Early in September 1947, I received a crisply worded invitation to report to number
30 Primary Training Centre (PTC) in Preston, Lancashire, to fulfill my obligations as a
National Service draftee. With the invitation came a Postal Order for five shillings and a
voucher for travel to Preston. I thought the five shillings was a very nice gesture until a
friend told me that this was my first day's pay, and by accepting the "King's shilling", I
would be branded a deserter if I did not report as ordered, with all dire consequences
up to and including death by firing squad!
On the appointed day, 18 September 1947,1 planned to travel to Preston by rail early
enough to take in a movie at the local cinema, have a leisurely tea, and then report as
ordered. I had not reckoned with the ubiquitous nature of the organization I was entering,
and realized only too late that the ticket collector had signaled to two nearby Military
police, who promptly escorted me to a waiting army lorry and was immediately conveyed
to the barracks!
Preston Barracks had started life over a century before as a military center well
designed for the battalion of infantry that occupied it. Then the property was
"condemned" and converted into a prison, and after several decades "condemned" for a
second time and then handed back to the army to convert, once more, into a military
establishment. Despite this, the physical layout and accommodations were pretty good,
and were better than some I occupied later. We had eight to a room, which was twenty
less than I had been accustomed to share sleeping arrangements with at school and on the
whole the expected culture shock did not develop. The officers and senior NCOs of the
training staff were drawn from many different regiments, with one thing in common... they
were all on a short waiting list for demobilization.
The first night was a mixture of surprises. We marched to the administration department
still in our civilian clothes, received pay books, signed innumerable documents and
stated our religious preference. Every new recruit had to have one as a matter of record,
and if you did not respond smartly at the appropriate time, you were recorded as favoring
the Church of England. When my turn came, after nearly fifty or sixty recruits, I realized
that no one had aspired to be Roman Catholic, so I stoutly respond "RC" and in my
mind felt that I had set forth on the road to martyrdom!
The real surprise came, however, when we were told that we could have a pass to leave
the barracks and return no later that 11.00 PM that evening. Unbelievable! We were
somewhat in shock having expected that the first night in the army would be one of
extreme stress and deprivation. I promptly called a family friend in Preston, Dr. Mary
Cardwell, who bustled over in her car and asked me to join a few of her close friends
and associates in what turned out to be a prayer meeting. The cookies and tea were
great so I was launched in my personal adventure with a full stomach and lots of prayer.
Much too early the next morning we were awakened by a corporal and sergeant walking
into the room banging metal trash bin lids and making a few obscene suggestions to urge
us up and out on parade. We marched in platoons to the mess hall, a procedure that was
to be followed for all subsequent visits to that establishment. I thought the food was
pretty good, but was surprised at the rather heavy brown residue that coated the bottom
of our mugs. Those wiser than I said this was a bromide additive that was intended to
reduce the sex drive and make us all less homesick! If that is what it was, I saw no
evidence of its efficacy during my time at Preston.
The visit to the quarter-master's store for our uniforms and sundry items was relatively
simple. The sergeant told us what we needed and the sizes we would wear and soon we
had filled a kit-bag with all of the required items, signed for them and then marched back
to our barrack room. Within the hour, a young lieutenant appeared on the scene,
ascertained that none of the kit had been tried on for size and fit, and marched the entire
platoon back to the QM stores, whereupon he retrieved the documents we had signed,
tore them up and order the QM to "equip these men properly if you have to stay all night."
I learned a lot from this officer's initiative that came in handy later.
After several days of drill and instruction, we reached the point where we could
reasonably be put on the parade ground without too much commotion, and faced our first
inspection by the Regimental Sergeant Major (RSM), For this occasion, I wore my best
boots from the Army Cadet Force days, which were immaculate and shined to perfection.
I felt sure that this would get me some attention, which, indeed, it did. The RSM literally
went purple in the face and asked how could I be in the army for only a few days and have
boots like these. Innocently, I replied that these were my boots from the Cadet Force at
school, where upon he literally screamed that it meant I must have three pairs of army
boots which was illegal, and I should get rid of one pair immediately. Thus I was
introduced to the army concept that surplus was a more heinous crime than a deficit!
I kept my good boots and sold another pair for ten shillings, storing the lesson learned
against the day of need!
We were challenged on other issues as the days progressed. The competition for the
blood bank was fierce with each company vying for providing the most blood for the Red
Cross. Along with the rest of the platoon, I gave my required pint one morning, only to
be told in the same afternoon, that I looked pretty healthy and to report to the Red Cross
station to donate another pint. This was to enable my company to claim the prize, and I
instinctively felt this was not a smart thing to do, but how could I avoid the prospect
without getting the NCO's all upset. As I approached the station, I produced the
certificate they had given me in the morning with all the innocence I could muster and was
delighted when the nurse in charge immediately denied my further donation. The
Company NCO's were dismayed but couldn't pin the rejection on me.
The years of training in the army cadet force at Belmont paid off in my insertion into the
army, but there was a downside. I was well prepared for basic training, fieldcraft and
parade activities, and could disassemble and reassemble a Bren gun blind fold. But
increasingly , I was relieved of training to fill urgent calls for KP duties because I already
had the necessary skills. However, I soon found that doing KP meant less attention to the
spit and polish side of army life, so I adjusted. Not long after this, however, several of us
were notified that our basic training would be curtailed and in my case, I was posted to the
Royal Signal Corps at Caterick Camp in Yorkshire. So, farewell to the rather cushy first
month in the army and now for reality !
ARMY MEMORIES #2
The journey to Catterick Camp in Yorkshire was accomplished in the company of
several hundred other aspiring recruits on a troop train devoid of any amenities. What
really depressed me, however, was the fact that for the first time I had no friends , no real
pals with whom to reminisce and a distinct feeling of being an outcast because of my
"Oxford English accent" ! This sense of isolation did not improve when we finally arrived
at our destination and I apparently failed to appear on any list of incoming recruits.
Whereas at Preston I had life down 'pat, from now on all was new and a little scary
particularly when a sergeant nominated me to be the platoon leader for the barrack room
we occupied. I never felt less like being a leader!
Catterick Camp is situated close to the Yorkshire Moors and is both inhospitable and
bitterly cold when the wind gets up. Its apparent claim to glory, we were told, is that for
the Royal Signal Corps (RSC) it was a perfect place for receipt and propagation of radio
signals, which, however, was not top on our personal list of priorities at the time. The
Royal Armoured Corps (RAC) also had a major training establishment nearby and we
quickly noticed some marked differences in the way the two service arms handled their
personnel. The RAC recruits were reissued with uniforms, tailored to fit, whereas in the
Signals, we were left with the ill-fitting first issue received on enlistment. Morale was
definitely better in the armoured units and very obviously their leaders considered it an
important factor and acted accordingly.
Part of the challenge to the Services at the time was the political indecision regarding
the length of National Service for the post-war era. Some in Parliament were pressing
for 12 months active service, whilst others favoured 18 or 24 months. This threw training
and scheduling activities into chaos, exacerbated by the release of thousands of war
veterans whose skills and experience were critical to training the new recruits. Later, the
impact of the draw down of the British army in India, which meant absorbing , for
instance over five thousand officers from that organization created additional problems in
the attempt to stabilize the forces in a post-war world. In the political world, the realities
of the resurgence of independence movements in differing parts of the Commonwealth
added to the complexities of establishing force levels to meet requirements for defence on
a long-term basis. And then there was our erstwhile ally - the Soviet Union - with its
formidable army surrounding Berlin and occupying East Germany face to face with the
developing response of first. Western Union, and then NATO.
I have to admit that none of these lofty considerations occupied my thoughts as the
army finally found my documents and I was assigned to the 6th Training Regiment, Royal
Signals, and life took a rebound. We were billeted in what were called "Sandhurst
Blocks", a designation given to the newly designed accommodations These buildings
were constructed on a plan that followed an "H" with three or four levels with the center
floor connecting the wings and containing the mess-hall and cook house. They were
light-years away from the primitive and squalid barracks elsewhere in Catterick, and were
definitely 'cushy'. The rooms were designed for eight occupants and morale improved!
Being able to eat and sleep in the same building was a major plus.
Quite a few of the new intake, including myself, were marked as possible candidates
for officer training and commissioning , for which we were given a battery of tests and
considerable paper-work to fill out. It was at this time that I finally crystallized my
objective to achieve officer status regardless of arm of service, regiment or any other
consideration. I had seen enough of life in the ranks to state it was not for me and
accordingly paid scrupulous attention to the answers required to a myriad of questions.
A few of us had discussed the options prior to filling out the questionnaires, and
concluded that some avenues were less attractive than others. For instance, the officer
cadet school for artillery prospects was 37 weeks as opposed to the 18-week course for
infantry officers. The latter, however, was more likely to be engaged in hazardous duties
than other elements of the army. The bottom line was to work for a commission and then,
once achieved, see what options for transfer would open up.
Obviously, the idea of being in a "peace-time" army generated different responses than
those during the war, and it played a major part in the thinking of all elements of the
services. Whilst the politicians were debating length of service and which part of the
Commonwealth to abandon next, we conscripts were selecting where to serve. There was
no heroic, jingoistic or ultra-patriotic mantra running through the land, so in the end, we
selected more on the basis of self than service. Despite this, however, my first choice of
service was Infantry, My father, three uncles and other relatives had served in the
Lincolnshire Regiment there had always been a Garvey in the regiment. My second choice
was my real hope, the Intelligence Corps; and my third choice the one many of us made
as a last hope, the Royal Army Educational Corps. Choices made and committed to
paper, we returned to the more mundane life in the 6th Training Regiment.
It was decided that our particular intake should follow a basic infantry schedule, since
the longer term signal training was not going to be "wasted" on those who might leave the
Corps on commissioning in other parts of the army. This was actually rather fun. The
sergeant in charge of us was a true infantry soldier having been seconded to the Signal
Corps at the end of the war. He was a sergeant one day, but the next a corporal, and a
short time later restored to the rank of sergeant. All, due, it was said, to some dalliance
with the ladies. He was to us a breath of fresh air and challenging. Under his sometimes
scornful eye, we mastered the use of the basic infantry weapons starting with the rifle. He
indoctrinated us into his personal joy, that of being a sniper! The digging of ambushes,
lying for hours camouflaged and vigilant for his approach, was entertaining and
instructive. One weapon we desperately disliked was the Platoon Infantry Anti Tank
(PIAT) weapon which, he informed us. Field Marshal Montgomery had scornfully
dismissed as "deadly accurate at twenty feet"! This monstrosity projected a projectile
resembling a mortar bomb using a extremely strong spring, and enroute to the target the
bomb would ignite and hit the tank with some considerable force. Resetting the weapon,
required the operator to lie on his back, hold the recoil mechanism with his feet and
re-cock the whole system, hopefully without getting a hernia!
It became clear to us that life could be more pleasant if one possessed the attributes of
being a cricketeer, a boxer or could ride a motor cycle. Each of these activities carried
with them privileges that most yearned for... no parade or guard duty, and travel to other
venues for the sports activities. The Signal Corps was jealous of its standing in the regular
Army sports arena and kudos went to those who could uphold or exceed its standings. I
volunteered for the boxing gambit on the basis that I would not have to stand guard duty,
but one session in the ring with some other aspiring athlete cured me instantly! The
cricketeer in me was a very unlikely candidate as I despised the game. That left the motor
cycle... but, to tell the truth, the idea of riding one of those machines with soldiers
balanced on my shoulders did not appeal, so that idea went down the drain with the
others. Basically, we were trying to survive and perhaps even enjoy our stay in Yorkshire.
However, it was in a dilapidated hut... a short jog down the road ... that I finally found
the familiar face of the Catholic church and being able to go there and relax in the liturgy
and rituals of the church was invigorating. Once more I became reunited with my roots in
Belmont which provided much support on occasions when life was on a down turn.! It
was here that I met two great people... Peter, a corporal in the Signal Corps and Tony, a
bombardier in the Royal Artillery. We formed a brotherhood that bound us together in a
spiritual way that has been equaled only on very rare occasions since. Peter was
stationed in the administrative offices of the headquarters and Tony with an army research
and development team . The three of us had studied apologetics at school and therefrom
came a notion that we could start the conversion of England right there in Catterick! We
formulated a plan of action, set down objectives devised a coat of arms and called
ourselves the "The Sword of the Spirit". Our first effort in this direction was to attempt
the conversion of Tony's girl friend, an attractive and intelligent young lady who was able
to hold her own and despite all our logic remained the good Methodist she had always
been. That we did not succeed nor persevere later did not detract one iota from our
enthusiasm . It was fun... and I learned the precious lesson of camaraderie which is
essential to the morale of any army in the world.
Following the faith did produce other interesting interactions as, for instance, when my
room mates , a bawdy group if ever there was one, expressed concern one Sunday
morning at the fact I had not yet risen. I feigned sleep and was amazed to hear them
debating as to what time mass was and shouldn't they wake me so I would not miss
church that day! This coming from folks who had only just turned in after a very beery
night on the town was great. On another front, I was challenged on finding that those on
the boxing team could take time off for practice when on guard duty, whereas we church
goers could not. I petitioned the commanding officer and was gratified when the
regimental orders were altered to extend the same privilege to all of us regardless of
denomination. There was one advantage, however, in being a "fish eater" as we Catholics
were sometimes called. Our Sunday service started at the same time as breakfast, and as
reception of the Eucharist entailed fasting from mid-night and precluded us from enjoying
that meal at the regular time, we were given the privilege of a late meal based on a chit
signed by the chaplain. This was without doubt the finest meal of the week. Copious
quantities of bacon, eggs, sausage, toast, butter and the best marmalade I have ever
enjoyed . As news spread of this event, we noticed an increase in "conversions"
underlining the concept that the best way to a man's heart is through his stomach!
We now entered a new phase in our army experience when those who were designated
possible officer candidates were moved out of the training cycle and side-lined until a War
Office Selection Board (WOSB) determined our fitness to advance to the Officer Cadet
Training Unit (OCTU). This meant a physical move out of the so-called "cushy" billets
and into a different squadron billeted in barracks that had been condemned no less that
seven times since the start ofWWI (1914), as unfit for human occupation. These units
were not really that bad, but the NCO staff seemed determined to make life totally
miserable for the potential emerging officer class and declared that the fire place grates in
each hut had to be blackened and polished with shoe polish ready for each morning
inspection. The consequence was that we could not light fires,, in the bitter cold despite
adequate supplies of coal, because the shoe polish could not work on the warm grates and
we were forbidden to use the appropriate grate polish which would have worked in these
circumstances! It was apparent that this squadron contained all the misfits... those like
ourselves who were designated officer material and a cadre of NCO's belligerent and
angry, for whatever reason, awaiting eventual return to civilian life.
So, tough luck, as they say! The circumstances made us knit together like no other
actions could have done. It became a game of us versus them, and we held a trump card
because we really didn't care! Excluded from any training, we became a resource for any
and all fatigue assignments. Each morning we paraded and were assigned to differing KP
duties throughout the regiment. They were varied and only in one instance were we
warned in advance of the task for the day. That was when we had to clean out grease
traps in the many cookhouses in the area. They are without doubt one of the worst jobs
and the advance warning was so that we did not have breakfast which we have certainly
lost on the first assignment.
Some of these KP duties were fascinating in showing us another side of army life.
Taking coal rations to the other ranks married families showed us the absolutely miserable
accommodations that they endured. Their "homes" were truly hovels, and the coal had to
be stored in what was intended to be a closet by the front door. By comparison, two of us
were detailed to a sergeant's married quarters with explicit instructions to use the back
roads. His home consisted of two stories and a pleasant downstairs living room. We
were to clean the house and set the fire in the fire-place, which we dutifully did, watched
by a blowzy blonde in a night gown, complete with a cigarette dangling out of her mouth..
She was most unpleasant and we resolved that we would stop this assignment for the
future by the simple act of returning to camp via the main highway. As anticipated, a
military police patrol picked us up for being out of bounds and reported the reason to our
squadron commander and this assignment was stricken from the list in the future.
Revenge, however, was not long in coming! On the next assignment, four of us were
detailed to the sergeants' mess for cleaning duties. I was assigned the duty of polishing
the brass fixtures in the urinals, and specifically the drain fittings. Then he required that
the brass drawing pins holding papers on the mess notice board be highly polished without
being removed and without marking the papers being held. It was done as he required and
his finally expletive as he left the mess made us the winners!
Throughout this period, we anxiously watched for the summons to attend the Selection
Board, and assiduously checked the results of each batch who moved through the
process. The Signal Corps, and its selection board, had the reputation of being the most
severe in its appraisal of officer candidates. This was borne out when 28 out of 30
candidates were rejected in one weekend. Each candidate had graduated from Manchester
University with a BSc in mathematics, which translated to us as a bias against northerners,
and I was glad that, although from the north, I had attended school in the southwest.
True or not, all selections usually are the result of elimination and I was happy to realize
that my candidacy would determined by a Selection Board other than the Royal Signals?
Despite the tension associated with the selection process, or probably because of it, we
engaged in a game of dare which had the potential to ruin our careers if discovered.
Simply, we were to go AWOL, and return to the unit undiscovered. The only help we
would get would be for someone to answer "here" at the morning parade to cover for our
absence. My chance came when I received a 48-hour pass to visit Belmont, which
required me to be back in squadron lines on Monday morning. Somewhere on the way
back, I heard an announcement on the station loudspeakers saying that " the train for
Nottingham is ready for departure." Now Jean lived in Nottingham and was the light of
my life at the time, so I immediately transferred trains and duly arrived in the city in high
spirits. Jean reveled in my arrival, but her brother and sister-in-law were less than
enthusiastic. I stayed with the in-laws overnight and left for Catterick in the morning,
delaying arrival at the squadron till early evening From this event I learned some of the
techniques of deception and insertion that would be helpful in later life.
It was providential that I had returned to the barracks when I did, because a summons
to appear before the Selection Board in Chester arrived the next day. Armed with a
bundle of documents and a fairly confident air, I entered the selection process with some
enthusiasm. It was to be a three day event in which we would respond to physical and
mental tests, respond to numerous "what if situations and wear a large bib with a
number inscribed thereon back and front, and which would be the only way we would be
identified or addressed by the officers conducting the tests. There were about twenty or
thirty of us and, needless to say, a level of paranoia crept in as we began to fantasize that
every aspect of our demeanour and behaviour were under intense scrutiny! Manners at
table became impeccable. No careless "gimme the sauce"... no elbows on the table... no
leaning over to grab the butter dish.... Miss Manners would have been proud of us!
Not so, however, when were broken into groups of five and taken to a field with a six
feet wide stream running through it, and a large oak tree spreading its branches obliquely
across the water. On the ground were a short length of rope, a piece of plywood, a 12
foot piece of wood and a shorter piece of wood. The instructions were brief: Get your
section and a wounded man across the steam in 10 minutes using only the materials
available without entering the stream. All hell broke loose as everyone assumed that the
objective was to see who would be the leader and the followers. Screaming, yelling and
pushing quickly subsided as the inevitable leader emerged (he with the loudest voice) and
we pulled together and worked as a team. We later found out that this was the real
test.... working together.
On the last day at the Selection Board, we donned our best uniforms, entered a room
with all of the selection officers present, gave our name, serial number, rank and regiment,
and the number we had worn throughout the tests, saluted smartly and retired . This was
the first time that our true identity had been disclosed. Then it was back to Catterick and
an anxious wait for the results.
ARMY MEMORIES #3
Returning to Catterick was rather like a bad dream, punctuated by KP duties and
waiting anxiously for news from the WOSB. The Christmas season was upon us and I
volunteered for duty with the option to take the seasonal break in the New Year. This
was not an altruistic gesture on my part, for I figured out that the Christmas duties would
be pretty relaxed and in any case, my birthday was 1 January. Sure enough, I drew
twenty-four hour guard duty at the Corps Headquarters on Christmas Day which was a
snap! Shortly after the guard was mounted, I took up my post right in front of the steps
leading down from the HQ, and proceeded to prepare for the departure of the General
Officer and the formal salute with rifle...'present arms'...to which he was entitled.
However, coming down the road were several members of the Women's Royal Army
Corps (WRAC) , two of whom, obviously well oiled by whatever Christmas cheer was
available, flung their arms around me in a sturdy embrace and wished me a merry
Christmas. Of course, the general chose that moment to exit the HQ, and I executed a
'present arms', thrusting the two ladies away, to which he responded with a salute and
observed " sentry, you seem to be having a very merry Christmas!"
Later in the day, the guard stood down and we went to the mess for the traditional
Christmas dinner. It was the custom in the British army for the enlisted men's' Christmas
dinner to be served by the officers after the latter had visited the Sergeants Mess for some
liquid comfort. This was to be no exception, and the turkey, all the trimmings, Christmas
pudding and beer made for a fine feast. Mine was served by no less than the general
whose acqaintance I had made earlier in the day, and who laconically observed "haven't
I seen you before?"
Soon after returning to Catterick from the New Year's break, Peter was able to tell me
from his position in the administrative part of the HQ that I had passed the Selection
Board, but it was many days before that information filtered down through the system to
our squadron commander. I was now formally an officer candidate. In the meantime, the
tedium of daily KP was continued until it was decided that our squadron would be
inspected by the commandant of the Royal Signals Officer Cadet Training Unit and his
staff. The unit was located in Catterick not far from our quarters, and preparations for the
inspection took us off the KP schedule and into multiple drill sessions. It had been
decided that the squadron would demonstrate a "passing out" parade, with the NCO and
officer functions performed by we enlisted types. The band of the Royal Signals Corps
was assigned the musical responsibilities and the parade commander selected by an
audition of former members of the Army Cadet Force. After listening to the drill orders
barked by several "would-be" commanders the choice fell to me. I enjoyed the moment
of my first and only command of approximately three hundred men and a military band
immensely, but was most pleased when the whole effort was over.
It was not uncommon for our quarters to be relocated during absence on leave
and so it was on return from a three-day pass to find that we had been moved into what
had been WRAC accommodations. It was very common for a certain brand of off-colour
humour to decorate the walls of the men's toilets, but the illustrations and 'poetry' left by
the departing female soldiers far exceeded the level of obscenity hitherto encountered!
Bemusement turned to anger, however, when over a dozen men in this area contracted
dysentery which was ascribed to the departing occupants throwing sanitary towels into the
water cistern, in protest at having to move!
Not too long after this experience, it was announced that the term of National Service
had been established and any potential officers not in an OCTU with the next two months
would be eliminated from consideration, since they would not, by that time, be able to
serve an acceptable period as officers before discharge. I was therefore very relieved to
receive an order to appear for an interview in York with a colonel in the RAEC to
determine my eligibility for commissioning in that Corps, and apparently passed with flying
colors. Eventually, as with all bureaucracies, the system got it right and I received orders
to report to 164 OCTU located in Chester for officer training.
Chester is simply a delight as a city with its Roman heritage still largely visible in the
magnificent walls which surround its core. The whole atmosphere was so opposite to life
on the Yorkshire moors that morale was inevitably high. The 164 OCTU itself was
located in the estate of the Duke of Westminster, about three miles from the city
and occupied most of the main building and all of the upgraded Nissen huts on the
adjoining land. Our reception, documentation and assignments took place in a blur of
well-orchestrated activity and by nightfall we had each claimed our beds, prepared for the
morning and generally got to know each other . In the middle of taking a most enjoyable
bath, the door to the hut flew open and several "thunderflashes" and assorted missiles
crashed into the room with one landing in the bath with me. My first thought was, don't
worry, the water will put it out, then, somewhat hastily remembered from my Belmont
days that these things were waterproof and I ejected the offending object before it
exploded. Thunderflashes were large firework explosive devices designed to simulate
mortars on exercises, and were relatively harmless unless one was naked! Welcome to the
unit from the senior cadets!
| In the morning, we found that we were part of 10 Platoon, "C" Company, all new intake of cadets, and that our training would basically be along infantry lines with heavy emphasis on leadership. The entire Company would progress through the training and graduate together less those who fell by the wayside.The latter action was called "Returned to Unit" (RTU) and could result from any number of obvious defects in performance, but most heavily weighted in care of arms, in our case, the Mark IV Lee Enfield rifle. |
|
These were first given an inspection by the armourer and any imperfection
within the barrel caused by wear and tear were recorded on a card which had to be in our
possession at all times when we carried the weapon. Thus, at the times we were inspected
by our company officers throughout our training, any defect not covered by the
armourer's chit was grounds for immediate RTU. Lesson number one... look after your
weapon!
"C" Company consisted of officer cadets drawn from all sectors of the army except
infantry and included many who had already achieved NCO rank in their respective
organizations. Nevertheless, all rank was eliminated from uniforms, and instead, white
strips worn on each shoulder tab , together with a white plastic disc behind the regimental
badge on our berets declared our status as officer cadets. An interesting privilege was
being allowed to wear trench coats, normally the prerogative of commissioned officers, on
the rare occasions we left camp for sorties into Chester. This raised interesting
encounters with enlisted service men who would automatically assume we were officers
and salute. For our part, it was a "death sentence " to respond in kind as that would have
opened us to a charge of falsely representing ourselves as officers de facto.
The permanent staff assigned to guide "C" company through the OCTU process
consisted of regular army officers, with a major as company commander assisted by two
infantry captains for each platoon. The NCO staff was headed by a Company Sergeant
Major (CSM) from the Welsh Guards and a Sergeant from the Middlesex Regiment. The
senior NCO for the whole OCTU was Regimental Sergeant Major (RSM) Britain of the
Coldstream Guards, a immensely impressive gentleman who seemed to be ten feet tall and
had a voice that could drill a parade from half-a-mile away. There was a protocol that was
observed between the RSM, CSM and the cadets. They would address us as "Mr" and
"Sir" and we would address them as "Sergeant Major" and "Sir". This would lead to the
following kind of dialog on parade:
"Mr. Garvey, sir!"..."Yes, sergeant major, sir! "...
"What was my command, Mr. Garvey, sir?"...
"Left turn, sergeant major, sir!"....
"What did you do, Mr. Garvey, sir?"
"Right turn, sergeant major, sir!"...
"What should have done, Mr. Garvey, sir?"
"Left turn, sergeant major.sir"
"What will you do next time, Mr. Garvey, sir?
"Left turn, sergeant major, sir!"
Thereupon would follow a descriptive sentence or two on the antecedents of my family
in terms familiar to drill sergeants throughout the world, together with scornful
expectations that I would ever reach officer status except to the extreme detriment of the
army and the country as a whole. Notwithstanding the jolt that these encounters gave, it
was quickly recognized that the period of humiliation was preceded by a clear enunciation
of the error and an equally clear enunciation of the appropriate response, and we learned.
This was no screaming psychopath that tends to be the image of the drill sergeant!
This was precisely the dialog that occurred in the presence of the Chief of the Imperial
General Staff (CIGS), Field Marshall Montgomery , on the occasion of his inspection of
the OCTU within the first two weeks of our training. The commandant and staff had
arranged for the CIGS to observe one set of officer cadets newly arrived, and then
balance that by showing him the finished product with the company due to pass out within
the week. By taking a right instead of a left turn, I had messed up the formation in a big
way, to the embarrassment of our commandant and sundry staff and visiting dignitaries.
Our company sergeant major, ever pragmatic, observed: "Mr.Garvey, sir, you could not
have demonstrated the pathetic quality of our prospective officers any better had it been
planned!"
Within a month a real bond developed between ourselves as cadets, and the officers
and NCO's of the training staff. They were exacting in demanding perfection yet both
objectively fair and encouraging, and they demonstrated what they taught in regard to
leadership in specific terms daily. A classic incident occurred when the company drill
competition was under way and the commandant noticed that a cadet had a slight blemish
on the outside of his belt. He exclaimed: " That if its dirty on the outside, what the hell is
it like on the inside?!" He ordered the entire Company "C" to take off their belts for
inspection, and quite a few were found to be dirty on the inside. Back in the company
lines, we were expecting to get grilled to high heaven when our platoon faced our two
infantry captains. Captain McNab, took the stage in the training room and stated in
unambiguous terms the concept of responsibility and accountability. " Gentlemen, I accept
full and complete responsibility for the failure of this platoon to pass inspection this
afternoon. It was my responsibility as your officer to inspect you in all respects before
presenting you to the commandant. I failed to do this, with the consequences you all
know. Therefore, there will be no repercussions for you in this instance. But by the
living God, I will never make that mistake again, so be forewarned and ready for the next
time!"
At the mid-point in our training, we were to be given three-day passes and travel
vouchers to our respective homes, which was an obviously exciting and enjoyable
prospect. The snag was we had first to pass through the so-called battle course and fire
an acceptable score on the nearby range. The battle or obstacle course was similar to those
used by every army throughout the world, and at one point required us to run up a very
narrow wooden plank to the top of a wall about ten feet high. At the bottom, was a mass
of barbed wire which forced us to jump outwards about six feet and land, hopefully,
beyond it and then run over a slippery, a ten-foot round pole balanced over a mud pit I
had a bad knee which I had "hidden" from the army and that, and the dislike of heights
made this obstacle particularly awesome for me. I persuaded my colleagues to let me lead
first on the grounds that otherwise I would never make it! There is nothing like a score of
fully armed men charging behind you make the jump, and I passed through all obstacles by
the skin of my teeth. To our chagrin. Captain McNab, dressed in kilt and all the trimmings
ran through the entire course in front of us without the slightest problem We, of course,
hoped he would falter and fall into the mud pit, but that was not to be. So, the 10th
Platoon passed it mid-way course and we left for an enjoyable visit home.
ARMY MEMORIES # 4
On return from our brief break, the level of training intensified, and keeping up to snuff
occupied our full attention night and day. In addition to our training regimen, we were
required to mount guard or Join the fire picket on rotation. In the latter case,, we were
relatively relaxed and ready to jump out and man the pumper at a minute's notice, an
essential factor in view of the historic nature of the buildings forming the Duke of
Westminster's estate. However, the assistant adjutant was a particularly obnoxious
character and we yearned for the opportunity to vent our feelings toward him. The chance
came one night when he was the Duty Officer and turned out the picket toward midnight
accompanied by a lively group of officers, all of whom had obviously imbibed fairly
heavily, and who streamed out of the officers' mess to watch the event. In the normal
course of events, we would man-handle the pumper into position^ start up the engine, drop
the suction hose into the ornamental fountain, and stand ready for duty. Intending to
impress his fellow officers, with whom he was not popular, he ordered us to go to the next
step and discharge the water and aim it toward a clumps of trees. Well, the two cadets
handling the nozzle had difficulty controlling the flow,, and hit him fair and square, bowled
him over to the delight of his fellow officers who thought the whole episode was
hilarious.
The instruction and demonstration classes were superb, well organized and executed.
The introduction to the Royal Artillery was a ten-minute film clip of the opening barrage
preceding the battle of El Alamein, a noteworthy event heralding the advance of the
Eighth Army and a tribute to Field Marshall Montgomery's impressive use of artillery in
preparation for all his planned attacks. Other arms of the service contributed in like
fashion which gave us a well-rounded appreciation for the different weapons and support
functions performed by units other than the infantry. The classes on logistics were notable
for the praise given to the American concepts of supporting front-line troops, which our
instructor rated as the best in the world. We had the feeling that he may have been the
unfortunate recipient of socks instead of ammunition at some critical event on the British
front!
The review of civilian police activities and the army's role in aid to the civil power was
most interesting, with persistent emphasis that if called upon, the officer responding must
have two pieces of paper ..... one requesting assistance and one refusing assistance. We
were advised that one or the other must be signed by the appropriate magistrate before the
reading of the "Riot Act" or we would be held personally responsible for any consequent
actions. We also learned that the reading had to be performed from some prominent
place, such as a balcony facing the crowd, but that only one word had to be spoken and
the rest completed inside before witnesses if the magistrate's life was at risk. This training
was timely with the demise of the empire and the many self rule activities that arose at this
time.
I had a close brush with the danger of being RTU'd. when one morning the Company
Commander called for an unscheduled parade for the whole of 'C" Company. I was busy
adjusting my uniform and giving my rifle a final "pull-through" when Major Cameron
roared into our quarters and scolded us for not being out at the assembly point. As it
turned out, it was most fortunate that he came in at the moment I was cleaning out my
rifle and saw me lean it against the wall whilst I adjusted my belt. Once on parade, the
dreaded inspection of rifles began with the order: "For inspection, port arms!" The object
of this seemed to be to make sure that there was nothing "up the spout" in way of live
ammunition that might in any way injure the officer when subsequently inspecting the
interior of the barrel. Next came the order to position the rifle forward with the thumb of
the right hand in the breech, reflecting light up the barrel, down which Captain McNab
diligently peered, but, in my case, exploded with sudden and piercing scream. "Good
God, Mr. Garvey, there's a spider in it!" The whole company convulsed in laughter,
including Major Cameron, who fortunately surmised that the offending creature had
entered the barrel when I leaned it against the wall. I willingly suffered the barbs of my
colleagues, as a welcome exchange for the possibility of being RTU'd.
No church parades were practised in the army at this time, but we were "encouraged "
to attend the church of our choice. For Roman Catholics such as myself, the OCTU laid
on transportation to the nearest church in central Chester. We were few in number, and
no check was made of our group. The others, however, filed into the chapel at the base
and were checked-off by the Adjutant! Of course, once in Chester, we were free till
the evening curfew, and naturally we drew more and more "converts" as the weeks
progressed. Chester is a totally enjoyable city , with the only drawback being the army
requirement that we salute all officers, in or out of uniform, which strained our ability to
recognize the genre. However, it transpired that all officers in "mufti" were required to
wear hats so as to appropriately respond to salutes by raising them . So we soon realized
that all the officers we knew from the OCTU wore an almost identical civilian uniform
consisting of a Harris tweed sports coat and a matching hat!
The modus operandi of the drill NCO's was interesting. When being drilled by the
sergeant from the Middlesex regiment, we were on our own. When the Company
Sergeant Major (CSM) took over, the former sergeant would pace up and down the ranks
advising us, 'sotto voce' to straighten up, get a better grip on the rifle or whatever other
appropriate advice was needed. Then when the Regimental Sergeant Major (RSM)
assumed command, both our platoon/company NCO's would walk up and down the ranks
correcting our posture or other aspects. We found this rather comforting, since errors in
drill under the RSM were not tolerated. Our CSM taught us to wiggle our toes and not
stand back on our heels, as this could possibly lead to a fainting spell. Obviously, this
movement was hidden in our boots, but if the inevitable occurred and we sensed a cadet
about to go down, those on either side would move in slightly and hold him up till he
recovered. However, this maneuver was only acceptable in the second and third ranks
behind the front row. Unfortunately, we drilled most times with fixed bayonets, which
were not the traditional knife blade but resembled nothing more than a nine-inch nail
which reached just below the right ear when standing at attention. The cadet next to me in
the front row went down hard, the rifle skidded forward and the bayonet penetrated his
outer ear. Lots of blood! The RSM, true to form, roared out; "Sergeant Major, take that
man's name. How dare he lie down on my parade ground ! Fall in two men and escort
him to the guard house." Some, myself amongst them, who were feeling a little spaced
out after an hour so of drilling rapidly recovered our focus not wanting the share the same
fate. Our colleague subsequently recovered and was little the worse for wear, but it was
an object lesson in the power of command to avoid a rash of fainting.
Eventually the program approached the final tactical infantry exercise in the field and
"C" Company was split into two equal forces of about 60 cadets each and deployed on
either side of a mountain feature about a mile-and -half apart. The scenario was that both
forces would engage in very aggressive patrols against each other, whilst maintaining a full
defence of their respective home base. The total command structure of each force would
be undertaken by the cadets who were nominated by our instructors on a rotating basss. I
was placed in command ofaBren group on the right flank and accordingly dug the
necessary slit trenches and prepared the field of fsre. But not for long! I was detailed to
make up a shortage in the patrol going out that night which was actually enjoyable since I
had acquired a reasonable level offieldcraft skills in the ACF at Belmont. With an umpire
in tow, we moved through the night, but eventually returned several hours later with little
to report. However, to my consternation, I found that the Bren group I had left had been
denuded by "enemy fire: but the machine gun lay untouched under the camouflage
netting of the position. If that had been 'captured' there would have been no graduation
for me!
Constant patrolling and sparing continued for several days. by which time, playing both
offence and defence took its toll. We were bone tired, and as the final night approached, I
was detailed to assume the command of our defence position, which was something of a
relief. Half the force of each group would approach and attack the defending half of each
other's force. In looking at the terrain, I opted to move our depleted force out of the
trenches in the lower ground and instead man the higher ground. I reasoned that if they
came over the hill, we would be better served, and if they came through the lower
defensive position we could catch them as they stumbled into those empty trenches,
which, of course, became our killing ground.
All was set, and my motar man claimed he could put up ten flares in 60 seconds, so we
waited. I simply could not stay awake and dozed, only to be prodded awake by my
colleague who reported movement out front about half a mile away across a corn field.
The deal v/as that I would give the code v/ord over the radio when to launch the flares and
open fire. The next five or ten minutes were tense as we realized that the opposing force
had apparently not reconnoitered the terrain and v/alking in the corn field gave off a
swishing noise as they approached. Just as they were about to hit the empty trenches I
gave the code words "Fiery Dragon" over the radio net and the whole scene was lit up in
an instant flash of flares and concentrated fire as we emptied our quota of blanks into the
trenches. Immediately, the exercise was declared over and we embarked on waiting
transportation to return to the OCTU. The company commander came over and
congratulated me on an excellent defence, and particularly on witholding fire till the
critical moment. Little did he know that most of that was due to fatigue rather than skill!
The tempo approaching our graduation and passing out parade increased as we filled
out Officer's paybooks in exchange for our enlisted version, and learned of our final
assignments. As expected, I was to be commissioned as a second lieutenant assigned to
the R-oyal Army Education Corps (RAEC), with orders to report to the depot near
Glasgow, Scotland. The final act of the parade was all that stood in the v/ay, and that was
to be filled with over fourteen hours of drill in three days. Constant drilling and
inspections under the RSM were legendary, especially as the entire officer cadet force at
the OCTU was involved, and not just we fortunate ones who were leaving. The practice
was somewhat relieved by RSM Brittain's caustic wit, as when our company honor guard
prepared to hand over the sword of honor to the next in line for graduation. A small honor
guard from each contingent advanced toward each other in front of the parade, with the
sword carried by our cadet. Now handing over and receiving a sword when only one hand
may be used by either party is tricky, and inevitably the sword was dropped not once but
twice. The RSM was totally aggrieved at such a display on "his" parade ground and
roared out to the receiving cadet: "Mr. Featheringay, Sir! Don't you want the damn
sword? "
But the RSM really cheered us up after the band of one of the Lancashire regiments
joined us for the drill sessions. They v/ere standing easy for a considerable part of our
travail, and making not so quiet remarks about officers in general and our group in
particular. The PvSM obviously heard some of their comments, and after coming down
the line, turned to the band and roared out: "Mr. Bandmaster, sir, I will now inspect the
band!" Technically, the bandmaster and the RSM were equal in rank, but not so on the
parade ground. To put it another way, any RSM in one of the guards Regiments outranks
anyone else below7 a commissioned officer! His inspection of the band was a riot of great
humour to us. They had not expected to be inspected and the RSM laid into them with a
heavy hand. Dirty boots, unpolished brass, and a whole list of deficiencies streamed out
of his mouth with a voice that could be heard throughout the parade. His final act was to
ask the trombone player when had he last pulled through his instrument, as if it v/as a rifle.
The band was in a much better shape when they joined us for the next practice.
The day for passing-out finally arrived along with all of our invited guests, which
included my mother and uncle, seated in the front rank of spectators. Right on time, just as
the tower clock chimed the noon hour, the inspecting general arrived and took his place
on the reviewing stand. The ceremony began with the general salute and present arms,
followed by the inspection by the general. He was preceded by two cadets slow marching
to the tune of the '"Eton Boating Song" and later "Greensleves" . The lilting ambiance of
these two tunes took some of the tension out of the air, and provided a steady measure
for the inspection of the full complement of nearly 500 cadets. The hand over of the sword
of honor went off without bloodshed, and after several other marching formations the
moment came we were all waiting for, the final general salute. This required the entire
parade to march forward to the first sixteen bars of the "British Grenadiers", come to an
immediate halt and present arms without any further orders. !n all the practice sessions
this had ended in almost disaster, with the parade ending up in a half-moon formation. But
today, it went beautifully. The next order was for "C" Company to turn left, which
brought us facing right down the line of the remaining cadets. Then with the order to slow-
march, the band playing "Olde Lang Syne", and the three remaining companies presenting
arms, we progressed symbolically and in realty through the ranks to become officers,
receiving our first salute from our erstwhile comrades.
The next and last order given was to unfix bayonets and we were off on leave.
15th May 1948, The day after passing out of Officer Training.
ARMY MEMORIES # 5
After ten days of glorious leave and relaxation, the time came to travel north to Glasgow
and join the Army School of Education & Depot (ASE & Depot) situated in Drymen
Castle, some twenty miles outside the city, and facing Ben Lomond and the beautiful Loch
Lomond in the distance. This was the home of the Royal Army Education Corps (RAEC)
and our mentor for the foreseeable future. The castle itself formed the main core of the
depot, and throughout the expansive grounds were many upgraded Nissen Huts which
provided accommodation for all those attending the school and awaiting posting to their
assignments.
During W.W.II, this location had been an American medical facility and on handing
back to the UK authorities the huts were secured by removing all door handles. This
ingenious solution back fired, however, when responsibility for the property reverted to
the RAEC and only a minimum of replacement door knobs were acquired. There was,
therefore, a systemic shortage of door knobs, which explained the hoarding of these
essential objects and the almost reverence with which each of us "new boys" were
presented with a door knob by our respective batman/servant. As it happened, I forgot
this piece of folklore and sallied forth into the bathroom, entered the stall, slammed the
door behind me, and only too soon realized that I could not get out. So, part of my first
day as a second lieutenant, resplendent in dress uniform and Sam Browne, ready to report
to the Adjutant was spent climbing out of the stall, over the spikes and broken glass set
on the top of the wall, and eventually reaching the floor and freedom.
The intake for this period of training consisted of about 30 officers, some full lieutenants
transferring from other army units, and the rest 2nd lieutenants recently commissioned
either through the OCTU program or from university programs. We were paraded
outside the Adjutant's office and given a standard welcome speech to our new 'home",
and then dismissed except for myself. I was directed to appear before the assistant
adjutant forthwith and on entering his office, I noticed that he belonged to the
Lincolnshire Regiment. He came from behind his desk with a photograph, shook my
hand, and pointed to an individual in the picture and asked me if I recognized who he
was. I hadn't a clue and said so. He very quietly said: "That was your father. We served
together in the Lincolnshire Regiment in WWI." I was completely flummoxed. My father
died when I was eight months old and not only did I not know him, the only photograph I
had of him showed him in civilian clothes after the war. We chatted for a brief while and
regretfully, never did sit down for a longer session . Soon after this encounter, he retired
and left the service, and so with him went the opportunity to develop a better knowledge
of my family and its background.
Later in the day.we were introduced to the Commanding Officer, Colonel Blackman,
who for all the world looked exactly like the kind of man that "central casting" would
have selected for the role of "Colonel Blimp". He was about six feet tall, had a very florid
face, somewhat obese and the main purpose in life seemed to be to get to the Mess at
night, have dinner and play bridge. He had an obsession with bridge, and projected that to
us as being the hallmark of a successful officer in the RAEC. His after-dinner bridge
sessions were legendary and the way to early promotion and retention within the UK for
for acceptable partners, a fact that was not lost on a couple of our colleagues.
As a leader and administrator of an army activity, he was, however a miserable failure. He
had little presence and obviously was not well thought of at the District HQ. Evidence of
this was apparent in the lack of transportation allocated to the Depot which ultimately fell
to one battered 3-ton truck. On this we had to rely for all supplies of food and the like
which left nothing for "field trips" or other outside activities for approximately four or five
hundred students and a staff of over fifty officers and NCOs Basic training tools such as
maps were non-existent.
Part of the problem lay in the disregard in which the RAEC was held by regular army
officers in the District HQ. The normal rivalry between the front-line troops and the rear
echelon units, such, as the RAEC was exacerbated by what was perceived as the latter's
role in the election which deposed Winston Churchill as Prime Minister and his
replacement by Clement Atlee and a Labour Government in 1945. Over a million
servicemen and women were reputed to have participated in the election, and the majority
were reported to have favoured the labor candidates. Conservatives and others attributed
the large labour vote in the services to the periodic current affairs discussions held at all
levels by the RAEC and unit education officers, and which they contended dispensed a
considerable amount of socialist theories. True or not, three years after the end ofWWII
the attitude toward the Corps was negative and continued this way for many years.
Most of the instruction at Drymen Castle was totally boring, but not so much in its
content as in its presentation. OCTU, with its thoroughly professional presentations and
dedicated staff of regular officers and NCO's , made the RAEC effort appear completely
amateurish and insipid by comparison. Moreover, the officer assigned to "guide " us
through the program was a sad apology for commissioned rank, one Captain George
Haddock. George had one aim in life... to become a major, and he saw his opportunity in
our progression through the training cycle as his ticket to promotion. He was bound and
determined to show Colonel Blackman that he could "lick us into shape". And so he
started a campaign of denigrating every aspect of our prior experience and training and
expressing to the Commandant that he could "correct" these deficiencies. So started a
series of drill parades and inspections that defied logic and screwed up the training
schedule so badly that inevitably he was told to cease and desist. Normal curriculum was
restored and some level of normality prevailed. George was not one to be put off quite so
easily, however, and in the Mess in the evening he would be bobbing and weaving around
the Colonel ingratiating himself at every opportunity. Sad to say, he did not realize that
Colonel Blackman appeared to despise him, so his chances for promotion were about nil.
Into this somewhat 'dismal depot' came a breath of fresh air in the form of Major
Wavell, a true hero and great leader, and a son of Field Marshall Lord Wavell. He had
lost an arm in the Chindit campaign in Burma, and wielded a wicked hook attached to the
affected limb. He seemed to have responsibility for recreation activities, but basically he
moved about wherever he desired and thought he could do some good. It was obvious
that Colonel Blackman was not overly pleased to have this dashing young hero on the
staff; particularly with his strong connections, both formal and informal, with the local
District HQ. Many in Blackman's position would welcome an individual who had 'clout'
and could solve relations with higher headquarters, but Blackman was a little man in a
large body, and he perceived Wavell as a threat. Not that it bothered the good young
officer one iota. "You want maps? Here's a hundred from HQ and more to follow."
"You need transportation? I can fix that". In short. Major Wavell became a one-man
morale builder and never more so than when he proposed to form a Youth Hostel
Association activity open to all ranks and genders, which would sally forth at the
weekends to enjoy hiking into the gorgeous mountains and areas around Loch Lomond.
To launch this program, he had himself appointed as the Recreation Officer, and
acquired limited funds from District HQ to help the project. This, he promised, would
provide a much more useful and healthy alternative to spending the weekend in Glasgow,
on which score he was absolutely right.
An interesting feature of the Depot was the presence of the first, or very nearly the first,
intake ofWRACs training to be Sergeant instructors in the RAEC. They added a zest to
the occasional parades and certainly proved more attractive than the rest of the
community, but the prohibition on mixing in the ranks prevented any more glamorous
episodes on base. Their commander, a very likable Major in the WRAC, ultimately made
informal complaints which stated: a. A group of young officers had serenaded the WRAC
quarters shortly before midnight, and obviously had imbibed somewhat freely, and b.
some young officers were giggling and winking instead of returning salutes. We accepted
the informal complaints and adjusted our behaviour accordingly, just thankful that neither
the CO nor Captain George Haddock were to be involved.
Shades of the OCTU returned, however, when I was walking down one side of a very
broad parade ground and suddenly heard a strident, ear-splitting roar behind me and
turned to face the base Regimental Sergeant Major (RSM), a member of one of the
Guards Regiments assigned to spruce up the inhabitants of the Depot. There followed
the following dialog:
"Mr. Garvey, Sir. Permission to speak. Sir?"
"Yes, Regimental Sergeant Major. Permission granted"
"Mr. Garvey Sir, you failed to respond to a salute from corporal
Jones, Sir!
"Where is Corporal Jones, Regimental Sergeant Major?
"On the other side of the parade ground, Mr. Garvey , Sirl
"Oh!
" Mr. Garvey, Sir, please report to the Adjutant tomorrow morning
at 0730 hours. Sir!
"Yes, Thankyou Regimental Sergeant Major"
Now Corporal Jones was a diminutive figure about what seemed half-a mile-away
but I had just been introduced to the infallible logic of the drill sergeant.... when an
enlisted person salutes an officer, come hell or high water, the officer must reply!. Also, I
now knew that the Regimental Sergeant Major of a Guards Regiment could place a 1st or
a 2nd lieutenant on report to the Adjutant for any infraction of the drill code! These
RSMs were without a doubt, super individuals, the backbone of the army and I never felt
any resentment when they had a bone to pick with me at any time in my army career. My
appearance before the Adjutant resulted in three extra duty officer assignments,
fortunately none at the weekend.
An unusual feature of life at the Drymen Castle was the so-called "All Ranks Dance"
which was held weekly on Wednesday nights and was open to any and all ranks on the
base. Young lassies, to adopt the Scottish term, came in several busses from surrounding
villages and the only condition laid on us as officers was that we would first dance with
one of the so-called "wall-flowers" before approaching a partner of our choice. This
inter-mingling of the ranks on a social occasion was most interesting and probably
advantageous all round. There was no friction and courtesy prevailed throughout the
evening. It was also notable that only a few of each component or rank attended the
evening, with the result that no one rank or component dominated. Out of our group of
officers, only five or six joined in the dances, the rest were content to follow other
activities. The Colonel, however, did express some concern at the speed with which some
junior officers (ourselves) left the dinning-in night so quickly and just before the selection
of partners for bridge! I did learn something from these dances which stood me in good
stead throughout the rest of my army career, and that was that some of the most
interesting and entertaining ladies were "wall-flowers"!
Training sessions covered many aspects of education in the army and we learned , to
our amazement, that 2% of enlisted personnel were totally illiterate, and that 75% of all
enlisted ranks were semi-illiterate, meaning that they had very limited understanding of or
execution of basic language skills. It would come as a surprise to no one to discover that
the most utilized verb of the average British soldier involved the process of procreation!
In the post-war environment, it was the army's policy to implement an education policy
that would prepare NCOs for the nuclear age and the need to have a better educated force
with which to implement the coming technological changes on the battle field. Some of
this was still "pie-in-the sky" but the foundation for a better educated force began in the
late 1940's and was evident in our training sessions.
But back to Major Wavell and his initiative to move us to ramble in the hills and
mountains surrounding Loch Lomond. About thirty of us volunteered and joined the
Youth Hostel Association for one shilling a year! The group was evenly divided between
the officer trainees, RAEC NCOs and the WRAC contingent. On one memorable
excursion, we assembled with our back packs and two days rations and boarded
transportation secured by Major Wavell, to the chagrin of Colonel Blackman , and
disembarked at the ferry station for Loch Lomond . This trip was funded by the Major on
the basis of it being a map-reading exercise, and of course, we all had maps! The
movement up Loch Lomond was incredibly peaceful and the beauty of the area
overwhelming. We disembarked and hiked for what seemed like three hours before we
came on the Hostel and gratefully accepted the hospitality offered. We were exhausted
and yet at the same time exhilarated at the experience of seeing the beauty and natural
grandeur of the Scottish Highlands. As was the custom, we shared our experiences with
those present, which included two American young ladies who were cycling and "doing
England and Scotland in two weeks!" That night, we retired to our respective bunks,
women in one area and men in another, and I had the greatest sleep I can ever remember
in my entire life. Perhaps it was the ambiance of the area, the silence and purity of the air
and the physical effort involved. Whatever it was, that night's sleep was the hallmark
for any subsequent assessment!
In the morning, we hiked up the face of a feature close to Ben Lomond , and marveled
at the clear running springs cascading down the mountain-side. We eventually reached the
peak of the mountain wreathed in clouds and intermittently glimpsed the valley below.
Down in the distance we could see a pub and an army lorry parked alongside, and then
Major Wavell gave us the signal to make haste to the pub and we all descended in a joyous
deluge and reached the pub in time to hoist a few for the indomitable Major and return to
Drymen Castle inspired and exhausted.
In late May, 1948, our sojourn at Drymen Castle came to end and I was posted the
British Army of the Rhine (BAOR) with assignment to be the assistant Brigade
Education Officer for 5 Infantry Brigade, 2 nd Infantry Division, BAOR. However, I
must fast forward at this time to record that Major Wavell returned to his regiment which
was engaged in action against the Mau Mau insurgents in Africa. On Christmas Day, true
to his concept of service and loyalty to his troops, he relieved a junior officer of the
obligation to take out a patrol on that day and substituted himself. He was killed.
He was the best officer or human being with whom I had the honor to serve and to this
day I remember him!.
ARMY MEMORIES # 6
The way to the British Army of the Rhine (BAOR) and the HQ 5 Infantry Brigade to
which I had been assigned, followed a well-worn path from London to Harwich and
thence by overnight ferry to the Hook-of-Holland and into Germany proper via rail. The
journey was somewhat tedious, but the contrast between Harwich and Holland was like
night and day. Whereas Harwich was dirty, the food extremely poor and the attitude of
those serving the troops less that hospitable, the opposite was true on the Dutch side of
the equation. Here everything was spotless.... the Mess... the streets... the houses... all
combined to present a picture of an industrious people in an immaculate setting.
Moving into Germany was a different story. Soon we saw the mountains of rubble that
had once constituted towns and cities, and the paucity of housing and infrastructure
normal for a thriving community . Everything seemed to be painted in hues of gray . We
had been warned not to throw out candy when the train slowed down to pass through
cities and towns, for fear that children, exhibiting markedly slow responses, would be
injured. This did not deter anyone on the train and a veritable shower of candy hit the
sidings and crossings as we progressed further into Germany. This was July 1948, three
years after the end ofWWII, and still the presence and effects of malnutrition were
evident.
Our immediate destination was Bielefeld where the British reinforcement depot was
housed in a former German army barracks, and where we immediately received briefings
on the role and functions of the army in Germany. The allies divided Germany into four
zones of occupation after WWII, with the principle allies. United States, Great Britain,
France and Russia, each taking a share. Berlin, totally within the Russian Zone was,
however, similarly divided into four zones. The British contribution to the occupation
and defence of the region consisted of 2nd Infantry Division, 7th Armoured Division,
assorted support activities, and RAF support. The American zone or front was similarly
lightly held. Obviously, the allies were in an occupation mode despite the presence of
twenty Soviet Divisions immediately opposite in East Germany , and remained so until
later actions dictated the need to reinforce these meager forces.
The accommodations in Germany were significantly better than those in UK, with
infantry and armoured units largely placed in former German service barracks, and
headquarter and support units billeted in 'occupied 'indigenous facilities. The occupation
syndrome was paramount, and we were still acting as the victors. This did not buy us
many true friends among the population but then the alternative, occupation by the
Russians, was a no-brainer. Thus it was, that 7th Armoured Division assumed
responsibility for an area extending from the Ruhr to the East German border, and the 2nd
Infantry Division occupied the area from the Rhine to the Ruhr.
With this background, I boarded what appeared to be the standard transportation, a
three-ton lorry, and was delivered to the Headquarters of the 5th Infantry Brigade in
Iserlohn. This was a delightful town unscared by war and in an almost sylvan setting
despite being close to the industrial heartland of the Ruhr. I was greeted by the Brigade
Education Officer, Captain John Baker, who was only a year or so older than myself and
who was looking forward to returning to civilian life within the year. As National Service
officers, we had much in common and became good friends and colleagues. The
immediate task was to settle me into the officer's quarters and introduce me into the Mess,
and in both places my education in life in the BAOR began. My room was, in fact, the
front room of a commandeered German house, which also housed three other officers.
These billets were luxurious compared with previous experience and I had to admire the
German concept of indoor plumbing, double windows and other items which made the
billet most acceptable. The HQ 5 Brigade officers' mess was located a few steps away
from our billets in a very fine modem mansion in which three other staff officers, not
married, were also located.
Life in the Mess was definitely intriguing. Most of the officers were leftovers from
WWII serving out short service commissions and very much laid back. They had seen
their share of war, and the occupation environment with its access to privileged living and
life-style made for an easy way to go. Notwithstanding the Berlin airlift and shenanigans
by the Soviets in East Germany, this part of the world seemed secure and remote from any
and all challenges. Permanent members in the Mess seemed to be reduced to John and
myself; the Roman Catholic Chaplain; the Brigade REME Officer, Captain Jack
Smithers; the assistant Admin Officer, Captain Jim Hodges and another officer of
indeterminate occupation. Captain Charles Goswell, and Major Ron Black. To complete
this picture, the Mess steward was German national, Hans, who had served as a steward
on transatlantic liners before the war and whose perfection in service was only exceeded
by his adept and discreet handling of black-market transactions for those officers desiring
his services. If you had come here to wage war on the godless enemy of communism, this
was not the place to be. On the other hand, if you wanted to enjoy life, see new sights and
store a few memories, this was OK!
Next morning at breakfast I noticed there were only four of us sitting down and made a
comment to that effect, whereupon Major Black fixed me with a penetrating glare and
announced imperiously: "We don't talk at breakfast! No civilized people talk at
breakfast!" Often times since I have pondered on the wisdom of that concept and
thought that many disputes in a family could be avoided by such a rule! I noticed that
whilst we were eating our meal, Hans was assembling a breakfast tray of all the goodies
on the sideboard and walking up the stairs to the room of Charles Goswell. The odd
thing was, there was two of everything on the tray, and gradually the truth dawned on
me! This was the army of occupation and anything was acceptable.
My duties were very simple and straightforward. I was to assist John in the army's
program to prepare NCOs for the education tests which they would have to pass for
promotion, and to focus on invigorating the Brigade Education Center for resident
studies and demobilization counseling. Me, all of 19 years old, advising a hoary old
veteran of WWII how to grapple with return to civilian life?! No way! I adroitly
delegated that function to the Center RAEC Warrant Officer, which John thought was
rather cute, since the said Warrant Officer had only been seconded to the Corps a few
months before and had zero wisdom to impart. The education center was, in fact, the
bahnhofor station hotel and was well situated in the center oflserlohn and accessible to
all who might wish to come in. Attendance, other than for residential courses, was about
nil, and we decided to concentrate more on the individual infantry battalions and their
resident education staffs. However, I did have one success while running current affairs
discussions which went to the heart of what the troops were...or were not... reading. I
took the toilet rolls out of the stalls and replaced them with squares of paper taken from
recent newspapers and documents. It was really intriguing to hear a trooper quote a
speech from some member of Parliament in support of his views and know that he had
absorbed this information whilst performing the most elementary of functions!
The Mess gradually turned into a place for a quick meal and escape. There were no
Dining in nights or other formalities, and instead, we followed whatever promising
diversion came along. Jack Smithers, Royal Army Electrical & Mechanical Engineers
(REME) had survived active service in WWII with a distinct disdain for the German
people. He exhibited part of his feelings , in a perverse sort of way, by opening wide the
windows of his room overlooking the neighbourhood, and playing on his gramophone all
the banned Nazi marches and song he could lay his hands on. He was obviously hoping
that some uncautious individual would join in the song, and he would be able to personally
nab him as a Nazi sympathizer. On one memorable night, when we had both imbibed
beyond discretion, he enlisted me as his companion on an expedition to shoot hare. When
we arrived at a field some miles outside Iserlohn, he put me in the driver's seat, wound
down the window, and proceeded to blast away at the startled hare caught in the
headlights. This was slaughter, and when just about every farm house in the area lit up,
we left.
Other members of the Mess were equally somewhat eccentric no doubt playing out their
time in the army with fond memories for the immediate post-war chaos when anything was
allowable as long as no one got physically hurt. This explained the mystery of the
"two-fer" breakfast tray delivered to Charles Goswell's room and shared by his lady
visitor of the day or night as the case might be. Jack Smithers was openly consorting with
a German lady, which was expressly forbidden by General Routine Orders (GRO).
Only recently, this prohibition had been lifted for enlisted personnel, but retained for
officers, and was generally followed except by the WWII veterans on their way out of the
service. They obviously relied on their status and scarce expertise to escape censure, as
far as the regular officers were concerned, but not so from the regular wives, who lost no
occasion to remind all the world of the "faults and irresponsible behaviour of these
temporary officers" ! Jack had been one of the first British troops into the Belsen
concentration camp, and he was still in shock three years later, and really did not care
what anyone thought of him. He described entering the camp and having to literally push
through swarms of flies to get to what was left of the emaciated inmates and the terrible
sights and stench that pervaded the entire area. For him, this period of relaxed regulations
and forebearance was pay-back time for the horrors he had witnessed.
The time came for my appearance at the Brigade Headquarters and introduction to the
Brigade Major and the Commander. I was ready to propose all manner of improvements
for the education of the troops and their welfare, but was summarily dismissed with the
"admonition to keep my nose clean!" So much for taking the high road, and from this I
learned that higher authority almost never listens to uninvited advice, particularly out of
the mouth of a 19-year old National Service officer. Actually, this same holds true for any
bureaucracy anywhere in the world at any time, which has been my experience since then.
So, liberated from any stringent goals and objectives, I rejoined my new friends and
decided to enjoy life until something different came along.
The military presence in BAOR was paralleled by an organization dedicated to
administration of the Zone, and called Control Commission Germany. ( The troops
irreverently referred to this as "Charlie Chaplin's Grenadiers"). Each of the allied Zones
had similar organizations and all filled the void left in the infrastructure by the absence of
the former German civilian authorities, many of whom languished in prison having been
sentenced by de-Nazification courts after the War. Essentially, the functions of town and
city mayors and other civil authorities were exercised by the CCG, and cooperation with
them was greatly affected by the personalities on both sides. The CCG naturally tended to
advance the welfare of their constituency to the dismay, on occasion, of the military. A
quasi intelligence organization was also harbored within, but not under, the CCG, and as
this directly affected the production of estimates of Soviet strength and intentions, a
struggle for control thereof followed classic lines between the Military Intelligence at the
War Office and sundry other departments within government. All this. however, was
beginning to show signs of resolution as Soviet isolation of Berlin, and the western Zones
therein, slowly compelled the allies to devolve from an occupation force into a battle
posture once more.
It was against this background that I reported for Duty Officer at Brigade
Headquarters sometime in September 1948. This was a pretty "cushy" assignment, which
required me to be present at the HQ, receive and act on emergency leave applications,
and after inspecting the guard at the Commander's house, to sleep. This night, however,
was not quite going to be that way, and early on a somber faced cipher clerk from the
Royal Signals delivered a classified message from the War Office and HQ BAOR which
ordered the cessation of all demobilization activity , and suspension of leave except for
grave emergencies. It carried the highest level of urgency and required the Commander's
personal acknowledgment without delay and this was now my action. A quick call to
his home showed that he was dining with his opposite number in the CCG in a German
restaurant in a town approximately twenty miles away. The problem now was that the
military and CCG telephone lines did not extend to German civilian addresses and sending
a dispatch rider unfamiliar with the district would court disaster. I made a call to the CCG
telephone exchange in the belief that they would probably be able to use a civilian line and
might be able to patch me into it. I was blessed with the sound of a voice speaking perfect
English who immediately understood the problem, found the restaurant, persauded the
German maitre'd to interrupt the dinner, and in short order had the Brigadier on the
phone.
He recognized the urgency prefix and arranged to meet me with the message at his home
within the hour. He was especially appreciative of the actions taken to reach him and said
so in glowing terms!
I returned to the headquarters, waited for any further action till past midnight and then
called the CCG exchange to express my thanks for the outstanding help on the phone call.
The same person answered and we exchanged names, and I told her I was on my way to
inspect the guard, and the route would take me past the CCG building. We agreed to have
a brief meeting, and so it was that I met Helga, a beautiful blond, blue-eyed telephone
operator who was the same age as me, and I was totally captivated! We agreed to talk on
the phone again soon and I went to inspect the guard with a slight case of euphoria.
| BRITSH ARMY RECORD OF SERVICE SEPTEMBER 1947 - JUNE 1953 UNITED KINGDOM 30 Primary Training Centre, Fulwood Barracks, Preston September 1947 Royal Signal Corps 6th RSC Training Regt., Catterick, Yorks October 1947 164 Officer Cadet Training Unit, Chester, Cheshire. February 1948 Commissioned 2nd Lieutenant Royal Army Education Corps (RAEC) 14 May 1948 Army School of Education & Depot, Drymen Castle, Glasgow May 1948 BRITISH ARMY OF THE RHINE (BAOR) GERMANY HQ 5 Infantry Brigade, 2nd Infantry Division, July 1948 HQ 6 (Highland) Brigade, 2nd Infantry DivisionDecl948 HQ 7th Armoured Division, May 1950 UNITED KINGDOM School of Military Intelligence, Intelligence Corps Centre February 1951 No. 4 Field Security Officer's Course Transfer from RAEC into Intelligence Corps BRITISH ARMY OF THE RHINE (BAOR) GERMANY 905 Field Security Section Hanover March 1951 273 Field Security Section Bad Oeynhausen November 1951 G(Int) HQ/BAOR/NAG February 1953 1st BRITISH COMMONWEALTH DIVISION KOREA 905 Field Security Section March 1953 Completion of Active Service and Return to UK July 1955 Awarded MBE in Queen's Birthday Honours List of 9 June 1955 |
To be continued Geoff Garvey July 2002