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On the 3 September 1944, the Second British Army entered Brussels where we were to be billeted in preparation for the drive into Holland as far as Arnhem. Before we left England my mother said to me "John, if you ever get a chance, when you are in France or Belgium try and get to see your auntie who lives in Liege, we have not heard from her since the war started and let her know that our mother has died".

As we were taking a well earned rest, I requested permission to visit my auntie which was readily given. The major said that I had not better take a vehicle as it may get stolen or damaged as it was reported that only that day the Germans were being driven out of Liege. He warned me of the danger inherent in my visit.

I was allocated a motor cycle, I was experienced on such a machine, put a driver’s coat over my overcoat and with a crash helmet and gloves set out for Liege. The first part of the journey was uneventful but as I neared Liege the noise of gunfire, explosions and shelling got increasingly louder. I entered Liege with the noise, the dust and falling debris it was like a scene from a Wagnerian opera. On each major street crossing there was a ‘white brigade’ armed civilian directing what traffic there was, mainly fire engines racing to some fire or the like. The ‘white brigade’ were the local resistance group

I was questioned a number of times, quite friendly as they could see that I was British, and apparently the first allied soldier to enter Liege. After making some enquiries I located my auntie's house. It was a very large three storey town house. I disconnected the ignition lead and parked my bike. I did ask a ‘white brigade’ partisan to keep an eye on it but with the commotion that was going on from the shooting, shelling, bombing and falling buildings I had no real faith in it remaining there for very long. I also had no idea what I about to discover. Was my auntie still there? As she was English, although married to a senior Belgium policeman; she may well have been interned.

I knocked loudly on the door, after some time a woman opened the door. She looked rather bemused. "Bonjour" she said and without thinking I replied in French "Bonjour Madam, Je m'appelle John Truscott, Je suis votre soeur Dorothy's fils". Why I replied in French I cannot tell; she even looked like my Mother. I had by this time taken off my crash helmet. I was twenty two years old, and a sergeant, but she wasn't to know that yet as I still had on my DR's coat.

There was a long pause while she looked at me, while the implications of my presence sunk in and then she gave a great shout of joy and flung herself into my arms. She kissed me many times holding my face with both hands. I suspected the French were very emotional but this was something else. I was taken aback a bit. She guided me up two flights of stairs into a large excellently decorated lounge and after bidding me to take off my outer things and freshen up she telephoned my uncle. I believe he was a Chief Inspector of the Liege police and told him of my visit, she then phoned my cousin Irene who apparently was a dancer and singer and had a lead part as ‘Carmen’.

My uncle, cousin and her husband arrived post-haste and the talking, eating and drinking started. What a party, neighbours were brought in and the party began. I have never been a great drinker of spirits or beer and only been drunk once in my life before, but I liked the taste of the wine and under the circumstances did not want to be a party pooper.

I was the principle talker, the company wanted to know how the war was really going, until that very day all the news they got was what the Germans allowed them to know, and the news was from home. The mood of all was of great excitement and they asked me to repeat some of the things that I had already told them. The mood changed when I told my auntie that her mother was dead and there was some crying for a while.

Soon the mood lightened again and the party continued the feeling of excitement remained high and my auntie was overjoyed that I had thought of her and came and found her. As a break during the afternoon my uncle took me to his office to meet his colleagues (my motor bike was still parked and I mentioned it to my uncle). Having said hello. my uncle then took me to a makeshift morgue (a real funny thing to do) converted that very day because of the large number of deaths due to the fighting, bombing shelling and from collapsed buildings. I had the thought that my uncle was testing my metal as the sight of all those dead bodies was the last thing I needed to see.

However, I took it all in my stride as I had already been desensitised by my experiences from 6 June that year. My uncle was being very insensitive or he was being just a bloody policeman who got kicks from the discomfort he expected me to feel. I gave him no satisfaction. We returned to his house and the party resumed, apart from the morgue incident, my auntie and uncle were extremely hospitable and I enjoyed it very much, my cousin Irene pressed me to come again if I could possibly manage it and I said that I would. My uncle did not speak much English and therefore, during the occupation my auntie never spoke English. For that and other reasons connected with the German occupation, my visit gave her to practice it again and that was a bonus.

I felt that I was like a messenger from the gods, this time bearing good news (with one exception) and the background noise was like "Gotterdammerung" the twilight of the gods and how appropriate the potential defeat of Germany. It was time to go so I dressed in my outdoor gear including my extra coat, said my good-byes and started down stairs. There was no lights as a blackout was in operation, I was partially drunk and felt lightheaded, I reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped forward to open the front door. Unfortunately, there still another flight of stairs so I went arse over apex down the stairs.

I never felt a thing, my thick overcoats and crash helmet and that I was inebriated protected me from serious harm, however I was knocked unconscious and eventually came round and found my auntie giving me brandy. It appears that I became wedged between bottom step and the door and only a crane could have lifted me up.

My motorbike was still there I fixed the ignition lead and off I went, I didn't care much where. I had succeeded in locating my relatives and it was obvious they had been delighted to see me so I was full of joie de vie. I was brought down to earth with a bump when I ran out of petrol about three miles from my billet (although I had filled the tank before I left). Somebody had siphoned off most of the petrol, so I had no alternative but to push it all the way back. I sweated, cursed and pushed and arrived back completely sober. Next morning I told the major how my trip had gone and gave me permission to return in a few days. The war permitting.

A few days later I returned to Liege but this time to cousin Irene's apartment, like her mother she had a beautiful place. Irene's husband was a violinist in the same orchestra that was playing for the musical ‘Carmen’ that my cousin was taking part. I don't know why he wasn't called up in one of the services, I never asked.

With out insulting me she had me bathe and dress in civilian clothes, grey socks and slacks and a white polo neck sweater. She must have estimated my measurements' and she said that the clothes were a gift. After eating she dressed into her scanty costume and danced extracts from ‘Carmen’ while her husband fiddled. I was entranced and, although her husband could speak little English, we all got on fine again the hospitality was great.

When it was time to go Irene filled my panniers with presents for Barbara and Tony our child. Barbara's present was a large bottle of Chanel No 5. As the Germans by this time had retreated some distance away my journeys to and from Liege were uneventful.

I returned to England on leave about late December and told my mother of my visits she was over the moon that all our relatives in Liege was alive and well. What I did not tell her was that Tony spilt all the Chanel No 5 on our double bed. Our bedroom smelt like a brothel (how I imagine a brothel smells like) for a very long time.

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