大象传媒

Copy - 鈥淢y War鈥� from James W. Murray,
81 Burnfoot Road,
Hawick,
TD9 8EJ

Telephone 01450 379674
e-mail jim@murray2004.fslife.co.uk

Date 20th August 2005

To:- Lindsay McDowall, 大象传媒 Information
www.bbc.co.uk/dna/ww2/

A UNIFORM THAT DIDN'T QUITE FIT

I chose the title for this chapter deliberately. I didn't relish the prospect of
Army service at all; I will be quite honest about that for the simple reason that I did not consider myself to be an Army type. By that I do not mean that I wanted to say 'no' to the whole business. I felt that I was bound to accept my call-up as inevitable but I did not see Army service as an opportunity to prove my particular brand of heroism (of which I had none anyway), or express an eagerness to meet the 'enemy' which seems to be the general tone of so many of the War stories which emerged in the late forties and early fifties. I put my own contribution much further down the scale. I was a fairly immature young man caught up in a series of events that I could not hope to fully understand, and drawn from a background of a small country town. How could I be a hero?
However, the fact remained that Army service was about to swallow me up, even if the uniform didn't quite fit. I had to make the most of my new world.
It proved quite a break for me to be sent to the 38th Signal Training Regiment R. A. at Redford Barracks, Edinburgh. This meant that I could learn a new occupation in signalling and communications, which was not without its appeal. I also learned to drive vehicles and motorcycles. The course covered six months.
The first month was 'square bashing'. The second was a five-week M. T. course on the various vehicles. After that we started to learn our new trade as signallers. By the end of the six months we were reasonably proficient.
As far as learning to be a soldier was concerned, I found this to be only tolerably interesting, but I shall never forgive the British Army for insulting whatever degree of intelligence we may have possessed as individuals.
At this stage of the War, the entire 'management', Officers and NCOs alike, seemed to be working on the old peace time theory that any Army recruit was there because he had no ability whatsoever to think for himself and was no use
for anything, anyway. This might have been true up to a point of the volunteer (it seemed to suit the Army's policy to think so), but it was a diabolical misconception when applied to the many conscripts in the early days of the War. In 23 Squad, 38th Signals we had several University graduates, bank clerks, surveyors and a cross section of trade's people who were obviously successful in their civilian occupations. When the time came to move on from Redford, this cross-section of civilian experiences had a curious and long lasting effect on our postings, but that comes later in the story. There is, of course, an Army expression that covers this, namely 'bull.' In almost six years we never completely got rid of this disease, which I always considered to be something of a personal affront and an insult to even the mildest intelligence. If the Army had spent as much time teaching us our new job as it did practising 'bull', we would have been much better soldiers and life in the services would have been more tolerable.
By an ironic coincidence we only shook off this drawback when we reached active service in North Africa in 1942. By then we were a fighting machine, each man trained and with a job to do. No time for 'bull.'
In late September 1940 we were posted south. Several squads from the 38th Signal Training Regiment R.A. went out together and we found ourselves posted to 60th Battery, 23rd Field Regiment R. A. recently returned from Dunkirk and sadly depleted in strength. Several members of our training squad also went to the 89th and 90th Batteries that made up the 23rd. Field. Our billet was under canvas at Ewshott, Hants in September / October and right in the path of the German bombers who were stepping up their blitz on London. As I lay on the ground at night trying to sleep and slowly getting colder and colder, I wished that I could be back in the almost hotel-like comfort of Redford Barracks, Edinburgh.
This, of course, was 'invasion country' Scares were frequent and 'stand-to' and guard duties formed the main part of our routine. We still did some training, but there was an air of uncertainty about the whole business. We were waiting to see if the wolf would strike. If he had done so, our chances of survival were slim indeed. We were digging up ammunition which had been stored
underground from World War 1. Our small arms consisted of pikestaves. When some of that ammunition was fired later in practice shoots at Okehampton it didn't go off in the usual way, it simply blew up the gun. Fortunately, the chaps had been warned.
I mentioned earlier that our cross sections of civilian occupations had a marked effect on our Army future and postings. Having come to grips with our new occupation as soldiers, we were able, fairly quickly, to sort out the chalk from the cheese. Regular serving Officers and in particular, regular serving NCO.s of the old peace time Army were soon to realise that we had sufficient intelligence to think for ourselves and that we could, without undue difficulty, take over some of their jobs.
As far as the 23rd Field was concerned this had a happy result. When we reached them on posting from Redford they were licking their wounds from Dunkirk and their numbers were sadly depleted. They could have been little more than a name in Army records. Our posting was amongst the first to reach them, the first injection of new recruits they had had. We were to be with the 23rd. Field for the entire War and the batch of new soldiers from Edinburgh found themselves spread over the three Battery's of the Regiment, and quickly found themselves assuming places of responsibility in Command Posts and signal teams. This all helped to make our War more tolerable.
We were at Ewshott, Hants, in the early days of the blitz. We had several very narrow escapes, especially when Jerry bombed the searchlights, which abounded over the area. Towards the end of the year we were moved down to Gloucestershire. My own unit went to Wootten-under-Edge and we were there when Bristol received its fire blitz.
From there and following a brief New Year leave, we moved back to Croydon and this was a grim period for the blitz was stepping up and our billet had 200 rounds of 25 pounder ammunition stored in the cellars. Not very good for the peace of mind.
At this stage, however, the powers that be must have decided that we needed some real training and that this was better done in the quiet of the West country then under the umbrella of the London blitz. We moved south to
Devon and the Regiment was spread over billets in the villages of Bovey Tracey, Chudleigh and others in the area. This move was historic for South Devon was to become a real wartime home to us. It was beautiful country (if only we had had better facilities to enjoy it) and I, for one, formed as great attachment for the people of those charming Devonshire villages and the surrounding countryside.
Of course, the Army had a subtle motive in sending us to this quiet backwater. We were to complete our training under battle conditions on Dartmoor and the Artillery ranges based at Oakhampton. We did all that and more in a very big way. I spent more uncomfortable nights on Dartmoor than I ever did in action in North Africa and Italy.
Much happened during our fourteen months at Bovey Tracey. The Army could not forget its insatiable appetite for 'bull' but at least we did some real training. For me, this consisted of a change from signalling to Command Post work. It was heavy going mentally but it improved my status for this was real ballistics and gunnery similar to the training of an Artillery officer, except that we were NCOs and not commissioned ranks. It developed into a personal battle between 'bull' and having enough time and energy to assimilate all the details involved. Somehow it worked out. Eventually I abandoned signalling and was given the job of CPO Ack (Command Post Officers Assistant). I went abroad as No.1 of that team for 60th. Field Battery RA.
On the social side I was able to do a bit in the dance band and my other 'chore' was Sunday morning Church parade on the harmonium.
Our billet was an old Nunnery with chapel attached and a bomb had fallen behind the building before we arrived bringing down most of the plaster in what had been the old Chapel. This Chapel contained an old fashioned pipe organ complete with hand bellows. It played after a fashion. The only difficulty was that it played anyway, every pipe at once when the bellows were pumped, due no doubt to the amount of plaster in the pipes. The only way to overcome this was to arrange for the chap on the bellows to start as near as possible to when a tune had to be struck up. By doing this it was just possible that the tune
might emerge amidst all the other noises. One of our Officers was a very good Organist and he played occasionally. On one sad occasion we had a funeral service for an Officer killed on an assault course on Dartmoor. It was decided that the pipe organ would be used. My regular 'pumper' was on duty on the bellows; I was to assist the officer playing by manipulating the stops to try and keep down the unwanted sounds. We got through the service, including the 'Dead March' from 'Saul''. It was indeed a sad occasion but the performance in the organ loft was straight out of musical comedy.

FINAL TRAINING BEFORE THE OFF

At Bovey Tracey our lives were over-shadowed by our major activity,
schemes. These were training exercises devised to represent a whole range of battle situations and to offer us training in dealing with them from an Artillery point of view. The basic idea was sound enough but the planning of those exercises was in the main chaotic and the end result was usually entirely different from the intention. The exercises were carried out all over the countryside of Devon, Cornwall and beyond but mainly on Dartmoor itself where the guns could use live ammunition.
These operations were not too disagreeable provided conditions of weather and temperature were tolerable. However, in its wisdom, the Army seemed to have a flair for selecting the worst possible conditions and then to make the start time around 4 a.m. The result was hunger, misery, frustration, cold and total inability to think, let alone give of our best. In spite of all we did learn but as always the old bogey of 'bull' lurked in the background before and after every scheme and it is not an exaggeration to say that we finished our training when we eventually got into action near Medjez-el-Bab in North Africa.
On the whole, however, we made reasonable progress and by the latter part of 1942 the Regiment was becoming a trained force and equipped for active service. In my case I was a 'two stripper' - Bombardier - and Lt. Bill Taylor our CPO told me that he was satisfied with his Command Post team and that I was to act as his senior NCO in the Battery Command Post. This gave me some measure of satisfaction as I had never regarded myself as the soldiering type but in the Battery Command Post I had found a job I could do. It was responsible but it was also interesting as it involved the basic principals of ballistics and gunnery. It was also extremely dangerous as we quickly discovered when we went into action and moved up to survey new positions for guns. However, that was still a bit ahead. For the moment we were still learning
Looking back on that after a long period of time how did we really feel. One thing strikes me as significant. Never at any time from the outbreak of hostilities and right through our training period did it ever occur to us that we would not win the War. We accepted the fact that we had a War to fight. We knew we had to be trained to achieve the ultimate result and it is a curious mental fact that that was completely accepted. At this particular point in 60th Field Battery R.A. the moment had come to make our contribution. To have done anything else would have been nonsense after all the hard training. It may not have been the sort of thing we would have done by choice but it was the circumstances of the day and the obvious thing to do was to get on with it.
There was a prelude of course. The entire equipment of the Regiment had to be transported by road to Glasgow for shipment to our first zone of operations. At this stage we were not told where that was to be. I was on leave, having travelled the length of the country from Devon to the Scottish Borders. I was home two days when I received a telegram to report back. At the time I thought 'this was it' but no, it was all part of the prelude.
I did report back, twenty-four hours late, to discover that the Battery were in the final stages of a major flitting - everything in sight was in the process of being packed up. We were left with a few items of personal kit, a mess tin and what we stood up in.
The next stage of the operation was a long haul by road to Glasgow. That journey was quite good as it took us through quite a few 'home towns' en route. If the odd wagon was strangely missing for a few hours nobody was going to get unduly overheated.
When my turn came I was dead unlucky. We were not told where our actual point of embarkation was but the nearer we got to the Scottish Border it was obvious that it had to be either Leith or Glasgow. Leith would certainly take us through Hawick by that magical right fork at Carlisle and by the A7. If it was Glasgow then we had to stick to the main road to the west. Need I say it? That is exactly what happened. To this day I can see that corner approaching and realising that the convoy was swinging left. It is a picture I will carry to the end
of my days. To add insult to injury, on our first night over the Border in Scotland, I was given Guard duty on the riverside at Dumfries. They must have known I was on home ground.
Pretty soon we were on the dockside at Glasgow. Here things seemed to happen in fairly rapid succession. For once the Army had things well tied up. We did a lot of waiting around but as each vehicle drove on to the dockside it was loaded and disappeared into the hold of the ship that was to transport it overseas. Very soon only the drivers and their co-drivers were left and the magical word went round that the next move was another short leave before we reported back to Bovey Tracey and the final 'off'.
It was quite amazing how everyone seemed to dissolve into thin air. One moment Officers and NCOs were milling around, the next nearly all had disappeared, particularly the Officers. Granted most of them were Londoner's and had a long way to travel but I suddenly found myself, a mere Bombardier, in charge of Battery HQ. That suited me fine. Leave passes were quickly distributed and my main concern was a train from Queen Street station that would connect at Edinburgh for Hawick.
And that is another picture I still carry in my mind. I got that train at Queen Street without difficulty. Sitting in the not unfamiliar station on board the train for the even more familiar Edinburgh, it was extremely difficult to realise that I had just booked myself a trip to a War zone, finally and definitely, and for all I knew to something a lot more permanent; yet here I was in a not unfamiliar setting, heading for home and surrounded by fellow travellers in a very ordinary train, bound for Edinburgh. Somehow it didn't make any sense. Should I jump another train and bury myself in the wilds of Skye? It almost seemed a plausible idea but hardly one I was likely to pursue. At that precise moment, Hawick and home seemed very attractive indeed.
I recall little of that final leave. Mother was ill in hospital and it came almost as a relief to get the tension over and be on my way once more. One other picture stands out.

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