Memories of Frank Yates Chapter 48 The Last.

Memories of Frank Yates CHAPTER 48

During those last few months in the Army, as old friends were going home, according to the demobilisation priority system, I found myself occupying myself with various jobs. I was recruited to do sports reports for the Army newspaper. I was asked to cover a hockey match, but as I had never even seen a hockey match in my life, I was somewhat apprehensive. I treated it as a football match; the basic principle of scoring goals was much the same. As you can see by the extract, it seemed to work. At least, no one complained!

The G1 discovered that I had been a Boy Scout and, as the British Government was anxious to restart the Boy Scout movement in Germany to counter the Hitler Youth mentality, they sent the Deputy Chief Scout, and I had to take him to meet influential people, of high rank, who, could advise on the matter. One of them was our Brigadier Coleman of 160 Brigade.
Our football team gradually disappeared, mostly back to their native Stoke on Trent and the era of high level football ended. This was a time of many parties, because everyone’s departure back to “Civvy Street” had to be marked with a farewell party.
During this period we were doing a lot of trading with the Germans, who could not be paid in the valueless mark, and wanted cigarettes, the universal currency. A generous Government waived all duty on cigarettes, provided that they were despatched to service people, overseas. The tobacco companies got on the bandwagon and arranged shipments of a thousand at a time.
Everybody wanted a Leica, or a Zeiss Contax. The nearest I got to a Leica was to swap an “Elmar” wide angle lens for 50 cigarettes, but I never got the camera to go with it! One day I went with Tony Rutherford, the Photo Interpretation Officer, to the photographic shop of Herr Fuchs, in Dusseldorf. Tony had suggested, to the general, that, if he could start at the Normandy beaches and finish at Hamburg, photographing all the memorable places en route, any soldier could obtain copies to take home to show his family. Tony, through our Dutch Liaison officer, Dad de Konig, explained to Herr Fuchs that, if he wanted the printing of thousands of large prints, a condition would be that Herr Fuchs would supply Tony with a suitable camera, at its retail price. The shopkeeper agreed, and opened the safe and produced a brand new Contax, in its box. The price was 450 marks, which Tony paid. (About 100 cigarettes would easily cover the cost!)
Tony set off in a Humber, with driver and several boxes of rations, and all went well with his arrangements. Several of the illustrations in these memoirs are Tony‘s photographs.
NAFFI was beginning to obtain consumer goods from the German production set-up, slow to readjust after their wartime efforts. I bought a record player and some records, fixed up for me, in my bedroom, by the film projectionist. I obtained a very nice Telefunken 5 valve radio. A Voightlander Bessa camera was purchased from NAAFI after a draw to get the first choice. I still have this camera 60 years later, although I don’t know if 120 films are still available!
Mindful of my prospective demobilisation, I got our tame German “Mr Fixit” to introduce me to a tailor in Dusseldorf. He made me a charcoal grey suit, the material was not very good- wartime “ersatz” cloth. He also made me a blue jacket, in a sort of Tyrolean style. This handsome jacket turned quite a few heads when I wore it in Sheffield! Although I paid the tailor officially and legally in valueless marks, a few hundred cigarettes changed hands! I found the idea of exchanging cigarettes for valuable goods or services somewhat demeaning, but was as much a culprit as everyone else.
People often say that everybody remembers where they were when they heard of the news of President Kennedy’s assassination. I can remember, very well, where I was when I heard the news of the most momentous event of the century. I was in “B” mess having my afternoon tea, when the announcement came through, on the radio, that America had dropped the first atomic bomb on Hiroshima and that it had the destructive power of 1000 tons of TNT. There was a stunned silence in the mess, as we all realised that, as from
August the sixth, 1945, the planet Earth was a completely different place, with a future, holding the choice between mass destruction, or the end of major wars. Fortunately, in 2005, as I write these notes, the first alternative has not materialised!
My demobilisation was approaching, in July, 1946, and very few of the gang, who had been together since Normandy, were still there. The first stage of the journey home involved getting to the transit camp at Calais. One of the Sigs Officers, who had bought one of the first Volkswagen Beetles to come off the production line and was going to import it to Britain, offered me a lift to Calais, which I gratefully accepted. On the day before departure, I cleared my desk, and contemplated the thousands of marks, in the office safe, left from the proceeds of football matches, and decided to give it to the DAAQ’s Div. Welfare Fund, so I stuffed the money into a shoebox and toddled downstairs to Col. Neilson’s office, knocked on the door and presented him with the shoebox. He wanted to know the source of the cash and when, on asking for the accounts, went apoplectic and said that such an account, recorded in a school exercise book, with “ins” on one page and “outs” on the other, were not allowed in the Army and my demobilisation was likely to be delayed until investigations had been made. I pointed out that the fund had been started by officers, long demobbed, and I had simply inherited the money. I also pointed out that, as the Army had no knowledge of the money, I could have gone home with it and no one would have been the wiser, He calmed down and I left, with no thanks, and no good wishes and I wondered why I hadn’t gone home with the money!
So off we went, next morning, well loaded, in the “Beetle” on the way to Calais. The first generation production car was quite crude, with rough edges to the window openings and some un-ground welds, but it ran well and reliably to the transit camp, where we spent the night and my friend made arrangements for the ferrying of his car, by a private firm, to England. I would point out that new cars were not available in Britain and second hand cars were terribly expensive, so the “Beetle, bought with dodgy money in Germany, was a good idea.
A calm trip over to Dover, where we entrained, straight off the ship and stayed in the same train, except for refreshment stops until we arrived at the village of Strensall, near York, the site of a huge army camp, with it’s own railway station. This was the demobilisation centre for the north of England. I had to hand in my pistol and ammunition and my compass. There were no requirements to produce it and I have since wondered why I bothered. We were passed through a large hall to be fitted out with clothing. There was no distinction between officers and OR’s. there were racks and racks of suits, tailored by government tender, by the large multiple tailors, like Burton’s and The Fifty Shilling Tailor and lots of civilian helpers to fit the suits. I got a very hard wearing brown herringbone tweed suit, which lasted many years. A pair of good quality black oxford shoes and a trilby hat completed the ensemble. I then went into an office to sign for my clothing and to receive a post office bank book with about £90 in it and a railway warrant (still first class), to Sheffield. So ended my military service and at the end of my three months demob leave (for which I was paid at my normal rate, (without field allowance)

The date was Sept. 1st.1946, exactly seven years after being mobilised in Sept, 1939. Seven years of my life had gone, but I personally would not have missed it. I saw things and places which were part of history. I met people, from Royalty to fairground gypsies. I had been in charge of the air defence of Swindon and Plymouth, when only 22 years old. I had gained a confidence which stood me in good stead when I became a teacher. I had lived well, with a servant, and enjoyed the award of a Mention in Despatches.

The end of one phase in my life and the beginning of another.

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