The escapees were now wide awake. "Shit," exploded Chalky. "Just as I was hugging a gorgeous creature and ..."
"Shurrup," snapped Jon. "Where is the firing coming from, thats what Id like to know." Suddenly and without further warning a shell landed on the far corner of the barn in which they were hiding. The only casualty was a cow, stalled for the night in that area. Then a series of shells peppered the village and around the barn. All six burrowed deep into the hay, but knew full well that it would afford no protection to a near miss. The sound of tanks and heavy lorries made Jon peep through the gap the shell had made.
"Christ Almighty. Its the Hun. Tanks and lorry loads of men," he whispered. "Seems as if weve had it. Look, they're setting up a field telephone just by the well."
"Think its best we give ourselves up," suggested Chalky. "Theyre bound to come to the barn sooner or later. Might open fire in surprise."
"S'ppose so," agreed Jon. He looked round and saw nods of assent. He sighed and murmured, "So near and yet so far again."
"Come off it, Ging, were not finished yet," with his first taste of freedom Chalky had taken in a load of optimism.
Reluctantly the six walked out of the barn, hands in the air, with Jon in the lead as spokesman.
He approached the officer who was busily engaged with the field telephone. "Sir, we are British prisoners of war. We have been left behind when the main prison camps were evacuated. We have lost our way. I do not know this village or anybody in it. We were going to walk on this morning."
The German captain grunted, and repeated the story down the field telephone.
"Dont think he believes us," muttered Jon sideways to Chalky. "But they dont look too aggressive. No guns raised at us. Hold thumbs it won't be too bad."
On orders received through the field telephone, the six were quickly bundled into a strange looking vehicle. It was powered by a wood gas cylinder. Guards stood on the running boards, and Jon saw from the lapels that they were the crack troops that the old lady had expected. When the engine fired and the vehicle moved off the smoking wood cylinder gave off a blue haze like a vapour trail. This was immediately spotted from the air and suddenly British planes swooped down from the sky and straffed away at the vehicle. One tyre burst and the vehicle wobbled to a halt. Guards and prisoners leapt over the side and hid in the undergrowth as the planes returned again and again, till finally the vehicle exploded.
Funny situation if were killed by our own planes hiding together with German soldiers, Jon thought, as he lay alongside the German captain. No rifles or guns were pointed threateningly. Jon caught the Captains eye who shrugged his shoulders fatalistically and Jon nodded in acknowledgment.
The plane, seeing the explosion, did not return. Both prisoners and guards re-assembled, the guards taking a more aggressive stance as they marched towards a small town. Their Company had requisitioned a restaurant and were using it for their Headquarters. The six prisoners were led downstairs to a large cellar and told to sit in the far corner.
"By Jesus, what a sight," exploded Chalky. "Look, those there are wounded. German casualties. Most of the others just prostrate and asleep. Guns everywhere. Crikey, what a mess."
"Seems as if were in the thick of some sort of battle. Look at all those dispatch riders. No ones taking much notice of us. Too busy with whats going on. Well done, Jock. You've stood up to everything so far. We've just got to see what happens now." With these words Jon tried to calm himself.
Moments passed by but they seemed like hours. No one came to interrogate the small group, no one brought them food or drink. Jon found the way to the crowded and dirty toilets, and no one stopped them using it. On the other hand, no one wanted to communicate with them in spite of the tentative questions that Jon posed. A sudden uproar began outside the restaurant, and minutes later thirty more soldiers, an assortment of American troops, were led protesting to the back of the restaurant.
"Just coped it, have you?" asked Jon innocently.
"Damn and bloody hell," a young lieutenant replied. "Suckers we were. Went straight into their booby trap. Whole bloody section of our tanks."
"What a shit of a place," commented a burly sergeant looking round. "Cant stay here long."
"But you cantve been prisoners more than an hour?" chipped in Chalky. "We've done nearly five bloody years. Wha' you moanin' about?"
"Finished, thats what we are," the sergeant continued to groan. "Never get back. Never see the old land again." He put his head in his hands and rocked back and forwards.
"Youll cheer up," encouraged Jon. "Its the first few days when you realise that you're a gonner that're the worst. With all the fighting your reason gets paralysed."
"Aye," added the usually quiet Jock. "We didna' give up. Jest kep' on goin'. ave to, thats why. Youll soon find oot."
Within hours the mixed contingent were on the march again away from the front line skirmishes. The recently captured prisoners were the most fatigued by the end of the thirty mile route march, fatigued and full of complaints. The first night of the march was spent in another barn. Jon and his colleagues had to initiate the newcomers into the ways of natures toilet facilities, and how to use the hay for warmth. With just cold water and bread again for the diet, the stoicism of the hardened six gave an example to the others whose stomachs were grinding away expecting the filling food of the American forces. Another long march on the second day ended in the basement of a hospital in a very busy town, congested with German troops. The hospital was situated by a bridge which crossed a winding river, and on both sides of the river the wooded hills rose steeply. So concentrated was the enemy military presence that the occasional shell which landed in the town seemed to indicate that the Allied artillery had the whole place surrounded. All the new intake were agog with the prospect of freedom feeling safe and secure in the cellar of a hospital. Jon and his friends did not like to disillusion them.
More and more Allied prisoners arrived and were squeezed into the already overcrowded basement.
"Howse things,?" asked Jon of an American sergeant.
"Touch and go," came the drawled reply. "The Huns have got a stronghold in a fort at the top of the hill. Thats gotta go. If we can get troops across the bridge we can make an assault on it. Too many Huns protecting the bridge at the moment."
"Somethingll happen," Jon said aloud. "Why can't we bomb the damn place?"
"Too near this hospital complex," explained the sergeant.
At that moment, word which was meant as a booster for the German wounded, went round that the bridge was going to be blown up that evening after dark.
"Cooked our goose, has it?" asked Jon.
"Maybe," replied the sergeant. "Maybe take longer now. Dont fancy staying in this dump."
"This is paradise compared with some," joked Jon.
"Come off it," said the sergeant, and produced a packet of cigarettes that Jon hadnt seen the likes of for years. The sergeant took one and returned the packet to his pocket.
"In camp we mostly shared our fags," Jon said sharply.
"Fuck off," replied the sergeant and turned his back.
That evening they waited for the crump and vibrations of the dynamited bridge, but nothing occurred. Next morning Jon nonchalantly walked up to the door of the hospital and looked out. The guards were facing the river, so Jon could get a good assessment of what was happening. His eyes roamed to the bridge and saw that, indeed, it was intact. He glanced at the near end of the bridge and saw the reason why. There was a young German officer hanging by his neck, swaying gently in the breeze, eyes gouged out and hands dangling from the wrists. Underneath written in red was the German word for traitor. Disgusted Jon turned away, but first felt the emptiness of the surrounding area, no people, no vehicles.
"Young German Officer hanged," he reported to the awaiting prisoners. "Seems he didnt blow up the bridge. Probably thought it was too near this hospital. Brave lad. Maybe hes saved us all, and hell never know."
"Whats it like outside?" asked Chalky.
"Quiet, absolutely quiet. Not a Hun in sight, except the two guards on the front gate. They dont seem too bothered..."
"Then why in hell are we waiting?" Chalky chipped in. "I'm up and off."
"I'm a bit slow off the mark this morning. That dead young officer upset me. Hang on, I'm coming too." Chalky and Jon climbed the stairs to the front gate. Even the guards - had gone.
"Bit of an anti-climax? Yes?" Jon asked smiling. Then they heard the rumble of machinery.
"Which lots this going to be?" asked Chalky, and they slipped down a side street to watch.
The first tank appeared. "Glory be. Its the Yanks. Look, and there white flags popping out everywhere, from all the windows. Its magic. Chalky, this is it!" Jon jumped up and down. The first tanks were followed directly by great vehicles cramped with G.Is. Chalky and Jon called out loud and clear that they were British escapees. The vehicle stopped. The men jumped down. Unashamedly and with tears pouring down his cheeks Jon hugged the first soldier he met. His throat was too tight for words. It was the most rare moment of joy in his life. Neither love, nor hate, nor reason itself, nor any feelings holding him in bondage could compare with the flood of emotions that surged right through him at this his first experience of liberty. The weight of the cruel years was over, shed like a dark cloak of pain. He turned to find Chalky. He too was sobbing.
"Christ, its too much," said Jon to a G.I. "Dont know if I can cope. Trembling all over, I am."
"Here, have a slug, sonny." All formalities shed, an elderly G.I stepped down from the vehicle and proffered a bottle of cognac.
"Thanks, sir. Just the ticket. Think I'm a bit over the top," Jon took the bottle, and laughingly tipped his head back and drank. Not one sip did he take, but three, four, five, huge gulps.
"Oh sir, I ..." and with those words he fell to the ground. Oblivion was the only way to cope with the immensity of his emotions, the sense of freedom achieved threatened his sanity.
Jon woke to find himself in a bed with sheets. He realised he was in a British hospital, how hed got there he had no idea. He was now sober, and revelled in the feel of the clean linen. The other beds were occupied by ex-prisoners, but there was no sign of Chalky or his friends of the last few days. His relaxation was shortlived.
"All personnel to parade in the main hall in five minutes for Officers inspection," a ø-(: - stout and unruffled British Sergeant Major bawled.
"Fuck off," shouted Jon from his bed. "You dont play soldiers with me. Go and tell your fucking officer to stuff it. I'm not getting up for a bleeding parade. First bed I've had for five years. When have you lot had hardship."
"Youll cop it," said a voice, the owner was rapidly putting on what clothes he could muster.
"Come on, Ging, dont spoil it." There was Chalky. "I was at the far end of the ward. Thought you were a gonna, but you were just plain drunk. Better toe the line, Ging."
"Not going to be mucked about, thats for sure," Jon replied pulling the clothes up to his chin.
"O.K chum. I'm off then. Good luck, and see yer." Chalky followed the others out of the room. Jon was alone, but not for long.
A Major, also an ex-prisoner, appeared and started to lecture the recalcitrant figure. Disregarding the disparity in rank Jon interrupted from his horizantal position. "And, Major, I know you were a prisoner cos I saw you. So may I ask? How many escapes have you done? None. Thats the answer, isnt it? You've hidden away all the war in the camp, keeping safe and out of trouble. You've not kept the Germans busy hunting for you. You've not given the others hope. Just go away and leave me alone." He turned his head away from the standing figure.
Whether the Major was enraged at this sudden outburst Jon didnt want to know, but he started to think over the possible consequences of the affront to military discipline. Hell probably return with an escort. Better get up and dressed. Dont want to be dragged to the guard room in a state of undress. Here goes! What do I hear.
The Major returned with an escort to find Jon standing by the bed clothed in the dirty and tattered clothes he arrived in. Silently, but with a nod of the head, the two led him into a guard room. Bloody anti-climax thought Jon, as he sat on the wooden chair.
The next to appear in the guard room was a British Colonel in the R.A.M.C. He was tall and well groomed and from his appeance he could have stepped out of Saville Row. Jon stood up and to attention.
"Well, Inglis, whats all this about? Sit down, sit down." The Colonel took the other chair and leaned forward. "Arent you well? You seemed disinclined to get up this morning." A small smile crept across his face.
"I'm O.K, sir, really I am. Just dont like being ordered about for nothing. Five years in camp! Those sheets, sir, and soft bed. Sorry I blew my top."
"Things happen," nodded the Colonel.
"Didnt make life easy for myself, sir, all those attemps at escaping. Tried hard I did, sir, to make trouble for the Huns. That Major, he just sat on his back-side. Sorry, sir." Jon apologised, confused.
"Go on," encouraged the doctor.
"Well, sir. Can you just arrange for me to get strong again, and then fix me up to get straight back into the fighting. Its what I've been waiting for. Must get back, sir. Soon as you can fix it." Jons eyes pleaded with the listening figure.
"Youre not in a fit state for battle at the moment, Inglis. Very underweight you are. Surely you want to get back to England? Arent you excited at the thought of seeing your family again?" the Colonel asked.
A wall of silence fell between the two men. Jon went white. The poignancy of that remark seared deep into his soul. His turbulent emotions flooded over all the disciplines that he could muster. Unashamedly he wept.
"Its alright, Inglis, its alright." The Colonel was used to these scenes when the dams of emotions are cracked.
"I've no one in this whole bloody world, sir. And as for a home, no bloody home either," Jon formulated the words, and the enormity of the thought brought fresh waves of tears. Between sobs he explained, "thats why I was so free to do what I did. Nobody cared for me. I didnt have reason to stay safe. Thats why I wanted to get back into the fighting. I've been hiding this from myself all the time. Dont want to believe it. Dont really want to face it." With his thoughts and feelings accepted and expressed Jon felt calmer.
The sympathetic Colonel took it upon himself to order Jons release from the guard room. He made Jon promise to join the next draft which was being organised to shuttle all the captives to a base well behind the front line.
"But when I'm at base, you will get me back to the front, sir. Please, sir." Jon pressed the Colonel.
"Well see what we can do," the Colonel promised. "But you need some rest first, Inglis, a long rest." That was the nearest he got to telling Jon that he was momentarily unstable.
"Oh, sir, but the warll soon be finished." Jon looked dejected.
"You do as I say, and see what happens," the Colonel pressed.
So Jon spent the next two weeks in a hutted camp with several other captives. Much to his joy Chalky was amongst them. Jon slowly began to accept that just at over six stones in weight he wasnt the right material for more contact with the enemy. The day came when Jon and Chalkys names were called out for a flight back to Britain. The planes to the front were loaded with war materials. On the return journey they were filled with sick and wounded, and when space was available ex-prisoners were repatriated. Chalky was beside himself with excitement.
"Wish we knew where old Sefton was. Be wonerful if he were here," he said as he climbed the steps.
"Couldnt care one way or another," grunted Jon, his spirits were really low.
The R.A.M.C Colonel must have been a wise man. He forsaw that Jon would have a negative re-action to the return to the U.K. Just before the plane set off he boarded the plane leading a young airman by the arm. When he reached the space on the floor of the plane that Jon was occupying he stopped.
"Here, Inglis. I've a job for you. I want you to look after Lance Corporal Berry. Bit of trouble with his eyes. You must show him the ropes at the Rehabilitation centre when you arrive. Youre about the same age. Think youll get on."
While the Colonel was speaking Jon rose to his feet. "Sure, I will,sir. Well get him fixed up. Teach him a bit about football too."
"That you wont," laughed Berry. "I'm as blind as a bat. Youll have to lead me about like a baby."
"Cor, sir. Sorry, sir. Didnt realise it was that bad. Course I'll look after him. Come on, Berry, you squash in there. Move over, Chalky. Hes Chalky, there, just on your right." Then Jon turned to the Colonel. "Thank you, sir. Thank you for everything. Seeing Berry there has made me snap out of my dumps. Sort of put things into perspective. Gotta put a brave face on life now. Right? Thank you, sir." The Colonel turned to go. Jon stood to attention as well as he could in the cramped situation. "Good-bye, sir." With a cheery wave of his hand, the Colonel stumbled his way out of the plane, stepping carefully over the sprawling selection of bodies.
The journey both on the plane and the train to Durham seemed like a movie. Hot sweet tea, plenty to smoke, and beer. Jon watched Berry like a hawk, protectively seeing that he got all the amenities that were being handed round.
"Youre a cheerful Charlie," said Jon as they neared their destination. "How do you manage it?" Berry had been the life and soul of the carriage.
"Ill be O.K," replied Berry. "Just longing to see my wife and baby again. Its been six months now. Oh, but I won't see..." and he broke off realising what he had just said. There was an awkward silence in the compartment. Then Berry took up his positive thread again. "I know my way around my house and village, and they do wonders at St Dunstans now. I'll be O.K. Just you forget about me."
The journey from the station to the Rehabilitation Centre was full of surprises. Word had got round that a train load of ex-prisoners had arrived. Happy and cheering faces lined the route and flags either fluttered or were madly waved. Some of the braver girls blew kisses to the men inside and tried to run after the 3 tonner as it ground along. The whole journey was euphoric and slightly unreal. Berry was laughing all the time, Chalky and the others near the tail board waved and returned the kisses. Jon, with a small pain in his heart, nodded brightly and described the scene to Berry. The discipline in the Rehabilitation Centre was relentless. De-bugging, de-worming, a compulsory food intake and regular sleep patterns all had to be followed. Also many hours were spent scouring the lists of missing personnel, for advice as to their whereabouts. But in the early evening hours were the parties. Beer, plenty of beer, girls, music and laughter. Berry was quickly moved on in the care of the Blind officials.
Two weeks after their return Jon was brought up with a halt. The armistice was declared. Shit, he thought. I never got back. That night the military authorities at the Rehabilitation Centre arranged for a huge bonfire party with fireworks. With masterly organisation there appeared plenty of girls for the occasion. The evening started soberly with the huge fire as a centre piece. It popped and crackled. Beer and wartime sausages, bread and carrot cake were circulated.
"This is like manna from heaven," laughed Jon to a group of girls.
"Its rubbish," said one. "We've eaten nothing but rubbish for months. Could do with a nice juicy steak."
"Or an omelette with real eggs," piped another.
"Thats better than mucky soup and acorn coffee," chided Jon. "Here, give me another banger!" He was just about to put the hot sausage in his mouth when the fireworks started. It was like all hell let loose.
"Christ Almighty!" Jon spluttered. "Its them bloody bombers. Not again. can't bear it." He dropped the sausage, and put his arms across his head.
"Come on, Jon," said one of the girls. "Its only fireworks." But for Jon it wasnt only the fireworks. It was the guns, the bombs, the aeroplanes, the shattering stuttering endless noise of the last weeks and months. The smell, the anguish, the pain, the dirt, the heat, the fear, all welled up again. He shook with a rigor so violent that he had to lie down, sweat poured off his face, his shirt was soaked. His teeth chattered and he gibbered away unintelligibly. Somehow from somewhere an ambulance arrived. Jon, away in his land of fear and terror, was bundled off to hospital. There he lay in a muttering heap for three days, and when he ceased to mutter and was still he found he couldnt see.
"Nurse, nurse," he called. "For Gods sake, whats happened?" The medicos came running. They soothed him, and called the M.O.
"You've had one of the most violent stress re-actions I've seen," explained the M.O gently. "Your blindness will go eventually when you body feels its ready to cope again. You've just overstretched everything."
"How long am I going to lie like a corpse?" asked Jon, both bewildered and frightened.
"Thats up to you, Inglis. You take care and be patient and it will be quicker in the end. You play up and act the giddy goat, you may be some time before you are fit." The M.O tried to sound fierce.
"But then what happens?" asked Jon.
"Youll be looked after," replied the M.O quickly. "Dont worry, youll be looked after."
"In another institution, probably" Jon said, sarcasm creeping into his voice.
"There are some long term convalescent homes that are just like first class hotels. You play the game and get well quick, and I'll see to it that you're looked after right fine." The M.O paused. "But try not to worry, thats the main thing. You've a string of lovely girls looking after you. That'll be a treat when you can see again." The M.O laughed, trying to ease the situation. He patted the bed and left the room, not knowing what else he could say.
"Ill damn well show you all," said Jon stubbornly to the form that was leaning over him. "Ill get well and strong so darn fast you Won't even remember I've been here."
"Dont say that!" said the form. "We love having you here. You are our nicest patient."
"If I could see your bottom, Id pinch it," laughed Jon. "But I give myself a month till I'm passed fit again. What about a bet?"
"Taken," said the form, and they shook hands.
"A kiss and a cuddle if I win. That fair?" The old Jon had started to emerge.