Preparing for home, my 21st birthday and an unwelcome return to Stalag Chatham
One interesting lecture I attended was a 12-week course on psychology run by a CPO writer and it was about when one left the service and one day he was explaining how to behave with your family on returning. Deep thought process was required as to how the hero from the war would treat his wife and children. He phrased a question about what you would give the wife. One thick rating said he didn’t have to think about it he already knew in a leering fashion.
The Chief waited until he had finished and gave him a hellish look of contempt and carried on with his lecture quite cool and collected for about half an hour. Then called this fellow to the front and asked him to explain himself and what would he do. He realised he was in trouble and tried to make amends and apologised but the Chief trod him into the floor and told him to leave the class and offered him up as the perfect example of ignorance – the very thing we had to avoid.
We had to forget the coarseness that had been part of our everyday lives for the last five years or so and to respect the women in our lives who had had as much of the stress in many ways – such as loneliness, rationing and bringing up the children. Also, the stranger in the household who still thought he was still in the navy with regard to discipline and gave the children hell; instead of giving some compassionate thought.
Also the health aspect as to what some of the men were taking back home and to hide their embarrassment and get health care at Gib while they had the chance. He certainly hit the nail on the head; everybody agreed it was the top lecture course on the Rock.
Very few officers appeared to be involved in this lecture series. The only one I came across was on a civil engineering course and the lecturer who was a Royal Engineer army officer based on Gib. Most of the lectures for the navy people seemed confined to naval personnel instead of being mixed, a typical example of how the forces work even in peacetime. Also, the lack of thought for the men and women fighting in the Pacific theatre was amazing. It was as if they did not matter, out of sight; out of mind was the order of the day.
On the Rock there was a two-way traffic of forces – with those going out to the Far East with their respective ships calling at Gib and the lads going home for demob.
Opposite the main dock gates there was a YMCA that supplied a nice cup of tea and filled fresh bread rolls that was a favourite stop for 80% of visitors to Gib. It also acted a good place to meet for fellows stationed on the Rock. The biggest menace here though was the bloody apes - they knew the best spots for extras.
The officers’ haunt was the Rock Hotel that was situated up the mountain, behind the town. Our crowd visited this joint on a weekly basis, but as we were ratings, we dressed in civilian suits (made to measure by an Indian tailor on Main Street) as we were unwelcome in uniform. A number of Gibraltarians were also patrons of this particular hotel. It was a hive of activities with dances etc that attracted quite a number of forces women but few local girls who tended to be chaperoned but a bit friendlier than the girls we rarely encountered on Malta.
Suits of the time were grey, fawn and chalk stripe affairs, which would also be for our eventual demob days.
In April 1946 I celebrated my 21st birthday in Spain with James and two Wrens in a lovely oldie-worldy abode with beautiful patios and greenery for 24 hours with lots of Spanish champagne (that was rather inferior to the French type). Quite a quantity was disposed of and all had a pleasant time. This place was about 12 miles inside Spain and palms had to be crossed at the border because of the civilian suits. I think they thought we were spies travelling incognito. The taxi was a vintage Armstrong Sidley, quite magnificent, from Algerciras. My friends the tug men suggested the place and taxi.
July ’46 saw my recall to the UK as I had overstayed my demob number 54. I got a trooper back to England and the main buzz on the ship was that the usual relaxed customs checks for troopers had changed and that there were to be stringent checks on the possessions being carried into the country – the checks did not materialise. I was once again incarcerated in Chatham Barracks. Nothing had changed one iota – the bastard Gestapo were still the same evil sods as before.
One had to while away the time in an office dispensing ration cards and travel warrants to ratings going on leave and being demobbed. I thought here is a fine opportunity for a bright lad to make his fortune but things were very tight, the only thing I made out of it was a double ration card on demob.
I visited one of the Gib. wrens in Folkestone and coming back on the Sunday evening missed my connection and was marooned at Faversham in Kent. I bedded down on a table in the gents waiting room. I had given the porter 9d for a bucket of coal (fires were not allowed owing to rationing) that only lasted about three hours. Lying on this table I felt like I was lying in state and woke up during the night at 0400 frozen (and this was July) as the fire had gone out. I got off the table and the place was swarming with rats. There were at least 20 in the waiting room and outside there were dozens and dozens. Where the platform wall met the gravel track it was unbelievable – obviously their main run. I could not see what they had to eat and I sure was glad to join the milk train at 0510. Unfortunately this train stopped at every bloody station in Kent. I changed once more for a connection to Chatham and arrived at the barracks at 0920 – nearly two hours late.
One would have thought I had committed murder. I was put in the report and stuck in a cell although there were at least 60 to 70 in the same boat as me, but it must have been my scruffy appearance with sleeping rough in my uniform and the fact I had not shaved that really got them going. I saw a Chief at two o’clock and explained what had happened and said I needed to inspect the lists of demob numbers on the notice boards. He asked my number and said that lot went out long ago. Another explanation and he sent me up to check with an escort and sure enough I was on the list to report by 0945. Too late for that day, but holy of holies he let me off and said report tomorrow to the demob office. There are some humane Chiefs after all; a nice thought to leave the navy with.
The next day was a very quick process. It only took about an hour and quite a lot of lads going. Each was supplied with a grey suit, Trilby and other essentials. The medical inspection was a huge farce, when you join there are 32 points that are thoroughly inspected and when you come out they feel you to see if you are warm and say “anything to report?” My reply was “Discharging and deaf ears”. This ancient doctor in a white coat said, “What was that?” I repeated it and he replied “See your doctor when you get home”. No inspection of any kind and he must have been three days older than grass and as deaf as me!
On the train from Chatham to Waterloo, the situation was a little tragic as lads were changing into civilian suits and dispensing with various items out of the train windows. A number of caps, collars and silks ‘went for a Burton’ - which was something that grieved me. I had had my own disputes with the navy during my period in service but this method of showing your contempt was very disturbing. The uniform and flag has got to be treated with respect; but there are always a few ignorant types.
Getting off at Newcastle Central Station I was in for another surprise. I stepped out of the station around two thirty in the afternoon and the number of drunks was appalling. I thought what the hell have I come back to I tried to consider if I was a prude considering I liked a drink and did not mind getting sloshed now and again. I was not very pleased with my home coming in that respect.
Arriving home everything appeared to be in miniature and then I recalled the lecture in Gib on psychology and endeavoured to settle in as best I as could.
Both of my sisters had been demobbed from the WAAF and Alma greeted me at the front door. My other sister, Jean, had already gone back to work and was not there. My mother was flabbergasted and overcome with excitement after having her last one home. My father though had decided to retain his job in Rugby at the British Thompson Houston Works, a bitter blow to my mother. The job was considerably better than the one he had prior to the war and he took the opportunity of bettering himself and advancing his situation. Who could blame him? Only my dear mother, who had also done her war service in many ways.
The Chief waited until he had finished and gave him a hellish look of contempt and carried on with his lecture quite cool and collected for about half an hour. Then called this fellow to the front and asked him to explain himself and what would he do. He realised he was in trouble and tried to make amends and apologised but the Chief trod him into the floor and told him to leave the class and offered him up as the perfect example of ignorance – the very thing we had to avoid.
We had to forget the coarseness that had been part of our everyday lives for the last five years or so and to respect the women in our lives who had had as much of the stress in many ways – such as loneliness, rationing and bringing up the children. Also, the stranger in the household who still thought he was still in the navy with regard to discipline and gave the children hell; instead of giving some compassionate thought.
Also the health aspect as to what some of the men were taking back home and to hide their embarrassment and get health care at Gib while they had the chance. He certainly hit the nail on the head; everybody agreed it was the top lecture course on the Rock.
Very few officers appeared to be involved in this lecture series. The only one I came across was on a civil engineering course and the lecturer who was a Royal Engineer army officer based on Gib. Most of the lectures for the navy people seemed confined to naval personnel instead of being mixed, a typical example of how the forces work even in peacetime. Also, the lack of thought for the men and women fighting in the Pacific theatre was amazing. It was as if they did not matter, out of sight; out of mind was the order of the day.
On the Rock there was a two-way traffic of forces – with those going out to the Far East with their respective ships calling at Gib and the lads going home for demob.
Opposite the main dock gates there was a YMCA that supplied a nice cup of tea and filled fresh bread rolls that was a favourite stop for 80% of visitors to Gib. It also acted a good place to meet for fellows stationed on the Rock. The biggest menace here though was the bloody apes - they knew the best spots for extras.
The officers’ haunt was the Rock Hotel that was situated up the mountain, behind the town. Our crowd visited this joint on a weekly basis, but as we were ratings, we dressed in civilian suits (made to measure by an Indian tailor on Main Street) as we were unwelcome in uniform. A number of Gibraltarians were also patrons of this particular hotel. It was a hive of activities with dances etc that attracted quite a number of forces women but few local girls who tended to be chaperoned but a bit friendlier than the girls we rarely encountered on Malta.
Suits of the time were grey, fawn and chalk stripe affairs, which would also be for our eventual demob days.
In April 1946 I celebrated my 21st birthday in Spain with James and two Wrens in a lovely oldie-worldy abode with beautiful patios and greenery for 24 hours with lots of Spanish champagne (that was rather inferior to the French type). Quite a quantity was disposed of and all had a pleasant time. This place was about 12 miles inside Spain and palms had to be crossed at the border because of the civilian suits. I think they thought we were spies travelling incognito. The taxi was a vintage Armstrong Sidley, quite magnificent, from Algerciras. My friends the tug men suggested the place and taxi.
July ’46 saw my recall to the UK as I had overstayed my demob number 54. I got a trooper back to England and the main buzz on the ship was that the usual relaxed customs checks for troopers had changed and that there were to be stringent checks on the possessions being carried into the country – the checks did not materialise. I was once again incarcerated in Chatham Barracks. Nothing had changed one iota – the bastard Gestapo were still the same evil sods as before.
One had to while away the time in an office dispensing ration cards and travel warrants to ratings going on leave and being demobbed. I thought here is a fine opportunity for a bright lad to make his fortune but things were very tight, the only thing I made out of it was a double ration card on demob.
I visited one of the Gib. wrens in Folkestone and coming back on the Sunday evening missed my connection and was marooned at Faversham in Kent. I bedded down on a table in the gents waiting room. I had given the porter 9d for a bucket of coal (fires were not allowed owing to rationing) that only lasted about three hours. Lying on this table I felt like I was lying in state and woke up during the night at 0400 frozen (and this was July) as the fire had gone out. I got off the table and the place was swarming with rats. There were at least 20 in the waiting room and outside there were dozens and dozens. Where the platform wall met the gravel track it was unbelievable – obviously their main run. I could not see what they had to eat and I sure was glad to join the milk train at 0510. Unfortunately this train stopped at every bloody station in Kent. I changed once more for a connection to Chatham and arrived at the barracks at 0920 – nearly two hours late.
One would have thought I had committed murder. I was put in the report and stuck in a cell although there were at least 60 to 70 in the same boat as me, but it must have been my scruffy appearance with sleeping rough in my uniform and the fact I had not shaved that really got them going. I saw a Chief at two o’clock and explained what had happened and said I needed to inspect the lists of demob numbers on the notice boards. He asked my number and said that lot went out long ago. Another explanation and he sent me up to check with an escort and sure enough I was on the list to report by 0945. Too late for that day, but holy of holies he let me off and said report tomorrow to the demob office. There are some humane Chiefs after all; a nice thought to leave the navy with.
The next day was a very quick process. It only took about an hour and quite a lot of lads going. Each was supplied with a grey suit, Trilby and other essentials. The medical inspection was a huge farce, when you join there are 32 points that are thoroughly inspected and when you come out they feel you to see if you are warm and say “anything to report?” My reply was “Discharging and deaf ears”. This ancient doctor in a white coat said, “What was that?” I repeated it and he replied “See your doctor when you get home”. No inspection of any kind and he must have been three days older than grass and as deaf as me!
On the train from Chatham to Waterloo, the situation was a little tragic as lads were changing into civilian suits and dispensing with various items out of the train windows. A number of caps, collars and silks ‘went for a Burton’ - which was something that grieved me. I had had my own disputes with the navy during my period in service but this method of showing your contempt was very disturbing. The uniform and flag has got to be treated with respect; but there are always a few ignorant types.
Getting off at Newcastle Central Station I was in for another surprise. I stepped out of the station around two thirty in the afternoon and the number of drunks was appalling. I thought what the hell have I come back to I tried to consider if I was a prude considering I liked a drink and did not mind getting sloshed now and again. I was not very pleased with my home coming in that respect.
Arriving home everything appeared to be in miniature and then I recalled the lecture in Gib on psychology and endeavoured to settle in as best I as could.
Both of my sisters had been demobbed from the WAAF and Alma greeted me at the front door. My other sister, Jean, had already gone back to work and was not there. My mother was flabbergasted and overcome with excitement after having her last one home. My father though had decided to retain his job in Rugby at the British Thompson Houston Works, a bitter blow to my mother. The job was considerably better than the one he had prior to the war and he took the opportunity of bettering himself and advancing his situation. Who could blame him? Only my dear mother, who had also done her war service in many ways.