My War 1938 - 1947 Part 4 of 8

At last our time at pre-OCTU came to an end, and we were detailed to move to the OCTU designated for us. The day before we had heard the sound of aircraft engines in the distance, and getting louder. At last they came into view — it was the Airborne army on its way to France. I do not remember whether it was the first or second division, but on they came, three abreast in an arrowhead formation, stretching from horizon to horizon, many of them towing gliders, and for hour after hour they flew directly overhead - and they were only one of four or five fleets! It was the most impressive sight I have ever seen.

The next day we paraded for the move to the North, catching the train at Camberley Station. It was late. We were told that the train we should have caught had been bombed, and taken out of service, so we sat in the train we had caught, and watched the view over London. We could see the dozens, perhaps hundreds, of barrage balloons scattered , no doubt with some plan behind them, all over the London basin , and we passed a train, perhaps the one we should have caught, that had been bombed and put out of action. When we arrived in London we changed stations as quickly as we could, hoping to catch a particular train. Whether we did or not I do not remember, but we did get away before too long, and then settled down to have as restful a journey as we could.

We did not arrive in Staffordshire until getting on for midnight, so what with the darkness and our tiredness after our long journey there was quite a lot of confusion. This was not helped by the permanent staff of Alton Towers, who obviously felt
that the best way to organize us was to shout and scream at the tops of their voices. At last our kit bags were stored on the truck that had met us, we were fallen in, and marched off up the winding road which climbed the hill to the Towers. Matters were not helped by the way in which we were accompanied by a constant chorus from the Regimental Sergeant Major, the four Company Sergeant Majors, and the four Sergeants, who obviously felt for some reason that they were contributing something constructive and stabilising, by shouting out instructions as loudly as they could.
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This especially applied as they insisted on marching us at the light infantry pace of 140 paces to the minute, which in itself caused us distress, since we were all heavy infantrymen, used to a much slower marching pace of only120 paces per minute. However, we got there in the end., and were dismissed after a repeat of the chaos we had seen at the station, and finally got to bed.

The next morning reveille was at six o’clock, with half an hour to wash, shave, dress and get on parade for half an hour’s drill, all at light infantry rate, and when no mistakes were allowed — they would be punished by an even more punishing regime, or, if the RSM felt they merited it, by being ‘placed on orders’. This meant that the unfortunate victim would be paraded before the Company Commander, his ‘crime’ read out, his punishment pronounced, and he would be marched away to the day’s work, plus whatever punishment had been awarded. After ‘rouse parade’ as it was called we had breakfast, finished cleaning up our hut and its surrounding space, and were then fallen in for the day’s training.

Apart from the standard army routine of parade ground drill this consisted of learning how to use a Vickers machine gun, how to direct its fire, how to strip it down and how to re-assemble it. This was all repeated ad nauseam until we were as expert with it as could reasonably be expected. We spent time on the range, learning to fire the guns and dealing with any stoppages that occurred, and then we had to strip them down and service them thoroughly. In addition we had to learn how to drive (both lorries and Bren Gun Carriers —a light tracked vehicle we used extensively), how to reconnoitre the landscape ahead of us, how to master the art of digging in our weapons and camouflaging them so the enemy would not be able to see them, and
anything that experience or our instructor’s imagination suggested might be valuable to us. Sometimes we would go off in our Bren Gun Carriers to spend the day practising all the evolutions we might have to use in the field, which would leave us pretty much fagged out by tea time. Then, one day, we heard a rumour that we, or at any rate some of us, would not be needed after all. Apparently the Army’s calculations of casualty rates had proved to be greatly exaggerated, and losses had been much lower than expected. Of course, it was just a rumour, and there was no confirmation of it, and there was no-one we could ask, we just had to wait and see. However, after a week or two, it was confirmed, and the list of those to be RTU’d (Returned To Unit) was published. My name was on it. I, and all those others to be got rid of (between a third and a half of our company), were told to pack our belongings and draw our pay for a week’s leave, given a railway warrant to our home town, and then back to the station nearest to our regiment’s depot. So goodbye to hopes of promotion.

After my week’s leave was over I reported to the Regimental Depot at Chester, where I settled in to a dreary routine of constant fatigues (mostly peeling vegetables for the next meal or sweeping floors). The food in the camp was very poor, so that sometimes we would miss a meal, replacing it by six pennyworth of chips when we went out that evening, Some time after I left that camp I was told that the messing officer and the sergeant were both court martialled for the way they had mis-appropriated money from the messing funds. So somebody got some thing right there, then. At Christmas I was on 24 hour guard duty, and just my luck, I was on sentry duty over the lunch hour. I knew what that meant. My Christmas dinner would be put on a plate, and then placed on top of the cast iron stove to keep it warm, so that by the time I actually got it would be dried up and tasteless.

So, while the whole camp was in the mess hall eating their dinner, I, and other sentries, were shivering on duty on a very cold and frosty day. Opposite my post there was a housing estate, and I had noticed a young woman who kept looking out of the window in my direction. Now, however, she came out of the house and came across to me, when she asked me if I thought it would be all right for her to give me a Christmas drink! Well, yes, I did think it would be all right — at any rate so long as nobody saw me drinking it. Reassured, back she went to her house, coming out a few minutes later with a very large slice of Christmas Cake, and a tumbler three quarters full of port. She went back to her party and I quickly finished off the cake and wine, and then she came back to remove the evidence, and to receive my grateful thanks. I have never forgotten her or felt other than grateful for her kind thought.

Shortly after Christmas I was posted to Anglesey, to Trearddur Bay, a few miles from Holyhead, where we continued our training, It was evident that we would be posted somewhere abroad, but in the meantime I was fascinated to see, for the first time in my life, the sea in the bay was edged with ice: the sea had frozen! There was proof that this was a really cold winter. Another time, as the tide came in the sea was filled with bobbing orange balls. Somewhere in the Irish sea a ship had been torpedoed, and its cargo of grapefruits lost until they sank. My only other memories of this time were firstly that my hand was very badly bruised when a Vickers Gun tripod I was carrying on my shoulder fell when I slipped on a sheet of ice, rendering me hors de combat for a couple of weeks (my ‘light duties’ until I recovered was road making), and the time our CO
(Commanding Officer) told us that if we could not see Snowdon it was raining, but if we could see it that meant it was going to rain.

Then, at last, we were told that we were going abroad , and sent on a week’s embarkation leave.

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