It was Saturday. I was shown to my billet and started to get settled
in, finding out the lay of the land, questioning my new companions.
Were conditions very strict? No, not really, I was assured. What about
Sunday, was there a church parade? Well, yes but you don't have to
attend, many don't. My sister and her husband lived in Surbiton, close
to a bus route passing through Esher and Esher was within walking
distance from Oxshott, so on Sunday I set forth, catching a bus at Esher
and spending a pleasant day with them. Arriving back just before
midnight I assembled all my new webbing equipment and then slept well.
In the morning my new companions informed me that there was to be a
sergeant-major's parade at eight o'clock, in shirt-sleeve order and I
felt a little apprehensive because I now had no time to blanco my
equipment; there was nothing for it but to go on parade multi-coloured.
Since we were not wearing battledress blouses I had another little
problem. The previous Christmas one of my sisters had given me a pair
of braces (suspenders in North America), very patriotic, in red, white
and blue stripes and these didn't improve my appearance either. We
assembled in the roadway not far from the big house and with the rest I
fell in, waiting for the axe to fall.
The sergeant-major came down the lines, inspecting his charges. When he
reached me he paused for a second or two as if he couldn't believe his
eyes. He looked me up and down and then launched into a long tirade
concerning my appearance. He drew my attention to the lad next to me
and informed me that he had come all the way from Cyprus just to fight
for Britain and just look at him, how soldierly he was. Without turning
my head I looked out of the corner of my eye and took in this exemplar;
in all honesty I had to admit to myself that there was no comparison
between us but of the two I thought I was the better looking. Mentally
I told myself that I had come all the way from Bristol via Filton,
Plymouth, Westward Ho and Tidworth with the same idea but I had been in
the army long enough to know that it was impossible to win an argument
with a higher rank so I put on my wooden soldier's expression and stared
straight ahead. Eventually he ran out of steam as I knew he would; he
took my name and number and charged me with being improperly dressed.
Fortunately for me the officer hearing the charge was not so impetuous
and gave me the opportunity to explain that as a territorial I had never
been fully kitted out; he dismissed the charge.
But Sergeant-major McCullom had seen his little fish slip through his
fingers and I was now introduced to one of the meaner, petty characters
that the army had seen fit to elevate. I was ordered to blanco my
equipment immediately in the approved khaki colour and had to treat my
gas mask cover with the mandated blanco, Pickering's khaki-green No.3.
I often wondered who were the major shareholders in these blanco
companies, most units required slightly different shades, but perhaps
I'm being a bit cynical. Unfortunately the new gas mask cover had a
flaw, it had a large grease spot that refused to take the blanco. The
orderly sergeant said, "Do it again." I did. The results were the
same, as were the third, fourth and fifth try. These orderly sergeants,
there were two of them, now had a victim; at no time did either of them
offer any suggestions or watch me as I assiduously blancoed away at that
confounded gas mask cover. Eventually the truth must have dawned on
them and I had the cover exchanged but from then on my name was the
first one to come into their little minds when an unpleasant task came
up or one invented especially for me and for three weeks I had
practically no free time for myself.
One other incident stays with me from those days, a sad one really. A
young lad of about 19, infantry I believe, was in quite a state. He
told me that his mother was a widow and that he was the youngest of
three sons. One brother had been killed in North Africa and he had
heard that very morning that his other brother had been killed in a
training accident; he himself was waiting for a posting to Lord knows
where. I believe the army has been known in such cases to discharge a
lone survivor but this lad was not to be consoled. I don't know the
outcome.
Oxshott does not evoke very happy memories in my mind and for a long
time afterwards I harboured thoughts of meeting those three after the
war, on more equal terms or on terms more favourable to me but now I
can't even remember what they looked like. The future became a little
brighter when on a later postings parade my name was called out and I
was en route to Aldershot, to Parson's Barracks.