It was 1938 and the Spanish civil war was still in progress; Germany was
flexing her muscles having effected an Anschluss with Austria and having
out-manoeuvred Britain and France over the matter of Czechoslovakia. It
was obvious that a war was coming but Britain had allowed her forces and
armaments to run down and was in no position to engage in one. At that
time I was 20 years old and was working as a draughtsman in an
engineering firm; I believe conscription had started though I'm not
certain exactly when and there was always a possibility that my job
would be classified as a reserved occupation. To this day I don't know
whether or not I would have been called up because together with my
school friend I joined the Territorial Army.
With war looming closer and closer new units were being formed
everywhere and No. 2 Company of the 5th AA Divisional Signals was born
at The Wayfarers Club on Worral Road near the top of Blackboy Hill in
Bristol. My friend and I had been very interested in radio or wireless
as it was called in those days and it seemed to us that a signal unit
would fit in well with our hobby, we might even be of some use to the
army. Many others had the same idea especially employees of the Post
Office which was at that time the sole legal agency in Britain for all
communications, so the recruiting hall was full of potential soldiers on
the night we went to sound things out. Among the dozens there we found
many of our old school friends and some of the members of our church.
We didn't join up that night but thought things over for a day or two
saying nothing to our parents who might have raised objections then made
a second trip to enlist.
Some lads we knew were already commissioned and were to interview us
before we signed on the dotted line. Our commitment to the force
obliged us to attend for drill on two nights a week and to spend two
weeks at camp each year; our employers were compelled by law to give us
the two weeks off from work with no penalties To start with it was a
case of the myopes leading the blind, true there were a few ex-WWI
veterans and others who had been members of their school Cadet Corps but
we could hardly be called a highly disciplined group. We didn't enquire
too deeply into the nature of our duties or what exactly we were getting
ourselves into but were content to let life unfold in its own way.
After answering a few perfunctory questions the swearing-in followed
with our right hands on a bible; some jokers later told us that we were
not really soldiers because we had been sworn-in on a dictionary but
that was a tale I heard many many times. Then came the issue of
equipment, this was rather sparse, all of it being of WWI vintage or
earlier, khaki tunics with brass buttons, drainpipe trousers,
second-hand boots and what seemed quite remarkable brown leather
bandoliers for the 50 rounds of .303 ammunition with which we were never
issued. Were we then to be cavalry? A tin hat, forage cap, webbing
belt with bayonet frog, bayonet and scabbard completed our equipment
though later on we were given collar badges and brass letters to affix
to our epaulets proclaiming us to be Royal Signals.
My parents when told of my enlistment had different reactions, father
said little, probably thinking of his experiences in WWI but mother who
would not let me join the Boy Scouts or the school Cadet Corps because
they were too militaristic said, "you're a fool!" At the time I
thought that was a bit hard but six months into the war and I had to
admit she had a point.
One or two with recent military experience gave us rifle drill with the
two SMLE (short model Lee-Enfield) rifles allocated to our unit and we
did a bit of marching and saluting. Our CO, Captain Sommerville, told
us that our saluting resembled that of a disgruntled taxi driver giving
thanks for a small tip but we did improve. After a few weeks of
desultory drilling we were told to report to The General Post Office in
Small Street to get acquainted with teleprinters. Good, we thought, now
we'll get our hands on some electro-mechanical equipment and learn the
inner workings of the Creed machines only to be disappointed to find
that the primary purpose of our being there was to learn to type. The
Creed teleprinters were only capable of transmitting 66 words a minute
but this was academic because we didn't advance much beyond the
"hunt-and-peck" stage.
About this time the regulations were changed somewhat; our two weeks at
camp were extended to four weeks and I was due to go to Southsea Castle
on September 3rd 1939. I think it was about August 28th that the
Territorial Army was embodied (that was their term for mobilisation).
At 4-30 am father was awakened from his slumber with a knock at the door
and Corporal Reg Pinnel stood outside with the engine of his motor-bike
combination still running to tell me to get up to HQ right away; then
off he sped to awaken others. I dressed hurriedly, had a cup of tea and
a bite and then walked up to Worral Road, walked because it was too
early for the bus service to start its daily routine.
When I got there it was a bit of a shambles really with dozens of men
milling around trying to sort themselves out and generally getting
themselves organised. At about 9am I walked along to the end of Worral
Road to the bank of phone boxes then existing near the top of Blackboy
Hill and phoned my office to tell them that I would not be in that day
nor in the foreseeable future; that was a little prophetic because I
didn't return there to work for six-and-a-half years.
In the first few days we learned a little of the set-up; HQ was to be
the gun operations room, the GOR, from which the AA guns surrounding
Bristol would be directed. Some of us would be GOR personnel, others
would form the Line Section maintaining communications with the gun
sites, while a few would be responsible for the Quartermaster's stores
and general clerical work. How many of us there were I can only guess,
probably upwards of two hundred because we also had to supply similar
groups to our detachments at Plymouth and Portland.
To get some experience of aircraft plotting six of us including me were
sent to the RAF at Filton where we were housed in splendid isolation in
an otherwise empty vast hanger; daily we reported to the Operations Room
where we became acquainted with the strange jargon of the RAF, Angels,
Bandits, Red Leader, Tally-Ho and the like as mock raids and
interceptions were practised. If we had been on duty for the night
shift we found sleep very hard to come by the next morning because
fighter planes were constantly taking off and landing, even when they
were stationary their engines were ticking over. For some reason or
other there was an Avro Anson attached to the station that took off and
landed periodically; it once caught fire as it landed but the fire was
quickly extinguished.
Guard duties were carried out when I was there by members of The
Gloucester Regiment, the "Glosters", regulars and we used to mingle with
them in the canteen in our off-duty periods, being introduced to army
songs that we joined in with gusto as a pianist accompanied us. As the
beer flowed the pianist was treated to the odd pint and occasionally the
lid of the piano was raised so that it could join in the jollity and a
pint poured over its strings to the shout of "and one for the
piano." Life was exciting, we were free from parental control and we
were on the verge of something big though in the background there was
this little niggle of apprehension about the future.
Early on my inadequacy as a teleprinter operator was discovered by an
RAF corporal whom I had last seen as a 13 year old when he lived a
couple of doors away from me, but only he and I knew. On September 3th
the rumours of war changed to reality; I was in the canteen when the
news came over the wireless that war had been declared on Germany and in
our ignorance we waited for the bombs to drop but of course nothing
really happened for a few months apart from the odd reconnaissance
sortie. Winter was coming on and we still didn't have greatcoats though
at great expense we had added swagger canes to our wardrobes to assist
in our deportment and keep our hands out of our pockets. Something had
to be done so we were issued with dark blue greatcoats that had
originally been destined for the Royal Navy or Air Raid Wardens. Gloves
had not been issued either so we used our own and a right motley crew we
looked when we appeared in public places, khaki uniforms, blue
greatcoats, black boots and brown leather gloves.
Perhaps this would be a good time to mention that as Territorials we
were expected to supply some personal items of kit. If we provided boot
brushes, hair brushes, comb, button stick, housewife (hussive),
underclothes and some other odds-and-sods to take with us to the annual
camp we would be rewarded with the magnificent sum of ten shillings.
Until 1942 I was never issued with a complete kit but over that period I
was given some replacements of personal items; we also changed our WWI
uniforms for battle dress. We didn't lose our leather bandoliers
however and we were supplied with the Royal Navy's black leather
gaiters. We were still not sartorially attractive.
But to get back to August 1938; the round-up of civilians who were now
to be embodied was not without its humour, in the early hours of the
morning Reg Pinnel happened to meet one of his flock in the Kingsdown
area and told him of the situation. Len was on his rounds delivering
milk; his milk float was of a new type, battery driven at a walking pace
it allowed the roundsmen to walk by its side starting and stopping as
necessary and obviating any muscular effort on his part. Len took his
orders literally, left his milk float where it was in the road, went
home, changed into his uniform and reported to HQ. Then he phoned his
employer and told him where he could find the milk float leaving it up
to the employer to mollify all the irate customers.
In December 1939 I returned from Filton to Worral Road and for three
months became a member of a GOR shift. We had no plotting table but
instead a map of south-east England hung on one wall, we of course were
south-west but I suppose that south-east was better than nothing.
Coloured pins were used to mark the position of planes. Information on
aircraft activity was given to us over a permanently manned phone line
connected to No.11 Fighter Group at Uxbridge and the lucky man who was
given the job of listening sat in the middle of the room on an office
type swivel chair wearing a telephonist's head-and-breast-set doing
nothing but waiting. As soon as the ringing assailed his ears he
answered, "Bristol," and then yelled to the rest of the group,
"Operations," at which they were supposed to get ready to relay
any incoming information to the gun sites by phone. While I was there I
don't recall any plots coming from Uxbridge that concerned our area.
The shout of, "Operations" was also supposed to alert the Gun
Control Officer, GCO, of the Royal Artillery who then stood by his wall
map, coloured pins at the ready, waiting to give some relevant
information to the gun sites; however this was the time of the "phony
war" and the boredom was considerable.