A nurse detached herself from the group of welcoming people and ran forward with tears in her eyes Oh! That was so emotional she said I was then admitted to No 100 Reception Camp, Buckinghamshire.

After being interviewed which lasted a few days, I was then issued with a new uniform and sent home on leave. Then I was sent to Aldershot prior to being demobbed. But I had problems. Authority bugged me, I was aggressive and I was avoiding others. I began sleep walking at night. I was ill at ease sitting next to a window or with my back to a door. At night it became a habit to close the curtains before I would switch on any lights. Tree shadows would move and I would suddenly be wet through with perspiration, if I had had a gun I would have shot at the shadows. Some might say,  Be grateful you were a POW, it probably saved you from death in further actions, but I would remind the reader that being a POW one is under the same bombs as the enemy that is being bombed. A POW was in danger all the time not only from spiteful guards, but angry civilians and the bombs of one s own country. And in my case I had masquerading as Flight Sgt Harry Tenny R.A.F. for two years and had survived three security checks, the last one, thank God, had been aborted due to an air raid and allowed me to write this.

Since it was a finger print check I would have been in front of a firing squad along with Harry the next morning. On the train ride home I was revelling in the sweet taste of freedom after four years of being behind wire and being treated like a caged dancing bear. That last mile seemed like ten. After the welcome home the quiet became boring and I would go to Thornton Abbey to walk the mile to the village of Thornton Curtis again as I did when a lad running the mile to school in the mornings and back to home at 4 o  clock in the afternoon. But sadly the little farm labourers cottage was gone and in its place was a new bungalow. The Railway Station was also closed and trains did not stop there any more.

The chapel opposite Sergeants farm was also gone and the place was covered over by stinging nettles and tall weeds. It was no longer the home sweet home I had cherished as a boy. I was going to work one morning in my car and the vehicle coming towards me suddenly turned into two, and there were two roads. I didn’t panic I just pulled over onto the grass and stopped the car. It was mid afternoon when a policeman pulled up in a car and woke me up. I began babbling in German but when fully awake he began to make sense and I suddenly realized where I was and I lost control. The cop was very sympathetic and he followed me as I slowly made my way home again. The shadows of a tree moving on the grass would suddenly turn into the shadows of a man as my mind played tricks. Oundle near Peterborough was a repat unit and one afternoon I was leaning on a five barred gate enjoying the scenery of the glorious summer afternoon. In the grass field about a hundred yards away I could make out a group of our lads. Some were reclining on the grass propped up on one elbow while others were stood and all seemed to be chatting but it was eerie because there was no sound.

Then an Officer came down the lane and instead of walking by, he suddenly veered and came over to the gate and said, enjoying the solitude what? You appeared to be miles away

I was apprehensive now because I could see no guns or activity going on apart from they looked like some of the lads I had served with in Palestine and the desert but I had seen them killed.  What are those chaps supposed to be doing in the field?  I asked him. The Officer looked into the field and then back at me frowning, then smiled, Let s go and have a cup of tea he said.  Would you like to sit there?  He asked, pointing to the table and chairs upon our arrival at the kitchen. The Officer put the tea in the pot and filled the pot from a chrome plated electric water boiler with a wooden handled tap. As the tea was brewing he asked where I had served and so on. Then he told me the men in the field I saw were cows grazing on the grass and two were laid down chewing the cud. I do not and never have, and never will believe in ghosts, yet I cannot explain what I saw that day.

Then I was demobbed. I got married and settled down. I moved to Australia. I had nightmares and bad dreams over the years. But when I retired at the age of 60 the manure really hit he fan. One day I went out to mow the back lawn only to find a bloke hanging by the neck strung up by barbed wire to the clothes hoist. I was back to square one. I found out later my wife had washed our son s Army uniform and hung it out to dry. One day my wife had thrown a red patterned quilt into the bath to soak and I walked in later. I saw the quilt as the bloodied beaten up body of the man who died in the bug ridden old barracks in Salonica POW camp. The barrack room was the same the same dirty tongue and grooved dirty wooden floor. I had a flash back. Then a strange face that was floating in and out in front of my eyes and the mouth was moving. Then the barrack room faded and was replaced by my own bathroom and my wife s face came into focus to tears of relief. I would begin to sleep but hear very faintly the weeping and cries for help of wounded men, then I would lay wide awake and the nights seemed endless. I watch the curtains as the dawn light creeps in. I was afraid to go to sleep because the same nightmare would re-occur. I was in the drain again in Salonika and the air was foul and hot, the tunnel was about three feet across and one could not turn round in it. It was pitch black down there, too hot to breath; I get uptight in a crowded store. Everyone is staring at me.

One I time I sat waiting to get a haircut in the crowded barber s shop and I saw the reflection of the mans face in the mirror I jolted as if electrically shocked; I was looking into the eyes of the chap who was shot by the blond Guard near the veggie patch in Stalag 4B Muhlberg. I was in tears and the Barber was very concerned but I had to leave. I have not been in a Barber’s shop since. My wife now cuts my hair. I don t know the answers. One day the family took me to the air show at Pierce R.A.A.F. base W.A. A huge Hercules transport plane flew very low overhead Then someone was yelling and I was confused. I looked round but no one was familiar and I felt like I did when I was a kid at Cleethorpes and had got lost. The Hercules had only just cleared the field when two F15 Fighters came shrieking in level flight about six feet off the ground firing machine guns. I hit the ground and was back on Crete and it was if a giant blender was mixing the noise and people running about.

I don’t know if that really happened, or if I imagined it. My son said later the planes did actually fly over, screaming low and firing guns, but they were blanks. I don t remember going home or if that was one of the times I went straight to Repat Hospital. But on rare occasions it gets a little too real and I awake struggling with a shout only to be subjected to the relief of tears as I realise I am home and safe. My Wife Joyce was also in the Forces during WW2 and but for her patience and support I think I would have been long gone. Also I am grateful to the people at Repat Hospital for their care and understanding.

Submitted by - Tom Barker, 1st Bn The Argyll & Sutherland Highlanders

Location: Aldershot, UK