ACT III – National Service

January 1958 to September 1958

Scene 3 – Old Soldier

 

 

 

he new year also brought with it the dreaded army physical tests, which assessed a soldier’s fitness for service. This was not an escape route for the wily, unwilling conscript, but was a litmus test for either promotion (for regular soldiers – and officers) or more ‘training’ for those who were ‘not up to scratch.’ This meant that everyone tried their hardest to perform well. Those fit chaps in the APTC were both loathed and envied at this time of year.

          Being in the tropics meant a particularly early start to the day, with the ubiquitous five-mile march at a quarter to six; some slight improvement on a year ago, as I have recorded that it took a mere 55 minutes. I also recall the one-mile run, but alas for posterity I don’t have my time. But I do remember the killing 800-yard run, in uniform, with a man clinging to my back.

     The one event that did not give me any problem, believe it or not, was the two lengths in the swimming pool in full uniform.  And at the Nee Soon rifle range I was awarded 3^rd Class in the annual rifle classification.

We were all glad when the several days of tests was over, and we could return to our normal social way of life.

 

t was at some stage during my second year in the army that I was asked to see WOI John Birch. He had a couple of the WOII’s with him, as well as Captain Lyneham RAEC, who was my first commissioned boss, before the major. They then started to ‘work’ on me. WOI Birch was ‘in the chair’ rather than Captain Lyneham, but such was the informality of the office, where the senior staff gathered for a coffee break, that niceties of rank did not matter.

     I was asked to sit down. “Have you ever thought about signing on?” asked John Birch.

I was taken aback. Such a thought had never for one moment even entered my mind – let alone crossed it. I replied in the negative.

     The outcome was a lengthy, but very friendly and relaxed session on the advantages of signing on as a regular soldier, even for just an extra year. (Let me say straight away, that I could never fully appreciate, either then or now, the advantages of just an extra year. I knew a couple of subalterns who did just that, and I often wondered why they bothered. For me it would have had to be five or eight years. One year seemed to be just a waste of paper).

     The first thing, they told me, is that my pay would double overnight; secondly, I would become a substantive sergeant, which no-one could take away from me. (As a national serviceman I was an ‘acting sergeant’ and could be reduced to the ranks, with one blow, by anyone who felt like doing it. For a regular soldier, any demotion because of un-military transgression would be by stages, falling down through the ranks of full corporal, to lance-corporal before reaching rock bottom. This did happen in the teeth arm regiments, where Saturday night fights were commonplace).

     My would-be benefactors did caution me that it meant that I would not be able to continue in my present posting, because that was not the army way; it meant a return to England to take a course, then I would be posted elsewhere. The big factor to consider, they said, was that within a very short time I would be sewing a crown above my three stripes – as a staff sergeant! That meant even more pay. (The regulars had to be differentiated from the hundreds of national servicemen three-stripers, so they got the crown).

     The procedure of events, would start now, on their sponsorship of my application. Then I would be formally (yet ‘informally’) interviewed by my OC, a major in the corps. He was in favour of, and knew all about, his Captain and WO’s approaching me. As a result of his recommendation I would be interviewed (and recommended, a forgone conclusion they said) by the Colonel RAEC, at Singapore Base District. And that would be it. It was seldom if ever that the depot at Beaconsfield would then say to its own kith and kin ‘You’ve got it wrong.’

     There was also another consideration, as far as the education corps, and the senior staff working in it, was concerned. Young men (no women if you don’t mind; tut! tut! This was in the late fifties when the third world war was still waiting to start) were not exactly forming long queues to join the educational corps, and therefore an appropriate level of canvassing was quite in order. It was ever the same, in all walks of life. In my case, I was to learn many years later (when I knew quite a number of chaps in the corps), that the annual statistics would have shown that levels of recruitment were dropping and that likely candidates should be carefully monitored, screened, and then approached.

     At the time I did not know this, but I was, however, immediately conscious of the great honour that was being accorded to me, and I had to take it seriously. Here was an officer, with his major in the office next door, together with senior warrant officers – all wearing medals from the war - willing to stake their reputations on my candidacy for regular service in the corps.

     I was not, of course, pressured in any way; and in the relaxed atmosphere I was able to say that the one big draw-back, as far as I was concerned, was that I had not got a qualification. If I had graduated first, like many national servicemen, including some at Nee Soon, then I would have given their offer serious thought. But I was emphatic that I had to get a qualification that would stand me in good stead in the future. (This was in the days when a degree of any sort was a passport to full-time employment in a well-paid job).

     I was also immediately conscious that they did not, and had not, approached any of the other sergeants to sign on. I know, because we all talked about such things in the mess.

     The first thing they told me was that I could always do an external degree, and anyway the RAEC was the perfect place to study and gain extra qualifications. I was not convinced. In fact over the coming days we liaised quite a bit but they finally gave up, when they knew I would not change my mind. There was no ill-feeling. News of my acceptance at Chester College had already come through, and also notification of my premature release.

     This latter item was the cause of some envy. The fact that I had been accepted for full time higher education meant that I could have had up to six months premature release. I never heard of anyone who actually got that much, but my two months early release was quite something, and so I was to join the ranks of those who – fairly and squarely, with no dodging or dealing – did twenty two months national service, rather than the full twenty four,

     Anyway, all the forgoing was to come back and haunt me from time to time, not least in just over a couple of years time, as we shall see.

     There is no doubt that it was one of the milestones of my life, when I had every encouragement to make a choice at the crossroads. I often wonder how my life would have changed had I taken a different direction.

 

y social life did not abate. The ever-popular liar dice, or ‘lie dice’ as Satu, our barman, called it, continued to hold us for hours on end. And our unplanned sessions were as popular as ever, with the marrieds as well as with the singles. We would often have sing-songs, with Pete Bailey at the piano. A big session was a party for Officers and NCO’s of a Dutch Ship. I can’t recall all the details, but I know they had asked which mess was the liveliest, and we were named. Apparently they could not invite us to their ship, and wangled an invite to us. This tag of fame was no doubt a follow-up to our visit to Sembawang, at the Naval base, some time previously when we participated in a raucous ‘games night.’

     So we, as the entertainments committee, received the Dutch at an event we called ‘A Party.’ It was one of many successful mess nights to be remembered.

     This was followed shortly afterwards by a visit to the Gurkha WO’s and Sgts’ Mess. Like the Malays, they pull all the stops out to entertain, the major difference being that now our hosts consumed alcohol, for which they had a remarkable capacity. The food, the drink, the games, and the company were beyond reproach. What a glorious hangover!

     An event I recall only vaguely is our visit to the GHQ WRAC WO’s & Sgts’ Mess. We were certainly on the map for invites! These Amazons challenged us to a darts match, and they were pretty nifty players. The educated types never were much good at such pugilistic games.

From what I recall there weren’t many young girls in their mess, generally the more mature, battle-hardened types. I’m sure there was nothing but good behaviour all round that night, but it is one of the many events I would love to relive, if only to observe the chances I missed.

 

t the end of February I heard that I had been granted my premature release, in order to attend College, and so I would leave for UK in August. Straight away I realised that this would prevent me from being with the school and the lads at the annual camp, this year to be held on the East Coast of Malaya, at Mersing. I was truly sorry about that.

 

 must emphasise that my life was not all fun and games. It is of course true to say that, for many of us, all we did and thought socially revolved around the mess. But we were on the parade ground every morning at five to seven. Our uniform consisted of a smart, open-necked khaki jacket, with short sleeves (with stripes in prominent position); the highly polished corps name would be affixed to each shoulder, with the corps badge on the beret; shorts, long khaki socks, with puttees (like gaiters) around the ankles, and black boots.

     Then our duty NCO would march smartly on and call us to attention. I used to have my turn at this as well. The blood-shot eyes and vacant looks reminded one of the previous ‘sesh’ which would have ended only six hours previously. However, the morning parade was never an occasion for jokes, and a return of all those present had to filed immediately after the parade with the unit clerk. He then compiled a composite return for the CO. There was no question of covering for a colleague who just could not make the parade. The usual punishment was a couple of extra duties – particularly at the dreaded swimming pool.

     The swimming pool duty depended on luck. If we had a unit in transit for a couple of weeks - and Nee Soon was the Transit Camp for Singapore and British Malaya – then they were landed with all these duties. Conversely, there were times when the camp was deserted, and we could find ourselves doing more than was good for our sanity. When I was on my own, early in August, I did two duties in one week.

     One also had duties as garrison duty NCO. The feeling of importance at wearing the large, cumbersome armband had long since gone. These duties were not frequent, which is just as well because it necessitated being in the Malayan dining room at meal times. This was something of a trial for all of us. You can imagine the feeling of nausea, early in the morning and not feeling too bright, at the sight and smell of fish-heads and other delicacies being consumed with relish.

     One other duty I did, on just one occasion, was to travel to Johore Bahru on ‘train duty.’ This was when our school broke up for the Easter holidays, and the boys were taken to JB to entrain for all parts of Malaya.

 

e now celebrated Jock Kerr’s 21^st birthday in the mess. There is no doubt that he had a good time – it was so difficult not to in those days, and at that place. More than one old soldier would acknowledge that they had never enjoyed themselves in the army as much as they were at the present time. We all seemed to gel together, regardless of rank.

     When Captain Bill Lyneham was due to depart for the UK, John Birch assembled all us ‘lads’ and said “Right! Now what can we do to give Bill a good send off?” Obviously the officers’ mess would be doing their own thing, and the RAEC on the island would be doing theirs, but we wanted to  do our own – from the schoolies at Nee Soon. In fact, we had quite a few gatecrashers from other corps in the garrison, when they heard about the function, and as ever it developed into another glorious session. What a send-off!

     Sadly for me, and for reasons that will become clear, I did not have such a fantastic farewell party when my time came, but merely slipped away unknown and unnoticed.  I think that was my biggest disappointment during the whole of my national service, and the whole of my time in Singapore. 

 

n the mess I was heavily involved in making scenery for a Paddies Night. This revolved around St Patrick’s Day, and so the theme was four-leafed clovers, and other Irish artefacts. For some reason I made a large cave, the size of the end wall of the mess, but I’m blowed if I can remember what it was used for. We certainly used it as our focal point, and the ‘band’ (of which I was a valued member, playing the triangle, castanets, and cymbals) stood in front of it to perform. But it was WOI Paddy O’Fogarty’s idea, and he should know. On the night itself Paddy, a very sociable person but one who had never been known for his singing ability, was obviously overcome by occasion. Hearing his beloved and well-known Irish music and songs, he stood up unannounced and, without any accompaniment, gave a tear-jerking rendition of “I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen.’ Everyone was spellbound, not least by his beautiful tenor voice, and we joined him in the song when he repeated the popular refrain. This was yet another successful mess night.

 

 never gave up thinking about my future, even though I had a place at Chester training college. I decided that the first thing I had to do was to try and pass that wretched ‘A’ level examination in art, which I felt was – and always had been - within my grasp. So I went through the motions of applying to sit the examination, which would have to be at the headquarters of the army education centre in Gillman Barracks. I would not have to pay as an external student - the army would see to that.

 

t was during the ‘summer’ months, and some time after Easter, that I became involved with the Nee Soon Dramatic Society. I helped with scenery, and in fact was quite useful to them as I was the immediate source for all paint, timber, nails, brushes, and so on. In addition I was able to wield the paintbrush to some effect.

For the life of me I cannot recall the name of the play, but I do know that I attended at least one of their committee meetings, and helped behind the scenes for the run of the play. For the most part, anyway. I believe a couple of ‘important’ mess functions hindered my attendance on the last night. A clash of loyalties. It’s a shame the drama group had not been active when I arrived the year before, as I’m sure I would have been involved.

 

very national serviceman, towards the end of his time, started his Tombola Tour. The more well known name these days, for playing off the numbers one to ninety, is Bingo. To us it was a means of counting consecutively downwards from ninety to zero – the day of release. This latter day could vary. For some it might be the day of leaving the army; for others it might be the day of leaving the unit, or the island, or arriving back home, or whatever you chose to make the important landmark.

     It was usually at breakfast time, when normally few words are spoken, that the soldier on his tombola tour could be heard to mutter ‘Seventy-one days,’ slight pause, ’To do.’ The standard response was either silence, or a reply, along the lines of ‘You lucky bastard.’

     Like his army number, the serviceman never forgot how many days he had left to do. Many, including myself, made large calendars, or charts, to mark-off the number of days left. I made, from white card, a kind of two-foot high vertical thermometer, marking off one unit each day. Some chaps, taken by envy, would announce things like ‘Only thiry-six days left before I start my Tombola Tour!’     

 

or many months now my name had been on the official list for an indulgence flight to Hong Kong. This meant that, if granted, I would be flown there and back for nothing. I don’t know which other alternative locations I could have tried to go to, but for me it had to be Honkers. In fact, as Hong Kong was a Crown Colony it’s possible that these were the only indulgence flights available, as there would have been a regular flow of traffic between the two bases. The likes of me would merely occupy any empty seats, which are usually known no longer than two weeks before the flight..

      I had sponsors in Hong Kong, namely Heather and Brian Perkins who came from Chester and were great childhood friends of both Pill and Pete. Anyway, my application for an indulgence was granted, and on 11^th April 1958 I had my first ever flight and set off. It was a  long journey, over eight hours – with a refuelling stop at Saigon. I therefore saw nothing of the town from the airport!.

     For operational reasons I had to travel in uniform – my UK battle-dress! This was rather hot, to say the least, in Singapore. But in Hong Kong, with its climate similar to Britain’s at this time of the year, it was just right.

     I had to make my own way to the Perkins’s flat, on the main island, but I had been given fool-proof directions. Heather was there when I arrived, and I met up with Brian later. For the next seven days they did just what I like – namely, they showed me around the main sights and gave me my bearings, and then they left me alone to do my own thing. So I explored Hong Kong – but even then, and at no prompting from anyone, I found it claustrophobic after Singapore. This was because the whole of the latter’s 646 sq km land area, with its main town, numerous villages and industry was readily accessible. Conversely, whilst Hong Kong covered over 1,000 sq km, including the New Territories and outlying islands, much of it was rural and not easily visited, so that only a small percentage could be regarded as ‘active’ and this was crammed into a small area of only 96 sq km.

     It was a thrill to be in Hong Kong. This was really on the other side of the world, and had previously been only a black-and-white picture in a pre-war geography text book. Now I was there, walking the streets and seeing the people. Again, and as I had already done in Singapore, I embarked upon a limited buying spree – the usual attractive, brightly painted or glistening junk. But to me, my purchases were full of pure Oriental charm.

     My time was soon up, and I bade farewell to my hosts. I recall being messed around a lot at the airport – in my battle-dress, remember! – but eventually I got away and reached Singapore. What a holiday of a life-time that trip to Hong Kong was. I was thrilled to bits at having made it. I had numerous colour slides as well as black and white photographs – these being the usual media of photographic record in those days.

     Many of my national service colleagues were sorry they had not applied for the indulgence trip, as it was taken during our own holiday period anyway. Perhaps it was in my subconscious, but I’m sure that this event was the first time in my life that I realised  you never achieve anything by sitting back and hoping something will happen.

 

n 16^th May 1958 I was a hair’s breadth away from death. I had been chiselling a piece of oak, in my woodwork room, when I broke the golden rule of taking one hand off the handle and momentarily placing it before the blade. The chisel could only slip at that moment – because I had given up control of it -  and entered my left wrist. As the blood started to flow, fortunately it was not the dreaded spurt, I dashed for the administration office up the embankment. RSM Bill Kibble was sitting at his desk as I dashed for his sink.

“Hello,” he said, wide-eyed, “What have we here?”  I told him that I had cut myself.

Appropriate bandages were quickly produced, with a cane for my elbow to stem the flow. A car was immediately to hand, and I was taken up the hill to the medical station – the MRS.

A medical officer was brought to me, as I sat uneasily in a chair gripping my wrist. He looked at the injury and proclaimed that it should be dealt with by the experts at BMH.

     So I was taken by ambulance to Alexandra Hospital, at the southern end of the island. It was a lonely journey, which took some three quarters of an hour. The bleeding had stopped, but I was imagining all sorts of complications. At the hospital I was placed on a trolley and was soon seen by a young MO. He took a great interest in my wrist and called his colleagues to have a look. They were intrigued to see the main artery, untouched, throbbing away merrily.

“That was a close shave,” he said to me, “Do you want to see your artery?”

I declined. I was not exactly feeling on top of the world at that moment, and I certainly wasn’t up to viewing and discussing the life-supporting part of my person that I had tried to destroy.

     I was stitched up, given appropriate jabs, (why do doctors always take these things so casually?), signed a disclaimer form, and returned to my unit. I took things very easily for the next few days; the shock, and the loss of blood (so my peers would have me believe) made me look rather pale and drawn. Eventually the three stitches in my wrist were removed, and the scars will always bear testimony to my foolhardy malpractice of that day.

 

he time was fast approaching for me to sit the GCE ‘A’ level examination in Art. The humorous side of me taking this examination is three-fold. Firstly, not one second of preparation could I possibly do for the examination - no question of revising for art, is there? Second, on the three or four days that I had to travel to Gillman Barracks to take a paper, I was suffering from the severe effects of partying in the sergeants mess the previous night - and the consequent late night. How I managed the travelling arrangements, and actually arrived there, is a detail that escapes me.

     Third, just a few days before the examination I had a telephone call from the major i/c the education centre, who invited me up to discuss the requirements of the examination, as I was the only candidate. So I went along to find a very worried major who didn’t really know how to conduct an A Level art examination, and he had no-one free to invigilate for three hours at a time.

     So I was able to put his mind at rest, by saying that I would bring all the necessary artistic equipment. We agreed on the room in which I could operate, with a sink nearby, and it was next door to the orderly room, and his office, so that he ‘or one of the chaps can just keep popping in to see if everything’s alright. Will that be OK? We shouldn’t cause you too much trouble’

     I assured him that it would be OK, as there was nothing for me to do but paint. But here was the next problem; I told him that I would be taking paper IB on the first day (still life), paper IIA on the second day (flower arrangement) and so on. Consternation! He hadn’t realised he had to get anything ready. “Well look, Sergeant, I’ll just open these papers and you tell me what I’ve got to get ready for you.”

So we had a look at the first paper, and we could see that he had to obtain a fruit bowl and six items of fruit. He quickly sent one of his clerks to the cookhouse, and so we arranged the still life. The flowers had to be in a vase, which had to be placed on a mat, which had to stand on a small table. “I’ve got the very thing - in my office!” And he produced the exact requirements.

     When we had been through all the papers, the major said “Well, I know this is all a bit irregular, sergeant, so perhaps we oughtn’t say too much about it to anyone.” I assured him that silence was the only option, and we agreed that I’d been giving him advice as a sergeant instructor in the corps, and not as a candidate.

So my ‘A’ level examination was set up - in all senses of the word, I suppose, but it didn’t help me in any way at all, and it certainly didn’t stop me from going to that night’s function in the mess. In fact, if anything, it put my mind at rest that I didn’t have to worry about what I might have to do the next day!

     I should mention that I also sat ‘O’ level English, even though I had already passed it four years earlier. This was because the only way to qualify to study for a degree, even as an external student, was to have all the basic qualifications on no more than three separate certificates. The basic qualifications were 5 ‘O’ levels - which had to include English language, mathematics, a foreign language, and any two others, and two ‘A’ levels. So I’d worked out that if I passed ‘A’ level art I needed one of the other basic ones at ‘O’ level - on the same certificate. To jump ahead, my plan of qualification worked, but it did me no good as by then I’d settled into Chester Training College. Still, I had it up my sleeve for future possible use.

 

 was in good company, as the date of my imminent departure drew near. Nee Soon was not only the home of the Malayan Basic Training Centre, but was also the headquarters of the pay corps, the depot for a large detachment of the service corps, as well as being a transit camp for everyone arriving at, or departing from the Far East. Two of the garrison CO’s held a farewell drinks party, and all officers and warrant officers and senior NCO’s were invited. Always friendly, jolly affairs, are leaving parties – the bigger the better. There is always a generous amount of local food, and a plentiful supply of liquid.

 

n 4^th August 1958 I was up at 0430 hours to see all my friends, my service colleagues and the army boys off to Mersing. This was the annual two-week camp. There is no doubt that I would willingly have gone with them, had I been given the chance, and had my imminent flight to UK been guaranteed (a thing the army can never do) and not placed in jeopardy. It was quite an emotional moment for me, with innumerable three-tonners roaring off and the boys and NCO’s leaning over the tailgates waving farewell.

     But no farewell party for me. Everyone was gone now. For the last few days I just moped around the garrison. Our mess was empty – all the characters had either left or were now up country. It was a rather deflating experience, when I reminisced on happier times, and all those glorious sessions which came flooding back.

     I was finally called on standby, for my flight. This meant spending twenty four hours in a room in the garrison mess, and not leaving it. Even at bed time I had to sleep fully dressed, ready to leave at a moment’s notice. The signal came in the early hours, and it was at dawn on Wednesday 13^th August 1958 that I boarded a Hermes aircraft and set off on the first leg of my journey home.

     The stops at Bangkok and Calcutta were for refuelling. At Karachi there was a technical problem, which would take a day and a night to fix. I always lose faith in aeroplanes when this happens. We were taken to the Grand Hotel, conveniently situated in the middle of a desert. The food was inedible, and the drink non-existent (no bars!). Onwards we flew to Abadan, then Brindisi, and finally landed at London Airport at three in the morning. What a flight! Three days and nights of discomfort.

     At every airport and station in Britain, there was a military transport officer. Arrivals from overseas, or any service person in difficulty, reported to him as a matter of course. After the issue of a travel warrant, one immediately returned to the home unit, no matter where in the United Kingdom it might be. Even though I knew, and everyone else knew, that I would be having a week’s “disembarkation leave,” only my own unit could authorise it.

     So on my arrival at Beaconsfield I reported to the chief clerk who issued me with the appropriate travel warrant. Seven day’s leave. Back to Thornton I went.

 

e had no telephone at that time, and the only urgent means of contacting the family was by ringing the family next door. Farmer Evans took the call, and immediately went round to our house where my mother was sitting in the sun, having a cup of tea. 

“What be doing?” he asked, in colloquial farming language.

“Having a cup of tea, and sunning myself,” she replied.

“No you ‘baint,” he said, “”You be in your car and off to Chester General Railway Station to pick up your David.”

And with that my mother flew, breaking all records for the journey into town.

     That same night the family were subjected to my colour slides which, it must be said, in the days of just two black and white channels on the television, looked pretty exotic. Blue skies, colourful buildings, tropical plants, and local people made for not altogether unpleasant viewing.

     It was good being back in Chester. I had my interview at college whilst on leave. It was glorious weather. This was still in the days when summers were hot and sunny, and winters were cold and snowy.

 

 returned to Beaconsfield to finish my National Service. I suddenly became a good candidate for all the duties that needed doing. There was a difference, which I have now forgotten, between being School orderly sergeant and Depot orderly sergeant. Whatever the difference, apart from the arm bands, I did them both within a few days. They also found time to squeeze in a fire piquet duty, just to stop me from being idle.

     I went to Farnborough to see the Toms. In this era a hitchhiker in uniform was a passport to immediate transport. Slough and High Wycombe were the major towns from which connecting services could be found. The latter was the favourite place for Beaconsfield personnel, to see the latest films.

     I had my ‘pre-release check-up’ with the Medical Officer.

“Feeling alright?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good … good.”

He then hands me a slip of paper, which I must pass to the adjutant for inclusion with my records. And that’s the end of the full medical examination.

     I had now finished wearing my uniform. In those days, as in years gone by, one could purchase at give-away prices any item of one’s own military clothing. Boots, uniform, greatcoat, shirts - the lot. Everything had a price, and if it was not bought then it was destroyed and was not re-cycled. I seem to remember that I bought the boots, as they fitted well; but my one big regret almost as soon as I reached college was that I hadn’t bought my khaki uniform. It fitted me so well, it was smart, and it had all the extra sewn-on bits (like stripes, shoulder flashes and medal ribbon) that so many National Servicemen lacked, and in later years it was to become immortalised on television in “Dad’s Army.” I am sure that, in future years, I could have kept any conversation going, at fancy dress parties, if I had worn this outfit.

     On Thursday 4^th September 1958 I had my ‘Release’ from National Service!

 

 was issued with a one-way Travel Warrant to Chester. Don’t forget to change at Crewe!