I have been to visit Frank Barratt today who is 93. Some of you may remember I met him for the first time last November-he was the chap who served in 56 Recce with my father. Well I asked him today if he had had a choice of which Regiment he could go in. "No", he said. "No choice at all. I got my call-up papers just after my 19th birthday and was told to report to Colchester with about 99 others of the same age, then we were sent to Chadacre, where we were told we were joining the Army and the 56th Reconnaissance Regiment. Lesley
I met up with Charles Ward and his wife, Margaret, today - Charles joined up on the same day as my Dad 76 years ago this week (Sunday).. he had received his original call up papers before September 3rd 1939 and in those it had stated that he would be joining the Royal Artillery..then something happened in Eastern Europe and he would receive new papers in September 1939 that required him to go to Liverpool St station on October 18th to join the London Irish Rifles - he a proud Yorkshireman and all (albeit living in Dartford at the time).. Separately I asked him about the episode mentioned above at Knutsford and he claims he can't remember the incident - likely story indeed A/U/L Cpl Ward, as was !! best
Hi Tom, (I'm high jacking Suz thread again). From the recruitment process how where the men selected to go to the training camps, was it the army unit they where drafted to. It might be obvious but I'm not sure how the process worked. David
David In 1942 -ALL new recruits were drafted into the General Service Corps in various barracks throughout the country where they war trained for six weeks as an Infantryman - to get them marching together etc……and to be tested as to where they could best serve the Army - then they went to various units to be further trained in that unit's activities - I was sent to be train on Tanks - others to Artillery - Signals - Service corps etc - it worked as there were few square pegs in round holes then... Cheers
My Dad deemed to have been enlisted 1.2.40 posted directly to Driver Training Center at Cromer. On 28.3.40 posted to Reserve Motor Transport Company RASC as a driver. Nothing in his service record to suggest any other training orcommunication prior to this first posting on 28.3.40. There seems a gap somewhere as to how it was established he would be a driver in the RASC, unless determined at his initial interview which I assume was at his local recruiting office. Brian
Brian Exactly the round pegs I was writing about - it didn't change much as we had a sergeant asking a parade if anyone had experience in the grocery industry - when three or four raised their hands they were sent to the kitchen to peel spuds…….. cheers
Tom, thank you, I guess that is a quick way to learn never to step forward or volunteer for anything. Brian
Hi Everyone I would just like to say thanks again to you all for replying with some great info and recollections and....for the smiles when reading some of them! I now like to think that either by plan, or default, Dad ended up in the Royal Artillery, which is probably where he would have chosen - had he had a choice... (especially at having read on one of the lovely Joe Brown's postings - "The Royal Artillery was your best chance of being transported to where you needed to be").....I can relate to that!! and no doubt it would have suited Dad too. I do have some more questions (i'm afraid)...of a similar nature, but not necessarily recruitment, so I don't know whether to keep on posting here and maybe get the subject title changed to something like... 'Recruitment and all the other little bits'.....or start a new thread for..... 'All the other little bits'....so would be grateful for your suggestions on the best way forward with this please, with regards to best procedure etc? thanks again Suz
Hi Suz, from my point of view ask away on here. You have raised questions and got answers that I've found very interesting and helped me understand more of what went on. David
Thanks David......so lets go with here then and if its felt that it should be moved, I'm sure someone will jump in and let us know. As always, I can only apologise, because my questions do seem to generate from me 'thinking outside the box' and I like to know about the 'little things' which we can all relate to. Having gone through the recruitment process and being posted to their respective regiments/units......they are kitted out with their uniforms etc. But what happens to their civilian clothes and items that they may have taken with them, but obviously wouldn't be able to keep with them once they were posted overseas etc? Did they get leave and take them home?....did the Forces parcel them up and post them to their home address? .....because for some, who sadly never came back, then these would have been treasured possessions. Suz
Hi Suz, good question, In my Father's case he took his uniform home then changed at home he then traveled to his destination in his uniform. Hope his helps David
Thanks again David....I had never even thought of that option, which in hindsight is probably the most obvious answer :wink: Somehow, I just had this theory that they would have just got their papers, been told to report to the appropriate training camp and then kitted out from there.....see....i'm learning more each day Suz
Suz Once you were installed in the Army - it was assumed that you had left your brains at home - consequently you were not TOLD where to go but you were ESCORTED there - just in case you felt you had to go home with your kit - and stay there……too many decided to leave the Army…..before any demob…... cheers
Hi Suz, in my uncles case (dads brother) he got his kit and bag put on the lorry and transported to Scotland on the same day. My cousin has said his personal clothes went in his kit bag she said she never knew what happened to those personal effects. David
My Dad joined on 18th Oct 1939 and remembered that day: "...I was up early. After a good breakfast, I dressed in a Harris tweed jacket, sports shirt with club tie and brown brogue shoes and set off to Liverpool Street station where I was to report to the officer commanding the London Irish Rifles. I carried a small attaché case with a few personal items, including my missal. I arrived well before the stated time. Captain Gibbs, who was in charge of the reception party, was ready to receive me at his desk which was a blanket-covered table. He was very tall and correct but very pleasant, particularly as I meticulously addressed him as: ‘Sir.’ He questioned me about my background and my work. I told him I worked for Hawkes of Savile Row. ‘The regimental tailors!,’ he declared. I had never seen Gibbs’ name on any order so I assumed that he, like so many others, could not afford our high prices. Not all the 96 recruits were as eager as I to become a soldier. It was well into the afternoon before the final stragglers turned up. Meanwhile, we were given one shilling (5p) which we spent in the railway restaurant. When it was time to move off, we were assembled into three ranks and, to our surprise, marched to the tube station. Here, we were packed into an ordinary service train. We travelled on the District Line to Southfields south of the River Thames where we assembled into four platoons before marching off. We still had no idea of our destination. I had spent almost the whole of my first day in the army travelling from south-east London to south-west London via north-east London. We made our first route march, which was about two miles, to Barker’s sports ground on Church Road, Wimbledon. We were directed into a large hall. The first platoon of 24 men was spaced out on the far side. My platoon was given the side where we had entered. A third platoon filed down the centre and the fourth one was positioned at the far end. There were no seats, so we were told to put our cases down and squat. Each platoon was commanded by a sergeant assisted by a corporal. The platoon sergeant introduced himself. ‘My name is Wigger and these stripes indicate that I am a sergeant. If I speak to you, you will stand to attention and say, ‘Yes, Sergeant.’ I am in charge of you and you are in my squad - Ypres squad. Do you understand?’ He gave the impression that we had been accorded a singular honour to be serving in his London Irish Rifles. He told us that Ypres was the name of a famous First World War battle. It was to be pronounced Eaper not Wypers. The other squads were Loos, Somme and Festubert, names of the regiment’s Great War battle honours. A squad at a time, we were marched to a store where we were issued two blankets and a paliasse (a mattress bag that was to be filled with straw), a D-shaped mess tin, a metal bowl, two metal plates, a knife, fork and spoon, a holdall, a small bag called a housewife containing needles and cotton and a shaving brush and razor. We were shown how to pile them neatly in our three feet of space and told that we would sleep there. I looked around at my comrades. They were of all sizes and dressed in a variety of clothing, some wearing overcoats, some suits, others working-type clothes. They certainly did not look like soldiers. We were very hungry and were pleased to be called, again a squad at a time, for our first army meal which was not memorable except for its poor quality. Hot tea was poured into the metal bowl. By the time it was cool enough to touch with our lips, the tea it contained was too cold to drink and it was not very sweet. We were then called to carry our paliasses to a stack of bales of straw where we were to pack sufficient into the linen sack to make a comfortable bed. ‘Pack plenty in,’ said Wigger. ‘There’s no second helping.’ Those who did not suffered for the next two months. A sort of canteen was open where soap, toothpaste and confectionery could be bought. It was by then early evening. Wigger told us there was nothing more to do and we could prepare our beds. Lights out would be 10pm after which there would be absolute silence. Reveille would be at 6am.."
and more (if you can stand it): “Notwithstanding the sergeant’s warning, lights out on the first night was delayed to 1030pm. By that time, most had prepared for their first night’s sleep on our lumpy straw beds. Despite constant shouts of ‘Silence!’, talking and laughter continued well into the night. Reveille was marked by a bugle call at 6am. Even after a poor night’s sleep, I was glad to get out of bed. I joined the melee at ablutions, washed in cold water and shaved. It was no hardship as very few people had running hot water in their homes. Breakfast was served: lumpy porridge and a sausage with a couple of doorsteps (thick slices of bread and margarine). Inspection followed and names taken. ‘Unshaven. Stand closer to your razor. Filthy ears,’ were the remarks made by the inspecting officer. A squad at a time, we were marched to the stores and given an assortment of webbing: packs, haversacks, belts and straps. We carried our bundles back to our places.” “Sergeant Wigger stood in front of us with a webbing belt and pack: ‘This is your equipment. It is called 08 pattern, because it was first designed in 1908. I will show you how to fit it together. Copy me.’ We put it over our civvies. The NCOs adjusted it.” “We then went back to the stores where the armourer sergeant gave each of us a rifle covered in thick grease and a pull-through rope and rags for cleaning the inside of the rifle’s barrel. We sat down and were told to clean off the grease. At the same time, Wigger told us that we were riflemen and we had just been issued with our best friend: the 303 short Lee Enfield rifle and bayonet. It was never to leave our side and was to be cleaned and cherished at all times. The exteriors were examined meticulously. We were told how to pull the cloth from the breech to the muzzle using the pull-through. The NCOs were soon peering down the barrels of the rifles.” “We were told that we would never carry our rifles at the slope on our shoulders, like lesser mortals in other parts of the British Army. The corporal demonstrated the two ways riflemen held their weapons. The shoulder entailed holding the rifle vertically by the right side. This involved supporting the weapon by the trigger guard. That was painful. The second position was the trail. It involved holding the rifle horizontally at its point of balance. That was almost impossible. The next order was issued. ‘We will form up and march next door to get used to carrying our rifles at the trail.’ Next door was the All England Tennis Club, the headquarters of world tennis. We set off, almost in step, with the occasional dropped rifle. The entrance to the club was the next driveway. On the firm concrete surface, we were given our first foot and arms drill lessons. It was here that I regretted wearing my highly polished brown brogues. I started to hack a hole just below my right ankle in my endeavour to snap to attention. This would not heal until we were issued boots.” “At the end of the week, we paraded at the stores to be confronted by a line of soldiers presided over by a thick-set man wearing a green caubeen. We were the last squad to be dealt with. Each man was issued with Long John underclothes, shirts, two pairs of grey socks, a cap comforter and brown woollen overalls called battledress. We were asked our height and chest size.A blouse and trousers were thrown on the counter. My battledress jacket and trousers were marked with a large figure 9.” ‘Excuse me,’ I said politely. ‘Corporal!,’ yelled the man. ‘Excuse me corporal, but this suit is the wrong size.’ ‘Trouble?,’ asked the warrant officer. ‘This is too large, Sir.,’ I replied ‘Smallest we’ve got,’ the officer said. ‘Next.’ I found out later that this was Regimental Quartermaster Sergeant (RQMS) Wallie James, the second most senior warrant office below RSM Reid.” “Next we were issued with puttees and a ‘fore and aft’ cap. There were two sizes only: Too small and too large. Then came the caubeens. Our next stop was at a great array of boots. ‘Size?,’ Shouted the sergeant. ‘Six, Sergeant.,’ I replied. A pair of large unpolished boots were thrust at me. ‘Excuse me Sergeant, these are the wrong size. I take size 6,’ I said. ‘Best we can do.’ ‘Trouble?,’ shouted the RQMS. ‘What you again?’ ‘These boots are too large, Sir.’ ‘Take them, you are lucky to have them. What’s your name?’ ‘Rifleman O’Sullivan, Sir.,’ I replied. ‘I will remember that!,’ He did.” “We went back to our places where we dressed in our uniforms. I was 5 feet 5 inches tall, with about a 35-inch chest. My uniform was for a man at of least 5 feet 9 inches with a 40-inch chest. My puttees held up my trousers which were supported by braces made as short as they would go. The blouse was enormous. The webbing belt acted as a corset. My forage cap was supported by my ears.”
Thanks Tom, thanks David....its good to read about the various ways in which they all arrived at the camps etc. And Richard..... thanks so much again for attaching such great write up! Reading your dad's words is amazing and has definitely bought it to life and answered a lot of my 'thoughts'.... (plus its also saved me from thinking that, being a fan of the old black and white films, maybe I had probably been watching to many of them!!)...... because reading about your dad's journey is how I thought it might have been for mine....ie, catching a train in civvies and then standing in line while the uniform was dished out etc).......and that is what left me with the thought of 'what would have happened to their civvies and personal bits'? I've also just noticed that you have links under your signature and just had a quick look.........so now you know what I'm going to be doing for the rest of the afternoon! thanks again Suz
