“They call it the Theatre of War for a good reason. Nearly all wars are manipulated or arranged. Soldiers and Citizens who die and suffer are the disposable extras in the production. The Main Players secretly meet backstage, wallowing in Oil and Champagne.” Jack Freestone (Very slightly paraphrased).
Signalman Snooks arrives at his new training camp, much relieved to find himself in the company of intelligent oddballs, away from the previous brutalities encountered at Catterick Garrison. His first long weekend pass allows him to bring his bicycle from his hometown. All his spare time is spent riding or rockclimbing. Wonderful. A month goes by waiting for enough Khakiboys for the next course, which commences with theories and protocols, before sitting, Sending, tapping a month away with a morsekey. He gets to be good at it, soon the class will start on Receiving.
Morse Code is a system where every letter or number is represented by a variety of short or long electronic buzzes, nicknamed dots and dashes, or dits and daahs . - So for example, S = ditditdit, H = ditditditdit, I = dit and T = daah. Spells a word. Radio Operators had to achieve certain speeds of send and receive, the latter being the harder bit. Interception Ops were trained to Receive at much higher speeds, which in Snooks case, resulted in physical involuntary twitches. Each twitch meant a letter missed and another unhelpful glare from the training sergeant. The twitches became pronounced jerks, often with his pencil flying. The sergeant would stop sending to the headphoned class and yell equally unhelpful abuse…. Now, Dear Reader, try muttering “bibibeepbibibeepbeepbibbeep” ad infinitum, with variations, keep raising the pitch and speed. Imagine a couple of hours…… Now you have an inkling… During the third tormented week, Snooks dissolved into a violent spasm, and was sent, shaken, bewildered, staggering to the medical center. The Sergeant Major ordered Snooks to create a flower garden whilst waiting for Psychiatric assessments. Ergo - another course failed, and a posting back to the dreaded Catterick Garrison.
They treat you rough in the army, which results in a culture of having to prove how tough you are. The “comrades” believe that shagging the local girls is evidence enough. When that doesn’t work they try their luck with the female soldiers, which doesn’t work either. Other than bullying, the only other macho option is demonstrating to all that ten pints and ten Captain Morgans (or ten Johnny Walkers) has no effect. But it does….. The Bars in Richmond get Rich, Richmond cabbies get fed up cleaning up back seat vomit, monumental abuse at next mornings inspection parade, plus extra duties for not looking pristine, and your weekly pay is as wasted as oneself. So new ways of Swagger are devised, like showing how accurately one can hurl one’s bayonet between the feet of an even tougher comrade. Nor does that work, but at least the injury might be bad enough to get you a medical discharge. Hurray ! Erm ??
We are much reassured that on qualifying as a Military Tradesman, our lives will improve once we arrive at a working unit. The Army has a well practiced knack of painting war as jolly good fun, and we dumb kids fell for it…..
The Army, not wanting to give up on Snooks, set about training him as a Comms Centre Operator, ie., touch typist (a skill which would in my own later life come in quite handy !!). A huge placard on the wall depicted a keyboard indicating which fingers should strike which keys. The actual keyboard was hidden from view - A system that actually worked, even though our typewriters had been discarded by the Post Office 15 years earlier. Nothing but the best for our brave heroes… Accompanied by a musical beat set at 14 keystrikes a minute, the class set off. Reaching the target of 150 strikes (25 words a minute) would take some weeks, interspersed with Comcen theory and all the military training deemed necessary for typists. This latter included a week charging around the Tank Training Morasses, throwing explosives, bullets & insults at each other. Mostly in the rain and dark. Instructions on stealing chickens from local farms included, along with sleeping in mud. All guaranteed to improve typing skills… Serious injuries were forbidden, but one of the girl soldiers forgot that she was not supposed to crash her jeep off a cliff, breaking both legs below the knee. But to be fair to the Army… She had had her first ten minute driving lesson the day before. Then the ambulance crashed as well - breaking both her legs above the knee. Two vehicles and one life wrecked, vehicles repaired.
Back then, the Garrison had it’s own Entertainment Theatre, the Garrick, named in honor of that famous institution in London, and with which there was absolutely no further connection. Snooks became an enthusiastic member of the team, reliving his School Play experiences anew. Amazingly, the Colonel in charge explained that in the interests of art, no use of military titles permitted - everyone on First names only, plus a budget for a couple of free drinks after every session. Also similar openness with audiences of all ranks after performances. WOW ! Soldiering was not so bad after all ! Snooks was set to work on building and painting the sets for “The Amorous Pawn”. Followed by understudying for both Ernest and Algernon in “The Importance of Being Ernest”. Oh what heady days, what frabjious joys !
We never understood why the head of Comcen training was a civilian…. a mystery man, resembling Salvadore Dali & Popeye, and of whom we were encouraged to be scared. One afternoon, late on the course, he arrived in the classroom to teach us finger strengthening exercises. We duly repeated these digital gymnastics, the final one thus - “fully extend your arms, and fingers, bring them slowly together in front of your faces, repeat, again, faster, faster, harded, louder !” As we clapped like maniacs, he bowed and walked out. Our training Corporal laughed at us, “He does that to every class ! You’ve been had !!” “Yes Corps, that’s how they got us in the Army !” Yelled Snooks. Now the whole class laughed. Corps then announced that next week, being the run up to our exams, we would be allowed to use real teleprinters... We Cheered ! We would be shown how to load the paper rolls and ticker tape ! We Cheered again !! Ticker tape becomes perforated, by the teleprinter, with Murray Code, a series of multiple variations of five punched holes representing letters and digits. These tapes were stored with paper copies for subsequent or repeated transmission. Two weeks later, those passing exams were asked if there was any field posting they particularly desired - no Guarantees.
Almost a year earlier, when Snooks was an underage recruit, he had spent two weeks in a discharge barracks along with the last of Conscripted veterans. These guys had regaled him with tales of Dessert Battles survived, to which he could relate - his own Father had fought under Montgomery at El Alamein, ending up with Malaria in the British Military Hospital at Alexandria. Wakening from the delirium at last, he discovered his red hair had fallen out during the night, never to grow again. Inspired by those vet’s tales and this personal connection to survival, Snooks volunteered for Middle East Command, specifically the British Colony of Aden. British Interests were being attacked by Arab Insurgents; whatever that actually meant was beyond his understanding, but it sure sounded exciting. He wanted to “do his bit”. The rest of his class thought him a fool, choosing for safer destinations. Snooks was the only one who was granted his wish.
During three weeks paid leave at his Mum’s new home, just up the coast from t’Otherwith, he met Angela at Granville Court, an old Hotel Spa linked to a long dead murderous Flemish Nobleman reputed to shapeshift into a Dragon. Interesting, yes, but Angela, an Air Force Cadet was of course of much greater interest than this Lord Drago de Bouverer… They dated in Uniform, walked the promenade, wandered the golf course, went to see a performance of “O’ooaklahoma” and fell in Love. He still found betwixt time to cycle down to visit David Grantham, and to his family in Kingstown-Upper-Number, for Auntie type hugs and a few good luck quid from his Uncles. Back to Catterick to write the first of many long letters to Angela, collect a passport that stated he was a government employee, and his first ever flight ticket. A flight to fight in the Theatre of Aden. A.K.A. to soldiers as “The Arsehole of the World”
TO BE REVISITED….
NeXt Tale of Two Families #6, 8th May. Builder of the Fleet.
NeXt Ancient Legend #11, 15th May. Annavisker Rises.
NeXt A. B. C + D #7, 22nd May. D for All the Other Dragons.
New Thread, starts 29th May. This Creative Journey. Learning on the Go.
Loved that opening quote about why we call the theatre of war the theatre.
And the beeping of SHIT in Morse.
Getting to know Snooks was really great.
Brilliant. Fine blend of the grim and the humorous. A wonderful tale.