大象传媒

These are the memories of my Grandfather, John Millican, who has written these during his battle with cancer. He commenced writing these memoirs in June 2003 at the age of 84. This was written with help from his loving wife Ruby Millican, and Son-in-Law, Barry Thomas.

THE MILITIA

It was July 15th 1939 and young men between the ages of 20 鈥� 21 were being called up to the colours for six months, with four and a half years reserve or territorial service. At this time I was working at Croydon Airport on Redwing Aircraft, which I had to leave to serve my time with the militia as it was then called. I caught the train, which stopped at Kingston on Thames, where two non-commissioned officers met us, and they were in full regalia with red sashes.

There must have been fifty of us, mostly all young men. We were each given a penny to ride on a tram to the East Surrey Barracks. A Sergeant met us and we marched to B Coy area, lined up to give our names. A young man called Sparrowe gave his name as Sparrowe with an E Sir, 鈥淭he Sergeant bellowed call me Sergeant鈥�. 鈥淵es Sir鈥� said Sparrowe and the next day Sparrowe wrote a big E in soap on the mirror and said 鈥渢here is the E鈥�, I hope 鈥楨 can see it鈥�.

We had just been given our cots when the order was given 鈥渟tand by your cots!鈥� Hoare Belisha the Minister walked in, he had a word with each one of us and when he came to Jock who was next to me, he said 鈥渁 Braw Scot how do you like the food?鈥� Jock replied, 鈥淚 haven鈥檛 had any yet and I am hungry鈥�. Next it was my turn and he said to me 鈥測ou are from Middlesbrough鈥�, I told him I had been working at Croydon Airport, 鈥淚 see鈥� he said and walked off.

We were then shown how to make our cots and lay out our kit each morning.

Then we were ordered to change into our Gym Kit to meet the man who would put us through our paces. The display he put on was amazing, and he didn鈥檛 want us to think he was just showing off. He told us that we would all be able to so the same after a couple of weeks training, we really enjoyed the exercises, and became really fit.

We had been measured for mufti and when it arrived we could leave the barracks to walk around the town or explore the park.

At that time we had a walking out cane and it was more like marching than walking. The guard made sure we were fully dressed and correct before we ventured out. Young girls were lined up outside and the guard told us to be careful, we knew what he meant.

The first time out Jock and I walked across the park to a pub and we had a glass of beer, but other times we just wandered round the town and looked at the shops.

On one occasion in the Gym, we had to learn to box, we were told by the instructor not to punch too hard or he would teach us a lesson. I hit one lad very awkwardly, Jock who was watching was furious but he knew it was an accident, the instructor put on his gloves to teach me a lesson.

Jock wanted to put on his gloves and take on the instructor, I didn鈥檛 care the instructor was only doing his job.
We had to do a quick change as each part of the training lasted half an hour.

Every morning we had an eleven 鈥榦鈥� clock break for cocoa, because I was so thin I had to drink a bottle of milk.

I enjoyed the first two weeks in the barracks it was good, I made new friends and learned a lot. On some occasions we were told to stand by with full kit, this happened several times.
One night we boarded a number of fifteen hundred weight(15 cwt) lorries and were taken to an underground ammunition dump; we worked through the night loading the lorries with the ammunition.

OVERSEAS AND FIGHTING

In 1940 Our Battalion was stationed at a small town in the South of England in preparation for war against Germany.

April saw us on the way to France and Belgium, from there we fought against many obstacles. For myself all I had to fight with was a 2鈥� mortar that had no firing pin but I was under orders to carry it around with me which was a handicap because it was heavy and useless. We were fighting a losing battle and made an effort to reach home via the shores of Dunkirk but the odds were against so many of us getting back to England.

In going to the aide of a comrade we were surrounded by Germans and could do no other but surrender, hence began my prisoner of war days, which I will relate in further episodes.
There were thirteen men, all from different regiments, one was a Scot, and two were Welsh. The youngest was only 16 years old and the oldest was called Ted about 40 years old. Ten were asleep, all nice and comfee on their bunk beds, three had just hidden the map. Suddenly the peace was shattered as machine guns opened up at the main road just a hundred yards away.

We were between Dunkirk and Ostend when we had orders to scrap the 15 cwt lorries and go into rear guard action. I got myself a new Battle Dress, and filled a side pack with Woodbine cigarettes. Other regiments were running past to Dunkirk and the beach. The sergeant needed a volunteer, I joined him and we crept about a mile from the company clerks sergeant major, a lad called sparrowe was Co. Clerk.
We had just dug in when all hell broke loose; three-inch mortars were going over our heads into our lads behind. The Bren stopped and the Sergeant waved us to go back to the next section. After I ran back I heard Scott shout 鈥淛ack鈥� so I ran back to him and noticed he had been shot in the leg so I grabbed him in a fireman鈥檚 lift.

The Germans in proper formation; all with machine guns had no opposition from our rifles. The officer in charge of us waved so I slung Scott down and got beside him. The officer was firing over the top of my legs but he got shot in the head, I felt sorry for him. Poor Scott was in a bad way and he was really scared, he was just a young Mother鈥檚 boy. I took my own bandage and wrapped it around his leg to calm him. The Regiment had all moved on by this time and we were left there, Co. Clerk Sparrowe told me only eleven of B-Coy got home from Dunkirk including my Best Man from Liverpool.

I heard guttural voices and told Scott to pretend we were dead!
The German swines! I watched them steal my pack and then they went to a road nearby. I carried Scott so far and then I tried crawling to see if anybody was around. All the water bottles were empty.

CAPTURE

The Germans were on two roads, so I left Scott undercover and saw some people return to the nearby houses. The troops were passing the front of the houses on motorbikes and lorries; I left Scott to get us some water (it was really hot weather and we were parched).
A girl who looked about eighteen knew what I wanted, the old woman was scared. I just had a mouthful of water when she hit me with something, I flew out of the house and just managed to hold on to the water for Scott. Outside were two (R.A.M.Cs) Royal Army Medical Corp or another term for them was 鈥楻ob All My Comrades鈥�. But we were surrounded by Germans with revolvers and so we ended up prisoners on the back of a lorry. We were taken to Ostend to a Hotel on the sea front. Three nice girls came to talk with us; the guard did not trust us. One girl brought a mirror; we were covered in blood and mud (just two innocent lads). The next day back on the lorry we were taken to a place that had a lot of patients who had been very badly shot. I had to go to each one to see how bad they were, one Irishman riddled with bullets had to be tied down in the bed he was still fighting and enjoying it. The clothes under the bed were in rags. I had to wash the blood under the bed first to get some order. A Civvy took my helmet to mark a grave outside. I disposed of the torn clothes.
I sorted among a pile of mainly French and Polish clothes to find the best ones. After I finished the place looked a lot tidier. One NCO tried to tell me something, but he died in the night.

Another NCO called me over and told me to get in the end bed and go to sleep. He was the most lucid. I did sleep for a few hours. The next day a nurse who could speak English examined each patient, one had a bullet in his backside near his personal bits, and she tried to take out the bullet. Scott had got off lightly the bullet wound had been attended to with my own dressing and luckily there were no bones broken.

We spent our first night in Poland in a barn on the moor at Danzig. I was with a Welsh guard called Harry Cummings, we I were together through to the end of the war The next morning our boots were frozen solid; we had to sit on them until they were thawed out so we could get them on our feet. That was the first lesson, next time we tied them to us and laid on them, otherwise they would have been stolen. Not once did we go near a town, for as far as the eye could see there was nothing but snow and ice. A Russian nomad on a small horse came towards us out of the snow, he looked really menacing but carried on his way without bothering us.

The moors were deserted, everyday was the same, dark in the morning and dark at night, we did have some very rough weather from time to time and were glad of shelter to get some sleep.
As we marched through the town the British tanks were all up ended and the death and glory boys wiped out. Dead civilians lay by the roadside caught up in the firing line. It was not long before the column of prisoners grew to thousands this is what the Germans had planned long before. Always British leading and the French next and then the Russians. We never saw the Russian Army.

The Russians were treated badly, by their own troops and hated by the Germans.
The guards had a lorry and it went ahead all day foraging for a meal for the guards. They wouldn鈥檛 move too far and we had to travel to their next stop. One day we stopped in a small village, but the villagers didn鈥檛 like thousands of men near their community. It was late and outside it blew a gale. Fred had lost the use of his legs and Jock and I had to support him. The lorry had pulled up and the guard caught us trying to get Fred on the back of the lorry for a lift.

We had done the wrong thing, the guard pulled out his revolver to shoot us, it was touch and go, Jock and I had hold of Fred鈥檚 arms one on either side. It wasn鈥檛 until we got out on the Moor away from the town that we felt the fierce gale blowing, it was terrible.
We caught up with some of our own lads in a field (what next?). The Scots all got together, looking for their mates all from different regiments.

We were to travel in cattle trucks on our way through Poland, three days packed together with only a grid to let the air in.

I was at the far end with one mad man. It would take a dozen men to hold him down if he got excited. Nobody spoke out of turn, we all had to pull together. At last we were herded out. The party I was with, for some reason, were taken to a wooden building. A German Padre set up his church (Catholic) so we joined in. It was then I had my first big shock, an older man said we had lice, these were to be our worst enemies, throughout the next five years.

We moved on marching, Thorn was our next stop we were to travel from there to the camp to be registered.

PRISONER OF WAR CAMP 20A

Four Thousand men in this big area, some in tents in the middle and some in open wooden double bunks going around part of the field.
There was one row of taps with a sink in one part of the field for a cold wash. Thankfully the weather was sunny and warm. All around the field the lads with shirts off were cracking lice.

It was here that I met one lad I went to school with (T. Griffs) and another from Pym Street called Tim McCoy. It was good to meet some South Bankers or Slaggy Islanders
They were behind me in the line waiting to have mug shots taken, the same as convicts.

A lot of the lads had grown beards so it wasn鈥檛 easy to recognise them. I heard someone with a bad stutter and knew it was Tom Phillips because we had been at school together, he said to me 鈥渁re you Larry鈥� and I said 鈥渘o I鈥檓 John鈥�, we bunked together.

At that time we were not allowed to wear boots of any kind, everyone was given rough wooden flip flops with straps but the guards had not realised I still had my boots on.

The lads were craving for a smoke so I flogged my boots for some tobacco. Tim got paper and I had to barter for one cigarette.
One day when I awoke many of the men had already left the camp (20A) and gone on to camp 20B they were taken there by train (cattle truck). There were about two thousand men in each camp.

Finally I followed, barely fitted out, one blanket, clogs, tin can, spoon, flip flops and put on another train to the working camp.

PRISONER OF WAR CAMP 20B

The first day we arrived at the working camp it looked good. The commander was a very pleasant man aged about 60.

After making sure that we were all present and correct the interpreter was chosen and the HSM in charge had a meal ready some sort of milky rice with some salt. A very good start.

Every morning the same routine, people lined up three abreast to be counted on the duckboards. Each Guard was in charge of a working party, with some jobs only needing a few men.

The largest job was in the sugar beet factory and this needed nearly all the camp.
One working party had a backbreaking job and had the worst Guard. We all got a jacket made from cement bags for the job.

At the Sugar Beet Factory we were met by a hoard of fleas, Mosquitoes, Midges from a nearby pond and I was covered in hundreds of bites.

The bunks were in a huge warehouse. For this job a factory number was needed, so we had to line up to get our number. When I got near to the front it seemed that I was going to be given 13, so I went to the back of the queue to avoid getting this number and to my surprise when I reached the front again I was given 131.
The Factory looked like Dantes Inferno it was very hot inside. Four of us were chosen for the first day shift.

Snitsel looking like grated cheese was passing through a hopper and when it overflowed it had to be shovelled back into the hopper.
We sat on a bench taking it in turns, two at a time. The shift was 6am to 6pm each day, and at the weekends we had to work 18 hours, to change the day shift to the night shift.
Rations were issued, consisting of one slice of bread for the 12-hour shift and two slices of bread plus a bowl of soup for the 18-hour shift.
The snitsel was very hot and we had to wear wooden clogs and pants. The sweat rolled off of us all the time. There were showers so at least we were clean. Because of the heat we had to drink a lot, an old man was in charge of the drinks which was German tea. One day the old man searched someone as they came out of the door he was checking to see if anyone had pinched any sugar. One of my mates said he could steal some sugar. We watched the old man go through the door; my mate came out with a little bag of sugar in his hand. The old man only searched his clothing. We were pleased the lad had fooled him.

We did get a Red Cross parcel back and I mucked in with two Derbyshire lads who were on the opposite shift, we left notes for each other, in a way the job suited me in spite of the long hours, mind you I was glad to get back to our own camp.

Harry Cummings and I were together on the same work party, we had to dig snow out of a ditch around the field, the field had thawed and we had to walk across, we did try and dodge around but was spotted by the guard who had his rifle aimed at us, to make things worse my clogs came off and they all had a good laugh as I stood in bare feet digging to find my clogs. Our socks were made from cement sacks.

At 7am Harry and I had to catch a train with some Russian men and women, they were building a railway line and a signal box, we were supposed to be helping mixing mortar, it rained heavy the first day so we stayed in the hut. The poor Germans carried on working. Two Estonian Girls were sifting sand so we took them into the hut to keep us company.
As we waited on the platform the Russians entertained us with dancing and singing. That was the best job we had in all of 1944.
Six of us were given a job to dig foundations near our camp; I asked the old German Civvy if I could see the plans, it was to be for Ack鈥檃ck guns, we downed tools. The Nazi party man came over and told us he would have us all shot, the old General lined up his squad and gave the order to aim, then he said if we don鈥檛 dig the foundations we would be shot, but we called their bluff so the old German men had to dig the foundations.

The Railway line was partly done and the Ack鈥檃ck foundation was done by others, but it was a waste of time planes still came over, the first time we had seen any planes over Elbing.
People, mostly girls, were running for their lives away from the bombing.

We were all trying to count the planes and took no notice of the guards dancing and shouting behind us. The planes turned and went over to the airfield 20 Kilos away, they destroyed a hangar.

All the Polish workers had just sat down for a meal when the bombing started.

We had a trench dug in the compound and we were trying to figure out how far away the Russians were from the camp.

Fred Warner, our cook called me into the kitchen 鈥� what a mess! The pipe leading to the stove had collapsed and there was soot everywhere. He said, 鈥渘ever mind that have a fag鈥�, I tried the fag it was vile, mind you the first soup he made had caterpillars floating on top.

Life at Stalag 20B was not too bad, I volunteered to go to a new work party, and did the right thing for once. The job was loading tinned jam and meat onto the train for the Germans fighting at the Russian front. We had not been there five minutes when sausages came from somewhere, we each had a share and we disappeared into empty wagons. Later, a big tin of jam got damaged accidentally as we were loading them, the German Civvies were delighted, 鈥渃ome and get some Tommy鈥�, we all had a share.

A soup container arrived with our meal everyday, when it was empty we would keep the guard talking, while tins of meat and other bits of food were loaded into the container behind his back. When the lorry came at nightime to take us back to the camp, German officers would line up each side as we left, they were on the fiddle and waited for us to give them something, such as meat. Nobody trusted anybody else. That was the same even in families, between brothers and other relations. The next day we put a sack of potatoes to one side nobody said anything. The officers lined up each side as usual but this time one of the lads had the bag of potatoes on his back and loaded it on the lorry. They didn鈥檛 trust one another, the poor guard didn鈥檛 know whether he was coming or going. Back at camp we enjoyed ourselves, eating the potatoes.
One good job we had was to dig a bunker for a millionaire, his orchard was full of apple trees with ripe fruit, and we gathered a pile of apples to take back to the camp.

The first day a lovely girl kept bringing us bread and coffee, we never saw her again; rumour had it that she had been murdered by drowning. Everybody (Germans and Prisoners) seemed to want the war to end.

I remember one unusual job, there were six of us in a party and we were taken to a farm on the back of a lorry, it was extremely cold at the time. We found we were to work on a machine turning out bales of straw, as I was the only one who had warm hands I was given the job of putting the dividor that decided the length of the bales of straw. It meant standing the whole time.

Another job we had with straw was carrying the bales from a rail siding and stacking them away from the line; it was quite a distance to walk keeping the straw safe from any sparks from the train.

Most of the lads did not like the idea of carrying the bales of straw because it was too back aching. Strangely it did not affect me in anyway, in fact I got to enjoy this type of work, and I looked forward to the days, the smell of the straw greatly appealed to me, no harassment just accepting the time quite leisurely.

Amongst our crowd of men was a throw out, a German who was a mute not wanted by his own people, he came to help with the straw, he was small in stature.

His job was to work with a metal hook hoisting up the bales of straw along with the other men. When it was time to have something to eat he queued up with us and being a mute and German, for a laugh, he used to give the Russian sign which was the hammer and the sickle then stamp his foot which was laughable really.

One day even a German Officer joined our queue for soup or sauer kraut as it was then called, he must have been hungry for it was only cabbage water mixed with salt.

The weather at this time was very much in our favour, but the winters we dreaded because it was always so cold, it was known at times to drop to 30掳 below and believe me it was cold.
Each morning being quite near the river we saw a party of six Russians crossing a bridge a little further on, and one particular morning we saw these Russians throwing the guard into the water.

For punishment the Russians were taken back to their camp and forced to make their own scaffold and while the rest of the Russian prisoners watched the Germans hung the party of six Russians for what was considered an offence.
There being four hundred of us in the camp there were times when we had to be deloused, a certain number at different intervals went on a lorry and at the time of being deloused part of our clothing was burnt each time, so one can just imagine the state we were in, just walking scarecrows, we should have been called the ragged army.

One winter鈥檚 morning six of us were allocated the job of moving some very old stoves鈥�, me being warm at that time took off my overcoat and put it on an old radiator, (cold one) to my dismay when I returned for my coat I found that the radiator was hot and the back of my overcoat was missing.

I was told to mend it but as luck would have it, amongst our crowd was a lad called Galogaly who originated from Stockton.

He had taught himself the German language and he persuaded the Germans to let him try tailoring, providing clothes to those who needed them providing they didn鈥檛 mind what uniform it was. One morning Galogaly walked out of the prison gate to go to town to buy the things he needed but unlucky for him a new guard was on duty who didn鈥檛 know him and shot him in the shoulder and so he ended up in hospital, so his days of tailoring ended.
One morning I was standing on Roll Call minding my own business, when a certain party was called. The crowd pushed forward, and I found myself on the end of a bayonet. I soon got out of the way and back to where I was debating about the Russians. I volunteered to go on a mystery party of twenty men.

We were sent to a factory to make huts, a very simple job. The bench was set out so, all we had to do was place the boards together and nail them. We thought we would make things awkward by altering the jig so that when they tried to match them together they wouldn鈥檛 fit. It must have been six months later that one manager found out, and put the one that we had made that wouldn鈥檛 fit to one side of the pile. We then had to put it together with the aid of an old man. It was like the house that Jack built. The factory was a short distance from the main camp which brings me back to our hut and the Death March.

Anybody who dropped out would be taken by lorry and dumped at the nearest camp to die. It was survival of the fittest. After five years it was grim determination that kept us going, just plod on and keep to the open road.

THE RUSSIANS HAVE ARRIVED

THE DEATH MARCH

The guard gave his orders 鈥渢ake your blankets, you are not coming back it will be a hard winter鈥�. We were joined by other working parties and so our column grew and grew.

JANUARY 1945

Hundreds of refugees blocked the road out of town and we couldn鈥檛 get through. We were left stranded for two nights, stuck in the snow 60 kilos from Danzig. The guards were afraid that the Russians might cut us off at Danzig.
We did not see any aeroplanes throughout the march.

It was usual to have a short break once a day. In the distance we could make out some tiny plants, the air was electric, someone moved and there was one mad dash. The guards fired over their heads, the shooting stopped but it was worth it!

These were desperate times, a small pipe was our life saver, we would pass it along the line to everyone and smoked whatever we could find.
Sometimes I would just think of a better time to come, we must look ahead, 鈥渃an鈥檛鈥� was not in our dictionary.

Some of the guards were brutal, but would mainly pick on the Russians, but their day of reckoning was at hand.

One of the guards stood by the body of an old Russian and boasted how he had shot him, it was just one day more and one day less. Just keep plodding on and enjoying the pipe, some days we would be dreaming of better things to come.
One day I slipped on the ice and fell to the ground, we had just reached a row of houses and the guard was putting the boot in, but women and kiddies dashed out of the houses and soon stopped him, the guard had to back down.
But first one kiddie pushed some bread into my rags, it was a good bonus.

It took ages to catch up with Harry, he did not recognise me at first, Harry never once complained, right to the end of the march.
Each day was a copy of the one before. One brute of a guard stuck his bayonet in the straw to try and catch someone, he never succeeded. We were kept well away from the Russian prisoner of wars, but one night we stopped by a forest, the Russian prisoners lit fires to try and keep warm, our guards tried to put the fires out but there was no water. We kept turning round like toast, freezing one side and too hot the other, we must have been a horrible sight. One Russian was eating some grain, I asked him where I could get water from, he just dug a hole but the water was a vile colour brown.

BRUNSWICK AND LIBERATION

Still no sign of the Russians, but the guards were weary, we must come to the end, and it is now into April 1945.

(The war must be over) We were in a barn and were there for the day. I looked at all the faces. (Were they giving up)?

It needed a miracle, so I prayed for something to break the spell. From the top of the barn a French man began to sing in French, (Speak to me of love) and the faces changed, it gave the hope that was needed. Sure enough we were just a day from the city of Brunswick, I was among seventy British Soldiers to be put in the cellar of what was left of the Brewery. As far as the eye could see were piles of rubbish.
We were near a railway; German Soldiers had just dis-embarked and were standing around.
I was talking to a civvy; the old man said the city was wiped out in October 1944 He said 鈥渋f you hear the engine whistle, run for your life鈥�. Not long after the whistle blew, there was an old coach at the side of the line, Harry said, 鈥淚 know where I鈥檓 going鈥�, 鈥渕e too I鈥� said.
Inside the coach was a stove which had been lit, another of our lads dived in with us, he said he knew where there were some turnip peelings, and he came back with some.
Despite the bombs we fried them on the stove. All went quiet; when we looked the engine was on its side with the whistle still blowing. The lines both sides were twisted up in the air like a fun ride with two big craters. The Germans brought us shovels but we just laughed at them, and went back to the cellars of the brewery. Someone had found some grain and added to it something that looked like treacle, we all had some.

The guard was cursing; someone had left the tap on, (I wonder who!) outside a toilet. A pole over a pit, some sitting on it the grain was coming out just like it went in. Two girls passed but took no notice.

The cellar was very cold and damp; outside of the cellar were some wooden pallets so we laid on them with old Ted in the centre to get him warm. The guard dashed round, we were to go back into the cellar.

As we made our way back, bombs were dropping around us and as we took a sharp turn, a bomb sank itself on the corner, and the top was about two feet in the ground.

When we got to the front of the cellar, I was lifted like a baby by the explosion and landed at the bottom; there were two craters at each side.

The next morning we were to be liberated. An old guard gave me a cigar I assured him he would not be treated badly. At six 鈥榦鈥� clock the next morning Yanks in single file marched down each side of the road, they had won the war. One huge Yank came in and said 鈥渁re you guys Russian鈥�. 鈥淣o we are the British Army!, and I am Private John Millican 6144179."

JULY 15th 1945

After that day a woman asked me if I would escort her and her daughter to the place where she lived. At that time there were people of all nationalities, and she only trusted the English.

Two big Yanks came towards us and decided to come along.

Then they took me to where they were staying, one of them took a photo of me sitting between them both. They were going to sell it to a magazine back home; I stayed with them that night.

The next morning they told me that Roosevelt had died, another of them had the biggest box of chocolates I had ever seen.

Back at the officer鈥檚 camp, (Offlag 79) they had been living on Red Cross Parcels and were trying to get eggs for chocolate and soap. They made a hot pot and it very nearly killed us, as we could only eat small amounts due to the fact our stomachs had shrunk.

RETURN TO BLIGHTY

When the first of 200 planes came to take us home, the officers said that they had to go first as they were needed urgently back home, so we were left stranded, the Yanks took us to Hildershiem.

The officer in charge said the planes were supposed to be for the sick P.O.W.s not the Officers.

We waited over the side of the field until more planes landed and were filled immediately. Some were going to Belgium (Brussels). The next day was exactly the same.

Names were given out, but they had already gone.
I told Harry to get on, when someone did respond to their name being called, I took the next turn, and Harry was left standing, but he managed to get on the next plane that landed. When Harry and I met up again he said I was a jinx!

The plane landed and taxied to a hangar, where people were lined up either side of the entrance to the hangar. It all seemed like a dream, as we went through a flap and were told to sit on a chair whilst we were sprayed with DDT to kill all the lice.

Then we went through another flap and a WRAF girl took me by the arm and guided me to a table, talking all the while. Three dance bands were playing on a rostrum, which stretched the full length of the hangar.
A girl brought me a cup of tea and a slice of white bread. I just stared at this newly baked bread; how I stopped myself from weeping I will never know.

After I had finished the tea and bread, I was told to report to a Sergeant at the far end of the hangar. He took my name/rank/number and regiment. Then I had to pass through another flap where a second N.C.O took me to a 15 cwt truck and lifted me onto it.

When the truck was full, we drove along narrow winding country lanes to a special camp not far from the Airfield.

Anyone needing hospital treatment was taken away without any delay. The rest of us lined up in a queue at a table where we wrote a message to send to whoever we wanted telling them that we would be seeing them in a few days.
While we bathed all our old clothes were burnt along with the remaining lice. After we dressed in our new clothes we all felt nice and comfortable. We were taken to a house where some ladies checked that the clothes fitted us properly and sewed on medal ribbons.
It was like going through a machine, with a filthy bedraggled person going in and a nice clean human being coming out.

We soon found that although we were hungry we could only eat small portions of food, because our stomachs had shrunk.

After two days in the camp, we were given a duffle bag with changes of clothes, cigarettes, chocolate and sandwiches. We were all given passes and taken by coach to Waterloo Station, where I got the train to Bournemouth.

HOME AT LAST!

After a rough long journey sat in the corridor of a crowded train I finally reached Bournemouth.

I was directed to a bus stop and a young girl, on the bus, with a baby, made sure I got off at the right stop.

I could see the shop, where Ruby and her sister had a flat above, just a few yards away from the bus stop.

Although I was just a uniform covering a skeleton, Ruby recognised me immediately, even though I had been away in a P.O.W. camp for five years. She said that apart from being very thin I had not changed much.

My nerves were totally shattered by the complete change, in a matter of a few days, from being in a P.O.W. camp to being in Bournemouth.

I had a new challenge now 鈥� to get myself physically and mentally fit.

I was entitled to one days leave for every month overseas plus other normal leave.
During this time I had an interview with an officer to decide which corps I should serve the remainder of my time in before being demobbed. He said he could offer me a post guarding German P.O.Ws, but it meant going to Ireland and I was not very keen on that.

Finally it was suggested that I should be posted to the Armoury in Salisbury.It was a very good posting which I enjoyed while it lasted.

One day I heard the redcaps plotting to try and catch out a young lad, so I warned the individual so he did not get caught. I was sent from there to Morton (this was March) 4 miles from Hereford.

Another lad was sent there at the same time. We were told that Hereford itself was out of bounds. Someone said that soldiers could get a lift from people with cars; we did try, and a lone lady who stopped told us that the war was over

Curiosity made us wander down the road where the others marched every morning and an officer asked where had we come from and took us to the office to put the records in order.

We joined the working party moving tank tracks from A to B all had different tales to tell.
We were just waiting to be demobbed when the Sergeant cam round asking for anybody to sign on for more service. That was when he told me I could go to a rehabilitation camp for the last two weeks. It was to help me settle back into civilian life.

Finally I was sent to Chard to collect my demob suit.

I could not believe it; at long last my war was finally over!

John Millican
44 Cromwell Road
South Bank
Middlesbrough
TS6 6JH

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