大象传媒

Chapter 13b - We Bombard Salerno (Cont.)

That was the story after Salerno. We can now return to Malta where our heroine is fastened to the dockside with cables, not knowing of the glorious end to her career. It now meant of course that most of the ship鈥檚 crew would be placed on draft to the United Kingdom, to be re allocated to other ships, but first, they would have to be re kitted out and that meant we would have to be sent home, and so it was.

We, the Royal Marine detachment, were given our marching orders to proceed to the Royal Marine barracks, Chatham. In charge of us was our sergeant major, Colour Sergeant 鈥楽naky鈥� Snelling who very much respected. On board HM Ships, like officers, the senior non commissioned officer was always referred to by one rank higher and was always, the sergeant major. After a few days we were paraded on the dockside of the Grand Harbour and marched on board a rather scruffy Merchantman bound for the U.K. It was a change for us to be escorted home instead of being the escort, but so long as we were on our way no one was going to complain.

Unfortunately, the bomb had flooded the marines鈥� locker flat and we lost all our uniforms and more important we lost all of our personal items and souvenirs. We looked as rough a lot as was possible. Arriving in Plymouth, we were loafing around on the platform of the dockyard station and across on the other platform wearing the uniform of a Commodore, was a huge dejected looking officer walking slowly with head down as if he had all the cares of the world on his back and he sported a huge beard. We recognised him at once.

The last time we saw him was when we went to the Battle of Narvik. It was Captain Victor Crutchley. (V.C) R. N. Colour Sergeant Snelling couldn鈥檛 resist it. In his best parade ground roar, he shouted, 鈥淗MS Warspites Detachment, attention,鈥� and saluted鈥�. A very surprised and delighted Commodore came over to his old 鈥楽hipmates鈥� and shook every one by the hand.

In the conversation he disclosed that he had been given a shore job as Commodore, Plymouth and he was not a happy man. No doubt he became a lot happier when later he was appointed as an advisor to the joint command in the Pacific. Eventually we said goodbye to the Commodore and joined our train for London, and then the usual, change at Bromley and Swanley for Chatham.

Here I must leave my story, to enlighten the reader about the procedure of a Sunday morning in the R.M. Barracks. Every Sunday the parade ground of the Royal Marine barracks is, to say at the least, 鈥淭he holy of holies鈥�, Every scrap of paper is removed by hand, all the windows visible from the square have been cleaned and polished, and woe betide the man who is caught peeping out. The Battalion is formed up in full ceremonial splendour. The Band of Her Majesty鈥檚 Royal Marines, immaculate as always is on the left of the Battalion.

Outside the officers鈥� mess in the corner of the parade ground the senior Officers are assembled in all their splendour. The central figure is of course, the adjutant, fully booted and spurred and mounted on a magnificent, usually chestnut stallion. He is superb, it is his day and when all is ready, he orders the main gates to be opened and invites the citizens of the town to enter and admire the spectacle.

Then it happened, entering by the guard room gate and marching across the front of the assembled battalion, marched a bedraggled body of men, in an assortment of articles of clothing that had to be seen to be believed. Led by a sergeant in khaki trousers, a duffle coat and a very crumpled forage cap, it was not a pretty sight. By their bearing, they gave the impression that not so long ago, they too had been immaculate and gloried in the applause of the crowd.

The battles had been long and bloody. They had left behind them, comrades who would never again see home. They were weary, the glamour of the occasion left them unmoved, but they marched tall, they were home. Let us once again leave it to our poet to describe.

THE RABBLE COMES HOME.

We were remnants off our damaged ships
And we were homeward bound
We possessed what we stood up in
Some begged some borrowed, some found

We changed our train at London
Where we sometimes took over 鈥淭he Guard鈥�,
But today we faced the stares of the crowd
Like something dug up in the yard.

Arriving at Chatham our H.Q. Base
We marched in columns of threes,
It was only five minutes to the barracks gates
But please God; let us get there please.

On the square the battalion paraded
In full ceremonial blues,
Their brasses gleamed in the morning sun
And the band played softly, 鈥淭he Blues鈥�.

For Sunday was the day for creating moral
When the Adjutant led his men,
Around the town to the parish church
And then smartly back again.

But this Sunday was certainly different
For, to the Adjutant鈥檚 dismay,
A shower of scruffy, unshaven marines
Marched in to spoil his day.

In the presence of this gleaming parade
We felt dirty, soiled and undressed,
And sensing the importance of the occasion
Not a little depressed.

The Adjutant stretched up in his saddle
And let forth an explicit tirade,
鈥淚 do not know who the hell you are
But get that Rabble off the parade鈥�.

Our sergeant stopped us in our tracks
And, in a voice so 鈥楽weet鈥�,
Said, 鈥淭his Rabble, Sir, are Royal Marines
Survivors from His Majesty鈥檚 Fleet鈥�

The crowd were moved a ripple of applause
Sounded around the square,
It was heard quite clearly at the Officers Mess
And by the Commandant standing there.

The Brigade Major standing by his side
Was moved to take a hand,
He turned to the tall Drum Major
And ordered him 鈥淐all up the band鈥�.

The band was called to 鈥楢ttention鈥�
The Adjutant now serene and staid,
Said 鈥淪ergeant, march of your Royal Marines
And march them across the parade鈥�.

To the strains of our Regimental March
鈥淎 Life on the Ocean Wave鈥�,
We stretched ourselves to six foot six
And all of our best we gave.

The crowd were there to witness
The Battalion marked the route,
And we proudly marched past our Commandant
And 鈥淭he Rabble鈥�, returned his salute.

Needless to say, after that we were rushed off the parade, taken to the dining room and given an early Sunday dinner. There were no duties all that day, but the following morning we paraded outside the Quarter Master鈥檚 stores for a complete-issue of kit, with the exception of our own personal weapon, our rifle.

It had always been instilled into us that, if possible your weapon had to be saved at all costs, and fortunately, the rifle racks had not been damaged in the attack on the ship. Kitting us out took about four days, and of course we had informed our loved ones that we were in England and would soon be coming home. They made us wait until the Friday, and wearing our new uniforms we were issued with travel warrants and given 14 days鈥� leave.

Ruth was delighted, once again we spent all day and every day together, and this time we both knew that I would not be going back to sea, at least not in the foreseeable future. The two weeks passed very quickly and to be perfectly honest I was keen to get back. I had been told on the quiet that I was to be promoted and would have to go through the promotion school which would keep me in England for a short while at least, and although it meant that I would be leaving Ruth for a short time, she would be able to come to Chatham on visits.

The Company office wasted no time in organising the promotion class and we left for Deal, exactly one week later and as I walked around the old haunts, I could see no change.
The course was very much common sense; it was merely a repetition of what I had been doing for the last couple of years. Royal Marines are trained to be individuals and most marines can take over a position of authority if the occasion demands. I had no qualms about finishing the course and obtaining my 鈥楶ass鈥� certificate. What I did notice was that the walls of the marines鈥� mess were covered with photographs of R.A.F. training squads.

It was explained to us that early on in the war, marines guarded all the airfields in Britain. This was an impossible situation, due to the high cost of putting a Royal Marine through 12 months鈥� of intensive training, including 3 months鈥� of naval gunnery.

It was decided by the war office that the R.A.F. should guard their own airfields. To this end, a selected body of men from the air force were sent to the Infantry training school at Deal and trained as military training instructors.

They then returned to their depots and the nucleolus of the Royal Air Force Regiment came into being. The result of this specialised training can be seen today in the spectacular performance given by the 鈥淨ueen鈥檚 Colour Squadron鈥� of the Royal Air Force.

After the course, I was promoted and presented with my two stripes. I was now a full corporal (passed) and I could now enter the sacred portals of the Non Commissioned Officers club. One of my first details was to proceed to Greenwich Naval College and to report to the commander of the college for instructions.

It was a nice surprise to find that it was my old commander of the Warspite. He said he was pleased to see me, and that while I was on duty at the college I could dine at a small table in the corner of the Painted Hall. The naval cadets of course would dine at their own large dining table in the centre of the hall.

Also, that I was to be my own boss, arrange the watch keeping of the sentries and he did not expect to see me again until I finished my duties. These duties involved guarding a senior Officer who had been placed under arrest for desertion. It turned out that he was the captain of a destroyer who had been transferred to a shore job and he was not very pleased. He walked out and obtained a position as a Merchant Navy officer and went to sea again. Unfortunately he was recognised by naval officers in Durban, South Africa and turned over to the Naval Police. Through some service technicality, after three weeks he was found not guilty and he returned to the Navy. The sentries who had guarded him were of course disappointed.

The officer鈥檚 鈥榗ell鈥� had been a cabin in the main building of the college on the top floor, and the whole of the block was occupied by some 400 W.R.N.S. They had been having the time of their lives; left to the sentries the poor chap would have been given 鈥淟ife.鈥�

During the three weeks, I had asked Ruth to come down to Greenwich, and we stayed with mutual friends in Clapham Common. Our friend, Cristopher Kistorian was a Greek who had moved from Manchester and now owned two restaurants in the common. One was a really first class establishment, where we stayed; the other was a bit on the shady side, frequented by the 鈥榣adies of the night鈥�. Although we were having a good time, it was a blessing when I had to return to Chatham and I saw Ruth safely on her return journey.

The V.1. Rockets, which were commonly known as 鈥楧oodle bugs鈥�, were coming in thick and fast and I saw no point in Ruth staying in the area.

On my return to Chatham I was disappointed to find that I had another posting. It would appear that the powers that be did not like to see a new corporal kicking his heels when there was a war on, so consequently my name once again was posted up on the company notice board. B. Hallas. H.M.S. Chinkara, Ceylon. I was to take charge of a roving Royal Naval patrol and would be stationed in the Patrol House, a bungalow on the sea front at Colombo.

To a certain extent, I had a free hand, The Provost Marshall was not even on the island. He did have an assistant by the name of Bannister, a Lieutenant Commander, R.N. I can only remember seeing him once in my whole stay in Colombo, that was because we were seen to be doing our job, i.e. keeping ratings out of the hotels reserved for Officers, ensuring that the female services wore trousers after sunset and keeping an eye on the few canteens. Every so often my patrol would be moved around Ceylon and southern India, to keep an eye on the 鈥楬oliday鈥� camps.

It was to these camps that they sent the crews of the hard working destroyers who, because of their many commitments, spent a lot more than their fair share at sea. Obviously, the instructions passed down to me, were that there had to be a minimum of restrictions.

The inhabitants of the camps knew this and they played up to them. At times they were insulting to the members of the patrols, especially after a few drinks. This in turn led to bad feeling between the men under me. Following orders, I had no alternative but to turn a blind eye to their misdoings and my patrols were under the mistaken impression that I was not giving them the backing that they expected. There were times when I fervently wished that I were back in the peace and quiet of my turret on board ship.

There was some compensation however, a few trips around the island, visits to the spectacular city of Kandy and the occasional invitation to the 鈥榃rennery鈥�, (the camp set aside for the members of the Women鈥檚 Royal Naval Service).

They too had periods of leave from their duties in Admiralty House in Colombo. All in all, life was not too bad. After a few weeks I was posted, with my patrol to Southern India, we were to go to Wellington barracks, high up in the Nilgiri Mountains, another leave camp and more canteens.

It was there that I met Petty Officer (Jock) Wilson and his patrol of seamen. Life here took on a different aspect. There was a small but wealthy Indian community and at the weekends, they liked to entertain on a grand scale. As the only visible sign of law and order in the area, Jock Wilson and myself were invited to these weekend parties and accepted as equals among the very wealthy guests.

On the tables were tall silver replicas of the F.A. Cup, or so they seemed. Each was filled with various spiced meats, chicken, lamb, etc, and there were salvers of rice spread around the tables. It was a case of take a plate, help yourselves to ladles of food and then cool your self down with whatever drink you fancied.

Meeting the local businessmen also led to other small perks. Whenever we visited the local stores to replenish the liquor supplies, it was invariably free. (Gin was the equivalent of four shillings (20p) a bottle). It was in Wellington barracks that I lost the chance of making a few spare pounds. Stepping out of the patrol truck, I picked up a ball of what I supposed was a black pitch. I assumed that some youngster, as they did at home, had collected it and rolled it up.

Like an idiot I showed it to one of the Army Senior N.C.O.鈥檚 and he immediately took it and put it in the orderly room safe, and then informed me that quite soon, there would be a lot of searching by the natives. It was not often that they lost a large quantity of Pitch Blend Opium. Someone鈥檚 head was going to roll.
It was obvious that this state of affairs was not going to go on forever and I was ordered back to Colombo, and our comfortable bungalow.

Life was beginning to get tedious and we had to find ways and means of amusing ourselves. Apart from catching turtles after they had come up the beach to lay their eggs, and selling both eggs and turtles to the Tamils, we used to wait until the watch changed at midnight. Next door was the Admiralty building and at five minutes past midnight, the beach, which was out of bounds between sunset and sunrise became quite popular with the female staff from the naval offices and any of the male staff who felt so inclined.

All ranks were equally guilty and for some time, it had become an accepted thing. It came as a great surprise when, five minutes after settling down, their antics were disturbed by Royal Marine Naval Police suddenly shining their torches and clearing the beach. We were not very popular. Then again, after sunset we patrolled the railway station and invariably found female members of the armed forces, wearing skirts instead of the regulation trousers, which were compulsory after sunset, in company with young officers. They were not too pleased when we broke the partnership up and escorted them back to their billets.

Pr-BR

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