How Britain Kept Calm and Carried On (11 page)

The time was June 1940. I had been in the army all of two weeks, but there had been little formal training as our new Regiment ‘A’ Co, 6th Buffs [Royal East Kent
Regiment], was still being formed. So far it had been just a few days to form a platoon, then a week on the rifle range, and now we were at the former
Daily Sketch
holiday camp at
Dymchurch in Kent. On the parade ground we were taught the rudiments of standing guard and then, in pairs, our first two hours of night guard. In a field.

The purpose was, I suppose, to watch for parachutists and I know we were keyed up for anything. The night was cloudy and, with the moon, there was a mixture of moonlight and darkness.

Suddenly my mate said: ‘Look at those two men at the far end of the field!’

I looked and, sure enough, there were two men bent double and creeping along beside the hedge. We both panicked a bit, I think, and tried to remember what the sergeant major had tried so hard to
teach us.

I said: ‘What do we do?’

‘Challenge them!’

‘Who? Me?’

‘Yes, you know, “Halt! Who goes there?”’

Somewhat nervously I did just that, but there was no reaction from the men. Now we were for it, I had to challenge again with the knowledge of what followed if they did not respond. They
didn’t, they just carried on with their slow advance along the hedge.

Now, the sergeant major had stressed that if the enemy failed to respond to a third challenge then we were to open fire!

So, at my third challenge: ‘Halt, or I fire!’ I released the safety catch, put one up the spout and, with my rifle at my shoulder, prepared to pull the trigger. It was only when
I’d actually put pressure on the trigger that the two men at last responded – with a loud ‘Moo-oo!’

It was a black and white cow, its front and back ends split by a black patch, thus providing the ‘two crouching men’.

The sergeant major never heard of that episode, but he did hear of the sheep that was shot on the golf links, and the man on a cycle brought down by a bayonet through his front wheel when he
failed to stop.

R. A. Cook, Grantham

During a wartime army exercise, dressed as a civilian I captured a complete camp, including the commanding officer, for which I was promptly transferred to a training camp in
the north of England.

News of my triumph had gone ahead of me and it had obviously been decided to take me down a peg or two. I arrived to find that I’d been placed on duty all weekend, which was a big joke in
the sergeants’ mess as they were all going into the nearby town for a big party.

I borrowed a Jeep and found a chemist and squared him with ten bob [50p]. He made up a purgative much like cascara [a plant known for its laxative properties] in powder form. I went into the
mess half an hour before guard mounting and dosed three teapots in the spout and awaited results. The powder would work in about two to three hours.

The first sergeant caught was waiting for a bus with his girlfriend. Two more had caught a bus back to the barracks but they were delayed. Another came into the guardroom but the door to the
toilets was locked. The RSM was on his way to the wagon lines. He borrowed a bicycle but never made it. All were back in barracks by ten o’clock.

An anonymous army sergeant, Bognor Regis

In March 1941, I arrived at Uxbridge to attend initial training for my RAF police course. We were given a lecture by the accounts officer and asked if we would care to make a
contribution to the CO’s fund. He explained that there was a box outside his office and he would appreciate it if all donations could be placed in an envelope for his attention. After the
lecture I discussed this problem with my new comrades. We decided that, since most of us were married, we couldn’t afford to donate anything. About a fortnight later we were all in the
classroom awaiting the arrival of our instructor when he burst in waving an envelope. His face was livid.

‘Who’s the funny man that sent this letter to the accounts officer?’

He took the letter from the envelope and read it out: ‘The wages of sin are death, but the wages of an AC2 are a bloody sight worse!’

He never did find out who sent that letter . . .

A. Jones, Huntingdon

Two sergeants were sent on ‘initiative training’. Off they went in full kit and were allowed only a half-crown [13p] between them. They had to travel into another
county and were told to ‘find the master of the Beaufort Hounds and ask him to sign your pay book’.

The two men found the home of the master of the hunt, Badminton House, and rang the doorbell. The butler who answered told them that the duke was away. He was about to close the door when a
female voice from within said: ‘Don’t send them away. Let me speak to them.’

To the amazement of the two young men, they saw that it was Queen Mary, mother of King George VI. After listening to their story, she said: ‘As the duke is out, will my signature
do?’

She took the two bewildered sergeants into the house and wrote in their pay books: ‘Certified that the holder came to Badminton House, Mary R.’

Alan Cox, Epsom

During the war I was in the RAF and attached to an Australian squadron in Scotland. As you know the Aussies have a rather rare sense of humour, so I’ll tell you the
following incident.

An Aussie airman was washing his dirty overalls in a bucket of petrol in the hanger and a friend of his who was passing said: ‘Hello, cobber, are you washing your undies?’

Then quickly came the reply: ‘No mate, I’m washing my overies!’

LAC C. H. Campbell

I was in the Durham Light Infantry and later in the KOYLI [King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry]. During our training at Brancepeth Castle, we were duly sorted out. Those
with two persistent left or right feet were put in ‘awkward’ squads, and of course you will realize that any display of men donning brand-new uniforms looks a sartorial shambles. I
recall one lad in our company, a Scot we called ‘Little Jimmy Brown’ in training, stood out like a sore thumb. He was even a traumatic experience for the training staff. It was March
and the weather was damp and cold. Jimmy wore two of almost everything. He said it was a shame he could wear only one pair of boots at a time and one greatcoat. He went to bed like that, the
greatcoat aside. Of course, this meant that he was always one of the first ready for breakfast and parade. But, after a few days, it became obvious that he only ever washed his face.

One morning, the PT instructors took a firm hand with Jimmy. He was always late for PT because it took him so long to remove all that extra clothing and change into his gym gear. Eventually one
of the instructors and two lads escorted Jimmy into the bathhouse and well and truly laundered him.

None of us was quite sure whether this was just an act to get out of being in the army, or whether it was a quirk of his personality. Either way, he persisted and eventually was discharged for
being unfit for active service.

W. D. Donkin, Sunderland

There were some Canadian air-gunners who were awaiting posting to the gunnery school. They were put into the charge of the station warrant officer. He was a really nasty piece
of work and did he give these poor Canadians the runaround – all the dirty jobs he could think of went their way. Time came for the Canadians to be posted. In the NAAFI that night they
invited the station warrant officer for a farewell drink and presented him with a parcel. He couldn’t resist opening it there and then. Inside was a cardboard box and inside that was an
assortment of homemade wooden soldiers. On a piece of paper was written: ‘You’ve f***** us around while we’ve been here, now f*** these around!’