大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by a volunteer from Northumberland on behalf of Ronnie Almond. Mr. Almond fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions, and the story has been added to the site with his permission.

This is not a story of fierce combat and bravery. It is only intended to recount some of my many experiences from the time I joined the Territorial Army, in 1939, until I was demobilised, in 1946.

In 1938, rumours of another major war increased and, with two friends, I joined the 9th Battalion, Middlesex Regiment, in February 1939. That was a Territorial Army unit, which had previously been an infantry unit but had been converted to an anti-aircraft searchlight regiment, in 1938. At the drill hall, Hendon, we were courteously welcomed by a Sergeant-Major who took us to meet Captain Canning, to sign the necessary papers. Having committed ourselves, the Sergeant-Major鈥檚 attitude changed and we were directed in terms devoid of any doubt 鈥淭o stand to attention when addressing an officer鈥�. Captain Canning was a very agreeable character and, being in need of recruits, he assured us that if we could recruit a sufficient number of friends to man a searchlight site, in the event of conflict he would see that we were together. Including my brother, Kenneth, with other friends we achieved this and he was true to his word. 403 Battery, to which we were assigned, comprised men from all walks of life. We were regarded as white collar workers and became known as 鈥淭he Umbrella Boys鈥�.

On 13 August 1939, we left for a month鈥檚 Territorial Army camp 鈥� for me this lasted seven years! Our first site was at Great Barford (near Bedford) adjacent to a railway line (then!). Being self-contained we took turns at cooking, which procedures were primitive over an open fire. Fuel was a problem but was rapidly resolved when, in response to requests written with Cocoa on a piece of paper and placed on the fence, train drivers slowed and tossed out welcome lumps of coal.

After a short period we were moved to a site at Nowton, near Bury St. Edmunds. There, gathered around a battery wireless in a bell tent, at 11:00 hours on 3 September 1939 we learned that war had been declared. We had insufficient equipment to function in the event of an air raid but did have a wooden machine-gun to defend ourselves! This situation was remedied reasonably soon. In a few months, we were relocated adjacent to a small village in Norfolk called Beachamwell, a few miles from Mareham Aerodrome, a Wellington bomber base. The squire of Beachamwell House opened his home to us for sustenance and a weekly bath for which we were very appreciative. At the time, my brother, Kenneth, nine years older, was Bombardier in charge and I was a Lance-Bombardier. Despite the belief that the country was not adequately prepared for war evening after evening we saw large numbers of bombers overhead, on their way to Europe.

In late Spring of 1940, I was interviewed for a commission, accepted and went to the Officer Cadet Training Unit (O.C.T.U.) at Shrivenham. On the very day I left on completion of the course, my brother arrived but circumstances did not enable us to meet.

I was posted to 307 Battery, 37th Tyneside Electrical Engineers, also a Territorial Army unit whose searchlight activities had operated during the First World War. I reported on Christmas Eve, 1940. Battery Headquarters (HQ) was in an impressive country residence called Standish Court, near Gloucester. Unit sites were located in the region of that city and Cheltenham. It was with 307 I first met Len Ashford, also recently commissioned, who was a farmer, an upright and warm-hearted fellow with whom I immediately established a rapport which was to last many years. The Battery moved to other areas in the Cotswolds. At one period it fell to me to march troops to Tewkesbury Abbey each Sunday.

During 1941, the Battery moved to Cardiff, having its HQ, first, in Ruperra Castle and subsequently in Llandaff College. Among other courses I attended was one for physical training (PT). The officer in charge was Jack Peterson who had been the British Heavyweight Boxing Champion. I recall that he had always been highly regarded and I can say from my experience he was, indeed, an officer and a gentleman. Those on the course were obliged to spend a minimum of three minutes in the ring with him. Despite his size I cannot remember actually hitting him. I was on the controlled receiving end!

While Len Ashford remained with 307 Battery I was transferred to, I believe, 402 Battery located in the vicinity of Hereford. Not being content with my prospects there, I responded to a communication seeking volunteers for attachment to the Indian Army. A month or more passed when my Battery Commander informed me that I was to attend a lengthy PT course at Aldershot prior to being appointed Regimental Physical Training Officer. I suggested to him that in view of the Indian Army possibility it would be better to assign another officer for this training. My suggestion was dismissed out of hand!

Shortly after the foregoing I was directed to appear before a Board of Indian Army officers, to determine if I was suitable for this distinguished force. For the night before the Board I was given the option of staying at barracks in Chester or at an hotel. I chose the latter. Duly arriving I went to the nearest hotel to the station, the Queen鈥檚 Hotel. 鈥淔ull up鈥�, which was the response at every hostelry I visited. Despair! I returned to the Queen鈥檚 Hotel and requested to see the register of guests who had booked in that day. Running my finger down the list I could hardly believe my eyes, for my finger had stopped at Len Ashford! I shared his room for the night. Neither of us knew we had both put our names forward for India.

In early 1942, I reported to Aldershot for the PT course, collected my PT kit from the Quartermaster and went to the mess for lunch. During the course of lunch a telegram was handed to me, to the effect 鈥淩eport to Royal Artillery, Woolwich without delay, prior to embarkation for India鈥�!!

As part of a draft identified as 鈥淩FGFW鈥�, at Huyton (Liverpool) Len Ashford and I embarked on Canadian Pacific鈥檚 liner 鈥淪.S. Duchess of Bedford鈥�, and sailed in the second largest convoy ever to leave the UK, on 13 April 1942. The ship called at Freetown, Sierra Leone for, perhaps, two days and the convoy proceeded to South Africa, part going to Cape Town and the other to Durban, our ship to the latter. The precise date of arrival escapes me but it would have been about 10 May.

Arriving in Durban after leaving blacked-out and restricted UK was like being transported to 鈥淔airy Land鈥�. As the ship docked we were greeted by the renowned 鈥淟ady in White鈥�, who sang, with the aid of a megaphone, our stirring patriotic songs. A statue of her was subsequently erected in the harbour after her death. My wife and I went to see it during our visit to South Africa in 1994. We found the site but, sadly, the memorial had been appallingly vandalised.

The welcome given to troops, of all ranks, by the people of Durban was genuine and generous and was a joy. It must have been at a dance, not that this is a pastime I relish, I had the good fortune to meet a lovely girl by the name of Ruth Clarence. My assessment of her reflects her looks and nature. I was in her company for every possible moment and became very attached to her. Up to the time of my return to the UK, I wrote constantly to her.

Our base while in Durban was Clairwood Trans-shipment Camp. I shared a tent with John Addison. I remember that during our first night he left his boots on the sand. Next morning they were reduced to uppers only as white ants had dined on the soles! We were there for some three weeks before embarking on the French ship 鈥溍巐e De France鈥� bound for Suez. It was rumoured that we were being diverted to the North African campaign.

At Suez, due to an illness later diagnosed as German measles, I was taken directly to 13 B. G. H. I was anxious not to be parted from friends on draft RFGFW believing that movement orders might operate without me. In the event, a substantial contingent came to see the senior doctor after fourteen days, to inform him of their imminent departure, and I was discharged, joining the draft on 鈥淪.S. Rhona鈥� heading for Bombay. A few days off Bombay this small coastal vessel hit very rough seas and there was some apprehension about its stability. The number assembling for meals fell from the order of forty to five! We reached Bombay during late June 1942, and boarded a train towards our initial destination, Kakul, in the North West Frontier Province, where we attended a four months intensive R.I.A.S.C. course.

Another older brother, Stanley, had arrived in India in 1941 with the Royal Army Ordinance Corps and was stationed at Rawalpindi. This was relatively near to Kakul, and, being granted weekend leave in September, with four friends I went to visit him, staying at Flashman鈥檚 Hotel. One morning at the hotel we were approached by an Indian fortune teller. Telling my fortune, among other of his ventures into my future, he said that I would meet a girl called Barbara, she would be wealthy in character and would have a great impact on me 鈥� not his precise words but the significance of what he said.

On completion of our course, short periods were spent in Lahore and in Delhi where we received individual postings to Indian units. Len Ashford and I were posted to the 26th Indian Division Royal Indian Army Service Corps (R.I.A.S.C.) based at Calcutta, where we arrived on Christmas Day, 1942.

In April 1943, the R.I.A.S.C. unit of the Division (the division's symbol was a tiger jumping through a blue triangle) went to the Arakan, one of the areas through which the Japanese were pushing towards India. Troop movements to this combat zone were fraught with difficulties, travelling to rail heads, on river boats, another rail head, and a long drive on newly developed rough roads through jungle to a small village called Tumbru Ghat where transport to Maungdaw, our immediate destination was by river on what was called a 鈥淔lat鈥�. This, in effect, was a large flat surface, no sides or rails, on a hull, which was secured, side on to a small river boat that produced the power to propel it. Maungdaw was a village, on a bay with a small jetty. We arrived shortly before nightfall, were deposited with anchor in the middle of the bay, and the boat disappeared. We were about two hundred yards, at least, offshore with no means of getting there. The flat was stacked with various needs but no food. I can only imagine, now, that we survived on whatever remained of the unexpired portion of a day鈥檚 ration.

As darkness was complete, gunfire and tracers lit the sky. We looked at our only defence, revolvers, and thought about making a barrier round the edge of the flat, in reality a useless exercise. The battle subsided and daylight eventually came, and all appeared to be calm. Propulsion for us soon arrived and we were taken to the jetty. We gathered that no harm had been done but the previous night鈥檚 鈥渃onflict鈥� was self-inflicted!!

Abbreviated recollections of life during the Burma campaign and of events in the UK when, eventually, I returned home, will be continued in Part 2 of my story.

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