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| Caterham Barracks |
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| 1877----1960 |
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| My Introduction to Life in the Guards (continued) Caterham 5 (continued) As the tempo increased towards that seemingly unachievable objective - our �Pass out� - we became almost over confident about our daily training routine, allowing ourselves the odd boyish joke and giggle (boys will be boys!) as we drifted out of the hut each morning for the first drill period of the day. We generally seemed to have the little square at the side of Roberts Block to our selves most mornings, then after that first hour, often doubling off to our PT training in the Gym just as the next squad took our place for their foot drill training - the Superintending Sgt presumably had a chart in his bunk, on which all his squads were moved about from place to place on it - as he juggled with the intricacies of planning the � quart in a pint pot� programme of training which our restricted facilities placed on him each day. Sgt Waight, Scots Guards was our Superintending Sgt, and he was a typical example of a Guards Sgt in those times just after the war, with his tough craggy exterior, and seemingly harsh manner hiding a gentler nature; when he wanted to speak to a squad, he never interrupted the instructor (in our case Sgt Smith of the Welsh Guards), but waited for an appropriate moment to present itself. I only heard his voice rose in anger once, away from the drill ground, and it was for a very good reason����.. Our ever present Superintending Sgt �lived in� � in other words he did not have his family with him at the Depot in married quarters, preferring that his children continued with their schooling back home in Scotland; however it was common knowledge that he was picking up his chocolate ration each week, and saving it in his bunk towards Christmas, when all of his squads would have departed to their training battalions., and he could take some well earned leave back home with his own young ones. I can�t remember how it came about that everyone knew about the little hoard of chocolate, quite a large amount too as a result of this fatherly habit of his, but some stupid characters decided to help themselves to a share one night when the Sgt was away from his bunk relaxing in the Sgts� mess. All hell erupted the next morning when we were bundled out of our huts at reveille to stand shivering and blinking, whilst an extremely irate Scots Guards Sgt stomped up and down in front of the assembled boys � he let us know first of all, about his low opinion of the boy or boys who had committed this heinous crime, and that this bad behaviour had tainted his opinion of every boy present! (Additional shivers ran through the assembled ranks at this observation!) - his crimson face gradually assumed its more normal sallow appearance as he exhausted his vocabulary, and he started to become more like the Sgt Waight we all knew and respected - we were all quite young, the oldest ones only barely sixteen years of age, and it was natural therefore for us to regard him as a �father� figure� Had any of us known who the culprits were, I don�t think they would have been unbruised when we finally �shopped� them! He closed his reprimands, by promising an end to the matter if the said chocolates were returned untouched as soon as he dismissed us. At breakfast, there was a heated discussion and dire promises of the resultant action when (and if) we found out for ourselves who the perpetrators were. Needless to say therefore, the Sgt returned from breakfast and found the chocolate returned intact, on his bed, so no more was said about the incident, but it left a nasty flavour in our mouths for a few days, and the petty thief (or thieves) remained undiscovered. There was another more serious case of a disciplinary nature, when some Irish Guards boys made a complaint, to the Adjutant of the Irish Guards Training Battalion at Lingfield, about the bad treatment which they had experienced at the hands of their squad instructor at the Guards Depot. An investigation took place, which resulted in the entire squad members being brought back to the Depot to give evidence during the hearing of the complaint against L/Sgt �A�. - Their squad instructor. It had not escaped our notice that this Instructor had re-appeared in our midst, but only in as much as he was confined to a NCO�s bunk in Roberts block, with a Guardsman stood outside the door (it wouldn�t have been good form I suppose for him to be placed in the Depot Guard Room). We were quite envious of the Boys from the Training Battalions, as they all were sporting �cut� peaks, and had a light green blanco on their web belts and anklets. In these days, with the differing attitudes of NCOs in the Guards, the basis of the Boys� complaints would appear to be frivolous, but in those times of the 40s, they were very serious indeed � the L/Sgt was accused of abusing the boys in his squad in that he had constantly used offensive and obscene language in his dealings with them! I believe he was �Reprimanded�, and warned about his future behaviour when supervising Recruits, and specifically Enlisted Boys � I can�t imagine the matter having any major repercussions for him though, as I remember him as a Sgt in the Regiment later on after my transfer to the Grenadier Guards. The boys concerned in the case went back to their Training Battalions, and nothing further was heard of the case. Talking of present day attitudes and behaviour brings me to the accepted practice of �nude beaches� and the tolerance shown to nudism generally, however it was a shock to us products of the late 20s and 30s when we were introduced to �skinny dipping� in the Guards Depot swimming bath! We had no swimming trunks of course (who could afford such luxuries anyway had they been allowed?) We had been getting used to the sight of each other�s naked form ever since the first week, as a result of having to adopt the practice of going �two in each shower� after PT etc, but the sight of every member of the squad stood on the pool side, naked as the day we were born was a new revelation (in more ways than one!) Swimming formed a necessary part of our physical training and took place in a large single story building with a few small windows in the upper part of the walls, there was no central heating of course in those days, but a huge iron stove stood in each corner of the hall, and in the centre was the large swimming pool, encircled by a concrete edge and we just dropped our PT shorts where we stood, and were formed up at the shallow end, trying to appear nonchalant, but conscious nevertheless about our small underdeveloped physiques � (the legacy of war time rationing!). I had no qualms about this makeshift introduction to swimming instruction, as I had learned to swim at my Grammar school, but other less fortunate souls were soon floundering about like trainee seals in the shallow end! The water temperature was absolutely perishing and conducive towards rapid movement once you had been in for a few seconds. I think I passed the basic requirements as no comments came my way from the PTIs, but others were less fortunate, being subjected to a watery hellish experience each time we entered that dreaded place! Our physical training attainments or otherwise were subject to an examination in the form of a series of practical tests one week towards the end of our time at the Depot. We had to perform all sorts of gymnastic exercises involving the vaulting horses, wall bars, ceiling ropes, medicine balls et al - under the instruction of two PTIs whilst the Army Physical Training Corps Staff Sgt stood making notes on sheets of paper attached to a mill board. The next day we were taken to the small running track at the rear of Roberts block, where we then had to run varying timed distances around the cinder track, all of which culminated in the most demanding of all � the 100 yards sprint! Heaven knows what would have happened had we been found wanting in our physical prowess at these exams � would we have been �back-squadded� I wonder? Lighter moments came about in that �hellish� Gym when we had the dubious pleasure of the ENSA shows, which we all were required to attend - this was on a Saturday evening, so it wasn�t exactly popular with anyone. As usual with the British Tommy during the war, those wonderful folks in ENSA had, despite the excellent entertainment they provided in all theatres of war and at home, attracted the �tongue in cheek� description of �Every Night Something Awful� Speaking for myself, I thought they provided quite a good show on those occasions when I sat through the performances at the Guards depot. There were always some nice legs on show from the dancing girls too! �Consorting� with members of the opposite sex was absolutely forbidden for enlisted boys, but I did strike up a conversation with a pretty girl one Saturday afternoon at the Forces Canteen in Croydon, which resulted in an invitation to her home for a �cup of tea� with her parents. I didn�t appreciate the howls of laughter and ribald comments from her father on first exposing my shorn head when I removed my cap, but he proved to be quite hospitable over tea, he had been in a �reserved occupation� during the war so I was spared any words of worldly advice from an old soldier (I had experienced that from my dad when I left home some time ago). I had to leave after a short while to catch my bus back up to Caterham, but on the way to my bus stop, the girl suggested that we go off the path and in to a bombed out shop premises nearby � no sooner had we got out of sight, than she pushed me up against a wall, plonked her lips on mine, and started fumbling with my flies for heavens sake! It took me about three seconds to scramble out of her clutches and scamper along the pavement to the main road, where I was just in time to jump thankfully on to the platform of the bus back to the Depot and relative �safety� A lesson well learned for the future, and it was quite evident that she was keeping well out of my way when I visited the Forces Canteen again - (with three companions this time thank goodness!) I had reconciled myself early on in my recruits� course to the fact that there was little chance of me joining the ranks of a Guard�s regimental band - despite the bland assurances to the contrary from the Recruiting Warrant Officer in Leeds, (although fate had decreed that I would march in front of all the Guards Bands in the future). One afternoon each week was given over to instruction on side-drum, bugle, and flute from Sgt Bridges, the Scots Guards Sgt in charge of the Guards Depot Corps of Drums, a small but very proficient group numbering about a dozen side-drummers and flautists - all of them skilled buglers also who did their stint as duty bugler on guard , when required A few boys in the Irish and Scots Guards expressed a desire to learn to play the bagpipes, and they were given �chanter� lessons by one of the two Scots Guards Pipers on the Depot staff, one of whom was a L/Cpl. These two stalwarts manned the Depot post bunk, and were responsible for handling all the Depot mail, both �In� and �Out� � they were dressed all the time in khaki Service Dress jackets and Royal Stuart tartan trews, all topped off with their Glengarry headgear. When a Scots Guards Recruit squad had passed out, and was to leave for the Scots Guards training battalion at Pirbright, one of the Pipers would play them down to Caterham railway station. The Guardsmen (as they were now), responded well to this gesture, and would strut along with that extra pride of regiment, on their way to join more experienced comrades. We knew that we were getting closer to our departure when Sgt Smith started �grooming� us for our final �Passing Out� parade, after which we would leave the Depot on conclusion of our basic recruits� course. The Boys� training period was of slightly less duration than the adult Recruits�, due to us not having arms drill in our curriculum. When the great day of our �Pass Out� dawned, TS Smith fussed around us like a mother hen all morning, as we put that extra coat of gloss on boots and cap straps, or conjured up yet a more brilliant sparkle (if that were possible!) from belt brasses and cap badge. The afternoon session with the Adjutant loomed ever nearer! When we �walked� very carefully on to the edge of the drill ground ready to receive the final �Get on�..parade!� from Sgt Smith, I think we were all feeling that little touch of �stage fright� � but that soon passed however once our Instructor had spent a couple of minutes calming us all down, telling us all just to concentrate on his words of command, and to think before answering, if asked a question by The Adjutant � Captain Darrell. Needless to say, thanks to all those weeks of dedicated excellence from Sgt Smith, we all passed with flying colours and - though still on parade, could not fail but heave a collective sigh of relief as the jingling of The Adjutant�s spurs faded away in the distance � for we had finished with all those hours of concentrated foot drill at last! The next day, whilst our �passing our� dress was still at its best I suppose, we had our squad photograph taken � I thought my chest would burst with pride when Sgt Smith said �I want two smart lads to stand in the two �exposed� spaces at the ends of the middle row � and they will be Boy Rice, and you � Boy Baker!� That squad photograph was so precious to me, (I could only afford to buy one copy) but over the years, for one reason or another, it became quite damaged; however, it is still possible to detect the pride in the stance of �Pudding� Rice and myself! Then the very next day the departures started, with the Scots and Coldstream Boys leaving for Pirbright Camp and their respective Training battalions, followed the next day by the Grenadiers to Windsor, and the Irish Guards lads to Lingfield. I couldn�t help smiling at the evident glee on Peter Billyield�s face as he shook himself free from his Welsh Guards tormentors! � (I never heard of him again) I remember to this day that final night in our echoing hut, empty except for the beds of the TS and the Welsh Guards Boys, who gathered round the stove as our TS, dear old Dusty Smith, regaled us with stories about his exploits in the recent war, and his travels in the Middle East with the 5th Battalion Grenadier Guards, but, he would not be drawn on the details of the wounds we knew he had picked up somewhere along the way � we were going to miss him, and I think he would miss most of us for a while � although I suspect he had certain misgivings about one or two of the Welsh Guards boys. He was going on privilege leave after our departure, then it seemed he was going to rejoin 14th company Grenadier Guards in the main barracks - as a Recruits� squad Trained Soldier once more. Sgt Smith took the opportunity to see old friends in the Welsh Guards, by accompanying us to the training battalion at Sandown Park in Esher. The march down to Caterham railway station in full �change of quarters order� proved testing (quite a weight on skinny frames!) as did the distance from Esher station up to Sandown Park race course, the home of the training battalion of The Welsh Guards. As we reached the top of the drive alongside the parade ground (car park in more peaceful times), we were met by the diminutive figure of little Drum Major �Mush� Williams � he was only 5ft 8ins tall and was dwarfed by the height of Sgt Smith. After a few words with the Drum Major, our squad instructor left us, as we were now the responsibility of someone else, Sgt Smith had proved to be a wonderful introduction to what a Sgt had to endure, when he was presented with a bunch of raw recruits, and being required to mould them in to young Guardsmen � or Boys in our case From the very first day at the Depot, he had treated us all in a fair but firm manner. He never referred once to my English origins � I think he recognised that some of the Welsh Boys were forming a clique, and stamped that out immediately. I knew however that they would reform their little gang just as soon as we were away from his eagle eye! (Another nice chap whom I never saw again � pity!) With a curt �follow me boys� the Drum Major took us to a small block which stood on its own at the top of the drive, in better times it was the �Press Box� � inside the single story building we entered a small room which contained about twelve two tier bunk beds, complete with three piece mattress squares known as �biscuits� � �this is where you will be billeted when you come back from leave� said the Drum Major, �this is Cpl Evans, he will be in charge of you then� (brilliant! - we were to go home almost immediately after our tea meal) A small man (I was going to have to adapt to these smaller figures of authority in the Corps of Drums) stepped forward. He was a Welshman obviously and spoke with a definite South Wales accent, within the first half hour, it became obvious also that he wasn�t particularly keen on Englishmen in his national regiment (Oh God � not another!). Matters proceeded at whirlwind speed after that first meeting with the Drum Major and our Cpl as we were whisked through packing up our kit and handing it in at the Drum Stores which was situated in one of the grandstands. We were then marched to our tea meal in the mess room (previously the race goers restaurant) where we were told where we would be required to sit for all our meals in future. The huge mess hall was empty, except for some ATS girls from the orderly room, who were having an early meal. I noticed that they all sported the glittering Welsh Guards Leek above the left breast pocket of their SD jackets. As the Regiments settled down to a peace time existence once more, all the ATS girls were withdrawn gradually from the army units in which they had been acting as clerks and/or officers� servants etc (at home stations in Blighty) � they seemed to vanish almost overnight from the Guards regiments sometime in the early part of 1946. They all smiled at us, but there was no attempt at conversation � I suppose they had been �warned off� us young �innocents�! At one point the Cpl called out �Boys���shun!� but there came an immediate reply of �Carry on please Cpl Evans� from the tall majestic figure walking across the room to where we were eating � �I just wanted to make sure that all the Boys had arrived, and were being settled in� The owner of the deep melodious voice, which had just a faint Welsh lilt was immaculately dressed in khaki Service Dress and gleaming Sam Browne belt. � on his sleeves were the huge Royal Arms of the Regimental Sgt Major, he wore a black Welsh Guards forage cap with gold braid on the peak. This was our first contact with Sgt Major �Mickey� Dunne � a great character with a great word of command also! - like Sgt Smith before him, he proved to be one of the more pleasant men in the Welsh Guards. After a few words with each one of our little group, he left us to finish our meal. After our tea meal, we queued up outside the Drum Major�s office, which was in one of the row of stables running down an alleyway, and after receiving our leave passes and rail warrants from Esher to our home stations, we received a few words of advice from him about dress and behaviour on leave, and were dismissed to proceed on our homeward journeys. We were a small excited group as we walked all the way to the railway station where we were to catch the train from Esher to Waterloo. On arrival in London, we split up with cries of �Merry Christmas � see ya� and made our separate ways to the various mainline stations to catch the various trains home. On arrival at King�s Cross, I found I had to wait until 2320hrs (getting used to this 24 hr clock already) when I would be able to catch a �troop train� � we still had these trains which were reserved for the sole use of the forces to relieve the pressure on civilian requirements. The post-war release programme had not got fully into its stride at this time (it was only four months since VJ day after all). So there was a huge demand on the railways to provide transport for the armed forces. By the time my train departed from King�s Cross, it was packed in every space available with sailors, soldiers and quite a few lads and lasses in air force blue. I had to content myself with a standing space in the corridor for quite a long time, until the first people got off, and I was lucky enough to find a seat in a compartment, and promptly got my head down for some much needed sleep. The journey home was hell, I think the railway authorities must have chosen all the �back lines� for the use of troop trains, and we made out way North with many stops for no apparent reason � I didn�t arrive in Leeds Central until about 0845 the next morning. I wonder how the travelling public these days would relish a journey taking approximately ten hours just to get from London to Leeds? It was very pleasant to ride home from Leeds city centre to the suburbs on a tramcar which now had a nice open view through windows - stripped of their war time anti shatter gauze netting, which had previously restricted our view to a narrow slit in the centre of each window. As I strode up the hill after alighting from the tram, I noticed a man coming out of a shop opening a packet of twenty (!) Senior Service cigarettes � gone were the �No cigarettes sorry � only Abdullah�s� (Turkish) outside that shop, there were evidently going to be quite a few changes for me to discover now things had improved in the few months since the end of the war. The door flew open at the top of our �area� steps, and there stood my mum - beaming all over her face - with my youngest brother jumping up and down with excitement at her side as a black whirlwind bounded down the steps to throw himself on me with woofs and licks! I had been away from home for less than three months, but that must have seemed like three years to �Chum� my Labrador Cross dog, who had shared many nights curled up with me in our cellar during the latter years of the war time air raids. After receiving his pats and cuddles, he proceeded to lead the way for me up the steps to where my mum stood with open arms. As my mum enfolded me in a huge cuddle, all the last three months faded away, I was back home in the bosom of my family again � even if that time was restricted by the army to a mere ten days for Christmas. My dad stood just behind mum patiently waiting to greet his soldier son with a bear hug, then with a grin at my �cheese cutter� SD cap he whispered � if you can�t fight � wear a big hat!� He had served for six years in the army himself during the recent conflict, finishing up with the 5th army in Italy. He knew I was proud of him � I just hoped that I could make him just as proud of me in the future. On my return from leave, my life in the army was to have many upheavals and troubled times for quite a while, until I found eventual satisfaction and a much happier, life, when I was granted a transfer to The Grenadier Guards. That will be another story��������� |
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| Copyright � 2006 Rodney J Angell- Baker |
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| Up Date 24th August 2006 |
| It took Rodney (Spot) a few months to complete this account of his time at Caterham as a recruit, due to health problems, in particular arthritis in his hands, all credit to you Spot for persevering under these circumstances, which ensured the story was completed amongst other things you have to do, it is a fantastic achievement, and I hope all who have read this story enjoyed it as much as I have, I very much appreciate the effort involved. Thanks Dave ( Webmaster ) |