Bill Clark's War, 8 of 8 Chapters, He was Captured 4, Released 1, Escaped 3

So we flew to Brussels and were taken to a building in the centre as a temporary stop and let loose for a few hours. We were sent to a building where we were given scarves, pullovers, socks and vouchers to get meals. We could not have been treated more royally. We returned about 5 p.m. and were told to embark on a train for Ostend. We had a great send off at Ostend. We embarked on a small merchant ship and settled down to being sea-sick for a couple of hours. The crew of the ship were Royal Navy sailors.

Although it was a small ship, they made a magnificent gesture of presenting to all of us P.O.W.s fifty cigarettes, each, from a collection made from the crew. We were really choked, but had to accept them with grateful thanks, although we had literally thousands of cigarettes in our kit bags.

On arrival at Tilbury about 10 p.m. we had the most astounding reception that I have ever experienced. As we got off the gang plank we were directed to a hall which was beautifully laid out with food and fruit on tables for four. At each table there were two A.T.S. or W.A.A.F. girls seated, -presumably to help break the ice. There were oranges and bananas, fruit that the majority of the British public had not seen for a year.

The officer announced that no saluting would be necessary during the stay. The evening was magic, our masticating capability had improved and with a band of Glen Miller standard, it was a never to be forgotten night.

At 2a.m. it was announced that we must be on our way with an apology that we would have to travel in three ton trucks with forms to sit on, (as if we had never had worse transport) and off we went to Horsham, where a brand new camp had been erected.

Each marquee had a dozen beds, all made up, with a telegram form on each bed. All we had to do was sign it and the orderly collected them. We slept well enough, but it was difficult for the staff to keep the married ex P.O.W.s in the camp. What was necessary was the medical check, haircuts and new uniforms. The W.V.S. ladies were all assembled, ready to sew on stripes and medal ribbons etc.

We had to undertake to stay in the camp with a promise that we would be able to go on leave next morning. We were given eight weeks leave with double ration books and when morning came we were given bacon and eggs for breakfast and taken to Horsham station.

That breakfast was a disaster, there were about one hundred of us and I don’t think there was one who didn’t get caught short with diarrhoea at Horsham station. It was an episode that needs to be glossed over, with sincere apologies, (forty years late) to the staff of Horsham station.

The object of the authorities was to take us to Victoria station where crowds were assembling everyday to welcome P.O.W.’s. Strangely, I didn’t want that but got out a station before. Making my way to Edmonton was quite amazing. Being in a brand new uniform, with two new kit bags, I stuck out a mile and got smiles from everyone. I caught a bus to The Angel, Edmonton. The bus conductor wouldn’t take my fare and as I had always dreamed, I intended to have a pint in The Angel, but I couldn’t drink a ¼ of it. I continued on my way, a milkman asked me where I was going to, and he gave me a lift on his float. Going up the road where I was staying was like the village in Germany, the curtains were moving but this time there was a welcome.

During those eight weeks I was able to travel around, see my family i.e. my father, brothers and sisters and then on to St. Albans, where I had joined up and where my landlady and family had put up ‘Welcome Home’ decorations. I got ‘kitted up’ with some teeth, having to go to a London hospital because of irregular gums. They lasted about 25 years before being renewed.

Having terminated my stay in Germany a little early, I was able to celebrate V.E. in England. I was amazed at the numbers of different nations that constituted Allied Army, and how relieved everyone was that the end had come.

At the end of my leave I had to report to my old Base Ammunition Depot (B.A.D.), where I met a few of the men I had left four years previously. They were now Warrant Officers and although I got a good reception, I felt they were a trifle embarrassed, but they left me alone as far as discipline was concerned.

I was taking a day off when things were quiet and nipping off to St. Albans. After about two months I was sent to the Barracks near Ilkely on a refresher course. After all, I was a sergeant and I had forgotten that I was supposed to set an example.

I regained my Storeman, Ammunition 1st. class and then returned to Bletchley where poison gas ammunition was stored on the Duke of Bedford’s estate, in various stacks in the woodland. Being a sergeant, I was allocated a specific area and one morning I had to take receipt of six trucks of ordinary ammunition in the shape of heavy 6" shells and cartridges. The lorries arrived but stayed on tarmac roads, so I waved the drivers to back their lorries up to where the stacks were, approximately thirty yards off the road. This they refused to do, as they had been told under no circumstances were they to drive onto the grass, and this order had been maintained throughout the war, even during the Battle of Britain time. I couldn’t believe it.

I went over the top and told the drivers to take their loads away, I didn’t want them and I was disgusted with the whole business, the drivers were astounded. No-one had ever made a stand before and they didn’t know what procedure to follow. Someone must have got in touch with the C.O. as I was taken off the job discreetly and I presume the men had to continue carrying each shell from the roadway. What also amazed me was the Gamekeepers were still on duty on the Duke of Bedford Estate throughout the war. This I found out through complaints of missing rabbits and pheasants, which I and many others managed to take home on leave at weekends. Anybody going home for a week’s leave was well stocked.

My deviation from the normal routine was noted and I found myself given the job of escorting gas ammunition trains from Bletchley to Stranraer, sometimes twice a week. The crew I had with me were all ex P.O.W.s; they were not Ordnance Corps men. One was Royal Artillery, another Sherwood Foresters, a Scotsman in the Durham Light Infantry and two from the Worcester Regiment.

We got along well, perhaps too well for the Officers. The object of the exercise was to travel with the train, taking rations for three days and sticks with Litmus paper attached. These were used to test for any leakages while en route.

If any serious leakage should occur our job was to notify the police and stations fore and aft, so as to close the line etc. Having worked in the Bletchley Woods among the shells, we had become used, if not immune, to the smell of these gas shells. We had a lot of respect for them, but on the other hand, to see a leaking shell did not create any panic. Each shell was plugged and we were forever tightening the shells tight with our hands. Most of the shells contained Phosgene — a choking gas —not like Lewisite, which is wet and creates blisters.

These trips to Stranraer became a social event. Sometimes when the train was so long it would be split to enable the single engines to climb the inclines, this would necessitate the team being split up. Such was the camaraderie of the ex P.O.W.s that there would be no detailing, just the cut of the cards and eventually we would all meet at Stranraer in a siding in about the bleakest place in Scotland.

On handing the train over to the Officer at the docks it remained our job to test for leakages whilst obsolete merchant ships were being loaded. This I thought was unfair, as we were supposedly on duty the whole of the 24 hour trip, and then to be on duty at the docks.

This complaint took some time to be acknowledged; in the meantime we were supposed to carry on.

There was a jaunty train excursion into Stranraer every evening and we got on to it to go to the cinema. On returning amongst the crowd of soldiers and making for our railway carriage we spied two Officers standing outside. The Scotsman went off and put on his gas cape, which we normally carried when it was raining, and the rest of us returned at odd intervals to the carriage. I had to go with the first two and the Officers were furious. Where had we been, not to the ship where we should have been? “It’s no use lying; the Redcaps haven’t seen any Ordnance men” — at that moment the Scottish lad who had been listening outside came in and said to me, “all correct Sergeant”, but the Officers weren’t having any. “Don’t give us all that bull, you’ll be up before the C.O. tomorrow morning and the Redcaps will verify that they did not see Ordnance”. Then I told them, of course they didn’t see any Ordnance, I’m the only one, these chaps are from other Regiments. They are all ex P.O.W.s and I’m the only Ordnance man. On this reply, to their credit, they quietened down and went out to discuss the situation. They called me and said that it was a serious matter but would not prefer charges this time. It was obvious they knew we had been to the cinema but being P.O.W.s did the trick for us. Later on my complaint was noted and we didn’t have any duty at the docks.

Incidentally, it was interesting to see the number of U Boats chained in fours, ready to be towed out and sunk. Our obsolete merchant ships were loaded up to the top hatches and towed out and sunk complete. It seemed that just off Stranraer the sea was the deepest, therefore best, for this operation. It was very annoying that all the equipment on the ships, furnishings, gallery equipment, electric lamps etc, all of which was in short supply at home, was sunk under Military Guard.

Actually, I did a year in the Army after returning from being a P.O.W. finishing with the Stranraer excursions.

Three weeks before being demobbed, I made the finest and greatest decision of my life, I got married.

Although I was to some degree patriotic, I was never a good soldier, I tried to compensate the British Army by being a nuisance to the Germans.

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.