About Jilly
WWII and the aircraft and tanks of the time may not seem the most usual subject for a woman to be so interested in, but as a child I met several friends of my parents whose wartime experiences had a profound effect on me and a lasting fascination of those years of conflict.
The first was an RAF pilot, whose face had been badly burned when his Spitfire was hit and caught fire during the Battle of Britain. He was one of Archibald McIndoe’s patients and a member of the exclusive and aptly named ‘Guinea Pig Club’, as that is exactly what these brave souls were, guinea pigs for this pioneering surgeon’s amazing work in plastic surgery and physical therapy for all those in his care at East Grinstead Hospital.
Before the visit to the house I was told what had happened to this courageous gentleman and that he looked very different to most people, and not to stare; I was about seven at the time, so of course I stared! I remember being fascinated and he, being utterly charming and kind, allowed me to touch his face and I was overwhelmed by a feeling of sadness for him.
Another, was an army veteran, who during WWI had received the MC for his bravery at Somme. Then during WWII, after being captured by the Germans in 1941 and having a failed escape attempt, he was moved from camp to camp before he finally ended up at the infamous Colditz Castle. His wife kept the 200 plus letters she received from him during his incarceration, and after the war using the letters he wrote a book about some of his experiences, called ‘Into Colditz’, a copy of which I have and covert.
Further heart wrenching is the story of an Austrian business colleague of my father’s, who was the only member of his family to survive Auschwitz Birkenau, introduced me to the horror of the Holocaust. And a few years later at school, seeing footage of our German Master being liberated from Bergen Belsen, where he was a prisoner, shocked us all to the core.
And finally, a couple who had been in Singapore when the Japanese invaded in 1942 had both suffered and survived the torture of the Japanese Prisoner of War camps. Like many who had endured the degradation and deprivation handed out by the Japanese they never spoke of it.
Like so many people I love the coast. The beauty of our beaches on a sunny summer afternoon is a match for any Mediterranean shore. The azure sky dotted with white puffs of cloud, the pale cream soft fine grains of sand leading to the patterns of undulating shore left by the far reaching low tide, the rich green and pink of the feathery tamarisk trees and the row of brightly coloured quintessential beach huts.
On a stormy day the coast it is no less impressive, the groynes matted with glistening wet seaweed in varying shades of green and brown, as the white horses rolling in crashing onto the shore, the surf rearing up the wood of the breakwater and for a nano second its droplets suspended like sparkling jewels before they are caught up in the salty foam, the clouds hanging in layered shades of grey heavy with rain march across the sky, blown in by winds from afar.
I was given my first camera before going on a school trip, ironically enough to Germany. I snapped away to my heart’s content while we were away and couldn’t wait to dash down to the local chemist and collect the prints a week after we returned and I’ve never looked back.
It is only over the last few years moving close to the beach and going for wonderful low tide walks and visiting countless air shows, military museums both in the UK and in Europe and holidays to the Normandy D-Day beaches, Bastogne in the Ardennes region of Belgium the location of the Battle of the Bulge the last major offensive of WWII and visiting WWI battlefields and the Menin Gate at the incredibly moving early evening last post, that I have put my loves together.
I don’t have any formal training or have expensive camera but I have a passion for my subject, a mobile phone with a good camera and blessed with a natural talent for composition.
