MONUMENTS TO THE GREATEST GENERATION

As we approach the 80th anniversary of VE Day, TESSA DUNLOP delves into the inspirations and individuals behind 100 memorials covering 2,000 years of history in her brilliant new book. But what do they mean to those who served?

- TESSA DUNLOP

ETTY Webb MBE was a remarkable woman. When she died in March, aged 101, the outpouring of affection was testimony to a life well lived. She was wise, kind and a passionate storyteller. And hers was a story worth telling.

In 1941, aged 18, she threw the towel in at Shrewsbury domestic science college and signed up for the Auxiliary Territorial Service (ATS). At the training camp she stood out and was promoted to corporal and earmarked for a secret mission.

"I didn't realise what Station X was at the time," she recalled. "Only much later, after the war, did I discover the important role Bletchley Park played."

Tasked with the registering of Enigma-encrypted German messages, by 1943 Betty had been promoted to the "more meaty" work of paraphrasing Japanese communications in Block F.

Meticulous and diligent, when everyone else was celebrating VE Day, Betty was preparing to fly to America as the only ATS member selected to serve in the new Pentagon building.

There she continued to paraphrase messages relating to the war in the Pacific.

"It is rather extraordinary when I think about it now," she said modestly.

In her latter years, Betty became famous for talking about her extraordinary war.

When we first met, she had just given a lecture at the age of 92. I asked if the Second World War was the most exciting time of her life, and she replied: "No, now is the most exciting time of my life."

For Betty, being applauded in old age for the work she did as a young woman was transformative.

So where did Betty go to remember the war that changed both ends of her life?

At home in Wythall, Worcs, she patiently sifted through a mountain of 100th birthday cards and handed me one featuring a stone figure. "This is my favourite wartime statue," she told me.

The modest sculpture of a servicewoman sits in a neat uniform, legs coyly tucked to one side, hair rolled beneath a cap.