He certainly felt he’d been well set up for civilian life, and he’d swaggered out of the large reception centre in Southampton thinking he was the bee’s knees – until he realised that every man there in the milling crowd had been similarly equipped. The suits might be of differing colours, but it was a uniform, nevertheless, which rather took the shine out of the occasion.

However, Jack Smith was not a man to stay downhearted for long. He was free from the army and the horrors of the battlefield and back on home soil – with a healthy amount of money saved in the Post Office and lots of plans for the future that he was eager to discuss with his daughter Rita. Hoisting his kitbag over his shoulder and gripping the small case, he joined the long line to board the train which would take him home to Cliffehaven.

The carriages and corridors were crammed with men and kitbags, the excited voices managing to blot out the noise of the huffing, puffing and clanking old troop train as it made its slow progress out of the station and into the countryside of Southern England.

Jack managed to wriggle his way to a spot by the corridor window and set down his baggage to watch the rolling hills and sweeping grasslands slowly pass by. He was jammed in, but it didn’t matter. These were the green fields of his homeland, and his spirits lightened with every mile that passed.

It was a long, slow journey with many stops at small country halts and market town stations where families waited eagerly to greet their loved ones with flags and bunting. The crush began to ease as men reached their destinations, and Jack was able to stretch out a bit and enjoy a cigarette during the long wait at Hastings, where another carriage was added. He was beginning to get impatient at the delay when the guard blew his whistle and the train slowly started moving again. Only a few more stops and he would see his little Rita again.

The realisation that they would very soon be together brought a mixture of joy and uncertainty which suddenly made him nervous. Jack had only managed to visit Rita during a couple of brief leaves at the start of the war, and once when he was being transferred from the Midlands to the troop ship, but that had only been fleeting – barely long enough to tell her he loved her and not to worry about him, even though he knew he was heading for the beaches of Normandy.

He’d written when he could, and had loved getting her many letters which told of a busy and fulfilling job at the fire station, the goings-on at Beach View, the tragic loss of her first love, Matt, and the blossoming romance with the young Australian flier.