In the mid-1800's with Trafalgar and Waterloo not too far in the past
and with French intentions uncertain it was decided to fortify
vulnerable portions of Britain's south coast. The minister responsible
for this was Lord Palmerston, also known affectionately or otherwise as
Lord Pumicestone. I think it was when he was Prime Minister that he
arranged for the building of strong points around Portsmouth and
Plymouth. Those forts around Portsmouth are not known to me except for
Southsea Castle but I'm more familiar with the ones around Plymouth.
Forts were erected to the west, north and east of the city centre and
the Citadel dominated the entrance to Plymouth Sound. To the west there
was Fort Tregantle, to the north Crownhill, then on the east came Bowden
Battery and Fort Austin, while in the Sound there was Drake's Island and
Breakwater Fort.
Bowden Battery was built on the side of a slope that fell away to
Crownhill on the north; on the south side it was walled and moated but
it was considered to be protected elsewhere by the commanding view it
had over the valley. The other three sides were partially walled with
low banks of earth. Within these confines the floor was of earth with
grass sprouting in the patches not heavily travelled. The cookhouse
backed on to the southern wall; it was a shed type with a corrugated
iron roof and outside there were two boilers for water. All the
habitable buildings were Nissen huts. Entry from the road, Fort Austin
Avenue, was by way of a drawbridge, over the moat which was dry in those
days, then through the eight-foot high corrugated iron gates. The
drawbridge was never raised, I sometimes wondered if it ever had been,
it seemed fixed.
Just inside the gates on the western side came the Company Office while
a little further west was the CO's hut. Three buildings that were not
Nissen huts were the shed type ablutions and, at the extreme eastern
end, the latrines, one for the other ranks and one for the ATS. Overhead
traversing the length of the fort were the high tension cables of the
electricity grid system and on damp days touching the metal parts of
vehicles parked beneath them would produce a mild shock.
On the northern side two tunnels, maybe 75 feet long, had been cut, one
at each end, going downwards following the slope of the hill and ending
in small rooms each commanding a view over the valley. In the small
room at the end of the western tunnel the Instrument Mechanics, Len
Elliott, Cyril Smythe and Johnny Barker had their workshop where they
repaired phones and radios and where they detected faults on the phone
lines.
Nissen huts for our accommodation were dotted around. We were fairly
comfortable in our upper and lower bunk beds though the huts could have
been better heated; the tortoise stoves were not really up to it when
the daily ration of coal was mainly small coal or 'slack". To persuade
a stove full of slack to come to life someone opened the top of the
stove and added a half cup of petrol, nothing happened for a moment or
two as the petrol seeped down to the glowing embers at the bottom and
then there was an almighty bang. All the stove's apertures flew open
and a bewildered soldier came in to inspect the damage as he had seen a
10-foot flame emerge from our chimney, however nobody was hurt.
I've heard it said that we had AA guns at Bowden Battery but that is not
true, certainly not up to the time that I left in 1942; true there were
some concrete slabs but these were bases for guns or mortars intended to
repel a land based attack of the 19th century, well before aircraft had
been invented. The only troops there in my time were of the Royal Corps
of Signals, the odd Royal Artillery gunner or bombardier and some Royal
Ulster Rifles doing guard duties. Initially the GOR shifts were taken
to Hamoaze House by lorry but after a while the GOR was moved to Fort
Austin though we always knew this fort as Egg Buckland Keep.
For this new location we were to have a new plotting table and it fell
my lot to make it. This time we used green lino; the main coastal
features were in white paint as were the large grid squares but for the
grid sub-divisions I used a ruling pen and white ink, this made fine
straight lines more easily but they had to be renewed occasionally due
to the rubbing of the plotting blocks. In this new location we required
no transport but marched to and fro, a relatively short distance.
Shortages of many items were now beginning to make themselves felt in
Britain, army boots and leather for their repairs for one thing and
somebody realised that lying idle throughout the country were the shoes
belonging to the men who had been called up. It must have caused a
severe shock to all the Colonel Blimps but it was decreed that the other
ranks would now be permitted to wear shoes when off duty. There was one
proviso however, they had to be black, just in case the other ranks got
confused with their betters. Another shortage concerned watches or
rather watch glasses. Unbreakable types were not in general use at that
time and all types were difficult to obtain. I got over this by using a
draughtsman's ink spring-bows to which a snapped portion of a razor
blade had been attached. Circles were scribed out on the transparent
material of goggles anti-gas and then broken out. Since the QM and a
lieutenant both had watches needing glasses I had no difficulty in
getting a few goggles anti-gas diverted from the QM store. Nearly all
of us smoked in those days and our favourite brands were not always
available; matches were also in short supply so we doubled our stock by
splitting them lengthwise with a razor blade. Swan Vestas were the
easiest to split.
A sentry was stationed at the drawbridge; during daylight hours he was
armed with a stick but at night he had a rifle and fixed bayonet, the
rifle though had no ammunition. The total Signals complement, GOR, Line
Section, assorted clerks, QM stores personnel and others amounted to
about 80 I guess and for this number we had six rifles, two SMLE's, a
couple of Canadian Ross rifles and two American .300's made in
Springfield. All ammunition was very limited. However, later, probably
sometime in 1941, someone at a higher level decided that we should not
be defenceless and a blueprint arrived one day showing how to make raid
party truncheons. There were two types, the first consisted of an
18-inch length of stirrup pump hose loaded at one end with concrete and
fitted with a thong at the other. The second type was more lethal if
one could get near enough to the enemy; it used an 18-inch length of
electrical conduit to the end of which was welded a discarded gear, any
old gear would do as long as it was sharp, heavy and pointy; in fact we
were now armed with maces reminiscent of the middle ages and
chronologically more in keeping with our Victorian surroundings. The
blueprint had arrived at the same time as a length of stirrup pump hose
and no time was lost in manufacturing type number one only to discover
later that it was intended for incendiary purposes and not raid party
truncheons. Too late, we couldn't put it back together again but we did
have some fun out of the exercise by trying out the effect of the first
type of truncheon on our tin hats; after a few blows the concrete
cracked and fell out while the tin hats emerged unscathed. We didn't
risk trying out the second type. A friend of mine in the RAF told me
that on one station the ground crew were similarly equipped though in
their case the bayonets were welded on to 5-foot lengths of electrical
conduit; he said that when they came on parade it looked like the
Monmouth Rebellion all over again.
I don't recall much about our meals, with one exception only. Every
Thursday over a long period a new cook came to us. She didn't appear to
be ATS and I would do her no injustice if I guessed her age as being
between 30 and 40, older than the rest of the cookhouse staff. I found
out very little about her except that she was Cornish but she made the
most delicious cornish pasties, the real thing and they were so large
that one was quite sufficient for any growing lad. We only ever saw her
on Thursdays and we all looked forward to those days. The regular
cookhouse staff came under "Jackie", Corporal Jackson and she and her
girls were billeted in a private house nearly opposite Bowden Battery in
a road running parallel with Fort Austin Avenue. There were about eight
of them I think, of whom Mary, Ginger and Minnie from South Wales, Kitty
from Cornwall and Sylvia from Dewsbury are the ones who stay in my mind.
Jackie was very solicitous for her charges and she meticulously recorded
the dates and times of their social engagements together with the names
of their escorts.
In the early days we were instructed in the various do's and don't's of
army life and introduced to the Army Act and King's Regulations. We
were told that "barrack-room lawyers" were not permitted to quote from
these. Complaints could be made only through official channels and it
was forbidden to contact our Members of Parliament with our gripes
though of course they couldn't prevent our parents from doing it for us.
Forbidden also was the singing of Irish nationalist songs or whistling
The Dead March; likewise engaging in discussions likely to cause "alarm
and despondency" was also ruled out. All of this together with a bit of
regimental training was gradually converting us into obedient little
souls.
Plymouth and Devonport were primarily navy-oriented, true there was the
RAF station at Mountbatten with its Sunderland flying boats and there
were assorted army units scattered around but essentially the navy was
supreme. Being a peace-time garrison area the civilian population was
used to the presence of the forces and was not particularly hospitable,
a vast contrast to the friendly treatment meted out by the Scots when
for a month or so I was billeted in a distillery in Wishaw.
Fore Street Devonport was at one time full of public houses and other
establishments catering to the needs of sailors and in an effort to
provide alternative entertainment, one, Agnes Weston, opened the
premises in Fore Street known as Aggie Weston's. Here one could sit and
read or talk, take a bath at sixpence a time, enjoy a film or otherwise
relax and unwind. It was here that having paid my dues by singing a
hymn and listening to a short sermon I was given a cup of tea and a bun
while I watched the film The Citadel based on Cronin's novel of the same
name.
When we were on duty at Hamoaze House and when there was little or no
activity some members of the GOR shift were permitted to sun themselves
for short periods on the green slope of Mount Wise, within hailing
distance should air activity commence. From this vantage point near the
Scott memorial we watched the panorama unfold, ships of the Royal Navy,
the aircraft carrier Illustrious for one, steaming down the Hamoaze into
the Sound and beyond while the Cremyll ferry kept up its routine of
to-ing and fro-ing across the river. The summer of 1940 was very hot
and many of us quickly browned, life was still unchallenging and boring,
however there was plenty of entertainment available to us. At the Forum
in Devonport I saw Balalaika with Ilona Massey and later The Wizard of
Oz with Judy Garland. Plymouth had many cinemas but I can remember the
name of only one, The Royal but I do remember the theatre, The Palace,
near the Octagon, where I saw several variety shows and a couple of
Gilbert and Sullivan operettas. For The Yeomen of the Guard I could
only get a seat in the second row from the front on the right-hand side
and as a result got the full benefit of the big drum.
Usually we went as a party of four or five, first to get a bite to eat,
often at Goodbody's and then off to a show. Sometime after the air
raids had started in earnest five of us went to the Alhambra in
Devonport to see a strip show, the main attraction being Phyllis Dixie;
I was surprised to see sailors taking their girl friends in with them,
remember this was in the early 1940's and the mores were a little
restrictive then. The performance followed the usual pattern for a
variety show of that period, several acts in the first half, an
interval, then a similar number of acts in the second half. The lesser
performers would appear only once while the principals would appear in
both halves. Phyllis Dixie's earlier performances had caused a few
eyebrows to be raised and the Lord Chamberlain who at that time had
control of those things banned parts of her routine, a fact exploited by
her when she appeared, clothed, in the first half and recited a little
piece titled The Girl the Lord Chamberlain Banned. It was a clever
piece really but the suspense was too great for one restive matelot who
stood up at the back and yelled, "Fer Chrissakes get them clothes off
before the bloody siren goes." She was quite unfazed by this and
continued with her patter but obliged him in her own good time, in the
second half. The show was quite innocuous by present day standards, a
little risqué perhaps but not sordid. That sailor probably had
second sight because in a later raid a German bomb flattened the
Alhambra.
During the winter months the heavy rains turned Bowden Battery into a
quagmire and we all went round in rubber boots. Some intelligent being
among us thought that a trench dug all along the centre of the battery
would drain off all the surplus water, unfortunately the trench had
closed ends and once it was filled the ground again became a miniature
lake but now with an additional hazard; if you didn't watch your step
you would be up to your knee in water as you put your foot in the
trench. In some of the more unpleasant weather it was decided to
dispense with the armed sentry at night and the high gates would be
locked. To cater to those brave souls who had gone out and wished to
return to the fold a bell-push was fitted outside the gates and a
moveable bell installed in whichever hut the duty gateman resided and he
was supposed to answer the call. Often the evening's entertainment was
gambling, pontoon usually and if the gateman was involved it became a
bit of a nuisance for him to have to break away from the game just to
let someone in, and so one dark and rainy night, fed up with the
constant interruptions, he disabled the ball and sat back to enjoy a
quiet game. One returnee getting no response to his repeated bell
pushing hammered so loud and long on the corrugated iron gates that
somebody not on duty went out into that foul night to let him in. The
returnee, in high dudgeon strode down to find the gateman and in the
process put his foot in the trench. He was our CO and he wasn't very
happy. The excuse given was, I believe, faulty wiring.
After an air raid the Line Section would go out to effect repairs, to
get communications going again and at the same time the lads would pick
up anything that appeared to belong to nobody and that could be of
possible use to the army; done by civilians that would be called
looting. In this way we became the recipients of bricks, breeze blocks,
I-beams and other odds-and-ends. Having acquired these what use could
be made of them? Someone had a bright idea and suggested that as we had
no inspection pit for our vehicles perhaps we could build an
above-ground structure that would serve the same purpose. The job was
given to the man who could use a pencil and who had some engineering
experience, me I prepared a design that consisted mainly of two
horizontal I-beams surmounted on two low brick piers with two longer
I-beams leading up from the ground level to the piers. Since the track
would be fixed this would only be suitable for one type of vehicle so it
was designed for our utility vans. To get down to load-bearing earth
the low earthen wall on the north side was to be excavated locally where
the piers were to be built down to the level of the battery floor. The
design was pigeon-holed.
Many months later when this had slipped from all memories I found myself
when the morning parade had been dismissed to be a member of a fatigue
party. A signalman who had been a tailor in Glasgow was put in charge
and we were ordered to report to the QM stores and draw picks and
shovels, then we were marched up to the low earthen wall and told to
dig. Exactly where and how far to dig nobody seemed to know. After a
while the penny dropped and I realised that this was to be the
preparatory work for the vehicle inspection structure. I told our
ex-tailor, "There are drawings of this somewhere." He made
enquiries and sure enough the drawings were found; there was one snag
however, he couldn't read a drawing and I had to explain. The work was
not finished by our shift and the next day another fatigue party had the
pleasure of swinging the picks and shovelling. Work on this project was
stopped for a long period and in the meantime the western part of the
ground was surfaced with asphalt the hard standing so beloved by drill
sergeants and their superiors, now their charges could stamp their boots
audibly instead of squelching silently in the mud.
Much later just before I left Bowden Battery work was resumed on the
structure but by this time officers had come and gone and I was standing
by the latest Two-pips as he surveyed the two long I-beams. "sergeant!"
he snapped." "Sah," answered Three-stripes. "These I-beams," said
Two-pips, "are too long, I will not have them intruding into my parade
ground, get me a ruler and some chalk." Just listen to the man, he had
two pips on each epaulet, he'd only been there a couple of weeks and
already he owned the joint, my parade ground indeed. Three-stripes
obliged with alacrity and Two-pips said, "I want them both shortened by
three feet." He took the ruler, no fool he, he knew that three feet
equalled 36 inches so he measured in 18 inches from each end of both
I-beams and chalked lines. "Get these down to Ordnance," he said, "and
get them to cut off the four ends."
Whether the installation was ever completed I don't know. I left
shortly afterwards but 44 years later when I re-visited the site Bowden
Battery had been turned into a garden centre, the moat had been filled
in and converted into a car park and I could see no sign of the
excavations or much of anything else that would tell of the wartime
activities.
With the fall of France Germany had access to her assets though Britain
forestalled their use by attacking French naval units in Toulon and
Dakar but Germany still had the use of the bases and three of her ships
were in French ports. These were the Scharnhorst, Gneisenau and Prinz
Eugen. The first two were nicknamed by NAALO's petty officers as Salmon
and Gluckstein after a local store in Plymouth. Germany wanted to get
them back to the relative safety of a German port and Britain was
equally determined that they should stay where they were, where they
could be attacked. Fortuitously Germany picked a day when the weather
was thick and wet and under this cover the three ships, hugging the
French coast, slipped eastwards past their enemy up the English Channel
to find sanctuary. Though we were only onlookers we were able to follow
the action to some extent as information was given to us by NAALO.
We had teleprinter links between Plymouth, Portsmouth, Bristol and
Reading and apart from any other correspondence there were the daily
rituals; firstly the "colours of the day", given to us by NAALO were
broadcast to all the gun sites so that friendly aircraft would not be
fired upon, and secondly each night an ammunition report would be sent
by the three companies to Reading. We were all able to see what the
others had sent. Almost invariably the ammunition report would state
"nil expenditure" but one Sunday night there was an exception; Bristol
reported "Bristol the subject of a heavy air attack, ammunition report
will follow." As Bristolians we became very anxious; not much news
filtered through that night but the next day we gleaned from various
sources little bits of information. One informant said that amongst
other targets they had dropped four bombs on Bristol Bridge; that was
not strictly accurate but from the damage done it was fairly true. They
had hit our home town, the war was getting serious. Bristol's suffering
was just beginning.
We were expecting a visit from some top brass, presumably to give the
place the once-over, to convince us that indeed we were not forgotten
and to show us some faces to match the names that would appear from time
to time on orders. In order to impress them with the skill and
expertise of our Line Section it was decided to replace the twisted Don8
cable between Bowden Battery and Egg Buckland Keep with an air line,
that is bare copper wire on short telegraph posts. This was finished
just before the top brass arrived but when the phones were connected all
that could be heard was a loud 50 cycle hum; the wires had been placed
beneath and almost parallel with the overhead grid system cables.
"Oh, well," they said, "we'll say it was never intended to be
used, it was only done to show our ability to run an air line."
I suppose it was the same bright individual who had the storm trench dug
who thought of the idea of burying a pipe to carry away the cookhouse
effluent down into the eastern hillside tunnel. I found this out by
accident. Having seen Fantasia the previous night and admiring Mickey
Mouse's jaunty swagger I hummed the melody of Ducas' The Sorcerer's
Apprentice as I swaggered down into the dark tunnel; I stopped abruptly
when the fluid was over the tops of my gaiters; my humming stopped and
my language was not nice at all.
From the mess hut one lunch time, gazing at nothing in particular but
looking towards the north side of the camp, I became aware of a
disturbance in the taller grasses on top of the low earth bank. I
wondered why as the movement was not general as one would expect with
wind gusts but was quite localised. While I mused over this a loud
yelling came from that spot and immediately some 20 or 30 khaki clad
figures emerged carrying rifles and with their faces blackened. This
armed group charged across the battery, still yelling as they went out
through the gate, past the stick sentry; he watched stupefied, head
turning from side to side as they disappeared into Fort Austin Avenue.
He had only ever expected unauthorised entry from without, never from
within. By the time we had collected our thoughts and looked outside
there was no sign of the intruders and we never saw them again. This
was I believe an early training exercise of a commando unit.
At that time we were a fairly close knit group, our common bond being
that we were all Bristolians and volunteers. There was virtually no
crime apart from petty offences against military law, in fact the
reverse was often the case as was demonstrated when one pay day I had to
dash off from pay parade, dump my pay and pay-book on my unmade bed and
rush to catch the lorry going into town to see a show. When I returned
late at night my bed had been made and my pay and pay-book were placed
neatly on my bed, by whom I never found out.
Military offences were few and usually petty but in the eyes of
authority charges had to be laid and these were heard in the Company
Office, the Nissen hut just inside the entrance gate. This hut was
divided in half, the front portion being occupied by the clerical staff
and their paraphernalia, while the rear part was further divided into
two. The innermost portion was the private retreat of the CO and the
rearmost portion, not very large, was where charges were laid, pleas
were heard and punishments meted out. In accordance with military
procedure a prisoner, hatless, had to be escorted in to face the CO. I
was once detailed to be one of the escorts; we with the prisoner,
assembled in front of the hut. "Prisoner and escort," barked the
CSM who was about as unpopular as any of his rank, "fall in." We
did, with the prisoner sandwiched between us. "Prisoner and escort,
'shun." We sprang smartly to attention. He strode up to the prisoner
and snatched off his hat and, "Prisoner and escort, right turn, quick
march." I was the leading escort and I could see before me the open
door of the little room, in fact all the doors were open and daylight
streamed in from the far end of the hut. We quick marched, the CSM
following a short way behind us; there was only space enough for our
trio and I knew that we ought to mark time once we were inside, however
that was not what the military had impressed on us so I led our little
group right into the CO's inner sanctum; out of the corner of my eye I
saw the bemused look on his face as we passed by. Onwards we went
looking straight ahead, right through the hut; surprised clerks watched
us as we emerged into the open air again. I was happy that in obeying
the last order as laid down by he military I had upset the routine and
what was more enjoyable I had upset the CSM. He made no attempt to
follow us through the hut but ran along outside to catch up with us as
we strode out into the distance. "Halt!" he yelled and we did;
and for a while that was all he could say, his cheeks turned puce and I
thought he was on the verge of apoplexy. Gradually he calmed down,
berated us, marched us back to our starting point, then gave us more
precise orders. In we went again. I can't remember what the charge was
nor what punishment was awarded but I do know that the CO carried on as
if nothing untoward had happened.
Looking over the drawbridge into the dry moat Denis Cleese saw a group
of fox cubs, two or three were dead but one was still alive and the
vixen was nowhere to be seen so Denis climbed down and rescued the
survivor, adopted him one might say. How the cub was fed I don't recall
but he lived mainly in our hut and became quite tame. He travelled to
Bristol in Denis' battledress blouse and was duly shown family and
friends. He was still quite young and played happily with the troops
though at night he used to steal our socks and shred them; he stayed
with us some time but one day he disappeared and the sentry who had been
on duty the previous night said that he had seen the vixen on top of the
cookhouse roof so perhaps she had found her son and reclaimed him.
We were kept busy one way or another but not always fairly. Denis
Cleese complained that over the previous 10 days he had averaged only
four hours of sleep per night; this was obviously due to
mal-administration. The officer hearing the complaint brushed it off,
saying that fours hours of sleep was enough for any man. Later the duty
rosters were reorganised. The army hated to see soldiers with too much
spare time; whitewashing border stones or blacking the soles of boots
really served no useful purpose except as make-work projects designed to
keep us out of mischief. In keeping with this idea various little
schemes were thought out to keep us occupied and sometimes bribes were
offered such as being excused duties or being eligible for late night
passes. So it was that late night passes were offered to the members of
the hut that provided the best turned out soldier for guard duty. I
regret to say that our principles had sunk so low that we all entered
into the spirit of this with gusto. Some polished boots to a
mirror-like shine not forgetting to blacken the soles and count the
hobnails before metal polishing them; others pressed trousers and
brushed the uniform of our protégé. Brasses were polished to an
unbelievable lustre, then, as we were about to present our man we looked
outside and saw the rain pouring down and the mud beginning to form.
Not to be beaten we stood him on a short plank; with a soldier at each
end of the plank and another behind to provide stability we carried him
to the appointed place on the parade ground and deposited an immaculate
Bert Hickman ready for the inspection of the guard. We won.
I think it was in 1941 that the GOR was relocated once again, this time
to Area Combined Headquarters (ACH), somewhere in Plymouth; we were
driven there for our shifts daily by lorry but I have no idea where it
was exactly and I couldn't find it today even if I tried.
Anticipating the arrival of our ATS replacements the military had taken
over some small houses facing the southern entrance to South Raglan
Barracks; these were quite empty except for quantities of bedding (the
girls were to be much more pampered than we were) and of course the
houses required fire-watching at night. This duty was not so onerous as
might be thought. Much in the manner of the fairy story The Princess
and the Pea we piled up mattress upon mattress upon mattress until a
normal bed height was achieved and the addition of clean sheets and
pillows completed the ensemble At no time when I was there fire-watching
was there ever an air raid, or if there was I slept through it. With
the coming of the dawn I replaced all the bedding just in case a snap
inspection was called, then I caught the lorry back to Bowden Battery
where I was granted the morning off to compensate for my exhausting
night duty.
There were many air raids on Plymouth, some were minor but there were
also some major ones. I seem to remember four but I was never down in
the centre of town for these; for many raids I was in the GOR but for
two I was in a pub, The George in Crownhill; I recall the noise of the
planes and of the exploding bombs and shells and seeing the fires over
the city with the occasional brighter redder flare-ups as planes
crashed. Walking back to our billets one could see some damage and some
of the houses in Fort Austin Avenue were burning but the city centre and
the docks area bore the brunt of the action. AA fire was credited with
the downing of 16 planes in the major raids, other "kills" being
credited to the RAF. Going into the city after a heavy raid was a
rather sickening experience, smouldering ruins and desolation and the
knowledge of untold deaths and misery. Before I left Plymouth in 1942
the guns at Rame and Down Thomas were either replaced by or augmented
with rockets ("Z" batteries).
Around this period Bristol became the HQ of the 8th AA Divisional
Signals and Plymouth became the No2 Company. Our shoulder flashes now
changed, the red flames were extinguished and were replaced by an
8-pointed red star smack in the middle of the bomber; still very pretty
and prophetic.
Of the many thousands of characters whom I encountered during my
six-and-a-half years of army life most have drifted into obscurity but
some are still with me; such a one was Brigadier Barbary of 55
Brigade. Without my knowing for sure rumour had it that he had a firm in
Cornwall and I assumed that it was an engineering firm; I also assumed
because of this that he was a Territorial Army officer. He was a
shortish almost portly figure with a definite bearing. His articulation
was not exactly that of the BBC but he had a pleasing Cornish accent and
over the many times I saw him he never appeared to have the aloofness of
rank. Occasionally he would visit our GOR and having discussed things
at a higher level would exchange a few words with the other ranks.
During a lull in operations I was seated at the plotting table reading a
not very intellectual magazine when I became aware of his presence; I
sprang to my feet. "No, no," he said, "sit down." I obeyed.
"What's that you're reading?" he asked. I gave him the magazine
which he scrutinised. "What's your job in civvy street?" he
enquired. I told him. "Then you don't want to read trash like this,
get some technical magazines to read, if you don't keep up with things
you'll finish up with an addled brain." Then wishing to speak with
Exeter he said to a telephone operator, "Gimme my brigade."
In the days when our GOR was in Hamoaze House one of our signalmen, Bill
Lambert, had to take a message into another room where a meeting of some
top brass was in progress; assorted crowns and pips were there together
with their ATS drivers. The meeting was about to break up and Brigadier
Barbary picked up his baton and asked, "Where's me 'at?" Up jumped his
ATS driver and said, "Here I am, Sir." :"No, no, not you dear," said the
brigadier, "I means the 'at wot I wears on me 'ead." Many years later
this story was confirmed, word for word, by an ex-colonel who had also
been present.
Other unusual characters often come to mind when I recall those days;
one lad arrived alone one morning wearing khaki but sporting an RAF
pilot's wings on his chest. He had been transferred from the RAF and he
told us bits of his story but never the reason for his transfer and we
assumed because of his nervousness and his habit of constantly looking
back over his shoulder that it was LMF. He told us that with others he
had been ordered to machine-gun soldiers, presumably enemy, on the beach
near Brighton and offered to bring in his log book but we didn't press
the matter.
Derek was a different type; he also arrived alone. He was about 19 and
this was the first time he had ever been away from home. He was a quiet
retiring lad, one could almost say not quite of this world and what was
unusual was that he couldn't shave himself, up to that time his mother
had always shaved him; adapting to the army life was a real challenge
for him but I suppose the army was happy to have another warm body.
Bob was near my age, maybe a year or so older and before the army got
hold of him he was a school teacher. He found life just as boring as
the rest of us but he surprised us all when he announced that he was
going to apply for a commission. We enquired in what branch and he said
that the only commissions available then were in the infantry. Our
further enquiries elicited the following; he and his wife had a fairly
large circle of friends and when they entertained their hallstand became
full of uniforms, all with pips, crowns or rings. His wife pointed out
that all Bob could rustle up was a standard army greatcoat without even
a lance-corporal's stripe, so Bob decided to remedy the situation.
Well, good luck, Bob, I thought, if you don't make it, as you probably
won't, your wife can always hang your posthumous medals on the hallstand
together with all the bowler hats.
In the early part of 1942 in bitterly cold weather I was on daytime
guard duty at the gate (what else is new?); I was bundled up in my
greatcoat and a leather jerkin, one of the more acceptable pieces of
equipment supplied by the army, when the duty sergeant approached
"you're to go up to the GOR and take a teleprinter test this
afternoon," he said, "teleprinter operators are required for an
overseas draft and so far four from different units have been found to
be inefficient, it's your turn to try." Not having touched a
teleprinter for a couple of years I said, "It's no use, sarge, I'll
fail, it's a waste of time." He was a regular soldier and he found it
difficult to understand that anyone would voluntarily drop in pay.
"You mean you're prepared to forfeit your trade pay without even
giving it a try? you'll revert to general duties." An idea had begun
to form in my mind, if I were to revert to general duties then I would
be free to apply for a transfer to another branch of the services to a
trade more in line with my civilian job, possibly into the Royal
Engineers or the Royal Army Ordnance Corps and I told the sergeant so.
He thought about it for a moment and then agreed, he went into the
Company Office, saw the CO and returned within half-an-hour with the
necessary papers for a transfer application.
A few days later I was at Devonport railway station awaiting a Southern
Railway train bound for Salisbury. On arrival there I found my way to
the private house where I was to be interviewed. I forget the officer's
rank, he was probably a major but it was an informal affair, one-on-one.
I suppose that my answers to his semi-technical questions were
satisfactory and eventually he asked, "Have you ever thought of a
commission?" Now in this world there are leaders and there are
followers and in matters concerning the life or death of others I come
in the second category. "No, Sir." I replied. "You could be
compelled to." he said. I was non-committal and we left it at that.
Back in Bowden Battery I was called in front of a visiting officer,
Captain Barbary, son of the brigadier. Apparently certain selected
individuals were to be sent on an intensive physical training course to
develop their full potential and Barbary was there to sort out those
most likely to benefit from the scheme. Reflex actions and the speed
thereof were checked and I suppose that a general assessment of physique
was made, anyway a couple of days later I was bound for Westward Ho on
the north coast of Devon with all my kit. My destination was a pre-war
holiday camp, taken over by the military but the holiday spirit was gone
and the conditions were spartan. However before my course really got
started I was ordered to get moving once more, this time to Tidworth to
take a trade test.
I had only ever heard of the place before as being the site of the
Tidworth Tattoo and I wasn't quite prepared for the fact that it
appeared to be in the middle of nowhere and that the railway tracks
finished there; my spirits sank. The one redeeming thing was that I
would only be there for a couple of days. Military personnel of all
corps and regiments seemed to be there and it had an atmosphere of
bustle, squads marching and counter-marching, urged on by the
drill-pigs, little dictators strutting their stuff. There were military
vehicles also including a few tanks, probably the only ones Britain
possessed at that time and pips and crowns abounded together with some
red tabs. But there was one little haven of relative peace, the Drawing
Office where I took my trade test and for two days I could shut off the
military world. When it was all over I returned to Bowden Battery as it
was too late to re-join the intensive physical training course.
Some days later I was ordered to go to a holding battalion at Oxshott.
Once again I gathered up all my kit and headed east, this time as a
private in the RAOC, a draughtsman class III. I detrained at Oxshott
station and plodded up the hill to the holding battalion that was in a
large private house set in a very large garden on the road between
Leatherhead and Esher. It was about five o'clock when I got there and
the first thing to do after reporting in was to get something to eat.
This done I next went to the QM stores to get my kit sorted out. I
exchanged my leather bandolier and black leather gaiters for webbing
bren gun pouches and gaiters all in pieces and in different shades of
khaki. I also exchanged my gas mask for an identical one which seemed
silly to me but I still didn't have a complete issue of army equipment.