had stayed on in Peebles, so he asked her to call and see my mother and father to put their minds at ease and to reassure them that I would not lose my leg or arm. They had received the usual telegram merely saying I had been wounded.
I was eventually moved back to a general hospital in Brussels; not a very good place to be as it had become a target for the flying 'doodle bombs' which Hitler had developed as a new weapon. You could hear them as you lay in bed. After a few days I was taken by stretcher and air ambulance to an airfield in Wiltshire, and then by stretcher train to a Ministry of Pensions Hospital in Worcester, near to Malvern. All the voluntary helpers swooped down on our stretchers at every place we had to wait and wonderful ladies kindly made sure we had filled in a post-card to our loved ones to say we were now in this country and being well looked after. They also supplied us with tooth brushes, soap and shaving kit, and if our labels allowed it, we were given cups tea.
At the conclusion of extended leave to recuperate, I was posted to a holding battalion at Redford Barracks in Edinburgh . The War with Germany now over, I was appointed to set up a holding unit in the Duddingston area of Edinburgh which would be a staging camp for men on their way to Norway . It was a vacant camp site with Nissen huts and I was provided with a small staff to get it organised. After a couple of weeks, telephoning Scottish Command to whom we had to report, I was mistakenly put through to the staff officer responsible for officers' postings. I said that although it was a wrong connection nevertheless it was providential and could he please help me to get back to the 7th/9th Battalion. On hearing my story that I had been wounded, he replied that "I can help, but do not say anything to anybody." He did help and my posting was quickly approved.
Back to the Rhine Army
Within forty-eight hours I was on my way back to the battalion. Crossing by ferry, I reached a holding camp in Ostende and within a couple of hours of arriving there was approached by two senior warrant officers wearing the 52nd Mountain Division signs asking if they could have my permission to see what they could do to get a 15-cwt truck to transport them and myself back to the Division. There is nothing so powerful in the Army as warrant officers and their 'old boy' network of fellow warrant officers. Within an hour they advised that all


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