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The Platoons from (S) Company on their return to Bamenda Camp settled in very quickly and with the thoughts of going home soon, there certainly was an air of happiness amongst everyone. Our time of the two weeks left in Bamenda Camp was spent mostly relaxing and packing the odd bit of equipment, that the regiment most wanted in England, for example our rifles etc. As I wrote earlier, most equipment was being left for the Grenadier Guards, because their regiment had only four months tour of duty in the Cameroons, before they returned home and it was therefore pointless bringing extra equipment with them. Those two weeks in Bamenda camp literally flew by, until the day we all longed for arrived. Wearing full kit and smiling faces, the Company boarded the convoy of lorries that was taking us non-stop to Buea Camp. The excitement of going home was tremendous, our job here in the Cameroons was over and it was a job the Kings Own Border Regiment, had certainly done well. I know we had groaned and moaned throughout, but it’s a soldier’s lot to moan and this will never change, no matter what. The uneventful Journey to Buea took about seven hours, unlike the journey ten months previously, but it didn’t matter, because it was the first lap of our journey home. At Buea camp, the Company were housed three to a room in (C) Company’s aluminum constructed billets, of which was a most appreciated luxury indeed for (S) Company, after being under canvas for so long. Life for the next few days was one long relaxation, with football matches and other recreational activities organised. Also the added bonus of not having to do any guard duties, because of Buea being (C) Company’s camp, they thankfully had to do it. It was great to see my friends, who were in (C) Company again, such as Eric Shaw, Geoff Stubbs, Jim Prince, Tony Hird and all the other Barrow lads too numerous too mention. Those carefree days went on until the morning of the fourth day, when a buzz went round the camp that the troopship Devonshire was in the harbour. I along with many others of my platoon went to a high vantage spot on the camp and there in the distance we could see clearly the white painted troopship Devonshire, lying at anchor just off Victoria. I along with my fellow comrades, were absolutely chuffed and I am sure those besides me, who witnessed that wonderful sight, will remember how lovely it looked and what it meant to us all. With (S) Company having now no commitments, we were given the honour of being the first men of the battalion to board the Devonshire. The journey down to the dockside was only about fifteen minutes and it was the most memorable fifteen minutes, one could have in a lifetime. With everyone in such a high spirit of forth comings and expectancies, the troops on the convoy soon broke out in song. Loudly, with total enthusiasm all the way down to the docks, we sang our own version of nick knack paddy whack give the dog a bone, the Kings Own Borders going home. A Company of Grenadier Guardsmen had just alighted from barges and had formed up in lines on the dockside as our convoy of lorries pulled up along side them. The singing, which they had heard, had by the look on their faces and staring eyes, certainly gave them all, a down in the gill expression. Our company was lined up directly opposite the smartly dressed guardsmen in their new olive green uniforms and to them no doubt, we must have looked a motley bunch in our much used and creased uniforms. When CSM Kershaw brought our Company to attention, considering that we had not done drill practice for ten months or so, all movements were performed in complete unison. Even the CSM Kershaw was surprised, because he had one of his rare satisfactory smiles on his face. With true gusto the barges were soon boarded, with all eyes fixed on the troopship lying at anchor in the calm water of the bay. Once on board ship and settling into my allotted bunk space, it felt like being in the Ritz. It is very hard to express the feeling of seeing everything around one so spotlessly clean and tidy, I and many others made a beeline for the ship’s toilets, too see and flush with water. This, being the first time since leaving the Devonshire, ten months previously, that our company and indeed the regiment had seen water flushed toilets. I assure you the reader, it was a grand feeling flushing those toilets on board the ship; all so taken for granted back home in the U. K. I shudder to think, how the lads who fought in the Desert and Burma campaigns during World War 2, reacted on seeing water flushed toilets again after their many years away from England. Removing our faded olive green uniforms for the last time and putting on P.T kit and trainers, the next two days while wishing our time away, we all had a life of Reilly. When finally the last Grenadier Guardsmen left the ship and the last of our regiment had boarded, the anchor was pulled up and away we went. Feeling a little bit mixed up and wrapped in personal thoughts, I stayed on the stern of the ship, watching the Cameroons disappear out of view forever. I knew my outlook on life and the independence I had gained would hold me in good stead, for the rest of my life. Even though I had daily contact with the black African, in good and sometimes bad situations, it didn’t alter my attitude towards them, because I knew in my mind, that I didn’t go out to Africa as a racist and I certainly wasn’t going home as one. With thoughts more settled in my mind and the ship steadily heading home, I turned in for the night. I did not mess about this time, I volunteered straight away for deck cleaning duties, just to make sure I didn’t get put in the galley. The trip home was most enjoyable and for the first week with it being warm below deck, I slept on the top deck, beneath a blanket of beautiful stars that shone so bright. Along with the added bonus of a full moon and in the knowledge, the ship was getting nearer home every second, my bliss was complete. After three days at sea, the ship made a port of call at Lagos, the capital of Nigeria, for water supplies and while this was going on, swimming parties were organised. The ship lay anchor in the bay at the Lagos harbour entrance and because of this, any movement from ship to shore had to be done by tender. The white sandy beach was situated to the left of the harbour and mentally, it was just what the Doctor ordered. All participants of the swimming party, really appreciated and enjoyed, the opportunity to swim in the blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean and a good time was certainly had by all. On the night tide, the Devonshire set sail for the Canary Islands, our next port of call. Arriving about five days later in Las Palmas, but unlike Lagos, only personnel with civilian clothes were allowed ashore. Only about thirty men onboard ship had some form of civilian dress and even then it was odds and sods clothing. They were only allowed ashore for about three hours and believe me it was so amusing watching their return to the ship, each one of them pissed up to the eyeballs, on cheap Spanish wine. Holding each other up and attempting the impossibility of trying, not to fall over, in front of the Duty Officer and in fairness to him, he kept a blind eye on the situation, with the odd shake of his head. The white helmeted Spanish military police were on the dockside in numbers and without too much interference handled the situation quite well. I had to smile when I saw Tony Hird, a friend of mine from Barrow, staggering up the ship’s gangway with a big grin on his face. Once again on the night tide, while the shore party, were sleeping off their hangovers, the ship weighed anchor and set sail non-stop to Blighty. The food on the Devonshire was good, after what we had been eating for the last ten months, there was no room for complaints whatsoever. Time passed very quickly for the next week and as the ship neared English waters, although it was June, the temperature had cooled considerably. Steaming into the English Channel and sighting the shores of England gave me one hell of a big thrill, which of course is still etched in my mind. With all the excitement inside and around me, it didn’t seem long before we were passing the Isle of Wight and entering the Southampton dock complex. As the ship maneuvered round a bend in the dock complex, we could here the band of the Prince of Wales Volunteers, playing the Kings Own Royal Border Regiment tune of Do Ye Ken John Peel. It was sweet music to all our ears, the cheering and happiness, erupting from all onboard the troopship Devonshire, was the most moving experience I have ever witnessed in my life; It was early evening when the ship finally docked and orders were issue that no personnel would leave the ship, until the next morning and although a little bit disappointed on hearing this, we were still nevertheless excited to be home in England. Early morning was quite hectic, everyone dashing about getting changed into their newly pressed khaki battle dress uniforms and again this was the first time they were worn since joining the Devonshire on the outward voyage ten months previously. The deck cleaning squad of which I was a member, still had to clean the accommodation decks and no one was to be allowed of the ship until the ships RSM had passed it off as suitable as such. When it was passed off, I changed quickly into my uniform and with my kit bag in tow I joined the impatient massing throng on the top deck. My luck was in, as no sooner had I reached the deck, a gangway was slung onboard ship to where I was standing. Eric Shaw was alongside me and we must have been in the first ten off the ship, the customs officer at the bottom of the gangway just passed me on and I alighted the troop train, that was non-stop to Preston. How Eric Shaw got through the Customs is beyond me, because he had two long rifles, wrapped up in a carpet he was holding. These rifles had been captured along with many others, when Eric took part in an operation with Charlie Company, raiding a village in the Delta region of the Cameroons. I always knew Eric to be a cool lad and watching him go through the customs checkpoint, proved how cool he was. The disembarkation from the Devonshire, by the Kings Own Royal Border Regiment, must surely have been done in record time. The vision of intent to get home, with four weeks leave was in everyone’s mind and along with the excellent organisation by the British Army disembarkation was achieved without one hitch. All friends got together in the various compartments of the troop train, for the long journey North to Preston. It was such a beautiful day and it gave one complete unforgettable satisfaction, to be in such a fine company of men. With England at its finest, the feeling of happiness was with us all, indeed a truly memorable day, in all our young lives. The packed lunches issued on the journey, were absolutely delicious, with pork pies and fruit tarts, the like of which we hadn’t seen for a long time, I don’t think they touched the walls of our mouths when being eaten. The exciting chatter of what was in store, when reaching home and what one was going to do, made the rail journey pass by very quickly. There are simple things in life, that are taken for granted when one is at home, but it is ironic they mean so much to one, when one is away. Pulling into Preston Station and quickly alighting from the train, it became a mass of khaki groups chasing across platform bridges, hoping to catch connections to their various towns. All the Furness and Lancaster lads banded together and more by good fortune than luck, caught a waiting train en-route to Barrow-in-Furness. After the Lancaster lads happily got off the train, the fascination of watching the passing of Silverdale, Arnside, Grange, Kents Bank and Cark stations was out of this world. When the Ulverston and Dalton lads all got off with big waves and smiles, we knew it was our turn next. The feeling of excitement as our train pulled into the newly built Barrow Station really gave me and I am quite sure my fellow companions, quite a buzz. The exhilaration and ones feelings can only be shared with fellow military personnel, who returned home from abroad in similar circumstances. I have a tingling sensation in my body even now, as I write that sentence. While waiting outside the Duke of Edinburgh Hotel, for a bus to Walney Island, Tony Hird’s father-in-law who had met Tony at the railway station, stopped his van and gave Geoff Stubbs and I, a lift home to Walney Island. Walking through the door of 34 Hastings Street, I quietly made my way to the back room and there in the room, was my mam and sister Jean, my girlfriend Valerie and my little pal, Kip the dog. I was home at last. The look on my mam’s face, of her returning son’s safe homecoming, is again etched in my mind forever. The countless of millions of ex-servicemen before me and since, who have that wonderful picture in their minds, wouldn’t swap it for the world. It might sound to some, very soft and sentimental, if so, then so be it. The one thing I did fairly quickly was to change into my old civilian clothes that had been so neatly packed away by my mam. Valerie, due to her father’s illness, had been staying with a Mrs. Barnett on Barrow Island. I walked her home that evening, feeling as though it was my first date, but nevertheless it was nice to be back in her company. Once again the sound and perfume of a woman were part of my life, the little things that cost very little are really one’s most precious possession. Four weeks leave in front of me, and it felt so wonderful to be back home with loved ones and friends, only people who have been away from home for a considerable time, can begin to understand the feelings within. I personally, found it quite strange those first few days back at home, desperately trying to pick up the pieces from where I left off ten months previously. I assure you, it wasn’t very easy, because I had changed and people close to me must have noticed that. I was twenty three years of age now, certainly a lot more wiser and hopefully more sensible. The thought of walking down to Sandy Gap with my dog Kip was always in my thoughts, while away. It was total bliss the morning after my return home, when Kip and I walked down to Walney Beach as we had done so many times in the past. He soon became my little pal again, as we walked the few miles from Sandy Gap to Earnsie Bay on a lovely sunny day, with the unusually calm Irish Sea, gently washing the golden sand. Movingly, with a deep breath, I share that wonderful memory with you. My girlfriend Valerie, had just turned twenty at the time and the traumatic time she had been through in the last year, with her mother’s death, her fathers illness and me being away, can only speak volumes for one so young. So getting to know each other again, was high on the priorities and during the next four weeks Valerie and I did just that. At the time of my homecoming, Valerie had been staying with a Mr. Mrs. Barnett in Abercorn Street on Barrow Island, who were the parents of Mavis, a good friend of Valerie’s. Although now, both Mr.and Mrs. Barnett are deceased, they will always be remembered by Valerie and myself for their kindness and complete understanding in a time of need. My mam god bless her, must have wondered what was up with me, because for the first couple of weeks back at home, I was going downstairs in the middle of the night, to sleep on the front room carpet. She never said a word to me about this, although it must have been quite puzzling. She was a lovely woman in all senses and form, the understanding shown to me, when I was trying so hard to adjust, helped me tremendously. It was an elation, once again, going with me dad for a couple of pints of beer at Vickerstown Club and meeting our old friends, Jack Norbury, Henry Lourie, Brian Barber and many more too numerous to mention. Valerie and I went out again with Val Cumberbatch and his girlfriend Hilda Duffy, visiting pubs and dances, where we had our usual good time together. While abroad, I had saved up money from what the army had paid me and that in present day terms was two pound fifty pence, so one can imagine, that did not leave much room for maneuver. I had set my heart on buying the latest Italian styled suit. Now back at home, I visited a Tailor of renown, who had a shop in Dalton road, his name was Sammy Glicksman and he made me a hand stitched suit for 22 guineas. What a splendid job he made, the suit fitted like a glove, every part was done to perfection; he was indeed a Master Tailor. Sadly now, in this age of, off the peg suits, his shop has long since gone. I must have looked fairly thin on my return home, because my mam sure fed me up and as you will agree; mother’s cooking is always the best. I was always first up to the table and I assure you I never left a morsel, even our Kip didn’t get any thing. Gone were the days when I would slip him what I didn’t want under the table, which he greedily always accepted. A few more weeks at home and my uniform would not have fit and just as I was getting into the swing of things, my leave came to an end. I had six months left to do in the army and I was definitely going to make the best of it.
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