CHAPTER 14 - THE SONG IS ENDED (But the melody lingers on)
“Half to forget the wandering and the pain,
|
Pte. Joseph Hutt |
With hindsight I must admit that I can find little to enthuse about in our behaviour at the airstrip. After our elation at being rescued and the jubilations after the victory over Germany, I suppose I should have been more tolerant. Instead the worst of emotions took over and the moans and groans began. We all felt that nothing but nothing was being done right. For our return we found that we were being selected alphabetically which meant that some who had been away for five years had to wait the longest. I was in the first half of the alphabet but I did my share of complaining too. Then all our belongings were taken away from us although in truth most of it was only “loot”. At six o’clock we were awakened from our slumbers and told that everyone (NO exceptions!) was to report for half an hours PT! The excuse was that we were still at war with Japan and we were still in HM. forces. Even an early breakfast and the promise of an early airlift did little to dispel the gloom. Having said that, the breakfast was the best meal I had eaten for a long, long time although some still found fault. We then settled down to wait for our transport.
Sometime time later five bombers circled the airstrip and began to land and we were furious. There were shouts of b..........r off as we reckoned that they should be making way for our transport. It turned out that this WAS our transport. When we did find out, regretfully, we offered no thanks to the RAF personnel who were mostly volunteers and working overtime to bring some order to the chaos. They too had had to rise early, they too had half an hours PT but they received no thanks from us such was our mood.
There were to be twenty-two men to each plane and as our names were called out we were duly marched to our allotted plane. When the first plane took it left behind body of disgruntled POWs. I was now alive with excitement for I reckoned I should be in the next batch. Then disappointment as another twenty-two names were called and I was not mentioned. I heard the names of my two best pals called but not mine. I was then told I would definitely be in the next batch. I thought that fate was very cruel at that moment. The wait seemed like hours but then all of a sudden I was being marched to a plane and climbed aboard. One of the crew approached me and offered me his seat in the cockpit. It felt wonderful as I put on the headphones and found myself listening to dance music. I scarcely felt the plane taking off until I became aware of the sea below us, which for some reason I found alarming. Suddenly the pilot beckoned to me. I took off the headphones and he pointed ahead and shouted “Dover”! As the famous white cliffs came into view I found myself weeping unashamedly. The pilot then pointed out the Kent hop fields. When we landed I asked my pals how they had enjoyed the trip they explained that they had been in the bomb racks and had seen nothing.
My illusions about the return to England were rudely shattered during the next fortnight. We were more closely confined than we had been in Silesia. We were deloused, which meant stripping completely and carrying our clothes as we walked very slowly through a chamber, which was filled with some kind of gas.
As I lay in bed that night I thought of the many plans I had made. They included a nice cool drink of good old English ale in my local with my friends and a large portion of fish and chips with lashings of salt and vinegar consumed while still in the newspaper wrapping. Perhaps tomorrow but tomorrow proved to be another frustrating day.
We were given a lecture and told about the great toll the war had taken on Britain, which was now subject to severe rationing. We were told yet again that we were still at war and that we were still soldiers. During the next few days we received inoculations, pills and medicines until we were sick of the sight of them. We were then told that the next day we would be kitted out.
We began to wonder what we would look like in our demob suits and there were many ribald comments flying around. The next day our illusions were well and truly shattered as we were issued with new uniforms and arms. However, our disappointment was somewhat tempered when we were told to collect ration books as we were to be given ten days leave. We had to be ready for instant recall and that ten days literally flew by.
On the eighth day I received a telegram telling me to report to a drill hall in the next town where a railway warrant awaited me. On reporting I was given a railway warrant to a large transit camp. At the station there was a lot of bustle since most of the people there where just like me, returning from leave with all their kit. We arrived at the transit camp in mid afternoon and were shown our respective barrack rooms. We were then paraded and marched to a dining room for a meal. After that we were confined to barracks where we spent most of the time ambling around looking for familiar faces.
Next day we were formed into groups with most of my group coming from my own regiment, as was the adjutant in charge. I had still not indulged in my fantasy of fish and chips eaten from the newspaper but no shops were open and there was a shortage of cooking fat. Beer too was quite scarce and that available not up to the standard I remembered. It was little wonder that everyone wanted the war over. The lack of fish and chips reminded me of a recurring dream I had as a prisoner. I was trapped inside a huge doughnut and tried to eat my way out. But I always ran into a wall of sticky jam and had to start again. I always woke up hungry.
Now it was time for our aptitude tests. There was the usual arms drill but in addition there were athletic and mental tests. You had to run a mile, run two hundred yards, walk a mile, walk five miles, do a high jump and a long jump, put together some mechanical item and then do sums. In all cases a standard was set to which you were supposed to conform. I did them all but my feet were in a terrible state. Like others I had been incarcerated for three years and had suffered severe frostbite. All I wanted to do was go home!
About this time a number of detachments left the transit camp no doubt on their way to the Far East. At the same time it appeared that new guards were being put in position probably more for training purposes than anything else. It was no surprise when I found my name down for guard duty. When I paraded the Orderly was not pleased that I had on my PT shoes but such was the state of my feet the MO had excused me from wearing boots. As we passed the Officers Mess, which was large tent, we could hear a radio blaring away. All of sudden there was loud cheering. A flap opened and a young officer poked his head out.
“Did you hear that son?” Son? I was at least five years older than him. He continued, “We are beating them, we are beating them”.
I doubted that this lad had ever been out of England let alone fired a shot in anger.
“I did not hear anything sir” I replied.
“A new type of bomb has been dropped on the place called Hiroshima. Wiped the whole bloody place out - they won’t last long now.”
He ordered to us stay where we were and dashed back into the tent. A few minutes later he returned and handed us a bottle of beer each.
“Have a drink with me lads” he said.
Next morning I was to report to the company office. I wondered if it was anything to do with the bottle of beer. I suddenly realised that my pal Tim had not been summoned. The reason for my summons was to inform me that I was to be discharged on medical grounds. They listed shellshock, my feet and a general deterioration in my health due to the ravages of war. The next day I was excused all parades and found myself horribly bored. The following day six men and I reported to this Lance Corporal and were taken to a nearby town and a certain large store to be fitted with our demob suits. We were not particularly bothered about what suit to choose, all we could think about was getting away. Outside the Lance Corporal had to work hard to keep the “spivs” away from us since clothing was also rationed.
We were taken by coach to the train station and duly boarded. Our carriage was quite crowded. All of us had been demobbed and when they say it takes all sorts it was certainly true of the occupants of that carriage. Most of the talk was of home and the continuing war in the Far East. We talked of the jobs we were going back to. Two men, Lehman and Fairhurst, told us they would have to find new jobs since they had both been professional boxers before the war. Fairhurst, the strong silent one, had been the most successful with forty-seven wins out of sixty-four bouts I recall. At one end of the carriage sat a chap who said nothing and just stared out of the window. Opposite him, in stark contrast, was a loud mouth who suddenly began to goad the silent chap. His goading was unmerciful:
“What regiment were you in then.” he yelled. “I know the medics or the NAAFI, your sort don’t know the meaning of the word war.” he carried on.
Fairhurst suddenly rose and confronted the load mouth.
“Keep your big mouth shut or I will shut it for you.” he said menacingly.
This was very uncharacteristic of Fairhurst. He then told us that the quiet man was named Donovan and he was from Coventry. In the horrific bombing of Coventry he had lost his father and mother, a sister and uncle and his home had been destroyed.
“He knows what war is all about all right,” said Fairhurst.
Loud mouth had shut up by now. Had he not I think Tim and I would have joined Fairhurst’s efforts to quieten him.
We eventually stopped at a station and were told to report to a small room where we given a cup of tea, two buns and four cigarettes. The buns had no more than a slight hint of margarine on them. While we were there three of the lads in their demob suits were being denied their allotment but we were able to persuade the elderly lady in charge that they were genuine. She was most apologetic but explained that some civilians were joining the queues and literally stealing the soldier’s supplies. Apparently they were then sold in the pub at night. We were now seeing the seamy side of war!
We pulled into Birmingham and stepped onto the platform. Suddenly it was all hurry and scurry. I said goodbye to Tim; we had come through so much together. We exchanged addresses and promised to write to each other. That was forty years ago and I never sent nor received any letter. That, I suppose, is so typical.
I caught a local train and made my way back to my hometown. I noticed to my relief that there was little damage from bombing. Clutching my bag containing my civilian clothes I turned into my street. At first I saw no one I knew but as I drew nearer my house I began to see dome familiar faces. Incredibly the one question that they seemed most anxious to ask was:
“When do you go back?”
I remember wondering if Tim had received the same unfeeling reception. I just quickened my steps and was soon sitting in my own home.
You can imagine the scene when I arrived home after five years absence. It was so emotional and as I write the memories are coming flooding back. I must stop writing now as the memories take over.
This was indeed journeys end but in the words of the song “the melody lingers on”
P.S. I still love fish and chips out of the paper.