Welcome to Memories and Stories
Chapter One. My Early Days.
Chapter Two. The 1940's
Chapter Three. British Boys For British Farms
Chapter Four. National Service
Chapter Five. Wilton Driver
Chapter Six. Meeting Doreen.
Chapter Seven. Local Shunter.
Chapter Eight , Working as a Coach Driver
Chapter Nine. Holidays.
Chapter Ten. Health Warning
Chapter Eleven Rationalisation
Chapter twelve. Incidents or Accidents.?
Chapter Thirteen. Terminal Closure.
Chapter Fourteen. Our Move To Gloucestershire.
Chapter Fifteen. Concord.
Chapter Sixteen. Finally
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National Service
A brown paper envelope came in the post O.H.M.S. (On His Majesty's Service), written across the top, Dad said it looks like your calling up papers” he said quietly. I opened the envelope and it said that I had to attend Wesley Hall in Middlesbrough for a medical examination prior to going in the forces so I left the farm and went home.
The day of my medical was a very sad day as it was the day that King George Vl. Died, also Middlesbrough football team was beaten four goals to one by Doncaster Rovers. On that day I passed A.1. to become a gunner in the Royal Artillery Regiment. I'd not done a great deal with my life up to this stage but we'll see what the future has in store.
The following Sunday evening and on throughout the night I travelled by train from Middlesbrough in the North East of England down to Oswestry in Shropshire, changing trains at Birmingham. As the train approached Oswestry station I could see a number of army vehicles lining the roadside. Some of drivers shouting remarks to the new recruits arriving on the train, such as “Come on you mangy lot you are in the army now. Hey Harry come and look at this lot. What a shower the sprogs looks like cattle in a truck. The train stopped and the carriage doors opened out stepped what all most looked like a full train load of young men wanting to join the army although most of them having to leave home because of conscription. As the last lad stepped down onto the station platform I could see gloom ,doom and despondency on most of their faces.
Suddenly a person in uniform with three stripes on his arm (a sergeant) yelled at the top off his voice “I want all you lot formed up into three lines” then his voice went even higher he screamed NOW AT THE DOUBLE CLIMB ABOARD THE WAITING VEHICLES. The lads, very tired after the nights journey scrambled as best they could aboard.
When the convoy with the new recruits entered the camp I could see out of the rear of the vehicle a huge parade ground, on it hundreds of soldiers marching in groups up and down the square the nco's in charge of each group bellowed out marching instructions.
The vehicle came to a sudden stop and we climbed out onto road. one by one our names were called out as we were placed in different squads. From there we marched down to the quarter masters store where we drew out sheets blankets boots uniforms and clothing for our stay in the army.
Over the next two weeks it was marching, inoculations, more marching, working on what the army called fatigues, and a constant ear bashing from the sergeants and nco,s trying to knock us in to shape.Their favourite saying was “One way or another, we will make you or break you. Keep your noses clean and do as you are told and everything will turn out fine. We are your mams and dads here to take care of you”. (SOME MAM AND DAD)
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Training
 Training seemed to go on for ever. I thought I was fit until the NCO’s started shouting their instructions, the drills and exercises we were expected to do seemed to me to be excessive, especially physical training and learning to march. Thinking back it was hilarious but not so at the time. Just think, thirty young lads in groups marching up and down a parade ground, we were all afraid that we might be the only one to make a mistake and in fear of being balled out by the NCO. We'd be marching along as best we could when the order to about turn would be given, most of the recruits would hear the command but one or two would be sure to miss it and carry on marching forward, you can imagine the mess we were in. Another occasion was when we were called to halt, most stopped but others concentrating hard just kept going, it caused a great deal of confusion. We were told that drill was discipline and we were being trained to act on a given command together. It worked after a while and I felt quite proud marching and drilling all in step together. Physical Training was difficult, the jumping up and down and arm and leg exercises were a piece of cake but when I had to try my strength in push ups and pulling myself up on the bars I found it very hard, my only consolation was that the others had the same problems. Ah well this is training to be a soldier. During our training we were subjected to a selection examination and somehow I was selected to be a radio operator. To this day I can't think why unless it was because I could ride a motor bike and had experience in driving a tractor.
For a couple of hours every day we radio operators would go out into the countryside near Rhyl north Wales and there we'd pass messages to each other over the air waves. This went on until such time as they decided that we had enough experience. We were then taught the procedure for passing radio signals to the guns, this was to be our job in the future.
A couple of weeks into my training I was ordered to report to the office and was then sent to the Queen Victoria Hospital in Rhyl for a chest X-ray. I was told that I had some scarring on my lungs and the doctor asked if I'd had any sort of chest compliant in the past but I couldn’t remember anything. “Well according to your X-ray plates you've had pneumonia or rheumatic fever, it's very unlikely that you will be able carry on with your training”. I was dumbstruck, no one had said that I‘d had those illnesses in the past. I was taken off all duties and was expecting to be kicked out of the army. That didn't last long for the report came through that all was well and I was OK. The next day I was in the thick of it on cookhouse fatigues, washing pots and pans and hundreds of cutlery, I wasn't alone as other lads were there too. The day after that I was spud bashing, four or five sacks of potato’s had to be peeled by hand ready for the next day's meals, the amusing thing was that although we all hated the monotonous job of peeling ‘tatties’ we agreed it was better than marching on the parade ground.
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Dad's Death
I was very shocked when I got the news that Dad had passed away. The NCO in charge of our billet took me into his room and gave me the news. ”Everything's arranged for you to take compassionate leave, and you can catch the first train home in the morning” he said. “In the meantime you might find it better to sleep in the privacy of my room”. I thanked him for his concern and spent the night wondering how, why and when had dad died as I didn't even know that he was so ill.
The next morning I was up and ready for home but couldn’t get a train pass until the duty officer turned up. I was standing outside the battery when a voice bellowed out nearby. It was the duty officer. Maybe he was fresh out of Sandhurst. He certainly put the wind up me. “Why aren’t you on parade gunner” he asked firmly, I explained about Dad and that it was arranged for me to go on compassionate leave. “OH, is it?” he said sarcastically. “Why are you wearing that lanyard? get it off immediately”. I knew I was wrong in wearing it as I was a gunner and wasn’t qualified to wear it. He seemed annoyed because I was going home and would miss out on my training. “You'll not be allowed to pass out at the same time as the other gunners” he said. “When you get back you'll have to join another group”.
I got my train pass and set off home with a very heavy heart. When I met up with Ronnie and Mildred they told me what had happened, Dad had died from a thrombosis. It was a very sad time for all of us for we had now lost Mam and Dad and we did wonder what we'd done to have so many deaths in the family.
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Guard Duty
I returned to camp and carried on with my training from where I'd left off. The final week consisted of tests, shooting, signalling and physical fitness. Apart from the usual P.T. exercises we had to run a mile in a set time. Another day it was an enforced run over seven miles, we had to run for a while then march quickly, then run again, carrying our rifle and back packs. It was shattering and we were sweating like pigs, although I’ve never seen a pig sweat. We were encouraged on by the NCO’s shouting “Hurry up and you'll be in time for the morning NAFFI break”. Exhausted I made it, but as I removed or tried to remove my pack to get a well deserved cup of tea I found my hands were so numb and swollen that it was a problem to get money out of my pocket to pay for the snack. Some of the lads fingers were so swollen that they had to ask the NAFFI girls who were serving to come around the bar and get the money from their pockets, this caused a lot of laughter and barracking from those who hadn't been on the run. “Don’t worry your turn will come” one of the lads shouted.
GUARD DUTY
Every couple of weeks a group of soldiers were chosen for camp security duty. We had to dress in our best uniforms and be as smart as possible. We had to report to the guardroom Sergeant or Bombardier who would inspect us, then at 7.0 pm. (19.00 hours in the army) he would present us to the duty officer. He would be dressed in a smart dark blue uniform with highly polished Sam brown straps to inspect the guard and he'd give us a serious talk about the duties we were about to perform.
We were on patrol two hourly shifts and each given a certain area to patrol, then we rested in the guard room for four hours whilst others took over. It wasn't so bad the first couple of hours because there was still activity in the camp, lads going to the NAFFI or walking from one hut to another visiting their mates but after midnight when all was quiet I'd find myself listening to every little sound, not out of fear but because I was expecting the Orderly Officer or Guard Commander to turn up. If they caught you unawares or daydreaming you received a good telling off. As soon as I heard them in the distance I found it best to stay in the shadows then when they reached my position I’d step out in front of them and shout “HALT WHO GOES THERE”. If it was the officer he would grunt, “Orderly Officer on his rounds”. Invariably he'd tell me that I should have challenged him earlier and not waited until he got so near. I always assumed that when he said that I'd taken him by surprise and not the other way round.
We also had to undertake fire picket duty. We'd practise what to do in case there was a fire, it was fairly straight forward and just a matter of knowing where the fire hydrants where and how to use the hoses. Another duty we performed was with the Regimental Police, we had to go with a Permanent Staff Bombardier and wander from pub to pub around the town of Rhyl making sure that none of the lads were getting into trouble on their nights out. Most times everything was OK. but occasionally we found one or two a bit worse for drink. We'd call the duty truck for the offending lad or lads and they'd be sent back to camp. On two occasions I did this duty and landed with a Bombardier who liked a drink. I didn’t drink but he persuaded me to try a cider. I found it acceptable but after visiting a couple of pubs and having a couple of halves in each I’d had enough, the Bombardier wasn’t suited.
It was early June with warm evenings and just a slight cooling breeze. Ryhl was just the place for a relaxing Saturday evening after all of the ear bashing from the training sergeant . polishing of boots to a very high standard.Continous daily inspections . It really was over the top at times.
I wonder why it was sometimes on a Saturday when we had to have inoculations against various diseases. We had to parade near the gym for MO's orders. We were told to roll up one of our shirt sleeves and stand in line . The Medical officer suggested to us not to worry ."It is just a little jab" But at the sight of large needle.Four or five lads fainted only to be given the jab and then helped across to the gym to recover.
The after affects of the inoculations affected some of the lads more than others but most of them took to their beds to sleep only to find that when they awoke their arm was
red,swollen and difficult to use. We were unable to go into town.
But as I say Ryhl was a good place to be on a Saturday night. The caravan holiday sites had reopened after the war. There was many young girls to chat to, while listening to the music of Kay Starr,Johny Ray, Nat King Cole,
Frankie Lane, just to mention a few.
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Posting to 48th Field Regiment RA.
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I'd completed my training and was now a real soldier, some soldier? I was posted to the BHQ 95 Bty 48th Field Regiment Royal Artillery. The barracks at Colchester were very modern and a civilian road ran through the centre, my first impression was good and I was to be a signaller in the Battery Headquarters (BHQ). The regiment had in the previous two weeks returned from the Middle East and the lads were full of it. In most of their conversations they used sayings that they'd picked up while serving out there and they fed them to us new lads, we soon got used to it. Some of the stories they told about the Arabs were good but others were terrible, they gave us advice on what to do if we were posted there.
I got a rude awakening on the following morning when on Parade, we were inspected by the Troop Sergeant. “What’s your name gunner” he asked to which I replied, “Spenceley Sergeant”. “You need a haircut, when did you last have it cut?” he retorted. “Two days ago for passing out parade Sergeant” I said, “well get the blinking thing cut again gunner” and he walked on to the next lad. Coming back to me he said “Immediately after parade” and he nudged me in the back with his baton. I went straight to the regimental barber and had my hair cut again it cost me a shilling. Next morning I was on parade again, when the Sergeant got to me he said out of the side of his mouth, “I thought I told you to get your hair cut Spenceley”. “I did yesterday morning straight after parade Sergeant” I stammered. “Well its not good enough get it cut again”. I've always hated having my hair cut and it was already a basin cut from my training days but I made my way back to the barber. He was surprised to see me and very amused, he said, ”Take no notice of him your hair is very short. You seem to have drawn the short straw, he's the Sergeant and he's showing you that he's on the ball, sit over there for a while before you go back to him”. I sat reading for a few minutes and then reported back to the Sergeant who took one look at my hair and said, “That’s better, why didn’t you get it cut like that in the first place”. Yes Sergeant. Training, training, training, almost every day we'd go into the Essex countryside to practise for war, then spent longer periods in Thetford woods in Norfolk as our regiment was on constant standby.
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The East Coast Floods of 1953.
In February, 1953 it was a particularly cold, wet and windy Saturday night when orders came through that the night’s storm had caused flooding and damage on the east coast of England and in Holland. We were ordered to go and help on the coastal areas and attempt to stop the sea from causing more damage.
A number of our lads were sent to Albrough in Suffolk to help the American soldiers, some went along to Canvey Island and our troop went to Clacton to the stretch of coast as far as Walton on the Naze. Vehicles took us as close as possible to the flooded area then we boarded army ‘DUKW's’, vehicle's that could travel on land and water. We reached the sea at Saint Osyth in Essex, The sight was unbelievable, it appeared as though a giant sweeping brush had swept all the caravans and summer huts and anything else that had got in its path away from the sea and in doing so had smashed them to pieces.
The water had broken through the sea wall defences and gone inland and our task was to bridge the gaps in the sea wall and prevent further flooding. Day after day we spent filling sand bags Not with sand. with with heavy clay, We were soaked to the skin but knew that we had to continue what ever the weather threw at us until the holes in the sea walls were blocked. When it was all over we sat in the NAFFI chatting to the others about what they'd seen in their areas. Those who had gone to Albrough came off best for they had been fed in the American Airforce Base and lived on beef steaks for breakfast among other treats, we had our usual stale haversack rations, bread and spam or bread and jam with stewed tea, no NAAFI wagons for us.
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Dispatch Rider.
Bombardier Woolley having a drink with the lads.
Later that year one of the Officers approached me as to whether I'd like a job as a Dispatch Rider. He'd been reading my records and noticed that I had a motor bike license. I jumped at the chance of doing something different. Handing me a helmet he took me to where the motor bikes were stored and sitting astride one he said, “Come on, climb on the back we have to meet some one”. I climbed on but was not quite sure what I was letting myself in for, the old soldiers motto was never volunteer for anything. The Officer started the engine and let in the clutch almost throwing me off the back, I clung on to him Officer or not he was going far to fast for my comfort/ I hung on as we sped through Colchester and out into the country, we stopped at the entrance to a wood. Taking out a map he studied it then turned to me and said, “This is the place we'll meet the others here”. We sat at the side of the road and chatted about my experience with motor bikes until we heard the noise of a vehicle in the woods behind us. “Come on” he said and jumped to his feet, “that must be them”. We rode along a grass track until we came to a clearance at the top of a hill then looking down the track towards the bottom we saw a Bren-Gun-Carrier heading for a large pool. There was another Officer standing at the front of the tracked vehicle shouting encouragement to the driver, “Come on, come on, straight through and out the other side”. There was a huge splash as the vehicle thundered through the water then carried on up the other side. “Right its up to you now lets see what you can do, ride down the bank through the water and up the other side”. I'd done quite a bit of riding across the fields on the farm but they were fairly level, what was expected of me now was different all together, the bike was a BSA 500 cc. model much larger and heavier than the BSA 250cc. that I owned. There was the steep track down and the water to get through. I suppose I could have backed out and said I couldn’t do it but I thought of a better way to get round it. “When you are ready go for it, it should be easy” commented the Officer. So sitting astride the machine I pressed hard on the kick start and the engine fired into life, with the toe of my foot I engaged bottom gear, gave it a few revs, let out the clutch and I was away gingerly down the track. I tried to avoid the places were other vehicles had left deep ruts and on nearing the bottom I steered clear of the spot were the tracked vehicle had ploughed through, then revving the engine I splashed through the mud and water to the other side then on up the hillside to where the other vehicle was standing. I turned the machine round and the Officer on the carrier shouted, “Well done gunner” as I set off on my return trip. My Lieutenant didn’t seem too impressed with what I'd done and I’m the first to admit that it was no big deal. “Here let me show you how I want it done, you'll have to go through far worse than this if you want to be a dispatch rider”. Taking the bike he set of at a thundering pace down the track heading towards the deepest part of the water at the same time as the other vehicle had set off on its return journey. Officers always seem to want to play silly games with each another and the obvious happened. My Officer stalled his engine in the water just as the carrier was passing and it drenched him with mud. Paddling almost up to my knees I ran to help him pull the machine out of the quagmire, the bike was so heavy it took all four of us to recover it and we had to manhandle it on to the Bren-Gun-Carrier. So much for his training! Whilst doing this I felt something nip my glove, I had no pain because my hands were so cold and it was a good ten minutes before I realised that my hand was sticky. I removed my glove to find I had a nasty gash in my hand that needed four stitches but before sending me off to hospital the Officers took us to the local pub for a couple of drinks to warm us up.
I was now a qualified dispatch rider and whenever my regiment went on an exercise it was part of my job to go ahead of the convoy and direct the traffic, I enjoyed that. The regiment carried out a variety of exercises, on one occasion it was a demonstration for the crown prince of Abyssinia and on another we were sent to run the rifle ranges at Bisley during the national shooting week. A number of the lads worked at one end of the range running the targets up and down and marking them while others helped the competitors whose ages ranged from early teens to a very old chap. I had to help the old man get down on to the groundsheet and set up his rifle etc., he only fired two shots and that was enough for him. In the evenings over drinks we found a lot to talk about especially the antics of the competitors.
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Walton on the Naze Essex.
From Bisley we were sent to Walton on the Naze in Essex, there twelve of us had to manage a camp for the Territorial Army, I really enjoyed this experience. The camp was made up of old army Nissan huts that had been left over from the last war, there was two rows of five and a guard room with a ten line telephone exchange in it. There was a strip of land about fifty yards wide covered in gorse and scrub and beyond that a sandy beach and the sea. Further up the coast you could see Felixstowe and Harwich where the troop ships were returning the soldiers coming home on leave from Germany.
It was at the Naze where I had my first run in with a Lance Bombardier, I disobeyed an order and I was put on a charge. A lad called Dumbell had reported sick with a flu bug and the Medical Officer had ordered him to bed, the Lnc. Bdr. came into the hut and seeing him in bed ordered him to have a shower. Dumbell explained what was wrong and that he'd been told to go to bed, he refused to get up and an argument started. The Lnc. Bdr. came across to me and I thought he was joking and said it would be wrong for me to go against the MO’s orders. He repeated that if necessary I had to drag Dumbell out of his bed and see that he had a shower. For not obeying him he put me on a charge, his argument being that in the army a serviceman must at all times obey the last order given to him. I had to go to Colchester and appear in front of the Major on a charge of disobedience, after hearing my case it was dismissed but I was given a warning. It was explained to me that I should have obeyed the NCO but had I carried out that order I was in danger of being on a more serious charge for assault. Such was army discipline.
One weekend I returned from home on a weekend pass and this was to change my whole future. I'd had a nice time visiting Cliff Coverdale and his wife Brenda and we'd been to the pictures with Celia and Carol, Celia’s sister and I had to return to camp on the Tuesday morning. On the train from Darlington to Kingscross I met up with a couple of lads who had also been on leave, we decided to catch the milk train from Liverpool Street Station for Ipswich as it should get us into the Naze in time for morning parade. Like most things when you're late everything goes wrong. The train stopped at almost every station along the line picking up cans of milk and consequently we arrived at the Naze with very little time to spare, however we got a lift in a very large sports car and arrived back at the camp as the lads were going on to the parade ground. The duty Sergeant refused to allow us to change into our uniform so we had to parade in our civvies and most of us were wearing teddy boy clothes. I was wearing blue shoes with inch thick crepe soles and a blue gabardine Macintosh.
Captain Francis was one of the very few officers that I met who had made his way up through the ranks, he was a very brave man having been awarded the Military Medal for duty in the face of the enemy during the war, he was a person that drank a lot yet had a peculiar sense of humour. Before dismissing the parade he asked the Sergeant to have those men who were in civvies to appear before him in uniform immediately. We knew that although he was easy going he would punish us in his way, as we stood before him we were fairly relaxed. He said he was appalled to see us on parade in civilian clothes, “Spenceley, why?” I suppose he picked on me as I was senior, I’d served the longest and had at times acted as his signal man. “The milk train was late arriving in Walton which made us late for parade Sir” I replied. “That’s no excuse” he said quietly. “In future catch an earlier train. Have no fear the three of you will be punished for being late”. He looked across at the other lads, “I believe that you two are drivers, you can each work an extra day as duty driver and as for you Spenceley you can't drive so you can whitewash the Guard room. I’ll be along to inspect your work in an hours time. Dismiss”. Outside his office we thought we'd got of lightly but the other two lads felt it unfair that my punishment would only last for two hours whilst they had to do an extra twenty four hours. I collected the white wash and brushs from the store and set about the job of whitewashing.
The lads that had to call in for all sorts of reasons found it a great joke to see me with whitewash running down my arms but they soon scattered when they heard the Captain was on his rounds. I'd almost finished when the door opened and in he strolled, I could see that he had started on his whisky early that day for his eyes had started to glaze with the affect and looking around the room he seemed less than pleased with my work. “I can see I was mistaken to give you this job, you'll never make a painter. You should be given the same punishment as the other gunners and I give you a fortnight to pass your driving test, failure will mean more trouble for you”. He turned and walked away and before I could return the paint to the store a Bombardier Shepherd approached me saying, “Hurry up, I have to take you on driver training”.
He drove the vehicle to Boxted a disused airfield just north of Colchester and there I spent the rest of the day doing what I wanted to do when I first joined the army, what a stroke of luck. During the following two weeks I had intensive training. Most of the time I spent running the Officer around the countryside of Essex, we called on various pubs in the area and I waited outside while the Captain went in to have a chat with his friends and his usual tipple. At certain places he would take a Jerry can of petrol from the back of the vehicle saying it was surplus to requirements, he'd acquired it from the stores for the T/A’s. Who was I to question him? At times I was worried like when he went to the bank on Colchester High Street for the weekly pay. He took with him a green canvas bag and said as he left the vehicle “You stand outside the door of the bank and if anyone comes out with this bag hit them with the wheel brace, ask no questions”. After a lunch time of drinking he'd order me to sit in the passenger seat and he'd drive us back to camp, this wasn't very pleasant for me nor was it a good way to learn to drive especially at the speeds he drove along the narrow roads.
After about ten days I had to go to the stores accompanied by a Lieutenant, I noticed that he made notes about various things on a pad that he carried, he only spoke to me when giving instructions where I had to go. On the return journey just before entering the camp I stopped outside the guardroom and asked if he could give me a date for my driving test. “Oh, your driving test, I'm pleased to tell you that you've just been on it, I’m also pleased with the standard of your driving. Before you tell anyone you must report to Captain Francis as he has been with you” and at that he walked away. I didn’t feel very confident as I knocked on the Captains door but on entering I could see that he was a little worse for wear with drink and I felt a sorry for him, especially as I knew the stories that were around about his exploits in the war and the pressure that he had been under. “How did you get on with the Lieutenant today” he asked, “Very well Sir” I replied, “he told me that you wanted to see me Sir”. He took a piece of paper from his desk and handed it to me and on it were a number of questions. “See if you can answer them Spenceley”. He seemed agitated, I read through the list and gave what I thought were reasonable answers. “Very well you have now passed your driving test, in future whenever and wherever I want a driver you will be expected to turn out for me. Another thing, whenever you are with me whatever I do or say you saw and heard nothing, understand?” “Yes Sir” I replied thinking what an unusual thing to say and his next words were even more baffling. “When you get out there tell my batman, Hill, that I'm in a bad mood and he's to keep out of my way. Don't think I've forgotten about the punishment I promised you, take an extra spell as duty driver starting at 6 pm. tonight”.
I met his batman, he was in the hut polishing the Captains leathers and I told him what he'd said, “Oh don't worry about that he was in a bad mood yesterday, he'd looked inside the tea pot and saw some tea stains. When I walked in he threw the pot at me and told me to get out of his office so I warned the lads to keep out of his way or else”.
The two Officers must have spent that afternoon drinking for by six o’clock they were walking along between the gorse bushes trying to shoot rabbits. One suggested that they use the gun together, one holding the twelve bore shotgun on his shoulder while the other stood behind to take aim and fire. They only tried it once and the Officer at the rear took aim and fired at a rabbit, the gun recoiled and hit him in the mouth knocking out his front teeth.
We were standing watching them from a safe distance and as soon as that happened we made ourselves scarce.
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Essex Girls
In the 1950's sex always seemed to be in young soldiers mind but very rarely in practice at least the lads that I went about with, Oh we had pictures of girls friends in our lockers and always dreamed of the girls back home.
Present day lads and lasses may think most of us were either very loyal or stupid .
Most of the lads had girl friends in Walton, just young girls that we could sit and talk to on the beach, nothing heavy. We were too shy to get up to some of things that go on these days. At eighteen I did think I looked good in my teddy boy gear. One evening a group of us went to one of the local pubs for a beer but the landlord refused to serve me, I had to show him my army pay book before i could get a drink, that really amused the other lads.
Some of the girls had left their regular boy friend’s for the lads in uniform and after a couple of weeks seemed to want stronger ties, this caused a great deal of friction between the local lads and us but we never came to blows. I remember one lass , she took a liking to me, in fact the feeling was mutual and we'd walk up and down the sea front chatting to the other lads and their girls, then about nine o’clock I'd walk her home and spend a few minutes on the doorstep, her Mam sometimes brought out a cup of tea to us then I would catch the duty truck back to the camp. Our relationship became stale as I wanted to be with the lads but this young girl insisted I go out with her every day so I started to volunteer for extra duties to avoid her. She just wouldn’t take no for an answer and even when I went to the pictures with the lads I'd just get settled down and she'd quietly slip in beside me. When I asked her how she knew I was there she would say that she'd phoned the camp and the lad in the guard room had told her (The cheek of it).
The time had come for me to gently tell her that all I wanted was friendship not a serious courtship but how could I do it without hurting her? After a couple of days I decided to tell her a white lie, I said it was unfair of me to carry on our relationship as I had a girl back home. Tina refused to believe me and we discussed it as we walked along the sea front, we met one of my mates Geordy Blenkinsop, she asked him, “Is it right that George has a girl friend back home?” Geordy always a practical joker looked at me then at her, “Oh yes” he replied “they intend to marry next year”. We hadn't convinced her and she suggested that I go home with her to tell her Mam.
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HMS Ganges
All the lads spent most of their spare time on the beach and this particular Sunday a group of sea cadets landed a large boat known as a ‘Whaler’ on the beach. After they had done various exercises and not realising that the tide was going out they tried to get the boat back into the water but found it impossible. It was arranged for them to go back to HMS GANGES by vehicle. The following Sunday they returned and found the ‘Whaler’ high up the beach, they telephoned Ipswich Docks to have a tug boat sent to tow the boat off but by the time the tug arrived the tide was on the turn again and to the annoyance of the Officer in charge that tug also got caught on a sandbar, it was well and truly stuck. We were taking the whole episode as a huge joke but Captain Francis rounded us up and ordered us to wade into the sea and assist in freeing the tug but again it was hopeless. Our Captain took the crew to receive a little hospitality. The following morning at three am. Captain Francis entered our Nissan hut shouting, “I want every one on the beach in five minutes”. We quickly dressed and hurried to the beach, it was just coming up to high tide and the sun was just starting to rise across the water. We could see the navy had arrived with a second tug to tow away the stranded vessels. After a great deal of maneuvering it caught on the sandbar and it seemed as if it was in for the same fate as the other two. The crew were shouting frantic instructions to the shore. We were still bleary eyed from the shock of being wakened out of our beauty sleep and when the order came from our Captain to remove all our clothing, tie them round our neck and go out to the tug to help, we looked at each other in disbelief at what we'd been told to do. One of the lads mumbled we'll get drowned if we go out there but the Captain wasn’t having any of it. “Come on hurry up” he shouted and at that he started to remove his clothes. “We'll have to help them”. “But I can’t swim” said one lad. “You don't need to swim or try any heroics we'll all hold hands in a chain until we get to the tug then we’ll push it into deeper water” he explained. Although it was the height of summer the water was freezing as we waded up to our midriffs, it was a mixture of fear and excitement as the lads giggled like school kids as we moved into deeper water, it was up to our chests and we were trying to walk on our toes. When we finally reached the tug the water was around our necks and only our heads were clear, the next problem was to get the tug moving. There were small lengths of rope fastened along its sides that we could get hold of and eventually we managed to get it clear of the sandbar. The crew dragged us on board and with the other boats in tow we set off for Ipswich, once there we were put into vehicles and returned to camp and given the rest of the day off.
Captain Francis stayed on and was supposed to be detained or kidnapped for the pleasure of the Captain of HMS GANGES. Two days later the camp phone rang and I had to go along to HMS GANGES to accept the release of Captain Francis. It was obvious to all and sundry that he had spent two great days drinking with members of the Royal Navy as thank you gesture. But Captain Francis really was an officer and a gentleman we all had confidence in.
him.
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Convoy to Otterburn
Our twelve weeks at Walton on the Naze was at an end and on our return to Colchester we were told the holiday was over. Two weeks of intensive training then off on an exercise over three hundred miles away at the Dearborn ranges in Northumberland. I was given a new vehicle to drive and as the exercise included the whole regiment the convoy would take four days to complete the journey. Setting off early one morning our first stage was to get to Thetford in Suffolk and the following day as far as Sherwood forest. I took spells at dispatch riding and guiding the convoy along the chosen route. I had to keep a watchful eye for stragglers and if a vehicle happen to break down I would stay with it until the breakdown crew from REME arrived. The journey was very slow travelling along at a snails pace, 15 m.p.h., and less when going through a town for to stop the traffic to allow up to two hundred vehicles through was a major problem. It was 1953 before motorways came into existence. On the third day we had travelled most of the day on the old A1 and reached the City of Ripon, I approached an Officer to ask if I could have the use of a motor bike to visit the farm that I had previously worked on. He was very reluctant at first but knowing that I'd had a very gruelling day he relented on condition that if I had the misfortune to be stopped by the Military Police I would say that I was looking for stragglers from the convoy. I travelled the ten miles or so to the farm and exchanged the usual friendly greetings, I stayed and had my tea before setting off back. As I travelled along the twisting country lanes at a nice steady speed I noticed that the road had been recently resurfaced, disaster struck as I was negotiating one of the bends, I'd leaned the machine over to take the bend when the front wheel hit a mound of loose gravel and caused it to lean further, my foot rest caught the surface of the road and it dug in sending the bike spinning across the road, we hit the far bank then shot back across to the other side and shooting into the air it came to rest on my helmet tearing the metal from the inside webbing and digging into the back of my head. Dazed I felt my head, the blood was flowing pretty fast around my neck and round under my chin. A local farmer Mr Thonpson working in a field a few yards away saw the whole thing and climbed over the fence to help me. “I’ve expected something like this to happen all day” he said, “you're not the first to hit that gravel”. I must have looked a ghastly sight sitting with my face covered in blood and with the inside webbing from my helmet still attached to my head. Bill the farmer said “I'll go and phone the army at Catterick and tell them you've had an accident”. I explained that by right I shouldn't have been there I'd been visiting friends. I looked at the damage on the machine, the handlebar had been forced up along with the footrest and the head lamp was dented and the glass broken. I forgot about my pain and bleeding head for I was so worried about how I would explain what had happened and the thought of a Court Martial and a period in Colchester glass house didn’t appeal at all. The regiment had set up camp in a field and having made it back I reported to the powers that be the following morning, I was taken to Catterick military hospital to have four stitches in the wound on my head and was excused exercises for the following week. Fortunately the damage on the bike went unnoticed.
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Otterburn ranges
 | I was trained as a driver signaller for the Battery Major on the front line observation post. The Officer would pick out a distant target in the supposed enemy territory, it was my job to pass on the relevant information to the guns for action. Otterburn military ranges covered a vast area and on this day all the Royal Artillery Top Brass were attending the exercises. We were on the top of this hill setting up the target when in the distance we could hear the sound of heavy firing. The Officers looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders, what's causing the bangs as no instructions had been given to the battery to fire? We soon found out for about fifteen second later there was the sound of a shell hurtling through the air, then an almighty bang. The shell landed about a 100 yards to our left and the Officers became very alarmed, Captain Francis had the presence of mind to go to where the shell had landed and take a compass reading and so check the direction from which the missile had come. There was another distant bang and a tense wait for the fifteen seconds whilst the twenty five pound shell hurtled towards us. The Senior Officer ordered us all to lay as low as possible in the old shell crater that we were occupying, we didn’t need telling twice. I was already in the hole with my radio but in the rush I got pushed and ended sandwiched in the centre of the heap of bodies. There were about ten of us altogether from the high ranking Officers to the lowest gunner, ME. This crater was about seven feet across and the shell had landed to our right, there was another massive bang and again Captain Francis took a bearing on its flight. He shouted, “It must be the Forty-Second Regiment and I fear we're their target”. He called the Safety Officer on the radio and told him to stop the firing but it was too late for a series of bangs followed which meant that there were more shells coming our way. The noise as they passed was very frightening as was the cursing from the Officers. On another occasion a similar event happened when on exercise in Germany with serious results, two lads were killed and a couple injured, thankfully I wasn't there at that time.
We spent six weeks at the Otterburn rages and on returning to Colchester the regiment was transferred from the Third Infantry Brigade to the Second Infantry Brigade to be based near Essen in Germany.
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The Regt moves to Germany BAOR
 | I now had my first stripe, I was a Lance Bombardier and was more involved in the running of the battery transport. My first task was to teach fourteen drivers the skill of driving on the right-hand side of the road. I had to acquaint myself first with the road signs etc., for I had no experience either. I've always thought it odd that whilst I was training the lads, when It came to road testing and written exams etc., the powers that be thought I should take the same test as the men, it was right I suppose? The outcome was that I achieved the highest mark, out of 1080 points I gained 1060. It could be seen as a bit of a fiddle for Lieutenant Edge who organised the testing had no knowledge or experience himself of driving in Germany. Was it a fiddle? You must decide but I know I was very pleased with the result.
Seven years after the war Germany was still in a very bad condition, lots of the buildings were still in ruins especially along the industrial Ruhr. Almost every other week we'd be on an exercise of some sort or other. I remember in particular an exercise code named June Bride. As there was a cold war going on between the allied countries and Russia the whole division was always in a state of emergency. We had to be ready to move to a designated position at a moments notice. One night we'd been driving for hours, hundreds of vehicles driving nose to tail with only a small light shining on the differential in the centre of the rear axle of the vehicle in front. We'd travelled for hours like this when we suddenly came to a stop, we were so tired we didn’t think we could continue any further through the forests roads and narrow paths without any lights. We turned of into a field then on into an orchard but were told we must not set up our bivouacs as we may have to move on. I parked my three-ton command wagon under a tree and threw the camouflage net over the top so that it couldn't be seen from the air. I went over to where the other lads had made themselves comfortable in a depression under the trees, they'd been advised by one of the Officers to place their ground sheets on the ground, then a layer of blankets followed by a further layer of ground sheets, there were about eight of us and we settled down for a well earned rest. It started to rain heavily but we were so tired we just covered our heads with the ground sheets and slept on. We failed to realise that the rain water was seeping into the area that we were sleeping in, the warmth from our bodies had warmed it and it was only when we woke that we found about two inches of water and all our bedding soaking wet.
Around dinner time I was asked to go to the farmhouse for some hot water to make drinks. I knocked on the door and was greeted by the farmer's wife who immediately asked in broken English about the grey blankets that were hanging on the fences around the orchard. I tried to explain to her what had happened and she seemed to understand and welcomed me into the kitchen. The rest of her family were washing their hands in preparation for lunch and one or two were already seated at the table. I asked again for some hot water but the lady turned to the other members of her family and started to speak in German, there was the usual nodding of heads and the words, “Ya, ya”. Those seated got up and walked across the kitchen, one of the older men tried to speak to me but all I could understand was the word Officer. I understood him to say he wanted to see the Officer in Charge. On returning with the Officer it was fortunate that he could speak German for what the family were suggesting was very unusual, they wanted the lads in the orchard to be brought into the house for their lunch and said they would prepare dinner for themselves later. What were they expecting in return? They wanted nothing. We were very reluctant to take their food but they insisted and seemed overwhelmed when I returned later with compo rations, tea, coffee, chocolate and sweets.
The following night we camped on the border of Holland and Germany, this time we weren’t taking any chances with the weather and set up our command Head Quarters in a barn next to some smelly pig sheds. Again we found the local folk very easy to get on with. They were obviously very religious for we had noticed whilst travelling the lanes in the area that at cross roads and junctions there were religious shrines. Sitting in the barn one evening, hoping for a good nights sleep we were surprised when a group of children came in and sat themselves in the animal stalls. They chatted and joked for a while then started singing songs to us, it was very touching. One song in particular got to me, whether it was a hymn or a local song I've never been able to find out. They seemed to be singing about home, the lyrics had, “FOR MAMMA UNT, FOR PAPA UNT, FOR ME” in them. I will never forget those few words and often wished I could hear those young voices singing the full song again.
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Belsen
 | On another exercise when we were close to the Russian border we took time to visit a site of a more sinister nature. The remains of “BELSEN” the prisoner of war camp where the bodies of thousands of innocent people laid buried in large mounds. We walked around the area, the horror that I felt there I find difficult to put into words. There was a deathly silence surrounding the place, there were no birds singing and the few local folk that slowly walked among the mass graves just nodded to each other as if in despair.
On my travels to various parts of Germany I only came across one farmer who objected to us being there and he soon changed his attitude when our Officer brought in a group of high ranking Officers. He'd been a Prussian Officer, they took him to one side and after a heated argument touching on topics of war one of our Officers shouted, “Either you open the gates and give the British Army access or we shall drive through them to take up our positions in the yard” the German reluctantly let us go through.
On returning to barracks I was promoted to Bombardier in Charge of Transport. My job included driving the battery Commanding Officer, Major Harding. He was a very quiet spoken man and I understood that he’d served in the Philippines during the war and still suffered from it. Each morning I collected him from his home and brought him in for parade and once a week I would take his wife on a shopping excursion either to Dusseldorf, Essen or Wuppertal, its famous overhead rail passenger system was really worth seeing. Mrs. Harding was pregnant at the time so I also took her to the military hospital for her regular medical checkups. You can imagine the ribbing I got from the other lads when I returned from one of those visits, I thought it a privilege to be trusted to act as chauffeur for the Major’s wife.
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Christmas with the lads
 | Christmas time in the barracks in Germany was a very happy time although tinged with disappointment at not getting home. I received parcels from our Edna and one from Bam (Brenda in South Bank) her usual Christmas greetings. Christmas day was made a special occasion and the custom in the army was that the Officers and Sergeants waited on the men. First thing in the morning they would bring round the morning tea laced with rum, not always appreciated by those suffering bad heads from the festivities of the previous evening. Later at lunch time they returned and served up the festive meal wearing silly party hats and there'd be a Father Xmas, we'd spend most of the afternoon sleeping it off.
My visit to Essen and Dusseldorf at Christmas was a must, even though it was 1953 the streets were illuminated and shining extra bright, the shops had made every effort to portray a brighter future for the citizens, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for the ordinary folk. War is caused by power seekers and it's the ordinary man and woman and their children that suffer the consequences. The young boys and girls turned cartwheels in front of us soldiers as we strolled through the city then held out their hands begging, “Ein a phennig, ein a phennig bitte” meaning give us a penny please.
My three years of service were coming to an end and Major Harding wanted me to sign on for a further three years. He even offered to send me to Larkhill on the Salisbury Plain at the School of Artillery to train to become a Sergeant but I declined his offer. I've often thought how good it was to have someone who had confidence in my abilities and I wonder if I'd stayed on what would have happened to me, how far would I have got?
I found army life had many good points, it teaches young men comradeship, discipline and friendship. Shortly after I was demobbed the regiment moved from Germany to the Far East, to Kualar Lumpa, then after a brief spell there it was disbanded. I was demobbed from Woolwich in London on my twenty first birthday having served for three years.
The next chapter is about working as a driver for Wilton ICI in the mid 1950's and 60's .I have been told it will have special interest for drivers of heavy goods vehicles (Tankers) over the years. Compere the past with the present.
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