麻豆社

War was declared on a Sunday. I remember Leslie Bloomfield and I were rowing on the river at Coddam (Suffolk) that day. There had been radio broadcasts telling everybody to carry their respirators, so on the Monday everyone went to work carrying them in boxes. I, of course, kept trying to join the army. At Colchester there was a medical board of 12 doctors, who examined your ears, eyes, heart, movement of limbs and all the rest of it. They quickly detected the fact that I was deaf in one ear. They simply said 鈥榬ejected鈥︹��
The recruiting Sergeant said,
鈥榃ell you鈥檙e lucky鈥ff you go back to your job鈥︹��
I was thoroughly cheesed of; all I wanted was to go and see the fun of the war.

Back at work the next day, we received the list from the ministry, of all the people who were in reserved occupations, and my name was on it. People were congratulating each other at not having to join up. This, I thought, was a pretty terrible spirit to have. So I couldn鈥檛 see much hope of me joining up. I tried other recruitment centres, but they all had the same rigorous medical board procedure.

Then a miraculous thing happened鈥ust like in a fairy tale.

I was in London one day, I can鈥檛 remember why, perhaps I was hoping to see the air raids begin. Anyway I was walking down Regents Street, and there was this girl in ATS uniform on the other side of the road, waving in my direction. I looked behind me and there was no one there. Perhaps, I thought, she was waving at me. She dashed across the road and stood in front of me blocking my path.
鈥楾here鈥� she said 鈥榶ou don鈥檛 even recognise me do you鈥�
Suddenly I remembered,
鈥楢h鈥aggie Dunn鈥�
She was my old childhood friend. We used to play no end together, in Egypt.
鈥楢re you on leave?鈥� she said.
鈥楴o鈥� I replied, and told her the sad story.
鈥極h you don鈥檛 need to worry about that鈥ou can join our mob鈥�
鈥榃ell, what is your mob?鈥�
鈥楾he Intelligence Corps, the secret service and all that. You can join now. Come with me and I鈥檒l take you to meet my Major, he鈥檒l be delighted. There will be a war in the Middle East and people who speak Arabic are in great demand鈥�
So she took me to this flat were this Major questioned me.
鈥楻ight then鈥� he said to Maggie 鈥榶ou鈥檇 better go and test him鈥�
All the rooms of this flat were occupied by people being questioned or tested in various languages, so we went into the bathroom. We spoke for a while in Arabic and she then told me that I had passed the test.
So I was in! They gave me a letter to take back to the medical board instructing them to enlist me by order of the Army Council.

So I said goodbye to all my colleagues at Crittalls, and off I went to start the standard 16-week infantry training with the Hampshire Regiment, on the Isle of Wight, at Parkhurst barracks, right next door to the jail.

There were 7 others in my platoon who were also in the Intelligence Corps. The others were mostly cockneys, two of whom had been in borstal. They were most interesting people and spoke with such love and affection for their time there. They looked upon it as their old school.
In the platoon opposite, the other side of the landing, were the P.O.鈥檚 (Potential Officers) who were supposed to be suitable to go and train as officers, but who somehow didn鈥檛 seem to be getting there. Unfortunately there was a reason for this, and it wasn鈥檛 a very good reason at all. Well you see, all these NCOs (Non Commissioned Officers), who were training us, had North West Frontier medals and Palestine Medals; they were all old soldiers. Apparently most of them were due to be discharged just before the war began but they were tempted into signing on again, by being told that the moment war began they would be immediately taken to the officers training colleges and be given jobs as Company Commanders and so on and so forth. But in the event the army said 鈥極h no your valuable people for training鈥� and so they ended up here. This meant that they all had a chip on their shoulder, and they were in consequence very slow to recommend any of the PO鈥檚 to go up for an interview.

We had a fairly decent Sergeant named Smith. A little man, strange sort of fellow really, with two teeth missing, but he trained us very well.

Firstly, as new recruits, we had to get used to being ripped off. We went to the quartermasters to be kitted out. I knew that my uniform should be an exact size three. I was given a battledress, which was hopelessly large. All the others had been given uniforms either too large or too tight. Then a fellow, this NCO, came in and said,
鈥榊ou don鈥檛 have to worry, the tailoring staff can alter them tomorrow, for a very small charge鈥�
I knew what the racket was straight away鈥he rookie rip off!

Next up was the barber, and the regimental haircut. Many people weren鈥檛 happy about having their hair chopped off and there was a notice on the barber鈥檚 wall. The standard army hair cut was free, but for those who were prepared to pay, the following applied,

MODIFIED HAIRCUT (complying with regulations) - Sixpence
CIVILIAN STYLE (complying with regulations) - 1 Shilling
FANCY STYLE (complying with regulations) - Half a Crown

So you see they were on the make. I suppose in a way you couldn鈥檛 blame them, but they were paid so much for every haircut, so this extra charge seemed like a shark like stunt to me.

We started our training; firing the Bren-gun, rifle drill, bayonet fighting, route marches and all the rest of it. We Intelligence Corps people also had motorcycle training and pistol shooting. Before our first route march Sergeant Smith gave us some advice.
鈥業 took the advice of an old soldier鈥� he said, 鈥榓nd poured hot water into my boots and left it swilling about, then put them on just before the march, with the water still in them鈥�
I took his advice, and he was absolutely right. There is no better way of making boots fit then bye soaking them and then marching them dry.

Funny fellow this chap Smith, we didn鈥檛 know it at first, but he was a homosexual. Not a passive one, but an active one. One night after he had been drinking, he came into our barracks after lights out. He put the lights on and went around looking at people. He pulled back peoples blankets to examine them. He pulled off my blankets, and had a look. I grabbed my blankets back and he went on to the next bed, then on to the other side of the barrack room. Then he came to the last bed were Bobby Neal slept. Bobby woke up, smiled, then jumped out of bed, and off they went. He was a great passive homosexual was Bobby Neal, just waiting for someone to come and take him up.

The thing though about Bobby Neal is that he was always so depressed, such a miserable character. His father was the Bishop of Buenos Aires, so he spoke very good Spanish, clever chap, Oxford Graduate and was at the outbreak of war, training to be an Actuary.

When reveille sounded in the morning, we would run outside to make our ablutions in the icy water of that cold winter of 1939-40, with the wind lashing our bodies. Anyone who hadn鈥檛 stripped to the waste was thought to be a right ninny. Then we went back to get dressed. After this there were the fatigue duties.
First of all you had to fold your bed up. (For a long time until a bed was vacant I had to sleep on three planks). The three biscuits that formed your bed were placed one on top of the other, and then the blankets folded together with a sheet in between each, so that it looked like a sandwich. These blankets were then folded around the biscuits to hold them together, the whole thing looking neat and tidy. Then somebody had to sweep the room, someone else the fireplace; there were all sorts of jobs to be done.
Then the cook house call would come. Every one lined up outside the cookhouse and there was always at least half and hours wait before we were allowed in. It didn鈥檛 matter whether it was pouring with rain or snowing we weren鈥檛 allowed in even though we could see through the windows that everything was ready. Most annoying.

The most terrible thing was the pain in the shoulders after a route march. This was caused by the heavy pack and rifle slung on your shoulders. One of the 鈥渙ld sweats鈥� said that we鈥檇 get used to it. We had two 鈥渙ld sweats鈥�, Irishmen, who had been in the army since they were boys and were now in their forties, they knew all the ropes, nice chaps, but cunning. You鈥檇 find, for example, before a kit inspection something would be missing, perhaps one of your gaiters. You appealed to the one of these old soldiers and he would offer to help you out.
鈥榊es鈥� he would say 鈥榯hey鈥檙e half a crown鈥nd I as luck would have it, I鈥檝e a spare one鈥�
So you gave him half a crown and he would produce a gaiter, in all probability the gaiter that you had 鈥渓ost鈥�. However, one laughed about these poor old regulars, making a bob or two extra for their beer.

Then we had a spell of leave. Now followed a sequence that I have never quite understood鈥nd over the years I鈥檝e thought about it time and time again.
When I came back from leave I reported to the guardroom and was told that I had to report to the orderly room. When I got there I was told that I was on a charge.
鈥榃hat on earth for?鈥� I asked
鈥楧irty rifle鈥bsolutely filthy rifle鈥�
鈥業t can鈥檛 be, I cleaned it before I went off鈥�
鈥榃e don鈥檛 know about that, but we know what it鈥檚 like now, so you鈥檒l be on parade tomorrow under company orders鈥ine o鈥檆lock.鈥�
So the next day I was marched in and the orderly Sergeant dropped a 鈥減ull through鈥� down my rifle and pulled it out bringing with it a filthy mess of green and yellow, quite stinking. The company commander said,
鈥業t鈥檚 absolutely disgusting, and you an Intelligence Corps man鈥�
鈥榃ell sir鈥︹��
鈥業 don鈥檛 want to hear anything further, three days CB鈥�
As I left the room the orderly Sergeant said,
鈥榊ou鈥檝e done well. If you had argued with that fellow you鈥檇 have got ten days CB at least鈥�

So I got my rifle back and cleaned it meticulously鈥ut I couldn鈥檛 understand who had done it. I told one of the Irishmen what had happened.
鈥極h鈥� he said 鈥榶ou鈥檝e had your rifle lime juiced. It鈥檚 an old army trick, in India they were always doing it鈥�
He went on to explain that if an NCO didn鈥檛 like someone, he would take the soldiers rifle and pour down the barrel a mixture of Rangoon oil and lime juice. As the old sweat said this would foul it up 鈥榞ood and proper鈥�. Then the rifle would be replaced in the rifle rack but slightly proud of the rest, so that it would be chosen during an inspection.

I was a bit fed up really, having to start three days CB. One would think that being confined to barracks (CB) would be hardly any punishment. But three days CB didn鈥檛 mean simply being confined to barracks, it meant you got three days of 鈥渏ankers鈥�. And 鈥渏ankers鈥� is no joke.
One had to report to the guardroom on the first jankers call, at about half past six in the morning. For me now, in winter, it would be dark and I would have to dress in full service marching order with haversack, pack, respirator, rifle and fifty rounds of ammunition.
The wonderful comradeship helped out no end. There was a chap in the platoon next door who had been a cowman. He said he could be awake at any time he chose and would come and help me.
鈥榃hat about light, how will we see?鈥� I said.
鈥業鈥檒l get a fire going, and I鈥檒l bring my mate to help鈥�
And do you know, they were as good as their word.
As I lined up in the guard room with the others also on 鈥渏ankers鈥� the Sergeant said
鈥楪ood heavens, what are you doing here, aren鈥檛 you one of the Intelligence Wallahs.鈥�
鈥榊es sir鈥� I replied 鈥業 had a lime juiced rifle.鈥�
鈥極h that鈥ell never mind鈥�
Then one had to go back to the barrack and take all the clobber off and report to various places for fatigues. The best place, of course, would be the cookhouse, with plenty of food and hot cocoa. Then there was the coal fatigues, going around in a lorry filling up the coalscuttles. Doing this you could put extra coal in your own barrack room, to ensure a really good fire that night.
There was another thing that I did not know about at the time, which almost scuppered me completely. The orderly room clerk, who entered the three days CB on my conduct sheet, had used red ink. Entries in red are usually for serious crimes.

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