A BRIEF HISTORY
OF LIFE IN REME
A Craftsman’s Story 1948 to I953 Contributed by: Phil KEMPSTER Chapter Six Back To 4 A/A Workshops, Barton,
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Jean and her father outside their house. 1949. |
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Jean’s mother. |
It
was quite a trek to get to Jean’s home, it must have been a good two miles
walk from the bus stop and half of that alongside the rail track with trains flying
past only yards from you, a bit scary but you got used to it. Jean used to ride her bike along it, she
used to ride up to almost where the bus stop was and leave her bicycle at a
nearby farm. She did that twice a day
to get a bus to work, at that time she was working at a soap works called
Hazelwood’s in Winton near Eccles. It
was quite a large factory, her auntie Florrie was a forewoman and her uncle
Wilf was foreman, they lived in a large house next to the factory. Jean took me to their house quite often at
week ends for tea, there weren’t many people that had television sets in
those days but they had one, it had a 9inch screen with a large magnifying
glass in front. We used to stay in and
watch it sometimes in the evenings, there was no chance of Jean’s mum and dad
having one as there was no electricity or gas in the railway cottages, it was
oil lamps to see from and a fire range to cook with. The only thing they had was running water
and a large boiler to do the washing and heat up water for a bath. I won’t even mention the toilet facilities,
primitive to say the least. Anyway
they were happy and Jean’s mother made some wonderful meals, and I enjoyed my
stays there a lot.
It
was now July and time to celebrate the 7th anniversary of the Corps
being formed in 1942. It was open day
for visitors at the camp on Saturday with us dressed in our nicely pressed
uniforms, showing people around the Workshops and Camp. All our vehicles were bright and clean, one
or two of the guns were uncovered and polished up ready for dads and kids to
have a go at sitting on the seats and elevating the barrels up and down. Sat evening I had the job of picking up
people that were going to our dance at the Town Hall in Eccles In the Bedford
Personnel Carrier. My first pick up
point was at the Nags Head in Irlam, that was a small town about a mile up
the road from the camp. My next pick
up was
It
was August now and the weather was really hot and sunny most of the time and,
wearing our uniforms, the heat was awful.
It was OK for some of the lads that lived locally, they had civilian
clothing to change into in their spare time, I could not afford to buy any
civvies on army pay, the wages were rubbish in those days. Jean felt sorry for me and brought me a
nice sports jacket, a nice shirt and some grey flannels, she must have loved
me a lot. We spent lots of time
together going for walks and visiting her relations, I used to stay at her
house at week ends when I could get a 48hr or 72hr pass and that was great.
The only trouble was, in army life, you were never sure what was going to
happen next to bring you down to earth with a bang. There were lots of rumours going on in camp
about postings abroad and the newspapers were always going on about trouble spots
breaking out in the Middle East and Far East, it was always in the back of
your mind that something big was going to happen, and it was about to happen
to me.
It
was now the end of Sept 49 and things were fairly normal, not a lot of
driving to do, just routine cleaning and stuff, a bit boring really at
times. At lunch time if you were in
camp, after you had your meal our NCOs had the bright idea of taking us on a
physical training run, dressed in our shorts and vests. This run was on some farm tracks on the
left of the airfield just across the road from the camp, it was a vast area
of farmland and on wet days we got back covered in mud and cow muck. The reason for this daily exercise was
because the civilian workforce had a longer lunch break than us poor buggers
and we all had to commence work at the same time. A couple of times myself and Brennan would
hide under the canvas gun covers and sit on the seats of the guns until the
P.T was over. I was always pleased
when I was on the road during lunch times.
I came unstuck big time one day sneaking off these P.T. sessions. I was caught in camp when all the others
had gone off running. A loud voice
behind me shouted “Why are you not out doing P.T. Craftsman?” I turned and staring at me was an A.S.M. I said “I have been tidying up round the
camp sir and forgot what time it was.”
He said “Don’t tell me lies, I am putting you on a charge for
insubordination.” I thought you lousy
b-----d, a good telling off would have been sufficient. I went up before the C.O Major Armstrong
the next day, I don’t know what tale this A.S.M. had told him but it got me
10 days detention and to make things worse there was no Guardroom with a cell
to put me in at Barton so I was transported to a Military Detention barracks
in Dunham Park, just outside Altrincham, Cheshire. I will never forget the date, it was 11.
10. 49. I felt like a criminal. I was put in a cell and my cap and belt
were taken from me by a military policeman and locked in behind bars. The cell was only small with just a bed and
one chair in it, if you wanted to use the toilet you had to shout for one of
the guards to take you. There were no
doors on the toilets and the guard waited until you had done your business
and then you were taken back to your cell.
All meals were brought to your cell and you were watched when washing
and shaving, the first couple of days were awful, the duty sergeant would
shout for me to take a mug of water to his room at the end of a long corridor
and he would say “Take that back, you have put too much water in it, tip some
out and bring it back at the double.”
They did this to demoralise you I think. I always did as I was told, whatever it
was.
I
remember a young R.A.F chap waving his hand to me through a barred window above
this corridor, he whispered to me that he had gone on the run and had been
arrested in
We
were now into November with rain and fog and the evenings were drawing in,
making every where dark and dismal. I
hated being duty driver when it was foggy, with our camp being quite close to
the huge industrial area in Trafford Park the fog would turn into a thick
smog and you could hardly see your hand in front of your face it was terrible
driving in those conditions, and where Jean lived out on Barton Moss you had
to cross an unmanned crossing over the busy main line. We used to stand and listen to hear if
there were any trains coming, if it was quiet we dashed very quickly across,
it was a bit nerve- wracking to say the least.
I
was now in for the shock of my life. I
was told to report to the admin office, it was the middle of Nov. The chief clerk told me I was being sent
out to the
Published: 1st August 2007
Chapter Seven.