Arnhem

Back in England, Andy Milbourne would have Arnhem hanging over him for the rest of his life. He had permanent mementoes – both arms cut off below the elbow and an empty eye socket. He’d been firing a heavy machine gun from the back of a jeep, covering the retreat from Arnhem to the Oosterbeek perimeter, and took a direct hit from a mortar. An appalling time followed in a German-run hospital, where his arms were amputated. He managed several months in Stalag XIB at Fallingbostel, but his wounds were so severe that he was repatriated in a prisoner exchange early in 1945. He had left the camp with the words of an old mate ringing in his ears – ‘What’s your mother going to say?’ He was about to find out. As he sat in a Red Cross ambulance driving him to his home in Alnwick, 30 miles north of Newcastle, the reunion with his mother was not the only reason for the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was feeling angry and sorry for himself. In Germany, he had had months to think about the future of a working man with no hands. He’d been noted as a boy for his long fingers – ‘piano fingers’ someone had said. ‘Given to me by God, now taken away by a mere mortal,’ he told himself, with real bitterness. ‘Now what? Who’s going to employ me?’ In his head, he had written himself off after a child at the railway station had stared in fascinated horror at his empty eye socket and a woman in a pub had been hysterical at the sight of his missing arms. But now, as the ambulance drew up outside number 12 St George’s Crescent, the moment had come to face his loved ones. He was angry when the driver sounded the horn, hating the attention that was being drawn to him. ‘Why the hell didn’t they have a fanfare of blasted trumpeters too? Then the whole street could turn out to gawk at the armless and one-eyed freak.’ The ambulance doors opened and there was his father with a broad smile on his face and offering to lift him down. ‘Get out of the way!’ snapped the young Milbourne. ‘Do you think I am that bloody helpless?’ The older man looked hurt then walked away, calling behind him to his son, ‘Carry on, soldier!’

‘I jumped down and made my own way to the door, where two of my aunties were standing. “Here comes the hero,” one of them said. They tried to keep their eyes on my face, but instinctively they looked to where my hands should have been hanging. Both began hugging me, but I had nothing to hug them back with except a pair of flapping, empty sleeves.’ His mother grabbed him next, ‘and kissed me until I thought I would faint. I could have screamed and, if someone hadn’t given me a cigarette, I’m sure I would have done.’ A table was groaning with food and a cake with ‘Welcome home’ iced on it. He sat down and his mother offered a morsel to his mouth. ‘Now don’t be shy,’ she said. ‘I’ve done this before when you were a baby!’, and he was mortified. ‘Those words were said in all sincerity and with a mother’s true love for her son. But was I to be fed like this for the rest of my days? Was I to be washed, shaved, then taken for a nice walk? Was I to have those intimate parts of my body touched by her hands as she had had to do when I was little? And would my father always be on hand every time I wanted to urinate?’ He looked around the circle of concerned family faces. ‘As I met their gaze, one by one they dropped their eyes, and pretended that they were not paying me the slightest attention.’ Milbourne erupted. ‘Take all this food away,’ he roared. ‘I don’t want it.’

He stomped off to the pub, joined by his father. The ale helped. ‘Here was my escape from reality. This was the way to dodge one’s problems. With a few pints of wallop inside of me, I couldn’t care less who looked at me. Let them look. The great paratrooper who used to throw a nifty dart with the best of them couldn’t even lift his own pint of beer. So what? I might be able to use my toes.’ But the notion that people were feeling sorry for him, especially his own family, was a terrible torture, a blow to his pride that would take a long time to soften. And then there was Peggy, the girl he was semi-engaged to. She was serving with the ATS but would soon be back on leave. He was terrified of the reunion. ‘I lay awake for hours at night wondering what she would say or do when she saw me. When I eventually fell asleep, I would dream of her. In those dreams, I had hands.’