“A Recruiting sergeant is like a coquette, always on the lookout for fresh victims” Douglas William Jerrold (parodied).
Nowadays if one is looking at joining the British military, one must present oneself at a run down old barracks, where one is likely to be interviewed by an underpaid civilian, who is more than likely to bemoan that the computor programme is Still garishly glitched !! This translates to “Could take months to process”
Half a British century ago, just after the end of mandatory service, Voluntary recruitment was a very different fettle of kitsch…. You’d be whisked away in a day !! Behind a brightly fitted out city center shop window, an overpaid brightly fitted out sergeant and corporal would jump one through the hoops. Earn their pay with smiling cameradie, for their bonus by numbers. “Do you have any preference as to which Corps or Regiment ?” One’s answer invariably met with “Right, we’ll see when you’ve completed the I.Q. test, 20 questions, 30 minutes. Sit over there”
M.C. Snooks sat over there for five minutes, brought the papers back “All done but one I don’t understand.” “Then read it again, and check all your answers” “Done that four times already” Sergeant swore, glared and snatched. Corporal snickered conspiratorially. Sergeant swore and glared at the corporal “Go make a pot of tea”, then to Snooks “Hmmm, y’got one wrong” “So is 18 out of 20 enough ?” “It’s the highest and fastest score I’ve ever seen” begrudgingly muttered. Which the corporal missed… “Mug o’tea ?” “Never touch the stuff, got any coffee ?” “I’ll have a shufti” but before he could disappear, his sergeant yelled “Whaaat ? it’s not the bloody officers mess” then “It’s the Royal Signals for you Snookie, with all the other smart Alecs” “Suits me mate” “I’m not your mate ! I’m sergeant to you !” “Sorry sergeant Toyoo” “Rail pass to Catterick, travel tomorrow”. Snooks hopped on bike to visit his best pal, David, to celebrate.
Eighteen hours later, Number Not Yet Allotted Signalman Snooks stood in line alongside a vast tarmacadamed field, for bedding, uniform and dormitory. That night one of the raw recruits slipped our of a window and ran. The army policy was to turn a blind eye, but only for the First night. The rest of us were too stupid to follow suit….
Six weeks of basic training….. A.K.A. humiliated, badly fed, bewildered and bullied….. “By the right, quihiick March-HALT !! Yer OTHER left foot you ‘orrible little man”… “But Sarge me Mum said…” “I’m yer mother now soldier when I shout shit you jump on the shovel get fell in eyes right about turn present arms yer on a charge attention stand at ease take aim in column of route yer boots are filthy get yer hair cut JUMP to it you shit shower… ad bleeding blanco infinitum….. Ten days later N.Y.A. Snooks is up before the C.O. “How old are you Laddie ?” “18 Sir” “Now I want the truth this time” “17 Sir” “Rightiho, we will write to your mother and ask her if we can send you home” Mother had been wondering where her son was, and 14 days later welcomed him home. Those 14 days were spent in discharge barracks with the last of the national conscripts, who taught him how to steal coal from the sergeants mess, and alcohol from the officers. These veterans of combat were good teachers, and contemptuous of all things military.
A few months later the recruiting sergeant looked up from his mug of tea… “Oh ! You again ! “ ‘Ope yer got yer birth certificate with yer this time, made me look a right chump y’did !” Snook grinned, did a different IQ test in three minutes, 19 correct out of twenty, Grinned again, asked for another rail pass. Which just goes to show that a high I.Q. does not guarantee intelligent decisions.
Back to Khakiland, now allotted his very own number, Spit & polish mindless treatment of terrified boys with high I.Q.s, given identity cards to compesate for having their identities confiscated. Snook was a misfit, a writer of many letter home, a poet and avid reader of fiction and non fiction. This singled him out for derision and beatings. He was never able to work out why these comrades were so vicious. Were we not supposed to be fighting enemy armies ? not each other ? Six weeks of running naked through the wood chased by angry hornets until the Passing Out Parade where sycophantic sgt-majors informed worried parent that nice photographs of their brightly kitted out sons will soon be sent to all families. No mention of the one in the wooden box already.
One week of leave, and it’s the start of Trade Training. Drivers, mechanics, linesmen, technicians, radio and teleprinter and cypher ops, morse and murray codes, AND - more spit & polish bullshit indoctrination, all justified with “You’re a soldier first, killing’s a Trade” or the barrack room humour version “Join the army, visit foreign lands, meet exotic people…. AND Kill Them !” Oh how we laughed. Nervously.
Then these terrified boy soldiers in khaki were joined by nervous girl soldiers - in green so we could tell the difference. We met up in the Trade classrooms, the NAAFI, the Cinemas the Garrison Club. The girls were sworn to celibacy, but not the boys….. Snooks ended up with several pen pals in the Women’s Auxillary Armed Force.
Along came Winter Survival training, oh what fun. Getting lost up Helvelyn in the worst snowstorm in living history. Learning how to build igloos which all collapsed in the night. Fortunatly some of the tents were still standing, kind of. Sgt-major showed us how to climb a frozen waterfall which also collapsed, dropping him below, oh how we laughed. We built a toboggan run, no toboggans so we stole the cooks biggest baking trays. Sgt-major went nuts, wanted to show us how to ford a mountain torrent, got swept away, so we left him to his brush and crossed the bridge instead. The quartermaster complimented us on using our initiative and took us to the Inn, Free Beer, hurray. The officers didn’t approve, sent us out in the blizzard to search downstream for the sergeant-major, boo. Found him out in the lake sitting on a frozen pile of kayaks. hurray. Bloody officers all had comfy rooms at the inn. But not comfy enough, so we all went back to Catterick early.
Snooks was destined to be a technician, until three epidemics hit the entire garrison. The hospital was so overwhelmed that one dorm in every block was turned into an emergency isolation ward. Each had a rotating medical orderly and a food bearer. Snooks was a bearer, and like so many of these volunteers came down with all three illnesses. Rushed into a single room at the hospital where he stayed for three weeks. Thrice daily injections caused fits, but the staff were so reluctant to stay in the room did not notice the first few attacks. Eventually he demanded a senior doctor who suspended the injections. There was never a diagnosis and the fits still occasionally occur.
Released from hospital for his technicians course’ barrier exam, which he failed. During the exam his locker was forced and a watch and money stolen. Seeing the watch on a comrades wrist, he snatched it, and showed his name engraved on the back. The whole dorm erupted, he was stripped naked and hosed with icy water until unconscious. He woke up in the same single isolation room, spending another three weeks. On his final day an officer brought him his kit and a rail pass to another camp where he was to switch to train as a radio interception operator. So much for destiny. He found himself in a company of less violent youths, many misfits, oddballs. There was good rock climbing in the area, something he had enjoyed as a schoolboy on t’Otherwith clay cliffs and the high chalks of Flamboro’.. It was a common practice at this smaller base to hitch into the local market town. Snooks was surprised to find that the local taxi’s were happy to give free rides to soldiers. Trade training to send messages by morse key proved easy to master and also to do accurately at speed. In a few weeks time they would teach him to receive, transcribing beeps into letter groups. At last he was feeling safe again….
TO BE REVISITED.
NeXt TALE OF TWO FAMILIES, Weds 20th Mar. A Shipwrecked Sailor from France.
NeXt UPSCALING CLIMATE THINKING #4, Sun 24th Mar. T.B.A.
NeXt ANCIENT LEGEND, Weds 26th Mar. T.B.A.
NeXt A, B, C + D, Weds 3rd April. T.B.A.
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Thankyou for being here. See you on the Boulevard. Maurice
Yeah, it was mostly a rough ride, particularly mentally. It's no wonder that so many vets are homeless.
The authorities are well aware of this but have always declined to volunteer assistance until pushed by public outrage. When I left the army they told me two things... 1). "You will never make it in Civvy Street" - which proved largely correct for about 35 years. 2). "You are not entitled to a pension" - it took me 27 years to discover this was untrue, and 2 more to force the issue. only 3 months backdating was allowed, and it's a pittance still.....
More on Snooks' journey soon....
I am glad for the upbeat ending and would like to read more. The first part just sounds like hell on earth.