A BRIEF HISTORY OF LIFE IN REME

A Craftsman’s Story 1948 to I953

Contributed by: Phil KEMPSTER

Chapter One

Blandford. Six weeks of hell. April 1948

I received my call up papers for national service on the 7^th of April 1948. I was instructed to report to the recruitment office in St Albans, Herts. On arrival I was given a medical examination, along with some more chaps, all lined up stark naked and being checked over by a group of doctors. The last doctor put his hand between your legs and said “cough” and if nothing dropped down you were told to get dressed and go to another room for selection to what arm of the services you wanted to go in. I asked to go into the R.A.F. as my best mate Roy Gurney had gone into the R.A.F. a couple of months earlier, my uncle Dave was also serving in the R.A.F. he had been in from the start of W/W2. There was no joy for me going in that as they were only taking men with grammar school education into the R.A.F. at this time, so I said I would like to join the R.E.M.E. as my step father had served with them after being transferred from the Royal Artillery during the war, my uncle Harold was also in R.E.M.E. he was a S/Sgt Armourer and served in North Africa with the 8^th Army. They told me they were only taking regulars in R.E.M.E. at that time with a minimum of 5 years with the Colours and 7 years on Reserve, the only alternative was the Infantry. I didn’t fancy that so I signed up for R.E.M.E. there and then. After a few days I received a letter instructing me to report to the R.E.M.E. No1Training Btn. Blandford in Dorset.

Blandford Camp.

Included in the envelope were my travelling instructions and travel documents. Having travelled no further than London before, and that was only about an hours journey by rail, I thought this is going to be quite an adventure for me. I started my journey on the 15^th April with a short bus ride to Watford Junction Rail station to catch a train to Euston In London then from there by underground to Waterloo station, I had never in my life seen such a huge station, the platforms seemed to go on for ever. Anyway, with a few enquires and some luck, I managed to find my platform and train time, I had never seen so many people in one place before, there were hundreds of them, a lot being servicemen all rushing to and fro to catch their trains. Eventually I got on board my train and with clouds of steam set off on my way to Blandford. I arrived safely at Blandford with quite a few other recruits that were joining R.E.M.E. we were picked up and transported by a personnel carrier to the camp that was going to be our home for the next 6 weeks.

We were booked in and shown to our accommodation, this was a long wooden room with rows of beds down each side with a cupboard at the side of the bed, the floors were polished so that you could see your face in them, every where was spotlessly clean there was a toilets and shower room at the end of the room, all spick and span, we were soon to discover why every thing was so clean and tidy, it was going to be our job to keep it that way. The following day was spent being kitted out with Denims, K/D uniform, Beret, Boots, and loads of Webbing items i.e. Gaiters, Belt, Small Pack, Large Pack, Ammo Pouches and straps, and lots of small items like knife fork and spoon, set of Mess Tins, Housewife [not the female kind] this was a small bag filled with buttons, sewing needles, cotton, darning wool, small piece of khaki cloth, even a thimble, I thought to myself “Bloody hell. I joined R.E.M.E. to learn to drive and mend trucks not mend socks and shirts!” The last thing we were issued with was a Kit Bag to put it all in, then we all walked back to our room to try our nice new uniforms on, not a pretty sight I can tell you. My uniform fitted where it touched and believe me it felt like putting on something made with rough blanket material, Khaki Drill clothing took some getting used to. Our room now looked like a bomb had hit it with all our beds littered with our kit and clothing. A Sergeant came into our room and said quietly “Get this bloody mess tided up and fall in outside you have got five minutes”. I think this Sergeant could have whispered over three fields and still be heard, my ears were ringing for days. We soon had the room tidy and went smartly outside, still dressed in our civvies, we were then marched off to have our hair cut and after that ordeal we went to meet our squad drill instructor, a Corporal from an infantry regiment, he had a few medal ribbons on his tunic so he must have served during the war, he was to be our instructor for the next six weeks.

We then went to the cook house for a meal that was another experience not to forget. We had to queue up in front of a counter full of containers with the meal of the day in them, as you moved down the line a cook orderly plopped a dollop of spuds etc: on to your plate then you collected your pudding sat down as quick as possible stuffed it down, then took your plates to a table with three large bowls of hot water on, one was for washing, next one for rinsing, the third one for final rinse. We had approx half an hour to do this lot then off back to our billet for our next task. This was to get our gear ready to start our training in earnest at the crack of dawn next morning after washing and shaving (mostly in cold water) then make your bed up with blankets and sheets neatly folded in a set of three with a blanket wrapped round them and all your kit laid out on the bed in a uniformed position with your spare boots highly polished ready for morning inspection. Also the room floor had to be polished and the shower room and toilets cleaned, then breakfast before parade at 08.00hrs. We were a mixed lot in our squad clerks, joiners, labourers, mechanics etc: you name it they were here. We also had two ex soldiers that were rejoining the REME; one was a Jock, a right cocky bugger, thought he knew it all!! The other one was a nice chap and would help you out if you had any problems, as most of us rookies did, especially with cleaning our kit and bulling up our boots so you could see your face in the toe caps, This was done with spit and polish, another tip he taught us was to rub a warm iron over the toe cap to smooth out the new leather before you started polishing, you had to be careful not to damage you boots as this would get you into serious trouble. The brasses on our webbing were a pain to clean, there were so many of the bloody things, there was a fastening buckle and two adjusting clips on the front of your belt and two buckles on the back for the pouches straps to go on, each ends of the belt were finished off with brass ends it could take nearly an hour just to clean your belt. Then you started on your packs, straps, pouches, and gaiters then all this webbing had to be coloured with green Blanco and left to dry in the Blanco room, all our gear had our names and numbers marked on the inside of every item so your kit did not get mixed with some one else's. Oh! I nearly forgot our greatcoat buttons and cap badge, they were brass and had to be polished, what a life.

There were 18 of us in our squad, some from the London area, Birmingham, Wales, Yorkshire, and Scotland, to name but a few. We were all regulars that had signed up to serve in the R.E.M.E. on being called up for national service except the two that were rejoining. We all got on very well and after lights out, when we were tucked up in our little beds, we used to tell jokes until the small hours and went off to sleep with our sides aching with laughing, to be awoken at 0600hrs with loud shouting by the duty Sergeant “Come on you lazy Sods hands off cocks and hands on socks.” This was the start of training big time. After a quick wash and shave a fast change into our Denims (most of the training was done wearing Denims) then over to the cookhouse for a quick breakfast then back to the room to set out your bed with all your kit ready for morning inspection, we had already polished the floor the night before.

Then outside for roll call ready to be marched out on to the Barrack Square by our Corporal drill instructor he had his time cut out with most of us I can tell you.

The Square at Blandford Camp.

Apart from the two old soldiers and one or two of us that had been in the Army Cadets, most of the Squad hadn’t a clue how to march in a straight line and one chap couldn’t synchronize his arms and legs, that was funny to watch, it was called tick tocking. I felt sorry for the lad, the more the instructor shouted at him the worse he got, he was a very shy sort of chap and not too bright. Jock, one of the old sweats, was always taking the Mick out of him. I suppose these days that would be called bullying, anyway more about him later. I won’t go on too much about Marching and Drill Movements, after a few days our Corporal started to knock us into shape, he was very patient with us and didn’t rant and rave like some of the other N.C.O.s on the parade ground. Some times when we got back to our room we had a shock. The room looked like a bomb had hit it. If the room inspection Officer noticed some thing not quite correct on your bed lay out, the N.C.O. that accompanied him would tip the whole lot on the floor then you would have to set it all out again and wait for the N.C.O to come and check it again and have a little word in your ear like “If I have to tell you about this again your feet won’t touch the ground! And you will be on a charge.” We continued with our marching and other drill movements and we were getting better each day so our Corporal said we were ready for small arms training. We were marched off to the armoury to be issued with a Lee Enfield 303 Rifle and Bayonet, complete with shoulder strap and cleaning kit.

Lee Enfield .303 Rifle.

We were then taken to a lecture room to be taught how to strip down your weapon, clean it, and put it together again, it took a few hours for this to sink in but we got there eventually. We had to sign a document for our rifles, these were to be kept with our other equipment in our room and you were in serious trouble if you lost or damaged it. Now we had to start learning arms drill on the square, oh boy did those rifles make your shoulders sore and your arms ache, doing slope arms, order arms, present arms, stand at ease etc. After a couple or more weeks we were quite good at it and it was time for us learn how to shoot these bloody rifles. We were taken in the back of Bedford trucks to the Firing Ranges, a few miles from the camp, on arrival we were issued with some blank ammo and taught how to load and unload our weapons. The rifle was fitted with a magazine that held 18 rounds of .303 bullets and, when the gun was fired, the empty bullet cases were ejected automatically. We soon got the hang of it and off we went to the Ranges to fire real bullets at targets set at 250 yards, 300 yards and 500 yards distances apart. We were taught the firing position, that was to lie down at right angles with legs apart and your rifle tucked tightly against your shoulder, your left hand gripping the stock of the rifle and your right hand on the trigger guard with the index finger on the trigger. When you were competent at this you were issued with 5 rounds of bullets in a clip then had to unclip the magazine from the underside of the weapon and press the clip of bullets into the magazine and snap it smartly back into the rifle. You then got into the firing position, pulled back the loading bolt, then closed the bolt to put the first round into the breech, closed your left eye, flipped up the back sight, then look through the aperture of the back sight and adjust it so you could see the tip of the foresight that was on the end of the barrel, line your rifle up on to the target, release the safety catch that was just behind the trigger guard. You were now ready to fire at your target on the command, “In your own time, fire five rounds at your targets FIRE!” You then squeezed the trigger and Bang! The rifle butt went back into your shoulder like the kick of a mule. and the noise of that bullet being fired made your bloody ears ring like hell. The targets we were attempting to hit were on a huge board with 3 foot roundels, an outer ring, an inner ring and centre bull’s eye. As your round hit the target a marker would point to where you had hit the target or, if you missed completely, the marker would be waved across the target. When we had fired all the five rounds, the order was given to “Unload and put safety catch on.” To do this you pulled the bolt back and forwards five times to make sure the magazine was empty then put the safety catch on. This was done in the interest of safety. The instructor then told us to stand up to attention then to “Port Arms.” This was to hold your weapon across your chest so the instructor could check that your weapon was safe, you were then given the order to stand to “Attention!” Then “Fall Out!” We were then taken to our targets to see how we had done on our first attempt, if your holes were too high or too low on the target it was because you were a bloody awful shot or the sight on your rifle required adjustment, this was done by the Armourer back on the firing line, you were then ready to do it all again hopefully better. We soon got the hang of it after a few attempts, and after along hard day we were taken back to our Barracks in time to go for our evening meal, and then back to our room to start cleaning our rifles, the barrels had to be cleaned with a long cord with a weight on one end and a oily piece of cloth on the other, this was called a Pull Through. It used to take a few times to get the barrel spotless, then the rest of the rifle had to be stripped down, oiled, cleaned, and put back together, after this the rest of the evening was spent cleaning your kit ready for next morning.

I remember one evening we were all busy getting our kit ready for the next morning’s inspections. Jock had been having a go at this lad in the bed next to mine all evening and the poor chap was almost in tears, and as Jock was crossing the room back to his bed space this lad leapt off his bed and grabbed Jock by shoulders pulled him to the floor and got him by the throat, it took four of us to get his hands from round his neck. Jock had gone blue in the face and was gasping for air and making all sorts of funny noises, a lot us thought he was a goner, but after a while he came round and a couple of lads took him to the medical room. The other lad was on his bed sobbing his heart out and I felt really sorry for him, he settled down after a while and went to sleep. Jock was soon back in the room, looking very sorry for himself and unable to speak, most of us thought he got what he deserved. Usually after lights out we used to take turns at telling jokes and funny tales and went off to sleep with sides aching with laughing. I tell you what, that night you could have heard a pin drop, I don’t think I slept a wink. If I did, I had one eye open on the bed next to mine I can tell you. Next morning after breakfast on returning to our room there was no sign of Jock, we assumed that he had gone to the Medical centre for a check up on his throat, the other lad from the bed next to mine was missing and his bed space had been cleared of all his kit. We were never to see this unfortunate poor lad again, rumour was that he had been discharged on medical grounds. Jock was soon back in with us, his usual cocky self. I wonder if he ever realised how close he came to a sticky end.

We were now a man down in our squad and had to carry on our drill training with 17, leaving a blank space in one row, it made some of the movements a bit complicated but we coped. We eventually completed our Basic Training and finished with a Passing Out Parade with all the other squads of men, mostly National Servicemen that had finished their training. Our Cpl Instructor was very pleased with us and wished us good luck in our chosen careers, we then had a squad photograph taken and that was that. We were now soldiers and went off to the N.A.A.F.I that night to celebrate and swapped names and addresses, unfortunately I have lost these over the years, all I have now are the memories. I remember a couple of the lads went on to O.C.T.U. for training to become Officers, I hope they made it. Next morning, up at the crack of dawn, we handed in our rifles and reported to the Orderly Office to collect our leave passes and travelling documents ready to be transported to Blandford Railway Station to go our separate ways and for some of us, never to meet again. I remember thinking to my self for the last six weeks I have been taught how to drill like a Guardsman, shoot guns like an Infantryman, make a bed look like a work of art, polish floors, clean toilets, polish boots to see your face in, Blanco webbing, eat out of tin cans (mess tins), wash and shave in cold water, change from Denims to full marching order in 30 seconds, and worst of all, lost most of my curly blonde hair, and I have not seen a set of spanners. I joined R.E.M.E. to become a driver mechanic.

Photograph taken at the end of 6 weeks Basic Training at No.1 Training Battalion, REME, Craddock Barracks, Blandford Camp, Dorset in May 1948.

Rear Rank: 1.Excused Boots from London, 2.n/k, 3.n/k Old Soldier, 4.Jock Old Soldier, 5.n/k Officer Training, 6.n/k Officer Training, 7.n/k Officer Training.

Centre Rank: 1.n/k, 2.Brummie, 3.n/k, 4.Blondie Kempster (author), 5.n/k, 6.n/k.

Front Rank: 1.n/k, 2.n/k, 3.Cpl Instructor, 4.n/k, 5.n/k.

Published: 1^st August 2007

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Chapter Two