wonderful to hear our Prime Minister announce, ‘The German war is therefore at an end’ and for somebody to thank us for what we had done,
A big cheer went up when Churchill mentioned the United States and their ‘overwhelming power and resources’. And when I heard, ‘Finally almost the whole world was combined against the evil-doers, who are now prostrate before us,’ I cried. I was glad that I was no longer a slave and had to prostrate myself before the enemy.
Eventually a load of us, including Laurie and me (I don’t know what happened to Jimmy) were moved by truck to an airfield just outside Berlin. We were going home via Brussels. We boarded a Dakota which normally carried parachutists so there were no conventional seats. About 50 of us had to perch on these wooden benches each side of the plane. We landed at Brussels and I expected we would get a shower and some decent food but we didn’t. All we had were thin cucumber sandwiches on white bread, and a couple of hours kip sitting on benches in a waiting area.
Early next morning Laurie and I boarded a Lancaster bomber for the last leg of our journey. Comfort rating – zero stars. This time there was a steel bar to sit on in the body of the plane for over 2? hours. The noise was dreadful. The crew were Australians. Nice fellows. Laurie was put up front in the cockpit, as he was short, next to the navigator who was keen on giving us a running commentary. He wanted us to know what places we were going over, what altitude we were doing and our ETA. As it was so noisy he told Laurie the information and got him to write it down on bits of paper, which were passed back to us to read. That was good. We cheered when we heard we had just gone over the Romney Marshes and Lydd. I’m afraid Laurie and I were still in our old uniforms (same filth, fleas and lice) and I was scratching, Laurie was scratching and I expect everybody else was, including the Aussie crew, by the end of the flight.
We landed at Horsham – back on familiar territory. Not much had changed since I had been stationed there a lifetime ago when I was a fresh-faced young conscript. As we descended from the aircraft and walked off the tarmac onto the field, some of the chaps got down on their hands and knees and kissed the grass. Back on English soil. I didn’t do it; I couldn’t see the point. All that mattered to me was to get back to Barking to see the family as soon as possible.
We were desperate to go home and hoped that we would have a proper clean up and get through the paperwork for our repatriation as soon as possible. It wasn’t asking much was it, after all we had been through. No delays, please. I thought I might still be able to make it home in time for tea and surprise everybody. I hadn’t a clue what my family knew about my whereabouts. Even if there was a bit of a delay and I arrived at midnight, I didn’t care and I didn’t suppose my family would either.
We were escorted to the camp buildings, a group of huts including admin, canteen and some of the officers’ quarters. I expected some sort of welcome home. It is hard to believe now how we were treated. I am furious to this day, thinking about it. Nobody seemed to have a clue about us and what we had been through.
I don’t remember how many of us had landed at the camp but I do remember that it was a Friday afternoon. Why do I remember this? Because the office personnel who were mostly civilians said, ‘I’m sorry but we can’t deal with you now. We don’t work weekends.’ I couldn’t believe it. We all protested but they wouldn’t budge: ‘We’ll see you Monday morning. And then you’ll be on your way.’
What a way to treat men returning from war. I wondered what their war had been like; pretty cushy, I imagined, compared to ours. They refused to stay in spite of our pleas to make an exception for us. ‘No exceptions.’ So that was it. We had no paperwork, no travel warrants, no telegrams to send home. Nothing. They wouldn’t wait to process us so we could get home as soon as possible. Five years I had waited. Some of the lads just walked out. They were so desperate that they started walking home but they didn’t get far and they returned later as they had no money.
Nobody had any kind words for us, just directions to a tent. ‘Take a blanket and your bed,’ they said. Oh, no, not those bloody biscuits again. The very same canvas cushions I had slept on five years back in the furniture store in East Grinstead where my army career had started. What did we get to eat? A couple of slices of bread and marge and some lukewarm soup. No change there.
We hung around all weekend until the office opened again on Monday morning. We went to the Quartermaster’s store, which was packed to the roof with uniforms of all shapes and sizes. They must have been dealing with a huge number of returning soldiers as the shelves were well stocked. We had showers, threw all our old clothes away, including underwear (what was left) and put on our new uniforms which we had been issued with. Mine didn’t fit; everything hung loose on me as I had no arms or legs to speak of. Now I was ready to face the world again.
I was sorry to say goodbye to my mother’s boots but they were worn out. Not surprising considering what they had been through. The new ones may have been smart but they were hard on my poor feet which were still in a bad way. It seemed incredible at the time to have all this new stuff when we were going home but, of course, we were still in the army and serving soldiers. I had quite a while to wait until I was officially demobbed.
At last we were dealt with and I signed papers, ticked boxes and sent my field telegram. That was funny because mine arrived about an hour and a half after I did. We were given travel warrants for use on the railway but not on the buses so if your home wasn’t near the station, you would have to walk or hope that somebody would give you a lift. We weren’t given so much as a penny to put in our pocket.
When I eventually got home to Movers Lane, I found my parents had moved. Some homecoming.
15
Back to Life
‘What’s two or three miles more to a man who’s walked over a thousand?’ you might be thinking but I didn’t want to walk a step further than I had to. I wanted to go straight home to Barking but the Corporal issuing the travel passes said, ‘Ilford Station is the best I can do. Not far to walk, mate.’
I stood on the edge of the kerb outside the station looking for a tram. Traffic whizzed by so fast that I was frightened to cross the road. I was looking for a tram but I didn’t know that they had been replaced by trolley buses. I saw one on the other side of Broadway gliding by with ‘Barking’ written on the back. Damn it! I could have been on that and been home in a jiffy. So I plucked up the courage to cross, dodging between cars, vans and bicycles. The stop was a few hundred yards away and I decided to wait for the next one.
A bus drew up and the conductor was hanging off the rail at the back. As I got on, swinging my kit bag on ahead, he said, ‘Steady on, mate,’ and ducked.
‘I’m sorry but I haven’t got any money,’ I said, showing him my travel warrant.
‘Not valid on this, mate. Sorry.’
I thought he was going to refuse to take me. I told him who I was and where I had come from and just enough about my long journey back across Germany for him to take pity on me. He picked my bag up, put it on a seat inside and said, ‘You get in and sit there. Nobody’s going to turn you off.’
When we got to Barking station he helped me off, carrying my bag across the road and put it down against a wall. He shook my hand and said, ‘Cor! Haven’t I got something to tell my missus when I get home.’
I started walking, taking in familiar sights: the junction at Ripple Road, pubs, shops and the Park. I had imagined walking down Movers Lane many times over the last five years. I passed a woman I knew who was sweeping the front step. She looked up but she didn’t recognise me. All she said was, ‘Oh, another one home.’ And I said, ‘Yes,’ and walked on.
When I got to our little row of shops with the newsagents, grocers, our greengrocers and my aunt and uncle’s butchers, I was expecting (or hoping) to see all the family out in the street waiting for me. A bit of a welcome home. Of course, when I got nearer and saw the blinds down in the shops and the closed signs up, I remembered that it was Monday and they didn’t open. What a pity! They had probably gone out for the day somewhere and missed my telegram. I knocked on the door just in case but there was nobody home. I wasn’t worried so I tried next door at Auntie Elsie and Uncle Joe’s.
Their shop was shut but I tapped on the little glass window in the front door and after a few minutes I heard footsteps. The door opened and Auntie stood there, looking at this strange man in uniform on her front step. Then
