Percy Smith's War Diary - part 13

As usual, you no sooner get used to the place than it’s time to move on again. This time it was back to Bologna for a week or two to the same place that we were before. I don’t remember anything particularly noteworthy happening before we headed back again into Austria. This time we settled in camp on a hill overlooking a large lake called Worthersea. The nearest town was Villach about 30 miles west of Klagenfurt. All this area was and still is a wonderful holiday resort, it was really beautiful in the summer of 1945. When the Austrians dressed up to go out on Sunday afternoon it would mostly be in their leather shorts and decorated hats for the men and the ladies wore very colourful dresses. It was all so different from the heat and dirt of North Africa and the then devastation of Italy.

As previously said, my job went on much the same but not with the same urgency as before. We still filled in the same working hours even when the European war was over. Down the hill beside the lake there was a small lido which was a great attraction for most of us. There was a raft some distance away from the bank and by the time you had swum half way to it you were already out of your depth. I had not been able to swim very long and on one occasion on swimming back I didn’t think I could make it, so I shouted to one of the lads for help. He bravely came up and said “What’s the matter?” I said “I can’t make it”. He said “Well, why don’t you put your feet on the bottom?” It didn’t happen again.

About ten or fifteen miles away, beside the same lake, there was a luxury hotel which would have had perhaps three or four stars in normal times. This hotel was now being organised for 48 hour leave periods. This was unbelievable luxury and 48 hours was all too short. There were proper beds and sheets, knives, forks, tablecloths and even an attempt at menus, despite the rationing. It did seem to me however, that pretty young waitresses bringing sex hungry soldiers tea in bed in the morning was running a bit of a risk. However as far as we knew, everyone behaved like Officers and Gentlemen.

Although it was all very pleasant around where we were, not too far away was rather a different story. We were situated in a part of Europe which was German, not far from Italy and Yugoslavia and not too far away from the Communist world. The end of the war in Europe left great confusion in parts of that area. The main military forces in Yugoslavia were commanded by Marshall Tito, who had resisted the Germans and therefore had been a useful help to the Allied cause. He seemed to think that this gave him the right to do as liked in that part of the world when the war was over. So troops had o be used to bring that situation under control. As well as this there were odd bands of Partisan and Guerilla troops roaming around, armed to the teeth, as well as refugees and Displaced people. To complicate matters even further all sorts of political factions were involved. Efforts had to be made to sort this out and this is where our company came onto the scene, with troop carriers to take these people back to where they came from. Some of our drivers said that not all of these people wanted to go back, they had to be forced into the vehicles at gun point as they were so in fear of their lives at going back.

For the rest of May and through June and July into early August, the war in the Far East continued which was rather worrying. Then news came in that a new type of bomb had been dropped, and another two days later. This was the first we knew of the Atomic Bomb but we had no idea of its power. However, on August 16th, 1945, the Japanese finally surrendered to the Americans. The formal instrument of surrender was signed on board the U.S.S. Missouri on Sept. 2nd, 1945 and WORLD WAR TWO was officially over.

I have always thought that it was not until then that we felt really safe and that we had ‘made it’ because sadly, between the German surrender and the Japanese, many more lives were lost. It was of course regrettable that it took the atomic bomb to finish it and no doubt many Allied lives were saved by it. I have also thought that the main victory celebrations should have been at the end of the war with Japan but the emphasis was mainly on the collapse of Germany.

My generation was now 27 years old, the war and the run up to it had lasted the best part of six and a half years, which was about the last quarter of our whole lives, and though there was so much sorrow and devastation, the idea of the whole world being at peace took a little while to get used to. All the same, it didn’t take very long before our thoughts turned toward demobilisation. We knew we were not all going home straight away so some sort of Government announcement was eagerly awaited. This came in the form of a kind of ‘points’ system governed by two factors i.e. the length of your war service, dating from the day war was declared, and your age. Points were given in each case and added together and those with the highest number of points were first out. This was all very well but those of us called up in the Militia had about ten weeks compulsory service which did not seem to count. A number of us wrote to our MPs complaining about this, which was really against the rules in the service. We didn’t get into any trouble and we didn’t get anywhere either, but it was a way of letting off a bit of steam.

In an army unit the daily orders are always put on the notice board outside company office and it is an offence not to read them or know them. It happened that any names coming up for demob’ were published there, it also said that any of these names who wished to stay on in the army should make a written application to the Workshop Officer. It happened that our Workshop Officer had been called up right from the start and as he was the oldest, our Workshop Sergeant Major was first on the list to be demobbed. This was too much for some of us, so we made out an application for continued service in the army, forged his signature, got the Workshop Officer (Captain) onto it and next morning our Sgt. Major was on Company Office to attend his application for further service. He eventually emerged from the office with a rather red face, muttering something about “What a bloody shower”. However when the time came to leave, it was quite emotional because, like one or two more of us, he had been with the same company through the whole of the war.

Being one of the youngsters at the outbreak of war meant that I had a while to wait before my number was likely to come up, so that as a number of Senior NCO’s had left, my name was put forward to be a Sergeant. However while this was going on I had word from home that my parents had applied for my return to England on compassionate grounds, which they could do at that time. At first I did not think they would get it, but eventually, to my surprise, it came through. It was granted on account of their health reasons, which was also a bit of a surprise. I therefore did not get a third stripe, instead I got an early return to England.

I had known some of the lads since the first weeks of the war and all of them for a very long time. Living together night and day for over six years, talking to each other about our homes and families, we had become very much a family ourselves. All this time we had thought and talked of one thing — the war finishing and getting home. Now that it was happening there was an unexpectedly strange feeling - we were leaving the people we knew so well and going home to those whom we had not spoken to for two and a half years, not even by phone. Of course it was really wonderful to be going home but it was going to be strange none the less, and in spite of everything, there was a strong sense of regret which I believe everyone felt on leaving.

After saying goodbye to the lads I was given the necessary paperwork to go home by air and at that time I had never been in a plane. The main embarkation point by air was Naples, about 600 miles south, and the nearest aerodrome was Klagenfurt. So, with a last look round, my kit was put into a 15 cwt. truck and I was driven to Klagenfurt. The aerodrome was certainly a small one. There were a couple of planes but I had some difficulty in finding anyone around. Eventually a chap came out to see what I wanted and when I told him, he looked at my papers and said “Oh yes, right — well, you’ll have to wait a little while, I’ve got to finish doing a job on the engine”. This was not very reassuring for the first time in an aeroplane. In the meantime a couple more troops came up and the three of us, plus the pilot, got on board an American Dakota which had long bench seats on each side and looked like it had been used for parachute work. I suppose it must have taken about two and a half to three hours before we arrived at Naples airport where there was a quite well organised reception area. We had a wash and a meal and then two or three hundred of us went into a ‘briefing hall’ where an R.A.F. officer told us what was going to happen the next day. It was just as if we were going on a bombing raid. There were to be an Officer, Warrant Officer and I think eighteen men in each one of a fleet of Lancaster Bombers. He said “There are only two spare seats in the front of the plane and your guess is as good as mine who is going to get them, the rest of you manage as best you can”. So most of us went to bed full of expectation for the next day.

Our quarters and breakfast next morning were such that I believe us army types thought there was a lot to be said for the RAF. After breakfast we were organised into our various parties and marched out to the airfield where I think there were perhaps thirty or more Lancaster Bombers lined up in rows. A party of us were allocated to each plane and we made ourselves acquainted with the flying crew, who seemed to be the kind of chaps you would expect, and after what they had been through they regarded this job all as a bit of fun. The planes seemed huge when you were up against them, each one appeared to have a name. The rows of ‘little white bombs’ painted on the side, each one denoting an operation, were certainly impressive. Eventually we were ordered onto the plane, with kit as well, the officer and W.O. of course taking the spare front seats with the rest of us making the best of what we could find. I finished up on one of the main girders of a bomb rack, it was very dark and was going to be very uncomfortable for the next six or seven hours. There was no window but only a kind of small porthole about three feet below my feet, which told you nothing of what was going on outside. However, it wasn’t long before first one engine was started up and then another until all four were warming up for take off and it was one hell of a noise as the plane took off, rather different to the modern airliners at the time of writing.

There doesn’t seem much that can be said about the flight back to England, we had been told not to move about more than necessary while the plane was in the air, but although I don’t remember — there must have been some sort of toilet provision on a journey of this length. About the only thing I could see from the small porthole was whether it was night or day, and so after a number of very uncomfortable dozes there was a feeling that the engines were relaxing and that landing was not far away. At least by this time I could make out that it was beginning to get dark and it was not long before the Lancaster landed and after two and a half years I was safely back on British soil at Glatton Airfield near Peterborough in Northamptonshire. I wondered how the prisoners of war of 1940 felt on arriving back after more than five years.

A short distance away there was a reception area where we sort of ‘booked in’, there were refreshments, a chance for a wash and somewhere to spend the night. The next day, after a bit of mucking about, I got a railway pass for Edinburgh and a small amount of money. I actually paid for a ticket to Staines first so that the pass was used for the most expensive journey (about £4.00). Going to London and changing at Waterloo, I phoned my parents at Staines and Dad said he would meet me at the station. It was a strange journey after all that had happened since I last saw it. The train pulled into the station, I got out and there was Dad on the platform. We were of course glad to see each other, but while I hope I did not show it, I got quite a shock as he seemed to have become so old since I had been away and so had my mother when I got home. It rather brought home to me the fact that the war had taken its toll on those at home as well as those in the services. However I was only in Staines long enough to get sorted out before I went off to Edinburgh. This was also very strange as Muriel and I had been married for two and a half years but had only spent about ten days together. I also had a brother-in-law whom I had never seen and the kid sister-in-law was now quite grown up. My parents-in-law seemed fairly well but like everyone else, the war had been a terrible strain on them. It is not easy to describe this leave. It was a hectic round of seeing everyone, invitations to tea, everyone being so wonderful and wanting to know all about my experiences. But of course, wonderful though it might have been and I was safe back in Britain, but I hadn’t got my demob yet, and I was still in the Army.

During my much enjoyed leave I received a letter with a railway warrant telling me to report to a Holding Battalion in a place called Little Budworth in Cheshire. The nearest place of any size was Chester, about ten miles away and it turned out to be about two miles from the nearest pub. I did not know that there could be any place in the middle of England that was so far away from anywhere. On top of this, Holding Battalions were about the most demoralising places the Army could devise. You are away from home, you are one of thousands of blokes, you have no mates, you are just a number, no-one wants to know you, however much you try you can’t find out what is going to happen to you and you are just a bloody nuisance. I think I must have been there about ten days or so when I was told that I should report to an address in London, so that was a relief. It was late in the day when I arrived there and it seemed that nobody wanted to be bothered, as it was a small unit of some kind in a large private house. I was told there was nowhere to stay for the night so I could go home if I wanted and come back the next day. I said OK but what about the train fare. This seemed to be a problem as there appeared to be no procedure for paying train fares, however I think about seven shillings and sixpence was eventually produced and signed for, so I settled for that and made my way to Waterloo and home.

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