BOY SERVICE NOSTALGIA.

© Author: Peter HUMPSTON.

(Jersey ATS 1938 – Arborfield ATS 1939)

Chapter 1.

The morning of the fifth of October 1938 was exactly two months to the day after my fourteenth birthday, and a day I will never forget as it was without doubt the first day of the rest of my life. As I’m sure it also was for the majority of the other 249, fourteen and fifteen year olds that, on this most auspicious morning were to leave home. Possibly for the first time in their young lives, to proudly receive the King’s Shilling and commit to serving their Sovereign and Country for at least the next twelve years. As I pushed my way against the wind with my small bag of what ever personal effects, I had been instructed that I could take with me, there was naturally a basic sense of foreboding within me at finally leaving home and proceeding out into the wide world for the first time on a permanent basis. Not knowing where exactly I was going or when, if ever .I would be coming back to the old home fire again. But this sense of foreboding was to a great degree offset by the anticipation and excitement of becoming a soldier and what the future may have to offer.

It was difficult to believe that only three months previously I had been an average fourth former at a junior college with no exceptional academic abilities, but most pleased with my various sporting achievements ranging from boxing and athletics to swimming. Not forgetting my riding and the apprenticeship I was due to commence in a couple of months time at a nearby National Hunt racing stable, and which I now realised was to be just a dream, together with my ambitions to obtain a full National Hunt ticket and make riding my career.

In addition to these disappointments the dark clouds of war had been gathering steadily for some time and it was generally thought most unlikely that war with Germany could be avoided. At that particular time our well meaning but completely I Prime Minister, Mr. Neville Chamberlain, had not yet paid his famous visit to Herr Hitler and returned with that equally famous piece of paper confirming “Peace in our time”.

Finally, I completed my trudge to the railway station on time and duly caught the train for the half-hour run to Leicester. Where in accordance with my instructions, I was to report to the recruiting officer at the Leicester Central Recruiting Office for my official enlistment into His Majesty’s Regular Army, in the Royal Army Ordnance Corps, for a period of four years technical apprenticeship, eight years colour service and four years reserve commencing in the rank of A.T. (Apprentice Tradesman). Such final enlistment being subject to the satisfactory results of a medical examination. Shortly after my arrival at the Recruiting Office and firstly being greeted by the recruiting sergeant, two more equally bemused boys arrived and were, I’m sure, just as pleased to see me and know they were not entirely on their own, as I was to see them for the same reason.

Having been duly documented by the sergeant we were taken to an adjoining room where we experienced the first of the very many identical medical examinations which we were to go through during our service and to come to know as ‘Short Arm Inspections’ I had of course heard of the ‘bend over’ requirements said to be applied in such examinations, but had always treated such claims with the disbelief I thought they deserved. But, as I was to do with many things from this particular time of my life onwards, I learnt that all that glitters is not necessarily gold.

With the satisfactory completion of the medical exam we were declared physically fit and free from infection or as we were to come to know it F.F.I. As a result we were lined up one behind the other outside the Recruiting Officers office and once again experienced our first of many such future ‘march-ins’ to senior officers.

Chapter 2.

Finally the big moment arrived and we were ‘sworn-in’ and took the oath of allegiance, following which that beautiful bright silver ‘King’s Shilling’ was given to each of us, confirming that we were now really and truly ‘Soldiers of the King’, all-be-it very young ones. I was to treasure that coin for some long time having lovingly wrapped it in a yellow duster and buried it at the bottom of my kit bag. Until one day, the urge for N.A.A.F.I. ‘char and wads’ at a time of restricted cash flow resulted in having to part company with this most prized possession.

With the satisfactory completion of the medical exam we were declared physically fit and free from infection, or as we were to come know it ‘FFI’. As a result we were lined up in single file outside the Recruiting Officer’s office where we again experienced our first of many such future ‘march-ins’ to senior Officers sanctums. It was at this particular moment that the full realisation of the fact that we were finally in the Army proper dawned upon all three of us, as the as the sudden thunderous order to “Quick March” fell upon our young ears like a blast from a cannon. This order was immediately followed by an equally loud “NEFT-NITE-NEFT” as into the office we went all-be-it far from in step. Then with a further thunderous “ALT-NITE-URN” we finally finished up facing the Recruiting Officer three abreast but in a bit of a heap from which we were duly, and very expressly, told to sort ourselves out. Without doubt, from that moment onwards, a very significant change in attitude, coupled with what we thought at that time to be a feeling of antipathy, was evident from the Recruiting Sergeant towards all three of us. Little did we realise then that we were experiencing an attitude which, to a great degree, was to become the norm for all of us over the next few years of our service.

We were then officially welcomed into His Majesty’s forces by the Recruiting Officer and told how fortunate we were to be selected to serve our Country. He also said that we would be provided with a free technical, academic and military education, which would ensure our future both in the Army and in civilian life after the completion of our service. Naturally, whilst we were duly impressed by all that the officer was telling us, I’m sure we didn’t fully absorb all he was saying, at that time. It was not until some years later that, I recalled his words and really appreciated the opportunity and advantages that my enlistment and apprenticeship had provided me.

The time had now arrived for we boys to proceed to the next point of operation. The fact that this was to take place some distance from Leicester was confirmed by the bundling of all three of us into the back of a waiting 15cwt. truck, and being driven directly to the, then, L.M.S. station. There we were duly given the necessary travel warrants and placed on a train for London. Being told only that we would be met on arrival, but by whom we had not the slightest idea. The two hour trip to London passed very quickly for us that day, all three of us having so many questions but non of us having any really positive answers to offer. Finally the train drew slowly into St. Pancras station with three young heads straining through the open carriage windows in a vain effort to see who it may be that would be meeting us. But we really need not have bothered, as we were to learn whom it was, sooner than expected. The very sight of our reception party initially frightening the young lives out of us. As we stepped out of the train onto the platform, complete with our little bags of personal possessions, we heard, above the noise of the station, a bellow for “All you’se boys over ere”.

Turning in the direction of this most specific instruction, which we took for granted, was meant for us, the six-foot plus tall figures of four khaki clad statues appeared staring downwards in our direction. All four of these figures wore a khaki service dress with glistening brass buttons, ‘collar dogs” and shoulder numerals topped by an S.D. cap equally bedecked with a brightly shining cap badge and buttons securing a highly polished chin strap. The peaks of these caps being positioned downwards until they almost touched the wearers nose, completely covering their eyes and forcing their heads upwards and backwards in order to see. A broad brilliant red sash extended over the right shoulder of each figure and ended in a large tassel over their left hip, which in turn supported a brilliant white belt with equally highly polished brass buckle. The belt also supported a white scabbard in which rested a highly polished bayonet. All of which topped a pair of razor creased SD trousers, immaculately wound puttees together with black, steel studded AMMO boots with mirror polished ‘toe-caps’. All four figures wore khaki gloves, and three of them carried short silver capped canes. The fourth figure, with three broad white stripes on each arm carrying a large ebony coloured stick also with a large silver top.

As we duly obeyed these instructions and slowly approached the figures, we all felt completely overawed and were almost ready to turn and run. But finally we reached where they were standing, and stood bending our heads backward to try and see into the faces of the figures towering over us. Finally the sergeant bent down, as best he could with the restriction of his rather tight belt and large girth. He, relatively quietly, said to us from behind his magnificent waxed moustache, in a very distinct but gravelly Welsh accent, “Now you’se boys just follow my soldiers and they will take you to where you have to go”. So, with a distinct feeling of relief, away we went following behind two of the sergeant’s men to the end of the platform where, once again, stood the proverbial 15cwt. Morris ‘Pick-Up’, into the back of which we were duly bundled, and commenced a journey which virtually resulted in a tour of the city of London.

By now it was almost midday and the weather had changed from the wet windy overcast of the English midlands to a bright, relatively warm, sunny afternoon. This made our rather quick tour of the city most enjoyable, giving us the opportunity and additional thrill of seeing some of the sights of London that we had only previously viewed in the papers or the movies. Little did we realise then that, some of the places we saw would not be there the next time we came through the city. Like all good things though they eventually come to an end, as we were to realise when the 15cwt. finally drew to a halt at the very large main entrance of a most forbidding large grey building, which we were later to find was the famous but rather ominous ‘Whitehall Central Recruiting Office’.

My memories of this particular portion of the day are somewhat sparse. Possibly because by this time we had been on the way and under a certain amount of pressure and uncertainty for the last several hours, and this was now taking it’s toll. What I do particularly remember however is that, all three of us were both tired and hungry as they hustled us out of the truck and through the very large main doors, which opened up, into a massive semi-circular hallway. All around the circumference of this hallway were set numerous reception rooms and offices on each side of a central passageway. The whole area was alive with khaki uniformed soldiers of various rank ‘clip-clopping’ in their AMMO boots as they hustled from one office to the other fully equipped with files and clipboards. It was one of these men, a corporal, who duly descended upon us shortly after we had been deposited on one of the many large and very uncomfortable slatted wooden benches that were set out around the hallway for visiting personnel. Once again we were left in the state of uncertainty, wondering what was to happen to us next. But we need not have bothered, for after checking our names from his list the corporal immediately became a friend for life to all three of us when he asked if we were hungry. As may be imagined our concerted response was very immediate and positive, so he quickly led us across the hallway to one of the surrounding doors over which was the sign N.A.A.F.I. A word that was to become an integral part of our vocabularies and imprinted on our minds for the rest of our lives as synonymous with initially ‘tea & wads’ and later ‘beer & fags‘, together with a beautiful female face and body, if you were lucky. Not forgetting, of course, the less attractive products of Blanco (green & white), Brasso, Silvo, Cherry Blossom boot polish and many other necessities of Army life. These products tended to deplete what little was left over from your five bob per week pay with which to try and enjoy life at least once per week.

This, our first experience with the ‘Navy, Army, and Air Force Institute’, however, was to say the least most pleasurable and we were given a meal, by a most attractive young lady in a blue and white uniform, which to us at that time was the equivalent of a banquet. In fact it had such an effect on myself that I can still remember most of the menu consisting of a very large portion of a steak and kidney pie accompanied by an equally large portion of mashed potato and cabbage. Then just to top things off this magnificent meal was followed by another very large helping of sponge pudding topped with raspberry jam. Not forgetting the continual supply of N.A.A.F.I. char that accompanied the meal throughout. Looking back on this today I realise that, this was the first and last free meal I can ever remember getting from that august organization.

It was quite suddenly, after having fully satisfied our hunger and consequently lost our in-depth concentration on the job in-hand that; we realised the N.A.A.F.I. area had been slowly invaded by several more boys who were duly taking advantage of the same facilities. Our complement must now have increased by at least another twenty boys, and we presumed that there would be many more to come before the day was done.

How correct we were, for, after we had been once again moved out into the hallway area, and as the seemingly never ending day drew onwards, we watched batch after batch of boys arrive from all over the country. From time to time we walked across the hallway, either to visit the gents or just to ease the uncomfortable position on the slatted wooden seats to which we had again been directed. By five o’clock in the evening the great hallway was a mass of young boys strung out over all the benches. Those that were not lucky enough to get a slatted seat, finished up on the floor or just stood up and waited for what-ever was to happen to us next. The resultant noise echoing around the vast hallway was, to say the least, quite considerable.

Whilst once again my memory fails to do justice to this gathering, the arrival of one particular batch of boys has remained prominently in my mind. It was well into the evening, after we had been back into the N.A.A.F.I. for what they referred to as ‘TEA’, but from what I can recall, was virtually another dinner. Although I can not recall what we actually consumed, it was certainly very satisfying. We were once again reclining on our slatted wooden seats surveying the continually changing scene, when the main doors opened again to admit what we presumed to be another batch of boys. To a large degree we were correct in this presumption, but this resulted in being unlike any other batch that had arrived so far, and I must admit left an indelible imprint on my memory. As the large main doors swung inward we heard, above the noise of the gathering, the order “In single file quick march”. An inquisitive hush suddenly descended over the great hallway, and into view appeared firstly, a rather small boy followed by seven more, each being that little taller than the one in front, and a way was quickly opened up for them into the centre of the hallway. All were dressed in a typical Scottish military uniform, with Tartan trousers, short black jackets with brightly shining buttons, a white Ruff at their throat and a black Scottish type forage cap with tartan band around the brim. Upon the brim rested a large silver coloured cap badge and a black tail ribbon trailing from the rear. They marched in, halted and left turned, then stood at ease with the precision of the Guards Brigade. We were so enthralled with this exhibition of obvious top rate drill that we almost applauded, but managed to restrain ourselves. When these boys had been fed and began to mingle with the rest of the now very large assembly, we found that they were from the Queen Victoria Military School in Scotland. This particular school having, as I learned much later, a very high reputation within Army circles for producing some extremely prominent military personages. The boys were either the orphan sons of deceased soldiers who died in service, or the sons of personnel serving overseas in areas where no suitable educational facilities existed. The school took them at quite an early age and gave them both a very good academic and basic military education until the age of fourteen. Following this they were given the option of sitting for the R.A.O.C. or R.A.S.C. technical apprenticeship entrance exams, as we had all done, or continue with a normal civilian academic education. . All these boys were to prove to be of great assistance to many of us with their intimate knowledge of military life and the many things one rally needs to know to make life that little bit easier, especially during our initiation period. One of these boys in particular became a very good friend of mine throughout our Boy Service and I am forever in his debt for the many tips and assistance he gave me during those four years. I understand he was killed at Arnhem.

As the evening progressed the arrival of new batches of Boys continued until it appeared the place would overflow through the front entrance doors. I later learnt that, finally there were two hundred and fifty boys altogether in the total intake. At about this time I particularly remember looking up again at the windows of the hallway, which were situated all along the top of the outer walls Joining the walls to the ceiling almost like a set of vertical sky-lights. Looking up at them just after we first arrived I noted that all we could see through them were the tips of a few dirty grey slated roofs and the top of the odd chimney. Then later all became pitch black outside. But now I, together with my two Leicester companions, were somewhat amazed to see that through these windows, all down one side of the building, were the very obvious lights from the inside of several buses, and at that height they could only be double deckers. After more careful inspection we could just discern the red paintwork on the outside of the window frames which immediately designated them as the good old London Transport vehicles.

Chapter 3.

Shortly after making this astounding discovery, the whole assembly was once again descended upon by a batch of NCOs complete with clipboards. One obviously more senior individual, who we later correctly designated as a warrant officer, and who, above all the din of the assembly, called for, and immediately obtained, our complete attention. Under his instructions we were duly divided into groups in alphabetical order, each group being under the control of one of the NCOs who were either sergeants or corporals. It was in this manner that we duly filed out of the building in reasonable order, onto the six double Decker buses awaiting us outside. Naturally, there was, to say the least, a degree of competitive activity among us with the intention of obtaining a window seat on the upper deck, and resultantly the best view of the city at night, coupled with at least an indication of just where we may be going.

Fortunately, with the application of a degree of brute force and skilful manoeuvring, I managed to obtain a top deck front window seat that I thought would give me an ideal view of all there was to be seen. But I had not allowed for the drizzling rain outside and the misting of the windows inside once the bus was full. However, in spite of these odds against me, using my only good handkerchief, I managed to maintain a reasonably clear area for my observation and those in my immediate vicinity. As was to be expected though, once we were under way the arguments started again, as to where we were going. But as the majority of us were completely new to London we were not really getting anywhere towards a solution, in spite of being able to distinguish correctly several of the more prominent places we passed through and by. Fortunately we had, on the bottom deck of our bus, some local boys, and their contentions filtered up to us via the already operating “ bush telegraph “, to the effect that we were on our way to “ Waterloo Station “. This proved to be absolutely correct, as shortly afterwards the buses drew to a stop, one behind the other, at the entrance to the station.

Waterloo station, at the best of times, is one of the busiest places in the city of London, as I have since learnt, and that evening it was certainly living up to it’s reputation. As we filed out of the buses we were surrounded by a mass of people on either side of a passageway through to the platform which had been laid for us with wooden barriers on either side. At the entrance to the passage way were large notices with the heading: “O.H.M.S. (W D) N0 Entry. Platform reserved for troop movements.” Thinking back to all this today, as we obeyed the order to “de –bus “(another new word to place into our new and fast accumulating military vocabulary) in spite of once again having to file out into the damp, and now, very cold night. We felt quite proud, virtually parading through the crowds of obviously very interested people. It didn’t occur to us then, just what these civilians might be thinking to see 250, rather obvious teenagers, being transported away late at night by the War Department, as it was then called. Was the U.K. in such a bad way for troops that they had to call up 14 and 15 year olds? Or was this another form of Germany’s “Hitler Youth “that we had been hearing about and seeing so much of in the press at that time? Whether or not there were ever any press comments made afterwards we were not to know. It is doubtful, as at that time National Security was becoming very important with constant references to the “Fifth Column”. At that time notices were being placed around the country to the effect that “ Walls Have Ears “ and “ Silence is Golden “ etc., although the war was, as yet, only a major topic of conversation. But the press would no doubt have been under a degree of pressure to be extremely conservative in regard to the mention of War Dept. personnel movements...

As we reached the train, in single file, we all entered by the first door of the first carriage and continued onwards along the length of the train from carriage to carriage until one reached the next empty seat. There were eight boys to a compartment, four on each side facing each other, and naturally, in spite of how tired most of us were by this time, scuffles broke out in some compartments where window seats were competed. Finally the total 250 boys were” en-trained,” (another one for my military vocab) the staff, consisting of men corporals and a few sergeants, boarded the train, and took up their positions in the respective carriages for which they were responsible, visiting each compartment and laying down the law. Firstly and most importantly there was to be” NO SMOKING “. This was not just applied to the train journey, but from now onwards for the rest of our apprenticeship, the sergeant told us. To say that this came as a shock to a great many of us, was the understatement of all time, as quite a large percentage of us were covert smokers, including myself, and had been so for some time, in spite of our age. It was also from this moment onwards that the “fags” black market commenced, as I remember shortly after the train departed on it’s way one lad from Belfast sneaked into our compartment trying to flog “Players” at six pence a stick and “Woodbines” at threepence. Fortunately I was well stocked at that time, but just when and where we were now going to be able to get a “drag “, became another point of discussion.

As far as the train was concerned the toilet appeared to be the only answer, and even then, we would have to be very careful, because, as the sergeant stressed, the punishments for being caught, either actually smoking or in possession there-of, were quite drastic. The first offence resulting in a minimum award of 7 days ‘Jankers’ (a terminology, the true meaning of which we were yet to understand) and the second offence was 14 days of the same. But in the event that you were foolish enough to get caught a third time the result was a minimum of 14 days No.1 Field Punishment. Naturally at the time we were not fully aware of just what these punishments consisted of, but we were soon to learn. Especially in regard to the No.1 FP which meant a visit to the greatly feared ‘Glass House’ in Aldershot, where, from the moment of arrival to the completion of the sentence, wherever one went, it was done at the “double”, and this even applied to the toilet. There were numerous other items of deterrent included within the daily schedule of the old ‘Glass House’ which are too numerous to mention at this juncture, but will be dealt with later in this epistle. Suffice to say all we smokers were fast considering becoming ex-smokers in the very near future. Immediately upon the departure of the sergeant to deliver his sermon to the next compartment, there was a sudden requirement by the majority of personnel in our compartment to rearrange the packing of their suitcases and other personal effects, coupled with a continuation of visits to the toilet, including myself.

By this time it was well after midnight, and as long as the day had appeared to be so far, there was little, if any, indication that we were anywhere near the end of it. As may be imagined this latest move onto the train caused considerable consternation amongst the boys. Mainly because, as had been the case for most of us from the commencement, no one in authority was saying anything about where we may be finally going. As a result this was again the main subject of discussion throughout the train as it pulled slowly out of Waterloo. The only fact that we could be pretty sure of was that, emanating from “Waterloo” we must have been travelling south, and that in the U.K. south from London did have it’s limitations. But even in this presumption we were to be proved wrong, as we found later.

As the train gradually gained speed, we doubted that there would be any interim stops until we finally reached our destination, wherever that may be. So our only alternative was to try and read the names on the stations as we passed though. But to do this through the rain splashed windows at night with the train doing at least 70 mph, proved impossible. Naturally many educated guesses such as Bramly, Didcot, and “Pompy” or Portsmouth, where R.A.O.C. boys schools of some long standing existed, started to circulate, but non-of these presumptions proved to be correct and the train just continued on into the night as if it was never going to stop.

Slowly but surely the monotonous “clicketty-clack” of the train against the rails finally got the better of most of us, and interest in this prime subject was lost to the take-over of a rather fitful kind of sleep. The luggage racks proving quite popular with those who managed to grab one first. It was approximately two and a half-hours later, and well after 2-30a.m, that we returned to a degree of consciousness through the change in the rhythm of the wheels on the rails. The train gradually slowed down to the point that we could discern the odd light at the side of the track, together with the walls of adjacent buildings. Then, with the train virtually crawling, the commencement of a platform came into view with it’s steel canopy and miscellaneous buildings, and finally the answer to all our presumptions of the journey in the form of a large white board with large black lettering stating “Southampton”. Knowing finally to where we had been travelling proved to be a partial relief to most of us that night. However, all this really did was to raise another query, why Southampton. Those amongst us that were in the “know” were not aware of any R.A.O.C. School in the area of, or anywhere near Southampton. Still our view through the windows was restricted to part way across, what appeared to be a very wide platform. When at last the train came to a complete stop and all was deadly quiet for a few moments, until the shrill voice of our sergeant rent the air with instructions to remain in our seats until we were told to move.

Once again the proverbial waiting period started prior to de-training. We could see boys from carriages further down the train passing our window and disappearing into the blackness of the night over the far side of the presumed very wide platform, and as a result, quite naturally, our inquisitiveness together with a degree of apprehension was aroused. Then, quite suddenly, it was our turn, and we were formed up by the sergeant into single file and marched through the carriage door onto the chill damp of the platform where we were collected by a corporal. He, in turn, directed the head of the file towards the ominous dark side of the platform and instructed us to continue straight ahead until we reached the next corporal. So off into the dark of the night we plodded. As we continued the far side slowly became a little lighter and into view we could faintly see, what appeared to be, a very large wall with a door in the centre and through which could now be discerned a dim light. As we got nearer we could see a set of steps leading up to this door, at the bottom of which stood several bodies. But then came the shock for, as we came even closer, the wall suddenly turned into the part rusty hull of a reasonably large ship, complete with port holes all along it’s length, and a gangway leading up to the bulkhead door. The obvious then dawned upon us that; it was through this door that all the boys ahead of us had disappeared, and that we were the next batch to follow and onwards into the bowels of the vessel.

Even today I find it most difficult to fully explain just how we felt at this particular juncture of the days’ proceedings. To be suddenly confronted with the fact that, not only were we leaving our homes and families for the first time in our lives, and proceeding to some unknown destination, but we were also at the point of leaving the country as well. I remembered how sorry we felt for those boys who had joined us in London, having left their families in Ireland, and crossed the sea to a strange new country. Now it was time to feel a little sorry for us. As we climbed up the gangway, in single file, these facts began to gain a degree of precedence in my mind. I’m sure, it was also in the minds of the majority of the rest of the intake that night. This resulted in a feeling of partial apprehension coupled with a degree of foreboding, once again. But this reaction was quite quickly overcome by the anticipation of what more, this first day in H.M. Forces, which had slowly but surely turned into a day of “great adventure”, would produce.

Chapter 4.

Having duly provided our names to the corporal at the bottom of the gangway we continued in single file upwards. We finally reached the bulkhead door through which we passed into the brightly lit, white painted, passageway. We greatly appreciated sudden blast of hot air emanating from the bowels of the vessel. This blast of air was in turn accompanied by an inexplicable odour that, I later found to be so common to and tended to pervade most of the internal areas of the various troop ships and passenger vessels of those days. on which I later travelled. It was an odour I subsequently experienced many times in later life, and which. to this day, I shall never forget. Each time I come across it the memories of that night I experienced my first embarkation onto an ocean going vessel come flooding back to me.

From the passage, yet another corporal directed us onwards. Through a further bulkhead door and downward on a steep steel stairway which appeared to continue on a never-ending spiral into the depths of the vessel, To the relief of most of us, we finally arrived at another steel plated landing. Leading directly off this landing were two more bulkhead type doors, one of which we were immediately led through by the corporal. At first sight the enclosure appeared to be just a relatively large open space with a series of round steel support poles placed at various intervals over the total area. But with closer inspection, just prior to the corporal’s instructions as to our immediate future activities, a completely different picture presented itself. Firstly the wall area of this semi-rectangular space was completely covered with wooden bunks in a three-tier configuration. All the steel poles had small curved brackets protruding from various points around their circumference .In addition to this a few of us had spotted a batch of what looked very much like fishing nets piled up in one corner.

The corporal called us all around him as he explained that, this area, for which he gave us a specific deck designation I can no longer remember, was to be our accommodation for the voyage. He also explained that the space within the adjacent bulkhead door on this particular landing was our ablution area containing wash basins, toilets and urinals. He was also most emphatic that under no circumstances were we to move from this allocated deck area. We would also be visited regularly by members of the Army staff and the vessel’s crew. But if there were any serious occurrences in the absence of any staff personnel we were to make contact through an emergency phone situated on the landing that connected directly to the bridge of the vessel. But beware of the consequences of making any trivial or inconsequential calls on this phone as the results for doing so could be very serious. Any general instructions would be broadcast to us over the ‘Tannoy’ system that covered the whole ship. He then laid stress on the subject of “sea sickness” and asked if there were any of us who were subject to it. Naturally no one was prepared to admit to such a presumably unmanly addiction’. No one said a word.

In spite this, the corporal, who was obviously aware of what we were all thinking, ignored the lack of response to his inquiry. He proceeded to explain that, in the event of being over-taken with such an ailment they should proceed immediately to the toilets in the ablutions. Alternatively, should they not make it to the toilets, there were buckets provided around the deck area for this purpose, which must be duly emptied and cleaned in the ablutions after use. He was also most adamant that should anyone not make it to the buckets, they would be required to make clean the decks themselves. Whilst we all listened avidly to what he was saying the general thoughts of the majority were that, it didn’t apply to me, things like that only happened to other people. But we learnt differently a little later. The corporal then brought his discourse to a close by firstly explaining that sleeping facilities would be allocated in alphabetical order commencing with the bunks followed by the hammocks.

Fortunately, at least I thought initially it was fortunate, I fell into the bunks category and landed with a top bunk. My fortune was, I thought. further substantiated by the sight and sounds of those allocated to the hammocks and their antics in trying to secure the things between the posts. But even more hilarious were their efforts at trying to get into them and stay there.

In spite of all these hilarious on-goings, time was beginning to once again have its effect. “Sleep beautiful sleep” began to play a tune on my eyes, together with those of a large majority of the rest of the contingent Little did we realise that “sleep” was much further away from us than we had either felt or hoped. By this time I, and my fellow companions from Leicester, had been on the road since 8am the previous day, some of the boys from Scotland and Ireland even longer, and this was beginning to really tell on most of us. We were therefore pleased to be able to take the advice of the corporal, upon the conclusion of his lecture, and crawl into our bunks, or if possible, hammocks and get to sleep I distinctly remember that, just as I had climbed up to my “roost” on the top bunk and laid my head on the pillow, the engines of the vessel, together with the hum of the generator, had been providing a not unpleasant back ground noise, suddenly really came to life.

Slowly gathering speed, driving the propellers as they ground their way into the water, rotating alternatively clock-wise to anti- clockwise. And back again as the vessel manoeuvred it’s way out of the berth. Then finally lapsing into a slow but steady thump. as it made its way towards the open sea. Which. in turn, had the desired affect on me and I was very quickly lulled into a deep sleep. But not for long, as the next thing I remember was finding myself sliding down my bunk alternatively from one end to the other, interspersed with a rolling action from side to side. This latter movement being so extreme that. only holding very tightly to the sideboards of the bunk prevented me from being ejected to the deck. I mastered this particular practice and feeling a little more confident as a result, I was taken completely by surprise when the whole vessel suddenly fell away below me. For several seconds I was left suspended in mid air with my blanket wrapped around me The bunk came back up again and carried me on upwards, only to stop and once again leave me dangling, fully airborne.

As the vessel made it’s way further out to sea, so these movements became more exaggerated and apart from the terrible affect it was having on all our stomachs, We were all becoming extremely alarmed. Not having had any previous experience of travelling in a sea going vessel, let alone in such obviously extreme weather conditions, and virtually locked away in the bowels of the ship, which promoted an additional feeling of claustrophobia in many of us. We were becoming extremely concerned for our safety, to say the least. In fact, to be very honest, we were just plain frightened. Finally, amongst the entire fray, I remember the corporal returning, looking much the worse for wear himself. He was hanging on for dear life to what ever he could. He just managed to shout above the general noise, mainly of moans, groans and retching, that this was nothing to worry about as we would no doubt experience much worse conditions later. Immediately following which, he duly made his way to the next-door ablutions as fast as circumstances would permit.

This little speech of his naturally cheered us all up considerably as one may imagine and greatly increased the line of staggering boys hanging onto the side rails around the deck walls of the ship on their way to the ablutions and back. Some just couldn’t make it that far any longer, and in pure desperation sat on the deck with their heads over the buckets. They were sliding over the floor area from one side to the other with the movement of the vessel and hanging on grimly to what had now become their personal bucket.

By this time, and in spite of the continually changing attitudes of the vessel, and my bunk in particular, pure fatigue began to get the better of me. After several excursions to the ablutions I had decided that the journey was becoming far too exertive, and so reverted for a short period to join the bucket brigade. This however, became quite intolerable, and when I finally felt myself falling asleep. with my head just about to fit itself into the inside of the receptacle. I made the decision to return to my roost and ride out the storm, irrespective of the circumstances and conditions. My legs and arms were spread-eagled over the total area of the bunk, laying flat on my stomach My feet having a firm purchase against the steel wall of the deck on one side and the side panel of the bunk on the other. My hands firmly gripping the top inner and outer edges of the bunk, with head buried as deeply as possible into the minute issue pillow, I managed to virtually gag myself. At the same time I could ride-out the rises, falls and rolls of the vessel which, we were all now convinced, would never again stop.

There was no doubt at this stage that, those who had mastered the hammocks had an edge on the rest of us. For, in spite of the extremes of vessel movement, many of these hammock characters were sleeping soundly. and were the envy of all we’ bunkites as they remained virtually static whilst the vessel continued to wease and yaw around them. Just how I managed to avoid falling out onto the deck I shall never know, but in this position I slipped slowly into a form of virtual semi-consciousness but still being generally aware of my circumstances and surroundings and at the same time reasonably relaxed, allowing sleep to take over.

It was in this position that I slowly came back to a doubtful form of consciousness. an hour or so later. assisted by the bellowing of the corporal. All of us had to get our feet on the deck and line up, leaving all our belongings, such as they were, behind us for collection later. An order to which we duly complied, but with a degree of initial hesitation and confusion . Most of us drifting around in a haze, feeling more like death warmed-up and not yet fully cognizant with our current surroundings after all the events of the previous night and early morning. I suppose this could really have been considered the very first REVEILLE of our service, but under the circumstances, one I would have preferred to remember under more ideal conditions. By this time, of course, we had finally completed our first 24 hours of service, as it was now well after 0800hrs on the 6th October.

As we lined up, and with a show of bravado, swaying with the motions of the vessel, which by now had mercifully decreased to an acceptable degree, we became, reasonably “compos-mentis” again. With general conversation slowly gaining momentum, passing the events of the previous night off with laughter-laced bravado, we wondered warily what else this adventure could possibly produce for the new day. which was now upon us. But most important of all where were we and where were we going?”

The final answer to this puzzle being nearer than we imagined.

Chapter 5.

As we duly followed the corporal’s instructions and commenced to climb back up the steep steel spiral stairway I can distinctly remember, straining to look up towards the top and seeing the first small spot of daylight emerge in the distance. So it came to pass that our small group finally saw the light again that sixth morning of October 1938. As we slowly progressed upwards the patch of light continued to get larger until we were virtually blinded as we finally reached the top and turned into the passageway leading out to the open deck via a large bulkhead door through which the daylight was streaming. Together with the light, however, came a stiff cold breeze which, after the heat generated during our seemingly endless entombment of the previous night, felt more like the beginnings of an arctic winter, cutting through our relatively thin civilian clothing like a knife. As we stepped shivering through the bulkhead door, over the deck-side rail immediately ahead of us was spread the vast expanse of the sea with not a thing to be seen between ourselves and the horizon, with the exception of the white caps of the ever rising and falling waves. Once again the old question was raised “Where were we?” The answer to that question was pretty obvious, as was pointed out by several bright lads, but “Where were we going?” that was something else we had yet to find out.

By this time the majority of us had developed sea legs’ sufficiently capable of keeping ourselves in a reasonably upright position and propelling us in the general direction we wished to proceed. This, coupled with the fact that the motion of the ship had abated to a degree, made our next operation much easier to accommodate. There were however, those few among us who still had to make their peace with the sea and it’s effect upon the seemingly never ceasing motion of the vessel, and to whom our next activity resulted in reviving, for these poor unfortunates all the torments of the previous night. All I remember of these poor chaps that morning is the view of their posteriors as they bent earnestly to their apparently never ending task over the deck rails.

Immediately outside the bulkhead door we were directed to our right where a line of trestle tables had been set up along the ship’s superstructure. The first table was piled with an item of army equipment which, at periods much later in my service I came to greatly appreciate having available, namely the proverbial “Mess Tin”. Just to ensure we were fully enlightened as to their use they were handed to us with the two halves separated and the handles pointing directly at us, accompanied by the instruction “Grub in one, tea in tuther”. Following which a set of ‘irons’, as we came to know them later, or a knife and fork, was duly dropped into one side of the mess tin. Following the actions of those before us we then proceeded along the line to the next table upon which was set a pile of, what we later found to be, fried bread, in large flat tins.

At the side of this table was situated a large round metal drum standing on an equally large burner, which, in the cold of the morning, resulted in the emission of a cloud of steam. Once one came within immediate range, the never to be forgotten aroma of bacon and beans, seriously tempting our now very empty stomachs. At least that was the case with regard to our immediate group and myself. Attending to these particular offerings stood a corporal cook in full whites including the inevitable tall white hat. In between his efforts of keeping the contents of the drum moving with his large ladle, and filling one half of our mess-tins, he had to continually make a grab for, and then finally, with each filled mess-tin, drop a slice of the fried bread onto the contents. I particularly remember being so taken by the dexterity of this corporal that I had to be told to move on. Next in line was a smaller table supporting a large urn, which, as it had no burner, was, I presumed, being continually fed with it’s contents of hot sweet tea from the kitchens somewhere in the bowels of the vessel. A similarly dressed character was attending this station to the man at the previous station. But as he had no tapes on his arm was presumably a private. His activities being restricted to purely turning the tap of the urn on and off as we presented the other half of our mess-tins.

Having reached this stage we were virtually free to roam the area of the deck, but restricted to that particular side of the vessel. The problem was to find ourselves a suitable place where we could safely consume this very enticing meal without it being blown away before one could manage to get the food up to one’s mouth. After some in-depth searching we were finally lucky in obtaining positions underneath one of the Life Boats giving us adequate protection from all sides. From that very first experience of His Majesty’s bacon and beans breakfast it has always remained a favourite of mine. As much as I have tried since, I have never really been able to reproduce the ultimate taste that the RACC was able to produce from that mixture, supported of course, by their (in)famous fried bread. This statement is based purely on personal taste, as I’m sure many of my colleagues of those days were not totally in agreement, and especially those on that particular morning who, were still paying their obeisance’s to the sea over the rails.

Then to our complete surprise, before we had managed to consume little more than half of this repast, instructions were being relayed over the total deck area by several corporals. They had obvious ambitions towards becoming RSMs, to the effect that we were required to immediately stop eating. We were to take all eating utensils and unconsumed food, to the newly prepared station at the end of the line, where, two large drums of hot water together with a still larger drum for the disposal of any unconsumed food had been provided. Little did we realise at the time that, this whole scenario was virtually an introduction to the strict messing procedures to which we would be subjected for the majority of our apprenticeship from that time onwards. As usual there was a mad dash from all parts of the deck, by boys wanting to be first in line. But as quick as our little group was, we finished way down the line that had been formed resulting in, what we then thought was, the loss of a great deal of our presumed valuable free deck time standing in a queue.

By the time we finally reached the washing-up area the refuse drum was just about to overflow and the colour of the water both the “initial washing” drum and the supposedly “rinsing” drum, were virtually identical. It hardly mattered which drum one started with. In spite of this, we duly washed, dried and handed in our accoutrements to the corporal as required and made our way back as quickly as possible to the Life Boat and secured our position for the rest of the time we were allowed to stay on deck. Such time being extended longer than we had anticipated when the corporals once again commenced to exercise their vocal abilities instructing us not to go below deck until instructed otherwise, By this time the sea had abated even further and was virtually calm in comparison with the previous night. In addition to which the cold wind had also dropped, and the general climate was becoming quite bearable.

The added privilege of subsequently being permitted to walk the whole length of the deck area went even further towards almost making the current portion of our journey to, wherever’? Downright enjoyable. With the exception of course of the condition of our clothes which, we had now been wearing constantly for at least 26 hours, and which had accompanied us through, what was, for most of us, an extremely traumatic night. They were in fact beginning to smell quite badly in some cases, Not withstanding this particular problem we decided to take advantage of this sudden freedom and roam the deck area from the blunt to the sharp end of the vessel. It was whilst we were taking in the view of the great expanse of water upon which we were currently floating that we first heard the cry of “Land Ho”’ obviously uttered by some idiot boy trying to call attention to himself. At least that was our immediate contention. But then we heard it again and could hardly believe our ears as it emanated from the sharp end of the vessel with a degree of positiveness and pure elation.

Considering our developed pessimism of the previous evening I think it might have been at the back of our minds that we were never going to see land again, and this came as something of a shock to our already badly shaken systems. Naturally there was one mad dash by all on deck towards the source of the call and by the time our little group arrived it was difficult to see the horizon towards which everyone was straining. But after a few moments a dark line on the horizon slowly became visible and continued to become clearer by the minute.

Published: 15th December 2009.

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Continued.