Later in the day we were given money; notes and loose change. The coins seemed to be so heavy in the pocket, it took days to get used to carrying them again. What could we buy with them? This presented another problem but, as it became evening, that one was solved. Cosford was a large RAF station, built between the wars, and had its own cinema, so most of us followed the crowd to partake of a pleasure that had not been available for so long.
Back in those lovely beds, with plenty of space around them and the clean white sheets, the second night soon passed, and now it was Sunday. There were still a few more formalities to be got through, badges and ranks to be attached to the new uniforms, and travel warrants issued. We even had our individual train times sorted out for us◦– we were treated like kings.
When we thought that they could not do any more to help us, one member of staff even remembered that we would not have any handkerchiefs. These were never an RAF issue, but some were found and given out; and that was not the end of the care and attention. During our short stay at Cosford the weather had changed completely. It got very cold and just before we were due to leave, it started to snow. Now, according to RAF rules and regulations, Summer started on May 1st and today was the 2nd but, in defiance, greatcoats were produced and issued. We were spoilt beyond belief.
By mid-day the whole group was very self-consciously standing on the platform awaiting the train to Wolverhampton and from there to our various home towns. It was a strange feeling: I was delighted to be on the last lap towards what I had been craving for all this time, but I felt very much on my own now and facing a world that seemed to have changed while I was away. I was glad of the greatcoat, not only because of the inclement weather, but it had extra comfort about it; it was something that had not changed. I could wrap myself up in it until I had got the hang of things again and got a bit more confidence back.
My parents had moved out of London since I joined the RAF, which was a good thing because of the bombing and the terrible flying bomb and rocket attacks that followed, but rural Huntingdonshire, where they now lived, was not so handy, or anywhere near so exciting as my old familiar haunts that I so much wanted to get back to. Fortunately, my married sister, who lived quite close to the old home, could always be relied upon to put me up (I have long ago realised what an imposition this was, to put me up for a night or two when on leave), so I decided to make her my first port of call; unbeknown to me that decision formed part of a remarkable coincidence.
By the time I had made my connection at Wolverhampton and arrived at Euston it was dark. That was a good thing because I did not feel quite so conspicuous. The streets were now lit again, the chances of more air raids by conventional aircraft I suppose had been ruled out, but hardly to the pre-war standard, so I could still hide a bit in the gloom, and that, strangely, is what I felt I wanted to do.
I had no trouble in remembering my way about and that there was a local LMS electric service, Euston to Watford, that would take me to where my sister lived. I was beginning to ‘get back in’, but the streets were so much quieter than I thought I could remember them, with hardly any people walking about. I did pass a woman I knew slightly, and it was a little reassuring when she showed some recognition.
Arriving at my sister’s house there was some delay after ringing the doorbell. In those moments my confidence waned again. Had my sister moved during my absence, or something worse? I did notice a lot more bomb damage had taken place, but all was well, in fact more than well, because my home coming, entirely by coincidence, had coincided with a family gathering and beyond my wildest dreams◦– Adelaide was there too.
She had got in touch with my family after her letters to me were returned to her by the Squadron and was later told by my sister that I was a prisoner of war. That information was first picked up by my brother who, when I was reported missing, started listening to a radio programme transmitted from Germany presented by a person who called himself Lord Haw Haw. He cunningly included, at intervals during his programme, the names of newly taken prisoners of war, knowing that this would attract an audience of anxious next of kin hoping to gain news of loved ones reported missing. Ninety-five percent of the broadcast would be taken up by exaggerated claims of German successes in battle, aimed at demoralising the British listeners. Lord Haw Haw was a British traitor, his real name was William Joyce. He was brought back to England to face trial at the end of the war in Europe and was hanged at the Tower of London.
My arrival, coinciding with the family gathering and, best of all, Adelaide being there too, was truly remarkable. It could not have been better if it had been carefully planned. My mother had received my letters sent after I had been liberated and passed the news around the family, but nobody could say in advance when I would arrive home. Adelaide was on her way back to Gloucestershire, after spending most of a ten day leave at her home, and had called to see my sister on the way, not even knowing that I had been liberated.
I rang the doorbell and waited. It was opened by my sister and on seeing me they shouted, ‘He’s home. He’s home.’ Then Adelaide walked forwards to see what the commotion was, and our eyes met. Though we had left each other madly in love, we just didn’t know what to say.
I would like to report that my first words, spoken to my fiancée after so long apart, were of the romantic variety, but I glanced at the new stripes on the sleeve of her WAAF uniform and said, ‘Flight Mech,’ followed by ‘Eh?’ She had been promoted to the position of flight mechanic.
Later, while the ladies of my family, despite the even more severe rationing that people were now having to endure, were busy preparing a welcome home meal, Adelaide and I were able to get reacquainted and within minutes it seemed that we had never been parted.
Adelaide’s leave was due to expire in two days, so in the circumstances and after much deliberation, she sent a telegram, that was the usual way to communicate quickly in those days, asking if her leave could be extended by forty-eight hours. Within a day the reply was back◦– seven days compassionate leave granted, plus forty-eight hours. That was far more generous than expected and we were more than grateful for that concession.
During those ten lovely, carefree days together there was no question of ‘Shall we go ahead and get married?’, it was just a matter of ‘When?’. September sounded promising but, of course, before then we both had to return to duty.
The RAF, to a great extent, had now lost its purpose. Germany surrendered unconditionally a few days after my return. The war in the Far East continued with unceasing vengeance, but it seemed that it was not necessary for the bomber and fighter squadrons based in Britain to be transferred there, so our aircraft were now being reduced to scrap metal. In many cases that was being done by the very ground and air crews who only a few weeks before had been proudly flying and maintaining them. Most of these beautiful aircraft were smashed to pieces in a most undignified way with crowbars and sledgehammers; it was not a pretty sight to watch.
I was later told to return to RAF Cosford and once at the base, almost the first person I saw was David. He looked just as I remembered him on the squadron and, as usual, he was smiling and looking pleased with life, but he had suffered as I was soon to learn when he told me about the journey from Stalag Luft VI to Gross Tychow. A little later he was able to show me the bayonet wounds to his back and, although they were inflicted a year before, they were still very nasty to look at. He went on to tell of the much harder life prisoners were subjected to, compared with Stalag Luft VI, and then the appalling sufferings he endured while being marched aimlessly during the last weeks before liberation in atrocious weather conditions, with little or no food and water. I was spared all this, simply by being on the opposite side of K Lager at Stalag Luft VI, and then by dodging from one hut to another while being moved out of Stalag 357 at Fallingbostel◦– I never realised the dividends that would pay.