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MIDDLE YEARS

I had joined the Boy Scouts before the war. It wasn’t an attachment of the Grammar School but most of its members were pupils there. When the Local Defence Volunteers, later to be renamed the Home Guard, were formed we spent time with them. Our headmaster had been a colonel during the First World War and had served in Mesopotamia. He was now in charge of a battalion of Home Guard and we, as Boy Scouts, were volunteered into being messengers for them. When they held exercises we were to be seen scuttling round the town on our bikes trying to look important to anyone who cared to watch, and proud and relishing to be doing our bit to prepare to halt the crack Panzer Divisions. Of course it was fun. It was even exhiliarating and none of us remotely thought of the reality of the devastation so powerful a force as the Wehrmacht could create as they rolled up the Severn Valley. We were young, enthusiastic and excited to be so involved.

School life was soon to be disrupted dramatically. Volunteers were called for Army Cadet and Air Cadet Forces. A majority of boys joined one or other of them. I chose the Army Cadets and under the command of a middle-aged teacher we were drilled in the playground or given map-reading courses or sent out on exercises and route marches. We were issued with appropriate uniforms and, on most days of the week, form rooms were dominated by khaki or blue replacing the black uniform school blazers. Other schools in the town had their Corps’ and on the frequently held celebratory parades along the High Street and down the Promenade an impressive number of boys, led by a sea cadet bugle band, swaggered along with the Home Guard, Civil Defence workers, British forces units, Polish fighter pilots, the Boys Brigade, the Boy Scouts, Girl Guides et cetera. These parades were designed as morale boosters, I would guess, and a celebration of some victory or other though there weren’t that many to celebrate at that time. I can’t imagine that we were striding along, chests out, to rejoice about the Miracle of Dunkirk for example. But there were always many people lining the pavements to watch us all pass and it may have braced a few hearts for all I know. It was all good clean fun anyway, and few of us allowed ourselves to reflect on the professionalism and speed with which the German Army swept through Western Europe. If the much talked of invasion of our shores took place, these parades made us very confident that the Germans would get short thrift from us and we could get back to cycling over the nearby Cotswolds with our girl friends.

There is no doubt that these cadet forces were taken seriously by the Government. Equipping a country wide group of youngsters with uniforms would have required funding at a time when the country was hard pressed, not least financially. Even so they were issued. We were sent on courses. Having eventually reached the rank of Sergeant I was sent for a week to Sandhurst to play with tanks, fire a Lee Enfield on the butts, be drilled by the infamous R.S.M Brittain and tackle assault courses. We were, of course, future fighting manpower. To be aware of what being a soldier entailed would have saved valuable time in training. This proved to be the case when I was later conscripted into the army proper. I accept that it was all very adventurous and exciting - rather more realistic than playing Medal of Honour on a television screen – but looking back now there was something ominous, even sinister about it all.

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