大象传媒

To be trained at Browndown (Solent) on the mines course, you had to be an N.C.O. (it was for instructors), and for that purpose only, I had an honorary rank. The main object was detection, identification and disarming of mines and boobytraps. There was also some fine-tuning in the use of switches, fuses, and explosives.

Some of the more unusual titbits, were cutting down a tree with instantaneous fuse (primacord), cutting steel plate to shape with plastic explosive (e.g. to repair a hole in a ships side), and preforming metal using a bag of water, and of course, the explosive.

This was the most advanced unit in the country of its kind, and the instructors often join other people's raids, (for instance, Narvic and Dieppe), to pick up samples, to keep us up to date. After the completion of this training, we joined our unit at Kingsdown for the first time, and got to know the rest of the squad in the Heavy Support. A week later we were drafted.

Somewhere in transit, we had to change trains, and it so happened that we would be stuck in Paddington for at least a couple of hours. So I phoned Carrie (she was on the buses at Hammersmith), and she came to the railway station, and we met for a meal. So that we could have a little privacy, we went to a cafe just outside the concourse, and from there I saw her back to her bus.

When I got back to the platform, there was no-one there! I was alone, they had even loaded my luggage, and at that stage I didn't even know our destination, it was an official secret. I went up to the Stationmasters office, and they could only tell me that the train was going to Lemington Spa, so that is where I went, booking the cost against the service. Arriving there, a helpful porter said that transport had picked up all the Marines, (who were novelty in those parts), and he thought that they had gone to Stratford-on-Avon. So a bus took me to the end of my clues, where I went into the Police Station, asked for help, (aren't our policemen wonderful? or in this case policewomen!).

She started phoning around, as it appeared that it would take quite a while, they gave a bite to eat, a cuppa, and a cell of my own, (with an open door). Eventually, two officers, in a Jeep, (Lts. Bailey, and Shepherd) arrived to pick me up. They had, it seemed, been glad of the chance to get out to the nearest pub, and I made the perfect excuse, they even treated me to one on the way back. When we arrived at Compton Verney, my oppo's had already claimed a bed for me, stowed my gear, and had covered my absence, that's what Esprit de Corps is all about. The call from the police was the first indication they had that I was adrift, and I had been excused as being
misdirected on the baggage loading party. Once again I'd got away with it.

We were here to do six weeks with the Royal Engineers as sapper's, for further training, to learn their systems, and to pass on knowledge where possible. This training covered everything from pontoon bridging, to laying and recovering minefields.

As trained Royal Marines, in a basic army training environment, the experience was interesting; the army way of doing things was parallel but different.

Three R.M. units were going through the course at the same time, each with their own officer in charge (also learning). Luck of the draw, we got the short straw, sub-lieutenant Veich, (greenhorn, new from OTU).

The officers were housed in the mansion, the NCO's in the annex, (reached only by a bridge from the main house) and the rest of us in Nissan huts in the woods. The Verney's came over with William the Conqueror in 1066, and although the house isn't that old, it is certainly listed, and reputed to be haunted.

The story goes:- The butler had a festering passion for the daughter of the house, and one night as she returned from a late stroll down by the lakes before retiring, he waylaid her, in the patio behind the kitchen. She resisted, and ran screaming into the house, where he caught up with her, and having failed the rape, he strangled her. And they say, to this day, at the same phase of the moon, the third quarter, she appears in her nightdress, along the same last walk from lake to house, right through where our Nissan Huts were.

One night, Corporal Binns was alone in the quarters, working on his paperwork, and heard someone walk over the bridge from the house, which is, incidentally, totally enclosed by glass, and can only be entered by a small door in the gallery of the Great Hall. The footsteps stopped right outside his door, and he half turned in his chair, waiting for somebody to come in, and nothing. So he went to the door and opened it, the corridor was empty, and he could see the whole length of it. He was down with us, materialising in the hut so fast that he was like a ghost himself, he was certainly white enough.

All the lads immediately had the same reaction,

"Wow! if the 'Lady of the Lake' is about, we want to see!" They all rushed outside, but I guess we were in the wrong frame of mind to see anything, Shame!

Never mind, there should be ghosts, ghouls and spectres in plenty, if there is any credibility in the stories, for a little way beyond the lakes, is Edge Hill. The scene of one of the bloodiest battles in our history, and we were there during the hours of darkness. Not only there, but digging holes, for that is the site of our laying and recovering the mine fields. The tradition, if that is descriptive enough, is that a mine field is laid just after dusk, and retrieved just before dawn, when there is just enough light to find datum markers and to see the tapes. For training, we did it by moonlight, (a no-no), and did both around the witching hour, midnight. The technique is to put the mine down, mark round it, cut the turf, dig as deep as mine plus turf, plant the mine, replace turf, then sweep to remove traces. Possible disturbance of bones may have been praying on the mind of a certain young Scot, who shall be nameless, in his hurry to quit the scene, was seen jumping on an anti-tank mine, to bed it down, instead of digging deeper. The mines were real, just not armed, could have been a few new ghosts on that field!

The lake that was in the grounds, was in the form of a figure-of-eight, and the neck was spanned by an antique hump-backed bridge. The distance and time saved by using it was considerable, but because of its antiquity and history, its use was frowned upon. The banks on either side sloped very steeply down to the waters, and were ideal for use as classrooms, for while sitting quite comfortably on the grass, the instructor standing by the lakeshore was at eye-to-eye level. It was also a great place to have elevenses, another of the army's good ideas, and a van brought them down to us, an even better idea! It was during one of the classes, where they were showing us how to tie knots, (we were better at it than they), before taking to the water in collapsible boats, that we heard a jeep roaring up the track from the house behind us. He was obviously in trouble, doing little power slides from side to side, while fighting for control, and trying desperately to stay on the road. He made it over the bridge, but only just, and as he went crabwise with another slide, he clipped the side of the bridge. All the ornamental pillerettes in the center of the span went plop, plop, plop into the lake, as he roared away into the woods on the other side.

Marine Fred Burt, (the churchmason), said:

"That makes our three bob a day look silly, he's just done in thousands of pounds worth, and they can only stop 拢25 of his pay!" Like they say, don't sink a dingy, sink a battleship, it'll cost the same! We heard later that his throttle had stuck wide open, and wearing beetle-crushers as he must, there was no way to hook it back. When I asked him if it had been fixed, he said that was the easy bit, all he had to do, was swap it. The Jeep had been borrowed from the U.S.A. base, a few miles up the road, and usually when the fuel level was low they just changed it for one with a full tank. Apparently the Yanks used them like we would use pushbikes, the use we made of them was regarded as a goodwill gesture.

A few days later, we had to do a demonstration, for the benefit of all those who had never handled explosives. Between the hills was a clump of trees sitting in a hollow, and it was chosen as a good spot for a camoflete, the technique of taking out a crossroads, (for example). The hillside would make a safe grandstand, and having picked a viewpoint, we all went down to lay the charge. To the end of a scaffold pole we inserted an expendable warhead, this was slightly larger in diameter than the pole. A tubular hammer was slipped over the pole, and it was driven to the depth required, in this case, about 6ft. The pole was then withdrawn and a primer fitted with a detonator was lowered into the hole on the end of a length of instantaneous fuse, which is fired by a primer / detonator and safety fuse. The result is a chamber underground into which is poured ammertol, a granular explosive, with the intent to half fill the chamber, followed by primer/detonator, on the end of the primercord. Then the other half of the charge is poured in, the hole is then tamped down, and the operation rounded off with primer/detonator, plus about 25 seconds of safety fuse.

Under training, you never use more than 5lbs.total weight of explosive. The snag is, (there's always a snag), the tin of explosive holds 25lbs., and the one we had had already been part used. Now, if for instance, it had been used twice, then the remainder must be about 15lbs. On that premise, we poured the grains. The old army maxim, when in doubt double it, wouldn't do here, but we gave it a bit more anyway. At this stage, all that remained to be done, was light the fuse, so the rest of the squad were sent to the viewing position, leaving just Sub/Lt. Veitch and me. He had never been at this stage before, so I explained the technique. Cut the fuse at an angle, put the match head in the fuse, and strike the box on the match, make sure it's alight, then walk carefully to the fence, and once over, run!!! And when I looked round, he was running like a hare through the woods. So I struck the box, and walked all the way back to the group, taking my time. And as I sat down, I remarked that it's time. As I did so, it blew. Boy, Oh Boy!! There were trees and bushes flying through the air, and I was sure I saw a sheep or two.! A camoflete is always dramatic, and this one won votes all round. Time to move on to the next demo.

This time we would be using gun cotton, for me it was a first. I had seen it before and knew about it, but had been advised to avoid it if possible, because the results were uncertain. The biggest factor affecting its performance was humidity. Too dry and it could be set off with the lightest touch, too damp and it wouldn't go at all. The object of this was a pole charge, and its use. The charge was a wooden margarine box, filled with gun cotton, a primer and detonator with a bit of safety fuse. The pole was a broom handle, fastened to the box as a prop. The box held two layers of four slabs, and formed a shaped charge, this meant that the main force generated went to the most resistance, in this case it was a blockhouse on the top of a hill. The idea, was to sneak up, and prop the charge against the wall, and when discharged, it would blow a hole big enough to climb through, at the same time stunning the occupants. Because this was a strongpoint overlooking the main Coventry road, scouts were down there with red flags stopping all traffic, while our operation took place. At the spin of a coin, the other group had the first crack. And that was the right choice of word, for their primer went 'Crack', and the gun-cotton blew into thousands of little flakes, and came down like a snowstorm. It was now our turn, and once more I had the honour of lighting the fuse. This time there was no mistake, and with a thunderous roar, and a big cloud of dust, the blockhouse was totally demolished. We just couldn't believe our eyes, it was brick built, with a solid concrete top, and our expectations of a dozen bricks out was so far exceeded, that we just stood dumbstruck. Not so the standing traffic, they had a show that was so unexpected that they raised a cheer that even we could hear. Having had a highly successful day we weren't surprised to be called to the Adjutant General's office, after cleaning up. What we didn't expect was a bollocking.

"What on earth did you use for that camoflete, no more than 5lbs.? Be buggered for a story, there's been complaints flooding in all day, not only from this district, but other counties too".
"You are perhaps ignorant of the fact that this whole area covers an underground arsenal, and you were very close to blowing up the middle of England! Congratulations, and I sincerely hope you can avoid blowing up Birmingham tomorrow, for that's where you are going, Dismiss".

And so it was, in an area that had suffered severe bombing, we, the two teams, were each allocated a house, the ploy was that each would booby trap the house, and then swap, and debug each others work. We were given the whole range of switches, and a handful of caps, and free use of our imaginations. The lavatory was a red hot favourite, a pull switch operating by the chain, inside the cistern of course, just made to carry any explosive that happens to be handy. You can always slip a book switch under the lid of the pan, habits of a lifetime could be the death of you when you are taken short. Door latches, window sashes, welcome mats, loose floor boards, light fittings, radios, kitchen drawers, cupboards, even the odd book, can all be traps for the unwary. A simple trip wire in an unusual situation, like neck high in a closet, can catch out the nosey ones. Setting up was fun, and didn't take the two and a half hours allowed, but debugging was a different kettle of fish. If there had been more than a cap connected, half of us would have died in the first hour, but we did learn. At the end of the day, I think the teams broke about even. And that was all we saw of Birmingham.

The following day was the end of the course, and as is usual, there was a test to be done. This was a forced march, covering about 25 miles which included pontoon bridging over the lake, kapoc bridging over a bog, and carrying collapsible boats to the river, and paddling three miles upstream to a rendezvous, from which there was a timed force march back to base.

The highlight of the event was crossing the bog, it was twilight, and the kapoc pallets were laid in quick succession out into the bog, the last man on picking up the first laid, and passing it forward to be laid again. Somewhere about the middle, where the mud oozed most, the pallet skidded away from underfoot, and Sub/Lt. Veich, went full length in its place. Such was the rhythm of the group, that three of them walked over him before the next pallet was in place, they all claimed that the light had deceived them, ahem ! pardon me !!! At the rendezvous, having successfully reloaded the boats on the trucks, we were now marshalled for the timed section, and Jock Sullivan remarked that if we broke the standing time, we would be back before the canteen closed. Now that's an incentive. We made it. Not only made it, but broke the record by quite a margin, and as it happened, broke the record for every section on the course. Not really something to shout about, after all we were trained troops, and their records were set by rookies. Our officer was really chuffed, and with little persuasion bought everyone a beer. He then he made a speech saying how pleased and proud he was of us all, and ended by saying,

"And seeing that you were late on parade this morning, you will fall in half-an-hour earlier in the morning".

Talk about lack of experience!!

On the following Monday we were in Barrow-in-Furness.

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