Percy Smith's War Diary - Part 8

Back home

As time went on and as everything was quiet, the more confident we were that we would make it. I suppose it would have been about the middle of the morning when land was sighted and the excitement was terrific. It didn’t matter where it was, it was dry land. Eventually we docked into Harwich and as the boat pulled in someone shouted “Three cheers for the Captain and Crew”, it was quite a sensation. We must have looked a dirty, filthy lot but suddenly we seemed to be of great interest. There were photographers, nurses, police, WVS (Women’s Voluntary Service) and all sorts of people to usher us into a large warehouse building that had been converted into a gigantic canteen — all free with no charge. There were mountains of cakes and sandwiches, great tanks of hot tea and as much as you could eat with no question. After what had happened over the previous three weeks, it was like waking up out of a nightmare.

It didn’t seem that there was any particular hurry, but when we had finished we were directed out of the building onto a railway platform where there was a passenger train waiting for us to take our seat. On each seat was an orange and a two ounce bar of Cadbury’s Milk Chocolate. Soon the train started to move. We hadn’t a clue where it was going and I’m sure we cared even less, we had made it. The train made its way through the English countryside on a beautiful sunny day. At one point it came to a halt and looking out of the window into a long stretch of green grass, with all their white gear was a cricket match in full swing. One chap let down the window and shouted “Hey you lot, don’t you know there’s a bleeding war on”, but the game went on. Even Hitler could not stop England at cricket.

It would have been perhaps the latter part of the afternoon when the train pulled into a station. I’m not sure if we would have known immediately as about this time they were taking down all the name boards everywhere, in case of invasion, but it turned out to be Leicester. We were then taken to South Wigston barracks on the outskirts of the city. Soon we found ourselves in a very large drill hall. At one end was a stage or platform where eventually a young 2nd Lt. with a very new uniform appeared. He told us that this was a training depot and that as we had no kit of any kind we would go round the barracks and the resident trainees would lend us shaving kit and other items so that we could get cleaned up, until we could be issued with our own. “And another thing” he said. “I don’t want you blokes telling these chaps all about what’s happened and all your stories. Don’t think you’ve won the war, you’ve bloody nearly lost it. These chaps have got to go out and clear up the mess that you’ve made of it”. In ordinary times there could have been a riot, but I don’t remember a murmur, we were far too glad to be back and far too tired. This must have been an early attempt at ‘counselling’.

After a good meal and a clean up, we returned the things we had borrowed and were taken to another drill hall where there was nothing but about 2 ft. of straw over the whole floor. This was our bed for the night. There were no complaints and we had a wonderful night’s sleep. We had to parade next morning to be re-kitted with the bare necessities and to get a bit of pay. I think the next day we were left very much on our own, we went out in the evening and for a few days, when we went into a pub, people knew by the state of our uniforms where we had been and insisted on buying us a beer. Sometimes they invited us to their homes for coffee.

One day they got us on a parade round Leicester with a full military band. I don’t know whose morale they were supposed to boost but I can remember them playing ‘We’re going to hang out our washing on the Siegfried Line’, which in view of what had happened, I thought was a little overdone at the time. Incidentally, this was the only time in my six years and seven months service that I ever marched behind a military band.

All this time I had only one mate from the company but it didn’t seem to matter very much. We had been told that our families would be informed that we were back but when I managed to get to a phone a couple of days later this was not the case, however they sounded quite relieved.

I believe the evacuation at Dunkirk went on for another three or four days after we left. 338,000 people were taken off, which included allied troops as well, as Churchill had insisted that the French, Belgians and Dutch should share in the evacuation. Sadly it meant that the rearguard were mostly left behind, and they had done so much so that we might get away. For those that survived it would be five years before they would return. The same would apply to the 51st Highland Division, who were fighting with the French further south.

We had been at South Wigston for about a week when we were given a weeks leave, although I applied for an extra week after I got home and which I was actually allowed. Of course everyone wanted to know all about it when I arrived back in Staines, but the fact was that looking at a map of Europe at this time there wasn’t very much left that Hitler had not invaded, we were lucky to get home and Britain was in very real danger of being next but for the 21 miles of sea, so that to relate everything I had seen in France and Belgium was hardly going to be much comfort. I’m quite sure that many of us who came back rather counted each day over the next few months as another day that it hadn’t happened. Even being on leave, marvellous though it was, seemed to have a certain gloom about it, wondering what was going to happen next. Churchill had just become Prime Minister. As it turned out, he proved to be a wonderful man for the job, but up to that time he had not yet been able to make his mark.

So serious was the outlook that on the first Sunday of my leave the Government declared a National Day of Prayer. My father and I went along to St. Peter’s Church and there was certainly a church full, many perhaps who were not usually there. Since then, much has been written about the war, but I don’t think it is possible to convey the terrible fear that most people experienced at that time. It would be about the middle of June when my father drove me to the station to get the train to return to camp. On the platform was an old friend of the family, a rather stiff upper-lip type, who had been an army captain in the First World War and who would be expected to inspire courage and all that sort of thing, but in his conversation he related that Hitler had declared that he would be in Brussels by May 15th and he was there, he said he would be in Paris by June 15th and he was there, and he now (then) says he will be in London by August 15th. He said “It makes you think”.

I think this pretty well sums things up as far as Dunkirk goes. Everyone there would have a different tale to tell. I believe we went to war hopelessly ill-equipped, but then would the British people have voted for a Government which would spend large sums on armaments and bringing in conscription only twenty years after the last great war?

While on leave I received a letter instructing me to report back off leave to Evesham in Worcester. I t seemed they were trying to sort out all the chaps who had come back into their units, and this was where my particular company was being ‘collected’. This was quite a pleasant location in the middle of farming country. The sad thing about it was, we began to find out who had come back, who would not be coming back and those who were missing. Our workshop section seemed to have lost most, as they were on the boat which was bombed at the beach at Dunkirk. We were camped in a rough field and the only gainful occupation we were given was being formed into small parties and sent out to work on farms. I think the worst of these jobs was pea picking, it seemed to take ages to fill the large bags with peas. The farmer gave us about three shillings a bag and the army took the money when we got back. Hay making was better, at least we got a wonderful midday meal at the farmhouse. The lucky ones were strawberry picking.

We stayed in Evesham for perhaps a week or ten days. During this time I was assigned to the Workshop section as a breakdown driver, although there was no breakdown lorry. We did receive two 15cwt. Trucks, a stores and a workshop lorry so it was a case of telling Hitler to put the invasion on hold for a bit. However we soon received orders to pack up again. This time we were all put on the train, complete with rations for at least two days, which raised the point of ‘where can you go in Britain that is going to take two days?’ as it turned out it was quite a bit of fun, except that there were no sleeping bunks, you slept in the seats that you sat in. As usual we were not told where we were going and as all the name boards had been taken down on the stations, it was a complete mystery tour. On the second day we started going through hills and mountains, someone said it looked like Wales, another said Scotland. Eventually the train pulled into a station and we found out it was Perth.

After everything was unloaded, off we went along the road for about ten miles and came to the village of Murthly, a quiet little place, tucked away in the Perthshire hills. The workshop section was to share the local garage with the proprietor. Half a dozen of us actually billeted in the garage with three or four diesel lorries which were started up early in the morning, so there was no problem in getting us up. It was still summer, there was a river to swim in (although mountain water is pretty cold), a pub, a small shop, we were away from the bullshit of headquarters and life was not too bad. One or two replacement vehicles which needed work came in , so it became more like a civvy job than an army one. The village is on the edge of what is known as Burnham Wood, which is mentioned in Shakespeare’s Macbeth. One morning we were taken down there to find a whole fleet of motor coaches, which had been obtained from various Scottish corporations, and in various conditions, but all in their civilian colours. We had become No. 22 Motor Coach Company R.A.S.C. The idea was that if there was an invasion in our area, we could rush troops to wherever they were needed. There were more similar units around the East Coast of Scotland.

There was no end to the work that was needed on these vehicles. Apart from the mechanical defects, a load of metal sheets arrived and windows were taken out and replaced with metal with portholes, exactly as Cpl. Jones’s van in Dad’s Army. These coaches also had to be painted in the usual army camouflage paint. If some of these coaches were mechanically doubtful they certainly had drivers to match, there was no passing tests — just get in and drive — and that is where I became part of a team who I think became quite expert at getting motor coaches out of the ‘burrn’ in the Highlands of Scotland. We used to get calls at all hours of the day and night. The 3-ton Bedford was always loaded with jacks, timber, tow ropes and other necessities for instant use. There was nothing very technical about our equipment.

At about this time I had a slight diversion in that since returning from France I seemed to have a permanent itch which was slowly getting worse. In fact I could scratch until it drew blood, so I thought it best to see the M.O. He took one look and said “You’ll have to go to hospital, you’ve got Scabies, I’ll give you a note for your Officer”. However, back at the office the Sgt. Major was not very happy as it seemed that Scabies was very catching — I was treated almost like a leper. So in no time I was given the days rations, ‘small kit’ and a railway warrant for Glasgow to report to Merryhill Barracks.

After all the fuss about having Scabies I sometimes wondered how many people I may have infected on the way to Glasgow. Eventually arriving at a rather bleak part of the barracks, which I would hardly call a hospital, there were five other chaps in a room with the same trouble. There were just army beds in the room, a table and nothing else. The treatment was to shower three times a day and then we had a 5-gallon drum of some chemical stuff, which was rather like axle grease with just about the same smell. We had to rub ourselves all over each time with this as though we were going to swim the channel, so I wasn’t sorry when after about 4 or 5 days the MO gave me the all clear. Whatever the axle grease was, it certainly did the trick.

In the workshops there was a 3-ton lorry, the body of which was being rebuilt as a mobile office, therefore the tubular frame holding the tarpaulin had been removed and thrown on the scrap heap. It seemed to me that in my spare time in the evenings and with some sacking for the middle, I could make a bed frame from this, which would be preferable to sleeping on the floor which I did and I was lucky enough to hold on to this until the war ended and I left the company some years later. I was not the only one who did this.

Generally we never seemed to stay in one place for very long and our next location was about 80 miles north to a little village called Fivie close to Turriff in Aberdeenshire, where we never had such a thing as an air raid but if an enemy plane happened to reconnoitre over Aberdeen, the village police house would be phoned and the local policeman would get on his bike and blow his whistle down through the village. The move north required two round trips by myself and a Corporal Mitchell with a full 3-tons of stores each time, right through the Highlands, including one particular part known as Devil’s Elbow, which was an extremely steep gradient with a hair-pin bend in the middle. We weren’t sure that the lorry would make it so Cpl. Mitchell decided to get out at the bottom, walk up to the bend and when the road was clear he would give me the O.K. and I would give the lorry all it had got to get to the top. It was a bit tricky but we just made it.

It was when we had returned to Murthly after the first run that six or eight new chaps had arrived. They seemed quite decent blokes, though little did I think that one of them, Leslie Smith, would be a close friend for the next fifty years, till death did us part. At the time I suppose we rather felt a bit superior because they hadn’t been to France, but we soon got over it.

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