91热爆

I have written this memoir having returned form a family holiday in France during which time we visited the D Day invasion beaches in Normandy.

What we saw in Normandy has prompted me to tell my experiences as a member of H.M forces in the Second World War, if for no better reason than they were essentially farcical, absolutely without danger or hazard of any kind. The other side of the same medal of those Normandy landings. Yet, like the next man, I was in with my chances.

This is not the story of heroism in the face of the enemy.
It is the story of one man鈥檚 war.
Coloured in the retelling; but essentially true.

(As told October 鈥�05 to story-gatherer) 鈥�

I missed the action all the time. My guardian angel was on duty.

On D Day I was headed north, to Scotland 鈥� everyone else was headed south. I was sent to India as an advance party, to fight the Japanese, but the bomb was dropped and we were sent home.The following is a farcical story about my training as a radio mechanic. The army was desperate for radio mechanics..."

On Thursday 17th September 1941 I reported as a conscript to the RAF Attestation Centre in Cardington. It was the same day as I should have joined the Royal College of Art, to take up the scholarship I had been awarded and for which my call-up had been deferred.

Kitted out and numbered, I sat in line waiting to be interviewed. I was seen by a staff sergeant who asked, kindly enough, 鈥渁nd what do you do?鈥� 鈥淚 am an art student鈥� 鈥渉mmm鈥ot a lot of use in the Air Force for art students鈥�. After further questions he asked me 鈥渒now anything about photography?鈥� I said yes. 鈥淔ill in this form鈥�. I was pleased to be able to answer the not too difficult technical questions and handed it back. 鈥淐ome with me鈥�. I followed him down a corridor to an officer behind a desk. 鈥淪ir, this recruit has just satisfactorily completed a trade test for photographer鈥� I was told to sit. The sergeant left. The officer studied the form and laid it to one side and consulted a heavy file.

鈥淪orry鈥� he said 鈥渨e are not taking photographers this week鈥ou can be a cook or a radio mechanic.鈥�

My mind emptied. I said 鈥淩adio Mechanic鈥� and that was that. It was choose any number you like time.

In late summer 1942, we were sent to Birmingham polytechnic to begin a course in Basic Radio Theory. We were issued with notebooks and a copy of the Admiralty Handbook: the radio mechanics bible, used throughout the armed forces. We sat at desks and paid attention. The young instructor greeted us cheerfully and briefly, then turned to the blackboard and drew a plus sign: thus: +鈥� followed by a minus sign thus: - - 鈥e then joined them together with a zig-zag line (the conventional sign for a direct current battery). He then turned to the class and said 鈥渢his represents a D/C battery鈥�. Lesson one and my involvement with the alien world of electronics had begun.

The following six weeks were preoccupied with absorbing all I could of this unfamiliar world of science and mathematics for which I had no natural instinct or aptitude. Some confidence was sustained by drawing charts and circuit diagrams with coloured pencils and flourished lettering. 鈥淰ery surrealistic鈥� commented the instructor as he handed back my notebook on the morning we were told we had all passed.

On our return to our billets that morning we were greeted with the news that we were to parade that evening with full kit at 22.00 hours in the foyer of the YMCA. There, we were brought to attention and addressed by an officer, clipboard in hand. He spoke. 鈥淩ight. Pay attention鈥ne step forward all volunteer men鈥ick up your kit and return to your billets鈥he remainder close up鈥�. We were the conscripted men.

The officer looked at his watch: 鈥淩ight鈥he time now is 23.59 hours. At Zero, Zero, 01 hours all of you will be transferred out of the RAF into the Royal Army Service Corp.鈥� Then with a brisk 鈥渢ake over Sergeant鈥� he left us standing there dumbfounded, turning to each other in astonished silence.

鈥淩ight鈥all in outside鈥�. We were marched to New Street station and put into a waiting train by a squad of Military Police who moved through the carriages closing blinds and locking doors. We were not told where we were going. We spent the stop-start night sitting eight men to a compartment with their kit bags. As dawn broke we were roused by MP鈥檚 and marched through the quiet town to a barracks where we were greeted by soldiers at windows whistling and cheering sardonic welcomes to this bunch of weary, out-of-step airmen.

We had arrived at RASC Headquarters, Portsmouth to become founder members of the newly formed army regiment the Royal Electrical &Mechanical Engineers. The REME. We handed in our RAF uniforms with collar and tie and were given rough and ready khaki battledress fastened at the neck. We were given a new number and a fortnight of barrack square drill under an army drill Sergeant who kept us on the move with undisguised relish. A month to the day we paraded with full kit and marched on the station at 10.00 o鈥檆lock at night. Next morning we found ourselves back in Birmingham. Once again in 鈥渃ivvy鈥� billets and once again sitting in the same classroom about to start the same course all over again. The only difference being that this time were wearing khaki. When the instructor entered the room he surveyed the class with a puzzled look and said鈥� 鈥渉aven鈥檛 I seen you lot before?鈥�

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.