大象传媒

Chapter Eleven: A Civilian Again

At long last the day arrived, it was the 26th March, 1946, and complete with documents I was on my way homeward bound. There should have been four of us on the truck with me into Celle but why I was on my own I cannot now remember unless the others followed on a later train. So I was alone from then on until I reached home; no doubt we were despatched according to the space allocated on each train.
The whole of the journey with just a few exceptions is difficult to recollect, it is all a little hazy. I do recall however that I was fortunate to find a seat in a compartment which was terribly overcrowded.
There were men and their kitbags in every conceivable space. It was by no means the sort of journey which I had envisaged for the past few months, for considering that we were all on our way home, about to discard our uniforms for ever, there was no cheerful conversation, in fact there was little conversation of any sort, many men slept.
Usually when men were gathered together there would be card schools, singing, we would all normally have let rip with those well-worn old Army songs; those which were sung when life was favourable and also when spirits were low in all sorts of places and at any time. Then though there was none of that, I had expected that there would be excitement, exhilaration and gladness that the long-awaited release day had really arrived.
I wondered, was everyone as preoccupied with their own thoughts as I was? Maybe a little apprehensive of what the future might hold, almost the same feeling as that on joining up, of going into the unknown. But surely it couldn鈥檛 have been so because that had been our function for the last six-and-a-half years.
I realised, and I am sure that those other men with me did also, that as much as we would have liked to take on again where we left off, it would not be possible; the world had changed too much, there would be no resemblance of the life we once knew and which we had left behind in 1939.
It was doubtful that it had improved although it was generally felt that on returning from war we could expect better conditions than those which our fathers came home to, at least promises of a better future had been made many times of late. Apart from the hope that the fear of the Dole Queue had been banished for all time, most of us wished to live out our lives in a free and peaceful world.
The sense of freedom was not in the least in evidence on that train that day, it was a sort of anti-climax. No doubt we would need time to adjust ourselves to our new responsibilities of a home with a wife and children and the need to provide for them. Such sombre thoughts as those were mine as we travelled, and on looking about me I guessed they were very similar thoughts to those of my fellow travellers who seemed to be wrapped in their own daydreams.
The miles slipped away bringing us ever nearer to the coast of France which, when having arrived at Dunkirk, it reminded me of that fateful summer of 1940 when we managed to escape from Cherbourg and of our nation being left alone to combat the Nazi menace.
I cannot bring to mind any part of the train journey to London or to Northampton but what I can recall is our arrival at Castle Station where the men from our area alighted and of the walk along the Barrack Road to the Racecourse where our Demob centre was situated. Once there and taking my place in line I was swiftly and expertly dealt with, much as of a conveyor belt system, being issued with a civilian suit, trilby hat, raincoat, shoes and finally collected my discharge documents, a Certificate of Release dated 26th March 1946. I was despatched and walked off the Racecourse as a civilian, having survived six-and-a-half years of war at its worst and what was said to be in the service of my country. I was then aged twenty-eight and as with all those other men leaving with me there was a loss of all those young years. That being so, as I have said, I did survive and would always be aware of so many of my mates who did not and were laying in some foreign land.
It must have been almost nine-thirty and too late for me to reach Derngate bus station in time to catch the last bus to Irthlingborough. So I hoisted my kitbag on my shoulder and ambled back down the Barrack Road and made my way to Far Cotton to stay the night with my parents. All down the streets of the town were dozens of other men who like myself were making for their homes. I knew none of them and although in a crowd as we walked I suddenly felt very much alone. There appeared to be very little conversation even among those who knew one another. As we reached the town centre the walkers thinned out until I found myself without company.
I did check in at Derngate to make sure that the bus had not departed but found that I had just missed it. With that I phoned the British Arms for them to inform Hilda of my position and that I would be home in the morning, after which I carried on to Far Cotton.
On that walk my thoughts strayed to the day when I left as a recruit bound for Tidworth, aged 20 with that squad of fifty; I wondered how many of them who would also at the time be due for discharge survived as I had done. Any of them who had been fortunate enough to come through would now at the time of writing be in their 84th year. I do know of two men who live locally and who I meet occasionally, although both are in indifferent health, they fought and lived through. I know the names of several who were killed in various campaigns but of the remainder I will never know.
It was about mid-morning when I boarded the bus for home and finally set down my kitbag in our little cottage where my wife and son waited to greet me. That was the beginning of a new life, a fresh start with no more going away. There were no flags or bunting arrayed for my return but the welcome of my own little family was sufficient. I was a newcomer to the town, people had by that time become accustomed to seeing the returning servicemen and women, I very soon though made friends amongst them and settled down in the town of my adoption.
Our cottage had been made cosy and comfortable. It was situated on the right-hand side of Baker Street as you approached the fields down the hill, and set back high above the road. The front door was reached after climbing eight steep steps and along a sloping path through a small front garden. The door opened immediately into a fairly large room, off to the right of which was another smaller room which we used as a living room, as it was free of the draughts which found their way through the front door of the first room.
Also off to the right was another door and this opened onto the stairs which led to one large bedroom. Inside the back door was a small pantry-cum-larder, here stood a small table where there was a washing-up bowl.
Outside the backdoor was a concreted area recently laid down by one of Hilda鈥檚 neighbours and on the right of the door as you walked up the slope of the back garden was what was known as the 鈥楤ack Shop鈥�, that was the term used by the shoemaking community. It had been more recently been used as a coal store. One of the first jobs I tackled was to rebuild the wall which appeared to be in danger of collapsing.
Then the coal was moved to the top of the garden and the 鈥楤ack Shop鈥� or barn was painted through and an old industrial sink installed and piped to a bucket which had to be watched against it overflowing. As you can see, none of it was very modern but that was our first home. We had an outside toilet at the top of the garden which caused a journey one was forced to make on a dark, wet, cold wintry night to be most unpleasant. The nearest water was a standpipe two doors away.
After the first week or so of being home, generally pottering about the garden, making the odd improvement in the house, I began to feel restless. Brother Ern was a fairly regular visitor in those days and would install extra electricity points and help with any improvements which I was making. He helped me set back the front steps to create a more gentle slope and make it easier for Hilda to pull the pram up.
From spare parts he made up a bike for me which served for a while, and as Hilda still possessed one we were somewhat mobile and as Robert grew old enough we were able to take him with us. The summer of 1946 was really glorious and I recall the games of cricket which we played down in the fields when some of Hilda鈥檚 many relatives came from Northampton, Raunds, Rushden and elsewhere.
In those days there was an adequate United Counties bus service so that we made the trip to Northampton, Wellingborough or Kettering, all around quite often. There was also a train service from Irthlingborough through to Bridge Street station at Cotton End which made a pleasant ride when visiting my parents.
The Zoo at Wellingborough was an attraction where we sometimes took Robert for an afternoon. We were fortunate that we need walk only a few hundred yards into the fields which bordered the Nene valley and I remember those delightful walks there.
I had made quite a few new friends and there were among my neighbours many ex-servicemen, one of whom was an ex-Guardsman. He told me that he was due for a review of his war pension which reminded me that at one time I was considered to be pensionable, and talking to him prompted me to do something about making a claim. I felt that if in 1945 at Morpeth I was to receive some sort of allowance for my injuries then the same should still apply those fifteen months later.
After filling in and posting off my claim form I received a very prompt reply and duly attended Northampton General Hospital for a medical examination and again within only the space of a few days I received confirmation that I had been awarded nine shillings and sixpence per week which amounted, at the weekly wage which I expected to earn about half a day鈥檚 pay. Not a lot but anyway most acceptable. Each year from then on I had to attend the hospital for a review and subsequently the total was raised to eleven shillings and sixpence.
I actually began my civilian life with a grand total of one hundred and twelve pounds seven shillings and sixpence; my war service credits amounted to ninety-two pounds seven shillings and sixpence and I received twenty pounds gratuity for my Military Medal, plus the five pounds I had in my pocket. I found that there were no credits added for the extra three months which I served nor did I receive the staff sergeant鈥檚 pay which we were promised. I suppose by the standards of the time I was financially fairly well off; it amounted to about twenty or so week鈥檚 pay, of course there was still an outlay of cash to be made due to having to purchase clothing and other necessities.
I was pleased when one of my new-found friends who like myself had previously worked for the Co-Operative laundries called on me to see if I was ready to go up the Crow Hill and inquire about the possibility of starting to work. We were guaranteed work by our employers as near as possible to the work we had been doing prior to call-up. I had lazed around for a few weeks and as I said I was a little restless so was grateful for the prompting which his call gave me. So we set off on a Monday morning to find out what the management were likely to offer us.
Before he had joined the RAF my friend (Ray) actually worked in the laundry and was assured that he could begin again in the same capacity as before. When I saw the Transport manager my case was not so straight forward, there was no van for me, that was a similar answer to the one received in 1939 when I asked 鈥渨hen will I be getting a van?鈥�. This time the reason was that with petrol on ration only a certain number of vans could be put on the road, and they were already manned by those drivers who had been released earlier than myself. That I realised was one of the results of my serving that three months after my time.
There was work there for me though if I would work in the Dry Cleaning department where they had a backlog of work needing to be processed. I agreed to do so and to begin on the following Monday. After all, it was a job and I felt that it would be suitable until I could find something better.
Although being disappointed in not being able to resume van work it was possible that it was better that it turned out as it did because it would have meant that my work would have been in Bedford, where I left off, and would have entailed moving home and no way would I have done that.
When I started to work, I saw as the manager had pointed out that there was one building stacked out with work, much of it consisted of Army greatcoats, battle dresses and blankets, all to be dyed. These ex-service clothes were used for work for many years.
We worked a forty-eight hour week then and it was possible for me to go home to dinner each day. On Saturdays we worked until twelve-thirty, later the working week was reduced to forty hours. I learned to be a Hoffman garment presser and enjoyed it. Life was easy and no great pressures put upon us, I operated one of a row of six machines, the others all manned by ex-servicemen so there was a lot of good humour, all having a lot in common.
It was there that I met Sandy, the brother of Danny, who lost his life on the Lancastria, and I was able to tell him a little about our service life together. I don鈥檛 think the foreman could understand us, he had not been called up and our easy attitude rather puzzled him at times.
At the weekends I watched the Cobblers or county cricket, went to the local boxing venues or visited my parents with Hilda. When I went out for a drink I used the British Arms and the Band Club which brings back a memory of my old Army pal 鈥楪ibbo鈥�, who had predicted when he saw me in hospital that I would be released immediately and that he would see me in the British Arms. Later, when I did see him, I explained how far off the mark he was as I had served a further twelve months in Germany.
Another of my new-found neighbour friends told me of a meeting which was to be held at the 鈥楽ow & Pigs鈥� pub with a view to reforming the town football club and invited me to go along with him. This I did and we both joined the committee, I also signed on to play. Most of the local teams were at that time reforming, Irthlingborough would play in the old Rushden & District League. They were known as the 鈥楧odgers鈥�, I have never learned why.
In every spare moment we were busily engaged erecting dressing rooms and preparing the playing area on the Band Club ground at the top of George Street where part of Whitworth鈥檚 processing plant now stands. The necessary timber, paint, corrugated roof sheeting and such materials were readily given to us from many members of the public and businesses. All was ready for the kick-off for the 1947 season, all the grounds in the local towns and villages could on a Saturday afternoon command crowds of a few hundred spectators. I played a few games in the Reserves, being nowhere good enough for a first team place.
Some of the names of men who played for the Club at that time (late 1940s) come to mind: Frank Gotch (goalkeeper), Jack Keech, (?) Boddington, Bob and Jack Clarke from Finedon (Bob also played cricket for the county), Pete Carrington (centre forward), Billy Tearle, 鈥楤oggy鈥� Hackney, Ron Smith, (?) Graham.
I regret that the remaining names escape my memory, and to those I have missed I apologise.
I was introduced to the branch of the local Labour Party by one of Hilda鈥檚 relatives and very soon became a committee member and subscription secretary. That entailed being out on Friday nights to collect from members who found it easier to find a small weekly amount than needing to find the whole amount later. I also made some new members. By doing so I received the congratulations of the committee for my efforts.
I was very keen about the work of the party and felt that it was our duty to contribute to the Peace which we had fought for and helped to bring about, all starry-eyed no doubt when looking back but then a lot of us felt that in our Democracy even individuals could assist in making life better for the people.
This post-war Labour government was carrying out measures which much benefited the ordinary folk of our land; there was the new Health Service, where teeth, glasses and Prescriptions were free initially but paid for from insurance contributions. At the same time some of the most important means of production and distribution were taken into public ownership for which I was one of the majority of people who were proud to support.
Industries such as Transport, Steel, the Docks, Electricity and Gas, and the Mines became publicly owned; the lives of the miners in their work were then made safer and more congenial. It was realised at that time of grave shortages that those measures were necessary for reconstruction to control the raw materials with which rebuild our industries and to change them to peacetime production.
The economy was in a seriously low state due to the drain on our resources during the war. There was a great need for a massive building programme to house the returning men and women and their families. In order to ease the situation prefabricated houses were erected as a temporary measure but many of them were still habitable twenty or more years later. These to my knowledge were quite comfortable dwellings; also many council housing estates were built.
The Wellingborough constituency during the late 40s and into the 50s was represented in Parliament by a very active member, an ex-railwayman named George Lingren. There was generally a wide interest in politics by all sections of the community. I enjoyed my work within the party and made many friends, I was elected to serve on the management committee at Wellingborough.
After such a wonderful summer I believe that without doubt the following winter, that of 1947, was by far the worst that I have known in my lifetime. Up until and throughout the Christmas period the weather was no worse than usually expected. There had been no snow, just the dry frosty days and nights, but in the first week of the New Year it snowed heavily and froze, and continued to do so causing a build-up which was impossible to clear.
There were no snow ploughs, sand, salt or grit. In the early stages when vehicles were able to move, ruts were formed of about a foot deep into which it was possible to set your bike wheels and make progress in that way, and at least ride part of the way of a journey. I did manage to get up Crow Hill to work during the first week or so but only a handful of us did so. No work could be processed because of insufficient labour, those of us who did arrive were engaged in unloading coke at the railway station so that the boilers could be kept going. Later it became impossible for even myself to turn up for work.
To make life more difficult the shops ran short of stocks of all kinds of necessities. Coal was not available so that caused a run on paraffin for the stoves which most householders used. There were gas and electricity breakdowns. When our coal supply at home had become exhausted I was fortunate to have a heap of coal dust (slack) remaining. With this and a mixture of cement I produced briquettes by means of filling empty baked bean tins with it and when they had set hard they helped out a little.
There was one drawback however and that was that they had a tendency to spit out the concrete particles with a hot sudden and startling bang, sounding like gunshots. Anything combustible, cabbage leaves, potato peelings whatever could be used for backing went onto the all-night burner fire. We men would go across the fields wooding and I know a lot of the local farmers became short of a few fencing posts while we were doing so.
Sometimes we biked to Wellingborough or Rushden and joined the queue for a bag of coke from the gasworks. Not being able to work gave the men free time and we spent our days acquiring enough fuel at least for the following day; it was hard for old people and those with young children.
The same weather conditions persisted into early March when on a Sunday morning I watched with neighbours the sudden thaw bring torrents of water which gushed and flooded its way down the road past our houses, it was the end of an unforgettable winter period.
In May 1948 our second son Alan was born in the early hours of May 5th, a brother for Robert. Although I knew that Alan was due to be born, Hilda still agreed that I should go to Northampton to a boxing tournament which I had arranged to do with my brother Ern, and so set off on my bike.
It was a fruitless journey because he had forgotten to obtain tickets which had I known about I wouldn鈥檛 have travelled. Anyway, rather than turn round and bike home we went for a drink or two, I was late arriving home and early the next morning I fetched the midwife and mother-in-law and Alan was born before the doctor arrived. I managed to be at work a little over half-an-hour late, that was nice timing Alan.
On my annual visit to the hospital for the pension check up I was offered a final settlement which I readily accepted and became richer by 拢80 which, with another family member to provide for, was too much to refuse. It also made it possible for me to purchase our first car which was a 1936 Singer Eight for which I paid one of my Labour party comrades 拢65. It was thirteen years old but it had been garaged all through the war years so we became a car-owning family in 1949 and that vehicle gave us as much pleasure if not more than any of the cars I have since owned.
That same year we enjoyed our first holiday together at Butlins camp at Clacton. Our life altogether at that time in our little family was one of contentment and when looking back I can still say that those years of the late 40s and throughout the 50s were the most enjoyable times of my life and the reason for that was not only that we were then young but the relationship of people, one with another, was far more sociable. We had time for each other. Some of the feelings of those wartime years was still in evidence and people were more satisfied with their lot even though it didn鈥檛 amount to much in money or possessions.
In the outside world there was a measure of peace but at the same time there were areas of dispute and conflict. India had been granted independence and Nehru had become their first Prime Minister. Pakistan was formed. At the end of 1948 the last British troops had left and at the same time Mahatma Gandhi was assassinated.
In Palestine too all British troops had been withdrawn and the Jewish problem there was passed to the United Nations Organisation to deal with. In Europe the Russians had blockaded Berlin and what was known as the 鈥楤erlin Airlift鈥� was in operation, so that several parts of the world were not at peace.
On a lighter note and in the boxing world Joe Louis retired as the World Heavyweight Champion; George Orwell wrote his bestseller entitled 鈥�1984鈥�, and the film being shown and the most popular was The Third Man. Those were the days when very few homes had television and if so it would have been black and white only; we therefore relied on our radios for news and entertainment. Irthlingborough had its cinema with a changed programme during the week where again our news was brought to us by Pathe Gazette.
At home we had few labour-saving devices, no washing machine, vacuum cleaner, no bath or shower, duvets or electric blankets; no fridge and before there were wall-to-wall carpets our floor was surfaced with linoleum and pegged rugs. Double-glazing was an innovation well into the future as were such things as Microwave cookers, but for all that in our simple life we were in need of nothing but were just grateful for our life together in comfortable contentment.
Although I had made many friends in the town of my adoption and had numerous interests I somehow never felt settled; there was a nagging feeling that always seemed to be around somewhere hovering in the background, which came over me when alone or at night in bed. I don鈥檛 know what it was or the cause but it persisted, a feeling of foreboding, of something unpleasant just waiting to happen.
A fear which I know I had was of once again having to leave home and the family which was something I wouldn鈥檛 wish to face. I had seen so many of my mates who, when they returned home after years away, were not recognised by their children who were but babies when they left. Why it should have affected me so much I am at a loss to understand because I was too old and unfit and was not likely to ever be called on again but for all that it was there and haunted me for some time.
I do know and admit that in those first few years after my homecoming that I was difficult to live with, often moody, irritable, with a hasty temper and forever impatient. Hilda or no-one else ever referred to it. I didn鈥檛 realise those faults at the time but did so later. It would be easy to blame them entirely as a result of the war because without that as an excuse I still may have behaved in the same way even under different circumstances.
There was though something else at that time which flared up regularly and continued at intervals for some years which, I have no doubt, can be attributed to the war and the effects which the horrific experiences had upon me. I would wake suddenly in the night and see plainly once again some of the terrible scenes which I had witnessed: the same pictures of blazing tanks, of running men ablaze, engulfed in flame, all accompanied by the sounds of battle. How long these sessions lasted I have no idea but I usually woke up with a start, sweating and with a headache. I began to dread these dreams, they are well in the past now but over the years when they prevailed the incidents and the personnel were as clear and vivid as if it were really happening. I thought at one time that I would never be free of them; Hilda didn鈥檛 know of my anxious state although there were the odd occasions when she told me that I had shouted out in my sleep.
Later in life I found out that some of my 鈥榯ankie鈥� friends had also suffered in a similar manner, it came up in conversation. Other than that I have never made reference to it until now. It was not a thing we would have talked about before, each of us keeping our feelings to ourselves because they were the days when you tried to show that 鈥榮tiff upper lip鈥� even if below it was a flabby chin.
It was the age of 鈥榞rin and bear it鈥�, or otherwise become known as a 鈥榥amby-pamby鈥�. In any case one would have been ashamed to admit to such feelings and happenings. Today we would probably be diagnosed as suffering from Stress, but at the time to which I refer the word was never used, whereas now it is used frequently and in excess. Nor was there such a thing a counselling.
In the course of time all those awful scenes became dimmed and although as I have shown the memory of them is still clear I have been able to put them behind me and even though I have stated that I found life difficult during the early years after the war, I still maintain that they were the happiest days of my whole life apart from the years spent in retirement with my wife.

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