大象传媒

This is an extract from 'A Danish Wife', a biography of my late mother, Minna Chatrine Tofte, by my father, Len Scott:

After volunteering in 1940 I was sent to Foots Cray, near Sidcup, for basic training. Ten days or more elapsed before I was kitted out with battle-dress, large pack, small pack, webbing-equipment, respirator, steel helmet, field-dressing, identity discs ('What religion?' 'None.' 'You'll be C of E.'), kit-bag, gaiters, boots and a well-named great-coat. Later a .303 Lee-Enfield rifle completed this walking Christmas-tree.

When I took my first walk in uniform I met a man in a magnificent uniform with the Royal Arms emblazoned on his sleeve. He seemed a very superior person and I saluted him. He stopped and addressed me: 'You salute commissioned officers. I am a Warrant Officer, Class One. You do not salute me.' We had been taught the salute by Corporal Curling who assembled us in a field behind the factory each morning. There we learned to march in step, form threes and discover the difference between 'stand easy' and 'stand at ease.' We did strange things with our rifles but never fired them. We learned how to locate an enemy by means of the 'clock'. 'Enemy at three o'clock' meant that the hostile fellows were on our extreme right. Other enemies could be located by referring to all the hours between nine and three. Very simple but I do not recall any enemy signalled between four and eight. Perhaps enemies should never be behind us.

Less simple was the transmission of messages by word of mouth. We were strung out loosely across the field and the man on the extreme right was told, say, 'Enemy spotted on extreme right. Pass it on.' The message reaching the last man on the left might be: 'Emmeline is potty. Put out the light.' We had to march along the local roads fully kitted out. This did not worry me until my ill-fitting boots reminded me of my comfortable alpine boots languishing at home. Corporal Curling, anxious to become Sergeant Curling, tried to behave like the traditional drill-sergeant but lacked conviction. Captain Wheeler had unsuspected depths. A casual remark of mine revealed him as an opera-lover in general and a Wagnerian also. Thus I was able to get an early pass for a visit to Sadler's Wells.

After this, day-to-day life became more and more unreal. Perhaps my 'musketry' course was a symbol. In these days of Sten guns our Army talked of 'muskets'. We had extra drills, but these were mainly concerned with 'ceremonial guard-mounting'. A party of War Office bigwigs was expected. We had to learn that officers of 'field rank' (majors upwards) had to be greeted with a 'present arms' by sentries. We maintained a 24-hour guard at the various entrances and we were urged to practice arms-drill when night fell and our ineptitude would be unobserved. On one such night a private returned to the guard-room in a state of terror. Leaving one's post without permission was crime enough but this unfortunate lad had compounded the offence.

'I was practising "slope arms", he stuttered to a livid guard-commander; 'when I threw the thing over my shoulder and into the bushes. I can't find it.' The sergeant marched the criminal back to the scene of the crime and began a search. Torches were forbidden in the black-out and the rifle could not be found. When the orderly officer made his rounds each rifle would be examined. Sergeant Jones was a great improviser. After the officer had inspected the first guard-post the soldier would run at great speed around the compound and deliver his own rifle to the criminal before the officer arrived. The ruse succeeded. Face was saved and the offender could not be charged as this would involve the sergeant's subterfuge. We British are at our best in times of crisis.

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