James Maydon Langley - Fight Another Day

I do not know what you will do in life but at all costs avoid becoming a club or pub bore, my father would often say, adding, the worst are those who talk or write about themselves. It is largely due to the insistence of my children, who assure me I have a good tale to tell about how I passed the wartime years, that I have disregarded this excellent advice. It was my good fortune to be associated with a large number of men and women whose patriotism and courage went far beyond the call of duty and much of what I have written is a small token of my appreciation for all that they did.

War, as I saw it, was largely courage, suffering bravely borne, dogged determination to carry on in the face of disaster, and triumphs over the well nigh impossible. However, there were other less pleasing aspects incredible blunders, muddled and confused thinking, treachery and betrayal. I believe my experiences represent a fair balance between mens achievements and their failures; further, for good measure, it is leavened with humour which so often brightened even the darkest hour.

During the inter-war years a distinguished, if stupid, soldier of renown achieved notoriety by his oft-repeated statement, I recommended my servant for the VC because he followed me wherever I went. I do not fall into that category, though I must confess I thought that when I escaped from the Germans the whole business of getting back to England would be a matter of some congratulation; but I never imagined it would be regarded as an epic of courage and endurance, as it was by many. At the time it was useless to point out that as the Germans had acquired half Europe they had more problems on their plate than trying to catch one junior army officer, that running away hardly came into the category of bravery, and that travelling by train and hiding in hotels did not call for much endurance. I hold this view today, and indeed when I was asked if I would accept an offer to represent the escapers of the last war in the Association of POWs of the 1914 18 War I refused, solely on the ground that I was not a genuine escaper.

My activities in the second half of the war in helping escapers, or perhaps more accurately evaders, to return from enemy-occupied territory was more in my blood. At the outbreak of the First World War my father had given up a promising career at the Bar to join the South Staffordshire Regiment. He was wounded, and on recovering was appointed Assistant Military Attach in Berne. This, as I discovered many years later, was a cover for his work as a member of the British Intelligence Service. I doubt if he ever expected his son to follow in the same career.

I was in fact one of the war babies, and made my own small personal contribution by very nearly becoming a casualty on the home front a few weeks after my birth. A minor stomach operation was bungled by a young and inexperienced surgeon, and those in authority made the necessary arrangements for what they considered was inevitable. However, my mother took a different view and moved herself into the nursing home to what she called take charge.

I have never been able to obtain a clear and unbiased account of the subsequent battle with the matron. My mother would never go further than saying At least I saved your life, the look on her face and the tone of her voice indicating that the cost was high. Apart from survival, my souvenir of this event was a stomach scar which truly fitted a war baby, and through the years ahead excited the interest and admiration of doctors.

Early in 1918 the family joined my father in Switzerland, where we all remained for the rest of the war. When peace came we all returned to England. My father was full of confidence that he could take up where he had left off five years before; after all, the War to end all Wars had been won, and did not the greatest politician of the age talk of Homes for Heroes? Alas, as two generations of men and women who fought for Britain now know only too well, the nations gratitude is very short lived, and God is forgotten and the soldier slighted with the most astonishing rapidity.