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Chapter 1: Repatriation

It was a beautiful summer's day as I embarked upon the millionaires' cruise ship, the Queen of Bermuda, a huge three funnelled steam vessel, anchored in the calm, blue waters of the Bay of Naples. From where I stood on the after deck I could plainly see the sun drenched buildings of the city of Naples and the towns that lined the bay, all shimmering in the noonday heat as the spiralling smoke from Vesuvius in the background curled lazily into the cloudless sky. Later, that same evening, the boat weighed anchor and I watched as that wonderful vista faded into the background and then the Isle of Capri slipped silently astern as the ship made its way smoothly into the Tyrrhenian Sea
        A peaceful scene indeed, but this happened to be an August day in 1944 and I was not a millionaire cruising the Mediterranean, and the Queen of Bermuda was no longer a 'Cruise' Liner. Although she still carried unmistakable evidence of her former glory, she was now sailing as a troopship and she was, in company with many other vessels, manoeuvring to take her place in a convoy that was forming to sail under the protection of a naval escort on a voyage to the United Kingdom.
        I was a soldier returning home; a very fortunate soldier to be returning home after many years of active service. Nearly five years had passed since I had sailed in the troopship 'Devonshire' through the nearby waters of the Mediterranean Sea on my way to the Middle East, then a young lad full of patriotism, but with scant knowledge of the vagaries of war. Now I was an old campaigner, a sadder and a wiser man with memories of many battles still fresh in my mind. I carried both physical and mental scars gained through years of hardship, danger, hunger, thirst, captivity and all the other miseries that go hand in hand with active service in foreign lands. My mind held memories of great suffering, privation and brutality, but also of bonds of comradeship and the knowledge that kindness can often hide in the most unexpected of places. I was also proud to know in my mind that I had served my country well and that I had never shirked my duty. I was a very tired soldier, but in company with my old comrade Harry, I was now going home.
        Harry and I were both escaped prisoners of war who had managed to make our way back into allied territory and we were now being repatriated. This situation meant that we were not officially attached to any particular army unit and because of this we were nobody's responsibility. Ever since our arrival in Naples we had been shunted from one unit to another until we had eventually found ourselves sitting on our kit outside a dockside office for many hours in the hot sunshine. It was not until all other troops were embarked and the ship was ready to sail that we had been taken on board. By this time all the available mess decks were completely filled; not a space anywhere to sling a hammock and we were left to lie on the floor in a corner. There was water swilling about in this area of the mess deck and it began to look as if we were going to have a very uncomfortable voyage.
        We were old campaigners however, and we decided to do a bit of exploring. To my complete surprise we found an empty mess deck; in fact we soon discovered that there were several such empty mess decks aboard. I realised that this ship had come out from England full of reinforcements and was returning home more or less empty. It was a matter of moments before Harry and I had transferred our kit to one of these empty mess decks where we quickly made ourselves very comfortable.
        The formation of a convoy was a highly complex situation that must have called for a great deal of expertise. My knowledge of things maritime was minimal to say the least, but even to my untutored eye it was obvious that to co-ordinate the movement of the considerable number of vessels that had been lying dispersed and at anchor in the Bay of Naples, and to form them in to a convoy, was a masterpiece of organisation. The sight that met my eyes the following morning testified to the fact that it had all been carried out satisfactorily. The vessel upon which we were sailing appeared to be somewhere close to the centre of the convoy because there were ships of various shapes and sizes well dispersed all around us. Occasionally it was possible to catch site of an escort vessel, possibly a Destroyer, steaming at speed along the fringes. That was a comforting sight because every voyage in those days was fraught with danger.
        On that first day of sailing the captain of the ship made an inspection of the vessel with a retinue of ship's officers in his wake. When they opened the bulkhead door of our mess deck the whole party came to an abrupt halt. They had expected to find an empty mess deck and they were surprised to find that two soldiers had taken it upon themselves to commandeer the whole area. The captain turned to one of his attendant officers to ask the reason for our presence, but I forestalled the answer. I explained that we were escaped prisoners of war and therefore not attached to any unit and that was the reason why we had moved into this area. I also promised to keep everything in ship-shape order if he were to grant us the privilege of remaining there. He gave it a moment's thought and then to my great relief he turned to his retinue and said, 'These two men may remain here for the remainder of the voyage.' The Captain had spoken and no-one could gainsay him and this meant that we would be able to enjoy a quiet and reasonably comfortable voyage in the privacy of our own quarters.
        It was to be a long voyage because after passing through the Mediterranean Sea and through the Strait of Gibraltar we then sailed far into the Atlantic Ocean in order to avoid U Boats which lay in wait for such convoys. There can be little doubt that every person sailing in that convoy had fear in their heart that the ship upon which they were sailing would be torpedoed and sunk, but it was not the accepted thing to let this be known and so there was no visible sign of such qualms. For my part I had long since learned the necessity of putting such fears into a corner of my mind and drawing a veil over them.
        It was better to dwell on the more positive aspects of any such situation and one of these was the excellent food available on this ship, and also the beautiful weather which meant that for the early part of the voyage at least, we were sailing through calm seas. There was one occasion when we were far out in the Atlantic that the ship's sirens howled out their warning and everyone on board had to don their lifebelts and rush to some predetermined position on the ship. For me this meant rushing to the upper deck to stand with others beneath a certain lifeboat and we had already practised this drill several times. This time however, we did not get any orders to disperse and we remained there for several hours growing increasingly alarmed. As the time passed we watched with trepidation as the escort vessels steamed at high speed along the fringes of the convoy. Columns of smoke were visible over the horizon which was not unusual because most of the vessels in the convoy were coal burning steam ships, but in our state of heightened tension we were convinced that the convoy was under attack from U Boats and the smoke was issuing from sinking ships. It was a very long afternoon and evening before we were allowed to return to our quarters and it was an uneasy night that followed. It was only in recent years that I have learned from the records that the convoy that sailed from Naples in August 1944 did not come under attack during its entire voyage to Southampton. The above mentioned incident has remained clearly in my mind and I can only assume that it was either a scare or probably some naval exercise. It certainly scared me at the time, but apart from that one episode it was a very pleasant voyage and I was extremely happy as each day brought me that little bit nearer to dear old England and to the family from whom I had been parted so long.
        I do not remember how long we spent on that voyage, but the beautiful weather that had witnessed out departure from the coast of Italy gradually deteriorated until as we made our way through the Irish Sea towards the docks at Liverpool it had become driving rain under very dark skies. The splitting up of the convoy had been just as efficiently programmed as had been its formation. All those ships seemed to disappear, and the Queen of Bermuda finally sailed alone to find her berth in the docks close by the Liver Building. I stood huddled on the deck as the ship docked and through the pouring rain and leaden skies I could see the blue slated roofs, the drab buildings and the narrow streets of dockland and I had a mental picture of the Bay of Naples and the Isle of Capri basking in the sunshine. There was a moment of disillusionment. Was this the England I had been dreaming of for so many years? Such thoughts were quickly dismissed. This was the very moment I had been waiting for and as I collected my kitbag and made my way down the gangway to set foot once more on English soil, I realised what a lucky man I had been and I silently thanked God for bringing me safely home.
        Most of the men who had been aboard our ship went straight home on leave, but Harry and I were sent to a holding camp on the other side of the river where we had to wait for another frustrating three days. I was beginning to realise that there was no laid down procedure in place to deal with the repatriation of escaped prisoners of war. In the armed forces everything has to proceed along specified lines, every movement is stereotyped and in the absence of such rules and regulations there can be long delays until someone finds a way of dealing with the situation. This lack of a plan to deal with the return of prisoners of war was to cause me a good deal of tribulation in the months to come and the delay of three days in Liverpool was only the beginning. We ventured out of the camp one evening and found a nearby cinema. Without bothering to see what film was showing we bought tickets, made our way into the building and took our seats. The curtains rolled back, the lights were dimmed and the details of the film were flashed onto the screen; it was 'The Desert Song'; just what we needed having spent two years fighting and toiling in the Western Desert. After the film had ended we found a pub close by and we were able to sample our first pint of English beer for several years.
        At last we were handed our railway warrants with a pass for twenty eight days leave and we set off in high spirits on the last stage of our journey home. We arrived in the station at Crewe late that night and here we had to wait until the early hours to catch a train to Derby. It was very early in the morning that we found ourselves walking across the platform there in search of the Nottingham train. This left at eight thirty and most of the passengers were local people on their way to work. The carriages were very old, there were no corridors and each compartment was separate from the others. Harry and I climbed into an empty compartment and by this time the excitements of being nearly home was reaching a climax that had to find its outlet somewhere and we just started to sing at the tops of our voices; we were deliriously happy. When the train stopped at the next station lots of passengers came from other parts of the train to see what the noise was all about. Out happiness seemed to be contagious, they filled our compartment to overflowing and joined in with our singing and soon everybody on the train seemed to be taking part. All these people who were complete strangers to us were suddenly happy and full of laughter and goodwill. It was amazing.
        When we arrived at the Midland Station we both stood for a moment to relish the thought that we were back in Nottingham and all those good folk came to wish us well and to wave goodbye as they left the platform. I found it hard to believe that it was all true, but my old friend, the station clock, was still there ticking away serenely and keeping perfect time and its minute hand moved in friendly salute to welcome me back. I shook Harry's hand before we parted and then I made my way towards the city centre.
        There on Long Row, in its customary place stood the number twenty bus for Arnold, as it had done all through my teenage years and it was waiting there just as if nothing had happened. I climbed aboard and began the journey I had made so many times before; along Mansfield Road, through Carrington, Sherwood and Woodthorpe to Daybrook Square and then into Arnold. I alighted at the same old bus stop to walk the last few yards to home. Through the gate and to the front door of our home to give three rings of the bell; the signal that it was one of the family. The door opened and there stood my dear mother. As I walked into the hall she threw her arms around me and I knew that I was safely home after an absence of nearly five long years.
        The moment of walking through the door of my home on my return from service overseas was the culmination of all my hopes and dreams over a long period of time. I had every reason to be grateful that I had been spared to return unscathed, when so many of my comrades would lie forever where they had fallen in the sands of the desert. To be safely home in the bosom of my family was a joy beyond telling and on that day I was a very happy and thankful man eager to renew all those warm relationships that I remembered so well. It was one of the happiest days of my life.

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