Chapter 6 - Life in Morecambe

CHAPTER VI - LIFE IN MORECAMBE

The OCTU to which I was posted was at Morecambe. A rather difficult train journey from Nottingham especially on a Sunday. Due to a rail strike, I got stranded in Manchester for six hours. Saw the film 'Blithe Spirit'. Wonderful. But after the show, went to see the Railway Transport Officer, hoping he'd give us an overnight pass. But he said there were one or two trains running again and we had to get one.

I had fortunately found a pal in Manchester, so together we humped our kit-bags round searching for the OCTU.

On our arrival there at 1 a.m., we were shown to our rooms in an old Hotel by a Regimental Police Corporal. I saw for the first time my two room-mates. One was a fat greasy looking fellow sleeping in his shirt, other had a much more jovial face and was shortly to become my best pal.

I viewed my own bed, the one left. It was seven feet from the ground. It had a straw paliasse but no blankets. Nothing I tried could get me a bed with blankets. I even suggested I might sleep in one of the guard-room cells. But it was agreed that I would have to hit the Corporal first.
The OCTU itself was in an old hotel. The food was good and further there was an excellent NAAFI canteen. Morecambe I did not like as it was too artificial but many did get a great kick out of it, especially from the female attractions for which the town is so well known.

While on leave I had purchased and repaired an ancient and somewhat unreliable push-bike. As soon as I could, I brought this up and got a great deal of pleasure from it. I spent my week-ends cycling to the East of the town enjoying these days of solitude in the hills as a change from Army life. Further, I retired to bed on Sunday night not bored, but honestly and happily
tired and satisfied.

Training was not really tiring but apt to be a little boring. We started again from lesson 1 on the rifle, Care and Cleaning. Our main interest this time was in active criticism or actually giving the lectures.

For the most part, the OCTU was just like any normal infantry unit but with much more section and platoon spirit. Our section possessed a liveliness, team spirit, and general humour l have never seen before or since. This pulling together had, I am sure, a great effect on our happiness and high average grades at the end of the course.

To show what a mixed bunch we were, I will attempt to give a little picture about the others as far as I can remember. The first was a rather dull fellow of 20 in the Loyals; he was always to afraid of doing something wrong to get any fan out of life. The second was a grand little fellow in the South Wales Borders. Only just nineteen made him the baby of the platoon, although by no means the least lively. A Welsh Guards corporal was the third, and aged twenty one, was like our friend in the Loyals, a very tame person. My pal was in the Reconnaissance Corps, aged twenty four. He was extremely cheery and up to any mischief although a hard worker. Our second member of the Reconnaissance Corps was an older married fellow of twenty eight. He had seen a lot of fighting and was always ready to help anyone.

The Irish are always a dark crowd. Our fellow was reputed to have been sent down from Dublin University, joined the Eire Army and then deserted to our own. Whatever his past, his yarns always cheered us on. Last, but by no means least, was a Commando. At the outbreak of war he left university to join the Army. He had worked behind the lines and was a parachutist. Enough, to tell his life would require a whole book.
I suppose what we achieved was more or less the ideal of team spirit. I hate to use this expression as it savours of the 'old school tie', and a more bolshy crowd could not have been selected anywhere.

Night schemes were at first dull but gradually became more interesting. With a crowd full of life, there are always mistakes, which when taken in good part by everyone, prove rather amusing.

One night our Irishman wanted to throw a thunderflash which he found surplus to his requirements. He must first of all, of course, check on the location of our platoon commander, Capt Meddings.

"Where's that b----r Meddings?"

As no one responded, he repeated his words of
wisdom a little louder in that unmistakable accent.

"Where's that b----r Meddings?"

"There's no need to shout so loud Rogers"

There in the grass, as most of us well knew, not five yards away, lay the officer in question. Enough of these jokes. Let us consider some of our more doubtful actions.

Us young soldiers were quickly learning some of the tricks used by our older comrades. In fact, for minor subterfuges an OCTU must take some beating. 'Night Ops', especially when done in the rain, were often pre-arranged by a mutual conference between attack and defence prior to the start of operations.

As at Wrotham, the 'blitz: course, was the night-mare of our training. Here, it was three visits to a battle school. But before diverging onto these forms of entertainment, it may be interesting to record a passing out parade we had for one of the earlier companies.

The usual procedure, was adopted, 'General Salute', the parade commander then reported to the inspecting general, and then a slow march as the parade was inspected. An amusement park was situated near the OCTU. A conflict arose between our slow march by the band, and the amusement park loudspeaker booming, 'She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes'.

The battle camp was at Abbeystead, a village in the Lancashire hills some thirty miles from Lancaster. We were accomodated in a mansion with cramped sleeping quarters, little food, and practically no cigarettes. The training consisted of field firing in the form of section attacks. They were apt to be boring, tiring, and wet as they consisted of bolting round the sodden moors or shivering while we watched and criticised someone else.

By contrast, I remember one day particularly. Wet, tired, and ho:" we came to a shallow river. In a flash our denims were off (we only wore overalls without any underclothes) and we splashed in the ice cold peat water 'till all the mud and warmth had left us.

It was at this battle camp that we first began to realise the spirit that was forming in our section. Concrete evidence was in an assault course in which the worst obstacle was feet of mud and water. I well remember one fellow crawling through a wet tunnel being blown out of the other end when an officer threw an amatol charge in at the other. Our team spirit made the section second out of twelve.

The week was liberally dozed with night work, including firing, compass and patrol work. The compass work was regarded as being dangerous. The last company lost three people to hospital. They fell down a fourteen foot precipice. We suffered only one sprained ankle and then the fellow had lost his way.

Another platoon had an accident well worthy of note. A cadet loaded his sten gun while facing his squad. He carried out the actions in the wrong order, and, while remedying a jam, contrived to fire a burst of three rounds into the squad. Fortunately only one cadet was hit and that in the ankle. The cadet in question was allowed to continue the course and eventually passed out as an officer.

The last scheme was a ten mile map reading exercise, this time across the mountains of Wales. We did it in pairs. I was with an older fellow who became so tired ploughing up hills, across bogs, rivers and so on, that he had to have a rest for half-an-hour which we celebrated by smoking the one and only cigarette between us, a 'Kensitas'.

We were the last pair to cross the brow, which led down to the road where we could see four truck loads of cadets scanning the sky-line as they searched for us. While still 600 yards away, we heard the strains of 'They'll be all hot and sticky when they come' alternating with 'They'll be all shagged and weary when they come'.
One of the more important aspects of the battle camp was a privelage granted to all on their safe return. We were allowed a 36 hour pass alternate week-ends provided we were not on 'jankers' or duty.

It was too far to get home but I had my cycle and decided to visit the Lake District. On the appointed Saturday, I left for Kendal, some thirty miles North of the camp. It was grand weather. I enjoyed every minute of the trip especially a tea I had at a roadside cafe. I spent the night in a hotel that was on the verge of being a pub, but it was quiet. The food was good and the place had a homely touch. A very pleasant change from the normal Army routine.

The following morning I was off in good time and soon looking down on Windermere. It was about twelve by this time and, as I studied my map, looking for a suitable stopping place for lunch. I began talking to one of the villagers who solved my problem by inviting me to come to his house and share his Sunday dinner. This made me feel very much at home and gave me a grand dinner, a gesture which I much appreciated in such hard times, especially when we had never seen each other before.

In the afternoon I had a long ride and finally a row on Lake Windermere. Darkness found me well on the way back to camp but with a weak battery light that got progressively worse and worse. I gave it a rest at another roadside café and enjoyed another good snack. I well remember arriving back in camp at ten o'clock with over eighty miles behind me. I was asleep almost before I could tell my pals of my adventures.

About this time it was definitely established that the Unit would move to Alton Towers near Uttoxeter. A new Commanding Officer would join us there, and our course was to be lengthened from 17 to 19 weeks, resulting from the move. Last, but by means least, we were to have leave from Alton 'immediately on arrival'.

The move was chaos itself. As an example, one Saturday afternoon, they had a fatigue party of fifty detailed to load trucks at the camp and a similar fatigue party to unload them at the station. They were using a fleet of eighteen trucks which permitted six being loaded, and six being unloaded simultaneously
at both ends and six being on the road. When we started in the afternoon, one truck was being loaded at a time by five people, the remainder standing idle. When this was at last pointed out to the officer in charge of loading, we were allowed to work six vehicles at a time but even then 15 cwt trucks went off with enormous loads and three tonners practically empty.

We had several people in the company who, like myself, had experience in loading and knew how to pack a vehicle safely to obtain maximum load with minimum damage, but no attempt was made to use them.
I gather I rather stunned the official order, once I got inside some of the railway box trucks. Farm experience loading sheaves, stacking bales and the rest counted. I was at home as a labourer.

The following Monday, we all marched down to the station with large and small packs (now contrary to orders) and were not permitted to whistle, sing, or talk on the five mile march.I suppose it was considered 'infra dig' for officer cadets.

We entrained under a special complicated drill controlled by a bugler. Before long, someone explained to the bugler the best purpose to which his instrument might be put, and we got on the train.

At Alton Towers we were crowded into small billets with only eighteen inches of floor space between our double tier bunks. Unloading was performed with no, better system than loading. Somehow the majority of the work was done in time. We went on leave three days after our arrival. Great.

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