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This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Graham Lewis for Three Counties Action on behalf of Mr Edward L. Hancock and has been added to the site with his permission. Mr Hancock fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.

I left Trinity College, Carmarthen in 1942 and at 19 years of age secured a teaching post in Atherstone Junior School in Warwickshire, about 18 miles east of Birmingham. I received my call-up papers a fortnight after starting work, spent a few days at home and then headed for Chichester for seven weeks initial training. There I met up with my friends Ike Sugarman from Abercynon, and Rob Gair and John Smythyson from Pontypridd.

Our platoon sergeant was a tiny Welshman who singled me out to be Right Marker for the platoon — quite an honour. He followed this up by recommending me and my three friends for a three-month Selection Board for a commission at Dering Lines, Brecon.

This was a tough course, no mistake! My main memories of it were being on the parade ground at 6.30 am for half-an-hour’s PE before breakfast. No matter what the weather — and it was winter — the dress was white shirts and shorts, and white plimsolls. The exercises consisted mainly of throwing great tree trunks about the place. Other memories include a run and walk around Brecon every Saturday morning in full battle order — steel helmet, gas mask, rifle and back pack. Our platoon became so good at it that they had to send for an SAS sergeant to lead us.

An exercise I hated was going up and down a grassy slope with full kit and wearing our gas respirators! On one occasion we were stood in a line, a short distance between each man and each holding a hand grenade. Behind our backs was an officer manning a machine gun. Our instructions were to move forward to the base of the slope, jump into slit trenches and throw the grenade forward as far as possible. We were given the ‘off’ and warned to keep our distance from each other. No wonder! The idiot officer began firing live bullets in between us. Believe me, we got to our slit trenches without wasting any time. The next thing was to get rid of our grenades which were also live. I pulled the pin out of mine and threw it, but was horrified to see that the man next to me had pulled the pin but failed to throw his. Fortunately, a grenade does not explode until seven-seconds after you release the handle, and I was able to get it out of his hand and away before it went off.

I got my first promotion while at Dering Lines, becoming a Local Acting Unpaid Lance Corporal. The only duty to be performed was meeting new intakes of men at the railway station every fortnight and marching them to barracks.

A few of the more street-wise members of my platoon duped the newcomers into paying them two-shillings-and-sixpence for the privilege of being escorted to camp rather than having to find their own way there!

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