Letters to Alan 3 -Staffordshire Regiment – Jeff Sherwin

Hi Allan
Thanks for the memories, in may 1959 I reluctantly reported to the Staffordshire regiment at Litchfield. There were about 90 of us, by far the majority had served apprenticeships and were over 21. eleven weeks later half of us were transferred to the Cheshire regiment stationed at Selerang barracks Singapore we travelled on a comet 4 commercial jet, after a little over a year the malayan conflict was at an end and we returned to southampton on the troopship Devonshire, after 3 weeks leave we went to Carlisle for a couple of weeks before going to Ballykinler N Ireland. As the end of my service approached We were told that national service was coming to an end, we were discharged a few weeks early on april 7 1961. Looking back my army experiences were very positive. My service changed me for the better. I found it difficult to settle back into my previous life, within a few years I had a wife and a couple of kids and was living in British Columbia. In Malaya we lost a corporal in a rafting accident his nickname was Elbow, God bless him.
Thanks again, Regards Jeff Sherwin L/cpl retired (Hyde Cheshire then.-Abbotsford BC Canada now)

Other National service Stories 5 -Royal Marines

A short story sent to me by ex-Royal Marine R.C.Heape.

“Rare Fish”

Noticing my Royal Marines tie at the Inverness Concert, the Colour Sergeant who was selling CDs for the Band asked me where I had served. “I was only a National Serviceman,” I replied. “Well” he said, “You were a Rare Fish, Sir. We did not have many National Servicemen in the Corps.”

As soon as I had left school, I applied to join the RMFVR so that I would have a chance of serving my National Service with the Royal Marines. I was delighted when I received instructions to report to Lympstone Barracks in the summer of 1957. I had set my heart on being sent to Norway for training in Artic Warfare. I might have known that you seldom get what you ask for in Her Majesty’s Forces. I had just completed my basic training with 42 Commando at Bickleigh and was waiting to go to Norway after Christmas, when one of my friends told me that my name had come up on the Company Notice Board. “Report to Stonehouse Barracks for your Tropical Kit” the notice read, “You have been posted to an unspecified destination East of Suez“. After a short leave at Christmas, I was on my way to Christmas Island in the Pacific. There was not much chance of snow warfare there, but what I had to take part in was just as exciting.

I found myself playing a minor role in Operation “Grapple“, at that time the largest Joint Services Operation ever mounted in peace time. All three services were required to work together in an operational role for the purpose of testing Britain’s first thermonuclear weapons. The Hydrogen bombs, which were in the megaton range, were to be dropped by R A F Bomber Command V Force. Christmas Island was chosen because of its remoteness in the middle of the vast Pacific Ocean. Operation “Grapple” involved building a base and an airstrip for large jet aircraft to land on. At one time there were over 3,000 personnel living on the base. As far as I can remember there were only 2 women permanently stationed there as WVS to look after the welfare of all those young men.

Six of us young Royal Marines flew from R A F Northolt on 21st January 1958 in a Comet Jet airliner to Travis US Air Base near San Francisco in California. The Comet had a very short range and we had to fly via Iceland and Goose Bay in Canada where we spent the first night. I remember Captain Carmen RM, who was in charge of the party, telling us that if we got drunk at Goose Bay we would freeze to death in the snow outside the huts. The outside temperature was about minus 30 c. It was the first time I had tasted maple syrup on my toast for breakfast. The next morning we flew on to San Francisco stopping off at Chicago to refuel. We spent a week at Travis and I enjoyed several trips into San Francisco on a National Serviceman’s pay. How well I remember the difficulty in hitching a lift back over the Golden Bay Bridge when returning to camp. From Travis we eventually flew on to Honolulu in a civilian aircraft. I bought my first brightly coloured tea shirt in Honolulu and nearly got into a fight with an American Marine who called me a limey “Jar Head“. The last leg of the journey from Honolulu to Christmas Island in an old R A F Transport Dakota was very uncomfortable. When we landed on the Island, the heat and glare of the sun reflected from the white coral sand of the Pacific Atoll hit you like a ton of bricks. New arrivals on the Island were called Moon Men, until they had been burnt brown. There was no thought of wearing sun cream in those days and my nose and the back of my neck was permanently red and sore. As part of the Naval Party, we were packed off to HMS Resolution, a shore base named after Capt. Cook’s ship in the Port of London on the west side of the Island. Any sophistication we might have observed at the main RAF Camp was spectacularly absent from the rows of old tents that made up the accommodation at the Port Camp.

Christmas Island is the largest coral atoll in the Pacific and is about 35 miles long by 24 miles at its widest. The land rises to about 20 ft above sea level and parts of the island are covered with Palm trees. The only wild animals on the island were rats, but I remember someone had a pet dog. At night, the shoreline was covered in land crabs, which scuttled out of the bushes in search of food. One sailor had a large crab attached to a string, which he took on parade with him.

The Royal Marines were there to man the Landing Craft and Royal Engineers and Fijian sailors assisted us. Each LCM was crewed by four Royal Marines and was used to unload all the heavy stores and equipment from the ships moored in the Bay. Ships could not enter the lagoon and had to lie off the island, weather permitting. When the ships were in, we were required to work 10 to 12 hours per day Saturdays and Sundays included to unload them. This involved a round trip of about 8 nautical miles from Port London to the ship and back three or four times a day. When the sea was rough, this meant navigating the passage through the surf breaking over the barrier reef, which surrounded the island. In bad weather the channel was closed and the ships had to put to sea again. The surf breaking on either side of the entrance was quite dramatic and the flat bottomed landing craft slammed into the waves as you put to sea. The roar of the surf along the barrier reef round the island still comes back to me after almost fifty years. I was promoted to coxswain of boat No 18 after about three months on the island. My boat was used to take stores and personnel ashore on both Malden and Fanning, two other coral islands within about 400 nautical miles from Christmas Island. The LCM was hoisted aboard HMS Narvick for these trips. To reach Malden Island involved crossing the equator, and I remember having to pay my forfeit to Neptune by being shaved and ducked in a canvas bath. I left Christmas Island on 15 December 1958 and reached UK on 22 December just in time for Christmas so I never spent Christmas on Christmas Island.

The first H-bomb test that I witnessed was exploded in May 1958. I think I was present for all the tests, which were carried out that year. The bombs were dropped from a Vickers Valiant bomber by Group Captain Ken Hubbard RAF who commanded 49 Squadron Bomber Command. I learnt more details about how the bombs were dropped by reading his obituary in “The Times” dated 27 January 2004.
The bombs were released from the aircraft flying at 45,000 ft at a point 1.5 miles from the target and were timed to explode at 8,000 ft over ground zero at a position over the sea just off the south point of the island. This was approximately 20 miles from where we were sitting on the beach at Port London. The bombs were released manually as the aircraft passed over a target indicator positioned on the ground on the southern tip of the island. One minute before the explosion, we were ordered to sit down facing away from ground zero. We were told to cover our eyes with our hands and on no account to look at the test until given the all clear. I do not remember hearing the explosion, but I did feel a blast of hot air. When we did look round the whole sky was filled with a vast mushroom cloud, the top of which rose to an altitude of 60,000 ft with ice caps forming on it. The cloud grew bigger and bigger until it filled the whole horizon. It was certainly an awe inspiring sight. I think we were given the rest of the day off! The last test on 11 September 1958 produced an explosion with a yield in the three megatons range. Great Britain certainly had its own independent nuclear deterrent and the means for delivering it, which is one of the last decisions that Winston Churchill made before he retired. The words of Churchill’s final speech- “never flinches, never weary, never despair” have always stayed with me. National Service taught me to get on with life and mix easily with my fellows. I had an interesting time and have lived to tell the tale.

R C Heape,

Colin would like to hear from ex-comrades etc. RM colin.heape@btinternet.com

Letters to Alan 2 -National Service – Ron Green – Royal Sussex Regiment

Hello my name is Ron Green and my National Service began with a call up in July 1947 to report to
Chichester Barracks, Royal Sussex Regiment for basic training.
At the time I was in my second year of a Mechanical Engineering Diploma
from Wimbledon College and was not very happy when I found out that I
could not continue under distance learning.
At that point I was employed as a Mechanical Engineering Draughtsman in
London but my current home was in Lewes Sussex courtesy of Adolf. I
was working on interesting jobs that included repairing bomb damage at
Buckingham Palace and the Bovril and Robertsons Marmalade factories. (I
had earlier spent time doing the drawings for the Mulberry Harbour for D
Day.)
But deferments over I was off to Chichester like it or not. Basic
Training was – well basic training by ver loud infantry NCO’s. Lots of
10 mile hikes in full packs and finally live ammo drills.
Then the army in their wisdom decided I had no mechanical skills??
(despite my education and experience!! ) – so I was posted to the Royal
Regiment of Artillery at Woolwich Barracks. There we did every chore
from polishing the mess silver to taking inventory of shells. It
served to instill some regimental pride in us while we waited for more
permanent posting..
.
Then it was off to 111 HAA Regiment at Gosforth Park After learning
Predictors and aircraft recognition I was seconded to Radar Training and
then back as a Radar Op.. After which we had some enjoyable times
training Aussises, and not so enjoyable times chipping ice off
Parabaloids on the Canadianm made 584 Radar Sets and the 3.7 guns.
Gosforth Park was inherited from the Poles and took some cleaning up.
There we also saw the last of the German prisoners repatriated. Also
had some fun towing the 3.7s with Matadors (Out transport mob were from
the Gorbals and though they were a right shower they did a great job and
always got me a ride to the station to go on leave

After a while I was seconded to the Captain Quartermaster, and
eventually I found myself responsible to collect all the Radar Stores
from gun sites in Northern Command and centralise the stock as we moved
to Fenham Barracks, Newcastle. Then came some duty in Norfolk where we
were sent to try out some new ordnance developed at Larkhill (which
wasn’t very successful bu gave me a chance to learn command HQ Long
range Radar and Plotting). This had its hilarious moments as we manage
to shoot off the tail of the RAF wallah towing the target. Needless to
say he was not amused. Fairly happy memories remain of that time
which saw part of the Regiment taken off to Malaya, part to Palestine to
complete the British pull out. Also saw us become the 81st (Mixed)
Field regiment. Then normal service resumed as we moves to Fenham
Barracks where we became the 83rd Regiment, interrupted only by a short
sojurn in South Shields evicting bombed out squatters from deserted
Quonsets.

The other major event at Fenham was fighting the pit prop fires at West
Hartlepool – memories of standing on top of a pile of pit props while
the firemen hosed us down as well as the logs. Almost lost some
searchlights and pumps we had put on the beach to draw water when the
tide changed.!! 2 days and nights were enough of that..

Finished my service with a temporary six week attachment to the Military
Police. I well remamber leaving Fenham to go to Aldershot for demob
in September 1949. As I got to the gate I looked back and there was the
RQMS Oggy Price standing at the door to the QMs office and yelling at
me that I would be back. How wrong he was!!

All in all, it wasn’t such a bad experience and I often think national
service would do a lot of good for some of the Yobbos we see
today. I went back to civilian life and eventually came to
Canada in 1956 (just as I got a Z rezerve call up to go Suez – no thanks
– left the mechanical construction world and put my radar experience to
use when I started a ultrasonic company. I’m retired now in British
Columbia but often wonder what happened to some of my mates in the RA.
Enjoyed your site very much.

Good luck for the future

Ron Green

Letters to Alan 1 – Brian Phillips National Service – Royal Signals

Hi Alan – Thanks for providing this interesting site

I’m Brian Phillips – 22442400 – Called up for N/S – R.Signals, to a freezing Catterick in January 1951 – To reside In Barrack Room 40 top floor. We had a whip round for a wireless and were able to drop off to sleep listening to hits of the day that included ‘Goodnight Irene’ – ‘On top of Old Smokey’ – ‘My heart Cries for You’ – Later we went from the luxury of a heated barrack block with hot water on tap – to those dillapidated ‘Spiders’ that were a half mile walk from the cookhouse and said to have originated from the Crimea war era – Freezing, damp, and cold water ablutions ! – After passing out as Teleprinter ops we were posted to Singapore District Signal Regt – via Pocklington for tropical kit, followed by 2 weeks embarkation leave, Overnighting at Londons deep underground accommodation at Goodge Street station , then on to Southampton to board HMT Dunera – (same boat that a young schoolgirl name of Joanna Lumley also sailed on) – being a very amateur dance band trumpet player I was allowed to join the ships band for ‘entertainment’ – thereby escaping all ships chores and duties ! – On arrival at S’pore we lived under canvass at Calcutta Camp – that later would become the palatial Princess Mary Barracks and still exists- Being ferried out to Fort Canning – communicating by teleprinter with our units up country
in the jungles of Malaya. Most of the Singapore that us young lads then knew has mostly dissappeared under the bulldozer, being replaced with council style housing and concrete almost coast to coast. Events during our time included the assassination of the Governor Sir H Gurney, when his car was ambushed by bandits on a remote jungle road, And the tragic death of our young L/Cpl pay clerk – accidentally shot with his own revolver in camp . I often think back to those carefree days of our youth – Sadly we seldom appreciated the good fortune of being posted to such an exotic and interesting land with so much spare time for leisure in a superb climate. It would be good to hear from former comrades and friends who also served in those places – Best wishes to all – Brian

Letters To Alan on www.getingetoutandgetaway.co.uk

I wil be publishing with permission from the writers. Various interesting letters concerning their time doing National Service. I hope you will enjoy the read

Other National Service Stories 4 National Service RAF – NSRAF

MY TIME DOING NATIONAL SERVICE IN THE R.A.F.

By Duncan Hamman.

To most young men of today the words “National Service” will not mean anything but between the years of 1949 and 1960 to men of 18 years of age they meant a complete disruption to their life. At this time, upon reaching 18, the man had to serve in the Navy, the Army or the Royal Air Force for a period of 18 months and in 1950 this was increased to two years. If the man was serving an apprenticeship he was allowed to delay his National Service until he was 21 and if a man was willing to serve his time working down a coal mine instead he could do so. But there was no escape.

In 1950 I reached the age of 18 and it wasn’t long before the dreaded buff coloured envelope came through the door telling me to report for my medical examination. There was a group of about 30 and a nursing sister made us all strip completely naked before we marched into a large room. About twelve doctors were positioned round the perimeter of the room and each one had a female secretary – which caused a great deal of embarrassment to the naked men. Each doctor had to check a part of our anatomy and his secretary would record his comments before the recruit moved on to the next doctor. It was like a conveyor system. I discovered, much to my surprise, that I had been colour-blind for 18 years without knowing about it! I passed the medical examination and later had an interview to decide which of the three services I would serve in. I certainly didn’t want the Army or Navy and the only way I could ensure selection for the RAF was to volunteer for an extra year of service – was I mad?

Some time later I received a travel warrant to RAF Cardington, near Bedford. After a sad goodbye to my mother I arrived at London Road Station, Manchester, now known as Piccadilly Station, and met up with a small group of young men all heading for Cardington. The journey was terrible for me as I was the only non-smoker in the carriage and had to spend the journey breathing in second hand smoke. We were at Cardington for only a few days during which we were marched into the Clothing Stores where shirt, trousers, tunic and boots were thrown at us. No attempt was made to measure us so when we arrived back at the billet we had to swop with each other in order to get a uniform that was anything near the correct size. We were issued with our Service Number and told we would remember it to our dying day and, although it was over 50 years ago, I can still remember it without any trouble – it was 4058739. We also had an intelligence test and from the results were graded into 24 groups. If you were in Group 1 you were some sort of egghead, and we had a very uncomplimentary name for those in group 24, as they would be employed on the most menial of tasks. I ended up in group 11.

SQUARE BASHING

Then it was off to our next camp at RAF West Kirby, near Liverpool, for “Initial Training” which was more commonly known as “Square Bashing”. Here we faced the most unpleasant eight weeks of our lives as we were screamed at, insulted and abused by the corporals day and night. They took great delight in thinking up new ways of making our lives unpleasant. The slightest excuse was used to enable them to punish us and they had some very painful forms of punishment. They would drag us out of bed in the middle of the night for a parade, which meant we had to clean our boots and buttons and iron our uniforms only to be told the parade had been cancelled. We were called out for parades sometime two or three times in a night and another corporal delighted in waking us up at night to clean all the toilets. After a few weeks of this treatment it was little wonder that at night it was common to hear someone in the billet sobbing in the darkness. We also spent many hours marching up and down the square doing rifle drill. To look a corporal in the eyes was classed as dumb insolence and was severely punished so we had to look at a point two or three inches above their heads while they screamed abuse and insulted us. We were taught how to fire a rifle, a handgun, a Bren Gun and a Sten Gun. We had lessons on how to throw a hand grenade and also how to kill the enemy with a bayonet. At last this terrible time was over and we had our Passing Out Parade, which took place in pouring rain so we were soaked to the skin. Then it was home for two weeks leave.

COMPTON BASSETT

Next I was posted to RAF Compton Bassett in Wiltshire which was a training camp for Wireless Operators, known as WOP’s, and Teleprinter Operators, known as TOP’s – I was a TOP. Here I was taught to type starting by typing to a drum beat which was increased in speed until we reached 25 words a minute. We had practice cards to type from but after typing each one fifty times we knew them off by heart so we moved on to the morning newspapers. We would type everything in the Mirror then swop with someone for the Express and start typing its contents. As we neared the end of our training we were sent to the Medical Officer for inoculations, one of which was against Yellow Fever. This was a sure sign that we would soon be off to the Far East, most likely Singapore. We were all injected with the same syringe and needle, something that would never happen today and if you were the last in line you had a painful time with the blunt needle. As I didn’t fancy the idea of the Far East I deliberately failed my final tests and was called in before an officer who told me in no uncertain terms, “Don’t think you have missed the boat by failing.” When my comrades set off for Singapore I was doing an extra fortnight of training – so I did miss the boat, much to my delight.

RAF WARTLING

After a spell of cleaning dirty pans in the cookhouse I was posted to RAF Wartling, near Bexhill on Sea, Sussex. This was a radar station and as it was top-secret we were all warned about not talking to strangers. The billets were a few miles away in the middle of a wood and it was the most dirty and disgusting place I had ever seen. It was more like a third world refugee camp. The radar fascinated me and, although I wasn’t permitted, I used to sneak in whenever I could. On the screen we could see aircraft in northern France and even ships sailing up the English Channel.

We had two ghosts in the area. One was a headless Drummer Boy and the other was a lady in her wedding dress. Although we laughed at these stories I had a very frightening experience after missing the last bus and having to walk back alone in the dark. I put it down to having an overactive imagination. (No, I hadn’t been drinking!!)

Shortly after I arrived at Wartling it was decided to demolish the ‘refugee camp’ as a new luxury camp had been built for us at Cooden Beach. It was very posh and had every convenience but the biggest surprise was that there were females on the camp. These were members of the WAAF (Women’s Auxiliary Airforce) Also the Planners had slipped up as the women’s quarters were situated next to the men’s quarters so there were fun and games for a while until a fence was erected.

About this time the building of a new top-secret underground bunker was started. We were all told that if we breathed a word about the bunker we could be shot at dawn. This was a bit stupid as the Barmaid at the local pub knew all about it as the building team stayed at the pub and talked about it every night. We had to do guard duty at the bunker and during the night we guards would lock ourselves in a room and the RAF police would let their dogs free to roam the building, and they were very fierce. This was a bit inconvenient if you needed the toilet during the night! Sometimes officers would try and catch us sleeping on guard but we had a system to overcome this. As soon as the officer phoned for his driver the telephone operator, who was listening to the call, would warn everyone that the officer was on his way. Of course when the officer arrived we were all patrolling with fixed bayonets and shouting “Halt, who goes there?” at anything that moved. One officer sneaked into the bunker by way of the ventilation system, but he was attacked by the dogs and badly injured.

By now I was getting very near the end of my National Service and I was ticking the days off on my calendar. As far as I was concerned this had been a complete waste of three years of my life although I must admit it did change me and made me more able to stand up for myself. One day I was ordered to see the Commanding Officer (Wing Commander Hamilton) and he asked if I would consider signing on for another five years. I almost laughed in his face – what a joke.

Best Wishes

Duncan

Other National Service Stories 3 -Ken Bradley – RAMC Field Ambulance

In my story Get In Get Out and Get Away I mentioned the Medical Orderly who was with our patrol when the terrorist camp was attacked, but until now I did not know it was Ken Bradshaw

Hi Alan,

I read with great interest your article on the Cameroons. I was in the RAMC field ambulance serving in the Cameroons with your regiment. It was a privilege to have been there with such a professional regiment.
When I read your article it was like being there again and what seemed like a dream suddenly made me realise that it did really happen.
I spent the first couple of months at Beau camp and then moved on to Tiko cottage hospital if you remember we had a surgical unit there not in the hospital itself but in I think it was 2 like mizzen huts with about 6 beds in each. We hardly had any patients but plenty of tarantulas that I had to kill as it worried the patients. Most of the patients seemed to be circumcisions with the occasional appendix operations. We sometimes help with civilian operations.
I then went to Bamenda camp and was soon sent to Sante Coffee. It would seem that we were on to same patrols. In particular I remember the raid on the terrorist camp high up in the bamboo forest I was with the patrol that came up the mountain after the shooting had started. I remember clearly those shots at dawn. You perhaps did not realise that most of us medics were not as fit as you boys and often got left behind as on this occasion. I was probably about 100 yards behind you lot and I could hear the cries of agony coming from the forest and could see the blood all over the bamboo trees. I can’t tell you how scarred I was being on my own. When I caught up the first think I was asked to do was to verify that the two shot were dead and I can tell you that I took a very quick Glance and said yes they are. I know that you said there was only one dead but I am sure there were two.
Our next mission was to destroy the camp although I don’t think I had much energy if you remember when we slept the night before it had rained and I just happened to be lying where the water channelled down. I remember we all had to carry two or three weapons that we had captured and I remember that the prisoners were made to carry the ammunition on their heads. There were three prisoners one of whom was a woman who I felt sorry for in their pathetic state
We set of down the hill and soon I fell quite a way behind until I could no longer see the platoons there didn’t seem to be any waiting in those days. I was again scared as you can imagine after all that shooting I would have been an easy target. I had almost given up and climbed to the top of a small hill and with luck I saw the other medic in the far distance and I kept him in my sights. When I eventually caught up you had all had a rest and just as I reached you the order was given to move out.
Another patrol went out a few days later I think to recover the bodies and when they
Reached there the camp had been put back up.

The other patrol I was on was where we went to see the chief in the village. We went into the hut; Quite a big hut, there was a large carpet on the floor which none of the tribes men would step on. There was like a throne and one end of the hut with all the chairs arrange around the carpet. We all sat down and watched as the room gradually filled up with armed tribes men. Do you remember when they spoke to the chief they covered their mouths. Your sergeant went in a back room to ask his questions and the chief asked if there was a doctor. I was of course called upon to act as a doctor. It was not for the chief but for one of his wives. I handed out a few pills and told him it was very powerful medicine, he seemed happy with this.
Do you recall how the medic had his own little tent where I used to get a small queue of locals outside in the morning? There was little I could do for many of them but I did my best.

I get the feeling that we must have rubbed shoulders, as many of your experiences are very similar to my own.

I won’t bore you any more but congratulations on a good article.

Best Wishes,
Ken Bradshaw 2 brigade field ambulance

Angus Ross R.A.O.C.

Angus Ross R.A.O.C National Serviceman

Hello my name is Angus Ross (Jock) born and bred in the town of Renfrew, Bonnie Scotland of which I am very proud. I was called up for my two years national service in October 1954. I had to report to the Royal Army Ordnance Corps. Hillsea Barracks in Portsmouth a long way from my home town.

We did six weeks basic training and after the Passing out parade some of us were posted to Weedon in Northhamptonshire. I was only there a few weeks and I put in for an overseas posting. I got my wish and I was posted off to Egypt.
We landed at Fayid, then sent out to Geneifa for a few weeks the on to a place called Moascar where I was attached to 3 Inf. Workshops R.E.M.E. Again after a few months and I must say we were settling in fairly well, more orders came through.
The orders were that the Detachment was to report to Ismalia then onto Port Said.
The detachment embarked on the Landing Craft Evan Gibb to Cyprus.

At that time, Cyprus was not the holiday Island that is the favourite destination for many. It was an island of terrorist attacks on British servicemen who were trying to keep law and order between the Greek and Turkish Cypriots. The Greek Eoka terrorist, were led by a General Grivas and it was this movement that was the main problem to the British. It is Ironical now after 50 years the Island is still divided.
The landing craft Evan Gibb docked at Famagusta we then travelled by convoy to Limassol. It was here where we built our base named Eureka camp was on an airstrip. Pitching tents, digging trash pits, toilet pits and many more tasks that soldiers etc have to do in these circumstances, In those early days the shower was a rigged up stirrat pump and buckets of water.

Just the same as many thousands of national servicemen we had our good times and we also had our bad times
Quite a few months after we arrived in Cyprus, we had a 2nd Lt who shall remain nameless joined our detachment straight from Sandhurst. He instantly had a phobia for making personnel do everything at the double and no matter what one did he was never satisfied. Obviously he was trying to prove something, but all he did was lose our respect.

One day the 2nd Lt decided we would all go on a cross-country run in PT shorts and plimsolls. All we had for protection against terrorist attacks, which at that time was daily, were 3 men with 303 rifles. Lucky for us there were no terrorists in the vicinity.
Another day he ordered us to go the firing ranges for target practice. He ordered me and another lad to each take 303 rifles and go to the top of hills overlooking the range as lookouts. When I said excuse me sir but it would be better if we were issued with Sten Guns. It surely would give us abetter chance if terrorists attack us.
He just shouted at us both to do as we were told and at the double get to your posts, again luck was with us that day.

The next time we were not so lucky. The 2nd Lt decided we would go on recreation drive in the Kyrenia district. It was Sunday 15th April 1956, Scouse Hogan was one
of the R.E.M.E. lads who had to drive a 15CWT open truck which had troops onboard, I was riding shotgun in landrover sat behind the 2nd Lt and the driver whose name I can not recall. The 2nd Lt in his wisdom decided we would separate and that the lads in the 15CWt truck would go a different route via Episkopi and we would meet up at Kyrenia Castle. Why we split up was puzzling to everyone in the patrol.
Scouse Hogan on route to Kyrenia had driven the 15cwt truck onto a bridge spanning a dry riverbed. A Greek bus came onto the bridge and hit the truck knocking it onto the dry riverbed below. Scouse had fallen out of the truck on impact and the truck unfortunately landed on Scouse Hogan. During the rescue and recovery a priest was called and gave the last rites to Scouse before he died.
I did not find out about Scouse’s death until later in the day and the shock of hearing of his death, still bothers me to this day. He was a lively character always smiling and full of fun. The times we spent together in the NAAFI having a few pints and playing darts is a memory I always hold.
I still blame the 2ndLt for the death of Scouse Hogan, why he changed that route only he knows and he has had to live with that.
I could write numerous stories of the stupid things he made us do during the EOKA terrorist campaign; he just seemed to be on a different planet to everyone else.

I know this doesn’t sound right, but on a number of occasions while sitting behind the 2ndlt I had the urge to shoot him. The attitude and upset he caused to fellow members and I of our detachment was driving me to this thought.
Common sense prevailed and later while he was doubling me round the camp I doubled myself into the Company Commanders Tent and reported him about the goings on. To the Company Commander credit, he gave me a fair hearing.
He seemed to have had some form of inkling to what was going on and said he would look into it. I am pleased to say he never once bothered anyone of us again.

I had six months left to do before my service ended and it was certainly better now the nameless 2nd Lt was out of the way. The last six months of my time in Cyprus was being a Regimental Policeman on our camp at Llimassol
We had a few incidents that happened in and around our Camp that was upsetting to all during that period. In particular, none more so than when a young driver in the R.A.S.C. hanged himself in the shower block. He must have been very upset to do this and I assure you, it did upset us at Eureka Camp
As I wrote earlier there were good times as well as bad, but unfortunately the bad times get etched on ones mind.
During the Terrorist campaign in Cyprus over 300 British servicemen lost their lives. A great many of these brave lads were National Servicemen.

Good luck and best wishes to past and present friends

Angus (Jock)

n R.A.O.C National Serviceman Abroad

Hello my name is Angus Ross (Jock) born and bred in the town of Renfrew, Bonnie Scotland of which I am very proud. I was called up for my two years national service in October 1954. I had to report to the Royal Army Ordnance Corps. Hillsea Barracks in Portsmouth a long way from my home town.

We did six weeks basic training and after the Passing out parade some of us were posted to Weedon in Northhamptonshire. I was only there a few weeks and I put in for an overseas posting. I got my wish and I was posted off to Egypt.
We landed at Fayid, then sent out to Geneifa for a few weeks the on to a place called Moascar where I was attached to 3 Inf. Workshops R.E.M.E. Again after a few months and I must say we were settling in fairly well, more orders came through.
The orders were that the Detachment was to report to Ismalia then onto Port Said.
The detachment embarked on the Landing Craft Evan Gibb to Cyprus.

At that time, Cyprus was not the holiday Island that is the favourite destination for many. It was an island of terrorist attacks on British servicemen who were trying to keep law and order between the Greek and Turkish Cypriots. The Greek Eoka terrorist, were led by a General Grivas and it was this movement that was the main problem to the British. It is Ironical now after 50 years the Island is still divided.
The landing craft Evan Gibb docked at Famagusta we then travelled by convoy to Limassol. It was here where we built our base named Eureka camp was on an airstrip. Pitching tents, digging trash pits, toilet pits and many more tasks that soldiers etc have to do in these circumstances, In those early days the shower was a rigged up stirrat pump and buckets of water.

Just the same as many thousands of national servicemen we had our good times and we also had our bad times
Quite a few months after we arrived in Cyprus, we had a 2nd Lt who shall remain nameless joined our detachment straight from Sandhurst. He instantly had a phobia for making personnel do everything at the double and no matter what one did he was never satisfied. Obviously he was trying to prove something, but all he did was lose our respect.

One day the 2nd Lt decided we would all go on a cross-country run in PT shorts and plimsolls. All we had for protection against terrorist attacks, which at that time was daily, were 3 men with 303 rifles. Lucky for us there were no terrorists in the vicinity.
Another day he ordered us to go the firing ranges for target practice. He ordered me and another lad to each take 303 rifles and go to the top of hills overlooking the range as lookouts. When I said excuse me sir but it would be better if we were issued with Sten Guns. It surely would give us abetter chance if terrorists attack us.
He just shouted at us both to do as we were told and at the double get to your posts, again luck was with us that day.

The next time we were not so lucky. The 2nd Lt decided we would go on recreation drive in the Kyrenia district. It was Sunday 15th April 1956, Scouse Hogan was one
of the R.E.M.E. lads who had to drive a 15CWT open truck which had troops onboard, I was riding shotgun in landrover sat behind the 2nd Lt and the driver whose name I can not recall. The 2nd Lt in his wisdom decided we would separate and that the lads in the 15CWt truck would go a different route via Episkopi and we would meet up at Kyrenia Castle. Why we split up was puzzling to everyone in the patrol.
Scouse Hogan on route to Kyrenia had driven the 15cwt truck onto a bridge spanning a dry riverbed. A Greek bus came onto the bridge and hit the truck knocking it onto the dry riverbed below. Scouse had fallen out of the truck on impact and the truck unfortunately landed on Scouse Hogan. During the rescue and recovery a priest was called and gave the last rites to Scouse before he died.
I did not find out about Scouse’s death until later in the day and the shock of hearing of his death, still bothers me to this day. He was a lively character always smiling and full of fun. The times we spent together in the NAAFI having a few pints and playing darts is a memory I always hold.
I still blame the 2ndLt for the death of Scouse Hogan, why he changed that route only he knows and he has had to live with that.
I could write numerous stories of the stupid things he made us do during the EOKA terrorist campaign; he just seemed to be on a different planet to everyone else.

I know this doesn’t sound right, but on a number of occasions while sitting behind the 2ndlt I had the urge to shoot him. The attitude and upset he caused to fellow members and I of our detachment was driving me to this thought.
Common sense prevailed and later while he was doubling me round the camp I doubled myself into the Company Commanders Tent and reported him about the goings on. To the Company Commander credit, he gave me a fair hearing.
He seemed to have had some form of inkling to what was going on and said he would look into it. I am pleased to say he never once bothered anyone of us again.

I had six months left to do before my service ended and it was certainly better now the nameless 2nd Lt was out of the way. The last six months of my time in Cyprus was being a Regimental Policeman on our camp at Llimassol
We had a few incidents that happened in and around our Camp that was upsetting to all during that period. In particular, none more so than when a young driver in the R.A.S.C. hanged himself in the shower block. He must have been very upset to do this and I assure you, it did upset us at Eureka Camp
As I wrote earlier there were good times as well as bad, but unfortunately the bad times get etched on ones mind.
During the Terrorist campaign in Cyprus over 300 British servicemen lost their lives. A great many of these brave lads were National Servicemen.

Good luck and best wishes to past and present friends

Angus (Jock)

OTHER NATIONAL SERVICE STORIES Frank. C. Parkinson 1955 -1957 – Royal Army Medical Corps ( RAMC) – Cyprus

THIS SHORT STORY WAS WRITTEN BY MY BROTHER FRANK

F.C PARKINSON NATIONAL SERVICE 1955-57

In life we are products of the time, we are doctored, honed and pruned to the period of life into which we are born and educated into that society. In my time national service was compulsory and having no trade I found myself drafted at eighteen. . After the usual medical and interview at Preston, I waited for my letter. Two weeks later it arrived requesting me to travel to Fleet in Hampshire, the training camp of the Royal Army Medical Corps, known in the army as RAMC. This personally would have been my last choice, complaining was a waste of time, I did my duty and went.

Being away and alone for the first time was difficult to say the least. The training and discipline especially the first two weeks was exceedingly harsh. My group was 55.08 which means 1955 draft 8,16 weeks into the year. The very first week of training my home side, Barrow-in-Furness rugby league team had reached Wembley. I had been to every round previous home and away. They won the cup that year, and I missed it. The way rugby league has developed there’s little chance of a repeat performance. During the next ten weeks we learned all about first aid, how to fire a rifle, plenty of drill and PT. I was as fit as a fiddle and did a road mile in less than five minutes.

One incident that sticks in my mind was the great bucket mystery. Each occupant of the barracks teams up with another and then allotted a task. I was with Joe; I have forgotten his real name. We had to polish the aluminum bucket and when my eyes saw it, shining and gleaming, I turned to Joe. “That bucket doesn’t need cleaning” I said. Joe agreed, we just forgot about it. Next morning the barrack room door burst open. In came our barrack room corporal. “Who’s on the bucket he snarled?” Joe unfortunately, was at the end of the barrack near the door that the corporal had entered. I was at the top end of the barrack and moved forward from my bed .He got the biggest verbal rollicking I’ve ever heard. He was called every name under the son and reduced in height about a foot. I felt sorry for him. The corporal completely ignored me, which upset Joe. I just
managed to keep a straight face, as Joe charged towards me. It was my time to take the flack.

Finally basic training was over and we were given leave for the first time. We had three choices, home posting one week leave, Middle East two weeks leave, or Far East three weeks leave. I fancied going to Hong Kong or Singapore, unfortunately there were no postings for our draft. I chose the Middle East. The only leave I would have in my two years army service.
After spending my fortnight embarkation leave at home. I spent a most uncomfortable night in the bowels of Googe Street station; this is the army departure point in London. We flew out the next day from Stanstead, landing in Egypt. The next two weeks we spent acclimatizing and lectures on the do’s and don’ts of the area .I spent a further two more weeks at the Fayid Military hospital.

I was then moved with the rest of the draft into Two Field Ambulance. This was to make up the strength of their company, who was moving to Cyprus. This camp had a reputation for toughness. They had held their own in the tough camps scattered around the Suez and against the various regiments that served there. The very first night of our arrival we were placed on guard duty. Being desert camp, strange noises echoed across the sand. “What’s that?” I said. The Corporal grinned and shined his torch onto a sand dune, which was covered with wild dogs. A lad named Smith; I think his first name was Geoff .He had the dubious stag into the desert. He looked scared has he disappeared into the darkness. Someone informed us the dogs came into the camp looking for food. I did not see one on my stag. Smith did survive, and coming from a rugby town we became good friends. Except for a few months we were posted mainly together throughout our time in Cyprus.

The Advance party left for Cyprus and soon we were to follow. Not for us the comfort of coaches. We travelled in two-ton trucks, hot and sweaty along the Suez Canal, finally reaching our destination Port Said. We then sailed for Cyprus in a flat bottom boat, much like a ferryboat. This was a short crossing and I was seasick once.
After a bumpy night ride we arrived at our temporary camp. Tired and worn we were allotted tents and allowed a night sleep. In contrast to Egypt, Cyprus is a beautiful island, with greenery, mountains and terrain, similar to the Lake District. The camp itself was outside Limmasol near a Smedley Factory. Two field Ambulance was a self-supporting unit with about two hundred soldiers, including drivers, cooks, and mechanics drawn from the different regiments.

The advance party had done what was expected of them and laid out the necessary tents, cooking equipment etc. With no surrounding fences double guards was the order of the day. This created quite a strain on the personnel available for guard duty. It worked out every other night on duty. Two hours on stag, four hours off. That’s if you could sleep in between. In addition to this everyone worked in the daytime. Digging latrines, putting up the barb wire perimeter, as well as kitchen fatigues. Clerks, Storemen, Regimental police, etc. were excused guard duties. I did the routine for three months. The food was the worst I’ve experienced in my army days. Small amounts, consisting mainly of tomatoes from the nearby Smedley factory, Pom potatoes, which are powdered potatoes and Spam like luncheon meat. This was followed by a piece of watermelon or grapes. These were served in our mess tins. We had to clean them out with first, the local clay like soil, sometimes luke warm water, then disinfectant. A few times whilst waiting for meal times I was so tired I fell asleep mess tins in hand. Other occasions I awoke late at night cold and hungry.

At weekends if not on duty, a truck took us to a splendid beach at Limmasol, sometimes also into the town. The drinks were cheap, at the time, the favourite being rum and coke,
The local inhabitants showed hostility the very first night. Some troops from another regiment at Limmasol were badly beaten up. It was not long after the first bomb was thrown; EOKA had raised its ugly head. After this all personnel were confined to camp. When leaving any camp on the island guns were carried and active service had begun. The killings in Cyprus started shortly after this time, so frequent was this that in Nicosia the capital they called one street murder mile. More servicemen were killed in Cyprus than the Afghanistan and Iraq war put together.

One night returning from a show at a RAF camp, a bomb was thrown into the back of a lorry, driving behind the one I was travelling in. This lorry came speeding past us as panic set in. Our two escorts opened fire with their sten guns firing blindly into darkness. We raced back to our own camp and the truck in front did not stop, crashing through the camp barrier.

Guard duty effected soldiers in different ways. Most personnel acted as if a duty, others were literally scared. One private from Dagenham, fired a round of ammunition and was placed on a charge, others were caught sleeping. The punishment varied, mostly cookhouse duties at night, as we were already confined to camp. I was charged once in that camp with not shaving by a Sergeant Major who always took a delight in catching me out.

My first three months in Cyprus were the worst possible. The next three were the best. Our main camp was being prepared at a place located as four-mile point Farmagusta. I was picked to go with the advance party. We left behind small tents with no electric lights, cramp conditions large bucket to do our visit to he lavatory covered by a sack screened around it. Our new camp was like Shangri-La compared with our old one. Catering Corps cooks, in a proper kitchen and mess hall prepared the food, with a varied menu and proper plates. We had decent toilets, showers, better accommodation in large spacious tents. Above all we had a good sergeant leading us and the work was interesting. Battle-Cry was the Sergeants nickname and he had fought throughout the Second World War .He taught us how to put up the large Marquees which were needed whilst the small hospital was completed.

All good things come to a end. The rest of the camp from Limmasol joined us as we completed our work. Back to guard duties, daily parades, kit inspection every day most very needlessly
In the summer time we worked early morning concluding at 2 PM, the rest of the day was ours. le
Guarding the camp was on a Rota system we did the night time guards and the regimental police doing the daytime duties. This was quite suitable because it gave us a little more spare time. We played rugby, football and running around within the perimeter of the camp, which was quite limited.
Physical Training was taken very early morning with a roll call, which everyone had to attend. I along with others had worked out a method of avoiding this. Roll call was taken on the parade ground which also doubled up as a car park for the REME trucks. After roll call the PT Instructor gave the command to follow him in a communal jog around the camp. The trick was to work your way to the end of the column, then as you passed the Lorries duck behind them and make your way back to the tent area and an early breakfast.

I soon realized in the army it was up to the individual to make life as easy as possible without to many risks to oneself. Also to take any punishment, you have deserved, and not blaming or involving any other personnel when in trouble. The morning parade was held after breakfast each week. A different sergeant took the parade each week and would give the commands. This then was preceded with an officer giving a quick inspection. After this procedure the sergeant gave the command, fall out the employed. Those personnel who had regular employment would salute turn and fall out. These were clerks, armourers and store men; etc. The rest of the personnel would then be allocated cookhouse fatigues and all other task that required attention. The simple trick I latched onto depending on the sergeant,was to fall out with the employed and go back to my tent for the rest of the day.

Eventually I was allocated a night duty job as the medic on ambulance night duty that excused me guard duty. At a later date I gained a job in the office with the help of a chap called Webb from Tunbridge Wells. I think his first name was Mike. Alas the job didn’t last long. I left the CO’s stove on all night and he was not pleased. What the hell he needed a stove for in that heat is anyone’s guess. My old friend the Sergeant Major took full advantage of the situation and had me posted to the Leicesters. In a town near to Farmagusta I had less than six months to go.
I had spent a short time on the wards of Nicosia hospital. The Leicesters had suffered their fair share of injuries and deaths. One of their regiment a driver had near fatal injuries. It was a miracle he was still alive and one orderly had to stay with him at all times. Miraculously he recovered and evacuated back to England.

While still at 4 Mile Point, I spent some time talking about boxing to a chap who’s famous moment of glory was going the distance in an amateur bout with Henry Cooper. Frank from Dagenham, he was the chap I mentioned earlier who had fired his rifle on guard and received a charge. He was also the hard man of the camp, but I got on OK with him. There was a rumour that Frank had been on escort duty to Nicosia Hospital delivering a patient. He was entitled to a meal but went after the allotted time. Frank demanded a meal and the cook in charged refused him. Threats were exchanged and a fight developed which if the story was true the cook held more than his own.

Talking about cooks I would like to mention one, a chap from the catering corps named O`Connor from Liverpool, before his Sergeant arrived at the kitchen he would deliver early morning cups of tea, a true comrade. The Sergeant over the cooks was quite a character his nickname was Squeegee. He got his name because every two hours he would stop all work and swill down the whole cookhouse. He was the scourge of the cooks and those doing fatigues at the time. I can picture him now a ladle in one hand and a squeegee in the other. I am grateful for one thing though. I can peel a spud with a knife in seconds. It never leaves you.

I was not long down at the Leicester camp when I was in trouble again. I had blankoed my belt in the sink of the ambulance room. The sergeant in charge found out, he marched me all over the camp to different officers. They finally found a solution, post me to another outpost in the town itself .At least I was nearing the boat home. With seven weeks to go I returned to my old camp with Two Field Ambulance. Most of the draft that I had travelled to Cyprus with was scattered around the island at various companies’ ambulance rooms. My friend the Sergeant major had some news for me. He told me I had been selected to go back to the UK early. They needed a the first aid man on board one of the flat bottom ferry like boats returning to the U.K. What Sergeant majors say you always agree with but this time I said to him you are depriving me of going back with the draft I came out with and that is what I want to do. He just looked at me coldly and never answered.

When it was time to leave, my trusty pal Smudgy Smith he came down to say goodbye.
I left four-mile point with the postman and we made our way to Famagusta harbour. One more twist in the tale was to happen to me. On board I was allotted a great cabin to myself over looking the deck area. I had met the Purser who seemed a decent chap he showed me the first aid room and I was looking forward to sailing. The Suez Canal fiasco had finished and the troops going back home, were reservists who had not taken part. There were twenty in all and they had been in Cyprus for just a few months. The crew on the ship apart from the officers were Chinese. Unlucky for me just has we were ready to sail; the Purser came to my cabin apologised and said sorry old chap you’ll have to move. An officer had come aboard and mine being the only cabin available an officer took preference.
I spent the rest of six weeks in the hold with the rest of the troops, to cap it of I had to share in the fatigues.

The only incident apart from a cut head to deal with was one of the Chinese crewmen became seriously ill with a high fever. The Purser asked me if I could do anything for him. I hadn’t a clue and handed the Purser some stomach tablets I had found and I gave him a dose of Quinine. What will we do I asked if he doesn’t recover. We’ll throw him overboard was the reply. He seemed in a high fever when we left him and retired for the night. Next morning worried about the patient Wong, I went to the sick room. Wong was nowhere to be seen; I went on deck and spotted the Purser talking to the Bosun who was one of the largest Chinese I had ever seen.
I interrupted their conversation, “Where’s Wong Ming?” I nervously asked. The Purser and the Bosun both smiled. “He’s over there” they laughingly replied. I turned around and saw Wong grinning at me and waving before returning to scrubbing the deck. The Purser and I had cured him somehow, If only I could remember the recipe. I am sure it must have been the throwing overboard recipe?
Just before we sailed into Tilbury a soldier cut his head, after I had finished bandaging him, he looked like a head chef. Leaving my last patient I prepared to disembark it had just taken three weeks. I said my good-byes and caught the train to Fleet the RAMC depot. I was released early and nobody from my draft was there. I made my way to Euston station and home. It was a great feeling. Until this very day I’ve only met one person who served in Cyprus.

Some years ago an old friend named Brian Hubbard from the Cyprus days looked me up while visiting Barrow. Brian came from Norfolk. I returned the compliment when I was visiting Norfolk with my wife. Sadly Brian has died since. He’s the only one I have seen since leaving national service in1957. It was good to see my parents, brother and sister again. We all came from a happy home life with parents always doing the best they could for us, sometimes in extreme hard circumstances. My generation and age group developed from a tougher breed. No more physically tougher than today, but mentally tough. We evolved from the back streets, tin baths, coal fires, cold water, and outside toilets. We were used to harsh conditions. When we went to do our national service some of the conditions were similar to what we left in Civvy Street. I feel privileged to be born in that time period and the time since and the time to come. Many changes have evolved. My time in National service I look back with mixed emotions, on balance it did me no harm.

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