My father, Cecil Holmes,(known to his army friends as Charlie) joined the army at the start of the war in 1939 when I was a baby. I have one letter which he wrote to my mother in 1940 which indicated that he was 7611996 L/Cpl C.E.Holmes of 52 L.A.A. Regt R.A. workshops R.A.O.C. of the 14th Infantry Bde, Middle East Forces, at that stage. He was captured in Crete in May 41 and served the rest of the war as a POW mainly in Stalag IV B, returning home on my younger brother's 5th birthday, 29 May 45.
Dad did not speak to us often about his experiences during the war, but he and his old army friend, Jimmy Corrigan, would meet maybe twice a year and reminisce. On those occasions we would pick up snippets of their experiences. For instance, one which I rememberwas. He and a party of POWs were returning from a work party. They were permitted to take into the camp a small bag of sticks for the fire in the hut. When the guard asked dad what was in his bag he replied "A radio". The guard laughed and passed him into the hut without examining the bag. The bag did, of course, contain sticks, but also a radio.
A couple of years ago on Remembrance Day some ex POWs from Stalag IV B were interviewed on television. One spoke of the Stage Shows and Plays they used to put on in the camp, and that they had an illicit radio back stage. I have wondered since if it had been dad's radio.
Unfortunately dad died in his 80th year in 1993. I wish he had survived to hear these men's recollections. He would have remembered them and what they had to say.
Another story he told was that he had been taken out of the camp to a civilian dentist for treatment. The dentist's wife was Irish. Dad asked her for some bread to take back to the men, and offered his gold ring in exchange for the bread. When he returned to the camp he found his ring embedded in the loaf. I now possess the ring.
Quite a few years ago I was at T.A. Camp in Sennybridge, S. Wales. Four of us decided to Hitch-hike to London for the week-end. We went into a cafe, I think it was the Nuffield Centre. There was only one other person in the cafe. During the meal this person came over to us and said that he recognized our accent as being from Northern Ireland and asked if we knew a man called Charlie Holmes. I told him that my father was Cecil Holmes and that his army friends called him Charlie. He said, "That's the very man, I was a POW with him". Unfortunately that is the total of my recollections of that occasion.
Early in May 45 I was a little boy of 6. I awoke early one morning, coming dawn, to see a man standing beside my bed. He appeared to fall over the bed and disappear.
On 29 May 45 my Grand-mother (Dad's mum), my mother, two of dad's brothers, his sister, my younger brother, and I were at the L.M.S. Railway Station to meet my father coming home from the war. Hundreds of soldiers were walking along the platform from the Larne train. One in particular walked past us. I went after him and brought him back. It was my father. He was the man I had seen a couple of weeks earlier, in my vision. He had not recognized us (probably because of trauma), and his mother, wife, brothers,and sister had not recognized him. He was a man of 6'1" tall but weighed only 8 stone, very different to the man who had left in 1939 to go to the war.
Is there anyone out there who remembers my father from those days? I would sincerely love to hear from them.
