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This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Roger Marsh of the 鈥楢ction Desk 鈥� Sheffield鈥� Team on behalf of Reg Reid and has been added to the site with the author鈥檚 permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

The Lighter Side of War

By
Don Alexander

CHAPTER 10b: Butch goes on `chicken detail' for Lieutenant Errington

Butch had got another pistol - again arguing that it would be of more use than a 303 rifle when working under a lorry in Europe or North Africa or wherever they were sent against the enemy.

He argued this with himself of course - possession of a pistol was illegal. He had two in fact and posted one to `Girly' Ruth asking her to put it in the `bottom drawer'. Ruth thought this meant something to save for their marriage and wasn't pleased to open the parcel and find a pistol to hide for him. This was another mark against Butch who was now, as he suspected, playing second fiddle to the RAF lad.

Lieutenant Errington was a bit of a lad and, though married with wife and young family in London he had a girlfriend in Bonnybridge. They made a foursome with Lt. Baker, of `B' platoon, and his wife, and Errington offered to cook them a meal at his girlfriend's house. The Scots sergeant cook and his wife from nearby Larbert were also invited, Errington claiming it was democratic to invite the NCO, though it was also to help him in the preparation of the meal.

He told driver Billy Grills, the Devonian, to take Fitter Reid out in the country to get two chickens for the meal: "It will take Reid's mind off the motorbike he left behind".

Billy caught up with Butch within the grounds of Dunipace House, showing off his shooting skills with empty tin cans, to the admiration, he thought, of Brotherstone, Powell and Wheeler.

He stopped shooting as Billy explained they were detailed to get two chickens for Errington's party. At that moment, as if on cue, two hens belonging to the House gardener clucked into view among some trees.

"Watch this," said Butch, and fired the pistol, shooting the head off one of the birds.

"Christ, I didn't mean to do that. What shall I do?"

Anyone who knows Reg Reid today, as he buys bread and sultanas for the pigeons, blackbirds and sparrows around Ecclesall Road, Sheffield, can vouch for his respect for our feathered friends. In mid-1942, even allowing for the hard heartedness of male youth he was rather shocked at what he had just done. Brotherstone made the suggestion, "Take it to Primmy's cafe and ask if they'll do us chicken and chips". Primmy's bread shop cafe was a haunt of theirs in Bonnybridge.

Wheeler, ever practical, picked up the dead bird. "I'll take it to the cook - that's one you've got for Errington! I'll gan oot wi' yer an' Billy for the other."

So it was that, half an hour later, Lieutenant Errington, looking down from the second floor window of Dunipace House, was surprised to see a familiar motorbike, the Excelsior Manxman, with Fitter Reid driving it and Driver Wheeler clinging on behind, roaring out of Dunipace House, followed by driver Billy Grills in his 3 ton Bedford.

It was easier for a young fit Butch Reid to climb over the wire fencing into the hen coop of a nearby farm, than to actually catch one of the clucking, panicking birds. He did catch one by the neck just as the farmer, alerted by the commotion, emerged from a shed about a hundred yards away. Butch passed the chicken to Wheeler, made an attempt to twist its neck and put it in Billy Grills' cab, then he and Butch shot away on the Manxman. The farmer had gone to get his shotgun and Billy, who was slower to move away in the lorry, got the full force of his wrath in the shape of two bullets, one of which smashed a wing mirror.

Errington was waiting for them in front of the House and was immediately confronted by an aggrieved Billy Grills.

"Sir, I've been shot at and shat upon - this hen came alive, fluttered around and has crapped all over my cab.鈥�

"Never mind that, Grills, you've let the bloody thing escape. That's my second chicken gone west. I call that dereliction of duty!"

The hen had indeed taken the chance to flutter out at speed, squawking into some undergrowth, as Billy had opened his cab door.

The success or otherwise of Errington's dinner party is not on record, but he didn't bring up the matter of Butch's Excelsior bike.

It had played its part in the chicken detail.

Vignettes of everyday life at Dunipace

Dunipace House holds memories of happy, carefree days punctuated by days of hard graft: convoys aiding the Scots regiments on manoeuvres, with Butch as `tail end Johnny' repairing broken down vehicles, on the road or back at the House.

There were parades of course - the Army wouldn't be the Army without parades and a degree of bull - officers and NCOs getting a grip on the men to keep them on their toes. No-one knew when the massive forces building up throughout Great Britain, the British Empire, the Commonwealth and America would be unleashed on the enemy.

One day when `B' and `C' platoons were brought up from their camp at Bonnybridge and were lined up along with our heroes of `A' platoon on a tarmacked area of Dunipace House, Sergeant Allen (from Oughtibridge, Sheffield), who was taking the parade along with Sergeant Smith and lieutenants Errington and Baker, was astounded to see Driver Powell saunter across the front of the parade and head towards the gateway.

(It was Driver Powell of Southampton, not driver-mech Jack Powell of the Rhondda, who would, of course, have had more sense).

Driver Powell of Southampton sauntered by in best dress blues and glengarry hat. He had a date with a girl in Dunipace and wanted to impress. Sergeant Allen grew beetroot red in the face before exploding.

"POWELL - ON PARADE".

Powell continued his saunter, glancing back, idly tossing these words back to the sergeant:
"Day orf mate. Day orf".

He had been on fatigues and had been granted time off.

"DAY OFF BE F. GET FELL IN! ON PARADE! - AT THE DOUBLE!"

...Powell looked very smart in his best blues and glengarry hat lined up with `A' platoon. Whether his Dunipace date was impressed or not by him not turning up is another matter.
The needs of the military had to come first - there was a war on.

It had been noticed that `A' platoon under Lt. Errington was taking life less seriously than `B' or `C' platoons - certainly as far as military discipline was concerned. Errington's view was that his lads did their jobs well, he had their respect, and why make things harder for everyone, including himself?

This view was exemplified by the Bonnybridge - Larbert - Dunipace - Bonnybridge route march. It was planned in a big figure of eight around two groups of hills along tracks, paths, minor and major roads - all three platoons `A', `B' and `C' being involved. `C' led the way, followed by `B' under Lt. Baker and `A' under Lt. Errington. It was a fine late summer's day, 1942. There is something reassuring, almost inspiring in a platoon marching together, sound of boots crunching on road or gravel surface in unison, but right at the mid point in the figure of eight, by a gate with a path leading up a hill, Errington called a halt. His batman who was driving the Austin pick-up slowly behind the platoon, also stopped and produced half a dozen wicker baskets.

A Cockney voice belonging to driver Manny Smith, a stallholder/wholesaler at Billingsgate Market in Civvy Street, was heard to say "F*** me, we're having a picnic!"
The crunch of `B' and `C' platoon's boots faded into silence as they disappeared into the distance and round a bend.

"You're ri-ri-ri-right Smith, we'll have a picnic at the top of th-th-the hill, wait till we see `B' and `C' coming back, then come down and follow them back to Bonnybridge.鈥�
Some wag with a Sheffield accent asked him if he was the Grand Old Duke of York!鈥�

Sergeant Allen could be quite unconventional like Lt. Errington. The whole offbeat attitude seemed to run right through `A' platoon.

There was a mound at Dunipace which was rumoured to be of Roman origin, and a Jewish lad in HQ Platoon claimed that when on guard duty at night, he'd seen ghostly Roman Legions march by. Major Dodds let Sergeant Allen of `A' platoon deal with the lad, possibly thinking that the loud mouthed sergeant would get it out of him if he was trying to work his ticket. But Sergeant Allen's approach was unconventional.

"You're an intelligent sort of a chappie. Do you think you could run this platoon for a day?"

"Yes Sergeant".

The lad was given three stripes and a list of the day's duties.

As he walked past the lorry compound he saw Wheeler lounging against his cab chatting with fellow Geordie driver Cassidy (not of `Butch' fame). The new sergeant veered towards Wheeler in authoritative fashion. "Driver Wheeler I'm detailing you to take provisions down to the camp at Bonnybridge. Look lively."

"Bollocks," said Driver Wheeler and continued chatting.

Major Dodds put a ten o'clock curfew - or should we say twenty-two hundred hours curfew on Dunipace House during the week. This meant in effect that the lads couldn't get to dens of iniquity - pubs and ice rinks and suchlike in Falkirk during the week after finishing work at eighteen thirty hours. Major Dodds knew they'd got movement orders and wanted to get a grip. Errington and the lads didn't know yet.

It was early September 1942 and Errington, with his theatrical bent, was inspired to write a pantomime for the lads to put on at Christmas and the New Year 1943, in the officers' mess with its stage. Since they couldn't get out in the evenings, they would make their own entertainment. Good for morale, what?

They started rehearsals in the evenings and it was hilarious. Unfortunately Reg - sorry, Butch - can't remember what it was called, but he was a policeman - talk about poacher turned gamekeeper! And Brotherstone and Powell were the main actors.

One evening Butch dodged rehearsals and went to Falkirk with Wheeler on the Manxman to meet up with Johnny O'Toole, the `C' platoon fitter, a Liverpudlian. (`B' and `C' platoons in their tents at Bonnybridge weren't under the 22:OOh. curfew).

Butch from this distance in time cannot remember why they went to Falkirk on that particular evening. I should have thought it would be to meet, or to try to meet, young women but Johnny O'Toole was that extreme rarity amongst Scousers - a shy young man. In fact Butch had helped him get to know the gardener's daughter back at Broxmore House, and they had pledged themselves to each other. She eventually had his baby when 133 reached France in 1944. After the war Johnny set up a market garden business with his wife's father.... But we leap madly ahead - let's get back to Falkirk, September 1942. - We'll assume the Sheffielder, the Scouser and the Geordie had an amusing evening out because they didn't get back till midnight. Johnny O'Toole back to his camp, Wheeler and Butch back to Dunipace House, which was bolted, shuttered and guarded.

Butch said, "Follow me," but Wheeler went to a guard, tried to bribe him with a bottle of beer - and was arrested.

Lieutenant Errington had noticed Wheeler and Reid were missing from the roll call at the curfew hour and learned of Wheeler's arrest at midnight.

He went to bed assuming that Reid would appear when they unlocked the doors and shutters, in crumpled civvy suit, and looking washed out after a night on the tiles.

At morning parade he was astounded to see Reid all bulled up and as bright as a button. After the parade he collared him:

"Where w-were y -you last night, Reid?" "In the billet, sir. Asleep, sir."

"I've a mind to dock a sum off your p -pay anyway Reid - then at least the Army will recover some of its petrol money!"

"I'm selling the bike, sir. To a civvy in Falkirk, sir. I can't take it overseas when we go anyway sir. I promise I'll never misuse Army petrol again, sir".

"You're a rogue, Reid.鈥�

"Thank you, sir."

"I won't charge you or Wheeler provided y -you tell me h-how y-you got in the House last night. The truth - no bull".

"If you'll follow me, sir!"

Errington thought this is ludicrous - an officer being led by a rogue of a private, but followed him through the back door to a pile of coal up against a wall. A gaggle of curious `A' platoon wallahs followed. Butch pointed to the coal, which was not flush against the wall - the pile peaked a foot or so away from the wall and there was a narrow gap allowing a narrow private to wriggle into the cellar.

"I squeezed through there, sir, then up the cellar steps into the house. Fortunately Warhurst and Petty had been on jankers, sir, and had washed the coal".

"It's a g-good job they didn't pp-paint it white. Reid - you are a rogue of the first order".

"Thank you sir".

It was now mid September 1942 and preparations for Errington's pantomime on the stage of the officers' Mess Hall were brought to an abrupt halt.

They were on the move again. Churchill had discussions with the American Government, British Generals had discussions with American Generals. Big movements were afoot. Big decisions were about to be made - and 133 Coy were on the move - to Attleborough in Norfolk, about 15 miles south of Norwich!

They felt they were being somewhat buggered about. An Infantry marching chant came to mind:

"We won't, we won't,
We won't be buggered about,
We absolutely bloody refuse
To be buggered about unless we choose
We won't, we won't,
We won't be buggered about"

It was no use questioning the Army of course, it was always right - even when it seemed like organised chaos. Attleborough must have had a purpose in the great scheme of things鈥�

Errington had had a few prototype pantomime posters printed. On the morning they were gearing up to move, he noticed someone had wiped their bum on a poster and had discarded it near the House. Wheeler was nearby with an innocent look on his face...

"Wheeler, d-did you d-do that?"

"No, sir, I only use part one orders!... "

Wheeler, out of respect for Errington though, voluntarily and gingerly picked the offending poster up and put it in a bin.

Did Attleborough know what they were letting themselves in for?

Pr-BR

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