The Long Way Home (18 page)

This worked out wonderfully well for me, as Americans in Stuttgart had asked for co-operation from Hamburg on some underground activities which affected them. The boss asked me if there was any
possibility of getting close to the source. I talked to Jack about it and he said that the old Anti-Nazi Committee might be able to help. They had a meeting arranged for a couple of weeks later
and, as Jack was a member, he would be there; I asked him if it would be possible for me to be present. His answer was an emphatic ‘No’, as the mere sight of a uniform anywhere near the
meeting place would cause an automatic cancellation. I then asked him if I would be admitted with him if I was in civvy clothes and he agreed that this would be allowed. Intelligence Corps
personnel were allowed to wear civvy clothes in the UK but not abroad, so I had a problem. There was no point in asking the boss because he was duty-bound to say ‘No’, but what he
didn’t know wouldn’t do him any harm. So, Jack and I visited the Merchant Navy tailor and he made me a double-breasted dark suit. The reason I wanted to be at the meeting in person was
that I wanted to hear Jack ask the right questions and to hear the answers personally.

We duly attended the meeting and got what sounded like the information we were looking for, though only further investigation would show if this was of any consequence. By a horrible coincidence
it led us into the middle of the social group we had been partying with. We had been seeing quite a lot of one charming couple who lived in a big flat in town. It was fairly obvious that Cesar was
in love with the wife, whose name was Jacquie, though he was always circumspect when husband Heinz was about. Jack and I were shocked when we were told that the key figure in the equation was
indeed our friend Heinz. I passed the information on to the boss, and when he asked me to give him a detailed report, I told him that I could give him an abridged version. Immediately he asked if I
had been naughty and broken some rules, and when I admitted that this was indeed the case, he smiled his most charming smile and told me to make it as plausible as possible.

One month later Heinz was dead. He was apparently killed in a freak accident where his head was crushed between his car and a caravan he was using. The funeral was very private.

This type of hard work and hard drinking went on until I was finally demobbed in January 1946. After collecting my civvy clothes at Redford Barracks in Edinburgh, I went home to
Mum to enjoy about five months’ accumulated leave. All the know-alls said that after about a month of inactivity I would be raring to go back to work, but this didn’t happen. First, I
arranged to get a passport. This didn’t take too long, and while I was waiting for it to come through, I applied for an entry visa to Czechoslovakia, but the authorities said this
wouldn’t be forthcoming for a long time. Coincidentally, the passport arrived at the same time as a letter from the Control Commission for Germany (CCG) asking if I was interested in
returning to Germany in the post of a British Passport Officer.

This new and unexpected development required a lot of thought; I was still a Civil Servant and would be required to return to my parent department. The old me would naturally have done exactly
what was expected of me but the new me had no qualms about answering the letter and saying that I would indeed be interested in the proposition, thinking that probably nothing would come of it. I
decided to say nothing about the offer to the Engineering Department; I still had a few months’ leave left, so it wasn’t really relevant.

The first surprise came a few weeks later when I was invited to attend an interview in London. When I saw the competition in the waiting room, I gave up any hopes of a post. There were group
captains, lieutenant colonels, naval officers and Uncle Tom Cobley and all – all out to carry on from where they had left off in the war but, please, not back to civvy street. The only laugh
I had was when the security man in the entry hall checked my name against his list and said I would be the gentleman from MI, which flummoxed me until I worked it out – he had me down as
Military Intelligence.

The board were very nice and very impressive and I would have given all of them a job. After the interview I was thanked politely and ushered out. I thought that would be the end of it, but a
few weeks later another letter arrived from this distinguished panel inviting me for a further inquisition. This time I knew who I was before the doorman told me. In the office, to my surprise,
there was an old friend working as chief clerk. He had been one of our section sergeants in Hamburg. Taffy, as he was known to us, told me in confidence that I had finished high in the ratings of
the last interview and I was definitely on the short-list for one of the posts. When I asked him why he wasn’t on it, he said that he had tried and this was the best that he could do.

The board went over much the same ground as the last time, but with a little more emphasis here and there. Again I was thanked but this time they said I would probably hear from them. Sure
enough, a couple of weeks later the final demand arrived, but now there was one discordant note from a member of the panel, who apparently was a senior Civil Servant. He very properly pointed out
that I was not in a position to accept the post as I was duty-bound to return to my parent department when my leave was finished – so what did I have in mind? My reply was that if the post
was offered to me and the Civil Service didn’t release me, then I would offer my resignation and take their job, since I considered it important enough to warrant such action.

There was a flurry of whispers and the result was that I would be allowed to take the job, if I agreed to return to the department when the post became redundant. I was advised to apply for a
passport immediately, and there were a few knowing smiles when I said that I already held a current passport. How wrong they were in their thinking.

Details of salary, uniform and rank were worked out, and I was to start as a Control Officer, Grade 3, which was the equivalent rank of captain. I then notified my department of what was
happening and reported to my new HQ in Germany, where I was informed that I should have taken over Major Haigh’s command in Hamburg, but would I please go to Cuxhaven instead and set up the
controls for the arrival of the British Forces married families.

After we had escaped, I had asked for promotion and responsibility and it was given to me. The post of BPO was certainly a full-time job, requiring lots of memory work on policy
and regulations, with no set hours, but with the usual complete freedom to commandeer staff and accommodation. In Cuxhaven I took over the Yacht Club as our Passport Office and employed the best
civilian staff available, though my main help came from the Frontier Control Service personnel.

When the Cuxhaven Control was running smoothly, I was transferred to Hamburg and, after changing the three officers who had been employed there for three new ones who could be trained properly,
I settled into Major Haigh’s old position with a feeling of justifiable pride. To crown it all I was also promoted to the grade of Control Officer 2, equivalent to the rank of major. So, as
far as I was concerned, the wheel had come full circle. It was shortly after this that a letter from Traudl got redirected to me with the good news that she was well – and the bad news that
she had got tired of waiting to hear from me and had married a Czech army officer!

A rest period was long overdue, and it finally came in the form of a posting to Lübeck, a town which straddles the River Trave, which in turn runs into the Baltic Sea. This
reminded me of our POW posting to Bad Karlsbrunn in Sudetenland, as it was a real holiday area and the workload was almost non-existent. I still kept in touch with Hamburg, and it was on one of
these trips that Fate decided that for me the war was over.

Normally, my driver Hans would have been at the wheel of the Mercedes on our way back from Hamburg, but on this particular beautiful spring day I had decided to drive myself, or perhaps the gods
who control these things had decided for us. In any case we passed a young lady smiling by the roadside, with her thumb in the classic hitchhiking position. It has never been my policy to give
people lifts but, to my great surprise, my foot went onto the brake pedal and we came to a stop.

When the beautiful face with the lovely tan asked for a lift into Lübeck, who could have refused? By the time we had reached town I had asked her to have dinner with me, but she accepted
only after a lot of persuasion. Her name was Franziska, or Frankie for short, and you know the song about Frankie and Johnnie being lovers. Eventually we were, and still are to this day. We were
together from then on and in November 1949 we decided to come home and get married.

Knowing Frankie brought me a great inner peace and a stability that had been sadly lacking. Various people remarked on the more estimable character that I became after meeting her. I was offered
another promotion but we both decided that enough was enough, and when you think about it, ten years out of your life is surely all that can be expected from you.

So we kissed Germany goodbye and came home.

List of Plates

John McCallum aged 19, in Glasgow.

Just after joining the TA, inscribed to an unknown person.

Jimmy O’Neill (John’s half brother), Malcolm (John’s younger brother) and John.