大象传媒

ARMY SERVICE

PART 1 (OF 4)

My father William Henry Adams served for just over a year as a volunteer in the Royal Warwicks, during the war in South Africa 1900-1901. His name is inscribed on the brass plaque in the entrance lobby to St Mary鈥檚 Hall, with all those who served. He told me very little about his experiences in South Africa, despite my questioning, apart from the fact that it was extremely hot, and that they were frequently short of rations. On one occasion they were reduced to scraping the hides of long-dead cows, to obtain fat. My own later reading of war explains that the British forces were forever chasing the elusive Boers, and during the forced marches trying to bring the enemy to battle they often outstripped their own supply columns. It must have been frustrating and often boring. W.H. Adams was thirty-eight years old when the First World War broke out in 1914 and thus too old to serve again in the Forces. He spent the war in a small factory in central Coventry making magnetos for engines 鈥� he was of course a watchmaker by trade. Nevertheless, two of his brothers Arthur and Fred were both killed in France, and this must have been a terrible blow for the family. When I was born, five years after the war in 1923, I was christened Arthur Frederick to commemorate them.

I can now imagine with what horror they must have greeted the news when war broke out again so soon, on 3rd September 1939. I was still a boy at school, not quite sixteen, but they must have realised that if the war lasted as long as World War 1, I would be called up. As expected, I was conscripted into the Forces and my Army career began on the third anniversary of the beginning of the war, 3rd September 1942. I was luckier than my father, having various adventures (without coming into any particular danger, I must say) and so I am now writing a detailed account, in case the reader should be wishing that he/she had asked me more questions when I was available!

On 3rd September 1942, I was to report to a Primary Training Centre at Sutton Veney, near Warminster, Wiltshire. My father took me from Coventry to Birmingham to see me on to the correct train for Warminster. It was one of the few occasions that we were together but there did not seem much to say. For me, it was like stepping off a cliff into the unknown, and he would obviously not have wanted to upset me by trying to warn me of probable hardships ahead. I met a young man on the Warminster train who was on his way to the same camp. He did nothing for my morale, being a rather rough character with a sinister drooping eyelid! We parted company at Warminster and I did not see him again.

At Sutton Veney I was introduced to Army life and discipline. I remember that reveille was at 5.30 a.m. and apart from the issue of our kit (including two pairs of enormous Army boots), medical inspections, dental treatment (a really horrible experience) vaccinations, inoculations (which made some chaps ill, but not me), we were marched up and down interminably, being taught drill, saluting, wheeling and turning, shouldering arms, presenting arms, etc. etc.

We were homesick 鈥� this was, after all, the first time I had ever been away from home apart from holidays; but there was hardly any time to think about it. We were not allowed home for six weeks. During that time we were given one significant test. We were asked to dismantle a cycle pump and re-assemble it; then we were given a list of items and told to rewrite them in alphabetical order. From these elementary tests the decision was taken as to whether you were any good mechanically or clerically! With my one year鈥檚 experience in the Civil Service behind me, of course I completed the second task perfectly, as a result of which I was told to report to Aldershot for a course as a clerk in the RASC (Royal Army Service Corps). This lasted a further eight weeks. The 鈥榮pit and polish鈥� was even worse in Aldershot (a well known Army Headquarters). NCOs would stand at the door of the dining hall turning away anyone whose hair they considered too long. But life was not all misery. The corporal in charge of our barrack was a Welsh lad keen on Rugby football. One afternoon he sought me out and offered me a game 鈥� not for the 鈥榟ome team鈥� but for the visitors 鈥� Old Alleynian (old boys of Dulwich College). I had a wonderful afternoon and we won 14 points to three. I was invited to the tea afterwards and the Old Boys insisted that I sat with them!

One day we were told that the Commanding Office would interview anyone keen to secure a commission (officer status). I went along, full of big ideas, but soon found that the positions on offer were in Infantry Regiments, and I knew from gossip that this would involve going on 鈥楢ssault Courses鈥� and doing all sorts of physical things that I also knew would be beyond my capabilities. I asked about an RASC commission but he said that I had not sufficient experience yet, but that he would send me to a depot for further work. This was a big mistake 鈥� not because I could not do it, but because I was posted to this unit as potential officer material and the NCOs from the Sergeant Major downwards were made aware of this and resented it. I had another rough ride for six long months. The unit itself was interesting. We were stationed on the racecourse at Ascot. Our 鈥榖edrooms鈥� were in the grandstand and our 鈥榙ining hall鈥� was the Totalisator building. While I was there two wartime race meetings were held, and we had the privilege of watching the proceedings from the most expensive viewpoint for nothing!

The work at Ascot consisted entirely of unloading railway truckloads of food in the railway sidings and storing it in the racecourse buildings. It was thus that I saw for the first time a whole cheese 鈥� the size of a football. Not one, but a whole truck full. Imagine the smell! Our especial delight was the sight of cartons of tinned evaporated milk. Sooner or later a carton would be 鈥榓ccidentally鈥� dropped and any damaged tins quickly (and only half legitimately) consumed!

Relief came at last in June or July 1943 when the inscrutable authorities sent a posting for me, by name, which was unusual, as most orders for transfer of personnel were impersonal. I was to proceed on embarkation leave and report to Inter Service Signal Unit No. 6 at a house in Camberley on such and such a date. More trauma for my poor parents! As for me, I was so glad to get away from Ascot that I was still ready for anything. And I.S.S.U. No. 6 meant nothing to anyone!

In due course I was transported to the grounds of a large house in Camberley with tents in rows on the lawn. I was first there but was soon joined by a collection of other RASC men, all tradesmen of some kind, butchers, cooks, drivers, carpenters & so on. As we waited a large contingent of about 150 men marched in, all wearing the black berets of the Tank Corps. Various pessimists predicted that we were forming an armoured regiment; but when the new arrivals 鈥榝ell out鈥� and came over to us we discovered that they were all medically downgraded and the theorists altered their prediction to, perhaps, a prisoner of war camp at which the Tank Corps men were to be the guards and we would be the admin staff. I think we were there two weeks or more. Tropical kit was issued and then withdrawn. Still in ignorance, we entrained one evening and travelled in the darkness across England to Liverpool. The blackout was in force literally and mentally! We slept uneasily as the carriages, with their dim blue lights and black painted windows (not that there was anything to see outside in the totally blacked out land), rolled northwards. Eventually we staggered up the gangway with our kitbags, large backpacks and rifles, on to the deck of the 20,000 ton liner 鈥淥rontes鈥� to begin our voyage 鈥� to where we had no idea. We were assigned to 鈥楬鈥� Deck for eating and sleeping purposes. When I explain that the top deck was 鈥楢鈥� you can work out how far into the bowels of the ship we were and what chance we might have had of survival if a torpedo hit us in the night!

However, it was August and the weather in the North West was perfect. We became aware that we were heading north; I have never seen such wonderful scenery as I did that day, watching the mountains of the Lake District a few miles away, it seemed, across the sparkling sea. Then later, even more grandeur as we made our way into the Firth of Clyde to Gourrock, where we were to join a convoy.

The convoy consisting of several merchant ships, at least one other liner besides us carrying troops, two ships converted into 鈥榓ircraft carriers鈥� and about four destroyers set sail on 15th August. As soon as we got to the open sea, sickness overtook dozens of men. The toilets were soon awash with an unspeakable mess swashing about as the ship rolled.

The tables on 鈥楬鈥� deck were set for twelve men. After the first meal we were down to nine; after a day there were only five of us capable of eating, but the Army cooks, in true mindless Army style, were still producing food for twelve! Needless to say, we ate and ate and ate! I had my first and only experience of naval hammocks. Some who thought they could not manage a hammock slept on the tables. The bottoms of the hammocks slung above were only an inch or tow from their noses. I found that if you contrived to get your feet into the centre of the hammock first and then hold on to pipes etc. in the ceiling and swing your bottom in, so long as you were lowered into dead centre, you would not roll out on to the bodies below. If this happened we all learned a few new swear words.

After a day or two all land disappeared and the knowledgeable amongst us were using their watches and the sun in an attempt to find out our course. I am sorry but over the years I have forgotten precisely how they were doing it. Anyway, the general opinion was that we were still heading west towards America. This was probably true with hindsight; it was customary for shipping to go well out into the Atlantic to avoid air attacks from German occupied France and of course the dreaded U-Boats. We were never aware of imminent danger, but several times the destroyers steamed away over the horizon. We had lifeboat drill every day but it soon became routine. Eventually a huge rock loomed into view 鈥� Gibraltar!! We carried on and after another half day or so we awoke the next morning to find ourselves at anchor outside an unknown African port. Over the water came a strange mixture of smells that I can still remember. A hot dryness, mingled with sewage and spices. This was Algiers.

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