大象传媒

Whenever I travelled home, in addition to kit-bag there was a large tin to carry filled with fresh-laid eggs, protected in newspaper, for my Mother鈥檚 delight. Food rationing did not make life any easier. In the crush to disembark at Stranraer, my plea 鈥榤ind my eggs鈥� was completely disregarded (except for a few choice concise phrases) but all my eggs survived. Recently, in answering a request for information about Bishops Court from a resident in adjacent Ardglass, it seems most likely that it was his Mother who sold me my 鈥榩rize鈥�. She provided the Marketing Board with eggs, selling any surplus to service men going on leave. Eggs in Northern Ireland did seem plentiful. A friend, Charlie Barr, became friends with a WAAF who served in the canteen. Usually after a night trip Charlie and myself ate together 鈥� and had to find ways of politely limiting the number of eggs being placed on our plates from the 鈥榟ot-plate鈥�.

23.05.45. I was flown to Wigtown where arrangements had been made for me to take the 鈥榤issed鈥� exam 鈥� not all my pleas went unheeded. The following day, after lunch, I returned to Bishops Court. Within a day or two (what a Birthday present) I was told that my services as a flying instructor were no longer needed 鈥� the number of aircrew required had greatly reduced with Germany defeated.

30.05.45. I reported to No. 14 Radio School (RS) St Athen鈥檚, Wales, to take a Ground Instructors course which for some forgotten reason included a few hours flying. Whilst there I remember 鈥榝lying鈥� by taxi down country lanes to catch a train home. Coming across sheep, one panicked and was hit with such force that it flew right over the taxi, having first smashed the vehicles鈥� front lights. We caught the train but never knew whether or not the driver reported the dead sheep. Receiving a grade B pass, not good enough, I returned to Bishops Court. I was given a list of possible openings and asked to name three. My first choice, Transport, with a view to learn to drive vehicles; my second, Teleprinter, to learn touch-typing useful for operating both the Monotype or Linotype setting machines used in the print industry; and third, to work as a Compositor in the RAF. My second choice accepted I bade farewell to Bishops Court. Would I ever eat as well again? Mixed grills at the 鈥榟ouse-caf茅鈥� nearby the airfield, mixed grills in Belfast for 3s 6d (American personnel, 5s 6d).

From home leave I was posted 22.08.45 to No. 259 Maintenance Unit (MU) North Witham, Lincs, (near Rutlandshire). I remember a well-appointed Non-Commissioned Officer鈥檚 (NCO鈥檚) mess in the heart of a wood, and a not very pleased Station Warrant Officer (SWO) as I was days late. Disillusioned with no longer flying I hadn鈥檛 rushed there.

04.09.45. No.1 RS, Cranwell, to learn touch typing. Otherwise my main memory is of rising early on days off to pick mushrooms on the air-field which we sold fresh to a greengrocer in Sleaford. Passing the examination, on 10.11.45 I became a Sergeant WOP/Air, AC2 Teleprinter Operator.

More leave at home then off to No. 5 Personnel Despatch Centre (PDC), 29.11.45, at Blackpool to await a posting abroad. Four or five of us were billeted with a couple who must have taken to me for I dined with them and not the others. Embarrassing. My parents visited me, remaining friends of the couple for many years. On one occasion when pay was late, I questioned a corporal as to why. I didn鈥檛 recognise him but others told me 鈥� Stanley Matthews in uniform. Three or four times we watched Blackpool play.

I was approached by a corporal, as an escort was wanted for a prisoner due in Birmingham. To check my suitability he questioned me. 鈥淵ou live in Birmingham?鈥� 鈥淵es.鈥� 鈥淒o you smoke?鈥� 鈥淣o.鈥� (I didn鈥檛 then). 鈥淒o you drink?鈥� 鈥淎 little.鈥� 鈥淎re you short of money?鈥� 鈥淲ho isn鈥檛?!鈥� I became suspicious of my 鈥榠nterrogator鈥�, who finally admitted that there was no prisoner. Someone at morning post parade (we just crowded around the hander-out) had been claiming letters meant for others, encashing any enclosed Postal Orders. The post office clerk could only remember that the thief had a Brummie accent. I was not amused!

Catching some mild skin complaint I missed my posting to India and lost new-found friends. I reported to No. 1 PDC West Kirby, for my new posting to Egypt, on 17.02.46.

As mentioned, I was often home. When our leave coincided, Alf Lewis (the friend from school days) and myself would spend an evening at Hall Green Dog Track. Knowing nothing about the dogs, we stuck to certain numbers. We were lucky. We told my 鈥楥ousin鈥� Hilda and her cousin of our luck when the four of us went to see 鈥楩antasia鈥�. They gave us money to place a bet on their behalf. They were both delighted when, at Hilda鈥檚 Birthday Party, we handed them their winnings, having first kidded them that our luck had run out.

Once, with time to kill in Birmingham, I went to see 鈥楪one with the Wind鈥� not realising its length, and had to leave before the end to catch my train back to camp.

22.02.46. Train to Dover, boarding the 鈥楥apetown Castle鈥�. The Bay of Biscay can be very rough, and it was for us. We were returning Italian ex-prisoners of war and they, together with some of our own, were sprawled all over the heaving deck 鈥榳anting to die鈥�. Luckily, as in the air, I didn鈥檛 suffer any sickness.

Otherwise the Mediterranean Cruise was most enjoyable. We first called at Gibraltar 25.02.46. I had struck lucky with duties. With another RAF chappie we recorded the names and times of visitors boarding and disembarking. We were at Malta on 28.02.46 and then Naples 01.03.46. With Spanish, Maltese and Italian names we crossed our fingers when spelling what we heard. One very bonhomie, 鈥渉ello Sergeant, how are you鈥�, slap-on-the-back, 鈥渃heerio Sergeant鈥� visitor escaped with belongings stolen from the navy crew cabins. Apart from immediate questioning we heard no more. I have thought of writing to the Guinness Book of Records, for the shortest stay in any country. At Naples 鈥� locals begging for cigarettes 鈥� I ran down the gangway, placed both feet on Italian soil then raced back up. I had been to Italy. The prisoners were back home at last.

The worst part of the voyage was going to the toilet. No doors. The waiting stood in front of you to ensure their turn. The best was seeking out and befriending the ship鈥檚 printer. One of his kind deeds was to provide me with special soap and access to the 鈥榦ut of bounds鈥� bathroom. There was still a sticky feeling from the treated sea water but the soak was heaven.

05.03.46. Disembarked Port Said. 鈥楤umboats鈥� abounded 鈥� trying to entice us to buy. There is one story of a ship鈥檚 crew 鈥� sold shoddy goods 鈥� retaliating by selling to the Arabs whisky bottles filled with tea-water.

The next day, travelling by train, we were in Kasfareet, Personnel Transit Camp (No.21?). We lived under canvas in the desert, passing some of the time climbing up the nearby steep sand hills, then running down again. We didn鈥檛 always enjoy the sand, or should I say sandstorm: Bacon, sand, Egg, sand, Bread, sand 鈥� is this the origin of the sandwich? My cigarette ration was sent home to Father marked 鈥楲emons鈥�. The tins of cigarettes were wrapped in tent material then stitched on a Singer sewing machine. It is a known fact that Arabs can remove a tent without awakening the occupants. I did once, actually send some lemons home. My Mother said that I should have seen the sticky mess handed to her - by a very unhappy postman.

27.03.46. Back in Almazo (Cairo). On an outing in Cairo three of us were harassed by young Arab 鈥榮hoe boys鈥�, who ignoring our 鈥榥oes鈥� followed us. One of them, at least two feet behind me, deftly covered my toe cap with gooey polish. I capitulated, but refused to pay the exorbitant price asked. A nasty crowd gathered around us, not 鈥榮een鈥� by a nearby policeman, but fortunately a very well-dressed Egyptian came to our rescue. Thanking him profusely we declined his offer of coffee at his gents tailors.

09.04.46. Board Dakota KN266, still equipped with side benches for Paratroopers, for the flight to Algiers. I can still taste the thick delicious tomato soup enjoyed before leaving and again on return due to bad weather. With stops at Benina, Libya and Castel Benito, Libya, we landed at Maison Blanche, Algiers. At each stop the tomato soup became progressively thinner. We had learnt over the 鈥榞rapevine鈥� that soap was in great demand and so two of us bought and filled a kit-bag with soap. To our dismay, the wrong soap, not scented enough, but we did exchange some for tins of delicious drinking chocolate.
We were clean! And almost cleaned out! Settled in at No.1 French Technical Liaison Unit, Boufarik, we went to the horse races. Their rules differed from ours. Our horse lost but because the horse belonged to the same owner (or was it stable) as that of the winning horse we still came out on top. On our way back we called into a bar where the 鈥榖ar-man鈥� produced from an inside pocket of his coat a bottle of whitish liquid. A not unpleasant raw alcohol, we drank a little only. We understood the drink could send you blind!

Now working 鈥� at last 鈥� in a teleprinter office 鈥� new friends. On the evening of 26.04.46 I accompanied Reg Burgess (another Brummie) and (?) a Welsh lad to celebrate Reg鈥檚 Wedding Anniversary. He, and his wife in Birmingham, had agreed to toast each other at 21.00hr. After drinking in Maison Blanche we found a bar just before the appointed hour and chose 鈥楶arfait Amour鈥�. We arrived back at camp very happy.
One night the guard patrol reported that the perimeter wires were cut and as Duty Sergeant for that evening I took several airmen to the armoury where we were issued with firearms. Leading the patrol, an airman behind me touched the trigger of his sten-gun. Fortunately, my number wasn鈥檛 on any of the bullets! It was said that the Algerians never broke into camp when the Italian prisoners of war were on duty (under supervision, they were given the task of patrolling). Apparently the Italians stole the goods to barter with the Arabs.

I befriended an Algerian Jew, a civilian camp worker, after seeing him berated by another NCO. He not only took me to dine with his parents, siblings and family who fed me well, despite themselves observing some religious fast, but he also offered me his mistress should I so desire.

Sometime just prior to leaving Algeria my 鈥楻ecords鈥� caught up with me. I had passed the examination taken in Scotland and been promoted to Flight-Sergeant with effect from 01.06.45, and subsequently became a Warrant Officer with effect from 01.06.46. The back-pay was most welcome, Flt Sgt 9s 6d; WO 13s 6d per day. I did not upgrade my three stripes as a recent promulgation decreed that all non-commissioned war-time aircrew were 鈥榙emoted鈥� to sergeant but retained their current pay.

While waiting for posting I was moved into a clerical office, in charge of two civilian office girls. The French-Algerian girl was dark and very slim; the German-Algerian girl was blonde and plump. They were both alike in one way: hilarity as I attempted to learn a French vowel sound: 鈥渞ound the lips as if about to whistle, but say 鈥榚鈥欌��. Their laughter echoed along the corridor.

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Anastasia Travers a volunteer with WM CSV Actiondesk on behalf of J. F. Humphreys and has been added to the site with his permission. J.F. Humphreys fully understands the sites terms and conditions.

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