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Chapter V - A French Connection
On Christmas day 1938 I found my name down for Buckingham Palace guard and snow on the square at Chelsea barracks wasn't to be allowed to settle on this hallowed patch. So 15cwt trucks were driven into skid turns to clear this obstruction, thus allowing normal activities to take place. The Guard had left the barracks and the road was extremely icy, so the well studded army boots with their steel heel caps did not make a very good combination. The C.S.M was shouting, 'Dig your heels in', but one guardsman heeded his warning too late as his foot shot up and he slipped backwards. With his rifle being carried at the slope, his bayonet pierced the bearskin on the man behind and on straightening up he had this man's bearskin on the end of his rifle, this was quickly and discreetly retrieved. My piece of turkey arrived along with the trimmings in a vacuum flask, I suppose it wasn't too bad under the circumstances. We were rationed to two bottles of beer, which was wise if it was your turn for the next Stag as it wouldn't do much for your image if you were standing guard outside the Palace railings with your legs crossed for two hours.

Happenings in Europe early 1939 were apparently warming up. Even so, nobody seemed unduly concerned as there wasn't any television and comparatively few wirelesses, which were not allowed in the barrack rooms anyway, and the one or two 'News of the World' newspapers which would circumnavigate the barrack room each Sunday morning, did not have the impact to warrant any urgency over and above the titillating journalism which dominated intellectual interests to that of Hitler's quest for power, so training and guard duties continued as normal.
Rehearsals in preparation for the Trooping of the Colour were taking place on the barrack square, where a command from R.S.M.Sheather who assisted by his two warrant officer Drill Sergeants (Commonly known as Drill Pigs) caused muted amusement when he barked out to a groom, who was riding a horse representing the approach of a Royal dignitary, "Slow that horse down" "Slow that horse down" then proceeded to call out the marching time, 'Lef dite, Lef dite, Lef.' My thoughts dwelt on the consequences if he had to prepare the Household Cavalry for this event. Unfortunately I wasn't to witness or take part in the actual Troop because a few days before it was to take place, I was admitted to Millbank hospital suffering from a septic heel, caused primarily by the inexperienced manipulation of the 'Housewife' - (Personal Darning Kit).

It wasn't long afterwards that we were to be abruptly reminded of world events, whence, looking out towards the Parade ground at Reveille one day, the 'Sacred patch' had been taken over by Riot trucks. We were put on 'Stand To', and told to prepare to go to Czechoslovakia and I don't think it was to collect any more Bren guns, although that certainly wouldn't have gone amiss. No, we were to help Police the country and our address would be, British Plebiscite Force. Kit inspections and general preparation were the order of the day including traffic control training exercises on the Public highway under the supervision of the civilian and military Police, an awe inspiring experiment. This uncertainty would prevail for a week or so, until eventually the order came to 'Stand Down'. much I imagine to the satisfaction of the Insurance companies and our supervisor's. The German high command, not noted for its patience, decided that they couldn't wait any longer so decided to march in, thus relieving us of the task.
It was our turn once again to return to Pirbright for Field Training and whenever the battalion moves quarters, instead of being woken up by the usual Reveille call, the Corp of Fife & drums would parade and march around the square playing the Long Reveille, the tune of which must have some historical significance but of what, I know not? The words applied to it by members of the battalion doesn't shed any light on it either, except the uncouthness of its contributors. So with the familiar sound of 'Olde Mother Riley and her little Pig' i.e. Long Reveille ringing in our ears, we crated our scarlet uniforms and bearskins, etc., to be left behind and stored..

Having by now passed my driving test I have the unenviable task of teaching others to drive, and after they had reached an advanced stage I would get them to drive me through London. Having a 15cwt battering ram under you and well displayed 'L' plates those that valued their vehicles, or property, would give us a wide berth, as some workmen heating lead on a brazier at the entrance to Richmond park were to find out, when my driver, panicking a little, scattered everything in his wake. Fortunately the workmen sensing danger had made a quick exit, so did we!

As usual we hadn't received any firm directives, but rumour had it that we were to prepare to go to Egypt to take over from one of our returning battalions. With this in mind I was assigned with my vehicle to report to the Sergeant's Mess to pick up a certain consignment, and whilst in the process the Mess window happened to be open and they had the wireless on,(Permitted in the Mess) whence I heard the Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain proclaiming that 'A state of war now exists between England and Germany'.
So I know where I was on the 3rd of Sept. 1939 age 19years.

Within a few weeks of this announcement, the camp was overflowing with the recall of reservists, many of them from the Police Force. Their patriotism was certainly tested to the limit, when, because of the overwhelming numbers for hut accommodation, many had to resort to Canvas cover, and if having to leave their comfortable beds wasn't enough the weather was certainly not in their favour, also with new clothing and equipment to be brought up to the required standard there were much mutterings and gnashing of teeth by those fortunate enough to still have some. Eventually all were integrated into different Battalions and Companies and soon blended back into the old routine. Our role in world events would now no doubt change because we were to receive a Tetanus booster, and within a few weeks were paraded and ready to march off to pastures new. His Royal Highness the Duke of Connaught & Strathearn, (Queen Victoria and Prince Alberts 3rd son ) whom I understood was in his nineties and had taken part in the battle of Khartoum in the 1880s, supported by two footmen and with tears in his eyes, (no doubt reflecting on past experiences), took the salute as we marched out of.Pirbright to meet our old enemy.
We camped out on Ascot racecourse for the night, then proceeded to Yeovil, where during a short stay we continued with our Field training.
After receiving an English/French phrase book and monetary conversion, our new address would be B.E.F.[British Expeditionary Force] France, and at the latter end of September we were to set sail from Southampton. Each were allocated approx. a 2ft square space, which was just about big enough when standing to attention, but with big pack on surrounded by a 'Shroud,' I beg your pardon, 'U' blanket, plus tin hat, you can imagine the fun and games we had when trying to rest, especially among the bad sailors as they scrambled, invariably too late, to reach the toilets. I found it more acceptable on the top deck, where I came across one of my Depot squad mates, Rackham from Suffolk whose wit ( and Wind ) I always found amusing. He had his false teeth in his hand and was attempting to bite one of the army biscuits which came in large airtight tins sealed with a tinfoil lid and rumoured to have been the leftovers from the 1914 -18 conflict. Anyway he was determined to satisfy his hunger, and as I left him he was stamping on his square meal with language anything but 'bootiful'.

We landed at Cherbourg, where the 'Orient Express!' having not yet arrived, we were given permission to go into town and to return by 2300hrs. A comrade and I took advantage of this and on return caught a taxi back, where my friend, in his very limited French, kept trying to converse in French to the driver, who had already explained in broad Cockney that he stayed behind after the 1914 -18 war. When we arrived at the station, my linguistic friend had another go at asking in French the price of the fare . The driver frustratingly said ' That's all right mate forget it' whereupon he replied 'Merci beaucoup'.
There was a Goods train waiting in the station and after the roll call the heavy doors were slid back and we were told to embark. The sleeping arrangements were the same as we had on the boat, so with legs intertwined we endeavoured to make space on the floor. The doors were slid shut from the outside, thus leaving us completely in the dark, (literally)! The train rumbled on and on through the night, and the air got colder and colder and when C.S.M. Winter got cramp, it got bluer and bluer! Eventually at about 4 or 5am we came to a halt, the door slid open and we disentangled to a mess tin of tea. We then set off on foot for mile after mile, or I should say Kilometre after Kilometre to somewhere in France. We eventually caught up with our cooks, who had the advantage over us, having been sent off in advance in vehicles, where they were to greet us with a Field kitchen meal of Stew. After a goodnights sleep in a hayloft we returned to our rail conveyance, to where none of us knew 'Walls have ears' we assume the driver knows? Eventually we arrive at a small town called Annappes, which is north of Lille. This must have been on a Saturday, because the small contingent of R.Cs among us went to Mass the next morning and I suppose being a bit of a curiosity, were invited by the resident Clerics to have breakfast in the Refectory, where we were to enjoy the rarity of a 3min. egg with our coffee. (No Compleents).
Our Headquarters Coy were to remain in Anneppes, whilst our No4 Coy were to move a few miles on to its subsidiary close to the Belgian border called Ascq, where our Platoon were to take up residence in an empty house. We were allocated a bale of straw which we liberally strew on the floor, and in Grenadier fashion set about making the best out of what little had been provided. Washing facilities were obtainable from the garden pump and if you were on the right side of George Oakley, our cook you might get some hot water in your mess tin for shaving. The Cookhouse by the way, was in the attached open ended garage, where George, a wholesome figure which advertised his status, a large round red face and bulging eyes, would do his cooking, using briquettes, instead of the usual pressurised blowers. I state this because in the process of trying to get it to burn properly it was never possible to see the cook for thick black smoke.
I happened to be passing by one morning, just as the Picquet officer arrived on his general inspection, and George, in his usual attire of Canvas suit and wearing a stocking hat, emerged from the smoke filled interior, face and hat blackened by soot which pronounced the whites of his large staring eyes, and sporting his usual black dewdrop gave an old soldiers salute ie shortest way up and shortest way down then announced in his deep country accent, 'Cookouse reddy fer yer inspectshun zur'.
I couldn't remain to see the outcome for laughing. Perhaps he had the last laugh, because soon after his face dominated the front cover of 'Blighty' (An army magazine) supposedly pulling the pin from a hand grenade with his teeth! There again, it could have been a rissole, (equally lethal)!

Practically every day, when not on guard duty we would proceed with pick and shovel and feverishly dig the trenches and communication trenches along the canal bank that ran close to the Belgian border, and with the barbed wire entanglements which we erected above and below the waterline were in the process of creating a most formidable defence position.
The flat landscape in that part of France with no natural obstacles to shelter us against the bitter wind, I reckon it was the bleakest spot in Europe. It eventually got so cold and the ground so frozen we were breaking our picks and shovels, so the powers that be, perhaps to keep within the defence budget, resorted to the aid of a mechanical digger to loosen the top soil, even to lashing out on a tot of rum and that was never easy to come by!

On return to our billets wet and caked in mud with no heating, our clothes were frozen stiff in the mornings, but in the evenings, when, and if we were free, we would visit our local Estaminet, where because of the good exchange rate we would thaw out in the usual manner finishing up with a generous portion of egg, chips and bread and butter. With this combination we were in far better shape than we had ever been before, that was according to our Medical Officer!

The French unfortified Pill boxes spread along the frontier which were built in about 1937 would be manned night and day by either us or the French. Whenever it was our turn to take over from them it was advisable to arm oneself with, not only our own firearms, but also a shovel to clear out their secret weapons which they were apt to leave behind, hygiene was not one of their strong points. The field of view from the Pill boxes in the mornings was invariably blanketed by a low haze hovering just above the ground, the spreading of the local human fertiliser from large wooden barrels used for collecting this excrement could be the good reason for this phenomenon.
'Thank goodness for our Tetanus booster'!

One particular night the P.S.M (Platoon Sergeant Major), detailed me to accompany him on Patrol of these Pill boxes and during our tour of duty on reaching the first one he accused the guard inhabitants of smoking whilst on duty, declaring 'There are lighted cigarette ends outside'. These turned out to be Glow worms, I must admit that I was equally deceived having not seeing them so vividly before.
During a night exercise within our defence area, the Platoon officer, who was leading the way suddenly disappeared into a previously dug 6ft deep trench which had filled with water, his tin hat was floating on the top. After hauling him out we assumed because of the low lying ground that all of the other front line trenches and communication trenches could be in the same condition, so our months of hard slogging had been in vain. The only alternative was to build trenches on top of the ground which entailed making up hundreds of yards of revetting against which we had to spade tons of earth, no easy task.

Our service dress uniform with puttees, have now been exchanged for the new battle-dress and I had the opportunity of showing off mine at home, having been granted 10days leave. I genuinely made a slip up with my return date by one day. (How often have we heard that one)? I immediately reported to the R.T.O. (this is the Transport Officer assigned to each railway station). He supplied me with a supplementary travel warrant but because of wartime travelling restrictions I eventually ended up in Liverpool to board the 'Royal Daffodil' which comprised of a motley shower of retrogrades like myself, all from different Regiments. Again, because of travelling restrictions it took me another 2 days before I could rejoin my unit, where I was immediately put into open arrest (having no security for close arrest) and generally treated like a criminal.
Eventually, after marching before the Company Commander, who because of the seriousness of the situation reprimanded me for Adjutants orders, he in turn found that this should be dealt with by higher authority by remanding me to C.O.s orders. 'The buck stops here'. The Sergeant-In-Waiting had his say then the Sergeant of the guard and now the Commanding Officer.
'And what have you to say for yourself'?
'I thank you sir for leave to speak'.
'Yaaaas'.
After spinning my yarn came the customary pause which creates the impression that the oncoming sentence is the result of an impromptu summary of events.
'Now look hare I am not accepting your excuse, and I must say I take a very serious view of this matter and had this have happened during the 14 -18 war, you would have been tied to a wagon wheel etc. etc. - 7days Field Punishment'.
This meant I had to double everywhere wearing full kit, with the usual reporting at Reveille and Tattoo, ending each day with S.B. - No, not Stretcher Bearing!

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