This is an entry in a year-long project to post-blog the demobilisation experience for British servicemen at the end of the Second World War. See here for an introduction to the project and here for a brief overview of the demobilisation process.
In a jocular mood, Soldier magazine this week includes "countless testimonials" from ex-servicemen who have successfully readjusted to civilian life:
Ginger, ex-driver, RASC: "When I last had leave, about a million years before I was demobbed, I was a proper fish out of water at a party. I couldn't get over that old army dodge of grabbing the best bit of floor to kip down on. I felt real self-conscious. Now I bed down as bold as brass. Sometimes they're still jitterbugging at reveillle, but yours truly hasn't budged an inch. And if they don't like it, they know what to do, because I tell 'em. Straight, I do."
Nobby, ex-trooper, RAC: "My self-confidence is restored. All barrack-room roughness is gone and I am able to mingle with all genuine peace-lovers with no fear of offence. Last week I was selling a Teller mine (one of a kitbagful I brought home with me) to the vicar at a garden party. I noticed what you might call the soupcon of sales resistance. So I flogged him a dozen hand-grenades instead. Peace - it's wonderful."
From Lady G: "Thank you so much for sending Percival back home safely to us. All at the Grange were charmed to have the dear boy once more in our midst. He has hardly altered a whit. True, he put what he called the 'aeroplane scissors' on the footman, who was left tangled up with the chandelier in the Blue Room, and it's strange the way he keeps muttering in his sleep about what he is going to do to a mysterious man called 'Sarge,' who sounds like a Rumanian to us. But he's as loveable as ever if you ignore what his father calls his 'killing streak.' By the way, what does 'char-up!' mean, spoken in a very loud voice?"
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