- Contributed by听
- William Pakenham
- People in story:听
- Pakenham
- Location of story:听
- England & France
- Background to story:听
- Army
- Article ID:听
- A2040607
- Contributed on:听
- 14 November 2003
I was a callow-faced youth of some twenty summers when I left my home, in all innocence, in August 1939, to join my colleagues in the 54th.(EA)Divisional Signals,Territorial Army, at their annual 14 days camp, near Shorncliffe, Kent. Alas, it turned out to be somewhat longer in duration, for during our stay in camp, war against Germany was declared and we found ourselves immediately embodied into the regular army.
Events proceeded at a frenetic pace. What had begun as a fairly annual leisurely 'skive' immediately transformed into preparation for the real thing. Regular army instructors appeared like magic, discipline was no longer something kept for the week-end drill, and four letter expletives replaced our easy-going repartee.
Equipment appeared like magic, hitherto long sought-after essentials were there for the asking, leather bandoliers swopped for new found webbing, great coats several sizes too large enveloped us, and within days we were quitting our conspicuous and vulnerable meticulously-lined white tents for army nissen huts 'some-where-in-England'.
It was not long before we realised that something serious was afoot. Instead of enjoying leave back in the bosom of our families, which we had imagined would happen before we were consigned to real soldiering, we soon found ourselves en route for a port of embarkation, and placed in tented accommodation in Shirehampton near Bristol awaiting transport to an unknown destination. A few days later we sailed for France, taking the long way round Southern England,to finally land at the port of St. Nazaire, in Britany, France. Only then did it dawn on us. We were to be part of 'The British Expeditionary Force' to form the Royal Signals unit attached to the 4th. Division. And this only a few weeks after we had been 'week-end soldiers' enjoying our annual camping 'holiday' near Folkeston.
We were a 'rag & bobtail'lot. Semi-equipped and untrained, no way could we see what useful funtion we could perform against the dreaded enemy, and we were loaded on to military trucks, (3 tonners) to wend our way northwards through France in the hardest of winters.
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