Before I left Swansea an event took place that has amused me ever since. While still only half aware of the world around me, sister came into my room and asked if I felt up to an interview with a government immigration officer, I rather expected someone like the customs officers at ports and was surprised when a very elegant gentleman came in and surveyed me with some considerable care "Well you look English enough" he said and went on to say that I had caused a lot of trouble "down at the docks" because I should never have been allowed ashore. I had no documents and someone had been careless. I asked him to pass over my battledress blouse that was hanging in a cupboard. He handed it to me with some disdain and I have to admit that it did pong a bit. However my passport was still in one of the pockets and I handed it to him. He examined it page by page, his eyebrows climbing higher and higher during the process. Finally he said that according to "this document" I was in Finland, having entered the country in 1939 and was apparently still there! as I was clearly in the United Kingdom he would mark the passport accordingly, which he did. I still have "this document" recording that I am officially in the UK. A few days later the immigration officer totally belied my belief that, so far as he was concerned I was just an administrative irregularity. He arrived with a load of books as I had complained of boredom. He had not missed a trick earlier and explained that one of the books was French, as he had noticed the French medal ribbon on my battle dress. I have had a high opinion of the immigration department ever since.
When the ambulance arrived to take me to Bromsgrove the row between Sister and the ambulance men was honourably settled. I was wheeled in the chair to the main door. The ambulance was parked outside and I was put on a stretcher in such a way that I could still talk to the driver and his mate. However, as I had been given a sedative for the journey I soon fell asleep. When I woke up we were parked in a viewing site high above Symonds Yat with a splendid view up the Wye towards Hay-On-Wye. The driver explained that he had always wanted to see Symonds Yat and so here we were!
We ate our lunch and of course they wanted to know the full story of how I came to be wounded. The badges and other insignia on my uniform always intrigued people and the fact that I was an ambulance man just like they were seemed to impress them. When I was deposited at Bromsgrove and while I was being dealt with by the receiving nurse I could hear the whole story being recounted to the hospital staff in the adjoining rest room.