Evening star., 1941-12-14

masks were grouped round the
huge, complex instruments in the pit,
peering through lenses and adjusting
dials. The men gunners at the heavy
antiaircraft guns waited for the STAG
cato orders that would indicate the
girls had found the sky target and
ranged it. Number One girl at the big
predictor began to talk, passing back
data to the gun officer, and the long
gun barrels swung round and up -
and breeches thudded behind shell
bases.
The gun officer glanced at his watch.
Good work, girls. can report you're
the fastest fire-control crew we've had
on this post. That ought to please
your general"
Escorted by brass-hatted elders of
the artillery staff, the general was
coming at swinging stride across the
field - l24 pounds and FIVE feet, four
inches of slim young woman, as neatly
assembled as an airplane engine. with
dark-blue eyes wide-set in a tanned
aquiline face, red-banded peaked
cap crammed on her dark hair.
Jean Knox was out inspecting one
of the new mixed heavy antiaircraft
batteries - men handling the guns,
and girls the fire-control instruments.
Officially she is Chief Controller of the
Auxiliary Territorial Service. But the
army calls her General Knox (Her SUBJ
ordinates call her Jean) The ATS.
helps the regular military forces in
every conceivable department of war
fare - as lorry drivers, mechanics,
teleprint operators, cooks, map read
ers, etc.
Forgetting Boadicea, Mrs. Knox
is the first woman general in British
history. She is also, at 33, Britain's
youngest general. In even more strik-
ing ways she epitomizes total war as
it has hit conservative Britain, smash
ing crust of old ideas and ways and
prejudices, bringing the women into
action alongside the men, Three years
ago Jean Knox was just a civilian
wife and mother. living in Hertford-
shire village. and with no idea in the
world of becoming major general COM
manding 1000 uniformed women.
(Next June it will be 2OO,OOO.)
War Aksod
11ER story properly begins one day
in the late summer Of 1898, when her
husband. George Knox, architect and
flier in the Auxiliary Air Service, sat
with her on the sun terrace of their
hillside home. Normally they would
have been talking and laughing, but
they we're bit thoughtful that eve
ming. watching the rocks homing to
the tall elms.
Chamberlain was somewhere I'D in
that sky, flying for the first time in
his life to play diplomatic poker with
Hitler in the latter's swastika-plas-
tered stronghold in Bavaria. 1t was
Munich-time, and George and Jean,
who knew army and air-force folk,
knew as we'll as anyone how weak
Chamberlain's hand must be in any
showdown play. The navy. as usual,
was all right. But the army and the
air feet?
Jean said: II feel l ought to do
something. But what?''
There's this Auxiliary Territorial
Service" suggested her husband. "It
seems tailored for you"
jeans immediate reaction was:
Me? I'd be no good. OF course / can
cook, drive car, ride horse. but
there must be stacks of women who
can do that, and who'd be glad to-
Jean was 80, had an 11-year-old
daughter to look after, her husband
to tend, and around her was her
smooth life. 1t seemed astounding and
incredible that savage horde led
by an Austrian paper hanger could dis
turb, much less destroy, the Knoxes'
chosen and comfortable nest in this
peaceful seagirt land. Anyway, what
Al