It's towards the end of the war, just after VE day but before VJ
day. My father is in Italy, stationed at Foggia on the Adriatic. He's ground crew and they’ve been removing bomb racks from planes
and putting in benches for the transportation of prisoners of war. One of the pilots tells him and his mate that
if he gets a chance to go back to Blighty, he’ll take them with him. At this
point my father has been away for 3 years and 8 months and has been told he
will be off to Karachi shortly. In the event, this doesn’t happen because of the
bombing of Nagasaki and Hiroshima, but for now he has no prospect of seeing
home for months or even years. When the
pilot’s gone, his friend, who is equally desperate, says ‘I shouldn’t bank on it if I were you’.
‘Where are you going?’ asks the pilot.
‘Home, sir,’ says Dad.
‘Sorry, there’s no time for that,’ comes the response. ‘We
have to be off at 8am tomorrow morning. But I will get you a pass to go off
base.’
So they hitch to Bournemouth instead and have a meal in
Bobby’s, the department store. Everyone’s
looking at them because they are in khaki summer uniform but with their RAF stripes – ‘an
eagle flying backwards’. They find a bed
and breakfast and are back at base for 8am the next day.
As the plane starts to taxi, a lorry drives up. The pilot
stops the plane and talks to the driver. There’s bad weather over France and
they’ll have to delay their return by a day.
This time there’s no stopping Dad. He hitches as far as Bath – it’s easy to get
lifts because he’s in uniform. Then he
catches a train to Temple Meads and gets a bus up the Gloucester Road to Horfield. As he walks up Macauley Road, the woman who lives opposite calls out ‘Oh, hello, Lionel! When are you going back?’
In the garden his father, a veteran of the Somme, is budding roses. He looks up at my father without a
flicker of emotion. ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘I’d
better go in and tell your mother.’
His mother is, of course, thrilled, over-joyed, overcome at
seeing her boy after so long away and so much danger. They stay up talking till midnight, and Dad
is up and off at 6am the next morning to get back to Lyndhurst by 8. But whilst on the train, he discovers that it
won’t take him all the way to the base so he has to hitch the last few miles.
Time is tight and as he hurries around the perimeter of the airfield, he sees
the plane getting ready to take off. He
asks a passing lorry driver to take him over to it, which he does, and
he gets on in the nick of time.
A day or two later he apologises to the pilot for being so
late and nearly missing the plane.
‘That’s quite all right,’ says the pilot.
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