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This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Roger Marsh of the ‘Action Desk — Sheffield’ Team on behalf of Reg Reid, and has been added to the site with the author's permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

The Lighter Side of War

By
Don Alexander

CHAPTER 3: Maryhill Barracks/Springburn Ministry of Labour Training Centre Glasgow Fitters Course January to July 1940

Stan Smith's brother was a staff sergeant in the 39th Ack Ack, and told Stan that there were four places on a six-month mechanics course in Glasgow. He suggested that Stan went along with his brother in law, yet another Smith at Langford Hall, and with Reg Reid and Frank Turton. It would be kind of a Walkley Mafia - all four hailed from that hilly area of Sheffield. They would be billeted in a TA drill hall next to Maryhill Barracks in Glasgow, the traditional home of the Highland Light Infantry (H.L.I). The course was to be at Springburn Ministry of Labour Training Centre, two or three miles away across the north of the city, described as a tram ride away from Maryhill.

They reached Glasgow by rail from Sheffield on the 29th December 1939, and immediately felt at home in Britain's second city. The people who gave them directions were very friendly, if rough and almost unintelligible, offering to go on the journey with them. Sheffielders and Glaswegians were kindred spirits then, in both cases, from great industrial cities with a very posh side and a huge industrial area often, hidden under a pall of smoke from homes and factories. One of the great Victorian Sheffield steel men, John Brown, had built up his shipyards on the Clyde to be among the world's biggest. Battleships and the `Queens' liners were built at the yards with steel plates and forgings from his Sheffield works. Both cities suffered from violent gang wars in the 1920s, and the same larger than life chief constable, Captain Percy Shillitoe, quelled the gangs first in Glasgow, then in Sheffield. He later became the first head of MI5.
Both cities had theatres, the Glasgow Empire and the Palace Attercliffe, Sheffield, where playing there was regarded as the kiss of death for thespians - especially comedians. The comedians' graveyards, R.I.P.

More recently the Duke of Edinburgh gave both cities a little mention when addressing students in Malaya: "However you lot will survive in Glasgow or Sheffield, I do not know," or words to that effect. Still, all publicity is good publicity.

Back to Maryhill, as our four walked into the TA Drill Hall on that late December day in 1939, did they get a warm welcome from the Scots?

Not a bit of it. Not a soul appeared. The H.L.I. barracks next door was in darkness. Not a sign of the legendary Scots infantrymen. There was a light on in the TA Drill Hall and a solitary duty sergeant greeted them: "Ye're no expected till January."

He said he could give them bedding for their billet, but no food. "There isna any food until the Poles get back next door after Hogmanay." Polish troops who had escaped the Nazis had taken over the Maryhill barracks from the Scots troops. An elderly civvy wandered in, flat hat, square ‘Glaswegian' jaw, crinkled bright amused eyes, and confirmed, "Youse four are no expected until January Nineteen Forty." How did he know? His youngest daughter served in the barracks canteen, so he knew everything, and he made it his job to know everything. He addressed Reg:
"Ye'll come to oor hoose for dinner. Youse three ter the neighbours."

He led them to the grim stone tenements that overshadowed the barracks, but the people weren't grim - far from it. They were salt of the earth, old working class that would do owt for you, even for the Auld Enemy.

They all had meals and a wee dram or two, and were invited to the Hogmanay Celebrations. Neighbours took it in turns to feed the four lads, even though none of these Glaswegians were well off. It wasn't as bad as Govan or the Gorbals, but in most of the tenements, three generations lived in one flat. A mere curtain would divide the living/dining room from grandma and grandpa's bed. Reg would be eating his meal and a grizzled old face would peep through the curtain: "Are ye all right laddie?"

Our laddie fancied the black haired vivacious lassie, who was the youngest daughter of the house, and was pleased to see her serving in the canteen when their mechanic’s course started, and the Polish troops returned. She looked so sweet.

He gave her the glad eye when she doled out the spuds and she responded by blushing and doling him double helpings. Perhaps she wanted him to keep up his strength!
In those days of food shortages and rationing it was regarded a good thing to get as much grub down you as you could. A thin child in Sheffield would be told, "Tha wants to get some puddin' dahn thi." The healthiest babies were `bonny' - pleasantly plump.

The black-haired Reg and the black-haired lassie got to know each other well, and she invited him to revisit her home, where he got on famously with `Square Jaw' and his wife. They were privately glad that she had found a `nice boy' at last. She had been with one or two of the Polish lads whom they suspected were only after her body. Reg was honourable of course, though the evening ended magically with a kiss and a cuddle.

He rashly confided in Stan Smith who immediately became himself, attracted to the girl, bantered and flirted with her and even invited himself to her house with Reg on another evening. A fatal mistake, but for whom? She wasn't particularly pleased that Reg allowed his friend to come along, and wondered if he really wanted her as a girlfriend. Reg wasn't particularly pleased with himself - why couldn't he have followed the Yorkshireman's `Hear all, see all, say NOWT' philosophy?

The following morning he had a really bad throat, caused by working in the Ministry of Labour sheds, he thought - but the army medic diagnosed septic tonsillitis and sent him to Glasgow military hospital. He was then given two weeks' leave in Sheffield where, already feeling sorry for himself, he found his mother telling him that she really felt like leaving his dad and their Walkley Road home, and going to Stoke-on-Trent where her sister lived.
When Reg got back to Maryhill he bumped into Stan, also down in the dumps, on his way to the Medic, with a face `as long as Norfolk Street'.

Stan it was who had made the fatal mistake in making a play for the sweet canteen lassie. She was a girl who couldn't say no, and he'd soon had his wicked way with her in the tenement stairwell behind the canteen, even in his billet which was absolutely `streng verboten' - but immensely enjoyable.

"She's gen me a dose o' clap". She'd passed on VD to Smithy, which she'd caught from sleeping with two or three of the Polish troops. "Let that teach thee a lesson - only go wi' women who wain't let thi have sex before marriage."

Reg felt virtuous and lucky, with a guardian angel guiding him through life. He couldn't feel anger towards his stricken mate, he'd possibly saved our man from the disease. As he walked into the billet he sang to himself,
"On top of old Smokey,
all covered in snow,
I avoided the clap there,
through courting too slow... "

He was a romantic at heart though and knew he'd meet the right girl one day. Until then, he'd have to content himself with the dancing woman he'd had tattooed on his forearm! This incident too involved Stan Smith who decided he'd go into a Glasgow tattoo shop and choose a pattern to cheer himself up - not a naked woman - he was off them at the moment. He asked Reg and Frank Turton to go with him for company. Reg and Frank had been celebrating and Reg had allowed himself a glass or three. What were they celebrating? Can't remember - perhaps celebrating not being as daft as Smithy. They weren't going to be tattooed. Not likely! To be stuck with a tattoo for life was intolerable. They did their best to dissuade their friend.

An hour later they emerged from the booth on Sauchiehall Street, Reg sporting the dancing girl and Frank a face of Bulldog Churchill looking more bulldog than Winston. Churchill had just been made PM on 10th May 1940 and there was now a sense of hope nationally. By the way, Smithy didn't sport a tattoo, he'd taken their advice and decided against it!

The six month course was drawing to a close - they knew how to recondition engines; grinding the crankshafts, running the big end bearings - turning and scraping the bearings to fit the crankshaft - assembling the engines was the final skilled job.

The film star David Niven had gained credit for returning from Hollywood before the war to serve in the Highland Light Infantry at Maryhill Barracks. The four Sheffield lads had an oblique claim to fame in that they repaired the racked cylinder block of David Niven's Commanding Officer's Lagonda!

The Lagonda was shipped to Springburn Training Centre from Malta where the HLI were stationed at the time. The instructor told them to find the end of the crack, then drill a hole with a fine Rolls Royce thread at the end of the crack, drill more holes round the crack, then cut out a steel plate and bolt on with a gasket and a copper sheet. They had to make their own bolts. They made these from hexagonal steel cut to length, turned down to half an inch diameter, then threaded on a lathe, matching the threads on the holes in the steel plate and cylinder block and leaving uncut hexagonal tops as the bolt heads, just chamfering the rough edges. They then bolted gasket, copper sheet and steel plate on to the cylinder block over the crack. Simple!

All four got their certificates - mechanics 3rd class.
Reg's reads: Springburn Training Centre Fitter's course.
Ministry of Labour Training Centre
Pvt. R. W. Reid, Ml V Class 3.1217140

While awaiting their postings to a working unit, they took the chance to visit Milngavie, north of the city. "Och, you mean Mil-guy," a woman corrected Reg when he asked her for directions. Being mechanically minded they were interested in a mile-long track of experimental overhead tramway built by an engineer/inventor there. He'd got a tram running on overhead rails - the steel pillars supporting the system arched across a road allowing other traffic unobstructed usage. Glasgow and other authorities showed interest but didn't go ahead with the system, so the engineer set up rides one mile and back for the general public, at a small charge to try and support his venture. It was a pleasant and interesting way for our four to spend an afternoon.

Even more pleasant and interesting were several outings that Reg, Stan Smith and Frank Turton made to Kirkintilloch, a small town north east of Glasgow. They got to know three eighteen-year-old girls; sixth formers at a posh boarding school there. Having cakes and tea in cafes and countryside walks with them, with mild flirtations and much banter, was both pleasant and amusing - we should even say hilarious as the Walkley lads mimicked their posh upper crust English (not Scottish) accents, and the girls endeavoured to understand the Sheffielders’ theeing and thouing, and picturesque terms and vocabulary.

There was too big a class difference in those days for any serious relationship to develop. In any case, the lads were expecting their postings any day and the girls would be returning to their parents in India under the Raj, before moving back to places at Oxford University. Suffice to say, the Sheffielders learnt that `Port Out, Starboard Home' was the only way to travel to India, and was the origin of the word POSH. The girls knew French and German and were interested to find that thee, thou, thy and thine were used as the familiar form of address in Sheffield, much as the `tu' form in French and `du' in German. They also learned to `stop whittling' if they grumbled about the weather, even if it was `siling it down'; not to be ' nesh' if they were cold and in general not to be `mardy arses'!

Reg got his instructions, he was being posted to Luton to observe engine assembly for two months, then would join Stan Smith and Frank Turton at a recently established Heavy Motors Repair shop at High Wycombe.

Pr-BR

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