The Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders (Princess Louise's)

Going Home © Tom Barker

"Those names, that once I never knew,
lie buried under foreign stone.
While I, one of the lucky few,
found safe passage back to my home."
H Marshall

My argument had been that when Italy surrendered, the Germans moved in and the POW who sat tight waiting to be shipped home were clicked up by the Germans instead, and were shipped to German P.O.W. Camps in Germany. I thought, that if the Russians and the Americans fell out over who should occupy Berlin, we could end up in Russian POW camps along with our former enemies, the Germans. And for me that was a definite no, not on, no way was I going to spend another day behind wire, regardless of who owned it.

Now here I was standing on the grass and the bloke who had got out with me was sitting, and we both were looking round wondering what to do next. From a building about a hundred yards away the figure of a man in R.A.F. uniform came out and walked toward us. When he got to us he queried, "What are you doing here, and how did you get here?"

We told him an American Officer had dumped us here after giving us a lift in his jeep. He had found us wandering along a road where, according to reports, there had been a sweep by American troops to clear pockets of S.S. troops still in the area.

"You mean you have come from the other side of the Elbe River?" he asked looking a bit surprised.

I told him we had got out of the P.O.W. camp at Muhlberg three days ago and an American Officer found us on the road and having dumped us here suggested we stay put, " No matter what!"

"Well." said the bloke "I suppose you had better stay put, but keep away from those people." and he pointed toward a large group of what looked like skeletons dressed in black and white but looked grey with grime, vertical striped pyjamas.

They looked filthy and some were busy picking lice from their clothing, while others looked like they just did not care any more. Some were dying. Some were dead, and some just stared out of vacant eyes and swayed slowly as they tried to stay upright.

I became aware of the bloke speaking to me again as he repeated, "Stay put, because if a lot more people come here, there could be a huge queue, and the first here gets home first. This was the point where all the bombers will be landing before going back to their base in England and when any planes come in they can load you all into their bomb bay and take you home. So don't move and you will be first in the queue." he said.

Then he added, "Unfortunately there will be no more planes today. We just got a message. So you will have to kip down here tonight. I'm sorry, but we cannot cater for you. We do not have the facilities."

I said, "Don't worry about it, I've been a POW for four years, so another night won't make a lot of difference." Then I was sorry I said it because he flushed and looked awkward and it wasn't his fault they had no facilities.

But I felt like one of the little Bisto Kids looking into a cake shop window with hungry looks. He was about to walk away when a speck in the distant sky appeared and as it grew larger the engines could be heard and it lined up for the runway to land.

The bloke said "Wonder who this is? We have no info of anyone coming in at this time."

Soon the plane rolled to a stop and we recognised it as a DC 3 Dakota transport. Then two figures got out and one, with lots of what looked like scrambled eggs on the front of his cap, was scanning the area with a pair of binoculars. The other one jogged towards us and on arriving, we could see he was a Sgt R.A.F. He informed us that, "We should not be here. But why were we here?"

After we explained, he said, "I suppose you had better come and talk to the Boss."

We hiked across to the plane where the other bloke turned out to be Air Marshal Tedder. After the smiles and saluting was done with, he asked us to get aboard and he would airlift us to Reims in France. I was overjoyed.

He then suggested the Sgt make us something to eat while he was away. "Just going to look round the control tower. I won't be long!" and away he went.

Meanwhile the Sgt could be heard moving about next-door busy cooking something and he emerged from his kitchen with two plates of bacon and eggs clutched in one hand and utensils in the other.

Tedder walked into the plane and muttered, "Gawd Sergeant, don't give 'em that greasy muck, these blokes have been eating pig swill for the last couple of years. They will throw up on my nice clean carpet. Give them a glass of hot milk with a fresh egg whisked into it and a nip of my Johnny Walker whisky. That aught to hold em till we get to France."

I said, "Make that four years for me sir."

Tedder paused then muttered, "It's time you were home then laddie."

I fell asleep and woke up to hear Tedder telling my friend that tower we were now passing took a terrible pasting before the S.S. troops in it would surrender.

Then turning to me he grinned, "You missed most of the guided tour. Still you will feel better now. By the way, your friend with you tells me you've been in the bag for four years, so where were you captured?"

I told Tedder I was captured on the island of Crete because I was hit on the head and left as missing, presumed dead, when the ship took off all those who could get on it when the island was evacuated in a hurry.

Then we landed at an airstrip in France and were split up and shown a tent to go to and I never saw the other chap again, who had travelled thus far with me. It's a pity, but I can't even recall his name now, but then, with so many men in a Camp and so many changes, one can only store so much in one's head.

The next day I followed the procedure of being deloused and interviewed and told to stay put in my tent until sent for. On entering the delousing center I stripped off all clothing and the only thing I did not take off were the dog tags round my neck. At the exit there were clean clothes and boots and having put these on, I was taken to a room where a lot of questions were asked.

I was asked why I had Stalag 111D tattooed on one arm and 12244 on the other. I explained I got this as a punishment for smuggling bread into the camp and being stroppy with the Guard. Notes were made into small notebooks. I explained how I was dragged into the Guard room and my arms pinned on the table while a Guard with some sewing needles pushed through a cork from a bottle pricked my arm and rubbed soot from the stove pipe into the now bleeding skin. The Stalag 111D he got on without a lot of effort, but while he was doing the tattooing he was also sipping from a bottle of Schnapps. When he got to the other arm, he was a bit fuddled and had two or three attempts at putting 12244 on my arm and when he finally slumped asleep I was kicked through the gate into our compound and my left arm was a mess.

The next day I found that the Camp Commandant was on leave so I had to wait for him to return before I could complain, but I was advised by others to let it go and get it removed when and if I got home. The camp Doctor who was one of our Army Medical Corps made a note of the incident, but I heard no more about it, and considering how lucky I had been thus far despite tempting fate, I decided I got off light when I saw some missing a hand or foot, or blinded for life. A good argument was put forward by some of our blokes, in that if I made trouble for the Guards, they having the upper hand could make things a lot more unpleasant for us.

That explanation was accepted and I was asked a lot more like, why was I using the name, "Tenny" when my name was Barker, also I had Tenny's dog tags and what did we hope to achieve swapping names and risking being shot. I told them that the idea was Tenny's and I went along with it for kicks since I was already bored to the top of me boots already having been in the bag for two of the worst years, when the Red Cross parcels were a bit thin on the ground. In fact the first year I was a POW I saw no Red Cross packages at all.

Tenny's idea was to get back to England and bomb Germany again. I could not do that, so I thought it was a good idea since I had already spent two years sabotaging the German railways when out on work parties. So I thought, let someone else have a go. I had earned my meagre pay.

Besides, if some smart Gestapo bloke had put two and two together and found that where I was there were trains or wagons that were either not working now, or suddenly left the lines when they did work, and caused no end of damage to wagons lines and war materials like tanks guns and aircraft engines that were in transit. I was not alone in the train- tampering department. One or two of our chaps were delighted to lend a hand and it was so simple.

When on a work party usually there are no toilet facilities. When nature called the obvious place to seek privacy was behind goods wagons. If one shouts to the Guard to let him know that one is in dire peril from nature by waving a bit of paper and pointing behind the wagons, he usually would grimace and shout ya, ya, then go back to investigating the upper reaches of his nose, or reading a girly magazine. We had one Guard who would to get out of the way and one day one of our blokes saw him looking at himself in a tiny hand mirror combing his eye brows and clipping his nose and ear hairs and when he got back to us he smelled like a perfume factory.

Soon there were kissing noises coming from the comedians among us, and a gruff voice suggested, "Go on Dicko chat 'im up, yu never know yer luck." Yu could always chuck a bag over his head."

However, our time was well spent once we got near the rolling stock. It took only a moment to quickly glance round for prying eyes. Then just as quickly raise the trap on the grease box and scoop out a handfull of grease, then grab a handful of sand and gravel and ram it into the grease box, then replace the grease on top of the sand to hide it. Once this mixture got to the axle of the wheel the bearing in the grease box got hot and melted, then the wagon would be derailed and any wagons behind it would pile up and all would be chaos. The line could be blocked for days. Tanks and other war materials going to the front would not get there, not on time anyway. So it is not surprising we got away with a lot of this kind of sabotage because the Guards were not awake to what was going on under their very noses.

Having finally established who I was, I was told to wait in my tent and I would be ferried to England in the bomb bay of a Lancaster bomber. While I was waiting, I was brought a telegram form to fill in to send home to let them know where I was. This really got me going because I was free and close to home. I was taken with some others to an air strip and we were loaded into the bomb bay. I saw traces of coal in the cracks but I did not care. I just relaxed and laid back and let the pilot do the thing he did best.

"GET US BACK TO ENGLAND!"

Then the Pilot shouted, "Right! All you lads comfortable?"

We chorused in unison "Yes!" and the Pilot added

"O.K. lets go home."