大象传媒

A story of life in the army 1940-1946

CHAPTER 1 鈥� call up

Well, at last the day had arrived - the division was due to go overseas. It was exactly a year since my call up. In retrospect, I can only say that I became aware of many things that broadened my outlook on life and would no doubt have an effect on my future. As I waited for the train, many things passed through my mind. How had I managed to keep sane so far 鈥� that first day waiting in the bitter November cold from mid-day until well into the evening on the racecourse at Leicester, without food or drink. The column seemed never ending, there were so many young men there. It was well into the evening when I eventually joined HM Forces. I received a uniform and some equipment, and we were then taken to what was to be our billet for the period of basic training. The transport had stopped outside an empty house and about a dozen of us were told this was to be our home for the next twelve weeks. There were four of us to a room, which was completely empty except for four palliasses and a blanket each, no heating, no hot water, and one small bathroom. Whilst trying to take all this in, we were hurriedly ordered outside to march to de Montfort Hall for a quick meal.

The next morning at six o鈥檆lock we were aroused by a very loud voice belonging to a rather loud, self-important sergeant, and told to get out of bed and be on parade by seven o鈥檆lock. It was very cold; the water was the same temperature 鈥� not ideal for shaving! 鈥� and it was impossible to get into the washroom anyway. This could only be avoided by getting up extra early each day 鈥� it was worth it!

I think I shall never forget the first time we were told to parade in our uniforms. The NCOs who handed them out did not trouble to take measurements. It was a case of 鈥淚 think this is your size, if not we鈥檒l have it altered鈥�. Well, there we were, I of less than average height in trousers far too long, a blouse top I could have shared with another, especially around the neck, and as for my boots, I might as well have used the box they came in. The whole group looked as though we were rehearsing for a pantomime, but it was far from funny at the time. It was some while before we were presentable enough to be seen in the street.

The first few days were taken up with inoculations, but that did not stop anyone from having to do some form of duty. I clicked for getting coal and keeping the fires going in the Sergeants mess. Even allowing for not feeling very well, I can honestly say that I had never come across such uneducated people. I was told that due to the huge expansion of the army, there was no option but to promote NCOs from the regulars. It was a case of drilling and marching, mostly in the street. There was no official parade ground, and we had one rifle for each platoon. Sometimes we went to the park to drill. It was here that I was unlucky enough to be injured. There was a bombed tower that was dangerous and we were told to remove it. We were all pulling on a rope, but nothing happened. Suddenly, most of the soldiers let the rope go and my finger was caught. The next moment, the top of my finger was hanging from the first joint. No one seemed to know what to do, then the sergeant in charge appeared, took one look at my hand, took my wrist, and yanked the finger back into position. It happened so quickly that I did not feel any pain, but for the next few days it was unbearable, with no home comforts and no help from the resident MO 鈥� he didn鈥檛 exist!

Unfortunately this happened just two days before we were posted to another depot. Despite the pain of my injury, off I went to Nottingham 鈥� the Carlton drill hall, without the few friends I had made during the training period. On reporting to the Orderly room on arrival, I was told to find myself a space in the hall itself. It was a mass of beds 鈥� but not feather ones! - consisting of a small headboard about six inches from the ground and another board at the other end, joined by planks on which were placed 鈥榖iscuits鈥� 鈥� square hard cushions. When the sergeant instructed me to collect biscuits from the stores, I thought it pretty strange. I know I was hungry, but ignorance is bliss! That was one of the things I always remembered. However my difficulties had only just begun. Having found a space in the middle of the row, I wondered where to put my kit-bag, small pack and large pack. The beds were almost touching. It was only after some while that I noticed that as soon as someone was posted from the end of a row there was a rush for this position. It became evident there were two things to worry about 鈥� first, would any of your kit be stolen while you were out, and second, you prayed that all the beds in your row were occupied at night because anyone getting back late and the worse for drink could not see us after lights out. They usually knocked the head-boards and then all the beds would collapse. Pandemonium! Some really nasty fights took place 鈥� you never overslept because you hardly ever managed to sleep at all!

It was hard to realise that such a place existed. I don鈥檛 remember doing anything to increase my efficiency as a soldier. The hardest thing to do was to lose oneself after meals. The place became almost empty. Soldiers were being posted or coming all the time and Admin couldn鈥檛 cope. Quite a few just went home, coming back on Fridays to attend pay parade and then disappearing again. There were regular appeals for volunteers. When one asked what for, we were told for the RAF, which sounded excellent considering the pay, but on closer questioning, the positions were for rear gunners, so no-one came forward. On second thoughts the Army wasn鈥檛 so bad after all!

It was noticeable that my injured finger was looking very angry, and I couldn鈥檛 use it. Eventually the MO allowed me fourteen days sick leave. I could hardly believe it! Apart from the pain of my finger it was Heaven - my first leave for ten weeks. Surely my luck had changed. Sadly the time came when I had to return to that awful place, only to find on arrival that I had been posted to the RAOC 18th Division Ordnance Field Park. I had to spend a further week at the depot, but knowing the ropes I managed to keep out of trouble, except for one Sunday. It was church parade 鈥� a case of spit and polish. Parade time was ten o鈥檆lock: there we were waiting to march off when a senior NCO walked along the column, halfway up bellowed to us to fall out, and to collect shovels to clear the snow from the streets of Carlton. No wonder church parades got fewer and fewer.

At last I was told to collect my kit and be ready to be taken to Nottingham. On arrival I found it was the sports ground of Players, the cigarette manufacturers. It was a very pleasant spot: the accommodation consisted of a large pavilion, with across the road another large wooden building. The pavilion was used for sleeping, mess and orderly rooms, and was ideal for us as there were less than a hundred of us. As far as I recall, the officers slept out. It was here that I was asked if I would like to take charge of the stores. I accepted immediately. The thought of looking after all clothing and other equipment sounded a good proposition, and would probably get me out of a lot of square bashing. It worked out well. I had a sleeping berth in the stores and was responsible only to the sergeant who had offered me the job. It was better than promotion 鈥� I suddenly became the focus of everyone鈥檚 attention, because I was the one they all came to for renewal of their clothing. I could have made a fortune had I been that way inclined 鈥� I certainly became a very well dressed soldier! My stay at this billet was one I remember with satisfaction: I made several friends here, friendships that lasted many years.

During our stay here we began to collect our transport. The unit was to be known as the Ordnance Field Park. Each lorry was fitted out to take spares of every make, including parts from the USA. We were to carry out first aid repairs to any damaged vehicle in an advanced area. I was actually given the wagon holding the American parts, and was assigned a driver who was a real character. I began to realise how the other half lived. We were as different as chalk and cheese, but I learned a lot from him. He had connections with the gypsies and had travelled the country before being called up. The only address he had was care of a well known pub in Dunstable. Naturally, being together quite a bit when travelling on practice convoy, we asked each other what we had done before the war. I explained I had been a male secretary, which he thought was funny, and he told me his way of earning a living. He and his family travelled round the country, mostly to fairs or country shows, and he informed me his business was as a P&P man. 鈥淲hat does that stand for?鈥� I asked. 鈥淲ell, I am a piddle and poop man鈥�. I still couldn鈥檛 make out what he meant. He said 鈥淚 dig a fairly deep hole well away from the show, erect a canvas tent round it, and then charge the public a penny a time. Sometimes I do quite well.鈥� I replied that it was one way of making a living. He said there were other ways of making a few bob, but wouldn鈥檛 go into them. In a way I enjoyed his company; he was the sort to have around if trouble was brewing. His ace of tricks was really funny. Each move we had, especially if a different officer was in charge, he would wait for a few days and then ask for an interview with a request to attend the funeral of his grandmother, who was well known in the gypsy world. This was usually granted, at least three times that I knew of. Eventually he let me into the secret. When she had really died, quite a while before, there had been an article in the newspaper. He produced this each time, and was away for a few days. I don鈥檛 think anyone thought to look at the date, but it worked. He didn鈥檛 come abroad with us: he was posted with a few others when a new commanding officer took over.

It was, on the whole, more like a rest camp for the few months we were there. A few of my friends had found what they said was a smashing pub. We usually made for this on Friday evenings after pay - there wasn鈥檛 much else to do when our duties were finished. After duties there was not a lot we could do to amuse ourselves. We were just outside the town itself and there were very few WRVS places in the area. Another thing was lack of funds: most of us were still privates, and we received only seven shillings (35 pence) for the week (that is provided there were no barrack room damages stopped), so it was normal for us to make a visit only at the week-end. The local people did not say very much. However my friend had a brilliant idea. Among us was a Welsh lad who must have come from the most remote part you could think of 鈥� when he spoke it was impossible to understand him. The idea was to take him with us and get him to start talking and gesticulating as though he was from another country.. This usually attracted the nearby drinkers. Being curious they would ask where he was from, and my driver would explain that he was Polish: had escaped from Poland, joined the British army and been rescued from Dunkirk. He had no friends apart from us, hadn鈥檛 heard from his family, and had very little money. This seemed to touch the hearts of the locals and they insisted on buying us a drink. When that had gone their friends kept us going and we tried to get Taffy to speak to them in broken English. His story was pretty poor; I don鈥檛 think he knew himself by the time the pub closed. It lasted about a week, then we thought it best to pass him on to another group and take him to another pub. We were asked some awkward questions about what had happened to our gallant ally and explained he had been posted to a Polish squadron.

It was here that we were fitted out with tropical kit and to be honest it was awful. It consisted of khaki shirt and shorts. I had never seen anything like it in my life. The shorts had a large turn up and were quite wide and floppy. It appeared that when you were out in the tropics you undid a button and the turn up would drop over your knees. Then there were the hose tops, like a sock without a foot. These you pulled up until they were past your ankle, then puttees were round wound from the top of your boots to the top of your hose, and to crown it all there was the pith helmet. It reminded me of a huge bowler hat with a fringe front and back and when you got that lot on, well I would think the enemy would be dumbfounded to think that soldiers could be dressed as such in the 20th century. Being in the stores I made enquiries how such clothing could still be around, and I was informed that it had all been supplied for the Great War! After inspection we were told to put the clothing away until needed, which we hoped would be a very long time.

CHAPTER 2 鈥� OUT OF THE FRYING PAN

It now looked as though we were soon to be moving to a new destination and the time was taken up with getting everything together. I had one more thing to do; I was responsible for most things to do with equipment, including among other things arranging for the repair of army boots. I know I should not have listened to my adviser on how to make a little extra, however I did, I had about two dozen pairs to be mended and he said when you go to the cobblers tell them the size of the order, they鈥檒l be pleased to have the work with business as it is, and the one who appears most eager ask if he would be prepared to give a little commission. After a while we agreed at sixpence (2陆 pence) per pair, which worked out to twelve shillings (60 pence). Twelve shillings was hardly a fortune but things were bad financially. We left the boots there with the understanding they would be ready in two days. It was crucial that they would be ready as we were moving out. Well, we called to collect them but the stupid man had only finished two or three pairs. We told him we would have to take the remainder back as we were moving out in the next day. At first he would not hand them over, so we threatened to call the police, and finally retrieved them. Then he insisted on being paid for the few pairs he had finished. We signed a form declaring he was due for the amount stated and left as quickly as possible. There were a few nasty remarks from those who got their boots back in the same state that they were handed in, we never made a penny after all, and had to deal with a lot of aggro. That was my last attempt to make a little extra. Never listen to advice concerning making a little extra!

There was just one other thing that happened to me at Nottingham. I was on guard duty at the entrance gate and just inside there was a small wooden structure, just big enough to hold one person, probably used as the pavilion in peacetime. At the top there was a wooden overhang to keep the occupier dry. I was standing there at ease when the CO passed in his car. I immediately came to attention with my rifle and fixed bayonet. In the present army the bayonet is shorter, but in the old days it was eighteen inches in length. Everything went as it should do, but after he had passed I could not get the rifle back to stand easy. I realised that as I had raised the rifle the point of the bayonet had stuck into the wooden cover and there I was trying to pull it out, but not until half the unit had seen my predicament. I realised more than ever I should never have been called up.

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