Chapter 2 - The First Scheme

CHAPTER 11 - THE FIRST SCHEME

Tired, hungry and excited, we were met at Woking station by a Highland Light Infantry Officer with a three-ton truck. I soon hopped in to find there were some fellows there already. They had apparently just returned from a War Office Selection Board (WOSB) for officers. That showed I was on the right track.

I listened to the rest of what they had to say, but it was too bad to believe. They were laying on the old soldier too much even for me. Afterwards I became quite used to this very natural desire to exaggerate everything and now pay little attention to soldier's descriptions.

On arrival at the camp, I was marched into a large barrack room. What a contrast with the hut I'd just left. The two storey structure was of brick and plaster, beautifully distempered. It had a proper ceiling and polished teak floor. I was in one of the barrack blocks put up by War Minister Hoare Belisha, as he prepared the Country for war.

Our personal accommodation consisted of a full length green locker and a bed - a real iron bed with steel springs, not a wooden wire netting tier bunk. Last but not least, those sacred few inches, a soldiers bed-space was almost large enough to accommodate a 6' x 3'
groundsheet on the floor beside the bed.

I had only just taken all this in when I was introduced to Sergeant Jones, a small fellow in the Cheshires. At first meeting he seemed really decent, and he was. A peace-time regular soldier, there were two sides to him - the generally friendly, then sometimes the very correct regular sergeant.

He asked if I wanted food. I was given a guide and sent to the cookhouse. Here I ate a grand two-course meal off tables with clean white enamel tops. What really made the meal a treat was one of my favourite puddings - a well cooked bread-and-butter pud. On return, Sgt Jones asked about my laundry and a bath. I had my first warm shower since I joined the Army, and my first of any description for a fortnight.

The following day was the usual run of introductory talks to which no one paid much attention 'till leave was mentioned. We were to have ten days in four weeks time. How near that seemed then, yet how long those four weeks were going to take.

The next day was spent in doing the same tests we had done prior to passing out of our six weeks primary training. As we soon found out, the next four weeks was a re-hash of what we had already done with a few minor additions.

The worst of these was a period a day of P.T. This new P.T. was almost inhumane compared with what we had already done. Even this was not enough. We had to start an assault course. At this time it was to me a fiendish contraption of ridiculous and unlikely obstacles. I can still remember some of them. One was an artificial stagnant green ditch with wire netting over the top;
the function of the netting was not to prevent the unwary falling in, but to prevent anyone escaping from crawling through this cess-pool.

A narrow log ran over a similar ditch, an eight feet log wall had to be climbed then, there being no other way down, we had to jump off it.

One must give credit where it is due. We got half-a-pint of hot milk and a sandwich every morning in addition to normal rations, which made up to some extent for our hard work. The second-in-command of the battalion used to run a film show every Sunday night. He generally looked after our welfare and was the most popular officer in the unit, a man with a big generous heart.

On and on the work continued. We knew we were doing infantry training and that all of us were destined either to attend a War Office Selection Board for Officers, or, at the worst, were potential Non Commissioned Officers; it was this that kept us going.

Certainly, it can only have been this enthusiasm, to which no one would admit, that made us clean the brasses on our webbing, back and front, every night, including Sunday. It was very competitive.
The mention of the sabbath is bound to strike a chord in every soldier's mind. Yes, we had church parades. But they gave us an extra opportunity for drill rather than any spiritual enlightenment.

There were five periods a week to which everyone looked forward - education. Two of these were devoted to films. We were all too tired to profit much from the lessons. Our Army Education Corps Sergeants, always kindhearted people, realised this. So, for good or evil, we had five periods of recuperation a week.

At the back of our minds all the time was leave. Bit by bit, it gradually got closer, 'till at last the great day arrived and we were off.

What a great thing leave was. However, I did not feel really worked up 'till I was on one of my home-town busses. Then I started to see the shops I knew. I saw a school cap, one I might have been wearing two years earlier. I got off the bus, waved to a
neighbour, and then was in my own home with my own family.
I forgot all about the Army, except to tell interested friends of the horrors, and by this time, with the usual exaggerations. I had ten days as a civilian, but how quickly that passed. Before long, I was off back to the 29th Training Battalion.

It was great to see all my friends again. Those long faces, now wreathed in smiles, ready to face another month or two of training. Even the NCO's seemed to have enjoyed themselves. Whether by design or not, whether by imagination or not, training seemed to become much easier. The Sergeant even chatted to us occasionally at night. We all seemed to get on better with each other.

I have not yet mentioned one of the big tasks to which we returned. Every night, our teak floor was swept and 'bumped', but specially for the CO's inspection every Saturday morning. Friday night was the time. We had to buy floor polish and work on our hands and knees; at it till 9 or 10 o'clock at night.
The bumper was a two foot piece of tree trunk that had been sawn to split it longitudinally. For a handle there was a wooden fencing rail screwed to the bumper with a gate hinge. Shot backwards and forwards on a duster across the teak floors, it generated a magnificent polish.

We also had to fold our blankets every morning. Three lay folded, edges exposed, one on top of the other. The last blanket was wrapped round the other three. The problem was that we had had to sew a label onto each blanket with our rank, name, and number, written on it. Now, all these labels had to be exactly horizontal, and exactly one above the other. What a job 'till we got used to it.

Training, as well as becoming less strenuous, became more interesting. We started doing new weapons and more advanced lessons about the old. We began route marches, which I found very pleasant.
The marches I did not like were the forced ones in which we gradually worked up from 2½ miles in 30 minutes wearing P.T. kit, to 10 miles wearing battle order and carrying rifles, firing ten rounds on the range, and all in 2 hours. This occupied but one afternoon a week, and although severe punishment, did not last long.

We were just beginning to laugh at the old assault course when a new and even more fiendish contrivance of man was introduced to our lives. The 'Blitz Course', as it was named. It was an absolute maize of obstacles of all descriptions, walls, ditches, ramps, barbed wire, parallel ropes, scaling nets, logs, and in fact everything short of murder.

So far, the only training in which we had ourselves 'fought' was on night schemes of which we had two a week. We all quite enjoyed the exercises for their own sake. But, apart from that, little discipline and control could be exercised at night, so they always ended in a free fight somewhere. We were all ready for it and eager to put into practice some of what we had learnt.
It was a grand morning when we set off. We were all in the highest of spirits_ After a short march of about six miles, we arrived at an old golf club-house which was to be our billet. We were very confident when told to cook our own lunch. But, after two hours, most of us were glad of some bread and cheese rather than eat our own inedible lumps of charred matter.

The afternoon was devoted to 'all in rugger', a very strenuous variety of the more conventional game. This suited us down to the ground. What could be better, especially when followed by a good tea with plenty of 'buckshees' and two hours of enforced rest. Everybody pretended to sleep, but in actual fact was wide awake.

At dusk, we fell in ready for the night's work. Our first job was to march three miles and do a short patrol exercise in which we fired three rounds. It struck us all as being a tragedy to dirty our rifles for the sake of three shots, but we had not been in the Army long enough to practice many of the old soldiers tricks.
Our next task was an eight mile march. At the end of this, we were just beginning to think that it had ceased to be fun when we had to start digging slit trenches. This is a surprisingly difficult task for novices in the dark.

Very tired and very sore, we set off back to
our billet, a march of some six miles, arriving about four in the morning. A drink of hot Army cocoa was ready for us.
We all lined up in single file, each man undoing the pack in front of him, to get his friend's mess tin. I had not realised I was the last in the queue. At first not surprised when I felt my pack being undone, it suddenly struck me as odd. I turned round.
The Major, second in command of the battalion, handed me my mess tins. What lovely surprise.

By forbidding us to smoke: the Company Commander saved the Country importing 150 cigarettes, much to our disgust. So, with a struggle, we heaved off our boots and got into the blankets, only to be dragged out two hours later for a 'stand-to'.

Shaving in a mess tin full of ice cold water was quite a new experience. I might also say a useless experiment for the novice as regards arresting the growth of a beard. What it did teach us is there is usually some way of heating water.
We cooked our own breakfast and, as bacon does not need any great technical knowledge, we all got a reasonable meal.

It was a change to march back to the digging area in daylight after having only done it at night. Most of us were not interested, we felt tired physically and as if we had a hangover mentally. We had a look at our tiny slit trenches of the previous night and hastened to fill them is before anyone should see them.

Once more we were back on the road marching down to the Army School of Hygiene. Everybody was hoping for a lecture; but, alas, we had to walk round admiring field latrines and viewing different methods of keeping flies away. We stood, watched, and listened, our legs and feet already in a bad way getting worse.
We would love to have paused for a few minutes. After an hour or so at this we were back on the road, arriving in camp a crowd of scruffy dirty specimens of humanity just in time for lunch.

No. Surely No, but yes, it must be brasses clean, back and front, boots polished, shaved, even necks clean. Yes, there we were on parade as usual the next morning.

By now we were getting to know the permanent staff
of the 29th Training Battalion.
The Sergeant in charge of the other half of the platoon had served with' 'The Green Howards' in the Middle East.

On Saturday nights, when he had enjoyed himself, he was won't to start singing. This Was his heartfelt favourite which he used to sing with great feeling.

You've heard of a place called Benghazi
'Neath the heat of the Lybian sun.
For there lies a poor English swadi,
His duty for England is done.
And as on his side he lay dying,
these his last words he did cry,
Bury me out in the Desert,
In the heat of the Lybian sun,
For my duty for England is done.

Little did I realise, that I would later be privileged to offer the token of identification to some of these poor men, as we moved them to Military Cemeteries, still 'under the heat of the Lybian sun'.

On a light hearted breathe, the other junior leader of that platoon was a great big shiney Corporal in the Manchester Regiment, a heavy machine gun regiment (Vickers water-cooled machine guns).

His cry was:

Little fly upon the wall,
Ain't you got no clothes atall,
What, no shimmy, no shirt, no vest, no skirt.
Gee, you must be cold.

Still makes me smile.

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