beer, and then there was the  awful tally of those who had not made it. The guy you were drinking with last night. The chaps with whom you had done a London theatre two weeks before. The fellow who had helped you fix your bike suddenly all were no longer there.They may have been lucky and parachuted to safety, but usually with the cramped space flames all around the chances of survival were slim. So then it was back to the bar, to drinks with the pretty WAAFs and nurses, before a few days later the whole performance was repeated.
Eventually the strain became so unbearable that everyone had their minds blown and although they all did their jobs with dedication and precision, occasionally something would happen to blow away the mask of the stiff upper lip and the false  bravado.  One day after he had landed and was still on the airfield a Lancaster Bomber  came limping home on fire. All the fire engines were at the alert as the bomber came in smoke pouring from two of her engines. As it landed, the undercarriage gave way and the plane slewed and burst into flame before their eyes. Immediately the flames were doused in foam and then falling out from the hatches were members of the crew with their clothes alight and their faces burnt. One poor chap had his nose practically burnt off, another his ears had gone. The most awful thing Ossie said was that we  all  just burst out laughing pointing to them with hideous remarks such as:
“Look how funny he looks now without a nose” 
Looking back you knew it was a wicked thing to say, and an evil way to behave, but there comes a point when month after month of strain, before one goes off for Rest and Recuperation, and a change from active duties, that the spirit just cannot take any more. It was these experiences with  their  traumatic results that had finally convinced him when he was de-mobbed of a need to unwind for some years on a farm quietly and to talk  about his war, to anyone who would listen. At home in his little cottage whilst his wife made tea, he would bring out his photo album, and one could see immediately the sheer benefit he got from just being able to talk and unwind. Sometimes in contrast though he would have an amusing yarn to tell: In 1942 he and about 10 others had been sent first to Canada and then on to Los Angeles to train on Liberators. Whilst there they all went to  have dinner in a night club where there was a Go-Go girl dancing and undressing in front of their table. Eventually when she was quite naked she went up to one of the officers on his table, took the cigarette out of his mouth placed it in her fanny and blew smoke rings  from it in front of their table to tremendous applause! Finally after they all had a good  laugh, she took the still lighted cigarette out and replaced it in the officer’s lips to his amazement. One of the men in the party dryly commented;
“Well at least it’s a change from being  covered in lipstick!”
That spring at New Barn Farm that I passed my time was incredibly cold  and we had an 8 unit milking bail right out on the downs. The water would be heated in a little boiler and dettol added to wash down the udders, but after about half an hour it had to be redone as already the water would be freezing. The snow piled up on one side of the bail and we worked frantically and quickly to milk 120 cows which we would do in the space of about 2 hours, then load up the churns on the tractor and come home.
But I really enjoyed the life and every minute  with Ossie  with his latest yarn about love conquests over the wewekend, and was quite sorry to once again leave and rejoin Ron and help him grow vegetables.
In the summer of 1950 petrol rationing had just come to an end. I had made up my mind to purchase a motor bike to enable me to have freedom of movement, and to be able to go home without having to hitchhike as I normally did. Our poultryman , and ex-Liverpudlian shop steward  Ron Hataway  offered to give me advice, and with his help I purchased a 1938 Norton 350cc that had only done 8,000 miles  for the price of £55.  It  had been laid up for the duration of the war and five years afterwards as petrol was unavailable and was misfiring badly when we came to view it. After we drove it spluttering back,  George   then  tinkered with the carburettor,  and she was soon running smoothly.  A fortnight later I arranged one Saturday to drive past Portsmouth to Rowlands Castle to meet up with my old school friend Richard Baker, for  us to go to a Bradfield College reunion. To start with all went well until I got exhilarated with the speed and then suddenly came upon an “S” bend. A car  was coming in the opposite direction, and I was going too fast for proper control and  was inevitably going to crash. I had to make a split second decision either I drove headlong into a brand new five bar gate, or into a solid brick wall. I chose the gate. The bike  crashed through it, and I was thrown over the top, my hands bleeding and my face lacerated. I fell unconscious, and came round  some minutes later, with a kind farmers wife offering me a cup of strong sweet tea which was like nectar. An AA man too had appeared and straightened out  the mudguard etc. so that  I could resume my journey.  About half an hour later I turned up at the Old Rectory and rang the bell. Richard’s Mother appeared looked at my face and hands all covered in blood  and said.
“My God you must be Michael Charnaud, come in and have a wash. What has happened ?”
I told her and Richard about my foolishness, and after a cup of tea climbed into their enormous Austin six and with Richard at the wheel, we trundled slowly up towards Reading. Suddenly as we drove after about ten minutes I found myself shaking uncontrollably. Richard stopped and after a few minutes I was quite alright, but it was the only “ after shock” experience that  I ever had. Our journey took us past the heather and pine heaths of Aldermaston  where only a year before we had been playing soldiers in the Combined Cadet Force. Suddenly here on the lonely heath huge steel girders were being erected in an area behind a high security chain link fence. It seemed so surprising to see such activity and it was only later that I was to realise that it was the start of  the building of the  Atomic Weapons Research Establishment ,and the site  where all the British Nuclear Bombs have been built, and the focal point for endless Anti- Nuclear Marches in the following years.
In late August I took my leave from the farms that I  had worked on. I had loved the gentle rolling chalk downs of Dorset with their neolithic barrows and burial mounds, the huge ancient stone age fortress of Badbury rings. There was a softness in the landscape but at the same time the pioneering aviation research  of “ in-flight-refuelling” was taking place at Tarrant Rushton a few miles away. Glouscester Meteor jets would be coupling up to drogue pipes over head as they practised their manoeuvres and their new technology which is now common over the world for most military aircraft. So sadly I  left and after a brief spell at home at lovely Orchard House with Mother before starting my  course at Reading University to read Horticulture.
 Before I could start there was one problem which was National Service. I had already lost five years of my education and had more or less now caught up with my contemporaries and I felt strongly that I did not want to waste a further two years in the army square bashing etc. There was a provision in the regulations I noted that ex-POWs  were exempt so I went and saw the Recruitment Officer in Uckfield who was one of those people who needed quite a bit of persuasion to re the regulations but he did eventually  grant me the exemption that I wantd.

2/2 Next Chapter.