for England, which was being hammered by Germany. "There was a greater tie to Britain [than now] and they called for help."
Lorna says that being on parade meant donning a dress uniform and marching from the domain, along Karangahape Road and down Queen Street to Customs Street, where the troops dispersed. "I think they were very worthwhile, very impressive. People were very patriotic in those days too" she says.
However, if the public had looked closely they would've seen women marching out of sync. The problem was the bands. At the front was a brass band and at the rear were the bagpipe players. Lorna says the music didn't match - and neither did the rhythm of the troops. "It was impossible to keep in step!"
But when it came to decoding and keeping secrets, Lorna was in line with Air Force ideals. After Auckland, she was transferred to a flying boat squadron in Fiji. "It was different" she says, of her island posting. "It was hot. It was full of mosquitoes and brown toads. People think of islands as swaying palm trees and hot and cold running girls, but it was very primitive."
For a year, Lorna lived in the tropics working as a cipher officer with women of similar rank. "I was also given the job of being in charge of secret and confidential publications." Airmen used these documents to build their knowledge of aircraft and shipping silhouette recognition. This enabled pilots to attack the correct targets.
A great deal of Lorna's time was spent doing amendments to the shipping fleet in the South Pacific. "I became very conscious of the ships we had lost during the war - because eventually in amendments you got to delete." Lorna had to hold knowledge of those losses inside. "Because of the oath of secrecy you couldn't discuss it with anybody."
As the war wound down in Europe, the WAAFs were demobilised and Lorna went home to New Zealand. She went to Wellington with the hope of joining the Army, but instead ended up working as a cipher in the office of Prime Minister Peter Fraser and later Walter Nash. "I took the oath of secrecy so many times it's unbelievable."
As well as being close to national secrets, she also met interesting people. One of those was a vivacious English actress and singer. "Gracie Fields came to see us when we were there. She came for morning tea and we were invited to go along and participate. She was very good. She was up on the tables and was quite jolly. "We were busy teaching her things and she was busy teaching us. We attempted to teach her Now Is The Hour, which I think she subsequently sang quite a bit later on."
When the war ended, Lorna had the chance to go to Washington DC to further her code-breaking career. But before making any decisions, she had fiancé Doug Gayton to consider. "He was about the only one in his camp who had not had a 'Dear John' letter, but I had made up my mind that no matter what happened that any decisions would be made after the war."
When Doug returned home, they were strangers. Had he changed? "I had" says Lorna. "From 18 to 23, there's a lot of growing up in that period. I was a totally different person. I had assumed a lot of responsibility."
Lorna was torn between getting married and going to Washington. In the end, she chose Doug. "I think the honest thing was that I loved him, but I was not in love and there's a difference. "However, 59 years later, I think we have got through life very well indeed. We have always been best friends."
Lorna Smith and Doug Gayton married on 13 October 1945.
The following year they had a baby boy, Maurice Raymond Gayton, named after a good friend of Doug's who was killed overseas and Lorna's lost brother. "He died after 10 days" she says of her first-born. "It was decided that it was the effects of malnutrition - Doug being a POW. The doctor said that the only time he had seen anything like it was in the slums of London.
After that it became the [nationwide] process for a woman to be asked if her husband had been a POW. "If the answer was ‘Yes’, the mother-to-be was given extra nutrition, including orange juice, Lorna says.
The Gaytons went on to have three healthy children - Judy (in 1948), Philippa (1957) and Russell (1958). Russell has a pot plant business in Auckland, while Judy and Philippa became community nurses.
If it hadn't been for World War Two, Lorna would have also trained as a nurse. But after the war she didn't fancy three years of training and then she became a mother.
From 1963 to 1984, the Gaytons lived at and ran the Kawaroa Swimming Pools. "Between us we were involved in and gave over 100 years to swimming." While Lorna was in charge of administration, Doug was always on the edge of the pool. Over those years, he taught thousands of children to swim and trained hundreds of others.
Now, Doug is living in Rhapsody Rest Home, while Lorna lives up the road. Doug used to ring Lorna every morning for a half-hour chat, but that happens less and less these days as his memory erodes. Sometimes, the 86-year-old even thinks he's back with his battalion in World War Two.
The Gaytons are also both immobile now and Lorna jokes about ‘the ravages of age’. But when she talks of Doug, she shakes her head. "I didn't think he would ever get old."
In 2002, Lorna's tale was published in a book of women's war stories called, Doing Our Bit.
Doug Gayton passed away on 16 October 2006 aged 88 years, and Lorna Gayton passed away on 22 January 2007 aged 84 years.
Sullivan, J. (2002). Doing our bit: New Zealand women tell their stories of World War Two. Auckland: HarperCollins.
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