by C Brazier
But enough of this building and lading; take another look at the specifications, not only must we be ‘in the work’ but, leaving nothing to chance, we must hold a weapon in the other hand. This is clearly the mandate. When the entire ‘weapon holding’ really gets down to the ordinary soldiers, styled Field Companies RE, then things begin to happen. They take us out for days at a time waging a bloody war against Redland or Blueland. We go forward, carry out the necessary reconnaissance for assault over rivers (crossing by the perfectly good existing bridge if no umpire is about). At night we build girder bridges, or in an incredibly short time float pontoon equipment across the gap. I am not sure whether sappers regard humping pontoon units over a ploughed field in the dark as ‘LADING’ or as ‘WEAPON HOLDING’. Most of the muttered words and expression of opinion that I have heard on these occasions did not sound like either and are not repeatable.
When the season for formation (all arms) training is temporarily over – for like pheasant shooting it has a season – and when the shortage of huts, bricks and cement is acute, they take us to the ranges where flattening our tummies on the ground we really get down to the weapon holding business. If it is a fine day, without too much wind and shooting is in danger of becoming enjoyable, the formation gas officer comes upon the scene and gets us into gas masks. When the order comes round that no further ammunition will be issued until the next training period, what does a CRE do then? He makes them dig cunning holes in the ground and wrap the place round with skilfully concealed barbed wire.
At the end of the day when all are back in camp, the education officer gives a lecture on the ‘modern army’, the padre holds a prayer meeting, cadre classes for budding lance corporals begin, study groups sit down to work and a company sing song strikes up in the NAAFI. Meanwhile the section officers sit down to censor the men’s letters and then there are the visits and inspections by the staff.
On one occasion a general appeared at one of our camps; everything according to specification, gold oak leaves, red hatband and gorgets, brassard on arm, three rows of decorations, highly polished Sam Browne and field boots that dazzled. The guard turned out, were duly inspected in every detail and then dismissed. Meanwhile a well brought-up sapper dashed into the company office and ‘spilled the beans’ that something was happening at the Quarter Guard!
Now it so happened that on this particular afternoon the Company Commander was out, on official business be it noted, likewise the second in command. A hasty beat round by the CSM produced a newly joined subaltern whom he sat down in the OC’s chair. To lend colour to appearances in his strange surroundings, he began making notes from the latest training manual in the pending tray in front of him.
In due course the great one entered and faced the young man. ‘I am General Snodgrass’ quoted the visitor by way of introduction. By this time all attempts at realism, or even clear thinking was quite beyond the unhappy lad who promptly sprang to attention and saluted oblivious of the fact that he was bareheaded. The General sat down. The impressed representative of the OC mumbled the necessary apologies and explanations for the absence of his Company Commander. By this time the General, who turned out to be a very senior welfare officer, made his mission known. This was sufficiently encouraging to prompt the young officer to suggest the unit needed wireless sets as they only had one. The reply was, ‘We have none on hand – but I will make a note of it. Good afternoon.’
Curtains.
Then, of course, we all shared in another kind of occupation, which is something between running a hotel, life as a Justices’ Clerk in a petty sessions and an accountant. This is styled ‘Administration’. It would be unwise to say much about the threadbare subject of ‘filling in forms’, that persistent blight that intrudes upon our existence from the cradle to the grave. Precious little can be done in any phase of life nowadays without having to fill in a form to say when you were born, where you live, what you earn and those left behind when you die. In the Army they manage this form filling bee on intensive lines, even to the extent of running schools to teach the form filling habit to young aspirants for high positions. The matter does not stop there, however, for these ‘form conscious’ young men, when they become sufficiently senior discover that with the aid of the duplicator they can invent new forms, styled pro forma to distinguish the issue from the printed variety. With increasing experience these improvisations can be made even more difficult than the official forms. Then they send them out to a perspiring soldiery. Experience in the formation headquarters went to show that it is necessary to fill in 2.5 forms every day, seven days a week, e.g. over 900 per annum. If the requisite numbers of copies are used as a multiplier, the latter figure reaches over 3,000 sheets of paper containing statistical information.
Still another diversion for the young officers are Courts of Enquiry. These are convened by order of the CO. Three or four officers assemble at a time and place arranged, on a date specified, to examine witnesses and ascertain what happened to the missing blanket etc. In certain circumstances the Courts apportion blame, then when the proceedings (in quadruplicate) go back to the convenor, Sapper Smith usually has to pay or at least make some contribution to the National Exchequer according to his degree of delinquency. These proceedings are recorded upon a special Army Form, signed by all members of the board, each witnessed and then the forms are finally endorsed by the CO stamped with the office stamp and the party is over. Of course Higher Command may disagree with the endorsements, the method adopted by the Court, any or all of the evidence and then back comes the transcript again for the next session. During our stay in Ireland while quarrying one day a lone goat dropped dead nearby, well away from the blasting be it noted. Now the nanny was in an interesting condition and an asset to its owner who claimed the value of the goat and expected kid from the CO of the Field Company on this job. The result was a Court of Enquiry to ascertain the cause of the death of a pregnant goat on the date specified. These proceedings became a classic and circulated sub rosa quite a way to cause many a laugh.
Then there is the ‘concert’. Amongst the troops this function is taken really seriously. It represents the high spot of the cooperative ability, initiative, power to improvise and organization within the unit. Usually led by one of the subalterns and backed up by the sergeants, the performers steal off to some unoccupied shed or hut to rehearse. A fine display of minor tactics begins to be used in the life and the work of the company to account for people missing from ordinary parades and duties. The whole atmosphere is permeated with excuses for absences. Things in the company do not seem to be running quite as smoothly as usual; all sorts of people are missing at awkward times. Much depends upon the outlook of the OC at this critical stage; generally speaking it is considered strategically sound to keep him in the dark for as long as possible.
One day, towards the time of presentation of the performance, while on his rounds of the camp accompanied by the CSM, the OC may see the odd figure of a large raw-boned soldier, clad only in the scantiest female attire with a blonde wig, emerge from a hut. Recovering from his first shock, he is reassured that the morals of the company are as good as ever and it is merely the men rehearsing. After this stage the prospective concert assumes, quite unjustifiably, an official role and carpenters and electricians, scenic artists, musicians and whole cross sections of the unit become involved in the production of the show. Eventually the great night arrives and the whole unit squeezes into the improvised hall, where officers and men, packed in serried rows, are determined to enjoy themselves – and they do. The audience is quite prepared to take a hand in the proceedings if the fare provided does not come up to expectations. Much good humoured barracking and chaff is exchanged and, generally speaking, no quarter is either given or expected between performers and those on the other side of the footlights.
All the usual items of song and dance go with a swing, in any company there are always a few men with real musical ability, and every item is enjoyed either because it is
good, or on account of the fun its poor quality provides the audience. The high spot of the evening is usually the sketch, in which the parts of company officers are played by the men in some such setting as the orderly room or at a kit inspection. All kinds of ridiculous situations are produced in quick succession to give the players an opportunity to imitate mannerisms or favourite expressions used by their officers. This invariably brings the house down and rounds off a rollicking night. These shows got up by the men themselves invariably please far more than the entertainment provided by outside agencies. One finds too that the unit that is good at its job is the unit which usually produces the best shows which I suppose is an indication of their cooperative ability and team spirit.
Hence it comes about that those humble disciples of Nehemiah, when not actually demolishing the works of others, building and lading themselves, or putting all else aside and indulging in an orgy of form filling, entertain each other and keep happy. One thing is certain, there is plenty on hand to keep them from becoming bored.
Another feature of life is best summoned up in the letters MT, for the mechanical transport of a formation brings great responsibility for training, maintenance and exercise, even in the peaceful surroundings of life at home. The raw material drafted in as drivers, RE, is a perpetual headache to most Company Commanders. They are lectured about the mysteries of the internal combustion engine, how it ‘comes in here and goes out there’, the intricacies of gearbox and differential, together with all the other odds and ends of a modern vehicle. They are then introduced to the art of map reading by an NCO who explains the necessity for three distinct types of North, magnetic, grid and true, after which they are put in the lorries for further practical instruction. Then the fun begins in deadly earnest. After spells in hospital and attendances at inquests, the survivors eventually emerge to be rediscovered as impeccable drivers in some night convoy. But it all takes time and patience, quite a lot of work for the workshops, an odd job or two for the doctors and plenty of form filling for the second in command.
The more adventurous are trained as dispatch riders, that peculiar breed of young men who seem to have missed their vocation by not joining the RAF. We had one with us in Ireland who, when he saw cattle ahead of the convoy, would zoom off at high speed, stop just short of the rear animal and put his engine into a succession of ear splitting backfires. The cows jumped over the hedges and with the road clear, the convoy would go through and this otherwise law abiding lad would meekly rejoin his section formation.
Such was our daily round, much the same as any other Field Company of the Royal Engineers, and as far as our domestic life goes, the same as any unit of the British Army.
Then came the time when rather more than usual activity at a certain port, all of which was mysterious at the time, was followed by the arrival of the Americans. They quickly infiltrated the whole country and soon our men were rubbing shoulders with the jaunty young men from ‘over there’. They too were well received by the Northern Counties, but the press in Eire reacted rather violently just in case they ventured south of the border.
The months slipped by, and with many postings away on promotion to other units, in addition to a contingent that went to the Middle East, and one or two jobs, it almost seemed as if we were in Ireland for the remainder of the war. Having commanded the unit since 1932 when it was raised, and in our many vicissitudes during wartime, I left the unit on promotion. A leave taking that was, to be sure! Before moving on, one of my last acts as CO was to find a niche for Corporal Holland who had been my driver and batman since the outset of war. He had taken on considerably more responsibilities in the running and administration in the HQ in the last year or so. The Holding Company, who were just leaving us and converting into a parachute squadron, needed an MT sergeant. I had no reservations about sending him down to them and he was delighted. He was a very high grade man and popular in the unit so they had no doubts about accepting him.
Chapter Thirteen
SPITZBERGEN
For some months, while the main body were in Ireland, a detachment had been maintained at the Naval Barracks at Devonport to carry out operations in Spain should Hitler decide to strike south from France. But as our jobs were often secret this did not cause much comment. This detachment consisted of Major Sammy Green, four officers and 100 NCOs and men of 297 Field Park Company who had joined us in Gravesend. During these months a large amount of training in addition to the usual arts and crafts associated with sappers, was put in on watermanship, sailing and general boat drill which produced an atmosphere of mystery. The time slipped by pleasantly except for one tragic occasion when an air raid robbed us of twenty-five of our men by a direct hit upon a shelter. All hands of the contingent became more and more naval in their outlook. They had reached the stage when they talked of going aboard and going ashore when entering or leaving their camp.
On a sun splashed summer Sunday in 1941, a church parade was in progress and the unit was all present, polished and scrubbed, and equipment freshly dabbed with khaki blanco No. 3. They sat squeezed together in the pews listening to the sermon. The service was nearly over, the familiar psalms and hymns had been sung and the preacher had got to the stage when one could detect almost subconsciously by tone and pitch of voice rather than logic that he was running dry. The heat of the day, the peaceful surroundings and maybe the sermon, had produced a mental serenity among the troops which the sergeant major described as going to sleep, only more forcefully! Into this quiet atmosphere the staccato clatter of a pair of army boots up the aisle caused all to rouse themselves and restart mind and imagination. It was ‘waiting duties’ from the guard so they thought this must be urgent as they watched him hand Sammy Green an envelope. For some this was the beginning of a journey to the far north.
After they marched back from the church to the parade ground, before being dismissed, an order was issued by Major Green for three officers and thirty men to re-muster in battle order with their kit in an hour’s time and be ready to move. As our units had served under the command of the British Army, the French Army, and frequently under Naval Command, it did not surprise them greatly when the party was ordered to report for operations under command of a Canadian force which was assembling in the vicinity.
After an address by the rear admiral of the dockyard, this contingent under Green left the naval depot to the strains of our regimental march played by a Royal Marine Band, and entrained for an unknown destination. After the usual long train journey and the inevitable transit camp – how the men swear about this feature of army life – they found themselves aboard a large British troopship with several hundred Canadians including Major Walsh of the Royal Canadian Engineers with his 3 Canadian Field Company. He was acting CRE of the force. Almost as soon as they were aboard they weighed anchor and slipped silently away from the port.
During the outward voyage there was a good deal to keep them occupied with practice drills for surface raider attack, boat stations, dummy air raid alarms, abandoning ship and so forth. Their off duty time was devoted to fraternizing with the Canadians.
One stirring event on the outward voyage, which greatly impressed all ranks, was a chance meeting with a large Atlantic convoy en route for Great Britain. Coming up over the horizon with their escort vessels, they steamed majestically past, an apt illustration of how the life of our nation depends upon sea power.
So far the average speed of the expedition was about 18 knots until, arriving off Iceland, they dropped anchor for a few hours. Here they met American naval officers who came out and visited the ships and enjoyed British hospitality. As a matter of fact one young American officer enjoyed himself so much that he forgot to disembark and it was only after an exchange of signals and the holding up of the whole convoy that he was eventually returned to his own dry ship!
As the troopship was strongly protected by an escort of HM ships, it was freely conjectured that it was to be another ‘party’. Speculation was rife throughout the ship’s co
mpany as to their destination; bets were offered and taken. One enterprising Canadian was running a regular book in which you could take your choice from the Arctic to the Antarctic. After a lapse of several days, steaming north with the weather getting colder and colder, there was very little left to guess about. The whole affair was just strange. The mystery was increased by the arrival of still more naval units who joined the escort.
When well out to sea and nearing the objective, the Canadian Commander held a conference with the senior officers, and outlined the plan. This in turn was put to the men, section by section, and procedure was discussed in every detail. Variations had to be arranged according to the circumstances on arrival as it was not known whether or not the landing would be opposed.
At this stage all ranks were given thick woollen underclothing, socks, ski-boots, leather jerkins and sheepskin coats. Having donned these outfits they looked and felt really tough! As the convoy neared Spitzbergen, which they now knew was the expedition’s destination, the men who had also been provided with life jackets and caps, slept fully dressed with their small arms readily accessible.
On the fifth day out they were in the Arctic Circle. The brilliant sunshine of the first few days gave way to cold foggy weather and the extra warmth of their special clothing was appreciated as also was the ration issue of rum. The next day was very cold with a clear blue sky and a smooth sea. Meanwhile the ships kept up their steady progress. In an effort to keep out the cold, frequent PT was now the main feature of activities.