Accommodation in Parson's Barracks was in the comparatively new spider
huts, six corridors emanating from a common hub terminating in our
sleeping quarters. Again the beds consisted of three bed boards on
wooden trestles and three biscuits; Four blankets completed the
ensemble. I think that we were there just filling in time before we
were sent on an overseas draft and each morning we paraded in front of
the Company Office for roll call before being marched off to the
Ordnance Workshops, there to be split up into our various trades.
Initially I was sent to a fitting bench where my main unofficial job was
to convert an English penny into a spitfire brooch for my sister. Later
I was transferred to the Drawing Office. I don't recall exactly what I
worked on, nothing earth-shattering but this was to be the pattern of
things for the next couple of months.
This was a peacetime undertaking employing mainly civilians both in the
offices and workshops and supplemented during the war by army tradesmen.
There were relics of a bygone age when time was not of the essence; on
the walls were some drawings on thick cartridge paper of weaponry with
the various metals indicated by colour washes, blue for steel and yellow
for brass while some drawings were in ink on tracing linen. Current
drawings however were in pencil on tracing paper.
It was not all office work because we were also given some military
training including physical exercises, running around a battle course
though not under live firing as some poor souls were. Additionally we
were instructed in unarmed combat but it was nowhere near as intensive
as infantry training. Also on Sundays we had church parades, marching
up the main street behind a band to have our souls saved. With others I
objected to this religious nonsense and asked to be exempt. I was
offered two alternatives, either march to the church and stand to
attention for the duration of the service or opt for fatigue duties;
twice I chose the former but then decided that peeling potatoes gave me
the opportunity to vent my frustrations on the poor tubers, slicing them
into cubes or sculpting faces on them. I thought that my best move
would be to approach the padre and ask to change my religious
designation. "To what?" he enquired. "To agnostic," I answered, "it
means I don't know." "I'm well aware of what it means," he said "but the
army doesn't recognise agnostics and since you say that you don't know
then keep coming to church and we'll teach you to believe." I realised
at that moment why so many of the soldiers' bawdy songs are sung to hymn
tunes, sung quietly to themselves it let them feel that although the
army had control of them physically it could not tame their thinking.
About this time, having been in the army for more than three years I
sewed the dog's hind leg, an inverted chevron, on my blouse cuff. This
lasted until one evening when on guard duty the guard commander didn't
turn up. "Who's the senior soldier?" asked the orderly sergeant. He
looked around and espied my chevron and "All right, you, you're now the
acting guard commander. March them off. I did. The next day I removed
the chevron. It was then that I decided not to volunteer for anything,
nor try to evade anything, I would let life unfold as it would. My
rationale was that if ever I found myself in a tough spot I could always
blame the system, never myself for being such a fool. I had volunteered
twice, once when I joined up and again when I applied for a transfer out
of the Royal Signals and I decided that was enough.
In the mess hall there were soldiers from an assortment of units, some
being new intake; at one mealtime the Orderly Officer accompanied by the
Orderly Sergeant arrived. The Orderly Sergeant yelled out, "Any
complaints?" "Yes." came a voice. The pair approached the voice and the
officer asked, "Yes, my man and what is your complaint?" "This tea."
"What's the matter with it?" "It's 'orrible." "Let me taste it," said
the officer as he bravely sipped from the far side of the mug, "there's
nothing wrong with tea, it's as good as I get at home." "Hmm, bloody
fine 'ome you comes from then!" There was a stunned silence; this was
beginning to look interesting. "Take his name and number, sergeant,"
said the officer, "and charge him." I believe some leniency was shown
because this lad was very new to the army and the army had not yet had
time to drill the lively civilian spirit out of him.
I was on three overseas drafts, for the first one I was "waiting man";
that meant that if any man were to be taken off the draft then I would
replace him. I had seven days embarkation leave but the draft was
complete without me. Again for the second draft I had seven days
embarkation leave and I set off on the Southern Railway bound for
Reading where I would change to the Great Western Railway. I was a bit
like a Sherpa porter as in addition to all my normal gear I also had a
kitbag with my tropical kit. On the first leg of the journey I was
chatting to another soldier who was going on his normal leave to his
South Wales home; he also would have to change trains at Reading but
would be catching a different one. Seeing me struggling with all my
gear he offered to carry some for me; I gave him my heavier kitbag. He
got off the train before me and disappeared into the crowd and that was
the last I saw of him. I searched the platforms and reported the
episode to the RTO but there was no sign of my property. Disillusioned,
I went on with my journey determined to enjoy my seven days at home.
When I got back to Aldershot I had to report my loss which consisted not
only of army property but also a lot of my personal stuff; I had to
repay the army, however I was able to tell the authorities the man's
unit, rank, South Wales destination, train time and date, and they
traced him for me. He didn't dispute the facts but said that as he was
in a hurry to catch his train he left my kitbag on a platform. He was
lying of course but we couldn't prove anything and I had learned a
costly lesson. The draft was cancelled.
By this time many of us had been transferred from the RAOC into the
newly formed Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers, REME, changing
our ranks from privates to craftsmen, this sounded good but we were
still at the bottom of the totem pole. Towards the end of 1942 I was on
my third draft, identified as RDGFA which some wags said stood for "REME
draft going far away". We gathered at Ramillies Barracks in Aldershot
filling in time with some regimental training under a Canadian corporal
who, disregarding our medical groupings for we were a very mixed bunch,
proceded to run us around a battle course that included an eight-foot
high jump. He was pretty tough himself; with one wrist in a plaster
cast he led us in traversing across a gap by means of a horizontal rope.
At this time I began to ponder the future, weighing my chances of
surviving unscathed, surviving maimed or not surviving at all. I had no
sound data to base my reasoning on but knew that Germany, seemingly
invincible, had taken over three years to advance well into Russia and
North Africa and that the Allies would take at least that time to
reverse the situation; surviving unscathed appeared to be a remote
possibility but one could always hope.
Again we were issued with a second kitbag and tropical uniforms. Where
were we going? None of us knew and with the army's art of deception we
could have been going to a cold place. After a further seven days
embarkation leave we returned to Aldershot, regrouped and took a train
to London. From there we boarded a troop train and headed north on the
old LNER line stopping at last at a transit camp at Cottingham near
Hull. Lugging our two kits around was a bit of a chore. We were due to
leave again the following day so a couple of us went into Hull that
evening to a cinema along with two NAAFI lasses. The incongruity of the
situation struck me when we came out; it was too late to get anything to
eat or to get a bus back to camp. Outside the cinema a man was selling
hot chestnuts and these were our only nourishment but we went back to
camp in grand style, we took a taxi.
The next day we entrained again this time bound for Glasgow but we
didn't know it. At the docks we saw our floating home, His Majesty's
Transport Antenor. At first sight HMT Antenor seemed to be not unlike
my early childish drawings of ships, high fo'castle, a low forward
well-deck, high superstructure, a low aft well-deck and a high stern
structure. Both well-decks had raised hatch covers that gave access to
the lower decks and the centre superstructure carried the lone funnel.
We were told that she was part of the Blue Funnel Line that normally
operated in the far-eastern waters carrying passengers and freight. In
single file, wearing our webbing and with our kitbags slung over our
shoulders we slowly mounted the gangplank. At the top of the gangplank
we were directed to our quarters, draft RDGFA went aft to the lowest
deck; although there were portholes on that level the actual deck was
just below the water-line and the portholes were sealed shut. Mess
tables covered the deck, they were all of a similar pattern with
attached bench seats but varying in length to conform to the contours of
the ship. Overhead was a multiplicity of hooks to accommodate the
hammocks with which we would soon be issued. Kapok life-jackets were
given out with strict instructions not to use them as pillows but we
were not told how long they could remain in the water before they became
waterlogged. Soon we settled in.