How Britain Kept Calm and Carried On (15 page)

During the early part of the war, I was a lieutenant in a unit stationed in Bradford. Our colonel had arranged for the officers to attend a variety show on the Saturday evening.
I was due to be orderly officer the next day. A well-known Bradford socialite had also laid on a party for us at her home and so it was arranged that we would go there immediately after the variety
show was over. At the latter, one of the acts was a race across the stage on little wooden rocking horses. According to how they were jerked forward, they either went along or just collapsed and
the rider had to pick himself up and start again. The chorus girls gave a trial run and then called for volunteers to go up on the stage and take a horse each. Well, before we knew where we were, a
lieutenant friend and I found ourselves manhandled up onto the stage to take part. There we were in all our glory, full service dress and Sam Brownes, falling off the horses!

When the show was over, it was nearly 11 p.m. and off we went to the party. This went on until about 8 a.m., but I left at 6.30 a.m. as I had to inspect the men’s billets and then the
breakfast, besides cleaning myself up. I then had to take church parade. As I’d had no rest for over twenty-four hours, you can imagine how I felt. I just managed to reach the church with the
unit in fair regimental order. But the moment I sat in the pew, I just fell fast asleep. The colonel was reading the lesson and, exactly as he finished, my friend nudged me awake. Now, in that
split second of waking, I was still in the theatre and, in the deathly silence of the church, I started clapping loudly and must have got in about five to six claps before I realized. You can
imagine the reaction of the troops. No act at the theatre the night before got half such a hilarious reception as I received.

Later that afternoon my friend and I were told to report to the colonel’s HQ at 10 a.m. the following day. I was called in first and the colonel really let me have it over making a fool of
myself at the theatre. Then he came to the church incident. This was beyond description! I just wanted to drop dead. My friend, who followed, only got the theatre fiasco.

About eighteen months later, while serving in Egypt, I was spending seven days’ leave at Shepheard’s Hotel in Cairo. One morning, as I was leaving the hotel, I passed my old colonel
and a brigadier. I gave them a super salute and walked on. But I had only gone a few steps when a voice called out: ‘Captain?’

I turned around and the colonel beckoned me over.

‘Weren’t you once in a unit that I commanded?’

I said: ‘Yes, sir. In Bradford.’

‘Good! Now we can prove it! I’ve told the story so many times and to so many, and I know that few have believed me!’

He then told me to go back into the hotel, where I was taken to the cocktail bar. About two hours later, a rather tottery brigadier, a not-too-good colonel and a very sickly me, parted ways.

Reg C. Coutanche, Bournemouth

When serving in the Royal Welch Fusiliers in 1942 (70th Battalion Young Soldiers Regiment), we had a march to a firing range a few miles away. Before bivouacking overnight, we
were allowed to go to the village, but the OC ordered that full corporals and ranks above, including all officers, drink at one pub and lance corporals and fusiliers at the other. This was typical
of the OC, a stuffy sort of bloke, and, of course, such class distinction was entirely out of place in the circumstances.

So, we were having a drink in one of the pubs (I was a full corporal) and the officers were in the best room. My mate ‘Yob’ Yardley, a lancejack who lived in Blackpool, came to the
door of the pub and asked for me, and asked if I could get him any fags, which of course were not always available, especially to strangers. We had each been sold five in this particular pub, so I
asked the landlady if she could spare five more for my friend. Suspicious that I was trying to get another ‘ration’ for myself, she asked why my friend couldn’t ask for them
himself.

I explained, quite innocently, that he was not allowed to come into the pub and why – and then the fat really hit the fire! Whether she was a socialist, or whether the fact that the far
greater proportion of the company were spending their money at the other pub, motivated her, I don’t know, but she flounced into the best room and turned the officers out and they had to
finish their beers outside. I, of course, made myself really scarce, although I was pleased at the outcome!

Les Sutton, Manchester

I’m five feet two inches tall and weigh eight stone four pounds. Not exactly a Hercules! Being in the Royal Artillery, we were sent to Northern Ireland to defend an
aerodrome not far from the Loch Erne Hotel. One windy night I was perched in a sentry box on a hill, with respirator covering my chest, rifle on my shoulder with fixed bayonet, complete with
helmet. Every few minutes the sentry box gave a lurch. Suddenly a strong gust blew the box, with me inside it, down into some bushes and the box fell with the opening towards the ground. I was
trapped, good and proper. I could not move the flipping box, everything was on top of me. The bayonet snapped off and the rifle was making love to me while the respirator had fallen between my
shoulder blades. I shouted like a football hooligan for help, but the box drowned out my frantic cries. When the gunner due to relieve me couldn’t find me, he called out the guard and they
finally found me in the bushes.

It took five gunners, with ropes, to get the box, with me inside, free. I landed up in military hospital in Belfast with a badly bruised face and no sympathy. Everyone thought it was frightfully
funny!

Henry Doll, Croydon

The RSM Grenadier Guards had been in the gas chamber testing his mask. He told the troops to put their fingers inside the mask and have a quick whiff so that they would know
what the gas really smells like. Unfortunately, his own whiff was too much. His eyes filled with water and he bent down. I touched him on the shoulder and said: ‘Don’t cry, Sergeant
Major! The war will soon be over!’

Mr B. Croft, Stafford

It was July 1945, and I was one of a party of men from Group 9 who were going to Queen Elizabeth Barracks in York to give up our arms and equipment, prior to demob or release.
We were a very motley crowd – warrant officers, junior and senior NCOs and privates. In fact, we had more stripes among us than would be found in a safari park full of zebras! We were met at
the railway station by a very junior lance corporal who was to be our guide. He ordered us to ‘sling arms and march at ease’. This we did and wended our way.

When getting near to our destination, we saw two small boy cadets sitting on a fence. As we passed them, one of the youngsters said to his friend: ‘Blimey, look at this scruffy
lot!’

His companion replied: ‘Sshh! Some of these are old Dunkirk men!’

Unabashed, the first lad replied: ‘Blimey, did we have to depend on them?’

Charles Isles, Newton Abbott

A young American army officer was running along the platform at Paddington Station, looking for a seat in a train. When hearing the warning of imminent departure, he pushed his
way into a crowded compartment. All the seats were occupied, including one by a dog. Attempting to displace the dog, he was interrupted by a frosty-faced lady who told him: ‘The dog belongs
to a friend who has gone to the ladies’ lavatory on the platform and it is keeping her seat for her.’ Just then the train began to move. The American remarked: ‘Your friend is
missing the train and will want her dog!’

He then promptly thrust the dog through the window and took the seat. Whereupon a British army colonel, opposite, took his nose out of his newspaper, speared the American with a basilisk eye and
growled: ‘You Yanks do everything the wrong way! You drive on the wrong side of the road, eat your food with the fork in the wrong hand, and now you have dropped the wrong bitch out of the
window!’

J. A. Hawkins, Buckfastleigh, Devon

My brother was a major in the RASC. He and his men were sent on the hazardous mission of burying boxes of ammunition on the enemy beach, to be used by the men who were to make the raid on
Dieppe. They duly buried the marked boxes. However, when the survivors returned, my brother learned that one box, marked ‘Bren Gun Ammo’, in fact contained thousands of loose false
teeth.