大象传媒

What did you do in the war, Dad?

This is the first in a series of six short stories written by my father, AEG Allsop. He was born in Cromford, Derbyshire, in 1918.

I have often wondered if ever one of my children would ask, "What did you do in the war Dad ?" And so I thought perhaps if I were to set down this little story that curiosity might be satisfied.

In 1939 I found myself suddenly translated from being a clerk in the offices of a factory making knitted woollens to joining a group of young men like myself being kitted out in battledress, conscripted into the army to fight Hitler !

Now we all know that individuals forming regiments of the line became 'privates'. Why 'private' when all privacy had been left behind in 'civvy street'? Our every thought, ambition, desire, our waking and our sleeping, every button, clip lace, was constantly under scrutiny. So be it. We all know that men in artillery throw bombs about, therefore privates are no longer privates but are referred to as bombardiers. Those privileged to ride horses became cavalrymen, lancers, or even troopers. But I and my fellows had joined a signal regiment, the Royal Signals. We suddenly became signalmen, Signalmen P, but signalmen work on railways ! We even had a rank named Foreman of Signals. Very confusing.

However, months later we were moved into London to be accommodated in Wellington Barracks along with the Guards who incidentally until trained are 'recruits'. It was, I remember, Spring, a little after Easter, and London to my amazement was beautiful, none of 'the smoke' as we country bumpkins thought of it.

It was 1940, the period now referred to as the phoney war. I was ordered to take myself off to the War Office. London at that time was absolutely swarming with a bewildering array of people in uniform. The three services, Navy, Army, Air Force, some high ranking, with amongst them Canadians, South Africans, French Alpine Chasseurs, all marching up and down Whitehall carrying swagger-sticks, batons, brief cases, looking important and saluting one another, never stopping to chat, but hurrying as if the war could not go on without them. Believe it or not the endless saluting was causing chaos, a smart salute from a mere squaddy (private) could easily knock off the cap of a ferocious red tab (high ranking staff officer) or arms might become linked and the following little dance could be disastrous if a brief-case filled with secret papers went flying. And so saluting was abandoned in Whitehall soon after my visit.

So there was I Signalman A.E.G.Allsop 23300626 late of Cromford and Lea Mills marching up Whitehall with my helmet and respirator slapping on my behind saluting with equal enthusiasm Admirals, Commanders of the Fleet, Highlanders in kilts, Air Marshals and Bus Conductors, with a pass in my pocket allowing me into the War Office.

I found the building to which I had been directed, showed my pass at the door and descended along a flight of stone steps into a silent underworld lit by bulkhead lights. I had to knock on the fourth door on the right along a dark corridor. The doors were of steel, on my left were wooden shelves housing large paper documents rolled up and tied with pink string.

I found my door, knocked, my pass having been scrutinised I was admitted to the Signal Office equipped to handle information received from the battle front. My particular part in all this was to act as a courier between the radio link set up to take calls from the force attempting to go to the assistance of Norway, recently invaded by the Germans, and the War Office.

But, and so it remained during the time I was there, the radio link was lost. The long day passed, and as it appeared I was not to be relieved, with my respirator for a pillow, I lay down behind the telephone switchboard and went to sleep.

Perhaps Winston Churchill might have heard of my long vigil. He ordered that a bed should be placed in the War Room so that he could be instantly available should an emergency arise saying "If it's good enough for Signalman Allsop, it's good enough for me"!

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