Page Seventy-four I do not remember much of what happened during the ensuing four weeks. The big event was of course the announcement of Germany's surrender that came over the BBC during my first full day at home. What I do recall was the weather being perfect and playing a lot of golf, always hoping not to hit any of the sheep that were busily cropping the grass. But first a story from a few years earlier. When the professional of our Golf Club (West Cheshire) Bert Gadd, a good friend of Dad's, returned home victorious after winning the Irish Open he gave all his clubs away. His gift to me was his 4 Iron (by George Nicholl, the legendary Scottish clubmaker) and his putter. Those two clubs had a magic of their own especially the putter, so much so, it was not long before the Handicap Committee decided henceforth I would be playing off eight. Continuing the saga, to celebrate my fifteenth birthday, Dad arranged that he and I would play a four-ball match, at Wallasey Golf Club, with his good friend Henry Hall (one time Mayor of Wallasey) and Emrys Evans (Town Clerk). So vivid is my recollection of the match that I know it was played on Thursday. While approaching the tee of a par three hole, Henry Hall said, "There's a £1 note for anyone who gets down in two." Playing second, using my beloved 4 iron, my ball ended up less than a foot from the flagstick. So excited was I, at the prospect of purchasing a new three-speed bicycle (£1 was worth a lot back then) that I missed normally what is a gimme - one of the few times that the trusty putter let me down! Now to the point, a day or so later, upon opening my locker at the clubhouse, I was astonished to find a brand new matched-set of clubs in my bag. Turned out that Bert Gadd had pleaded with Dad, to ask me to give him his putter back, as he had lost his putting touch - seemed that Dad had wangled a full set out of Bert by telling him that he was sure that I would not part with it. At the time I was delighted, however, even when I was playing off scratch, never did I putt as well as in those pre-war days! Only too quickly came the time to return to Greenock to board a ship (I cannot recall its name) bound for Italy. The war with Germany being over, it was not necessary for our ship to sail well into the Atlantic before heading south and, not being in convoy, could steam at her own rate of knots. My recollection is that the voyage to Naples was two, possibly three, days shorter than the one homeward bound. Once on Italian soil we spent a day in the Naples Transit Camp before everyone went on their separate ways - in my case to rejoin the Regiment encamped just north of Rimini. or return to the Narrative Index
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