大象传媒

1939-40
I did my training at Stirling Castle, Scotland.
I would like to thank all those instructors who really put us through the hoop as they repeated over and over again 'You will do it, and do it till you get it right, and one day you will thank me for being so tough on you'
They were right and that is why I can now write this story as a salute to them.
Sgt Hampbell and Sgt Cutchinson I can remember vividly.

Sgt Cutchinson had tears in his eyes, I think he was a 'wee bit foo,' he had had a drink and was feeling sentimental perhaps as he bid us farewell on the last cold morning as we marched out of the main arch at Stirling Castle en rout for Aldershot.

We had been instructed the previous evening to put all our personal belongings into our kit bag and it would follow us to the railway station.
We left Stirling Castle and marched down to the railway station.

Each man had on a Glengarry cap, khaki tunic, kilt and a great coat etc.
Gas masks, water bottles, webbing equipment with Bren gun pouches.

The big pack contained our little pack that held our cleaning gear and cardigan plus the great coat when we were not wearing it.

Over the big pack our steel helmets were strapped and held in place by two crossed straps of webbing.
In the Bren gun pouches we carried dry rations on this occasion.

The blunted bayonet and drill purposes only rifle had been left for the next lot of recruits passing through Stirling Castle.

We were assured we would be issued with rifles that would shoot and bayonets that had not been blunted.

A special train was laid on to move this new batch of trained soldiers to Wellington Barracks Aldershot.
At first it appeared to be a drab and dreary looking place, and the drizzling rain did nothing to cheer us up when we arrived there.

The two story brick and tile barracks looked cold and sparse but once inside it looked clean and tidy and was indeed warm.

When I was issued with a rifle and bayonet the first thing I did was to clean it of all the heavy grease
And make a note of the number on the butt disk and bayonet boss.

The number stamped onto the brass disk and secured to the butt of the rifle corresponded to the number stamped on my bayonets handle, which was No 211.

The number stamped on my rifle's bayonet boss was No 78354.
These Lee Enfield rifles could hurtle a .303 bullet two thousand yards but I never did find out at what range they could hit anything without penetrating.

I do support the theory that they were amongst the most accurate rifle of the two world wars.
The main Argyll & Sutherland Highlanders Battalion was a surprise to me.
I had been used to drilling with about a hundred men
When the Pipe Band struck up and a thousand men marched as one in full Highland regalia, cameras began to click as civilian tourists took pictures.
A few days later we travelled to the outdoor .303 range to zero the rifle we had been issued.

We were informed by the Sgt on the range 'If yoos blokes don't do it properly, yo only got yo self to blame if the enemy gets yus instead'.
Some of us looked a bit blank and muttered 'What enemy?'
Once we had the rifle zeroed, the drill was to fire at a target and get as small a group as possible.
Sometimes the position of the group on the target suggested the front sight should be moved sideways to get the next group nearer to the bullseye, once that was lined up the shooter had to get used to adjusting his back sight properly.
This was the only the beginning.

We then had to shoot from different distances such as one thousand yards, then eight hundred yards and finally at five hundred yards.
At five hundred yards a soldier who can put five rounds through the bull and if each round makes a hole that invades one already made by the previous round then he is considered to be a marksman.

This is called group shooting and if the group is so tight that a shilling coin can cover the holes the soldier is indeed a good shot.
The next lot of instructions regarding shooting I found boring because I had learnt it all before on the farm.

But in the Army one does it the Army's way no matter what someone else has taught one
"Allow fi wind blawin' fi yer left" the Sergeant would bellow to the shooters. " 'En yis kin fi'gett wit onyin else hez telt ye!"

Then a moving target would be dragged across the range and we were told to lead the target before we squeezed the trigger.

The Armourer Sgt was there and he granted one's every whim. 'A little to the right o.k' and he would fit a tool and move the foresight just a wee bit then center pop it and with a grin said, " Noo try thaat'
I remember the lyric, 'With the tip of the foresight in line with the shoulders and in the centre of the U in the back sight, look at the target'
Also take a breath then squeeze the trigger and don't pull. And reload at the shoulder for rapid fire.

Then the Sgt on the range screamed at one bloke for shooting at fat low flying pigeons that were taking a short cut home across the range after a day feeding in the corn fields.
After a day on the range near Aldershot we were ready for bed.

We finally got into the swing of things and a few months later we had to supply a Honour Guard to King George the Sixth as he performed an opening ceremony of King George the Fifth's Memorial Chapel not far from Aldershot.
Cameras of the news media were everywhere and Pathe News had a ball.

Then we were transported to Palestine on the troop ship HMT Somersetshire.
I remember one bloke had to be physically prized from the arms of his true love, and had to dash to catch the gangway that began to move to be stowed so the ship could get under way.

He evaded the outstretched arms of one bloke who tried to stop him then he ran up the gangway as it was moving back to clear the ship and he leaped the yard gap at the top and grabbed onto the ships rails and he was helped over the rails by other men who were now grinning at the chap's good fortune in not falling into the drink.

One bloke missed the boat as it left the quayside but not to be outdone he bribed a bloke who just happened to be polishing the deck of his speed boat and it was not long before the two were chasing the now working up to speed His Majesty's Troopship Somersetshire.

Soon our lads were whooping and cheering at the rails as the little boat bounced up and down like a cork on the wake of our huge Troopship.
Someone let down a rope ladder as the little boat got alongside to cries of, "Aw jengs laddie! ded she no wan' ti pairt wi' ye!" from the motley lot gathered at the rail and the red faced embarrassed bloke was assisted over the rail and the little boat turned and headed back the way it had come.

The Military Band on the docks had played Auld Langs Syne and there were lots of handkerchiefs being waved and wrung out as tears fell.
The view of the waving people on the docks got smaller and smaller until all that could be seen of dear old Blighty was a purple smudge on the misty horizon.

Then when one gazed around at the horizon the penny sort of drops with a clang, because all one can see is water, and it seems to be continually heaving, and there is no land in sight so if this ship goes down which way do we swim to get home, and all of a sudden one feels that there is an awful lot of water out there and suddenly the boat that we were standing on didn't look quiet as big as it had done before we got on it.

We stopped at Gibraltar and some of the blokes got leave to go sight seeing among other things.
I seem to remember we were there about a week.

Some of the lads could be seen in the evenings cavorting on the quay-side with the young ladies of Giraltar.

Then we were at sea again and the Doctor's trade picked up a bit as some of the blokes who had been sight seeing in Gibraltar admitted they had done more than just look.

The Doc said, 'Didn't your Mother ever tell you, you can look but it's rude to point' Then with a grin said,
'But you ignored dear old Mum's advice and not only pointed but shoved, and you ended up with the clap, jolly good what!"

"Cooks to the galley!" Would be the cry from a voice down below and some of the old soldiers brightened up a bit.
Soon a bloke arrived with a ladle and began dishing out a rum ration to each man, it was then I took a swig and thought it had burnt a hole through the back of my neck.

A passing Matlo saw me in distress as I was coughing and grabbed what was left in my enamelled mug and swallowed it at one gulp and handing the mug back said cheerfully, " There's a knack to downing that stuff old mate, cheers!" and strode off without looking back.

I wondered how many others he had given that advice to when it was Grog issue time in the Navy?

We arrived in Haifa harbour and had to wait to dock.
A couple of Arabs sculled their little boats out to us and offered us oranges.
All of a sudden a crane that was unloading crates from our ship to a small barge let one of the crates drop and it split open scattering tins of bully beef onto the deck.

I thought at the time it was indeed fortunate that no one was standing there at the time.
Some of our lads decided to swap the little tins of bully for the Arabs oranges.

But the Arab insisted on having the bully before he would part with any oranges.
Our lads threw down the tins of bully until the little boat that was now over loaded with oranges and bully in small tins and it sank leaving the Arab babbling up to Heaven in Arabic as he began to swim for the dock side as his now overloaded wee boat disappeared.

Finally the Troopship docked and we trooped off down the gangway and onto the dock half expecting the orange Wallad (boy) waiting for us with some of his mates, but there were too many armed British Military Policemen present for someone to be so bold.

We got off the ship and got packed like sardines on to some hired motor busses that took us to Jenin.
camp that was huge and completely surrounded by barbed wire.

Our job in Palestine was to back up the British Palestine Police and also assist Glubb Pasha and the Trans Jordan Arab Legion when necessary.
We got used to marching in the hot sun, and being sniped at.

The only Arabs allowed inside the wire at Jenin were the Dhobi wallah and his offsiders who would wander round the camp selling locally made sweetmeats.
But if they lost their pass they could not get into the camp until they had been re-screened and issued new passes

One beautiful clear warm night there was a big moon and the N.A.F.F.I. Canteen was doing a roaring trade when suddenly a window facing the hills shattered, then another and another.
With glass flying everywhere a voice yelled, " Here we go again!"

Then we could hear the noise of shots coming from the hills not far away and the Canteen emptied like magic.
When the firing ceased and the lads went back to their tables they found all the bottles of beer they had just bought were now missing.
We took lots of walks from that Camp and into the hills but that will be in another story.

Then we were moved to a place called La Trune near Jerico , I always thought it should have been called La Trene, 'cos it was a right toilet of a place but I swam in the Dead Sea just so I could say I had done it.

A Jewish contractor to the Military had an open air cinema at La Trune.
The Queens Regiment and the Leicestershire Regiment were there when we arrived and got settled in.

One night when Shirley Temple was showing at the Cinema there was an almighty punch up between the three Regiments.

And the Hospital staff got suddenly jolted out of the doldrums.

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