大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War web site by a volunteer on behalf of Maurice Walker and has been added to the site with his permission. He fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

After D Day, we were known as the British Liberation Army (BLA). But after Christmas 1944, we slowly realised that BLA could also mean 鈥楤urma Looms Ahead鈥�. Even the name Burma sounded threatening 鈥� and potentially a whole new war. Here on the continent we knew this war was nearly over 鈥� and most of us had survived, so the general feeling was how long would luck last.

969 Company left Ostend, Belgium, on May7th, 1945. With a short speech of thanks, - like, 鈥楢 job well done鈥� and just a hint of what was to come, but this did not dampen our enthusiasm for getting back to the UK and some leave. Outside Ostend harbour, it was announced over the speaker system that all 鈥榣oot鈥� marked with the German Emblem, such as firearms, binoculars, cameras, etc, must be handed into the ships Orderly Room and if after this announcement, you were searched and found in possession then your leave would be stopped. This caused quite an uproar. Nobody had experienced this on any previous leave ships, so we were sure this was a 鈥榩loy鈥� by the ships Police to give them a very profitable sideline. There was no mad rush to the Orderly Room, only to the side of the ship to throw thousands of pounds worth of expensive equipment into the Channel, so nobody gained from that exercise. But leave was too precious to risk loosing if the order had been official- there was no search of course.

Disembarkation was completed at one of the transit camps around Folkestone, where, with railway warrants, ration card, pay, ten days disembarkation leave pass, and orders to report back to a camp at Sandwich in Kent were issued. We were all set to go but there was one snag. It was VE (Victory Europe) day. Except for those living in London all other service personnel were routed around the capital. Johnnie and I would have been alright of course, he to Portsmouth and I to Yeovil. But somehow London was like a magnet, one in a lifetime experience 鈥� even worth giving up one day of home leave for! Some people decided to risk being turned back by the Military Police on the trains, others made for the bus depot, but the majority of us simply got out on the London road to hitchhike. I struck lucky, and with a shouted message to Johnnie about leaving a note on the board in the Union Jack Club, I was in the back of a military ambulance with three stretcher cases and a medical orderly. He seemed quite happy to have someone to talk to, though one of the cases would join in occasionally. I asked the Medic where we were going and were his patients wounded? 鈥淲e鈥檙e for to Shooters Hill Hospital, Greenwich, and as for these blokes 鈥︹�� He gave a shrug, more like self-inflicted wounds.鈥� I left it at that. We pushed along at a good speed, as most traffic would give way to an ambulance. I know it must sound strange now, but the three of us were soon smoking and chatting through a haze of tobacco smoke. Occasionally the hatch would slide back and the young ATS driver would ask us how we were doing and could we light and pass her a fag? But once the hatch slammed back and she shouted in 鈥渋f these redcaps stop us, you, Sapper, jump up on the empty stretcher and start groaning! Otherwise we鈥檒l all be in trouble!鈥� But once again, being an ambulance with a pretty ATS driver we were waived through. The hatch slid gently back next time, and the young girl said, 鈥渓et鈥檚 stop smoking now. When I slowed for those Military Police I could see in the mirror smoke pouring out of the vents!鈥� From Shooters Hill it was easy to get into the city. As during the war all London Transport, (trams, trolley buses, underground and ordinary buses) were free to service personnel. I left my kit in the 鈥楲eft Luggage鈥� on Waterloo station. It was about 3 o鈥檆lock and I realised I had not eaten since 6 o鈥檆lock that morning. The Union Jack Club opposite the station was too crowded. The food would have been good, but the queue was too long. So I ate in a small scruffy back street caf茅, which to my amazement refused to take payment! VE day I suppose. Next, over to Trafalgar Square. It was just as I had expected, the whole world was there. So many different uniforms, service and civilian, everybody happy, singing and dancing evening the fountains, in an atmosphere like that it was impossible not to join in. The war really was over! Well for most of these people I suppose. Then comes the depressing thought, but we鈥檙e for Burma --- pity my mate Johnnie was not there to laugh and joke our way through that one. By now, it was well past rendezvous time at the place I had left the note on the 鈥楿nion Jack鈥� notice board. He told me later that he had no luck with a lift and caught a train home.

There were no pubs open. Those that I had tried earlier in the day were already sold out, or could only serve only lemonades and fizzy drinks. Since I was wearing the Canadian battle dress, a souvenir from the time we worked with them at Courseulles Sur Mer in Normandy. I was sure it would get me into the Canadian 鈥楤eaver Club鈥�, which was close to Admiralty Arch. I had been able to use this club eighteen months before when stationed in Bermondsey. But, through the crush, I could see it would be hopeless to go further and on turning I was face to face with a Canadian wearing a Signal Corps Badge. In those days one noted badge before rank. 鈥淵ou鈥檒l never get through there Mac鈥� I said so we made our way to the edge of the square, pausing for breath, and to exchange names, or nicknames, like his Al, and mine Slim. Al asked if I knew how to get to Piccadilly Circus as his farther had been there at the Armistice celebration of 1918, and he wanted to tell 鈥楶op鈥� how he had emulated him in 1945. I thought this was great. 鈥淥K, I think I know the way鈥� but things did look different with all these people milling around. 鈥淟et鈥檚 have a drink first鈥�, Al said. I was about to say that鈥檚 impossible here in Trafalgar Square, when from inside his battledress blouse he pulled out a nearly full bottle of Scotch 鈥� a walking bar! But there , overseas troops always did seem to have alcohol on tap! With that little problem solved we pressed on to Piccadilly. It was getting dark and some of the street lights came on, which of course led to unending choruses of 鈥業鈥檓 going to get lit up when the lights go on in London!鈥� After Piccadilly, we moved on and into the Strand. By now we had got the hang of this singing and dancing! Back across Trafalgar Square and into the Mal and joining a 鈥楥onga鈥� line snaking it鈥檚 way up to Buckingham Palace to join the large crowd in front of the railings. It was quite late now, and the sentries had been withdrawn inside the gates with just one London Bobby outside chatting to the crown. Eventually the King and Queen came out onto the floodlit balcony, greeted by a roar of cheers, which continued all the time they were there. My Canadian Buddy Al seemed quite overwhelmed with emotion, or alcohol, and for the next few minutes all he would say was, 鈥淲aal 鈥� what ya make of that!鈥�

By now I was too tired to enjoy going further. I knew I had missed the 1 am Paper train to the West Country, so there was no point hurrying. The empty bottle we placed with reverence at the feet of the Queen Victoria statue, shook hands, he to look for further adventures, and me for a couple of hours 鈥榢ip鈥� under a tree in St James park. It had been a long day and when I woke up it was daylight. My newly acquired German watch had stopped, as in the excitement of the previous day; I had forgotten to wind it up. How peaceful it seemed after last night. There were a few snores to be heard but also birdsong. The Underground had started running, and it was 5.30 am. Picking up my luggage from Left Luggage on Waterloo station, I had a wash and shave and brushed up my uniform, the trousers were in need of pressing but that was not possible in such a short time. Food was the next priority. All I could get was a 鈥楥har and Wad鈥� from the Salvation Army van. Never mind, I should be home in four hours time. But I must be alert for the Military Police as my travel warrant was from Folkestone yesterday. Not London today! Waiting until a group of mixed services people were pushing through the barrier I was past the ticket collector and two Redcaps and onto the platform. They didn鈥檛 seem very interested; anyway, the war must be over.

It was a good leave. Mum and Dad were fine. I was in my own room, with civilian clothes that still fitted. 鈥擜nd space鈥攚hich was very enjoyable. There was a party to meet relations, friends and neighbours, two of whom were servicemen also home on leave, and I knew one having been at school with him. He was in the 3rd Royal Tank Regiment. The other one was Navy, and had come along with his parents who were friends of Mum and Dad. None of us were in uniform. I suppose we gravitated together because we spoke the same language. I, for one, was beginning to find answering some questions of friends and relatives a bit awkward and when Mrs S from No .., stood in front of 鈥楾ankie鈥� and said, in a rather loud attention seeking voice, 鈥淚 heard you had been 鈥楧鈥� daying and things, tell me, what was it like?鈥� The room seemed to go quiet. I felt sorry for 鈥楾ankie鈥� being placed in this situation. His mouth opened and closed, first he looked at the ceiling, then the walls, then at us two. We looked away. 鈥淚t was 鈥攁h鈥攊t was (his voice had gone up several notches) 鈥� very noisy.鈥� It was the best he could manage, Jack started a strangulated giggle and came out with 鈥渨et too, at least where I was.鈥� My contribution was 2must have bloody rained then.鈥� This was turning into a barrack room 鈥楤ye 鈥攊king鈥� session. (Which in a barracks is fine for defusing tension but not at home.) After all these years I can still hear my Mother鈥檚 voice saying sharply, 鈥淢aurice!! Behave yourself!鈥� Father saved the day by saying to Mrs S 鈥淚 see the Council are making a new bus stop at the bottom of Cedar Grove, it will save us walking to Westfield corner won鈥檛 it?鈥� The atmosphere eased and the three of us went into the garden for a smoke, and quietly chatted about how difficult it was to strike the right balance when talking to civilians or 鈥榗ivies鈥�. Whether to gloss it over and pretend it was all a bit of fun or, risk bringing back memories and perhaps becoming emotional, it drifted on, as those kind of conversations do.

August 10th 1945. On board the Troopship 鈥楽S Durban Castle鈥� in the Red Sea, bound for India.

Over the ship鈥檚 speaker system we were informed that on entering the Indian Ocean the ship would revert back to wartime conditions as there was a possibility that Japanese submarines could be operating that far west. The ship would be blacked out, the deadlights to be fastened over all portholes before sunset, no smoking on deck at night, and lifejackets to be carried at all times. The ship鈥檚 armament, made up mostly of quick firing anti-aircraft guns and one four inch gun on the stern would be exercised twice a day and lifeboat drill to be practiced at night as well during the day. News followed that an accompanying troopship, the SS 鈥楳onarch of Bermuda鈥�, had lost a man overboard and 鈥渢his practice of sitting on the ship鈥檚 rails must鈥� 鈥� a long pause 鈥� Then a different voice: 鈥淭his is the ship鈥檚 Commanding Officer. News has been received that two new types of bombs, of immense destructive power, have been dropped on Japan, and the Japanese Army has been ordered by the Emperor to cease fire on all fronts. Their Government are suing for surrender. If this is so it will radically change our lives from now on鈥� 鈥� the rest was lost in a babble of voices and shouts of 鈥渨hat did he say?鈥� 鈥淪hut up!鈥� 鈥淟et鈥檚 hear the rest of it鈥�, and, 鈥渋s it April the first then?鈥� 鈥淭urn the ship round they don鈥檛 need us now!鈥�

The full implication of this announcement was simply too much to grasp. In Europe we had news most days and could gauge how the war was progressing, so the end was no real surprise. But for the last three months while鈥檚 reequipping and reorganising in the UK, we had been brainwashed into thinking that this war against the Japanese was going to be a long hard slog, perhaps three years or more, and that initially following Operation Eagle, the landing on the Malay coast, our part in the Royal Engineers could expect a large casualty rate, mostly because the Japanese soldiers willingness to die. But now 鈥� it could be all over. The next announcement was that one bottle of beer would be issued per man from designated points throughout the ship. This was the first alcohol we had seen officially since leaving the UK, although I knew that the Lascar seamen did a good undercover trade in selling drink.

Nobody wanted to 鈥榯urn in鈥� early that beautiful warm night, as the Durban castle ploughed gently on down through the Red Sea. Small groups of people stood or sat around smoking and talking. It was a strange and unreal day.

11th August. At 1100 hrs thanksgiving services for all denominations were held on the main deck and throughout the ship. The Padre, a tall impressive man with short iron-grey hair and First World War medals, spoke of how our role would be changing now that the war seemed, and he emphasized 鈥榮eemed鈥�, to be over. His prayers were most moving when thanking God for the invention of this super bomb and the millions of lives it would save both military and civilian, once again, reminding us of the Japanese threat to kill all the hundreds of thousands of POW鈥檚 that they held in captivity if the Japanese mainland was invaded, we all heartily agreed probably selfishly thinking, 鈥榤y life too I expect鈥�. After all these years I can still recall the sound of male voices growling out the hymn 鈥楴ow thank we all our God鈥�. After the service and as we began to drift away, the regular ship鈥檚 announcer took over with, 鈥滱s I was saying yesterday, before I was interrupted 鈥� this practice of sitting on the ship鈥檚 rails must鈥� 鈥� and the rest was lost in a torrent of good-natured cheers and jeers.

The next three days were very hot both below and on deck. Awnings were rigged but the shade they provided soon became too crowded for comfort. We returned to a normal routine, with guns exercised without live rounds, but no night time lifeboat drill. Thank goodness!

15th August. This is the official VJ day. What a comparison! Nearly three months ago on returning to the UK I had celebrated VE day amongst that massive carefree gathering in London, now I鈥檓 trying to squeeze into some shade to write up my diary, between a very boisterous card game on my left and my mate cutting his toenails on my right! -- Never mind, the shooting war is over.

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