Memories of Frank Yates Chapter 7

Memories of Frank Yates CHAPTER 7

Saighton Camp, Chester, was my destination after my leave. A very large hutted camp situated on high ground, about a couple of miles out of the city, taking intakes of conscripts for their initial training. The arrangement was that the permanent staff would introduce the new lads to army life, doing foot drill, etc, for a month, whilst we sergeants were instructed by two warrant officers, one, BSM Antrobus, was a gunnery instructor, and the other, BSM Jones, worked together. They introduced us to the Camp Sergeants’ mess and lectured us on man management and related subjects. Most of the time we did gun drill, were instructed on the working of the various parts of the gun, and, then, more gun drill.
Then came the meeting between the new intake and their sergeants, my group of ten had three Irishmen, from Coleraine, one of whom, called McAfee, made a super No 4. The other two eventually made Nos. 5 and 6, the ammunition numbers. There was a young man called Talbot, from Blackburn, who looked very promising, and before I left the unit, he himself was promoted to sergeant. A watchmaker, from Clerkenwell and five Liverpool dockers made up the numbers. We worked together doing gun drill, for three weeks, under the supervision of our two BSMs and we became very competent. Then a spot of leave for everyone, during which I noticed, once again, the fair Peggy Bottom. It was during this period that the Luftwaffe had turned its attention to night bombing and London, Liverpool, Birmingham and Coventry had suffered among other towns.
My leave ended on December 12th.a date fixed in my memory. I caught the 18.45 train to Manchester, from Sheffield Victoria station. While waiting for the train, the “red” warning sounded, and, as we were about to leave, the station announcer gave the “purple” warning and even the heavily shaded lights were turned off in the train. The train was crowded and as the differential between first and second class compartments had disappeared, I found myself sitting next to a lieutenant, from Rotherham. He was also going back to Saighton, and we walked back to the camp together, admiring the night sky, on a bitterly cold, brilliantly clear night,
So the training went on, with Major Hardy taking a great interest in everything going on. He had us over to the rifle range at nearby Eaton Hall, where again, I found the problem of being strongly left eyed, although a better shot than most, meant that the standard Lee Enfield rifle, when fired from the left shoulder, made the manipulation of the bolt most awkward. I also had a problem, known about since my Boy Scout Marksman badge, that when lying down in the approved prone position, with legs spread, I was, and still am, unable to turn my heels flat to the ground. I have had several arguments with instructors, pointing out that, if the object of the exercise is to kill the enemy, my physical deviations from the norm, have no significance. As I was usually a better shot than most, I won my argument. Major, Hardy, never without his WW1, nickel plated Webley revolver, could not resist having a “pot” at the 25 yard range, and even let some of the NCOs have a go, challenging us to even hit the target! A big pistol, fired one handed, kicks upward, on recoil, and misses the target. The answer is to hold the weapon two handed, as in the modern T.V. “Cop” films. As a matter of interest, when I had my own Webley, a couple of years later, I found that the only way to hit the middle of the target, was to sit down on the ground, facing the target, pressing the barrel of the pistol hard into the groove between my knees, to steady it! Don’t believe the shooting skills of the Hollywood cowboys!
On the evening of the 20th December, a week after returning from leave, I glanced at a newspaper in the Sgts’ mess and saw the headline “SHEFFIELD BLITZED”. I, of course, was very worried about the family, but received a letter, next morning from my sister Gladys, reassuring me that they were OK, but our house had lost some windows and the kitchen ceiling, and Mum was safely living with her in Reservoir Road until the repairs had been done.
Wartime security had delayed the release of the news and I discovered that the “Blitz” had been, in fact, on the night of the 12th, and the first bomb had fallen, through the Wicker Arches, 15 minutes after my train had crossed it. I often think about that pleasant walk to Saighton Camp on that lovely starlit night, chatting with my Rotherham friend, and completely oblivious to the devastation that was taking place back home.
Christmas arrived a few days later and I discovered that the Army even has a “Drill” for the occasion. Officers and NCO’s act as waiters, a really slap-up Xmas dinner with a couple of bottles of beer each put the troops in good cheer, so that we could leave them in their euphoria and slide off to our messes and enjoy our own festive meals.
In January we passed out from Saighton, ready to take up our role in defence of the Country, but first we had to some experience some practical gunnery, so we were to proceed to a firing camp. We, and our kitbags, newly issued, were taken down to Chester Station, where a special train was waiting.

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