大象传媒

There are times when a strange quirk of circumstances can awaken ones memory. One of these occurred at the Village Church Hall during a 鈥淏ring and Buy鈥� sale, where I saw lying on one of the tables a portable typewriter. Having not using one for many years, like a bull at a gate I bought it. When I got the machine home it was found that the ribbon was completely worn out. Going to an office supplies shop, I discovered that ribbons for that particular model were no longer available and so another brand of ribbon had to be converted to fit. Now that the typewriter was working properly, I started to think about what it was going to be used for. Some years previously I had made up a photograph album of my years in uniform, so I decided to write the story of those years.
My tale begins in 1926, the year I was born. It was at the time of the great depression after the 1914-1918 War. We were a very poor family as our father was un-employed. He had served with The Leicestershire Regiment throughout that War, and when hostilities ceased he was retained in the Army of Occupation of Germany. Consequently when he was released there were no jobs left and there were thousands of un-employed. Mother became the bread winner being employed in the hosiery industry. She made sure that we were adequately fed although poorly dressed.
The family consisted of Dad (Joseph) who eventually found work at the local corporation baths as an attendant until his retirement. Mother (Florence May) who worked for most of her life as a mender in a hosiery factory. Eldest brother (Trevor Harry) started work in a grocery shop eventually becoming a Branch Manager. At the outbreak of the Second World War, he went into a electrical engineering factory that was producing engines for submarines. This was a reserved occupation until about 6 months before the end of the war, and he was called up for the Army. He served in the Signal Corps as a Cipher Specialist, being promoted to Warrant Officer and serving in India and Persia. The next brother (Walter John) worked on the railway for most of his life, and because he had very poor health did not have to join any of the armed forces. Our next brother (Herbert Lionel) I will talk about later in the story. Now came our only sister (Lilian May) who worked in a hosiery factory until she married a soldier (Wilfred Charles Amos White). I was next followed by the baby of the family (Maurice Brian). He began his working life on the Railway, having a two year break to do his National Service. Later he left the Railway to work as a warehouseman for a famous cotton company.
When the Second World War started in 1939, I was 13 years old and still at school, however the next year I started work. My father asked one of his ex-officers to employ me. No doubt Dad thought that he was doing the right thing for me, but nothing could be further from the truth. The factory was like Dante鈥檚 inferno, as it was a steel pressings place, that had all types of presses from small machine鈥檚 that chopped thousands of pieces every hour to huge 100 ton machine鈥檚 that produced one piece every 2 minutes. As there were at least 100 machines all working at the same time, the noise was horrendous. I quickly realised that this was not for me and I soon got fired.
Quickly I found a job in a shoe components factory, this was considerably quieter but was very boring repetitive work. To obtain relief from the boredom, I joined the Army Cadet Force, and in the process got my first khaki outfit, little realising that I was to wear khaki for 15 years. I was in the Army cadets for 3 years rising to the rank of Cadet Sergeant-Major. When a cadet became 17 years old he had to join the Home Guard, getting a change of uniform to that of a Private Soldier which was the bottom of the pile. Immediately I became 17 years and six months I volunteered for the Regular Army for a period of 7 years with the Colours and 5 years on the reserve.
After a few weeks wait and after a medical examination where I was pronounced A1, papers arrived for me telling me to report to Maryhill Barracks, Glasgow for my initial training. 3 days before I was due to go, a telegram arrived, telling me to report immediately to the Army Recruiting Office. There, they told me that I would not be going to Glasgow but to Holywood. The only Hollywood that I had heard of was in America. They soon disillusioned me when I was told that it was just outside Belfast in Northern Ireland.
On the 29th November 1943 I caught the train to travel to Stranraer in Scotland, changing trains at the great northern station at Crewe. When the train arrived at Stanraer Station, myself and several other new recruits were met by a man in khaki uniform, who got us into some semblance of order, then marched to a transit camp, where we were immediately given a cooked meal and were then shown to the Nissen Huts where we were to spend the night. In the hut were 30 beds, which were a curved piece of plywood six feet six inches long, and two feet six inches wide, supported on 3 crossed legged supports. On each bed there were 3 blankets, an empty palliase, and an empty bolster. The palliase and bolster should have been filled with straw to make a mattress and pillow. Because they were un-filled it meant that we were to have a very cold and uncomfortable night, especially as there was a terrible gale blowing. The next morning we were roused and told to go to the wash-house, needless to say there was no hot water. Afterwards we were taken to the dining room for breakfast, which turned out to be the most memorable of my life, and even now some 60 years later I can completely remember it. We stood in a long line that was slowly moving forward. When one reached the first server he placed a piece of bacon on my plate that was about 3 inches long, about 1鈥漺ide and about 1/16 inch thick. The next server was poised with a table spoon in one hand and a knife in the other. He dipped the spoon into a dish of baked beans, then with the back of the knife he scraped across the spoon knocking off most of the beans, what was left on the spoon he put on my plate (this turned out to be one mouthful). Going on to the next server, he put two very thick slices of bread and a tiny pat of butter alongside the bacon and beans, also a small portion of jam. That was the breakfast which as you can imagine consisted mainly of dry bread. As we left the dining room, we were given haversack rations for the day, which were two thick slices of bread with thinly sliced corned beef between.
Now came the most taxing time of the journey to Palace Barracks. The storm was still raging as we were marched down to the docks to board the ferry that was waiting for us, getting soaked through. Everyone tried to find shelter as the ship sailed up Loch Ryan towards the Irish Sea. As the ship left the shelter of the loch, the storm hit the ship and turned it about. The ships Captain took the ferry back to Stranraer, and announced over the speaker system the he would try again later in the day. But when he tried in the afternoon, the same thing occurred, so we went back into port. There we were off-loaded and taken back to that miserable transit camp. We were given a hot meal and went back to those horrible beds in those damp, freezing nissen huts. After breakfast the next morning, down to the dockside and on to the ferry where the Captain announced that as the storm had abated a little he would attempt to carry on with the journey. This time although it was still stormy, it managed to get out of the loch and on towards Larne, which took about 5 hours to reach instead of the normal 2 hours.
After docking at Larne Harbour, we disembarked and boarded a waiting train that was to take us though Belfast to a small station named 鈥淜innegar Halt鈥�. There was a wooden platform and no station buildings. A track led to the main Belfast to Holywood road. On the other side of the road was the main entrance into 鈥淧alace Barracks鈥�. And as we crossed over that road into the Barracks we were no longer civilians but a number. I was now 14441131 Private. Raymond. Derek. Swindell of the Leicestershire Regiment. The number was to identify me from all the millions of British men who had worn, or were wearing, or were to wear one of His Majesty鈥檚 uniforms.
The Barracks was the home of number 2 Young Soldiers Training Centre of the General Service Corps. (This title was shortly afterwards changed to number 28 Training Battalion of the General Service Corps). This was to be my home for the next 10 months. It was a permanent barracks having been built in the Victorian Era. There were 10 main barrack blocks, identical in detail, except that they had each a name that we were told were named after battle honours of the Royal Ulster Rifles. The buildings were built of red brick, consisting of a central entrance hall and stairs, with a room on either side on the ground and first floor. Each room could accommodate 30 men, with single beds plus a locker for your kit. There was a toilet room at the rear of the stairs, as well as a drying room which was essential in Northern Ireland which received more than its fair share of rain. The bed was a cast iron frame with crossed strips of metal to support the mattress, which consisted of 3 biscuits, each being 2 feet square and 3 inches thick. There were 4 blankets and a bolster pillow. (The army at that time did not provide sheets) I suppose that you could say that we were fairly comfortable.
Now began six months of intensive training, which was split into 2 parts. The first part was the Basic Training which lasted for 8 weeks and was where we learnt how to March and drill with the rifles we had been issued with. Also we had to learn how to look after ourselves and all our equipment. A fine crease in our clothing was expected and a bright shine on our boots and metalwork. After a lot of hard work a high standard was achieved. We did some basic field training, during which we always seemed to get wet through, as there was a stream alongside the main road in the camp, and the instructors took great delight in trying to get us to swing across at the widest point, it was very rare for anyone to reach the other side without falling in. The second part of the training was to be even tougher than the first, as it was more field training with an emphasis on covering the Assault Course. The first time we tried to complete the course, only one or two completed it, but after several attempts we were all going over with ever increasing dexterity.
Half way through the second part, I contracted a skin disease caused by perspiration and the blanco on our webbing. I was taken to the Queens College Hospital in Belfast, which had been turned into a military hospital. In the next bed to me there was a Royal Navy chap who lived in civilian accommodation. The lady and her daughter who he was billeted with came twice a week to bring him some goodies. On their first visit after I arrived, they looked at me quite often and asked the sailor if I was going to get any visitors. When he told them a little about me, they suggested to him that he should share what they had brought, with me. The next visiting day, she brought parcels for both of us, and continued to do so until the sailor was discharged from the hospital. I thought that when he had gone, the parcel for me would cease. Imagine my surprise when they came on the next visiting day with a parcel for me, this continued until I too was discharged. When I got back to the barracks I was determined to visit those kind people to thank them for their kindness to a complete stranger.
Whenever one wanted to go out of barracks, one had to report to the guardroom to be inspected by the police sergeant. The inspection was very thorough, as he took great delight in sending anyone back to his billet because something was not quite right. On the day I had chosen to make my visit, my room-mates helped me to get ready so that I could pass the inspection. Luckily for me they had made a good job because I passed with flying colours. They lived in the Strandtown district of Belfast, but I cannot now remember their name. On reaching their house, I was made very welcome, although they were just leaving to visit the ladies brother. They asked me to join them, so after walking to a house in another part of the city, the brother and his wife made us very welcome, and asked if we would all stay for tea. Considering that there was a war on, the meal was wonderful. There were at least ten different types of bread, fresh farmhouse butter, tinned salmon, fresh green salad, and tinned fruit. They told me that they were able to cross the border into Eire and shop to their hearts content. After doing justice to that spread, it was time to leave, but there was one last surprise for the sailor and myself. The brother presented us with a pure Irish linen handkerchief saying it was a memento of our visit to him. What kindness to perfect strangers, especially as I was not destined to meet them again.
While I was in hospital a party of wealthy Belfast Ladies came to distribute gifts to the troops. One of the ladies was Mrs Flynn, Mother of the actor Errol Flynn. They took a party of men in their hospital blue uniforms to the best cinema in Belfast to see the film 鈥淕entleman Jim鈥� starring Errol Flynn. We were given tea there and again gifts were given to us.
When it was time for me to be discharged from hospital, I was back-squadded, and had to do some of my training again and complete the full six months. This meant that I did 10 months in Ireland. All the time I was there I only remember going out of barracks for pleasure 3 times. On one of those outings I went with another fellow trainee into Belfast. For men in uniform the cost to travel on trams and buses was one penny, going as far as you wanted. We decided to visit a local beauty spot called Belle View. This was on the outskirts of the city, and there was a hill named Cave Hill from where it was possible to see Scotland on a clear day. We went to the top and after a good look round began to descend, on our way down I saw a party of Sailors coming up. I suddenly stopped and stared at one of the sailors and he was staring at me. We both realised at the same time, who we were. He was Richard Crampton who I had been at school with and hadn鈥檛 seen since those days. The sailors were not destined to reach the top of Cave Hill, as we decided to return to Belfast to celebrate our reunion. Finding a pub that was open we were soon reminiscing. They told me that they were on a Frigate doing Atlantic Ocean convoy escort duties, and had just brought in a convoy from America, but the next day were going to Liverpool to pick up an outward bound convoy. I have never seen Richard since that day and do not know if he survived the war.
Toward the end of the training there was a series of tests that would determine if we were fully trained soldiers. If anyone didn鈥檛 pass those tests they would be back-squadded and have to complete a further 8 weeks training. One of the tests was to run in full equipment for a mile in 9 minutes. On the day of the test I wasn鈥檛 feeling at all well but was determined to do my best. Starting out well, it wasn鈥檛 long before I was in trouble and just after the half way stage I collapsed. Two of my fellow trainees put their arms under mine and dragged me to within 100 yards of the finish, here they stood me on my feet and told me that I had 2 minutes to complete the course. I managed it and so I became a trained soldier, with thanks to my comrades. I now knew the true meaning of comradeship. After the passing out parade I learnt that I was being posted to the Royal Artillery Training Depot at Shoeburyness to become an anti-tank gunner.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.