Founded on Fear

by Peter Tyrrell

  They are all talking now, and I can’t follow the line of their conversation. All I know is that they are happy and I am not unhappy. It’s just that I am a little slow witted. Yes I think I’ve got everything straight at last. For the first time in my life I am somebody, a human being. Previously I have been neglected, beaten, insulted and humiliated by my own people in my own country, and all this by a most highly respected religious order in the Catholic church. Here I am amongst strangers and foreigners yet I have seen nothing except plain simple goodness, kindness and friendship.

  Surely there is something bad and rotten about the society into which I was born. At school I was forced to steal food because I was hungry. I had to tell lies to try and avoid being beaten. I am bound to believe that it’s sinful to tell lies and steal, yet it’s all part of a corrupt environment which was forced on me.

  We were all saying goodbye and I was to travel alone. My train was first to leave and the sergeant and the other lads were waving. ‘Jolly’ Rodgers had forced a neat little parcel of sandwiches on me, which his mother had given him. He said he wouldn’t need them as he would only be on the train for two hours.

  I am travelling north. There is a lady and a little girl in my compartment. The child has a white pup, about three months old. It’s called ‘Snowball’. As we go further north the weather is much cooler. There has been a heat wave in London for the past month. I have never known such heat, and I had been outdoors all the time, and now there is a little colour in my face. My brother said so last evening. My other brother, Joe the Baker, lives a long way out of London and I didn’t see much of him. Paddy said he spends most of his time with the girlfriend. Yes, last evening was most pleasant. We had a meal of pork chop and onions, and then walked all round Hyde Park. Late in the evening we had a drink. I promised to come to London for my first holiday, which would probably be Christmas. Joe was now saying goodbye as I should not be seeing him the following day.

  The little girl was now feeding her puppy with a saucer of milk. The lady, her mother, was telling me about the climate in Scotland. She said she comes from the mountains and they often get snow in the month of May. The further north you go the colder it gets, and the further south the warmer it is. When I said I had joined the King’s own Scottish Borders she thought it was a good regiment, and added ‘that the soldier boys often do training on the mountains, and they carry their beds up the mountains because they often remain up there for a week’. She thought the time would come when the women would be fighting side by side with their men folk. If we lost as many in the next war as we did in the last the women would have to put the trousers on. She carried on and on. I was listening but, as usual, thinking on other matters as well. I was thinking about my mother. I hadn’t told her about the army. There was no promise that I would return at any special date. I merely said I was going to Dublin. There was no mention of catching the boat to Liverpool and I don’t remember having written home since I left. But I know Paddy did write letters, because I knocked a bottle of ink over one night, which he was using. I stayed up and washed the tablecloth, but only made it a lot worse, and bought a new one next day. We were lucky it was only a small table.

  I was thinking about Betty, and her mother and father, and hoping he was not drinking again. Although Betty didn’t mind it so much because when her dad had a drink he would dance with her and often bring the gramophone into the workshop. This made Mrs Evans mad. Mr Evans was an easy-going man when there was any little trouble. He would send me along to the pub for a drink of whiskey (on the book of course) after which he would sing a song and talk about life in the States and about the money he lost and won on the horses. When business was real bad he would just go across the road to the egg store and bring back a customer. The farmers always came there to sell their eggs. He understood the farmers. He knew they would cut him down to the last penny, so he put the price up a few shillings and by the time the deal was made, he got his original price. The farmers loved him because he would listen to their troubles. The farmers were always in trouble with their next door neighbours and were always seeking legal advice so they came to Evans. It was cheaper to buy a drink or two for the ‘master tailor’ than to pay a lawyer’s fee. Not only that, it was a better atmosphere in the pub. They didn’t like to see books and papers in an office, which cost money, their money.

  The little girl came to offer me sweets, which I accepted. They were long hard caramel sweets wrapped in paper, and others she called butterscotch which were delicious. I had been dreaming a little, and explained this to her mother, and asked to be forgiven. She said she understood, as her husband was always day-dreaming, that is why she left him at home. He doesn’t get lost there, except when he goes out to buy the paper. He meets someone, or wanders off to the club to see what won the last race.

  We are now slowing down. I am getting ready to get off at the next stop which is Berwick on Tweed. I had no luggage as a lad in the digs said it wouldn’t be any good to me, as it would just be parcelled up and put into the store until I was finished my training of twenty weeks.

  A rather serious-looking corporal was waiting for me at the station, and I imagine he had been given a good description of me, because he had no difficulty in picking me out of about two dozen passengers, and I noticed there were several lads my own age. He looked me up and down with his trained eye, and asked, in a broad Scotch accent, ‘May I see your identification papers?’ After having read the documentation carefully he said ‘I will take you to your depot.’ As we walked through the cobble stone streets in step he asked, ‘Have you had any experience of the army before?’ I answered ‘No.’ He then smiled a little and said, ‘The first ten years are the worst.’ I then asked if he would like a drink, and his answer surprised me. ‘I never refuse.’ We had two pints of Scotch ale, which was stronger than the London beer. I asked if I should wear the same kind of uniform as he had on, ‘exactly the same’ was his answer. I wasn’t very keen on the tartan trousers, and the short khaki jacket, and the Glengarry headdress, but I didn’t say this. He told me something of the general routine. Reveille at 6.30 a.m., first parade 7 a.m. until 7.45, breakfast 8 a.m. until 8.30. After breakfast we make our beds and clean the barrack rooms. Next, parade 9.30. We do three parades of one hour each, with ten minutes’ break between parades in order to change from one dress into another. Lunch at 1 p.m. There is one parade from 2 p.m. ’til 3 p.m. in the afternoon, after which we clean equipment, rifles, etc. until tea time 5 p.m.

  We may leave the barracks after 6 p.m. and return by 9.30 p.m. except at the weekends when we are allowed out until midnight. We should be properly dressed at all times outside our barrack rooms, except when going to the dining room where we are allowed to go without a headdress. When walking out from barracks we must carry in our right hand a cane or stick, which is carried parallel with the ground.

  When I entered barracks I was given a bath and haircut, and then had a meal in the canteen after which I was shown to my barrack room where there were four other men, and one N.C.O. in charge. I found them a mixed lot. One from Manchester, two from London and one from Wales. They were all very friendly and helpful. The N.C.O. was Scotch, from Edinburgh. Men from other rooms came and sat talking. Most had only been there a week or two. People who came from big cities didn’t like the routine and discipline and often complained mainly about the food. An officer came to the dining room each meal time and walked to every table. It was the practice for the man at the head of the table to stand up and answer for his table. After being a few days at the depot I had to answer for my table. When the officer asked if there were any complaints, I answered, ‘No Complaints, Sir.’ The officer was surprised because everyone else had complained.

  I found the first three months most enjoyable. Our squad sergeant was a London chap and was a real nice man who had recently returned from Hong Kong. He was absent one day and another sergeant took his place. This man terrified me, when he shouted at me for making a mistake and I beca
me worse, and he used to rush over and lift his hand as though to strike me, but never did. I am told that he used to hit men from his own squad. He was a heavyweight boxer and had been once a brigade champion.

  Up ’til this time the training had been simple and I thought easy. We done drill, P.T., musketry education and bayonet fighting. We had been firing miniature rifles (202) but now we were firing the service rifle on the open range. I was afraid to jump over the wooden horse to do a hand spring. I couldn’t walk along a 3-inch plank at a height of 3 feet. I was getting no better however hard I tried, and the P.T. instructor gave me a bad report and said that he didn’t think I was going to be any good, and on several occasions he reported me to the adjutant. One day he lost his temper and told me to leave the drill hall and not to come back the following day. He advised me to desert the army. I had now given up all hope and expected to be discharged before my twenty weeks training period had been completed.

  I thought and still believed that the army would do me good. It was the kind of life, the only kind that suited me. I would one day be able to cast aside my fears and live a normal carefree and happy life like those around me. Soon I would forget the torment of my unhappy schooldays. I should be able to go to bed and sleep at night instead of being afraid to sleep, terrified of those frightening dreams which haunted me. The fears of being followed. I am always trying to get away from someone who wants to kill me. I try to scream and can’t. During the day time I am like a coiled spring, unable to relax, like an animal always on its guard.

  The other young soldiers are now talking about their holidays, before joining the Regiment. There is a passing out parade, which is not bothering them. We are now at P.T. and there is an officer watching us, and at the end of the parade he sends for me, and said ‘I have heard unfavourable reports about your work. Now listen here soldier, many have tried this game before you. You find you don’t like the army and you’re trying to work your discharge. But it’s not going to work. You will join your Regiment even if you go under escort.’ I was lost for words. The officer hesitated as if waiting for me to speak. But I said nothing.

  The following week we’re firing on the open range at distances up to 500 yards. It is a cold day and is snowing. I failed to hit the target at 3 and 400 yards. But at 500 yards we are firing with the rifle rested, there is a fresh wind blowing across our front. I manage to get two bulls out of five shots by aiming at the top left-hand corner of the target. On seeing this, the officer said that anyone who could hit the target under such conditions is not a bad shot, and he overlooked my other failures. I go north to Glasgow for my holidays.

  After a quiet holiday in Glasgow I return to the depot, and we are issued with tropical kit, and are now preparing to join our battalion which is stationed in Malta. We leave the depot and travel south to Tilbury by train. We are given a good send off, and the adjutant says goodbye to each man personally and gives us a packet of cigarettes and chocolates. We now get a pleasant surprise. We embark in a P & O passenger liner instead of the usual troopship and we travel as first class passengers. The first few days are rather pleasant, but on the third day the sea is choppy and gets worse on the fourth day and most of the lads are seasick. It’s still rough on the fifth day and by now very few attend for meals. I have had nothing to eat for two days. But the sixth day is wonderful. The sea is very calm, without even a ripple, and it’s very light blue in colour. There isn’t a cloud in the sky.

  We stopped at Gibraltar for two hours yesterday, but did not disembark. This has been a most enjoyable voyage except for two days when I was sick. The weather is beautiful and a sailor told me that it’s like this most of the year. We sleep in cabins, and are waited on during every meal. This is real luxury and I never imagined that life could be so comfortable. Malta is now in sight. It just looks like a tiny rock. I can feel a kind of loneliness and imagine that many others feel the same way, as the voyage is almost over. We have been happy since we left the Bay of Biscay. It’s now only two miles off, and looks a light brown, roasted with the sun.

  We are now getting ready to disembark, and a sergeant who is going to be in charge of us has come on board. He is very brown and looks very strong and healthy. We are going down the gangway and one of the lads has dropped his rifle into the sea. An officer of the ship goes away and returns after twenty minutes with a diver from one of the warships. He dives and comes back up with the rifle and everyone is now pleased. The diver is now cheered for his wonderful work. We march to Floriana Barracks to the music of our battalion pipe band.

  As we go through the streets of Valetta, there are plenty of goats and a few horse-drawn vehicles for carrying passengers. Here and there we find a man sitting on the pavement and leaning against the wall fast asleep and by his side is a basket of fruit. He is usually in his bare feet, and wearing an open-necked shirt with trousers and waistcoat. Most of the women wore a black hood over their head which I am told is called the hood of shame. Napoleon is said to have compelled them to wear this because they would not entertain his soldiers. The people of Malta are very religious and are all Roman Catholics.

  This was once a barren island or just a rock until a law was passed which compelled all ships calling at the island to carry a percentage of soil or earth, which now covers the island and has made it fertile. There are great quantities of grapes, tomatoes, figs and perhaps a few dates.

  We are now in our barrack rooms, about twenty men to each room. After a week at the barracks we go to a camp twelve miles away on the other side of the island, to do advanced recruits training. We finish parades at 3 p.m. and spend the rest of the day cleaning equipment, and swimming, and hiking. The food is not as good as it was at the depot. But it’s quite cheap in the canteen and we can buy a meal each night, for 6d.

  There are no licensing laws here and all the cafés sell drinks. There is at least one hostel in every café. But some have as many as five or six, whose duty it is to entertain the customers. The hostess drinks a small glass of wine called Ambeit, but is often only coloured water and costs 6d. The customer is expected to pay for her drink in exchange for her attention.

  There is a good price paid for woollen garments, and the soldiers often wear extra shirts and cardigans which they sell outside (we are not allowed to carry a parcel). The Abyssinian War is now on, and it is thought we may intervene, as maps of that country are being studied by the officers. We are now on manoeuvres and are doing intensive training with the navy and the R.A.F. and we watch a demonstration by the radio-controlled Queen Bee Aircraft which is said to be the first pilotless plane. During manoeuvres we are taken by a destroyer to the small island of Gozo, the other side of the Leper’s Island. On the ship a lad who was in the Navy Cadets two years ago told me that he watched a demonstration on Gibraltar when the anti-aircraft gunners tried to shoot down Queen Bee. King George V was present and after firing at it for two days and failed to get a hit, they placed a time bomb in the plane to impress His Majesty.

  In August 1936 we are moved to Palestine where there is trouble between Arabs and Jews. We are in Carmel Camp 3 miles from the capital, and are being sniped at during the night from Mount Carmel. I move to a Jewish settlement at Beersheba. The people in this settlement live on a semi-military basis. They start work at about 5 a.m. and are detailed for their different jobs in much the same way as the army, i.e. there is a notice board where orders are posted, and they are changed to different jobs weekly. The people are nearly all young, between 18 and 40 years. Men and women dress very much the same, in light khaki shirt and short pants and shoes. They wear a light toppee. They are mostly German Jews and are all armed with German weapons of superior quality. They do guard duties in the same way as we do them. The men and women are on an equal footing. There are no wages paid. But everyone is well provided for and all expenses are paid. Children are not brought up by the parents, but are kept in the infirmary, and looked after by experienced nurses. There is a doctor in each settlement.

  The farms ar
e beautifully kept, and are watered by revolving sprays, the water can be turned on or off. The cattle are well cared for and are spotlessly clean. The fruit is delicious and every day we are given several grapefruits and oranges. Dances are held periodically and we are invited. We are often invited to their tea parties. Their tea is not like ours but is very weak, and sometimes they have black tea with fresh lime or lemon squeezed into it.

  We are now posted to Tiberias near the Sea of Galilee. This is not in fact a sea but a freshwater lake. We are now living in a two-storey school which is surrounded by barbed-wire entanglements. There are a few shots fired occasionally but there is no serious trouble.

  I am now suffering from malaria and go to a hospital in Alexandria, Egypt. I go by Red Cross ship from Hefa. After two weeks I am well and return to Palestine by train. We travel through the desert, and the train catches fire underneath and the Arabs jump off screaming. We cross a river by ferry. On the ferry the money is changed. We board the train for Hefa and catch a bus to Nazareth. I am walking through the bazaar at Nazareth when I am stopped by two Arabs, one shows me tricks with a pack of cards as the other one goes through my pockets.