大象传媒

On June 3rd 1943 my military career began at Prestatyn Holiday Camp in North Wales.

In the following six weeks we were introduced to the rudiments of army life. The weather was mostly warm and sunny, but on the odd occasions when it did rain, it was a torrential downpour and we were usually struggling up some distant hill clad in PT shorts, ammunition boots and the all enveloping oilskin gas capes. This elegant outfit made you quite wet inside from trapped perspiration and we would arrive back at camp like a pack of drowned rats. This exercise was known as a road walk but consisted of a ten mile hike, running and marching alternately.

The culmination of our basic training was the dreaded assault course. That's where I received my "baptism of fire". After negotiating all the usual hazards the course ended at the sand dunes. There we had to drop to the ground and fire ten rounds of live ammunition at a target which was on a raft in the sea.

We were doing the course in groups of six. Unfortunately the team before ours contained a not very bright lad who had difficulty in following instructions. He managed to be facing the wrong way and was firing back up the course. We suddenly realised that there were live bullets whistling past our ears. We were pleased when he had finished firing and somewhat relieved that none of us had been hit.

Next day was passing out parade and those of us who were joining the Royal Corps of Signals were sent off to Royal Signals Depot at Catterick Camp. Here we were all interviewed by a Captain who held the exalted title of "Trade Section Officer".

My own interview went as follows:- I marched in, saluted and stood smartly to attention. "Now then Laddie," said the TSO, "so you want to be a wireless operator?"

"No Sir," I replied. "Why not?" asked the officer, somewhat incredulously. "It would drive me quite potty sir, all those dots and dashes in my earholes. Sir, I couldn't stand it."

"If you don't want to be a wireless operator, what do you want to be?"

"Well sir," I replied. "With respect, if you look at my notes on your desk, you'll see that when I joined up I expressed a desire to become a dispatch rider."

"Good heavens man, you can't be one of those."

"Why not sir?"

"You're too intelligent. Your aptitude tests show you must go into a grade B trade and dispatch rider is only a grade D trade. Anyway the War Office are not training any DRs at the present time. I'll put you down as a keyboard operator, that's a little different." End of interview.

I was no longer a private. I was now a Signalman and later that day we were issued with Royal Signals cap badges. Also some trainee dispatch riders had been issued with goggles and crash hats. Ah well, c'est la guerre.

I discovered that keyboard operator was teleprinter operator or OKBL- operator keyboard and line. The line part referred to Morse Code, so I had to face the dreaded dots and dashes after all. We were to be trained in London. We arrived in Putney and were billeted in large empty houses. For the next five months we ate in the local Territorial drill hall and for five days a week we were back to school - Mayfield School for Girls. We were free in the evenings unless we were on guard duty or the Defence Platoon. This consisted of twenty men and an NCO. I never quite found out what we were supposed to do, but I think the general idea was that we were supposed to defend London in the event of an unexpected enemy attack.

Because we were not in barracks, there was no roll call at night and we could return to billets when we liked so long as we appeared for morning parade at 8.00 A.M. next day.

On Sundays there was a big church parade complete with a military band. After church we were free for the rest of the day. I used to catch the train to Windsor to visit my family. The last train back was just after nine, but I would always catch the earlier train so I could meet up with my mates in the Black and White milk bar in Putney High Street before returning to our billets.

One Sunday I was walking to Windsor Station when I ran into my old friend Jim who was in the Fleet Air Arm. He asked me to have a drink with him. At first I refused saying I had a train to catch. He had lots of news to tell me, having just returned from the USA and it might have been a long time before our paths crossed again. Eventually he persuaded me and we went into the Royal Oak. We had a couple of drinks and a chat, then we shook hands and I went off for the last train.

When I walked out of the station at Putney, I was amazed to see not the usual gloom of the London blackout but a red glow and some very bright lights down the road. As I approached I was confronted by a scene of utter devastation. Thirty minutes before, an enemy bomber had dropped a single bomb, presumably intended for Putney Bridge. The bridge was still there but the Black and White Milk Bar and the crowded dance hall above it were just a mass of smouldering debris. The lights illuminated the firemen and the rescue squad sifting through the ruins, but there was no hope of finding anyone alive. They never found out how many lives were lost. I lost many of my comrades and would certainly have been with them had it not been for the persuasive powers of my friend Jim. Wherever he may be today, I can only say, "A million thanks Jim. I owe my life to you."

As a postscript to the above story, having contacted the London Metropolitan Archives, I discovered that they have a book in their library entitled "The Blitz Then and Now" which refers to the bombing of the Black and White Milk Bar. It happened on 7th November 1943.

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