大象传媒

The war in Europe was over. I have described my reactions and those of Minna, my Danish wife, in considerable detail (See Victory in Europe as seen from Rome and from Surrey - A2588439). A more upbeat response might have been expected from two who had served in the Army. But when I began writing of my wartime experiences I resolved to tell nothing but the truth. Any temptation to romanticise or exaggerate was quelled by re-reading the hundreds of letters we exchanged during a three-year separation. Like me, Minna had not time for humbug.

From VE day onwards our story is one of waiting. We had been waiting since 1939 but now it was the waiting for my demobilisation. The summer of 1945 was not peaceful. Italy was teeming with soldiers whose occupation was gone and who wanted to go home. The gloom among officers of field rank was matched by impatience among the rest of us at No. 8 Command Pay Office. I heard one major speculate on the possibility of transfer to operations in the Pacific where promotion and a continuance of the 'good life' might be possible. Many officers had no wish to return to civilian jobs in a bankrupt Britain. Butterflies do not return to the chrysalis nor such as these to bank-clerking or commercial travelling.

Their gloom became more profound in July when the Socialists ousted Churchill and the Tories in a 'landslide' election. We soldiers participated by 'proxy' voting. I asked my wife to mark me down as a Labour supporter. I wrote: 'I have considerable qualms when I think of a Socialist Foreign Minister, a post which seems to have become the perquisite of Mr. Eden, but I do not see how Britain can stand aside from the general European trend towards "planned economies". To my mind our future is bound up with Europe - particularly with Scandinavia, Belgium, Holland and (against my instincts) France. For the life of me I cannot see a Tory Government coming to terms with the Governments which will emerge in those countries or which have already begun to emerge..

'It is curious when talking to those around me, to see how much we differ where 'home' is concerned. So few of them have any real longing to return to any particular person - it is always things which matter. English pubs, English speech, English suburbs and the allegedly superior English way of life. I have an affection for English things too, but I could make a home and a life for us anywhere in the world and still love my own land more than those who shout so much about it'.

Earlier, on 21 June, there had been an event which I took much as Noah must have taken the dove which returned after many days, bearing a branch of green! I, along with all in Demob. Groups 1-23 received a pamphlet entitled 'Release and Resettlement'. It informed us, among other things, that the European war 'officially ended on 8 May.' This coincided with a great purge of our cook house staff. It was discovered officially (as we had known for months) that these comrades (and their Italian concubines) had been living the life of Riley by selling our rations to the black market. They were replaced by Italian civilians. Transformation! We began to eat real food. We suspected that the new lads pilfered but their depredations were not on the massive scale of past months.

A delightful letter from Minna: 'You would have been amazed to see me at lunch today, consuming vast quantities of grilled steak (best English). I must be in the butcher's good books for some unknown reason. I did not ask for such a delicacy - it was offered to me. I thought I did not like meat any longer, but now I know that what I have had for the last couple of years just isn't meat! The butcher often asks for news of you, so if you can be sent home soon I feel sure he would look after you.'

Then, reflecting upon my tentative plan to emigrate to New Zealand: 'When I was in Denmark I set my heart on England and once here I set my heart on you. This time I do not propose to change my mind. If I must wave a flag it will be that of independence, internationalism, or whatever "ism" covers the idea. It is about time that independent people should matter, not hypothetical tradition - and as a Dane I know a thing or two about re-arrangement of frontiers. We were never allowed to forget 1864.'

The 'first in, first out' demobilisation scheme by Groups was called 'Operation Python' and one fellow immediately decorated his section of wall with a drawing of an enormous python, each scale representing a day yet to serve. Each evening he blacked out a scale. He did not reach the tail. He contracted V.D. which would 'delay release'. Then Sergeant Mackenzie went missing. He was a 'regular' soldier with time still to serve. The military police picked him up two days later on the outskirts of Rome. Questioned, he declared he was on his way to the mountains, to find a cave, grow a beard and become a holy man.

Court-martial decision deferred pending psychiatric examination. He was placed under 'open arrest', my friend Gordon Milne being responsible for him. Pragmatic Gordon after the first day: 'It's no use talking to the flowers and the birds. You're trying to "work your ticket"'. And Mackenzie would look up at Gordon with that sly eye-gleam I remembered when he chilled us with ghost-stories at night in Algiers.

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