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A Personal View of National Service
MY NATIONAL SERVICE 1947 - 1949 By Arnold Jordan
Chapter One
There was this notice board outside the local Council offices. In the immediate post-war years it was likely that you would see lads in their late teens intently studying the board. All kinds of information was pinned up, but the teenagers were looking at only one. This would tell them that at a certain time, if they were born between the stated dates and the initial letter of their surname was between the listed letters, they were to attend at the local labour office for registration. For this was the time of National Service when every male, on reaching the age of 18, was expected to serve in the armed forces for two years. In 1947 I was one of those lads regularly looking at the notices as they were updated, and watching my birth date creeping ever closer.
One Saturday morning I went for my regular look, and was horrified to find that the mentioned dates were now after my birthday. What was I supposed to do? Checking on the next registration day, I went to the labour office to tell them I had missed seeing the instruction. "It's a wonder the police haven't come looking for you" was thrown at me, but other than that I appeared to have escaped the wrath of the state!
Albeit a few weeks late, I received my instructions to go for a medical examination. There are many jokes about these medicals, mainly intimating that if you can stand up you are fit enough for service life. I don't recall much about it except this mental picture I have of half-a-dozen doctors staring up as one of them held a test-tube full of my urine to the light. I don't know what they were looking for, but at the end of the session I was given a bit of paper informing me that I was A1. And so it was that just after the August Bank Holiday of 1947 I received my call-up papers to present myself in a weeks time at Glen Parva barracks on the outskirts off Leicester. About 30 of us arrived, not knowing what to expect, and perhaps innocent of what was to come. If we thought home discipline was hard, it was nothing to that of the next six weeks. Mind you, we didn't have much time to think about it as every minute of the day was filled, and a lot of it was spent on the barrack square - drill, drill and more drill. We discovered that our sergeant could be quite a "softie" - but not on that square. He had the ability to strike terror into the heart of every recruit, and he also had the ability to teach us a few words that we had never encountered before! If our mothers had been present, I think they might have blushed. Apart from the drill, into those six weeks were crammed route marches, cross-country runs, training for gas warfare (stumbling over rough terrain in masks with fogged-up eye pieces gave the medical-room a few extra jobs), and weapon training. And of course every morning there was a session of Physical Exercise. It was this PE that was almost my downfall. Towards the end of the six weeks we had various tests, and one of the items in the PE test was to lift yourself up on the high bars just using arm power, so that your shoulders were parallel with the bar. My body obviously lacked development in that area and I just couldn't do it. The PE corporal said that if I couldn't do it I would fail the course, and would be back onto another six-week training session. It was whilst contemplating this horror that I suddenly felt my body rising, and hey-presto! - my shoulders were parallel with the bar. "Well done, you've managed it" said the corporal, and as I turned I noted that his arms were just dropping down, back to their relaxed position. I suppose it would be nice to consider that he felt sorry for me and as I had passed everything else he didn't want to see me fail. More likely it was that he wanted to be rid of me as soon as possible.
Towards the end of the training we were interviewed to allocate us to various units. After being quizzed about any family history of military service, and finding none, the officer seemed very relieved as he had a quota to fill of TSBO (telephone switch-board operators) for the Royal Signals, so 21024542 Pte. Jordan was added to the list, and would now be known as 21024542 Signalman Jordan.
Before leaving Glen Parva, we had the ceremony of the "passing out parade". Proud (or otherwise) parents were invited to attend, and for this day much time was spent on kit preparation with many inspections by the sergeant until he considered us fit to show. I have to confess that when we stepped on to that square and the band started to play and our marching instructions were give, there was an upsurge of pride amongst the squad, and we drilled and marched on that tarmac with all precision expected on us. At last - we considered ourselves soldiers!
Chapter Two
If we had left Glen Parva with a slight feeling of elation because we now considered ourselves soldiers, this feeling was soon deflated on arriving at the Royal Signals section of Catterick barracks. As we descended from the trucks that had brought us from the station, we were "greeted" by our sergeant-major. We were to find out that, contained within this man, were all the harrowing stories that have ever been told about sergeant-majors. We were to ask ourselves during the next few weeks "Is this thing even human?". Towards the end of our twelve weeks there, it was quite likely that you would find 90% of the troop ready to commit murder. He was able to inflict every indignity that a soldier has ever been made to suffer.
We were told to dump our belongings in the barrack room and immediately report back to the parade ground, and were then subjected to an intense hour of "square bashing". The sergeant-major examined every man in detail front and rear for discrepancies in our manner of dress, and informed us of our faults (of which every man had more than one) and told that if we ever appeared on parade without these faults corrected, there would be unspecified terrible trouble. His parting remark was that we would be having similar drill every day, and it would be extended to two hours if he wasn't satisfied with our progress. Welcome to Catterick!!
As well as the drill our daily routine consisted of morning Physical Exercise (almost on the same popularity level as the drilling) and various classes associated with our intended "trade". Into the schedule were fitted sessions of weapon training, guard duties, various fatigues (cookhouse ones were to be avoided if at all possible - I have nightmares recalling those mountains of potatoes that wanted peeling), and of course attention to ourselves and our uniforms so that hopefully our sergeant-major could find no fault. Our course work consisted of learning the workings of a telephone exchange, and we were instructed on the operation of various types of switchboards, from the small field boards to the large 2000 line ones. We spent an equal amount of time on the various jobs of running a Signals communication office, handling messages by wireless telegraphy and redistributing them to the various regional offices. The phonetic alphabet became second nature to us and we were able to transmit messages by voice at incredible speeds. I remember that two of us had to record a specimen of message transmission for future classes. We found it so intense that when we had completed the task, one of us (I refuse to say which one) used language of certain words that should have not been used. I suspect the class instructor sergeant had left the recording machine running on purpose and his comment "How can I use this to teach the classes of ATS girls?" was said in mock horror. Incidentally, two things to mention from this. I would have thought that the alphabet used would have stuck in my memory, but it hasn't. All I know is that when I have given, say, my post-code over the phone and the other person has replied with "J for John and T for Tommy?" I know that is not what I learnt. The second thing to mention is that this was the very first time that I had heard my recorded voice, and I just didn't recognise myself. Perhaps it was the fact that this was before tape was used, the magnetic recording was done on a large spool of steel wire.
Although the training was hard, relaxation came with the time we were allowed out of camp. Army transport was provided to take us to Darlington on Saturday afternoons, and it was a short walk to get into the beautiful Yorkshire countryside. On Sunday mornings a room-mate and I would walk over the moors into the small town of Richmond, and attend the service at the Methodist Church. A middle-aged couple took us under their "wing" and invited us to their home to have a meal and spend a mid-week evening with them. To accept this invitation, we had to apply for a late pass, for which the inquisitive sergeant-major wanted all the details. On our arrival at the house, we were surprised to find there were two giggly daughters, about our own ages. A pleasant evening was had, and the invitation was extended for other weeks. After the second visit, my friend and I got the strong impression that our hosts were keen to get their daughters off their hands, and that we might be able to help in that direction! Suffice to say, that due to "pressure of duty" we were unable to continue to accept their hospitality!
The following weeks seemed to go by quickly, and we took our final tests and were pronounced qualified. Once again we went before an officer who had a list of requirements, although the choice was somewhat limited. "Did we want to go to the War Office in London, or go overseas?". Thinking that perhaps it would be best to take advantage of free travel, and see a bit of the world, I opted for overseas. Within days, we were off to our transit camp, to await our allocation to a ship. This was in late December and we were told we would be going to the Middle East. The thought of a warm climate cheered us, because December 1947 was perishing cold! How cold, we didn't realise until we arrived at deserted Dalton Airfield. We were housed in corrugated iron huts, with a small tortoise stove in the middle which only gave warmth for the few feet around it, and we were strictly rationed for the fuel that we could burn. During the next few days, every scrap of wood for miles around, including some of the benches in the huts and doors of huts not being inhabited, went into those stoves. Even so, we never managed to get much hot water, and morning ablutions meant that we went outside to stone troughs with cold water taps. Usually we had to thaw these before they would run, and you can understand that washing, shaving and teeth cleaning were all done at rapid speed.
It was now a few days before Christmas, and the unfortunate officer in charge called us all together. He informed us that we would be sailing from Southampton on December 27th, and this meant that we would have to stay in camp - not go home for Christmas. That was the nearest I ever came to a scene of mutiny whilst in the army and the officer realised he was in trouble - perhaps even in danger of his life. He promised to get back to the War Office. I don't know what was said between them, but he came back to tell us we could go home, but he was personally responsible for all that would happen, and woe betide him if any of us went missing. We all gave him our word that we would return by the due time, and I'm pleased to say that we all kept our promise, save for one chap who was taken seriously ill, and ended up in hospital. We had all left our kit ready packed and so within a few hours we were on our way to Southampton, and embarked on the s.s. Otranto whch quickly left harbour and sailed towards the Bay of Biscay.
To be continued. For the next two chapters go to www.webspawner.com/users/melbray2/index.html - or click on link below.
Chapters 3 and 4
Chapters 5 and 6
Final chapters
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Copyright © 2006 Arnold Jordan. All Rights Reserved