-
Welcome to this forum . We are a worldwide group with a common interest in Birmingham and its history. While here, please follow a few simple rules. We ask that you respect other members, thank those who have helped you and please keep your contributions on-topic with the thread.
We do hope you enjoy your visit. BHF Admin Team
maypolebaz
master brummie
During the war, displays such as the one we're discussing would've been to encourage people to buy War Bonds, etc. The one I saw must've been close to VE Day or Victory Day because of the presence of a captured V1. (There was no ebay in those days !).
Hi ,lads, ok I hope. I will tell you a funny story which happened on an exercise on Salisbury Plains right at the end of my service. We were 15 strong permanent Staff consisting of a Sgt and one cpl and one lance jack. We were taken in a closed TCV across the plains to a clump of trees forming a small wood and 50 recruits were within three miles somewhere across the plains, what chance had we got of finding them in the 48 hours of the exercise. I had a word with the Sgt and it was decided that I would take two lads with me and do a scan of the area, away to our left was a water tower about half a mile away, the problem the cover was pretty flat but we managed to get there and climb to the flat roof and scan the whole area, we saw our enemy about a mile away digging themselves in. We got back and realized we would have to put up an early warning system so we used some barbed wire which we put at just above ankle height and hammered into the trees, on this we hung tin cans with stones in them so they would rattle when they were walked into, these had to be hidden. At one end of the wood we left open so if we were attacked we had planted trip flares but we were one stake short so we drove the pick into the ground and used it as an anchor. Behind us was another wood about 500 yds away which we decided to belly crawl across a ploughed field to but before we could do that a heard of cows decided to enter the wood. We had moved to the edge of the wood on the ploughed field side so I started lobbing great chunks of earth into the wood and the cows turned round and stampeded, in the moonlight I could see the recruits running like hell in all directions as the cows could only smell grass when it is dark and not recruits
We gathered all our bits and pieces up and moved but the sgt who was thick said we are one flare short and a pick, "I can see it" he picked the pick up and it was daylight for about 3 mins, I went into the wood and said who the hell let that off,"I did corporal"I said "We might as well go back to camp now"
Dave
We gathered all our bits and pieces up and moved but the sgt who was thick said we are one flare short and a pick, "I can see it" he picked the pick up and it was daylight for about 3 mins, I went into the wood and said who the hell let that off,"I did corporal"I said "We might as well go back to camp now"
Dave
paul stacey
master brummie
Blimy Dave, you have a good memory!!, very good story though, my one of many on Salisbury Plain is when a recruit and detailed to hold a corner of a large wood from a slit trench with a "gimpy". The others moved out to dig in else where, day turned into night into day, ran out of fags then another night which tuned into rain, rations ended then another night?. No contact with enemy or anybody? I was getting really P~~~ed off when I could hear a faint sound from the back of the wood behind me, then a bit clearer "Stacey" I called out, Dave Carpenter on an old push bike, what are you doing? holding my sector I replied. The exercise was only one night,!! they had pulled out and left me forgotten for 3 days!!!!!. Still back at Alwahal Brracks in Tidy after a shower and huge meal in the cook house and a new packet of fags , the RSM even came and said "well done". Back you against any amount of Ruskies lad. Paul
maypolebaz
master brummie
You've got to be a certain age to know what a "Gimpy" is, Paul !
Like Eddie14, I could write a book of stuff like that - but who'd want to read it ?
Baz, you write them and I will read them, different little stories jog the memory, on the one about the exercise on the Plains another thing happened. As I said the Sgt was a bit thick, after we had determined where the enemy was we dug in outside the woods all around and made sure we could not be seen,in the early hours of the morning he decided to go with the lance jack and see for himself where they were. The moon was up and visibility was not too bad, as soon as he left I detailed a look out while the rest got there heads down, each doing about 20 mins each just to cover until breakfast.About 3 o'clock we heard subdued voices saying "Are you there" no one answered and they went away, I must say at this time the moon had gone in and we could not see who they were. At about 5-30 the Sgt and the lance cpl arrived back at the woods "Thanks very much corporal we have been walking since two o'clock and we came to these wood before" "Sorry Sarg we heard voices but you did not give us a pass word so we did not know who it was. No more was said.
Dave
Dave
paul stacey
master brummie
Yes Baz, athough I did all my "Lying Load Drills" with the 'Bren', the new fangled belt fed GPMG, was the pride of our section, they did't tell you how heavy and uncomfortable to carry the thing was. I will say it's rate of fire soon made up for it , even now in Afghan my son say's they swear by it .
Paul, the Gimpy as you call it was not in existence when I was serving, it took over from the Vickers in the late sixties I think, one of the Vickers problems was I took too many soldiers to operate it although just me and my G.D lad managed on the small range. Noisy thing with the crank handle slamming backwards and forward all the time.
Dave
Dave
paul stacey
master brummie
I have fired the Vickers Dave years ago at the School of Infantry, I was told it was an original from WW11, I cannot say right or wrong, I agree it was hellish noisy and very heavy, even when holding the grips to turn field of fire.
paul
paul
Paul, I read many years ago about in WW1 two Vickers were mounted on the battlefield set up to cross fire and they kept a whole battalion of infantry at bay. You spoke of me having a good memory, that is quite true, my Sister who is 7 years older than I will remark about something from childhood and she will say "How do you remember that you were only 2-3". Some people have it!!!
Dave
Dave
paul stacey
master brummie
Well Dave, that was their job, they were designed off the Gatling, There were't many of them but where used, was to great effect in the American Civil War, where observers saw for the first time that row upon row of infantry was stopped in its tracks, and annihilated, there by removing any great threat. This was observed by a German by name Von Schlieffen, who devised a plan to invade France, via the low country's, which was put in to great effect in 1914. The British were rather slower, having only 1 heavy machine gun per Company as to the 4 by the German system, until late 1916, when we raised a dedicated regiment "Machine Gun Corps".
paul
paul
Paul, you have been a busy bee, I reckon you have been reading up on this. All the info I have of all the 15 odd we were trained on in 24 weeks contained a lot of what you are talking about, how the Vickers was used during WW! on the aircraft and also the Lewis gun. A lot of the info was not relevant to what we were being trained on and at times it was boring but we had to remember it all because we were tested at the end of the 24 weeks and it was typical to be asked a question of which you did not take much notice of in history.
Dave
Dave
paul stacey
master brummie
The Guards were very strong on Military History Dave, so I did learn a lot about a lot of nothing really, but comes in helpful occasionally.
paul
paul
Back to the Brylcreem boys for a moment.....
PADDY
Paddy was a grizzled and, to my teenaged eyes, ancient RAF sergeant. His main job was to act as Runway Controller. That involved spending his days perched aloft in the glazed turret which protruded from the roof of an ancient Matador lorry of 1940s vintage, always known as “The Caravan”. This vehicle would be parked every day, and sometimes night, a few yards to the left of the threshold of whatever runway was in operation at the time. As each aircraft entered the circuit of the aerodrome and in due course neared the runway on its final approach Paddy would scrutinise it through binoculars and ensure that the undercarriage was clearly well and truly lowered. If it wasn't, as occasionally occurred when the pilot was thinking of other things, there would be a hasty fumbling for the Very pistol which would then be fired through the open window into the path of the approaching aircraft. Its pilot would hopefully see the little ball of red fire and rapidly mend his ways. As each object of Paddy's attention thumped safely on to the runway he would sigh with relief and shout out its number and the precise timing of its landing to the lowly National Service clerk seated below him with pen poised in the body of the lorry. That clerk was often me.
It wasn't a bad job for me. On quiet days in summer you could sit at the open back of the lorry, dangle your legs over the edge and daydream, idly watching the cavorting rabbits and hares as a long Lincolnshire afternoon slowly drifted towards evening. On a wintery day the heater could be turned up, a cosy fug developed and the Mirror or a book absorbed whilst somebody somewhere decided to abandon flying for the day. But more often than not, summer or winter, it was a busy place to be with many dozens of aircraft movements in the course of a shift. With Paddy's help I was conscious enough of the vulnerability of our position - I was instructed that the moment he told me to get out I should do precisely that, instantly, without query, discussion or smart*rsed request for clarification, so that his own escape route was unobstructed as he slithered down the little ladder on his rear end. When the back door was open I could see the approaching aircraft and what it was up to, thus getting prior notice of trouble; but when it was closed one relied on imagination and Paddy's alertness. The usual Meteors and Canberras were not too concerning. Normally their pilot didn't want to get one over on the ground approach radar controller and accepted any deficiency in the quality of his advice calmly and philosophically - only occasionally did one continue his approach directly at us and eventually abort at the last possible moment, roaring inches over our vehicle as we sprawled face down on the grass. Paddy's indignation as we heard the pilot's laughter over the radio was a joy to behold. But larger aircraft were less predictable: I can still visualise, after more than half a century, how a Lincoln would approach us in a strong crosswind, crabbing diagonally as it strove to line up with the runway, wings and tailplane flexing alarmingly and finally screeching on to the concrete, its wingtip only feet from us.
Paddy was always nervous and jittery. Perhaps he had been doing the job for too long. His peace of mind was not helped by the arrival at the station of another Runway Controller, a pleasant, quiet man bearing barely healed scars. His story soon did the rounds. The previous year, at an aerodrome in the Cotswolds, perhaps Little Rissington or Moreton-in-the-Marsh, he and his clerk, another National Serviceman, had not got out in time and the clerk did not survive the impact. After that Paddy got more panicky still and as we got to know each better he would confide his deepest thoughts to me.
"You moight have noticed, Oi get a bit jitterrry doing dis job".
"Oh, do you, Sarge?"
"Yes, dat Oi do. So Oi do indeed. What Oi don’t moind, is when de furrrrst aircraft joins the cirrrcuit. And it don’t worry me too much when a second turrrrns up. But what I REALLY don’t loike, not loike at all, is when Oi can see a TU-RRR-D in de cirrrcuit."
I spent the rest of my National Service in the vague hope of seeing such a sight. But never did. I remember Paddy with affection, getting old, having given his life to the service and having no existence outside it, being kicked around by the officers and representing a source of amusement to a generation of conscripted 18 or19-year-olds with their lives still ahead of them.
Chris
PADDY
Paddy was a grizzled and, to my teenaged eyes, ancient RAF sergeant. His main job was to act as Runway Controller. That involved spending his days perched aloft in the glazed turret which protruded from the roof of an ancient Matador lorry of 1940s vintage, always known as “The Caravan”. This vehicle would be parked every day, and sometimes night, a few yards to the left of the threshold of whatever runway was in operation at the time. As each aircraft entered the circuit of the aerodrome and in due course neared the runway on its final approach Paddy would scrutinise it through binoculars and ensure that the undercarriage was clearly well and truly lowered. If it wasn't, as occasionally occurred when the pilot was thinking of other things, there would be a hasty fumbling for the Very pistol which would then be fired through the open window into the path of the approaching aircraft. Its pilot would hopefully see the little ball of red fire and rapidly mend his ways. As each object of Paddy's attention thumped safely on to the runway he would sigh with relief and shout out its number and the precise timing of its landing to the lowly National Service clerk seated below him with pen poised in the body of the lorry. That clerk was often me.
It wasn't a bad job for me. On quiet days in summer you could sit at the open back of the lorry, dangle your legs over the edge and daydream, idly watching the cavorting rabbits and hares as a long Lincolnshire afternoon slowly drifted towards evening. On a wintery day the heater could be turned up, a cosy fug developed and the Mirror or a book absorbed whilst somebody somewhere decided to abandon flying for the day. But more often than not, summer or winter, it was a busy place to be with many dozens of aircraft movements in the course of a shift. With Paddy's help I was conscious enough of the vulnerability of our position - I was instructed that the moment he told me to get out I should do precisely that, instantly, without query, discussion or smart*rsed request for clarification, so that his own escape route was unobstructed as he slithered down the little ladder on his rear end. When the back door was open I could see the approaching aircraft and what it was up to, thus getting prior notice of trouble; but when it was closed one relied on imagination and Paddy's alertness. The usual Meteors and Canberras were not too concerning. Normally their pilot didn't want to get one over on the ground approach radar controller and accepted any deficiency in the quality of his advice calmly and philosophically - only occasionally did one continue his approach directly at us and eventually abort at the last possible moment, roaring inches over our vehicle as we sprawled face down on the grass. Paddy's indignation as we heard the pilot's laughter over the radio was a joy to behold. But larger aircraft were less predictable: I can still visualise, after more than half a century, how a Lincoln would approach us in a strong crosswind, crabbing diagonally as it strove to line up with the runway, wings and tailplane flexing alarmingly and finally screeching on to the concrete, its wingtip only feet from us.
Paddy was always nervous and jittery. Perhaps he had been doing the job for too long. His peace of mind was not helped by the arrival at the station of another Runway Controller, a pleasant, quiet man bearing barely healed scars. His story soon did the rounds. The previous year, at an aerodrome in the Cotswolds, perhaps Little Rissington or Moreton-in-the-Marsh, he and his clerk, another National Serviceman, had not got out in time and the clerk did not survive the impact. After that Paddy got more panicky still and as we got to know each better he would confide his deepest thoughts to me.
"You moight have noticed, Oi get a bit jitterrry doing dis job".
"Oh, do you, Sarge?"
"Yes, dat Oi do. So Oi do indeed. What Oi don’t moind, is when de furrrrst aircraft joins the cirrrcuit. And it don’t worry me too much when a second turrrrns up. But what I REALLY don’t loike, not loike at all, is when Oi can see a TU-RRR-D in de cirrrcuit."
I spent the rest of my National Service in the vague hope of seeing such a sight. But never did. I remember Paddy with affection, getting old, having given his life to the service and having no existence outside it, being kicked around by the officers and representing a source of amusement to a generation of conscripted 18 or19-year-olds with their lives still ahead of them.
Chris
Last edited:
paul stacey
master brummie
Great story Chris!!, you don't mention the camp in Linconshire, was it Cranwell, Scampton, or Waddington?, I knew em all well on stint in TFCS.
paul
paul
Radiorails
master brummie
Take your pick from this lot gentlemen. Lincolnshire was littered with airbases.
https://www.raf-lincolnshire.info/locations.htm
It always surprised me that pilots managed to find their East Anglian bases at night as many were very close together. I'm sure some did not, there was always tales about airfields, some truthful, others not, but at least a neighbouring base was better than a field: less paperwork for starters.
Not one of the glamorous, well-known ones, Paul. Rather, a basic, scruffy and, in winter, godforsaken place known as the most easterly aerodrome in the UK - Strubby, near Alford in Lincolnshire. Hastily built only 11 years before I got there to accommodate Coastal Command and later, Lancaster squadrons. An earlier post of mine, # 351, describes a bit more of it. At the time it was the satellite airfield for the Royal Air Force Flying College at Manby nearby, and the vast majority of the flying -- and therefore the work -- was done there.
Alan's useful link gives quite a good history of the place. Use this sub link: https://www.raf-lincolnshire.info/strubby/strubby.htm
Chris
Alan's useful link gives quite a good history of the place. Use this sub link: https://www.raf-lincolnshire.info/strubby/strubby.htm
Chris
paul stacey
master brummie
That's one I have never heard of Chris, I went round most of the other's mentioned most were still working in the mid-seventy's, although I do remember Binbrooke, and Nocton hall closing around then,and west malling also I believe.
paul
paul
Bernard67Arnold
master brummie
Hi Paul, had an Email today from Army Surplus 365, offering me
German Para boots, brand new, 2005 style at £120 per pair.
Presume your lad does not have to buy his own, Cheers Bernard
German Para boots, brand new, 2005 style at £120 per pair.
Presume your lad does not have to buy his own, Cheers Bernard
paul stacey
master brummie
Thanks Bernie, but too old in the teeth now!!, actually Bernard you would be suprised what the "Modern Soldier" has to spend out of his own pockets on Kit!! For his last deployment to Afghan he spent nearly £400.
regards Paul. "Nuli Secundus" Old Comrade.
regards Paul. "Nuli Secundus" Old Comrade.
HI ALL
On a lighter note re NATIONAL SERVICE. All of us lucky enough to have done it would have mixed with all lads from all
walks of life. Most of the sports stars of the day did their bit.
Did you serve with any of them. My claim to fame was that as a P.T.I. at HILSEA BARRACKS PORTSMOUTH in 1955
i had both DUNCAN EDWARDS and BOBBY CHARLTON in my squads for their physical training. Who did you do your
time with.???
KEN
On a lighter note re NATIONAL SERVICE. All of us lucky enough to have done it would have mixed with all lads from all
walks of life. Most of the sports stars of the day did their bit.
Did you serve with any of them. My claim to fame was that as a P.T.I. at HILSEA BARRACKS PORTSMOUTH in 1955
i had both DUNCAN EDWARDS and BOBBY CHARLTON in my squads for their physical training. Who did you do your
time with.???
KEN
Radiorails
master brummie
I recall one person being their heir to Robertsons' Jam business. He was one of the few who actually owned a car back in the mid 1950's. Another was to become a prominent actor; stage and television. Both of these gentlemen were National Servicemen.
One person, a well known cricketer of the day, was declared unfit, I gather, for Air Force service. He still managed to pursue a very successful cricketing career despite his 'lack of fitness'.
One person, a well known cricketer of the day, was declared unfit, I gather, for Air Force service. He still managed to pursue a very successful cricketing career despite his 'lack of fitness'.
maypolebaz
master brummie
We had an officer in the Queen's Own Hussars who was appointed the Queen Mother's Equerry.
His family owned the huge advertising hoardings that could be seen around the country. There was a little plaque at the bottom of each which bore the name "More O'Ferral".
His family owned the huge advertising hoardings that could be seen around the country. There was a little plaque at the bottom of each which bore the name "More O'Ferral".
Playing football for the Wilts Depot meant that a lot of the lads came from the Wilts, devon, Dorset and hampshire areas and they did not seem to make it into the football league. I played in one match against the pay corps just up the road from the Wilts Depot and they had the pick of the whole of the U.k and a lot of them were on the books of the midland clubs and you could see the talent, we only lost 2-1 though, I had a good game that day.
While at Gosport from late 55-56 I did not play for the camp, I wanted to but nobody asked although it was on my records, I saved every shot when we were watching the lads play on Wednesday afternoons, I started playing when I reached the Depot.
Dave Edwards.
While at Gosport from late 55-56 I did not play for the camp, I wanted to but nobody asked although it was on my records, I saved every shot when we were watching the lads play on Wednesday afternoons, I started playing when I reached the Depot.
Dave Edwards.
Hi lads, I'm back with a few stories, it seems the site has gone dead. "What happened"? Don't tell me, broken fingers !!!!!
A little story about having to eat your own words.
The recruits at Devises comprised a few of the A.E.C lads who did their training with the Wilts and after passing out they were immediately promoted to Sgts so they could take education classes and teach some of the lesser educated lads. A lot of them had been deferred past 21 to get their qualification before getting called up for N/S, the one we had was due for a tour of duty so one was selected to serve the depot. I won't mention names as he could still be around, we called him Schoolie, Horned rimmed specs and a bit of a mummies boy.
He came to me one day and asked if I could look at his rifle as it had bruised his shoulder in training and he had got to take his proficiency test on the rifle and he could not possibly use his own, could I change it, "O.K schoolie, I will change it and test yours out,the trouble you young lads are soft, lets see your shoulder" He opened his shirt and I felt sorry for him, he had one of the biggest bruises I had ever seen. I told him to see the M.O and get his test put back which he did and he then got 3 month grace.
I stripped the rifle down to the bones and went through all the pull off readings and the breach seating and could not really find any thing wrong with it, it was quite a new weapon.
I grabbed my G/D lad, get some ammo and the flags we are off down to the 30 yarder. Everything all in place I put 5 rounds it the mag and eventually let one go, I thought I had been kicked by a mule, bl---y h--l, or words to that effect, I have never had that happen before, it must be me so I reset myself and let another one go, the same results. "Pack up Robbie we are going back to camp".
I sent it B.L.R to workshops at Warminster, I had a report back, Unit scrapped, no reason given. Now I have to go and see Schoolie and tell him what had happened,he was very nice about it, I said I was sorry about saying he was soft, I am a bit he said.
We were good friends after that.
Dave
A little story about having to eat your own words.
The recruits at Devises comprised a few of the A.E.C lads who did their training with the Wilts and after passing out they were immediately promoted to Sgts so they could take education classes and teach some of the lesser educated lads. A lot of them had been deferred past 21 to get their qualification before getting called up for N/S, the one we had was due for a tour of duty so one was selected to serve the depot. I won't mention names as he could still be around, we called him Schoolie, Horned rimmed specs and a bit of a mummies boy.
He came to me one day and asked if I could look at his rifle as it had bruised his shoulder in training and he had got to take his proficiency test on the rifle and he could not possibly use his own, could I change it, "O.K schoolie, I will change it and test yours out,the trouble you young lads are soft, lets see your shoulder" He opened his shirt and I felt sorry for him, he had one of the biggest bruises I had ever seen. I told him to see the M.O and get his test put back which he did and he then got 3 month grace.
I stripped the rifle down to the bones and went through all the pull off readings and the breach seating and could not really find any thing wrong with it, it was quite a new weapon.
I grabbed my G/D lad, get some ammo and the flags we are off down to the 30 yarder. Everything all in place I put 5 rounds it the mag and eventually let one go, I thought I had been kicked by a mule, bl---y h--l, or words to that effect, I have never had that happen before, it must be me so I reset myself and let another one go, the same results. "Pack up Robbie we are going back to camp".
I sent it B.L.R to workshops at Warminster, I had a report back, Unit scrapped, no reason given. Now I have to go and see Schoolie and tell him what had happened,he was very nice about it, I said I was sorry about saying he was soft, I am a bit he said.
We were good friends after that.
Dave
maypolebaz
master brummie
Hi Baz,
The barrel was gauged for size and it fell into the size of GO and NO GO there is a limit between the two sizes, which escapes me after all this time, there are many checks which were done, sometimes the parts are too good a fit such as the depth of the bolt head which can leak gas and reduce the recoil. It was basically a new rifle and it was the only one I ever fired and there were many, which gave this vicious kick
It is a bit like two cars off the production line, one drives different to the other, why?
Dave
P.S I can't remember a gauge for the depth of the rifling, if that was shallow that would cause a resistance
The barrel was gauged for size and it fell into the size of GO and NO GO there is a limit between the two sizes, which escapes me after all this time, there are many checks which were done, sometimes the parts are too good a fit such as the depth of the bolt head which can leak gas and reduce the recoil. It was basically a new rifle and it was the only one I ever fired and there were many, which gave this vicious kick
It is a bit like two cars off the production line, one drives different to the other, why?
Dave
P.S I can't remember a gauge for the depth of the rifling, if that was shallow that would cause a resistance