大象传媒

June 12th, 1934. At last I had arrived at Catterick Camp, well known to many thousands of soldiers who followed in both peace and war.
The early thirties were a disaster for we kids leaving school 鈥� an endless prospect of 鈥渟orry, no jobs.鈥� My own working life was a short twelve months as an apprentice engineer, until the factory shut down and a few months working for my father who was a publican in Glasgow. Then I took stock; the future as it then was 鈥� NIL, so what else but the Army? Well, I applied to enlist in the Royal Signals for eight years with the Colours and four years on the Reserve but discovered that they weren鈥檛 exactly in desperate straights enough to enlist me. Oh no! (this will make all former National Servicemen fall about!) I had to sit a competitive examination for one of the four vacancies allotted to Scotland for the period commencing June! I passed, was enlisted and Catterick bound.
After reporting to the Guard Room and having been taken to the New Arrivals Hut (no Barracks, all huts with cold water, hot water didn鈥檛 arrive officially in the Army until 1938) we were presented to our first tyrant: he was the Old Soldier with around eighteen years service and had upside down stripes on his left forearm.
鈥淵ouse lot will ask permission and stand to attention when youse will address me as Senior Soldier. If I say Go! 鈥� go. Stop! 鈥� stop. And if I f**t, rush around with the bum paper instantly!鈥�
Thus a rather frightened recruit bowed in awe before this taste of authority and he was only a private soldier, what must the N.C.O鈥檚, etc., be like? The mind boggled.
After several weeks doing camp chores (fatigues they were officially called) my squad was considered to be sufficiently reduced to zombies to be given our military training: three weeks learning to march, turn left and right, etc. Four weeks and all subsequent training with a rifle: learning to do the Slope, Present, Shoulder, Trail, Port, in conjunction with what we had learned in the previous session; the remaining seven weeks of the Recruit Course being taken up with Ceremonial Drill, Funeral Drill (this was necessary at Catterick, as in my two years there I attended seven funerals; the death rate was quite high there 鈥� not from bad treatment, but from diseases like Spotted Fever, which seemed to be the curse of that place. Perhaps it has been conquered now, I don鈥檛 know but to an eighteen-year old youth it was all a bit frightening). Musketry, Gas-Drill and all the other skills, which made up a pre-war soldier, all this, including fatigues, took twenty-four weeks. In all fairness we never forgot our training and, in big working units, where there was very little military training, if a parade of any note was called, little practice was need to put on a very good show. Like riding a bicycle: one never forgets.
Final Pass-Off. We鈥檝e completed our Military Training and the squad breaks up into the various trades allotted to the troops; most were Wireless Operators, some were Dispatch Riders, Fitters, Instrument Mechanics, Clerks, Drivers, Motor Transport and Horse and Linesmen, Saddlers and Farriers (we were a mounted Corps).
Trade training took up to nine months, according to its complexity. Then, for some, sixty rides in the Riding School and roughly at the end of two years you left Catterick; you had arrived unsure, frightened and usually un-poised: you left a person in your own right, confident and able to do a job of work. But, the great tragedy of it was 鈥� we weren鈥檛 taught to fight! That, we were informed, was the job of the Infantry and the Gunners. We were a cut above that, we supplied the brains and the Technical know-how to run their communications, which they hadn鈥檛 the intelligence to do: what a gross ego!
I pondered over this and, at a discussion group (yes, we had these pre-war) and in the years to come, I realised how far thinking the Royal Signals were; on reflection they must have been at least twenty years ahead of general military thinking.
I said, 鈥淲e, as a Corps, don鈥檛 go further forward than Brigade H.Q. Where then do the intelligent men come from to do the communications from Company to Battalion and back to Brigade?鈥�
鈥淭he infantry Signals themselves鈥� was the reply.
鈥淲hy not Royal Signals鈥� personnel?鈥� I said.
鈥淏ecause a great degree of skill is not required to man a telephone.鈥�
鈥淏ut surely the sharp end of a battle is the most important part; after all, they do the fighting and, it would appear, all the other dirty work and surely the importance of the progress of a battle being relayed to the concerned Commanders is too great to be left to those who, after all, have very little knowledge of anything?鈥�
I was told to 鈥榮hut up鈥�, but events leading up to Dunkirk proved my point; when the Infantry were overwhelmed by superior arms, etc., who did the enemy meet? The Signals, The Royal Engineers, The Royal Army Service Corps, The Pioneers, The Royal Amy Ordnance Corps 鈥� all trained men in one way or another but, other than firing a rifle, knew nothing about fighting.
This was rectified after Dunkirk, but it was a bit shattering at the time.

Previously I remarked that I thought that the Royal Signals were 20 years ahead of their time and so often was the thinking well ahead of the time and so often was the thinking well ahead of the time, that you took it for granted that all the Army was like us; for example in addition to sitting a competitive examination to even get in the Corps, you were tested on arrival at Catterick, as to your suitability to absorb instruction in the various trades, the top mark men had a choice of all trades, the top paying ones being Electrician Fitters and Instrument Mechanics. Next were the Wireless Operators (I think about 80% were this) the Linesmen (this attracted many as you was horsed and lived an outdoor life) then Dispatch Riders, Motor Transport and Horse Transport drivers.
One of the methods of testing was very clever; a long film was punched with dots (.) and dashes (-) and this was run through a machine which reproduced these dots and dashes through a system known as a 'sounder' which gave a double beat for each dot or dash and we were told that a dot would sound like -i.d.d.y (like the well-known former Ugandan President) and the dashes would sound like -u.m.p.t.y,,- iddy/umpty -dot-dash. We were told this was a Morse message on the film but not to worry if we couldn't read Morse just to write down the dots and dashes and then the results were examined; a fair idea of the sharpness of your wits could be assessed and graded.
There were other tests but I remember that one particularly as, not knowing Morse, I wrote down the dots and the dashes and only when confronted by the testing Sergeant and asked "What the 'ell I was a' doing of?" I saw I had written dats and doshes! Ah well, as a recruit you can't win any of them!
After passing out, i.e., finishing my Recruit Training, I was sent to the Trade Training Company; it was known as 'D' or Don Company; this company trained every trade excepting the wireless operators and was not a bad place to be. After the rigid discipline and long hours of the Depot Battalion it was like a beautiful slothful heaven -no 6 a.m. parade to answer to your name and number, properly dressed, washed, shaved, immaculate in fatigue dress, which consisted of separate trousers and jacket (which naturally had brass buttons, polished highly) and a fatigue cap -we looked exactly like the mainland Chinese, only difference being our Occidental eyes, the ability to speak English and the colour of the dress being brown instead of blue. Denims, as our wartime Army will remember, didn't appear until, I believe, the advent of the War.
We had two walking-out uniforms, slacks (with boots) for local wear and riding breeches, puttees and spurs and boots for parades, going on leave or horse-riding, with an exception to spurs, these were never worn ordinarily on horse- back) excepting for parades/because of the possible damage a horse might receive from its rider) who may have fancied him- self as a cowboy. Spurs did not have rowels in them, for obvious reasons, but we did drill out sixpences and put them in their place so that when we walked they tinkled - this was Military Couture indeed.
To continue, in 'D' Coy, we awakened about 6. 30 a.m. with 鈥榞unfire', which was not a cannon going off but a mug of tea brought to your bedside by one of the members of your Barrack Room (we took it in turns.) What a civilised way to commence the day; mug of tea, cigarette (Woodbine, of course, 4d. for 10) general chat and up for breakfast at 7 o'clock; shaving was done by most the night before for three reasons:
1. A tin full of water could be heated on the fire, thus ensuring a hot wash and shave (what luxury after six months of freezing water; I do not tell a lie, that when I say in the Depot Battalion, after putting the soap down on the marble slabs surrounding the wash basins, when you had washed and dried yourself, the soap was frozen to the slab.
2. The second reason was that, if by some miracle, a piece of 'spare' came your way at least you were presentable; mind you, in Catterick this was wishful thinking!
3. The third reason was to save time in the morning; a good bloke could clean his teeth, wash, perform his naturals, make his bed and sweep his bed space - all in the space of ten minutes. I am convinced that time and motion was invented in the Army.

My Trade training was as a Despatch Rider, which included very comprehensive instruction as a Motor-Cycle Mechanic, both in theory and practice. Halfway through the training we were tested on our knowledge and on passing were awarded a pay rise of 3d. per day (about 1.2p.) This was a really great thing in our lives as our pay rose from 14 shillings (70p) per week to 15 shillings and 9 pence (79p) per week.
In reality, in take-home pay, it meant a rise of 5 shillings (25p) owing to the inability of the Unit Paymaster, (known as the Golden Eagle) to count in other than units of 5 shillings (25p) thus your established pay of 14 shillings (70p) per week became 10 shillings (50p) in your hand and 4 shillings (20p) to your credit; on your pay becoming 15 shillings and 9d. (79p) per week you got, in your sticky, grasping, hot little hands, 15 shillings (75p) per week and 9d. (4p) credited.
What wealth! And to us it really was wealth; one could go to the Garrison Cinema for 6d. (2陆p), buy 10 cigarettes for 4d. (1陆p) and buy a fish supper to eat on the way home for 4d. (1陆p) and not even notice the extravagance.
Mind you, we had to pay for every service we had: haircuts (as many as your N.C.O sent you for) 1 shilling (5p) per month, boot repairs, new uniforms, laundry. For this we got a clothing allowance of 14 shillings (70p) per month, which was pretty generous as nobody, but nobody, spent a quarter of that every month.
A favourite way to get some money would be to order a pair of trousers on re-payment and, as nobody trusts anybody in the Army where money is concerned, you signed a form which debited your pay account and the money was transferred to the Quarter-Masters Stores account as a paper transaction, so nobody handled any money. The soldier got his trousers and promptly looked for a cash buyer.
Trousers then cost 7shillings (35p) - makes you laugh at the thought and were usually sold for 5 shillings (25p) so the chain was complete; the clothing manufacturers were kept in work, the Quarter-Master was kept in work, somebody bought a cheap pair of trousers and the soldier was 5 shillings (25p) better off. The cost of the item was debited against his clothing allowance (which he never saw as cash) so he never missed it. Perhaps the Chancellor of the Exchequer could pick up a tip or two here?
There was also a mysterious stoppage of pay every month known as 'Barrack Room damages.' In my Army service, which covered twenty-five years, even when I was a Quartermaster Sergeant myself later on, was I able to unravel the system whereby the soldiers, living in Barracks, had to pay for any damage sustained to their quarters. In theory this is fair, e.g., if, during a lot of horseplay say, a window got broken, then the residents of that room were charged a proportion of the repair each. Suppose the repaired window cost 5 shillings (25p) and there were fifteen men in a Barrack Room, then fifteen into 5 shillings goes four times; thus one would think the damage would cost 4d. (1陆p) each. But no, the damage cost 15 shillings (25p) or 11d. (5p) each.
How? The explanation given to me (and others, of course, was this: one broken window 5 shillings (25p.) One window to be put in its place 5 shillings (25p) and, as the new window had come out of stock, 5 shillings (25p) to make a replacement- -total 15 shillings (75p.)
The mind boggles at this reasoning; often have I wondered how much 'buckshee' work was done at the barracks at the troops' expense. I don't suppose it happens nowadays but, pre-war- we daren't query anything, or else you were labelled as a 'Barrack-Room Lawyer' and we all valued our freedom too much to try to buck the system.
The honesty one encountered in Barrack-room life was unbelievable: you could leave your possessions, even money or cigarettes, on your bed, go for a shower and return to find everything intact; it was a code of honour never to rob a comrade, (this didn't apply to cook-houses and coal-yards - food and warmth were fair game and many a string of sausages were removed from the cook-house, worn like a belt round the waist and these would be cooked on a hot shovel on coal thieved from the Unit coal-yard.) Succulent fare indeed!
The only thing that I had 'nicked' was my civilian suit, the chap who pinched it deserted wearing it and, during the course of his escapades did a murder and was hanged in Durham Goal. It did seem as if my Guardian Angel was punishing the thief, even if it was a bit final. Incidentally, my suit was returned.
After finishing my Trade training I spent a year with the Royal Signals Display Team which was very enjoyable and after which I was posted to India.

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