Southend U3A

The Wanderer Returns - Gerry Miller

September 2012

He knew it was time and really Jim had been avoiding it for the last few weeks. It was a mixture of feelings dread, doom, anticipation, excitement and most of all straight forward fear. He remembered how easy it had been to get into the situation and in some ways it had been relevantly straight forward getting out of it. But of course he had not thought of the consequences nor of the impact on those around him and the impact on his loved ones most of all. He had been such an impulsive personality and he now realised this was not a very positive trait.

Jim was of medium height and medium build with the dark brown hair and eyes, his clothing was slightly worn and he fidgeted with his small suitcase which was on his lap. He had not bothered to put it onto the rack above his head; he needed something to fidget with. He sat on the train looking out of the window and into the far horizon; he had already changed at Crewe and was now heading to London. The ferry crossing had been calm, which in many ways was worse, as Jim now knew that the sinking in his stomach was pure and simply due to the turmoil of emotions that he was going through. He had left his wife and two little girls at home in Ireland. Though where they had lived for the last seven plus years had been the farmhouse where his wife Maeve had grown up. It had never been Jim's home. His was in the east end of London, and it was to his parent's home he was headed. Born within the sound of the Bow Bells he was truly a cockney. They wanted to return to England now and with the death of the King and the announcements made in parliament on 23rd February by the Prime Minister Mr. Winston Churchill, the door was now open to them. But the question was would his family accept him back into the fold?

Jim and Maeve had talked through this endlessly and now that they were parents they understood some of the trauma he must have put his family through. He felt that he had changed, matured and was sure he had grown up a bit. How would his family receive him? His mum had told him he had broken her heart, but in fairness to how upset she had been she still signed the papers for him to join the Royal Air Force. Jim had lied about his age and was only seventeen years old, yet whilst not being a tall kid he had always looked older than his years. By the time he enlisted the recruitment officer s were not looking too closely at the volunteers, as long as they passed the medical - they were in. Jim had always been a quick learner and his dad had always told him that "bullshit would out baffle brains". He thought he would be able to train as a pilot but the eye test and being colour blind soon put paid to that. Then the nightmare that was his time in active service really began.

His posting was to a Suffolk air base and he was trained in his position in the RAF as a rear gunner otherwise known as "tail end Charlie" on a Lancaster Bomber. He shivered as he remembered how cold it had been, the higher the plane went the colder it became. The stupid electrically heated suit they were given needed plugging into the aircraft and it became like an electric blanket. It had no thermostat and got so hot it could send you to sleep, it was too dangerous to plug it in. The Perspex in the cockpit had to be part removed to improve their vision and then his face was exposed to the slipstream. The temperature could then drop to between minus thirty and minus forty degrees. He shuddered as he remembered the icicles forming from his breath. He would try to wait until the icicle was three or four inches long before he broke it off with his hands. At least his hands had stayed warm thanks to the four pairs of gloves he wore; they left his trigger fingers more than twice their normal thickness but they could still function.

The stations were flashing by as London was coming nearer and nearer, his stomach churned endlessly. Jim made his way to the toilets as his bowels had also decided to play their part in the trauma he was going through. On the way back to his seat Jim let down the leather sash to open the window and gulped in some air, he could smell the smoke being blown back from the engine. The smoke reminded him of his missions and he had learned quite quickly that the life expectancy of a rear gunner was just ten days. Jim had also heard that out of his training group he was the only one who survived. The day he was injured and had his leg shot to pieces he realised how lucky he was, he had survived nearly two years. He had seen the fire crew hosing out many a rear turret as there was often no visible body parts of the rear gunner remaining. The ground crew would just repair the mechanics, replace the Perspex in the turret and make sure the gun was working for the next poor gunner to be allocated.

He was amused at the training as they were trained to identify different silhouettes by the shape and size of their wings, his problematic eyesight was not an issue now. But it was so different eighteen thousand feet up and in the pitch black. You see something and you know instantly it is not a Spitfire or a Hurricane. Jim got used to his heart jumping when he suddenly knew it was for real. But you could not just blaze away, he had to think clearly. If you fire, the tracer will give away your position to the enemy for sure and anyway you might hit another Lancaster in your flight. Jim felt that the .303 machine guns were like pea shooters compared with the night fighters cannons. So you wait and it gets closer until you could make out a head and shoulders in the cockpit. The thoughts would run through his head were they going to keep coming? Was the pilot in the cockpit going to start firing?

Sometimes they peeled away out of sight and that was the worst moment of all. Jim knew that all he could do was to sit tight and pray he had really gone away. That he had not dived below you and was coming back underneath with his guns blazing away. The real horror was waiting and not knowing, wondering if he was going to die. As the attack came Jim knew to yell "Corkscrew" on the intercom to the skipper and he would throw the Lancaster into a steep dive. When a bomber corkscrews the worst place to be is in the back as the wings go down the tail comes thrusting upwards. Jim would go up and then plunge back down as the skipper pulled back on the stick and the plane then goes steeply in the other direction. As the wind blew through the open train window and into his face Jim remembered the force of gravity that clamped his head like a block of concrete. His chin would be pressed hard into his chest and at the same time he would be still trying to fire at the enemy fighter on his tail. Jim threw up and was sick out of the train window.

Jim wiped his face and leaned against the window, the pane of glass felt cold against his head. Oh Lord I was such a child he remembered wetting himself many a time and in a way it was such a relief when he was injured. He had lost so much weight waiting for death to take him. He smiled to himself and moved back slowly to his seat. His injury really was the best thing that happened to him; at least he would not have to be hosed out of his turret. Jim was sent to a hospital at Black Notley and that was where he met the love of his life – Maeve. A beautiful Irish nurse with chestnut brown hair and blue eyes. Jim's leg healed slowly and whilst he would always walk with a limp the surgeons had managed to save his leg. They told him that he was lucky and that he would be able to go back to his crew.

Jim though did not feel lucky he was a changed person; all he had seen and experienced was more than enough for a young lad. Who whilst inside he felt a hundred, was now only just twenty. Jim's mind had been in turmoil; and he knew that within another week he would be returning to his turret. The RAF granted him three days leave and with Maeve at his side they went to London to see his parents. Jim remembered his parents being delighted to see him and they agreed to give their permission for them both to marry. How ironic he could kill for his country, die for his country but could not marry without his parents' permission. An emergency licence had been applied for and the next day they had been married. He remembered his parents being so happy and proud, as Jim stood tall in his RAF uniform.

Jim saw out through the window the train at last was arriving in London, he suddenly thought his parents were proud and happy then, he was not so sure they would be so happy now. Following their wedding and family visit Jim and Maeve did not return to the hospital. They ran off to Ireland and as a couple they had chosen for him to become a deserter. In a way it was the easiest decision that Jim had ever made he wanted to live, and he wanted to love. He did not want to be splattered around his turret and then hosed out on to the ground. Jim's only consolation was that D Day had arrived and that the tide was turning in the war. Hitler at last was on the back foot.

Jim came back to reality as the train was pulling into St. Pancras, how glad he was to be back in London. The announcement by Winston Churchill had stated clearly that a general amnesty to war-time deserters was to be granted in connection with the Coronation celebrations. Jim, as was required, had reported in writing to his service authority and after a few weeks had received his certificate of protection. Following this he was then transferred to the appropriate reserve to which all crew were transferred on demob. Jim smiled to himself, the letter very kindly, had also stated that he would not be prosecuted for underage fraudulent enlistment.

At last Jim was a free person he just hoped that he could make it right with his parents, he knew that they had also suffered through his behaviour. Jim continued to walk from St. Pancreas and looked in amazement at all the changes surrounding him, yet everyone appeared happy and joyous. The Coronation of the new young queen was being planned and there was a buzz in the air. He at last turned into Bow Road and walked down to his turning, he could see his little sister Elizabeth with her skipping rope tied around the lamp post and then there it was No.25. The step was bright and shiny with Cardinal Red polish; he pushed at the door and called out 'Mum I'm home.'