URGENT |
Tom Brown was a member of one of the largest Glemsford families. He was taken prisoner during the North Africa campaign in
1942; he remained a prisoner until the end of the war in Europe, firstly in North Africa, then in Italy, and then finally in
Germany, very close to the city of Dresden.
Tom died on 5 July 2002.
These are extracts from an unpublished text. Tom gave me written permission to publish them here, but any further reproduction, other than for research or personal interest purposes, is forbidden without permission. I would, in any case, be grateful to be told of any use to which these extracts are put.
This first extract, perversely, is taken from the end of Tom's story. On 16 May 1945, he had managed to reach Belgium after a hair-raising trip across a continent ripped apart by the last few days of Hitler's war. Eventually, he boarded a Dakota for the return to England.
… The plane came into land not far from the coast; we had time to catch a few glimpses of green fields and pastures and the downs of Sussex as we glided in. Exactly where we landed I didn't know but we were very close to Haywards Heath where we were picked up and taken to Camp No. 110 at Haywards Heath. Here we were met by a host of service personnel. I did not note the unit or corps. We were all led into a Nissen hut which was a disinfecting unit, told to lay on a bed fully clothed, things something like hair dryers were stuck up each trouser leg, up each sleeve and down the front of our tunics. The orderly pressed a trigger and released a cloud of purifying dust which penetrated into every nook and cranny of our clothes and bodies leaving us smothered in a fine film of powder. We had been completely deloused and de-flead. Then into Nissen huts, beautifully clean, each man was given a cot with plenty of space to move about in, the beds were made up with blankets and lovely white sheets and pillows. White sheets and pillows - symbols of a civilised society which we had re-entered. White sheets and pillows already issued, what a voluptuous sleep we would have that night!
We were shown the dining hall, canteen and other facilities, and needless to say we availed ourselves of those until we were sated. Then any further documentation that had not already been done was done. There was always a mass of forms to be filled up in the Army. We were then given telegram forms, told to fill them in and hand them in to the Army Post Office on the site and they would immediately be despatched to our homes. We were told to say we had arrived at Haywards Heath and would be coming home TOMORROW. Tomorrow we would really be free men again, still in the army, but free to make our own decisions independently, free to go where we wanted without having to beg permission, even free to discard our uniforms and wear civvy clothes again if we had any that fitted. Free to assimilate the joys of home life again. What a fantastic vista opened up in front of me. We all shouted to the heavens "Home tomorrow!" Actually, we were still a bit dazed and had to keep telling each other it was true. We were given some money, although I was not absolutely sure if it was there or in Brussels, my head was in a whirl. Telegrams were despatched and I thought of how my people would react to the news. They would be overjoyed I knew. I wondered if they might not be a bit overcome; the shock to them, and the relief, would be enormous.
I slept quite well in spite of the enormous excitement, enjoying the luxury of those white sheets and spring mattresses. I got up the next morning, had a wash and shave and had breakfast. I hadn't unpacked any other kit. I then responded to an instruction to attend an office or hut to collect a travel warrant, ration coupons and a leave pass for six weeks, or until such time as I was recalled by the military authorities. Owing to the poor state of our health we were given double rations of everything. I think all repatriated prisoners were treated the same. I collected the documents, I collected my kitbag and eventually we were taken to Haywards Heath railway station to each make our way to his individual home. We travelled together as far as London where we split up to go our separate ways. There was lots of handshaking and farewells; most of us destined never to meet again. We had all been through many trials and tribulations, the farewells were sincere. We had made some very good mates, others not so good and some downright distasteful relationships, bred in the hardship of a prison camp. All this we knew was due to the stresses of the time, and we all parted good friends.
I crossed London to the terminal where I would start the last leg of my journey with a couple of mates, Tom Taylor, my pal…, caught the train to Norwich after many promises of keeping in touch and visiting each other - addresses had long been exchanged. From London down to Chelmsford where my last mate, Vic Marten, got out. I had been with Vic right from the day we joined up. We said farewell and promised to meet again and I was alone, the first time for well over five years. I was suddenly and completely alone. The sensation was most peculiar, I felt almost abandoned in an n alien world. There were other people on the train but I was unable to communicate, they might just as well have been from another planet. The people were speaking a language which I fully understood instead of the guttural tongue which I had become used to and had had to translate before I could reply. I was so out of touch with the outside world, represented here, that I became cautious, shy and withdrew into myself for the remainder of the journey. I reflected on the time I had taken that journey in reverse to join up, and the events that had happened in the meantime - it seemed a lifetime ago - it seemed in another world.
The train travelled on, the names of the villages becoming more familiar till at last it pulled up at Glemsford station. Glemsford, my birth place. I had arrived, I had come home.
I detrained and, shouldering my kitbag, started the one and a half mile walk up the hill towards my home. It was a heavy and slow walk as I was very unfit. Skates Hill is steep and long and I trudged along full of anticipation. Up the familiar hill, nothing had changed one iota, the fields and meadows were beautifully green, the day was fine and I was getting nearer every minute and with every step. One other person had got off the train, a lady, who walked up the hill wit me, but I'm afraid I did not make a great deal of conversation. It was to be a long time before I was able to completely relax and unwind. As I reached the top of the hill an empty bus passed me. It was driven by Stan Brown (a relation of mine). He stopped to give a lift to a soldier going home on leave. He did not know who it was. On getting out of the bus he said he recognised me only with great difficulty, but his welcome was overwhelming. He took me the rest of the way and dropped me off on the road outside my home.
Since I had left home my parents had moved from the old, rambling house where I had lived, into a much smaller house a few yards away. It was one of a row; I knew it was Box Iron Row for I had written to them at that address, but I did not know what position it occupied in the row. I asked a little girl of about 5 years of age who was standing in the pavement if she could tell me where Mr and Mrs Brown lived. She said, "Are you my Uncle Tom?" I said "I could be, but who are you?" She said "I'm Iris, and I'll take you home." She had been just a tiny baby when I saw her last, now growing up and it flashed suddenly through my mind that there had been children born into the family who I had not seen. Other members had passed away. What would they think of me? Would they see any change in me? I followed her up the line of houses (we evidently lived in one at the far end; the row was end on to the road), and she took me in by the back door. All my family were grouped at the front door waiting to greet me. I took them by surprise coming in the back way. The welcome was overwhelming, embraces and floods of tears. Was I really home? Was the war really over? Were we re-united at last? Tears were eventually brushed away, the embraces ceased for a moment, laughter and happiness took over and a great contentment descended on us all. My elder brother then pointed out that I should have come in the front door and would I like to go out and make a proper entrance through the front door. I did that and saw the reason - the front of the house had been gaily decorated with a triumphal arch erected over the entrance and crowned with a huge sign saying "Welcome Home". I was then completely and emotionally overcome.
We had a cup of tea, something to eat and I tried to settle down to home comforts again.