Not Flag or Fail (24 page)

We had more or less finished, Ronny was just feeding some crumbs to a very tame blackbird when we were joined by Lieutenant Baker who told us that all our passes and rail warrants were ready and that the CPO himself would be driving us into Croydon to catch the train into Paddington.

And so it was, that just before noon, we stood on the gravel outside the house waiting for the CPO. Surprisingly, not only did the Lieutenant come out to see us off but he also brought with him Commander Harrison and the Major. The Major looked at us both and told us that the warrants were made out to get us back to Tillington but he had also included a piece of paper with his phone number so that if we decided at any point to come back and join him we only had to ring the number. With that he shook both our hands, saluted, turned smartly and went back into the house. Just then the CPO arrived in the Austin Seven and it was Rachel Harrison’s turn, she also shook our hands and was about to salute when she suddenly said “Oh bugger this!” And reaching up kissed both of us on the cheek and without another word went back inside the house holding a handkerchief to her eyes.

That left just a grinning Lieutenant Baker who said. “I think she must have something in her eye? So have a good leave then chaps, and you never know we may meet again.” We shook hands and got into the little Austin,

Smithy put the car into gear and the Lieutenant saluted us as we drove out through the gate posts at the start of our leave.

Ronny and I had agreed to say our good byes at Paddington, him to head North-west to Bath and me taking a night train to Crewe, but as we skirted Croydon he turned to me and asked if I fancied a night in London before we went our separate ways? The travel warrants were flexible so I said why not, and even Smithy agreed that it was a good idea, but declined our offer to join us saying that he was involved in a ‘bit of training’ later in the evening. He did change his mind about dropping us at Croydon though, taking us all the way into London, dropping us off at an NCOs club, close to Soho square and with a wave and a toot of the horn set off back for Croydon. We checked with the desk clerk and found that the club had a room so we dumped our kit bags and headed off into the city, As I said earlier, I had only been to the nations capital twice before and Ronny revelled in being my guide. We used the tube to get around to the famous names that I had previously only read about; Trafalgar Square, Hyde Park Corner, Leicester Square. We called into a Lyons Corner House and were served tea by a waitress in a black dress and a white frilly pinafore. Although we didn’t go inside, Ronny showed me the Science Museum and the Victoria and Albert Museum. We saw the Thames Embankment, Tower Bridge and the Houses of Parliament. In fact we saw most of the famous sights. They all passed by in a whirl as we used our familiar jog trot to get from one place to another, enjoying every minute.

We stopped on the river bank and watched the shipping go by, the dull colours reflecting on the oil stained waters in the late summer sunshine. All around us life went on, business as usual, women hurried along, sometimes pulling reluctant children behind them. Soldiers, sailors and airmen promenaded by, enjoying their leave as we were, like us being accosted by the occasional, for want of a better word, street vendor offering us all sorts of restricted items and services.

At sometime after six o’clock we headed back to the NCOs club intending to get a bath or shower before going out for the night. When we arrived the desk clerk informed us, “No hot water tonight gents, the boilers packed up.”

So a quick wash in cold water saw us back outside a little less than half an hour later. We found a small café that did a very reasonable three course special and about an hour later we tasted our first pint. The pub we’d chosen was an old place on a corner and it had a quiet, friendly atmosphere about it. We sat down and lit a cigarette and I turned to speak to Ronny asking him if the Major had asked him the same question about joining his Commandos or whatever it was he called them?

“Well yes he has and I don’t mind telling you Alan, I am giving it some really serious thought.”

My mouth opened but I couldn’t find the words at first, then I said “Serious thought … you’ll be telling me next you’ve just enjoyed our trip to France!”

“Well didn’t you, now that we’re back at home, safe and sound?” he shot back at me.

For the first time I admitted to myself that I had.

I didn’t speak for a long while, my vision blurred as my mind played back to me some of the scenes from our time in France.

Eventually I spoke “Yes but would you want that much excitement all of the time?”

“That’s the problem Alan, I think I do, being part of a gun crew doesn’t seem quite the best way for me to make my contribution to the war effort anymore.” Ronny said, whilst lighting up a cigarette before passing the packet over to me.

We finished our drinks, left that pub and made our way to the next, as the night wore on the pubs got fuller and our talk got lighter until eventually we stopped talking about the future and concentrated without too much effort on enjoying our night out.

We had met two girls in one of the pubs and they stayed with us for the rest of the night acting as our guides. At just before eleven pm we shared a fish super with them.

And somewhere near to Waterloo Station, they informed us we had just enough time to get to Soho before the air raids started. So we stole a kiss and with much laughing and joking we thanked them for their company and said our goodnights’.

In fact the girls were wrong, because for some reason best known to the Luftwaffe they chose not to come over on the night of our visit and as such we were able to get a decent nights sleep not being woken until just before seven a.m. by one of the staff with a knock on the door but no cup of tea.

It was two very much the worse for wear Sergeants who said their goodbyes on the platform of Victoria Station later that morning.

Ronny leaving on the ten o’clock train for Bristol and onto Bath, giving me time for two further mugs of tea before catching a later train for Crewe. I managed to get a seat in one of the third class compartments and as the train coughed and wheezed its way north I spent my time alternatively sleeping and smoking until finally at Wolverhampton I was able to stretch my legs and get a cup of tea and a Spam sandwich from a WVS stall on the station platform.

Half an hour later as the train skirted Stafford and passed through Norton Bridge I was starting to feel human again, I went out into the corridor pulled down the window lit a cigarette and watched the familiar fields and hedgerows pass by.

The train pulled into Crewe station at just after four pm,

I handed in my warrant to the ticket collector and left the station intending to search for a bus but noticed Two RAF seven tonners pulled up just outside. A Flight Sergeant was supervising the loading of crates onto the back of the second wagon the first had the curtains closed so was presumably already loaded, “Going anywhere near Market Drayton?” I asked.

“Only right bleeding through it, if these cretins ever get this thing bleeding loaded.” He replied in a southern accent.

“Great any chance of a lift then?” I asked.

“Sorry mate against ‘hairforce’ regulations” and then almost as an afterthought unless you’ve got twenty fags you don’t want?” he replied.

Twenty fags was a bit expensive I thought, but figured it could take me ages to get home by bus.

“Ok then, you’ve got a deal” I said getting a packet out of my kitbag and handing it to him.

Fifteen minutes later I was sitting up front between him and the driver in the first of the two Bedford seven tonners as we left the Station Concourse and headed for RAF Ternhill.

The sun was just beginning to set over the familiar Shropshire landscape that had always been home to me, as I walked up the path to the backdoor of our little terraced cottage. I turned the knob, opened the door and stepped inside, already anticipating the look of surprise on my Mum’s face when she saw who’d just walked in.

“Alan!” She cried wiping her hands on her pinafore as she walked across the kitchen to give me a hug, “why didn’t you say you were coming? Look at you, have you lost weight? And what’s this? Three stripes, my word your Dad’s going to be so proud when he sees them why didn’t you tell us? Why haven’t you written? The last time we heard from you was the day after you got back from Dunkirk.”

“Mum, “I said bending down to kiss her forehead, “what a lot of questions put the kettle on and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Mum put the kettle on to the hob and I sat down in one of the easy chairs that were each side of the fire in the back room. It seemed strange, everything looked just the same as when I’d left and yet somehow it all seemed different, smaller perhaps.

“Your Dad won’t be long, he’s gone down to the allotment, and he’s got a new job you know, he’s doing war work, munitions over at Radway Green. It takes him nearly an hour to get there, they put on special buses, and he’s trying to get on the Air-Force base at Ternhill as a civilian employee, because that’s only twenty five minutes away if he uses his bike. Perhaps now you are a Sergeant you could put a word in?”

“Yes Mum, next time I’m talking to Winston I’ll mention it.”

“There’s no call to be sarcastic Alan. “She said as she put the tea in the pot, after her usual ritual of warming it first.

I looked across at her and was regretting the remark almost as soon as I’d finished saying it.

“Sorry Mum “I said standing up and giving her a hug. “I’m spending too much time with these flipping Tommie’s.”

Just then the back door opened and my Dad came in, he was carrying a cauliflower and a dead rabbit. He put them both down and came straight to me shaking my hand vigorously.

“Well, well, well!” was all he seemed capable of saying at that particular time, he must have repeated the phrase at least four times before my Mum pushed him down into the opposite chair and poured us all a cup of tea. I explained to them that I’d got two weeks leave as a sort of reward for gaining my Sergeants’ stripes. Because I couldn’t say anything about what I’d really been doing for the past couple of weeks I just emphasised that we’d been on all sorts of courses where it wasn’t possible to get in touch with them.

“We’ll go down the railway club tonight,” my Dad said adding, “leave your uniform on we can show off your stripes!”

My Mum turned away from the sink where she was peeling vegetables looked at my Dad and said. “Perhaps Alan has his own plans don’t you think you should ask him?”

After much discussion between my Mum and Dad I was able to but in and to convince both parties that I was happy to go to the club and as it was my first night home I really didn’t mind wearing my uniform, they were going to make it compulsory soon for servicemen on leave anyway.

The first week of my leave passed easily enough I was able to catch up on my sleep and recuperate after the strain of the last couple of weeks. I enjoyed being back with my Mum and Dad. However they were really the only company I had because by now most of my school friends had left the village and gone off to join one or other of the Services. Of the lads that were left behind, working in engineering either at the Railway Works in Crewe or at the Radway Green munitions factory, none were on my list of close friends, similarly the girls I knew seemed only interested in the RAF blokes from nearby Tern Hill, I was told that mostly they were secretly hoping to land a pilot of their own.

So it was perhaps no wonder that by lunchtime on the Monday of my second week of leave I walked down to the pub and asked them if I could use their phone to ring Ronny. The phone was answered by his mother who said that he had gone out for a walk but if I left my number she’d get him to phone me back, I explained to her that we hadn’t a phone at home and that I was phoning from the pub.

She said that was ok and that if I could be there at seven thirty that evening she would get him to ring me after dinner.

I walked home, frankly feeling slightly bored and looking forward to a chat with Ronny later.

That evening I cried off going to the club with my Dad and walked down to the pub, bought a pint for myself and a half for Reg the barman, explaining that I was expecting a call. “You sit you down there with the paper then and I’ll shout you when it comes through.” He said.

I was halfway down my pint, engrossed in reading the report on Churchill’s latest speech to the House when Reg shouted to me and I went through behind the bar to take the call.

I think we must have both been glad to hear a familiar voice and we chatted like two schoolgirls, each struggling to get a word in. However as the conversation slowed to a more normal pace it became obvious to both of us that we were both bored to tears being back in the bosom of our families.

Ronny asked if I had plenty of money left and I told him that I’d spent very little, he suggested that we should meet up on the Wednesday at Victoria Station and spend the last few days of our leave somewhere on the coast as there was still plenty of late summer sunshine about, I readily agreed.

All I had to do now was go home and tell Mum and Dad.

The following morning Mum, Dad and I all sat down together for breakfast at about 9.00 a.m. Dad was not going to work until the two o’clock shift and he had swapped some of the vegetables from his allotment for a dozen eggs so we all had eggs. Mum and Dad opting to have theirs poached whilst she boiled two for me.

After we had finished eating and were enjoying a second cup of tea I lit a cigarette and plucked up the courage to tell them that I was going to spend my last few days of leave on the coast. Surprisingly, instead of the objections that I expected, Mum smiled and Dad, whilst lighting up his pipe, simply said

“I don’t blame you son, it must seem a bit boring for you round here with all your mates away.”

Later I borrowed Dads bike and cycled down to the pub to check the train time-table, having worked out my best train, I rang Crewe Station to make sure the trains were running to schedule. They weren’t, the booking clerk advised me that my best option was to take the night train that left Crewe at one a.m. and which should get me into Victoria at six forty-three on Wednesday.