A tribute by her daughter, Susan Ray

My name is Susan Ray (nee Langridge).  I am the youngest of three children born to Joyce Langridge (nee Neal) and ‘John’ (Stanley) Langridge. I have 2 older brothers, John and Jim. Being the only girl and very much in her company, I was perhaps more familiar with Mum’s reminiscences, although we all knew Mum belonged in the Timber Corps.

When Mum was first deployed as a Lumberjill, she was sent down to Sussex on the edge of Ashdown Forest. She always said she thought she had been sent to Paradise. It must have been Bluebell time.  She never left. We were always aware that Mum and our Father worked in the forest during the war. Although to us, I was born in 1951, ‘the war’ seemed so long ago, and I remember thinking “Not again”.

Mum came from Chingford when they still had hay fields at the end of their garden. Hard to believe now. She worked in Perk’s Stores, a grocery shop. She had to weigh all ingredients and cut cheese and bacon to the customer's precise requirements.

Mum’s treat to herself was a weekly visit to the cinema, and it was there she saw (?the Pathe) newsreel showing the Timber Corps girls working with horses in the woods hauling timber.  She, apparently, went straight to the nearest recruitment agency and signed up. Then, off home to tell her parents what she had done.  They were horrified but it was too late to change things.

Off to the north of England to do her training.  She had never been further than Southend on the very occasional day treat when an uncle would drive them in his car. Then down to Sussex.  She never did work with horses,

instead became one of the youngest girls to drive in the woods, first a tractor, then a ‘Vulcan’ lorry ………….  And yes, it was a Vulcan being diesel fuel.

Mum never topped 5’2 ½.” But my goodness, could she work. So many, many stories among them was the anecdote of her pulling up to refuel in a local village where, as she jumped down from the cab, everyone stared in amazement at this little girl exiting the cab.  They had to go to all shifts to make sure she could reach the foot controls.

One of her jobs was to transport POWs, mainly Italians. Her protection was usually a schoolboy skiving school or an elderly chap who was a renowned poacher.  Mum was oblivious to the fact that he was, in fact, breaking the law.

One snowy winter's day, she was driving her pow’s home when the lorry began to slide. It was beyond any control.  The Italians on the back kicked up a tremendous racket.  Upon arriving, safely at the bottom of the hill, they leapt down, and things could have gone very badly for her, but Ill Capitano, who, against all regulations, rode in the cab with Mum, waded in.  ‘No Missy Joyce, No Missy Joyce’ and told them in no uncertain terms that she was a heroine and had saved their lives.  Suitably chastened, they climbed back onto the lorry and from that day could not do enough to help her, going as far sometimes as sharing their spaghetti.  A totally new food for mum and delicious.

So many, many stories that have been kept alive, probably because our parents stayed here and we were brought up in the place they worked hard for the war effort.

Obviously, all our memories are precious to us.  So very, very many of them.  Mum died in October 2025, a few months short of 100 years.  She did not want to reach a hundred and once said to me towards the end of her life – “ I don’t know why they make all this fuss about being 100 years old it’s nothing to write home about, Sue”.  Now I am weeping. I miss her dreadfully, as do her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

She was the kindest, most hard-working person anyone could wish to meet.

Sue