Vernon's letters home
A homecoming that kept slipping — Sierra Leone to the Gold Coast, 1945–46
By the summer of 1945 the war in Europe was over, and Vernon, now a Leading Aircraftman, was recovering from a hospital stay in Sierra Leone, confident he'd be home within weeks. He wasn't. Over the next sixteen months his letters trace a homecoming that keeps slipping a little further away: a new posting in Gambia, a second Christmas overseas, a further move to the Gold Coast, and finally, in the autumn of 1946, the family's own letter of welcome.
Here are just a few lines to let you know I am alright now, I am out of hospital and I am on a few days sick leave which finishes on Tuesday then it's back to work again, I guess it will seem a bit strange as it is seven weeks since I was last at work, still I shall be glad to get back as I am fed up with this lazy life.
A paragraph on the Rainy Season follows, then one on how well the war news is going, before he turns back to his own homecoming.
Well it shouldn't be long before I am back home again, if all goes well I should be home by August at the latest so that isn't so bad is it, it's much sooner than I expected and believe me I shan't be sorry, I have seen more than enough of Africa, there's no place like England and I never want to leave it again once I get back I wouldn't come out here again for a fortune.
All my love,
Your Ever Loving Son
Vernon
August came and went. Four months later, a new letter arrives, not from Sierra Leone this time, but from a station further south, on the Gambia river.
Here are just a few lines to let you know I am still keeping well & hope that this letter finds you both in the best of health. Since we left Sierra Leone illegible on Tuesday about three o'clock on a kite† and landed here about seven o'clock, we spent yesterday getting settled down and now we are all set for work, so far I am not very happy about this station, the climate is a bit better here but the place itself isn't a patch on Freetown or Sierra Leone — torn.
Little to do in the evenings, he says, beyond pictures twice a week.
We can go swimming in our off duty hours, it is about sixteen miles to the beach and they run a lorry down there every afternoon, we went down this afternoon and it is quite good there, only not like the beaches in Sierra Leone where there is a NAAFI‡ where you can get something to eat and cold drinks, still it is very nice to be able to get a swim.
He goes on to mention cheaper sandals for sale, and offers to send Mum a handbag.
† kite — RAF slang for an aircraft, in general use by this point in the war.
‡ NAAFI — the Navy, Army & Air Force Institutes, which ran canteens, shops and recreation facilities for servicemen, at home and overseas.
Your ever loving Son
Vernon
That Christmas, a photograph arrives instead of a letter: his second Christmas away.
To Mum & Dad with my very best wishes for Christmas & the New Year.
All my love
Vernon
Five months later, he's on the move again, to a new station on the Gold Coast: his last letter home.
Here are a few lines to let you know I have arrived in one piece at this miserable spot. They came to the billet on Wednesday night and told my mates and myself to be ready to travel by B.O.A.C.† at six o'clock Thursday morning, as you can guess it was a bit of a rush but we made it somehow and we got on the B.O.A.C. air line to come here, apparently we were urgently required here because as a rule they don't let airmen travel on B.O.A.C., anyway it cost the R.A.F. forty pounds for each of us in fare.
† B.O.A.C. — the British Overseas Airways Corporation, Britain’s state long-haul airline. Airmen travelling on it rather than military transport was unusual enough that Vernon remarks on it himself.
Three pages of travel follow — Freetown, Takoradi, a boat home expected 5 June — before the letter turns to something new.
Beryl said that both the children are much better now, so that is a load off my mind, I only hope I can soon get home and see about getting a house and settling down, Beryl says that the house next door to her mother will be for sale very shortly, and the people who are there now said she could have it for eight hundred, its a lot of money but if I could borrow it off a building society it would be a good investment as houses are a terrible price these days aren't they.
Well I think that is about all the news for now and with a bit of luck I should be nearly home this time next month and then I shall have heaps to tell you
Cheerio for now & don't work too hard Mum
God Bless You Both
Your Ever Loving Son
Vernon
He wasn't quite right about "next month," but by the autumn, he finally was home. It's Cicely, writing from The Elms, who tells the story of his arrival.
So glad to hear you were still alive, and kicking dear.
Whoopee! So you have at last got back to Civvy St†. With plenty of coupons too‡? Bet Beryl will show you what to do with those. (Laugh).
She grumbles, half-joking, about money that "comes in one hand and goes quicker out of the other," and about how strange it'll feel job-hunting after the army, before landing on a number that actually worries her:
Is that all you are going to have, £40? I thought they gave you £100-0-0 odd. It certainly won't go far these days, and I very much doubt if you could furnish a room on it, only with dockets and units§.
I should love to have you, but I really don't know how we can manage as regards beds. June says she will sleep on the settee for a night or two — she has to be on her feet all day, so I couldn't let her do that for long. I know you both understand which is a lot, as you know I love seeing you. I know what, if you and Beryl could arrange it, and didn't mind leaving the children with their Gran, you and Beryl would be most welcome to come for this week end. That would make a long week-end, be a break for you both, and be G.H. for us as June will let you have her bed.
† Civvy St. — British services slang for civilian life, current since WWII: back “on Civvy Street” meant back in normal clothes, a normal job, no one shouting at you at six in the morning.
‡ Coupons — on top of a cash gratuity and a civilian "demob suit," men leaving the forces were issued extra clothing coupons, since ordinary rationing continued until 1949.
§ Dockets and units — wartime furniture rationing: a set number of "units" (a table cost 6, a wardrobe 12) redeemable against a "docket" for each piece, on top of paying for it.
The letter goes on to pin down an actual date for the visit — then complicates it — before cutting off mid-sentence; its final page hasn't turned up yet.
The relief comes through from the first line, glad to hear he's "still alive, and kicking, dear," before Cicely can't resist a "Whoopee!" at the news he's back on Civvy Street: a promise made from a hospital bed in Sierra Leone, and kept, in the end, fourteen months late.