20 ‘In hospital again.
  Nothing serious.
  Don’t worry.’

After spending his twenty-third birthday at Stratford-upon-Avon with Pop and his friend w/op Mark Beresford, David set out on a series of farewell visits, first to Cyril’s family where Mrs Bailey provided a splendid dinner.

‘But you should not have used up all your meat coupons,’ David remonstrated.

‘Only the best is good enough for you boys,’ Mrs Bailey declared. ‘Without you lads where would we all have been?’

‘I was lucky to have such a good flight engineer. Thanks to you both,’ David said to Cyril’s parents as he left. No looking back, he reminded himself, wondering if he would ever see this generous family again.

Then it was off to Scotland to say goodbye to the McNeills, before a trip to Ireland with Pop and Mark. In Dublin he bought a Donegal tweed sports coat and, as it was the first time he had worn civvies for years, it felt quite strange. They indulged in the rich, unrationed Irish fare like kids in a lolly shop. Now it really was beginning to feel like peacetime!

The week in Cambridge was one of the best in David’s stay in Britain. The lectures about history and world events by knowledgeable, witty dons were manna for a mind which had so long grappled with the mechanics of engines and airframes and the mathematics of navigation, gunnery and bomb aiming. The opportunities to visit colleges with their proud traditions of scholarship and learning, and to be shown their treasures was manna for the spirit whose focus had perforce been so long on destruction. The last lecture entitled Why read poetry was, for David, a perfect finale.

At Oxford for the four-week course on education, David again enjoyed the opportunities for debate and discussion, as well as afternoons exploring some of the colleges.

Within days of atom bombs being dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan finally surrendered. On 14 August David had just gone to bed when blasts from factory sirens, tooting railway engines and the first revellers banging tin cans alerted him that the war was over. At last! Dressing hastily, he hurried to the heart of the city, where people were bringing anything they could to add to the bonfire, the centre of hilarious and riotous celebrations which continued until 5 am. Next day, victory peals rang out from all Oxford’s church bells and David attended a thanksgiving service, before listening to the King’s speech and joining in the dancing in the streets again.

In his diary he wrote, The great day is here, and there is peace on earth again, after 6 years of war. What a rejoicing there is; and yet the full significance has not struck us all. For many it is a day of bitter-sweet feelings, as so many friends have given their lives for those who remain. In the afternoon he went for a quiet walk, remembering Rupert Brooke’s lines about the dead who ‘poured out the red Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be Of work and joy…’ Wandering Oxford’s streets he was pleasantly surprised to come across various acquaintances. Best of all was meeting Sam Salter, Peter’s instructor from Southrop, and spending two evenings together. On the first they talked about old times and people they both knew. But on the second they talked of the future. Sam had decided his vocation was in the church. ‘Have you considered that?’ he asked.

David nodded. ‘But I don’t believe it is my calling. I’m thinking of teaching. I’ve had a taste of that and I liked it. And it’s a way of putting something back. Rebuilding. If young people learn something about history, surely the next generation will not repeat the mistakes of the past,’ he said hopefully. ‘History really is important.’

Later, as they sipped port by the fire, Sam said, ‘Marriage?’

David was silent, looking into the friendly flames, so different from those others.

Sam sat quietly, and then went on, ‘It’s a path I want to go down. But I’ll have to wait a while until I’ve finished my training.’

‘I don’t think I’m ready for it yet,’ David said. Slowly he added, ‘Getting close to someone makes you very vulnerable, doesn’t it? I don’t know whether I can risk it again.’

Sam nodded. The wounds of war went very deep. Healing would be slow. But pray God it would come in time.

David had not been feeling well for some while, and on a trip to Cornwall he became ill. On 3 September he wrote, It is now 2 years since I arrived in this country, during which time I have seen a good deal of it and the way it has suffered from 6 years of war. So many had paid the full price with their lives in that war. He was fortunate that he had only paid an instalment with a part of his.

But another instalment was due.

Back at base he reported sick and was sent off to the Royal Doncaster Infirmary. With a high temperature and rapid pulse, he was diagnosed with acute pleurisy, accounting for the excruciating pain in his chest. He was not told the results of X-rays and a blood test, but simply informed he would be hospitalised for some time. So he sent another cable to his parents. IN HOSPITAL AGAIN. NOTHING SERIOUS. DON’T WORRY.

Although he had a small room to himself, it was connected to the children’s ward, with the constant sound of children vomiting and crying.

Five ounces of fluid were removed from his left lung in a painful procedure. But he had no energy. Too weak to shave, even reading tired him. Six days later he wrote, I spend most of the time just lying and thinking, an art I acquired when in Rauceby Hospital. Pop brought pyjamas and other comforts. But then he also left for Brighton on his way home. And David wrote, I wonder how long it will be now before I leave?

Fortunately, Brian was transferred to a nearby station, so David was not bereft of visitors. When Brian, who had been awarded a DFC after completing his tour of duty, was posted to Gamston at the beginning of October, David wrote, I may not see him again until we reach home. Almost everyone I know is now on the high seas or back in Australia.

After three long lonely weeks he was pleased to be able to shave himself and after four began to write letters home again. But he was becoming restive. So after a dense fog on 1 October, a sure sign of approaching winter, he had a chat with the doctor and pointed out that the sooner I am on my way home and in a warm climate the better.

A sympathetic nurse brought him a tomato from her parent’s greenhouse - luxury indeed - and the kindly medico invited him to his house whenever he wished for time out. But after learning that he had lost 10 pounds, which brought his weight loss to two-and-a-half stone since arriving in England, David determined to find out more about his condition. He waited until the nurses’ station was unattended to go and ‘borrow’ his records. He wedged the chair against the door of his room and sat on his bed to read them.

It was not good reading. His pleurisy was tuberculous.

David’s spirits lifted with news that the important part Cyril had played in bringing Dog back from Dortmund had been recognised with a Distinguished Flying Medal. Birdy also had been gazetted for a DFM after completion of his tour.

At last, on a sunny day David was allowed outside for a fifteen-minute walk, and wrote, I can now imagine how a bird feels on being released from a cage.

But two days later he received another devastating blow. When he opened the carefully recycled wartime envelope addressed in Mrs McNeill’s firm square hand there was nothing to prepare him for the news she shared. We have lost our Darling David. As you know we were looking every day for him coming home. But he died suddenly last Sunday evening in hospital in Gloucester. Bonnie David, such a fine lad, so true and warm-hearted and brave. Another part of Dights’ heart crumpled and died with him. In a daze of pain he read on. It was the infection he had contracted in the Middle East which affected his heart. Yet when he was home only three weeks earlier he had seemed so happy and full of life, talking of getting back to university, carrying on where he left off.

What a waste, David breathed. What a cruel waste. The words of the ‘Lament for the Battle of Flodden’ were running through his mind. ‘The flowers of the forest are a’ wede away.’ And he could hear the dirge of bagpipes, as they had heard them when David lad proudly had taken him to Edinburgh Castle eighteen months ago. The fierce crushing pain which gripped him was like a pleurisy of the heart, flooding it, drowning it in the bitter tears he could not shed.

Scottish David’s last words to his mother in the hospital were, ‘Goodnight, Mummy. Dinna worry about me. I’ll be all right.’ And she wrote to David, I’m just trying to remember those words every minute of the day. He has just gone on a wee while before me. We hope to meet him some day in a better world than this.

She wrote again twelve days later to thank David for his letter of sympathy. This time the envelope was black edged, as was the paper. Had David been properly treated when he returned or been discharged this would never have happened. All my life I shall never be able to forgive the RAF for their carelessness. David, we are all heart broken. He was so very happy about being demobbed. He had all his plans made for the next three years. It’s just as well one doesn’t know what’s before one.

Just as well indeed.

After yet more X-rays and blood tests, David was told the results were good. The pleurisy had eased considerably and if he continued to improve he should be ready for repatriation early in the new year.

The bad news was that in the meantime he was to be transferred back to Rauceby.

On 29 November he wrote It is a year ago today that I did my last op and came into this hospital. And he had spent eight of those twelve months in hospitals. After three more dreary weeks at Rauceby he was sent on to another convalescent unit. This was a great improvement on the former asylum. It was Harewood House, the beautiful 18th century Yorkshire home of the Earl of Harewood and Princess Mary, the King’s sister, who had graciously made one of the wings available for servicemen.

The house was set in hundreds of acres of parklands and, free to spend the time as he wished, on fine days David went for long walks, letting the peace seep through his whole being.

When the weather was wild or wet, there was plenty indoors to engage his attention. The elaborate Rococo ceilings and many fine paintings revealed so much about the past, the occupants of the house and their activities, as well as the landscape.

On Christmas Eve they cut greenery to decorate the house, festooning the rooms with holly, and David grinned to himself, thinking what Drew and Boz would say if they could see him hanging mistletoe in strategic places.

On Christmas morning, after the service in the old stone church in the grounds and a substantial breakfast with real eggs, David met Princess Mary and the Earl, enjoying a long informal chat with them. All the meals at Harewood were good, in contrast to the poor hospital fare, and Christmas dinner was no exception. Afterwards, the Princess gave each officer a copy of a book about the Royal Family, personally inscribed, and they listened to the King’s speech, his first peacetime one in six years.

Social activities were an important part of life at Harewood and a vital part of healing, with VADs, a cheerful group of young women, providing the nursing assistance any men might require, but even more importantly giving them company as they adjusted towards everyday life again. Meals were usually segregated, but not this night. Everyone joined in a merry evening of party games. David was chuffed that he and his VAD partner, the dark-haired Barbara, distinguished themselves by winning dancing and musical chairs competitions. If only Drew and Boz had been there to see that!

Festivities continued on Boxing Day, when the patients put on VADs’ uniforms and waited on them at lunch. Afterwards, David and the Princess talked again as they washed up together. On the second evening of dancing David found himself really enjoying female company once more, commenting on what a pleasure it was to see girls in evening dress again. Barbara was good fun. They took walks together, and often made up a foursome to go off to the cinema or for meals. One day David and a British major with whom he had become friendly swapped uniforms and thoroughly enjoyed the prank.

He hated having to leave Harewood to return to cheerless Rauceby early in the New Year. Further X-rays and a blood test were satisfactory and he was told that he would leave England on a hospital ship in two to three weeks. But when bad weather postponed sailing, David was glad to be given leave from Rauceby. Although the McNeills had extended a warm invitation to return at any time, he could not face going back. It seemed so unfair, now that David was gone. Why one David but not the other? It was unfathomable and he did not want to inflict any more sorrow on the grieving family.

So he went back to Harewood. Climbing the hill with Barbara in the sunlight for a last look across the park to the beautiful home where he had been so happy, both felt they were in another world. Remote from this one with all its strife.

On 31 January 1946 a small group of Australian airmen with David in charge left Rauceby by ambulance for London. On 1 February they boarded the white hospital ship Maunganui, with its distinctive green line and green crosses on its funnel. An old New Zealand vessel of 7500 tons, it had been fitted out to carry war brides as well as patients, both Australian and Kiwi, from the three services. Air Vice Marshal Wrigley, Air Officer Commanding RAAF Overseas, who had visited David in Rauceby, came to the docks to see them off. Nearing midnight, the ship moved out into the Thames.

David looked up the river towards Westminster, the cradle of democracy, where so many of the war’s hard decisions had been made. After almost two and a half years in Britain he was leaving with very mixed feelings. England, Scotland, Wales. London, Edinburgh, York, Lincoln, Canterbury, Cambridge, Oxford. Dozens of other smaller and special places. Good times, bad times. Making friends, losing friends. Loving. Losing. And learning. Always learning. Immeasurably enlarged. Sadder. Wiser. Wondering. Would he ever come back again?

Hospital ship Maunganui. Note distinguishing crosses and band.