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BOFORS GUN 2
The Playground

One of a series of accounts of incidents, in chronological order, whilst commanding a Bofors Gun detachment (2 of 7) by Cyril Frederick Perkins

The Gun Towing Vehicle completed the ensemble of a Mobile Bofors Gun Detachment.It was no less an impressive feat of design and manufacture than the
gun itself and its componentry seemed to be based on a nominal of six. It had six cylinders six gears six wheels three pockets along each side to house six ammunition boxes and behind the driver's cab a passenger compartment for six of the crew. Inside was ample accommodation for all the other paraphanalia-to make the Detachment an independent fighting unit._Two crew members would always
travel inside the vehicle to guard the equipment and ensure that the gun was safe. We were on a weekend orientation exercise wandering the streets of a small town with a convoy rendezvous our ultimate objective. Tommy Alien was hard pressed manoeuvring the gear around narrow streets and sharp bends but was
handling the task with his usual quiet competence.
The curtain rose on the first act-of our 'play’ when an air raid siren sounded a mournful warning. I looked around for a suitable place to put the gun down and spotted a school playground up ahead. Tall iron gates secured by a padlock and chain barred our entry and I knew instinctively that that was a job for Tiny. Gunner Tuck stood six feet one inch in his Army socks fair of complexion and sandy of hair he might well have been mistaken for a Scandinavian. That was until he opened his mouth then his East End Cockney accent placed him undeniably within the sound of Bow Bells. Tiny was also something of a fitness fanatic and had the muscles to prove it. He ran like the wind on my instruction and Tommy had only to drop a gear before swinging through the opening as Tiny held
back the gate he had so easily lifted off its hinges. We drove onto the playground and in the centre of the fading markings of a netball pitch I ordered 'Halt Action’. Fortyfive seconds later the playground echoed to the thud
of leather on steel as four steel pegs secured the gun against
the notorious Bofor Gun recoil.
The second act of our play opened with the sound of a heavy aircraft's engines away to our right whilst overhead the scattered clouds obligingly parted to reveal patches of blue sky beyond. The unmistakable pencil shape of a Dornier bomber lumbered across this setting and I needed neither binoculars nor
recognition charts to confirm identification.
Orders detonations and tracers mingled together as the crew followed the plane through a forty five degree arc but the telling puffs of exploding shells falling short of the aircraft conveyed the message that the target was out of range and we were just wasting ammunition. I yelled a 'Stop' at Bob and he yanked on the lanyard to remove Toff's firing foot from the pedal and only the sounds of fresh clips of ammunition being placed into position and the fast fading aircraft's engines broke the near silence. We went to 'Standby' and waited hopefully for a second chance whilst VD and Willie collected up the spent shell cases and reported twenty two shots fired. The all clear sounded a few moments later and we were suddenly aware of civilians emerging from their respective funk holes. One kindly soul produced a jug of lemonade and whilst this was being handed round scones and sweetmeats appeared from other quarters and we all enjoyed an unexpected but none the less welcome feast.
It was time to go but the Detachment seldom had opportunity to show off before a civilian audience and not one of them needed a prompt line. They stood like ramrods at the 'Detachment Rear' position numbered off and on the 'Cease Firing' order went into action like a well greased machine. In less than a minute the Bofors Gun was back on her wheels secured and covered ready to move and Tommy was backing up the GTV for the hitch up.
The curtain came down on that final act as we drove slowly out of the playground and Tiny stood ready to hook the gates back on their hinges.
I looked back at the scars we had left in the ashphalt of the playground and at the cheering waving crowd that had then gathered and wondered for a moment what the final scenario would be.

Would some of the more naive amongst them recall a time when the Army in it's wisdom had anticipated an enemy intrusion into air space above them and sent an anti-aircraft unit to protect them or would that final encore be something different ? Would the school and half of the street end up in a pile of
rubble with many of those kindly souls beneath it ?
Time to philosophise would come later much later - at
that point of time there were much more pressing needs - we
had a rendezvous to keep.

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