‘A’ Company – Division 2 and Beyond
To me, it was a joyous occasion packing up my kit and moving out of HQ Company. This was the time when Intake 49B was split up and transferred to either ‘A’, ‘B’, ‘C’ or ‘D’ Company depending upon the individual’s chosen or imposed trade training. I and the other apprentices who had chosen to become Telecommunication Mechanics, and a few Vehicle Mechanics, were transferred to ‘A’ Company and assigned to barrack rooms in Blocks ‘A’ and ‘B’. The AAS Record Cards indicate there were twenty-seven of us in the group, namely:
With the exception of HQ Company who wore no identifying flash, the members of each Company wore a coloured flash on the epaulets of the jacket, or shirt during the summer when in ‘shirt-sleeve order’; i.e. ‘A’ Company – blue; ‘B’ Company – red; ‘C’ Company – green; ‘D’ Company – yellow. Before making a choice of trade I didn’t understand how much time was spent in the lecture room grappling with the theoretical concepts of the electronics of the day, and of equal importance, the absolute necessity to have a very sound knowledge of mathematics. From the outset I found myself floundering in a mind-numbing morass in which I was sinking ever deeper with each passing day. Of the four-and-a-half weekdays, we spent one in the Education Centre studying for the Army Certificate of Education Class I examination, one day in the Telecommunication Workshop learning the practical skills of our trade, two-and-a-half days in the lecture room trying to soak up the theory and mathematics of electronics. Wednesday afternoon, as usual, was devoted to organized sport. I looked forward to and enjoyed the hours spent in the workshop; the rest, I’m ashamed to admit, went completely over my head, understanding little of the theory and none of the mathematics. Perhaps it would have been more productive for me if our Instructor had taught the mathematics and then applied it to the theory, but the fast pace necessary to cover the vast quantity of material left no time for that, presuming that the student was already familiar with the mathematics. I wasn’t; not even possessing the most basic understanding of algebra and trigonometry, and was at a distinct disadvantage from the outset. God knows how I managed to stumble my way through the intellectually demanding material, and I’m certain, had it not been for my practical skills, I would have suffered the indignity of relegation and a change of trade that was not quite so theoretically demanding. If my memory serves me well, I either failed or marginally passed every theory examination throughout my apprenticeship. But I gained comfort from my Instructors who took pains to point out to me that my practical skills would ultimately be of far greater benefit than a head full of theory and five thumbs on each hand. This advice was borne out when it became apparent most of the academics in the intake demonstrated little or no practical skill, so in a sense the scales were balanced. ‘A’ Company – Permanent Staff and
Apprentices G.O.C. Annual Inspection, July 1950
Company
Commander, Captain Durkin, Royal Fusiliers [center of second row] A/T Millie
[fourth row, seventh from left]
Permanent Staff – Military (as at July 1950) Officers
Warrant Officers
Senior N.C.O.s
Permanent Staff Technical Instructors: The Technical Instructors were a mixed bunch; some of them were serving Regular Army Warrant Officers and Senior NCOs drawn from REME and RE, and the remainder were civilians, many of whom being ex-Service personnel. Apart from HQ Company, the other Companies were left almost entirely in the hands of Apprentice NCOs, receiving their promotions as a reward usually for distinguished military achievement. They were very strict disciplinarians who displayed a degree of ruthlessness and savagery more befitting the worst of Hitler’s SS (Schutzstaffel), or at least coming a very close second. In retrospect, upon leaving AAS and being posted to Regular Army units, few of these former paragons received early promotion, being outstripped by we lesser mortals whom they had in the past subjugated and terrorized. But I have neither witnessed nor heard tell of any one seeking retribution for past injustices. A
Personal Quest: Upon
entering Division 2 one of my top priorities was to initiate a search for my
Father’s whereabouts and, hopefully, contact with him. I sought an interview
with the Chaplain, presented him with the facts of my past and the
circumstances leading to separation from my Father and his retirement to First
Taste of Crime and Punishment: It was in Division 2 on the morning of a ‘free’ Sunday that I foolishly permitted myself to be talked into joining company with three others – Dave Perrott, Paddy Gibson, and one other whose name escapes me – and being taught the finer arts of playing ‘brag’, a card game with which I was unfamiliar. Finding it simple to learn, I soon entered into the spirit of the game and my first experience of gambling. The stakes were only pennies, but the four of us were gambling not only for money, but with the likelihood of being caught in the act. Gambling was a crime at Arborfield and our luck was soon to run out. An Apprentice Sergeant walked into the barrack room and caught us red-handed; all the money on the table was confiscated as evidence, and we were placed on a charge to be dealt with by the Company Commander on the forthcoming Monday morning. At
10.00 hours on Monday we reported to the Company Office and collectively
charged with “Conduct prejudicial to good order and military discipline, in
that he (number, rank and name), on (day and date), at (time), did/was caught
(details of offence), contrary to King’s Regulations (reference).” We all
pleaded guilty; the money was confiscated and ‘donated’ to Company Funds, and
each of us were awarded seven days ‘jankers’ (CB). This form of punishment,
awarded for even the most trivial misdemeanours, was the bane of every
apprentice’s life, to over his head like the proverbial sword of Damocles.
Only under the most exceptional circumstances was a charge ever dismissed,
usually one was presumed guilty unless the accused could prove his innocence
beyond any shadow of doubt. This
form of punishment – CB (confined to barracks) – involved considerably more
than its name suggested. Interpreted in its most literal sense it would have
been no punishment at all, particularly considering the fact that we weren’t
permitted to venture outside the confines of the camp except on Saturdays
from 13.00 hours to 23.59 hours. The serious imposition of ‘jankers’ was, of
necessity, a trifle more involved and was rarely of less than seven days
duration. During my apprenticeship I managed to accumulate a total of
forty-two days CB for a variety of petty infringements of rules and
regulations, a modest effort by some standards. Serious and habitual
offenders found themselves incarcerated in the Guardroom cells, and theirs
was not a happy situation. It is
worthwhile to record for posterity exactly what ‘jankers’ entailed, exactly
as I experienced it. Although reveille was at 06.00 hours it was incumbent upon
me to rise early, and dressed for work in denims to parade with the other
‘defaulters’ on Nuffield Road outside and facing the Guardroom before the
bugler had sounded the first note of reveille. Brought to ‘attention’ by the
guard commander, he called the roll, subjected each of us to a very close
inspection, and detailed us for fatigues that lasted until the bugle call for
breakfast. By 07.30 hours, fatigues completed, breakfast eaten, my person
cleaned up, bed space and kit ready for inspection, I joined the other
apprentices assembling for morning muster parade. During the week the normal
training hours were not infringed upon, but at 18.00 hours there was another
defaulters parade to attend, roll call to answer, and fatigues to complete
before the final parade and roll call of the night. It was not unusual to
return to one’s barrack room after the bugle had sounded ‘lights out’, and
the necessity to make one’s bed down in the dark. This monotonous routine
continued unabated throughout the week with minor variations at weekends. The
imposition of fatigues was designed not only to provide an unending supply of
unwilling manpower, but also to keep the apprentices’ time uncluttered by
periods of free time. It was the weekends that were particularly onerous. August 1950 – End of Division
2: This studio portrait was taken by a professional photographer in Dursley, whilst I was at home on Summer leave, before going into Division 3.
Apprentice
Tradesman George MILLIE Invention Out of Necessity: The
ingenuity of the Army Apprentice is boundless, giving credence to the saying:
‘Necessity is the mother if invention’. Surely, if an iron is capable of
scorching material, it could also be used with good effect to make toast. The
discovery prompted many a nocturnal raid, usually meticulously planned and
daringly executed, on the cookhouse ration store, returning to the barrack
room with bread, butter and jam. The proliferation of the practice resulted
in many being caught in the act and punished. October 1950 – Division 3: My diligence was rewarded by the good news that I had passed in the subjects English, Mathematics and Geography to count towards the Army Certificate of Education Class I. I must have been doing something right! March to August 1951 – Division 4:Photographed with backs to the Gymnasium and facing ‘A’ Company barrack blocks. Dressed in best SD and bearing arms, we were about to attend a formal Saturday morning parade.
Jack SAVILLE
and George MILLIE Living on a Knife-Edge: An apprentice was made to eke out his life on a perpetual knife-edge; there was a very fine line demarcating right from wrong. The Apprentice NCOs wielded absolute power over the lives of his underlings, power that was often grossly abused. A lad who made himself disliked, sometimes for no explicable or valid reason, could suffer a miserable existence, and it was unwise to even attempt to object to unfair treatment. Case 1 - I recall an occasion when one of our number – Brian Stocker, I think – was being bullied and harassed during one Friday bullshit night whilst laying polish on the barrack room wooden floor. The Apprentice NCO considered that the polish was not being laid evenly or thickly enough, and it was at this point that Stocker’s patience ran out. He responded put his hand in the tin of polish, extracted a very generous dollop, threw it on the floor, and commenced vigorously rubbing it into a very small area of floor. This upset the NCO somewhat and he placed Stocker on a charge for “laying polish in an insolent manner, a truly heinous crime for which he was awarded the customary seven days jankers. Case 2
- From time to time I, too, unwittingly became involved in similar trivia. On
one occasion Dave Perrott and I returned from leave to find that we were to
be charged with “going on leave in a taxi”, contrary to the prescribed
practice of traveling by chartered bus to either Case 3
– On another occasion, during Saturday morning barrack room inspection,
although my bed space and kit layout attracted no adverse comment from the
Company Commander or any of his entourage, the Apprentice NCO in attendance
found serious fault with my white Slade Wallace belt. Picking it up from
where it lay, he screwed it up to make the blanco crack and flake, and
ordered me to present it to him for inspection in an hour’s time. An hour
just wasn’t sufficient time to strip the belt and re-apply a new coat of
blanco, so I borrowed a friend’s belt, one I knew he couldn’t justifiably
fault. Was I wrong! According to the NCO ‘my’ belt was still in a filthy
condition; he instructed me to stretch it out on the barrack room floor and
‘mark time’ up and down its full length, the toe and heel plates and studs
making deep indentations in the leather, utterly destroying hours of loving
care that had been expended in bringing it to its former state of perfection.
I didn’t dare admit that the belt wasn’t mine, although I sensed he had
guessed at the cunning switch and it was his diabolical way of teaching me,
and the owner of the belt, a hard-learned lesson. The belt’s owner was far
from amused and never loaned anything to anybody ever again. Sports
and Physical Training: Most of my comrades reveled in sport of one kind or another; I was one of the few rare oddballs who hated even the very word, sometimes going to extraordinary lengths to escape participation. But the regular periods of PT in the Gymnasium just couldn’t be avoided. Our tormentors were PTIs (Physical Training Instructors) of the Army Physical Training Corps who put us through our paces stressing that we must at all costs improve our level of fitness. For me, every minute spent engaging in this activity was sheer torture - running on the spot; push-ups; wall bars; climbing ropes; the terror of the vaulting horse; beam and parallel bars; cross country running; log PT; and sundry other ‘nasties’ make me tremble just thinking about them. Football, rugby, cricket, and hockey were alien to my experience, and boxing filled me with dread. One
Wednesday afternoon I was ordered to umpire a cricket match. I tried in vain
to explain that I had no knowledge or practical experience of the game and
its rules, a claim countered with: “You’ll find all that out on the field, just
get out there!” Without even trying very hard I managed to make such a
mockery of the match that I was very soon banished from the field. Far from
feeling hurt, displeased, or belittled, I had proved my point and the
occasion was never repeated. Boxing: Throughout
each year the P.T.I.s kept a sharp lookout for lads who showed any degree of
talent in the boxing ring and picked them out for special coaching with a
view to forming the AAS Boxing Team. An annual inter-unit tournament was held
during the winter months and to take away the trophy gave the victors’ unit a
deal of prestige. I experienced little difficulty in being eliminated as a
‘no-hoper’ in this sport because I didn’t exactly derive a great deal of
satisfaction from being thumped about all over the ring, even for short
periods which seemed to last forever. But on one occasion, merely a couple of
days prior to this very public event, to my horror and trepidation I was
selected for the Arborfield team. Considering my total lack of ability it just
didn’t make sense to me; there were far better lads, infinitely more able and
willing to offer themselves for sacrifice. In true military style all my
arguments went unheeded, but my fears were to a degree laid to rest when the
Chief P.T.I. took pains to explain that I was perfectly qualified to be part
of a purely tactical manoeuvre to gain easy points over the opposition. By
then it was known that there wasn’t an opponent in my weight division; all
that was required of me was to appear in the ring to win by a walk-over, thus
adding valuable points to our team. But right up to the final moment and the
announcement I was terrified than at the last minute an opponent would be
found to ‘bash out my living daylights’. This occasion reminded me of a
school sports day at Dehra Dun (India) when I ‘won’ a silver cup (still in my
possession) for finishing last in a foot race. Amateur
Radio Club: Brian Stocker of “laying polish in an insolent manner” fame, with Brian Barber, me, and a handful of other notable non-sportsmen found alternative ways of gainfully amusing ourselves on sports afternoons. With the valuable assistance of one of our civilian instructors Stocker formed the Amateur Radio Club, with a very limited and elite membership. We would meet every Wednesday afternoon in the comfort of one of the lecture rooms whilst all the other lunatics were punishing their bodies in the questionable pursuit of one sport or other. Ours was a very sincere and serious undertaking; it had to be for official sanction to be granted. One of the priorities was to select and fell four suitably tall and straight pine trees, lop off the branches, strip the bark, treat the lower ends with creosote to prevent rot, and set them into the ground as the supporting masts for a ‘Yagi array’, a diamond-shaped aerial designed and suitably positioned to receive and transmit amateur-band radio signals. This formidable task was completed over the period of a few sports afternoons and weekends, and once ready for commissioning it was connected to the Club’s receiver and transmitter, and we were in business. The Club catered for two fields of endeavour – amateur radio enthusiasts (only our instructor and Brian Stocker were licensed ‘hams’, so it was only they who could legally communicate with other ‘hams’ in UK and across the world), and those, like me, who were more interested in the design and construction of electronic equipment. Over a period, with the generous help from other members, I gained much valuable theoretical knowledge and practical experience that proved to be of great benefit to me in furthering my formal training in field of electronics and communications. The G.O.C.’s Annual Inspection: Every unit of the British Army was placed under the military microscope on the occasion of the G.O.C.’s (General Officer Commanding) annual inspection, during which event he and his attending staff submitted the unit to very close investigation of all aspects of its organisation. Preparation usually commenced weeks in advance, during which time absolutely nothing was considered to be too small or insignificant to receive close scrutiny. The day commenced with a parade and inspection on the square, followed by the inspection of barrack rooms and facilities, and our personal kit. On this day the cooks excelled themselves at every meal, ensuring no reason for complaint from those who had to eat the food. The entire day placed everyone, from the Commanding Officer down to the most junior soldier, under minute scrutiny and a great deal of pressure. Every member of the unit had devoted a great deal of time and effort to ensure a good report, and were rewarded by the granting of an entire weekend free from normal duties, with the exception of jankers. Army Film Unit: During the first half of 1951, whilst I was in Division 4, an Army Film Unit suddenly appeared at Arborfield; we learned that they were making a recruiting film to attract boys to enlist as Army Apprentices. We were informed that a number of us from a range of Divisions and trades would be selected to make an appearance in some capacity in the production, and left to contemplate who would be the lucky ones. The feeling of excitement and anticipation following the news that I had been selected to make a brief appearance in the film was far outweighed by the reality of the boredom precipitated by the hours spent setting up, the seemingly endless rehearsals, and several ‘takes’. In the Telecommunications Workshop each of the participants sat at individual workbenches, and the camera was pushed along the narrow-gauge rails that had been laid the length of the aisle between the benches. It was summer and we were in shirtsleeve order, but we still felt the heat radiated from the numerous arc lights that had been set up to illuminate the area. When we finally were given a preview of the finished product I, for one, was a bit disappointed to discover that my appearance on screen was so fleeting. It was, however, an experience not many are blessed with, and each of us was given a photograph of ourselves as we appeared in the film. Two Stills From The Film “Army Apprentice” Telecommunications Workshop
A ‘still’ from the Army
Recruiting film “Army Apprentice”, shot on location at AAS Arborfield. This
shot shows me constructing a model of the Festival of Britain ‘Skylon’. NOTE:
‘shirt-sleeve order’ would indicate that it was officially summer, i.e.
between 1st April and 30th September, and the time
recorded on my watch, about 15.45 hours. In The Lecture Room
[photograph
kindly supplied by Dave PERROTT] (back row)
George MATHER, Brian BARBER (3rd row) Sam
CRANE, George MILLIE, K. PHILLIPS (2nd row)
'Ginger' FLEMEN, Brian STOCKER, Roy SLADE, n/k (elbow only) (front row)
Dave PERROTT, 'Dai' OWEN |
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NOTE: The VHS
Video "Army Apprentice" (duration 54 minutes), incorporating
"Reunion 1997", "Soldier Apprentice 1951" and
"Apprenticed To Adventure 1962", is available to members of AOBA
for purchase from John SMITHSON, 108 Green Hill, High Wycombe, Buckinghamshire
HP13 5QE. Telephone: 01494 534971 An
Unfamiliar Rank: The
arrival of Corporal of Horse STEPHENSON, Life Guards, brings to mind the
singular occasion when one of our number, out of military ignorance I
suppose, addressed him as "Corporal". Poor lad, he was harangued
without mercy and made to understand in no uncertain terms that 'Donkey'
STEPHENSON insisted on being addressed by his full title - Corporal of Horse.
It definitely made a deep impression on me, and thereafter I avoided this
vociferous paragon at all costs. Almost “The Great Escape”:Although
the chronology of the event escapes me, I vividly recall the bizarre case of
the two Apprentices who apparently disappeared without trace from the
confines of the camp one night after lights-out, not to be seen again for
quite a long time. The usual MP and Police Force dragnet was deployed
nation-wide without success, and when they were finally detected and captured
in the cookhouse they admitted to hiding-out in one of the bomb shelters at
the top of the square. Hitting on this plan to delay their actual escape
until the intensity of the manhunt had abated, they sustained themselves in
the meantime by joining every meal queue as usual. This episode displays all
the guile, imagination, initiative and planning ability of British prisoners
of war whose exploits are the stuff of legend. I believe they were rewarded
with an extended dose of guardroom hospitality for their trouble. 1951 – Division
5 On 15th
September 1951 ‘D’ Company was mothballed because of a lack of recruit
entrants for September 1951 [51B], and the following Apprentice Tradesmen
were dispersed to ‘A’ Company.
1952 – Division 6
Brian BARBER,
Jack SAVILLE, George MILLIE
(standing left
to right) REME Clerk, Jim BARTLETT, Ginger FLEMEN, Jack SAVILLE, Bert
TURNER, n/k, Sam CRANE (kneeling, left
to right) n/k, Louis GIBSON, Dave PERROTT, n/k (sitting, left
to right) n/k, George MILLIE, Brian BARBER Leave: From
the first time I went on leave from Arborfield, and continuing throughout my
Army career until my marriage in 1963, I maintained the habit of
supplementing my mother’s income by giving her most of my leave money, which
included my ration allowance. I never had much opportunity or incentive to
save a portion of my weekly pay because I knew that ultimately I would not be
the one to derive any pleasure or benefit from it. With progression into
Division 2 came the freedom to go into Reading or Wokingham on Saturday
afternoons to relieve the boredom of remaining in camp. Being very much an
introverted individual, not given to smoking, drinking or riotous behaviour,
and in contrast to some of my compatriots not holding the belief that I was
God’s gift to women, escaping the confines of the camp didn’t particularly
appeal to my nature. During those early years I was definitely not a fun
person to be with, and as a result I was never invited to accompany any of
the groups on their outings. Very occasionally I would venture out on my own
and have a miserable and lonely time. It was
during one such solitary outing that I experienced my first, and fortunately
last, encounter with ‘a dirty old man’ in a cinema in Reading. Shortly after
the house lights were dimmed, taking advantage of the darkness a man left his
seat and moved into the vacant one next to mine. Without further ado he
grabbed one of my hands, guiding it into the open fly of his trousers.
Instead of resisting his unwanted and unsolicited advances I remembered and
put into practice Sergeant ‘Ginger’ Roberts’ timely advice: “Go along with
the dirty old bugger” he said. “Grab his balls very firmly, dig your
fingernails in, squeeze with all your strength, twist and tug as if you were
picking an apple – that’ll bring tears to his eyes!” My assailant uttered a
stifled cry of excruciating pain and left his seat in some haste to disappear
into the blackness leaving me with a very satisfied grin on my face. The
Festival of Britain: During the ‘Festival of Britain’ exposition of 1951 all Apprentices were given the opportunity to avail themselves of a free visit, which of course included free return rail travel to London. The site upon which the pavilions had been erected occupied an area on the South Bank of the River Thames; a tall, needle-like steel structure, named ‘Skylon’, dominated the skyline and could be seen from far afield. However, it was a day out and an opportunity to have a look around Central London. Not being shepherded around we had the freedom to leave the exhibition when we’d seen enough of it and explore the ‘Big Smoke’, as London was generally referred to. The less adventurous and financially insolvent among us chose to bypass the fleshpots of the City and return to Arborfield by a reasonable hour in the evening. A few enjoyed themselves over much and were returned to the Guardroom, slightly inebriated, by members of the Military Police. The following morning, in a more sober state, they were dealt with in the usual manner by their respective Company Commanders. h At
dawn on Wednesday, 6th February 1952, we were awakened by the distant
skirl of the bagpipes playing the doleful notes of a Scottish lament. The
sound steadily grew louder, and soon the Pipe Major came into view making a
circuit of the camp at the slow march. Somewhat bemused by his apparent
eccentric behaviour, someone had the presence of mind to switch on the radio.
Sombre music was playing, and we heard the announcement that King George VI
had died during the night. The nation went into mourning. A
Significant Birthday: On 3rd
June 1952 I attained the age of eighteen years, an event recognized by the
Army by my ‘Posting to the Ranks as a Private’; I was now officially a man. First Technical Qualification:
Final
Weeks: 1952
was an important year for Intake 49B; we were now in Division 6 and
experiencing the final stages of technical training. The first three months
or so were devoted mainly to revision, preparing for the final trade test,
and sitting the City and Guilds examination appropriate to our trade. I was
both pleased and surprised to learn that I had passed my City and Guilds; the
trade test was a different matter; although I felt confident about the
practical side of the examinations, I had the sinking feeling that I had
failed some or all of the theory papers. But it would be an agonizing wait
for the results to be promulgated. A
New Uniform: With trade training at an end, the final weeks at Arborfield were devoted to learning new military skills and practicing for our forthcoming Passing Out Parade. We had discarded our World War I Service Dress and, issued with Regular Army uniforms, became real soldiers in battledress, with a dark blue beret, yet still wearing the AAS cap badge. We would not be wearing the R.E.M.E. cap badge and shoulder titles until after the Passing Out Parade. We were boys no longer, but men; a proud moment in our lives. The
time spent in the ‘no-man’s land’ waiting for our results and postings was
not permitted to be spent in complete idleness; the Drill Instructors made
sure of that! We were kept very busy in a variety of activities; live-firing
weapons on the range, then stripping, cleaning and assembling them after
firing; five-mile bashes around the countryside in full battle-order;
learning the rudiments of field tactics; practical map reading; ‘battle
baptism’ crawling very close to the ground beneath fixed lines of fire on the
range; and sundry other little amusements. Trade
Test Results: During the final week before the Passing Out Parade the trade test results and postings were promulgated. Although deep in my heart I knew that my results were very much in the balance, confirmation of my suspicion still came as a shock. However, there was a brighter side to my situation – I learned that with effect from 23rd July 1952 I had been classified as a Telecommunication Mechanic, and was being posted to 5 Anti Aircraft Group Workshops R.E.M.E. at Newark, Nottinghamshire as a ‘Learner Tradesman’, i.e. one who required further on-the-job training and be subject to another trade test at Class III level. |
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