1st Btn BEDS & HERTS 'S' COY - 1950-52
THE NATIONAL SERVICE OF A 3" MORTAR MAN
As Remembered By A. John Perry
As an ordinary 18 year old in 1950, living in Watford, Herts, life jogged along with no hint of what was to come to make a lasting upheaval in my life, conscription happened to other people not to me, that was my first false assumption. A letter with the device On His Majesty’s Service dropped on to my doormat in July 1950; this informed me that I would present myself for military service at Meanee Barracks Colchester on the 10th August 1950. It didn’t even say please! Now it had happened to me, this was going to be a new experience, with no one to ask. I was going in as an ignoramus so to speak, some of my contemporaries had brothers or old soldiers to ask, but I was going in blind and, as it turned out, dumb! Having already been to St. Peters Street in St. Albans for my medical this should not have been altogether a surprise; it certainly was a surprise to have strangers handling me in a very familiar manner! And we had not even been introduced! One doctor had looked in one ear and another into the other; if they could see one another then you were in!
First things first, where the hell was Colchester? People did not move around the country as they do now, Essex was in bandit country as far as I was concerned. On arrival at Watford High Street station and presenting my travel voucher, I was greeted on the platform by a strange person clad in plimsolls and carrying a brown paper carrier bag, It transpired that he had also had the call-up to Colchester so we travelled on together. We changed trains to Liverpool Street and after what seemed to be ages we arrived at Colchester station, things began to take a decidedly downward turn when we met our first Corporal, “where the hell have you two been?” (This has been censored!) “Coming here” --- “coming here Corporal” was the reply apparently and, ever being fairly quick on the uptake, I replied parrot fashion “coming here Corporal” It transpired that we should have arrived at the crack of dawn, thank goodness I had my companion in tow, there’s safety in numbers! All the rest of the intake had drawn their kit and had a meal while the ‘poor’ corporal had to keep meeting trains until we arrived, I tried to point out that our ‘invitation’ said from 10am – 4pm but this only looked to be getting me further in the mire so I kept mum. The trip by lorry to the barracks from the station was conducted in silence, after my first brush with authority I considered silence to be golden.
Now to the stores where what seemed to be a thousand pieces of kit were thrown at us, things like cross straps webbing left and right, even a housewife but this turned out to be a sewing kit! Then we signed a form called a 1157 – this registered all the kit issued then and over the next two years. Now we came to the strangest part, we had to sleep in a room with 15 other human beings; making up our beds was a new experience with things like hospital corners, I swear I heard tears in that first night but then I felt like crying as well. Then onto the cookhouse, this was another new experience, get into line then hold your plate below the rim of the large meal holders for potato etc.; if you did not then the descending large metal spoon would break your plate! This of course you would have to replace at cost to yourself. One of the new boys dropped his plate and the ensuing roar would have done credit to a Wembley cup final, ever afterwards I kept a firm hold of my mug and plate, incidentally our knife fork and spoon, as they had been since I could remember, now became our ‘eating irons’. On one occasion we had to use our knives to week a piece of the barracks, what price hygiene then? On our way back from the cookhouse to our billet one of the new intake walked across the parade square. There came what I can only describe as a scream from an office adjacent to the square, the enquiry was what the hell are you doing walking across MY square? The poor unfortunate in ignorance, had stepped onto HIS square, I thought at the time, Oh dear, I do not like this one bit! Life now took on a different turn entirely, it was march all day in and around that parade square, the corporals were joined by drill sergeants; they had been doing this for years, but it was all new to us, the uniform was hot and hairy and even the shirts seemed rough.
Some of the intake had a basic flaw, this drove the drill NCO’s barmy. When you march properly you swing the opposite arm to which ever foot is forward but these poor unfortunates swung their arms and the foot on the same side, knowing what I do now I should have been jealous of these men because they never got it right and so were hidden when parades were on. They and the perpetually scruffy were put into stores and other cushy numbers; this we thought not in the least bit fair, but then life is not. After a week of intense marching and drilling, one of the intake asked the corporal when we would get some leave. This nearly choked him with laughter, when you look like soldiers he replied and that will take about ten years the way you lot are shaping up! Then one day to the Armoury to collect a rifle each, a Lee Enfield, most were covered in the stickiest grease that you ever saw and, of course, we had to clean it all off. The day we got our rifles made life that little bit more difficult because we now had to take them on parade and they were inspected as well. When it rained we thought goody, goody, we won’t have to parade today – Wrong! They had drill sheds at Colchester, where, when it rained, the atmosphere go all hot and steamy – this, as you can imagine, made marching a not altogether happy experience. Eventually we got so that most of us marched in unison. The first time that you hear the feet going down together is quite a thrill. Then there loomed the spectre of what is called the RSMs parade. This was the same screaming RSM that we heard on the day that the poor unfortunate crossed the square, HIS square! He stood on a podium so that all of the action was in his sight, then the call would go out to take the name of the 45th member of the front rank. This was hell while the footsteps got closer until the man next door had his name taken. As long as it was not me in trouble then all was well with the world. Talk about a short fuse, you would have thought that we did things just to get on his wick but that was the impression that he conveyed - we would never be soldiers, in his opinion that was, good can we go home? Funny no one ever asked him this question. Then home on leave. To walk down Watford High street in my uniform, getting on a bus the conductor would not take your fare, talk about visiting Royalty, then people were proud of you, my how times change. We got through the Passing Out parade, with visiting parents and girl-friends watching, thank goodness none of the mothers told the RSM to leave her little boy alone!
Then to something called a holding company to await the War Office’s pleasure. This was because the Army in its wisdom has a sort of random posting system – we thought by eeny–meny–miney-moe sort of selection. I was sent to The School of Infantry at Warminster. I was to join the Mortar platoon, this was the Stokes 3 inch Mortar, and fun and games on the Salisbury Plain began. A lot of our time was spent in the vicinity of Imber village, one of the villages appropriated by the War Office and never given back. It featured on ‘Songs of Praise’ a few years back when the villagers went back to look at what havoc the waves of soldiers had done to their village. The ground would come alive with rabbits if we fired the mortars. There was no grass higher than about an inch. When I saw pictures of the plains on the television in recent years the advent of Mixomatosis had decimated the rabbits and produced grass 3 feet high! One day we were paraded in the canteen, to be ordered by name to stand in groups. It transpired that some were going to Germany and some to Korea via the Norfolk’s at Crowborough, eventually ending up in the Gloucester’s. To my dying day I will be grateful to the unknown clerk that spared me going to Korea, although there was a rumour going around that it was decided within the War Office to only send people that had attained their 19th birthday. I also have often wondered how many of the chaps that I knew then were killed with the Glorious Gloucester’s at Imjin
Then came the call for a little trip overseas. I was ordered to go with the Baggage Party to Portsmouth to embark on the aircraft carrier HMS Illustrious, the old one from WW11. In the middle of the ship between the ammunition elevators was a huge board with the names of the dead that were killed by the Japanese Kamikazes in the Far East, there seemed to be hundreds, but then, when at fighting strength, there were about 3000 or more men on board. We were put in with the Marines who thought that they would show this obviously newly formed Regiment just how clever they were. When I pointed out to them that our Regiment was one of the oldest in the British Army and that the Beds & Herts, Norfolk’s, Suffolk’s Northampton’s and the Essex had provided the very first Marines to serve on British ships, we got on like a house on fire! Sleeping in a hammock is quite a unique experience, if you do not get hold of a piece of wood to hold the hammock open then it closes over your head. Our Marine friends thankfully showed us how to do this. We set sail for the Middle East; it was quite an experience standing to line the rails or flight deck with the sailors as we left Portsmouth. How many well-known ships had sailed out of those dockyards?
We entered the Bay of Biscay to the accompaniment of a violent storm. This put waves almost over the funnel of our aircraft carrier, carrying away some lorries that had been shackled to the deck! They said that we went around it, so what a real storm would be like I wouldn’t like to find out. On the way we put into Gibraltar to put ashore a very sick soldier. Gib looks very impressive when approached from the sea, one side is taken up with very large concrete areas to catch rainwater. We saw Crete and Malta in the distance before arriving at Cyprus, where we were met by the Scots Guards and we marched to our destination – Karaolos Camp, Famagusta – to the accompaniment of bagpipes, another new experience. Our time in Cyprus was taken up mainly with guard duties. There was a terrible storm one day in which an old liberty ship, the Porlock Hill, was broken in two when she ran aground. There were boxes and rubbish in the sea for miles and even lorries hanging over the side. Apparently she had been bringing supplies for the army at the time of her demise. Quite a few Lascar seamen were drowned trying to get ashore. I missed all this because I was on guard duties at the time, but I did get to see the terrible mess afterwards. When I have seen pictures of Famagusta since with the large hotels along the shore it is hard to equate this with my memories of just a natural shoreline where we used to swim in the lovely clear warm water. Now, of course, Famagusta is in the Turkish part of Cyprus – then is was all one island with Turks and Greeks co-existing side by side. The strangest people to my young eyes then were the Mohammedans with the men wearing baggy trousers in case they were to be chosen to give birth to the new Mohamed!
Now came saddle up time and we were on the move to Egypt. There had been some sabre rattling in the Middle East and the poor old squaddie was being mobilised again. We were flown in by transport command in Vickers Valletta’s or, because of their shape, Flying pigs! We arrived in a sandstorm – now that is an experience. If you have heard of shot blasting well that is nature’s way of doing it. You felt as though your skin was being flayed. We spent two days huddled under blankets trying to keep the sand out of everywhere and I do mean everywhere! It even got into our footlockers – everything was gritty especially between the teeth, but all good things come to an end and we could come out into the world again. We were surprised to find that we had a new sight to look at in the shape of the Caronia, a passenger liner – P&O I believe – stuck on a sandbank in the middle of the Suez Canal. When away from the edge of the Canal it was impossible to see the water so there was this large liner seemingly standing in the middle of the desert. The thing that had us amused were the traffic lights on the Suez Canal. There are two arms of the channel and the ships use both at different times, so there, sticking up out of the desert are traffic lights, without the amber of course. Next to the Canal is the most inaptly named thing on this earth in my opinion and that is the Sweetwater Canal, it’s too thick to drink and too thin to plough! If you were unfortunate enough to fall in then it was off to the Medical Officer for a course of injections.
Camels must be one of the most irascible animals on this earth. They are always trying to bite if you are unfortunate enough to get near. They have a jaw about two feet long and horrible green teeth continually dribbling nasty green foam, if you get close they continually make a rumbling sound from deep within their stomachs. Mind you, if I was treated the same I expect I would be irascible too. The worse treated animals however were the poor little donkeys, ridden along by people twice their size who kick them in the ribs with every stride. Nights were always taken up with the sound of donkeys braying (getting their own back?). Then in the morning the faithful are called to prayer by a loudspeaker from the Mosque, this, it seems can be heard for miles. Even as a callow youth I was impressed by the night skies over Egypt. Imagine a covering of black velvet, then sprinkle with about a million stars. It was really weird to go to the cinema and look up to see the stars! We would look at the newspapers to see that the temperature in our locality was often 125° F. We often risked punishment by going barefoot, because there was something called hookworm which you could catch.
One of our duties was to guard the bridge at El Firdan. This was a hand worked railway bridge over the Suez Canal with the Sinai desert on one side and Egypt on the other. As the time for a train arrived there would come about twenty Arabs with huge keys which they put into the deck of the bridge and then they simply wound the bridge out across the Suez Canal. There were two sides of the bridge, which met in the middle when opened. Where the heck did these people come from? There would be no one in sight right to the horizon but when a train was due there they were. This, I suppose explains another use for the traffic lights, they obviously stopped the ships when a train was due.
Because it was deemed unsafe, I never got to see the Pyramids, much to my chagrin, it seems that squaddies had been attacked and robbed so that was that, it was decreed. We got huge water melons which were cut up and distributed. They had a vivid green skin and were very juicy but had no flavour, the middle was almost red in colour. We got grapes now and then and these were dipped into a solution of permanganate of potash before we were allowed to take them away – and I had thought up to then that it was just for dodgy feet!
While there, I had a septic hand which, because of the heat, would not heal so I had to go into the hospital for treatment. What a palaver – first your kit has all to be packed and put into the company stores – in case you died! Then you go on sick parade, then wait for the truck to take you to hospital. The wound I would have treated myself if I had it now but it just goes to show how infectious these overseas places are, the Army certainly would not let one skive! While in hospital we were looked over by these lovely visions – the Army nurses. Of course they do not actually handle something as common as a squaddie and so they were nick-named ‘the untouchables’. Mind you, they were nice to look at so we didn’t mind. I eventually had to have an operation and this brought a stay in hospital of about ten days. This is when I went to the cinema under the stars, it was very strange wearing the hospital blue uniform. Also whilst in Egypt I had to go for dental treatment and a very nice, young looking, male dentist attended to me and asked me some questions, which I answered, to which he said “Sir”. When I looked at his jacket hanging up he was what looked like a brigadier, that is to go by his shoulder pips, Whoops!
Eventually came the time that I had waited for, demob, but the Army is full of surprises. There were planes allocated to fly us home, Hastings transports, but they had defects so we went past our demob date. Then Lancashire airways out of Bovingdon, Herts, flew us home in what looked like converted Lancashire bombers. We came via Malta where we stopped to refuel – so I have been to Malta but not actually seen anything as it was in the middle of the night, so Luqa Airfield is on my list of places that I have visited, in this instance been but not seen. If you think that you have ever heard anything noisy then I can top it with the sound of 4 Rolls Royce Merlin engines at full revs. If my memory serves me right it took 12 hours with the stop at Malta. Then by train to London to catch a train to Bedford. When we got to Bedford Barracks we got the news that they would keep us for another 10 days because they only demobbed on the 2nd Thursday each month. When I offered to keep quiet about their mistake if they let me out now, the air got a bit frosty! When I had originally been summoned to do my National Service, it was for 18 months but after I had been in for about 5 months I got an extra six months. Being quick on the uptake, I soon worked out that at this rate I would never get out!
So eventually there I was back in Civvy Street once more, but the Army still had a sting to administer. While I had been serving my country, they thought up the wheeze of keeping us for three more years as territorials, to attend three yearly camps. Then another sting in the tail, because I had missed the camp be a few weeks I would still have to do three camps so my territorial service went on for four years!
Looking back, my first thoughts were to deride the whole business
but thinking it out I came to this conclusion – I’m proud that
I went from a civilian to a squaddie without any prior knowledge of what was
entailed, my time was also served without getting into serious trouble. There
were the trips to places that I never dreamed of, and when I look at the modern
times we live in and the different sense of values, I concluded that us old
boys did well.