"The tale of my blue suit"



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"I’d like to tell you the tale of my blue pin-striped suit. Just before I went into the army I managed to acquire a roll of suiting material - it fell off the back of a lorry, I think - because cloth was very hard to come by in those days, there were coupons for everything. Anyway, I found a tailor, he made me up a lovely suit and I wore it a few times when I went down the club with the lads and I looked a right snapper with the old trilby hat on and me blue pin-striped suit."

"Anyway, I joined the army and went off but some time later I came back on leave, and marched up to the old front door there, looking forward to getting me old pin-striped suit on again. Mother opened the door, gave me a big kiss, and I walked into the living room and sitting in an armchair was a fellow. He nodded to me and he was wearing my blue pin-striped suit. So I said, ‘Who the bloody hell’s that?’ My Mum said, ‘It’s your cousin George.’ And I said, ‘What’s he doing with my pin-striped suit?’ She said, ‘Well, he’s on the run from the Navy. He can’t go home because the military police would catch him, so he’s hiding out here. I’ve had to give him your blue pin-striped suit to wear.’ He was on gun-boats in the Channel and he’d had a bit of a rough time, he’d had enough, and decided to do a run. So I thought, oh well, blah, blah, blah. We went out for a few drinks, nothing to do with me, I thought."

"Anyway, at the end of the leave I went on back. My next leave was at the end of the war, I came back from Germany, got the old boat from Wilhelmshaven to Harwich, got home, knocked on the door, and the whole family was there, kisses and cuddles, stuck me kit in the corner, looking forward to having a few beers with the old man, went inside the living room and sitting in the same ruddy armchair was another fellow, a very fair-haired chap, and blimey, he had my blue pin-striped suit on. So I said to Mum, ‘Who the bloody hell’s this?’ She said, ‘It’s Kurt.’ I said, ‘Who the bloody hell’s Kurt?’ She said, ‘Well, he’s a German prisoner of war.’ I said, ‘Well, what’s he doing here wearing my bloody suit?’"

"It seemed that while my mother and sisters were evacuated over Bury St. Edmunds way, Norfolk, there was a German prisoner of war camp there, and this young fellow, he’d taken a shine to my sister and she felt the same way and now peace had come you were allowed to take home a German prisoner if you wanted to over Christmas, as long as you vouched for them, so my Mum and Dad allowed this chap to come into the house. My Mum said, ‘We couldn’t let him walk about in his patched prisoner of war uniform, people were insulting him.’ So I said, ‘Well, it’s all very bloody nice, you know. I’ve been fighting the bleeders all these years and now he’s wearing my bloody suit.’ But he was a nice fellow and I had a good old chat with him. It seems he was a navigator in a bomber shot down over this country. Anyway, we decided to go out for a drink, so I said, ‘Well, I suppose we’d better take Kurt so the old man said, ‘It’s going to be bit awkward in the pub, everybody will be happy and joyful, and the last thing they want in there is a bloody prisoner of war, a Jerry', so I said, ‘Well, I tell you what. He can keep me suit on but I’ll spread the word that he’s a Dutch seaman.’"

"So off we go to the pub, and the old beer’s flying around, and I stood him in the corner, told him to keep his mouth shut, and he was doing all right, knocking back the pints but, trouble was, as we got a bit merry and started singing, he started singing a few bloody German songs, and of course, people was turning round, looking at him. I tried to make excuses for him, that he was a Dutchman, singing in Dutch. We got away with it, but it was a bit of a laugh. I had to take him back after Christmas and he had to put back his prisoner of war uniform, and I escorted him to Liverpool Street station, it was murder. The civilian people were just insulting him and spitting at him. I felt right choked about it. But anyway, we parted good friends and I saw him off and he wrote to my sister for three years when he got back to Frankfurt. His parents owned quite a large engineering firm there and when they’d rebuilt a few years after the war, he became high up in the management there. But my sister wasn’t quite sure what to do - I didn’t want to say one thing or another, I just left it to her, but it went on for about three year, the letter-writing between them, but it petered out, maybe for the best. I don’t know. Maybe she would have done well because the last I heard he’d become President of the bloody company out there. Win some, lose some."

 

 

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