大象传媒

In March 1939 conscription was introduced in Britain, the first time ever in peacetime; six months service at the age of 20. By the summer conscripts were obvious in their new uniforms, so called battledress, quite different and not so smart as the old uniforms with brass buttons but much more practical. There was a change of attitude, appeasement had failed. In April a month later someone in Government had a brainwave. The Territorial Army, the part time army, was to be doubled in size. Each unit would recruit another unit and those under 20 who joined would be excused conscription. Long queues formed in the evening at our local T.A. unit, about a mile away, the 91st Field Regiment Royal Artillery. My cousin, Clifford Holmes, 18 months older than me had joined with a number of friends from school because one of the old boys was an officer in the 91st, and immediately a number from the other grammar and direct grant schools Old Boys rugby clubs enlisted: Askeans, Brockleians, Colfeians, Dunstonians. Quite a number of us had been at Junior Schools together and had then gone on to different local schools and I met several boys I hadn鈥檛 seen for years.

We joined the queue on April 26th. There were so many there that we were split into two queues and I was with 5 other friends: Stan Garnham with whom I鈥檇 been at infants school 鈥� and Ray Hindmarch, Phil Strivens, Bert Boyce, all close school friends, and Bruce Laxton who was a year ahead of us. Stan Garnham and Bruce Laxton did not survive the war and the other three have died since and that leaves me as the sole survivor. I always was lucky.

I arrived at the head of the queue. At a table sat a sergeant major with First World War ribbons. He must have been at least 39. 鈥淔ull name, address, date of birth鈥�. He looked at another list, ticked something and then entered a number against my particulars. 鈥�923777 is your number鈥� he said. 鈥淵ou鈥檒l be all right, son鈥�. I looked blank I suppose. 鈥�923777鈥� he repeated in a louder and higher voice 鈥淧ONTOON鈥�. Then the penny dropped. I had never played pontoon but I knew that 21 was a feature of the game. I couldn鈥檛 resist it. I said 鈥淚 thought pontoon was a floating wooden platform where several boat were moored.鈥� 鈥淕od, where have you been? You鈥檒l soon learn鈥�.

The next morning the queue was sent away. The 91st had doubled their numbers and the surplus numbers were directed to join the Medium Regiment at Lewisham 2 miles away. In January 1942 shepherded by Japanese destroyers they walked down the gangplank of the troopship at Singapore where the Japanese were waiting for them. Few returned.

We paraded for several evenings and quickly learned how to march but they really didn鈥檛 know what to do with us. One regiment becoming two but the second line without officers or N.C.O.s and no uniforms was certainly a problem but transfer of newly promoted N.C.O.s from the first line began to give some shape to the proceedings. Then we were issued with uniforms 鈥� what a disappointment 鈥� there were none, not proper uniforms anyway. We were issued with a forage cap 鈥� I always thought they were stupid headgear, difficult to keep on if bending or running. Then, rather fetching brown overalls and a leather belt, one pair of thick grey socks and leather boots. I suppose it was really very well done: with conscription and the doubling of the T.A. 鈥� actually more than doubling in this case as the 91st were understrength anyway and many of the first enlisted were put in the first line 鈥� it was a wonder that we were issued with anything. At least we now looked more like soldiers and there was more marching, standing to attention, standing at ease and easy and saluting. We learned quickly and we were complimented 鈥� my army wasn鈥檛 remotely like the recent T.V. programmes on National Service post war training, no shouting bullying N.C.O.s it was all very friendly 鈥� and got results. Our uniforms arrived 鈥� the new battledress much more practical than the regular army service dress with brass buttons and insignia 鈥� and that wonderful pocket on the front of the thigh with a small pocket for a field dressing.

I was in D troop with Bruce Laxton, who had been a year ahead at school and we became very close friends. Ray Hindmarch was in E troop and Bert Boyce and Phil Strivens wre in F and Stan Garnham whom I had known from infants school was in A troop in the other battery. The regiment had 24 guns, two batteries with three troops A, B and C in 362 battery and D, E and F in 364 battery, so in all six 4 gun troops. Later in the war, the field regiments became three 8 gun batteries: A and B, C and D, E and F troops. After parades, and I remember this well on my 19th birthday, we used to sun ourselves on the wall outside the sergeants鈥� mess in the evening sun and listen to the bawdy beer lubricated songs. As gently nurtured innocent 18 and 19 year olds it was often shocking and crude but after all we were now (and I quote) all 鈥渞ude and licentious soldiering鈥�. But we were growing up fast! A favourite which is completely unrepeatable went something like this: censored.

鈥� I love my wife, I love her dearly.
I love da da da da da de
Her lily white da da da da da da
I鈥檇 da da da da da dee.鈥�

Some of the other songs were familiar, most of course from World War 1 and some from colonial wars especially in South Africa. Few songs were really popular with perhaps the exception of 鈥淩oll out the barrel鈥�. 鈥淲e鈥檙e going to hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line鈥� became an embarrassment after June 1940. Of course 鈥淧ack up your troubles鈥� and Tipperary were associated with infantry marching up to the front line of the Western Front in 1914-18. There were few actual front lines in World War II and few popular marching songs.

I feel I must digress again. In 1970 I took a school journey to Belgium. We stayed in schools. In Ostend the food was poor. In Dinant it was really excellent. We wanted to show our appreciation and we knew the chief cook was a lady and bought chocolates and a bouquet. An elderly lady appeared reluctantly from the kitchen. A senior boy expressed thanks and our appreciation and the presentation was made. She thanked us and then added that she would like us to sing 鈥淚t鈥檚 a Long Way to Tipperary鈥� to remind her of the Tommies she used to wave to as they were marching up to the front in 1917-18. In some trepidation I told the boys to sing as they had never sung before and if they didn鈥檛 know the words keep singing anyway. There were 80 of them and a number of staff. To my surprise and gratification it was a superb rendition. The elderly lady wept and so did I 鈥� almost 鈥� and the boys cheered.

Back to May 1939. The guns arrived, 4.5 howitzers and 18 pounders, the usual field artillery mix and very different. Intensive gun drill, really quite straightforward. The clever stuff was really the technical side which Bruce and I were soon doing, the various instruments, range tables, non-rigidity of trajectory according to air pressure, wind etc. I thought the 4.5 howitzers were remarkable: stubby little barrels, vertical sliding breech block and the fact that there were four separate charges which meant in theory, more than in practice, that the same target could be shelled with different charges according to the elevation of the gun. The disadvantage was the comparatively short range. It was really like a large mortar but with the disadvantage of being much much heavier. The 18 pounders had fixed ammunition with the shell attached to the shell case which contained the charge or propellant 鈥� just like a giant rifle bullet and of course a much higher muzzle velocity and lower trajectory. All the guns had 1916, 1917 and 1918 engraved on the barrels. No doubt German artillery was dated 1936, 37, 38.

In July 1939 our T.A. camp was in the New Forest near Beaulieu. Not much forest we thought, poor grass on stony soil in a slight depression. Rows of bell tents. I forget how many to a tent but we slept with our feet to the pole of the tent like the spokes of a wheel. We ate in a marquee. The food was rough 鈥� so this is what we must get used to.

Inevitably there was a beer tent which we investigated. There were long trestle tables and benches. Some, emboldened by half a pint of beer 鈥� 3d 鈥� just over 1p these days 鈥� so the price of beer has gone up way over the rate of inflation, anyway, some were holding forth about the awful grub and the iniquitous demands of N.C.O.s. There was a smart, older soldier sitting opposite with a pint. There was a half smile on his face. I nudged Bruce and nodded towards the older soldier and he cottoned on immediately. The pint was finished, the soldier stood up to go and lo and behold on his forearms were the insignia of a sergeant major. Tradition I suppose but army badges of rank are quite illogical, particularly when a major is promoted lieutenant colonel. A pip or star is added to the crown but instead of doing just that the crown is replaced by a pip and then the crown is added to the star (pip). Being interested in such matters I knew that a lieutenant general was senior to a major general. It鈥檚 a strange world but to confuse matters more a private soldier can be a private, a gunner, a sapper, a signalman, a trooper 鈥� for sound historical reasons. But back to the T.A. camp.

Our days were spent in various schemes and manoeuvres and a cross country run which nearly killed some of the older, early 20s, men who had left school at 14 and had not had any hard physical exercise since. But then the real outdoor life of a soldier in the field was brutally demonstrated. One night there was a thunderstorm. The others appeared to be unconscious but always a light sleeper I was conscious of the heavy rain on the canvas of the tent but eventually dozed off as the thunder moved away. I woke with the dawn and realized that I was very wet. I peered round and realized that the tent was flooded and that between each body was a sheet of water. The others were still blissfully sleeping. Looking through the laced entrance to the tent I found to my horror that the whole camp was in the middle of a lake.

Later we were told by locals that it was not an uncommon occurrence and that there had been a camp there in World War 1 which had been flooded and evacuated. New Zealanders some one remembered. We were evacuated to various church halls and village halls to dry off 鈥� what a mess. All our gear was soaking but luckily it was to be a hot sunny day. Bushes were covered in blankets and clothing and we were hungry. Some reported wonderful assistance hospitality in the villages, lines fixed up in gardens etc. My troop was billeted in Beaulieu Abbey 鈥� what a dump 鈥� semi-derelict and where we slept in the loft, just under the roof tiles, was in an advanced state of dilapidation. We hoped it wasn鈥檛 going to rain again. The moonlight filtered through the damaged tiles. Then we realized that there were rats about, scampering along the rafters their eyes shining in the moonlight 鈥� that was remarkable 鈥� just pairs of eyes sometimes several in a row. Yet we slept or dozed some of the time. We were up early, someone had organized tea. Someone said he hadn鈥檛 slept a wink. There was something hard 鈥� a lump under his blanket. We investigated 鈥� only a rat 鈥� a mummified bony corpse. Well this was real soldiering! We returned home for the luxury of a bath and further twice a week drills 鈥� as term was.

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