We were to follow a route across India to Calcutta. These vehicles were smaller than I had been driving but more compact, apparently the seats inside could be made into bunks and the driving seat could be adapted in the same way, allowing both the driver and his mate to take overnight breaks. Before we left Bombay, Officer Woodward pulled me to one side and asked me to take charge of the drivers and mechanics - under his orders of course. He then explained the situation to the drivers and mechanics. The next job was to get ready for the long journey ahead. We took on water, packed rations, the usual army type biscuits and loads of tinned fruit plus other items that we would need. We checked the vehicles over and started them up ready for the off.
The vehicles were much easier to drive than the 60ft Queen Mary’s. The route we were to take was Bombay to Poona – Mhow – Cawnpore- Benares –Asonal and then finally Calcutta. It must have been sometime in December when we left Bombay because I still remember spending Christmas morning by the side of the road where we had stopped to prepare our Christmas breakfast. We all got together breaking up loads of army biscuits (I call these ‘army biscuits’ as they are nothing like the biscuits we buy today, but resembled square hard slabs) into small pieces and putting them in a huge container onto a big stove. We then added water, canned milk and sugar and brought it up to the boil. It didn’t taste like porridge oats but at least it was filling.

Christmas Morning – preparing our ‘army biscuit’ concoction for breakfast - Bombay 1945

The majority of the ‘roads’ were just rough tracks and we had to put up with villagers waving fists and jeering. Banners were strung across the roads with big letters written in English containing messages such as ‘BRITISH QUIT INDIA’. In every occupied place we went through, we got the same reception. There was no doubt that they wanted us Brits out of India, this was the period when India wanted home rule, and they no longer wanted the British in control. At that time as far as we were concerned they were welcome to it, all we wanted was to get this job done and get back home – remember, although we were driving the vehicles to Calcutta we still had no idea why.

We stopped one night at a place called Asonsal, where there was supposed to be a staging camp although there was no one there. It was a desolate spot out in the wilds. It was dark when we arrived and from the headlights of the vehicles, all we could see was a long wooden hut. We grabbed the torches we had in the vehicles and went to look around. Inside there was a series of wooden beds with laths across to lie on, apart from that the hut was empty. Obviously we were not impressed and some of the lads decided to sleep in the vehicles. As it was very warm sleeping in the trucks, about 10 of us decided we would give the hut a try. We grabbed our blankets and with the help of the vehicle lights we made beds up and then settled in. We had only been in bed about a quarter of an hour when there was a great commotion in the hut, shouting and scrambling. Out of the darkness we heard the words "Bloody Hell!"
Some of the lads were sat up in their beds running their hands down their arms. One by one each of the lads began to understand what was happening and with the help of torches we were able to see what the problem was. In the torchlight we could see that our bodies and the blankets were covered in little red bugs. We all shot out of bed and spent the rest of the night and early part of the next day cleaning blankets and de-bugging ourselves. The lads who had stayed in the vehicles thought it was hilarious and were laughing and taking the mick out of us.

We finally arrived at Calcutta and settled in at the R.A.F. base, which was a pleasant change after being cooped up in those vehicles. The main street in Calcutta was called Chowringhee. It was a wide street with buildings on the one side and open land on the other. Ken and I were good pals by now, after the long drag across India and one day we were walking along Chowringhee, when we came to a building which was open to all Navy, Army and RAF servicemen similar to the Y.M.C.A. in England. We decided to check it out and as we were going up the steps, who should be coming down the steps but a lad from Skelmersdale who I knew well. His name was Teddy Phillipson and he was in the Army. We all had quite a chat together. It was such a coincidence meeting him there considering both he and I were in different forces. We could have been posted anywhere in the world and even though we were both posted to the same location the odds on us bumping into each other in the same building were remote. After he left I didn’t get to see him again till after the war.

The R.A.F. base we were staying at had the use of the Victoria swimming pool, (probably named during the old days of the British Regime.) We knew we were not at the end of our journey but were still in the dark regarding where we were bound. When we made any enquiries about our destination, we would be told that ‘we were waiting for further instructions’. So we spent most of the time in the pool. We must have been in Calcutta 3 or 4 weeks before we were told one day to get the vehicles ready to move on. We left Calcutta and headed down the east coast road of India for Madras; arriving some days later at Tambaram R.A.F. base just outside Madras. It was now March 1946. We noticed a large crowd of Indians outside the gates of the base shouting and waving arms. We had already had a taste of this in various places during our long travel across India. The locals were demonstrating against British Rule. Army soldiers were guarding both the gates and inside the base. Amidst a lot of commotion and shouting, the gates were opened and we drove in. We were told where to report and after the initial arrival regulations etc., our accommodation was sorted. We were also told that none of us would be allowed out of the base until further instructions. This rule was also applied to personnel already stationed here. Apparently there had been several demonstrations in the days before we had arrived but in general they had been peaceful but we got the impression that things were about to get worse.
We didn’t see a lot of Madras and we still had no idea where we were heading, until in April 1946 instructions came through from H.Q.to disband the unit! - we were amazed. We had travelled all the way through several countries from the U.K and it had all been for nothing. We eventually found out that we were originally heading for Borneo but the news that the Japs had been surrendering in various parts of the Far East, had put a stop to this.

So now there was an end to it all, the world was at peace. We of course were highly delighted and couldn’t wait to get home. Later in the month a despatch came from H.Q. showing names and demob numbers, which were then put on the notice boards. My demob number was 36. Everybody had a number, which related to the length of time they had been in service, and the lower numbers were being demobbed first. Those who had been allocated low numbers were the personnel who had been in service longest. So of course the notice boards were surrounded. If your name and number were on the list then you were on your way home and to my delight I was on one of the first lists but Ken, my mate, was unlucky he must have joined the R.A.F. at a later time than me and therefore had a higher demob number. He would have to wait till the next batch of names came through.

In the next few days I started to get the bulk of my possessions together, these would be items that I wouldn’t need on my journey home and were to be shipped on to the UK separately at a later date. I said my goodbyes to Ken and the rest of our crew and looked forward to my journey home.
We were taken back to Bombay, where we embarked on a Yankee Liberty ship and left India in early May, arriving at Southampton on the 31st May 1946. From there I was to report to number 101 P.D.C. (Personnel Demob Centre) at Kirkham in Lancashire. I was given money for 81 days termination leave and also a demob suit of civilian clothes, so now I was back in Civvy Street.

I made my way home, realising that an end had come to my period of service with the Royal Air Force. On looking back to those war years when I had spent five years of my young life tied down and under orders most of the time, I would sometimes think to myself was that five years really wasted and then I’d realise that I had many things to be thankful for; I had done my bit for my country and I had met loads of great R.A.F. lads including aircrews and made lots of friends, also I had travelled and seen many different countries, cultures and people. I have had a couple of narrow escapes and I have seen some terrible sights whilst waiting the return of Halifax bombers on the early mornings after night raids over Germany, and a lot of good men died – their young lives lost to the cruelties of war. These are memories I will never forget.