Q1: Your book starts with a lengthy dedication to other children of prisoners of war. Why did you want to do this?
Very few returned prisoners of war talked about their experiences. The reasons were numerous, but from my reading I believe that there were many households that experienced unsettled behaviours when a soldier or POW returned. Certainly, a common response from children and spouses refer to a man who went away to war with one personality and returned with another. Not all were violent, but even moroseness and an inability to connect emotionally can have its own effect on families and I wanted to draw attention to that. But also, I wanted to explore the experiences that lead men to behave the way they did.
Q2: The men and women who served in the Second World War had many different sorts of wars. For men, like your father, who were taken prisoner early on, it was a war of hardship, anxiety and suffering. Was that war also, in its own way, valorous?
I certainly believe so, although I doubt my father would have agreed. As I say in the book, Jack endured, as did all POWs, and we can only imagine, as days stretched into months and then years, that many POWs felt abandoned. The difficulty most faced was that they had far too much time to think about what had happened to them, and to play out in their minds what they might have done differently. What they did have was each other — many looked out for any prisoner who showed signs of succumbing to depression, knowing how it might have a spiral effect on others. But many who returned felt they had somehow failed because they were captured — indeed Allied prisoners of war were sometimes accused of cowardice because they had surrendered, making them even more reticent to speak of their experiences. And many felt guilt because they hadn’t had to endure years of fighting and the fear of being maimed or losing their lives that others had to face on a daily basis.
Q3: Readers will know you best as an art historian. How difficult was it to change tack with this book and step into the frame yourself?
I found it very hard emotionally at times, and deciding on what approach I should take took some time. Luckily, being an art historian, I am familiar with libraries, museums and databases, and having worked on the Hodgkins project for so many years, I knew the value of visiting locations, standing where some of the prisoners may have stood and trying to imagine what their lives were like. I wept a lot, not just for my father, but also in response to descriptions of other men’s suffering. I also found it hard to revisit some of my childhood experiences. I said to my older brother once that I had huge gaps where I couldn’t remember anything, and he said quietly, ‘I’m not surprised.’
Q4: And there were other members of the family to consider of course?
I’d had a vague idea for some time that I should write something about Jack but never had the time when I was working, and I didn’t know about the photographs taken in the camps that my son had been given. Both my brothers gave their full approval, and I’ve been grateful beyond measure for their support. We often think children have shared memories, but we each recalled different aspects of our childhood which I found invaluable. And of course there is the Arnott side of the family. I hope they will understand why I felt I had to write the narrative, even if some of it may come as something of a surprise.
Q5: Before you set out on your investigation of your father’s war experiences, how much did you know about the Second World War, let alone the campaign in Crete and then North Africa?
I only had a very vague understanding about North Africa but knew a little more about the Greek campaign, but really only at a superficial level. Ironically, we all believed that Dad had also fought in Crete, but if his military record is correct he was only there a short time. However I had read several books about the partisan movement in Italy, something my father had no understanding of, and I travelled widely, but I never thought I would find the narrative of war as fascinating as I did.
Q6: You were part of the so-called anti-war generation. Were you indeed antipathetic to the war when you were young?
Absolutely. I believed war was intrinsically wrong, as did my mother because of her Quaker background. She believed that antagonists should always find a way to negotiate for peace, but that depends on both sides being rational. I took part in many anti-Vietnam protests, and it is to my father’s credit that he never criticised my anti-war stance. He may possibly have agreed with me at one level, because I think many ordinary soldiers returned home wondering what they had got themselves involved in, but as we didn’t discuss it, I’ll never really know.
Q7: But that changed with writing this book?
I’m still against wars, but I have a much greater understanding of what servicepeople go through. But throughout history wars have been caused by politicians and national leaders, while it is the ordinary fighters on the ground who bear the brunt of those decisions. At times I got quite angry at what seemed to be the incompetence of decision makers who were often hundreds of miles away from front-line action, although that improved as the war dragged on.
Q8: What were the especial research and writing challenges?
War histories and memoirs do not necessarily agree, or else are only partly accurate, not least when it comes to the battle of Sidi Rezegh in Libya where Dad was captured. I didn’t trust myself to unravel an account of that particular skirmish, so I’ve lent very heavily on my husband David’s research in that instance, as well as writers such as New Zealand’s Peter Cox, and Geoffrey Cox (unrelated), who became General Freyberg’s chief intelligence officer. I particularly responded to the latter’s approach, as he had an eye for detail that helped build a picture of the lives of ordinary soldiers, and the extraordinary pressures that Freyberg was placed under in Greece and North Africa. From a personal point of view, deciding on the structure took some time, until I settled on locations, much as I did in my book Finding Frances Hodgkins.
Q9: It’s a redemptive story and also one of forgiveness and tenderness. What would your father have said to you about it do you think?
I think he might have cried, or just put his arms around me. He wasn’t one for words, as I’ve intimated. I think you have to screw up yourself to fully understand how experiences can leave a permanent mark on a person. I now understand my father much better than I did, but even so, one never forgets the experience of fear — for him and for us.
Q10: And your mother?
That’s a hard one. I sense my mother would have been ambivalent about me revealing what our family life was like. She cared deeply about how both her own family and wider society might judge her, coming from a generation where it wasn’t the done thing to ‘air your dirty linen in public’. Yet she stood by my father in spite of everything, so I hope she would have been pleased that I was prepared to fight his case. I don’t think I could have written the book while either of them were still alive.
