Memories of Frank Yates Chapter 18

Memories of Frank Yates CHAPTER 18

The last serious effort needed at Tonfanau came in the penultimate month; the great ten mile walk in two hours. If that does not sound very onerous, in these days of marathons and half marathons, try doing it wearing army boots, a respirator on the chest, a steel helmet and carrying a rifle and then firing ten rounds, all in the two hours! The four squads were to start at ten minute intervals and to follow a prescribed and signposted route.
After a lot of discussion, and having heard that the other squads were to keep together as a squad, we took our usual unorthodox stance and decided that, by sticking together, we would be at the mercy of the slowest in the squad and so we decided to run the course individually.
Peter Ciceri and I had both been in the Scouts, and decided to stick together and use the “Scout Pace”; - Run two telegraph poles, walk two telegraph poles, for the whole way. En route we passed another squad, who had started ten minutes before us and plodded on. We found that starting to run again, after the walking stages was not easy! Eventually, coming down the road to the north of the River Dyssyn, we saw the reception party on the beach. A look at our watches showed that we were eight minutes short of the two hours. We crossed the line, holding hands, so the same time was recorded for both of us. We were given two clips of five rounds and told to fire at targets 100 yards away, on the permanent beach based firing range. I got the usual response “Why don’t you use the right shoulder, like everybody else?” which got my usual answer that if I used my right eye; I wouldn’t even see the target. Then, as I lay on the sand, someone stood on my heel and tried to force it down parallel to the ground. After running ten miles, I was as rude to him as I dared. I had not the slightest doubt about my shooting, and, after setting the rear sight to 100 yards, I held my breath, gently squeezed the trigger into the wooden stock, in the way shown me years ago by Capt. Cole, at Endcliffe Hall, 10 bulls! I was, of course, very pleased, and even if it sounds big headed, I was not surprised. After all I knew that I was a good marksman! People were arriving in dribs and drabs and it was noticeable that none of the marching groups had stayed together. Peter and I were the only two cadets to finish in the two hours, but his shooting was not as good as mine. We wended our weary way up the road for a much needed bath and the happy thought that we had probably climbed our last mountain!

Radical changes were being made to the main street in Towyn. Empty shops and even going concerns, were being taken over by military tailors, anxious to cash in on the new OCTU, at Tonfanau. During the penultimate month we were informed that we could go ahead with the ordering of our uniforms. We were to be given a grant of £40, and most of the tailors offered a deal at about this figure.
Essentials were;

Service Dress Tunic and Trousers Separate collars
Greatcoat 2 ties
Sam Browne Belt Cloth belt
Brown Lotus “Veldtschoen” Boots Cap
Lotus Shoes Swagger stick
Shirts
Leather Gloves

I chose a firm called “Allkit” who offered me all the above for the £40 and threw in all the badges and insignia plus a very handsome, over the shoulder, haversack, in two tone leather and cloth. After being measured, I was to come for a fitting at the end of the month. Of all the items, in the list, the surprise, to me was that the boots were 4 guineas, and the shoes were 2 guineas, when excellent foot wear could be bought for 12shillings and sixpence! I suppose that you get what you pay for and they comfortably lasted me the war, although the boots had to be returned to the manufacturers, for repair
After this sartorial interlude, we return to Tonfanau, where I learned that John Reed had been declared the top cadet and yours truly was the runner up! Our “Bolshie” squad had got the two top awards! John, traditionally, was known as the “Red Admiral” and I was the “Blue Admiral”. We had to sew appropriate red and blue ribbons on our upper sleeves, and we were proud to be 1&2 out of 56.
On to the last month, by tradition the cadets were allocated, for a fortnight, to an AA Brigade, based in the central southern counties, which would have been convenient for Shrivenham but needing a long railway journey to Andover. The arrangement was that cadets were allocated, in pairs, to officers in the brigade, the hosts being the Brigadier, 3 regimental commanders, 9 battery commanders and more than 20 troop commanders. The hosts were responsible for the welfare and instruction of the cadets and I am sure that we all had a memorable fortnight. John and I were to live with the brigade commander. Brigadier Morley was our host, and he accommodated us at his HQ in Andover, We ate in his mess although we were not officers, and we travelled with him every day in his Humber Snipe staff car.
One of us sat with the driver, the other with the Brigadier, changing on alternate journeys. We visited gun sites, searchlight sites, and a secret radar installation near Ringwood. He took us to Middle Wallop to view the RAF underground Control Centre, and to Farnborough, where we saw our first Mosquito. When he visited a detachment, he always made a point of asking a soldier when his next leave was due and to make sure that, if he found it inconvenient, because of his wife’s period, to make sure that the date was altered.
We were very lucky to be looked after by the Brigadier, who, when we stopped for lunch, treated us, and bought the drinks. We would dine at coaching inns, at places like Fordingbridge or Winchester. The “Pub Lunch" was not a part of life, as it is now, and meals could only be taken at inns with a restaurant. To my list of “Firsts” must be added, table wine, ordered by the “Brig” occasionally. Again, in contrast to today, apart from port and sherry, at Xmas, very few people had ever had a bottle in the house.
Even though the “Brig” was so good to us, we had to be on the alert. We were visiting a Bofors site, and he asked the sergeant how frequently the recoil buffer had to be exercised. He didn’t know. So he turned to me and said “My young friend, here, will tell us!” Thanking my lucky stars that I knew the answer, without having to think, I gave the answer , “Once a month”, whereupon the great man asked John and I to show the Sergeant how to do it. We found the spanner in the toolkit, and “exercised” the buffer, while the Brig was in conversation with a red faced troop officer.
We were heading south, through Savernake Forest, when an American G.I. thumbed a lift, something I can’t imagine a British Soldier trying it on to a large staff car, flying a flag on its mudguard! We stopped and the G.I. got in the back, with John and the Brig. He was the first Yank that we had met, The Boss asked him where he lived in the States and whether he had a leave pass and where he was going? To this last question he said “I’m going to try a place called Bournemouth” (as in the one you eat with!) Silence for a while as the G.I. contemplated the Brig’s red cap with gold leaves, his red lapel tags and his epaulettes. Then “Say, what’s all that stuff? “Well, in your Army, I’d be called a Brigadier General, a One Star General”. John and I and the driver had to hide our amusement when the Yank said “BIG SHOT HEY!”
Our last visit, with the Brigadier, was to a park, in Oxford, on a fine, Sunday afternoon, to review the Oxford Home Guard. There were a lot of these part time soldiers and quite a few relatives and spectators. There was a march past and very smart they were. Not a bit like Captain Mainwaring and his Dad’s Army! Then the Brig. walked round every detachment, talking to individuals with John and me, in tow. Unfortunately, after the lunchtime glass of beer, I found that I badly needed a “pee”. A very embarrassing situation! I had noticed a public toilet, at the other side of the park and, there was nothing I could do but to apologetically approach the Brig. and explain the situation, he laughed and said “B****r off, we don’t want an accident with all Oxford looking on”!
This memorable two weeks came to an end and we were given a railway warrant by the brigade staff, and best wishes from Brigadier, and we wended our way back to Tonfanau and our last fortnight.
On my last leave, Peggy and I had agreed to get engaged on completion of the course and she was looking forward to seeing me. We were in the habit of writing to each other, every four days or so.
When our squad had reassembled and exchanged anecdotes about our fortnight of being guests down south, we wandered down the path to Towyn, to collect our uniforms, each with a banker’s order, for £40, drawn on Cox and King’s Bank. Incidentally we had been informed that, as officers, we had to have a bank account, and as most of us had no such bank account, we were registered with Cox and King’s, the banker to the Royal Artillery. Their Sheffield agent was Lloyd’s Bank, and I have been with them, now, for 62 years!
After trying on our uniforms, we stitched cloth “pips” on our battledress jackets and put it all away for the last few days, during which we were given advice on conduct and protocol. No social meetings with O.R’s (Other Ranks). Salutes to be returned smartly, (The saluter is saluting your Commission from the King, and must be treated with dignity) Sam Browne belts and arms not to be worn in the mess, except by the Orderly officer. At formal Mess nights, the King is toasted, but only Field officers may add “Bless Him” (Majors and above).The port had to be passed round the table, to the right. (or was it to the left?) Many more bits of information were imparted, some of more interest than others. A useful one was instruction on how to fill in expenses forms, without getting them rejected! It was explained, to us, that requisition had been made to the War Office for field equipment to be issued to us and would be delivered in due course. A “Field Allowance” of 2/6d a day is paid to officers who are lacking in certain creature comforts, and the field equipment, providing a bed, a collapsible bath/ washbasin and a canvas bedroll, with two hefty straps, is supposed to provide these comforts. In actual fact, in wartime, everyone got the allowance.
Captain Ken Aston, who later turned up, in 1966, as a World Cup referee, took us for a most esoteric bit of drill. How to handle a swagger stick! My stick was a knobbly Malacca, some were leather covered and one of the lads had been presented, by his dad, with a leather stick, which could be pulled apart to become a beautifully made stiletto and scabbard. When walking, or marching, the stick was held by its centre of gravity, in the right hand, and kept parallel to the ground as the arm swung backwards and forwards. If saluting had to be done, the stick was passed across the body and tucked firmly under the left armpit, so that a salute could be performed with the right hand!
Before finishing my eight months brain washing course I must mention that, in the wilds of Wales, entertainment was at a premium. The nearest towns were Barmouth and Aberdovey, neither competing with Las Vegas, so the Garrison theatre was in great demand. It showed films, with three changes each week and once a week, ENSA shows, sometimes plays, but chiefly Variety shows with well known music hall artistes. There were “Brains Trusts”, which aped a very popular radio show of the time, and there were even poetry readings!
A farewell dinner was held, a couple of days before leaving. John and I sat each side of the Commandant, (He of Hore-Belisha’s cursèd memory).We passed the port, we stood for the “King” and the colonel growled “Bless Him”. It was a good “do”, except that he rebuked me for not having much conversation. I wouldn’t have gone down well in India!
It was just before Xmas, when the last day arrived and we said our goodbyes, collected our (First class) railway warrants and assembled at the station wearing our new service dresses and overcoats, so as not to crease our new gear by stuffing it in a kitbag.
The usual train took us to Aberdovey Junction where we changed to a train coming from Aberystwyth, and found that it had name boards on the coaches( The GWR. were very fond of named trains) This one had the pretentious title “THE CAMBRIAN COAST EXPRESS”, although it’s difficult to be an express on a single line! It did have, however, a dining car, serving Xmas lunch for 3/6d, so we had a very pleasant journey to Crewe where most of us said our last goodbyes. The guard on the Manchester train told me to change at Stockport, Cheadle Heath, for the Sheffield train, on which I had a first class compartment to myself.
The next thing that I knew was that the guard was shaking me awake and saying “Wake up, sir, we are in Sheffield”. I realised that that was the first time, in my life, that anyone had called me “Sir”!
I had a very pleasant leave, during which I bought an engagement ring for Peggy, had a very nice Xmas and attended the usual Cole Brothers soiree so that Gladys could show me off to her cronies. Gladys and Walter very kindly presented me with a handsome leather holdall, with my initials on the flap. They had it custom made, and it was with me for the next thirty years. Towards the end of my week’s leave, I got the expected telegram, ordering me to travel to Swindon, Wilts, and, there, report to the RTO. I caught the earlier of the two trains which ran daily, from York to Swindon, taking the Great Central route, joining the GWR main line at Didcot. (My destination had been left blank on my return railway warrant). The RTO’s Office rang up my new Battery and I was picked up by a truck, and driven to my HQ, in a church hall at Stratton St. Margaret, Swindon. When I say “My HQ”, it really was. I was the only officer, a brand new second lieutenant, in charge of four gun sites and about 70 NCO’s and men. So began four and a half years of a new life, full of adventure and interest, sometimes difficult, sometimes astonishing, but always memorable.

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