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National Service

Eric
I do know Compton Basett not as a place where I worked but the coach from the Pay corp camp used to go that way up to Bham and park up alongside the old Bingley hall. I was the only Armourer in the area and I was loaned out to different corp such as R.E :R.A.S.C: R.A.P.C Wilts constabulary, Retired army officers in shooting clubs Cadets and so on. It was a bind really because some were on Saturday afternoons which meant no week end pass or no football as I played in goal for the Wilts depot, it was a devil of a place to get from if there was no coach. The train journey was impossible from Devises but the best way was to hitch a lift to Swindon then change at Didcott for bham, hoping you did not fall asleep and wake at Wolverhampton, that happened twice. Wiltshire was a nice county, got on well with the people and the lads in the forces.
A funny thing, I am a member of Forces Reunited and the amount of lads who I knew on that site is nil, I have not found one, What is it with the lads from the Wilts, where are you! The other problem is once out of armourer training if you get posted to a training depot I was the only R.E.M.E Corporal there.
Dave
 
OldMoHawk
I took cherry blossom with me and the corporal said it was not any goodand i must agree, I changed.
Dave
 
Talking about falling asleep, I did once from Victoria to Brookwood, and was woken up at Pompy, took 6 hrs to get back and a fizzer, which resulted in 7 days RP's, and loss of pay.
paul
 
paul stacey said:
Being in the Guards, I saw many broken "pace sticks" in my time Rosie, including one thrown the full length of "Gods Acre" Pirbright.
paul
Click to expand...
During my five and a half years I never saw one, although I was the
Pioneer Platoon storeman, and later corporal and my lads, I had
three "chippys" who used to make them. I also had plumbers,
painters and other "tradesmen" to do general maintenance work.
Bernard. Nulli Secundus (Second to None).
 
Bernard,
We had a R.P l/cpl at Devises who wanted a baton type stick about 30 inches long, so I told him to get an old snooker cue and I would see what I could do, thinking old Charlie would not bother. He lived in Swindon and sure enough after the week end he was back with the cue, he decided on which part he wanted as regard the diameter so I had to make the relevant parts and solder a brass Wilts button on the thick end onto a piece of brass tube. I have never seen a person cherish an old snooker cue so much in all my life, the embarrassing thing was he kept telling people who had made it.
Dave
 
Paul,
I went to Tidworth to fetch some coloured Parachutes to cover the wall bars in the gym as we were going to have a dance on site and the people of Devises were invited to come free of charge( get that free of charge) Three or four of us corporals were asked if we could organise it, so we did we had a good night until the Teddy boy gang walked out as the Queen was playing, this caused trouble outside the Gym when a fight broke out as their leader wanted the person who told them to stand for the queen. They picked the wrong person, he was the P.T.I. instructor, a very good boxer but he was not on his own as all the recruits joined in and they were fit, it became a bit one sided really with about 50 army lads and 10 Teddy boys,they got thumped and got off camp as quickly as they could. Happy times.
Dave
 
I don't know if you know/knew the NAAFI club which used to be on the island in Aldershot? I was having a hair cut there around 1964, when the South Wales Borderers who were just back from Kenya were in the bar downstairs, absolute mayhem, what a mess!! Took 4 weeks to clean it up. Happy days Dave.
paul
 
rosie said:
My Husband was telling me about his RSM who got so cross he broke his swagger-stick over his own knee!! (Not cross with my Husband I hasten to add!)
rosie.
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Hi Rosie, dont think RSMs ever carried "swagger" sticks, they were
for the Lance/Corporals and lesser Gods. Drill Sgts and C/Rsms had "Pace Sticks"
These have a hinge on, which enables it to open out to 30 inches, a pace! Bernie
 
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Paul Stacy,
Talking about falling asleep, when you are in the army you can fall asleep on a clothes line and you never know how long you have been asleep when you
wake up. We were out on exercise at Barton Stacy being instructed on the use of giving signals by hand instead of voice which meant no talking except orders from the sgt. We get the command by voice "Down until further instructions" the grass was very long so you could not see the chap 10 feet from you and all was quiet I fell asleep. When I woke I did not know what was going on, whether I had been left behind or not, the natural thing was to whisper,"Anybody there" a voice answered loudly
"Quiet" I knew I was in company,
Dave
 
how very true dave, "Nuli Secundus Bernard", just heard in the last few days that our old RSM "Don Willis" has passed on to that parade ground in the sky, he was 2nd Batt RSM in Aden 64/65. RIP "SIR" you were a good un.
paul
 
Hi Bernie, I didn't know about Pace sticks. (He's having his nap so I can't ask him at the moment). I wondered how parades were measured so accurately. We live and learn!!!
rosie.
 
I remember when i recieved my call up papers . i had to go some offices on the corner of Stamford St across the road from the old fire station.I was posted to Saighton camp in Chester with the RASC for my training.from there went to Westmoors in devon to a camp where they stored all he petrol.the billits we stopped in were tin ignition huts with a combustion fire in the centre of it.like you there was a lot of square bashing.then i was made up to a lance corparal and joined the camp police.every saturday had to go to Bournemouth to fetch some of the squadies who were pissed and bring them back to the camp Used to have a good mate who detested being in the army and was always going AWOL.When ever he was caught i had to go to Arsenal in London to fetch him back.i was supposed handcuff him but being a good mate i couldn't.we used to go on the .... before returning to the camp.Within a month or so he would go AWOL again.The nearest i got for going abroad was when i had to go to Colchester to join the para's to go to Egypt for the crisis in the Suez a few hours before we was going it was called off.I have been in contact with two old mates who i haven't seen for over 50 years through Friends united one of them we go fishing together every week.
 
I knew Saighton camp well Richard, the "Cheshires" were there when I was there last 1973/4, met the \duke of Westminster there as well.
paul
 
Brummie Nick (post 337), thanks for that Compton Bassett website, very interesting, and the sepia pic entitled 'Y' Lines brought back memories, I went there in Sept 1948 for 9 months training (amazing, over 60 years ago !!!). I joined Forces United but had no luck in tracing old comrades, there again I am nearly 82 so quite a few are probably no longer around. Eric
 
Just getting back to the RAF for a moment, before I forget it.... I once wrote quite a detailed memory of my National Service and it included a first impression of my single permanent posting after trade training. Deepest Lincolnshire, February 1955. Even though many of the hastily built wartime aerodromes had been shut down by then, quite a number survived. Eric and others will no doubt remember them. All gone now of course and I imagine that surviving RAF bases are all based on the well-built, centrally heated 1930s establishments which those of us huddled around our coke stoves in corrugated-iron billets looked at with envy.


It was late afternoon when I first saw the place. I jumped down from the back of the Bedford, together with my two companions who had received the same posting. It was the last leg of an all-day, cross-country rail journey from Shropshire. We had been dropped just outside the entrance gate. The shuttle lorry crashed its gears impatiently as it sped away and we stood for a few moments looking through into the base. To the right was the Orderly Room, a crude, concrete single-storey building of rough concrete with a single flimsy door through which we would shortly have to pass in order to report our arrival. Opposite it was the Guardroom, to our left. We could see that the latter had its door open. Framed within it a white-capped corporal was peering at us with ill-concealed distaste before turning back to more important matters. His lair was again a single-storey structure, but this one was of corrugated iron with a curved roof, all black painted, mean and grim. In fact as we looked around we saw that the whole area consisted of similar buildings of different sizes, either of concrete or corrugated iron, linked by rough concrete roadways and cinder footpaths. Beyond them a large black hangar loomed and then, in the distance through a gap in the buildings, across an area of windswept grass, we could see the lights of the control tower glowing dimly in the approaching dusk. This we recognised as our ultimate destination but thankfully not today. We stood absorbing the scene.

“Bloody hell!” Dave muttered. John and I didn’t disagree.

Flying had obviously finished for the day and everyone was either still working within the buildings or had gone off to their quarters. It was as though the whole place was empty of life, deserted since the day when the mighty Merlins had belched smoke and exploded into roaring life for the last time, less than ten years earlier. The vast machines they powered had gone for ever and together with them the generation that had flown in them and had toiled to keep them in the air, all united in a common end. Only the place itself, hastily built for that intention alone, remained. No grand, permanent RAF station this, with elegant brick buildings and a pensioned-off Hurricane forlornly guarding the entrance. All was grim, squat, rough utility, as though defying any passer-by to doubt that this place was devoted to anything but hard, unremitting graft and a terrible purpose. But despite its present appearance it was as we knew hardly deserted: new uses had been found for it and it was now populated, as we were soon to discover, by whistling Canberras and Meteors and my own generation of conscripted young men, many of us reluctant, resentful and unable to discern any useful purpose for our presence.

My companions and I looked at the large sign at the side of the gate. On a blue background black lettering, formed and spaced in a way which was clear enough but somehow falling an RAF paint-brush’s length short of expert, confirmed we were in the right place: Royal Air Force, Strubby. A solitary airman, well muffled in an oil-streaked leather jerkin and with a greasy beret pulled down over his eyes, appeared from deep within the base, huddled down over the handlebars of his grey-painted bicycle. With barely a glance he rode slowly out past us and disappeared up the lane in the direction of the living quarters, leaving behind no trace of his passing other than a dry, rhythmic squeak from his rear wheel. The snowdrop had reappeared and was again scrutinising us from under the near vertical peak of his cap, now with deepening suspicion. It was time to fall into the embrace of this welcoming place and embark on the outstanding nineteen months, three weeks, four days and an early breakfast which remained of my two years of National Service. The three of us picked up our kitbags and walked, with the minimum acceptable level of smartness, under the white painted pole towards the Orderly Room. There was really little option.​


Chris
 
I enjoy reading your story Chris, brought back many similar memories we probably all have from our National Service all those years ago.
oldmohawk
 
Chris M, the lancasters where still flying well into the 50's. I was a w/op on the last Lancaster squadron (82PR Sqdn) 1949 tll 1951, although they shortly changed to Canberras shortly after I left, one of the Lancasters was preserved and restored to wartime livery and is now the memorial flight Lanc. Although the sqdn was officially based at Lyneham it spent 7 years in Africa, photographing all the British colonies for mapping purposes in East, West and South Africa, something over 3 million square miles I believe. The survey height was 22,000 feet so although it was in Africa it was still a very chilly job. It saved the Government millions of pounds it would have cost to give the contract to a private civilian company. Although they were long tedious flights, anything up to 10 hours I still enjoyed it very much Eric
 
Must say chrisM, your story reads like a script from"Get some in" 1970's comedy about RAF national servicemen.
paul
 
I will tell you another story Lads. Recruits can be unpredictable at times, you have to instil into them the danger of misuse of weapons, never point even a unloaded weapon at anybody. I was up on the ranges early one Summers day at Devises with a new batch of recruits who were firing the Bren gun at !00yds, my job was to zero the weapons to the lads using them. On the firing point was a sgt and behind him was a officer playing with his dog quite some distance away, I was lying on the ground between no 1 and 2 firing points slightly ahead of the Brens making notes of the grouping as far as I could see to save time when we got up to the targets. After they had put 5 rounds into the target the sgt gave them the order to stand to clear their weapons,this was done right up to no12. I was still lying down making notes on my clip board when he said "Up to the targets". I immediately rose and moved forward not looking back, I must have gone about 25ft forward when the sgt shouted to the no 1 point is that gun clear, the lad ran back pulled the trigger with the mag in place and there was one up the spout. it was still lying on its butt so it was pointing up in the air. if I had been another 2 feet to my left I would not be relating this now. There was a hell of a bust up between the Officer and the Sgt each blaming the other. You get lucky some times.
Dave
 
i rememberwhen i first went in the army the one morning this cypriot sargeant shouted down my ear to get up so i gave smack round the mouth and told him to f--ck off i finished up doing 28 days jankers.then another time ilost the bolt of my rifle was marched very quickly to the gaurd room done another 28 days jankers.
 
oldMohawk said:
I recently found the only bit of kit I still have from those days
Click to expand...

I kept most of my stuff for 56 years, 1 month, 2 weeks and 3 days and then, after an early breakfast one day last November, gave it away when I moved house. The recipient is going to use it for 1940s WW2 weekends and when I pointed out that, strictly speaking, it wasn't truly contemporary the response was that most of it was "near enough". Makes you feel more than a bit antique.

(Have however retained my father's Great War kilt and sporran - amazing the regiments that Brummies landed up in for quite unknown reasons - and my mother's 1940s WVS outfit. And, come to think of it, much of his Home Guard stuff. Family heirlooms, now).

Chris
 
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Nobody responding so I will "Tell you a story" The C.S.M at Devises who I did not get on with was Always poking his nose in to things which did not concern him but we had to tolerate him. I was heading to the N.A.F.F.I one morning walking alongside the square when Roger Dicks one of the Cadre Cpls stopped me and said "Dave do us a favour after break would you" What Is that Rog? "I have a mark 36 in my pocket which is primed the base plug is cross threaded and could you get it out for us after"? O.K Rog. The dreaded C.S.M came riding up to the Sgt Mess and saw us talking,"What's going on with you two" He must have seen Rog with his hand in his pocket. Me, I always stood up for myself. Cpl Dicks has a mark 36 with a cross threaded base plug Sir and he wants me to remove it.Where is it? Rog pulled it out and gave it the C.S/M who immediately started banging it on the Gutter to square it up."It's primed Sir" you have never seen three people run so fast in your life. He dropped it, never bothered to pick up his beloved Cycle, stumbled over it and Ran. They were set to 7 secs so we left it about 20 and walked back to it. You never told me it was primed Cpl Edwards "You never gave me a chance Sir" "HuH" and off up to the Mess he went, What he did not know and Rog and I did,although it was primed the firing pin could not reach the base because the pin was held back by the hand lever but you do not take chances with things like that.
Dave
 
liked your 368 Dave very funny, something simuler happened to me at Warminster "School of Infantry cadre",
at the grenade range in the concrete briefing room when a newbie pulled a pin from an old mark mills heavy 3 and dropped it on the floor, ever seen 20 blokes all trying to get out of 3' 6" door a t the same time, hilarious now bloody scary at the time.
paul
 
Paul, ammunition and weapons are not things you take chances with. The R.S.M at devises, a smashing bloke who I got on very, very well with, came to me one morning and asked me to check the STEN ammo in the Guard room because it was loaded into the mags every night during guard. some of the bullets were loose in the cartridges
I duly checked them and found about 6 which wanted breaking apart and the Cordite burning off which I did but not knowing how fast burning it was although they told us in training to be very careful, I trailed a tiny line to the bigger qty and lit it, the expansion was massive but it was all over in a second. Then I had to make safe the cartridges by firing them in the Armoury up the spout of the STEN, they made one hell of a bang, next thing banging on the door the lads in the Q.M.s office were shouting and asking "Are you all right Dave"I think they thought I had been fed up with the army.
Dave
 
I have heard some harrowing tales from older soldiers about the 2 bob sten gun and its ammo, used the stirling 9mm but it was still unreliable, including one horror story of an ND in the back of a pig in N Ireland.
paul
 
Eddie 14 said:
Paul, ammunition and weapons are not things you take chances with. The R.S.M at devises, a smashing bloke who I got on very, very well with, came to me one morning and asked me to check the STEN ammo in the Guard room because it was loaded into the mags every night during guard. some of the bullets were loose in the cartridges
I duly checked them and found about 6 which wanted breaking apart and the Cordite burning off which I did but not knowing how fast burning it was although they told us in training to be very careful, I trailed a tiny line to the bigger qty and lit it, the expansion was massive but it was all over in a second. Then I had to make safe the cartridges by firing them in the Armoury up the spout of the STEN, they made one hell of a bang, next thing banging on the door the lads in the Q.M.s office were shouting and asking "Are you all right Dave"I think they thought I had been fed up with the army.
Dave
Click to expand...

Your description of burning cordite reminds me of how all the surplus charge bags were burned off before the guns came out of action Eddie.

The cordite looked a bit like straight spaghetti and burned with a fierce glare but if it hadn't been spread thinly enough it used to flare up like an explosion.

Deadly stuff.
 
paul stacey said:
I have heard some harrowing tales from older soldiers about the 2 bob sten gun and its ammo, used the stirling 9mm but it was still unreliable, including one horror story of an ND in the back of a pig in N Ireland.
paul
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Paul, I'm starting to pin down your approximate age here.

(There must be people thinking "ND in the back of a Pig", what's he on about ?)

"N D", not "A D" dates you !

In my Pig days we only had the SLR, thank God ! Mind you, my only shots fired in anger were with an RUC Smith & Wesson. (But that's another story).

I did some training on the Sten but never fired it. Its fearsome reputation was justified but any weapon with a short barrel was a potential massacre, as I'm sure you know !

I hope your "horror story" didn't result in a fatality.
 
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