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Authors: Anton Rippon
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Castle, we were duly sorted out. Those
with two persistent left or right feet were put in ‘awkward’ squads, and of course you will realize that any display of men donning brand-new uniforms looks a sartorial shambles. I
recall one lad in our company, a Scot we called ‘Little Jimmy Brown’ in training, stood out like a sore thumb. He was even a traumatic experience for the training staff. It was March
and the weather was damp and cold. Jimmy wore two of almost everything. He said it was a shame he could wear only one pair of boots at a time and one greatcoat. He went to bed like that, the
greatcoat aside. Of course, this meant that he was always one of the first ready for breakfast and parade. But, after a few days, it became obvious that he only ever washed his face.
One morning, the PT instructors took a firm hand with Jimmy. He was always late for PT because it took him so long to remove all that extra clothing and change into his gym gear. Eventually one
of the instructors and two lads escorted Jimmy into the bathhouse and well and truly laundered him.
None of us was quite sure whether this was just an act to get out of being in the army, or whether it was a quirk of his personality. Either way, he persisted and eventually was discharged for
being unfit for active service.
W. D. Donkin, Sunderland
There were some Canadian air-gunners who were awaiting posting to the gunnery school. They were put into the charge of the station warrant officer. He was a really nasty piece
of work and did he give these poor Canadians the runaround – all the dirty jobs he could think of went their way. Time came for the Canadians to be posted. In the NAAFI that night they
invited the station warrant officer for a farewell drink and presented him with a parcel. He couldn’t resist opening it there and then. Inside was a cardboard box and inside that was an
assortment of homemade wooden soldiers. On a piece of paper was written: ‘You’ve f***** us around while we’ve been here, now f*** these around!’
A. Jones, Huntingdon
I was a lance corporal in the Royal Engineers. After lengthy overseas service, I arrived back with my base in Yorkshire. The CO there informed me that, for the next few months,
before my discharge, I was to be transferred to another unit. I was then told to report to the station sergeant for further instructions.
‘Pay attention and listen carefully!’ instructed the NCO as he precisely outlined my journey to Victoria Station, Manchester, and then on to my new unit a few miles away. The
sergeant droned on and emphasized how important it was to follow his detailed information.
‘Understand everything?’ he finally demanded. And, although I was somewhat in a whirl, I managed to meekly agree. As I stood to attention before being dismissed, I was throbbing with
emotion and would dearly have loved to embrace my new-found hero – this superb, sublime sergeant.
After all, my new unit was only round the corner from my own home!
Thomas W. Makin, Blackley, Manchester
Before going on my course, I went on three days’ leave. My wife examined my uniform and didn’t like the way my eagles were sewn on my greatcoat. So she unpicked the
stitching and re-sewed them. After my leave I reported to RAF Uxbridge and, the following Friday, was the CO’s parade and inspection. Most of the other blokes were picked up for their
haircuts but, just as I was congratulating myself, the parade officer’s voice bellowed in my earhole: ‘Who lowered your eagles?’
I froze on the spot but managed to reply: ‘My wife, sir. Are they wrong?’
‘They’re wrong all right! They’re the bloody wrong way round!’
A. Jones, Huntingdon
At Warminster in 1941, there was a Sergeant Thatcher who would keep his squad drilling on the parade ground as he stood in the sergeants’ mess having a pint and bawling
his orders through the open window.
One day, though, out on Salisbury Plain, we were undergoing driving
with two persistent left or right feet were put in ‘awkward’ squads, and of course you will realize that any display of men donning brand-new uniforms looks a sartorial shambles. I
recall one lad in our company, a Scot we called ‘Little Jimmy Brown’ in training, stood out like a sore thumb. He was even a traumatic experience for the training staff. It was March
and the weather was damp and cold. Jimmy wore two of almost everything. He said it was a shame he could wear only one pair of boots at a time and one greatcoat. He went to bed like that, the
greatcoat aside. Of course, this meant that he was always one of the first ready for breakfast and parade. But, after a few days, it became obvious that he only ever washed his face.
One morning, the PT instructors took a firm hand with Jimmy. He was always late for PT because it took him so long to remove all that extra clothing and change into his gym gear. Eventually one
of the instructors and two lads escorted Jimmy into the bathhouse and well and truly laundered him.
None of us was quite sure whether this was just an act to get out of being in the army, or whether it was a quirk of his personality. Either way, he persisted and eventually was discharged for
being unfit for active service.
W. D. Donkin, Sunderland
There were some Canadian air-gunners who were awaiting posting to the gunnery school. They were put into the charge of the station warrant officer. He was a really nasty piece
of work and did he give these poor Canadians the runaround – all the dirty jobs he could think of went their way. Time came for the Canadians to be posted. In the NAAFI that night they
invited the station warrant officer for a farewell drink and presented him with a parcel. He couldn’t resist opening it there and then. Inside was a cardboard box and inside that was an
assortment of homemade wooden soldiers. On a piece of paper was written: ‘You’ve f***** us around while we’ve been here, now f*** these around!’
A. Jones, Huntingdon
I was a lance corporal in the Royal Engineers. After lengthy overseas service, I arrived back with my base in Yorkshire. The CO there informed me that, for the next few months,
before my discharge, I was to be transferred to another unit. I was then told to report to the station sergeant for further instructions.
‘Pay attention and listen carefully!’ instructed the NCO as he precisely outlined my journey to Victoria Station, Manchester, and then on to my new unit a few miles away. The
sergeant droned on and emphasized how important it was to follow his detailed information.
‘Understand everything?’ he finally demanded. And, although I was somewhat in a whirl, I managed to meekly agree. As I stood to attention before being dismissed, I was throbbing with
emotion and would dearly have loved to embrace my new-found hero – this superb, sublime sergeant.
After all, my new unit was only round the corner from my own home!
Thomas W. Makin, Blackley, Manchester
Before going on my course, I went on three days’ leave. My wife examined my uniform and didn’t like the way my eagles were sewn on my greatcoat. So she unpicked the
stitching and re-sewed them. After my leave I reported to RAF Uxbridge and, the following Friday, was the CO’s parade and inspection. Most of the other blokes were picked up for their
haircuts but, just as I was congratulating myself, the parade officer’s voice bellowed in my earhole: ‘Who lowered your eagles?’
I froze on the spot but managed to reply: ‘My wife, sir. Are they wrong?’
‘They’re wrong all right! They’re the bloody wrong way round!’
A. Jones, Huntingdon
At Warminster in 1941, there was a Sergeant Thatcher who would keep his squad drilling on the parade ground as he stood in the sergeants’ mess having a pint and bawling
his orders through the open window.
One day, though, out on Salisbury Plain, we were undergoing driving
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