THE FIELD

From time to time during the months of training a warning would follow some item of doctrine: "It won't always be just like that in the Field." The Field is where soldiers act for real, Signalmen included. Mistakes may be dangerous. During our stay in "LIMBO" our Fields were being chosen for us. Across the world many looked highly undesirable. Daily Orders at last announced that a group, including me, was for HQ London District Signals. I couldn't have imagined a better posting. Arriving there we found the place: a 3-storey Victorian-built Barracks with its own Parade Ground, at St John's Wood, near Lord's Cricket Ground. The accommodation was divided into long barrack rooms for about 20 men, at the end of each were Ablutions, two lines of five wash basins with taps and mirrors above them. They were just about adequate for the numbers, especially as some men would risk shaving overnight. I can't remember how long we stayed there; long enough to realise that we had the freedom of travelling anywhere in the London Transport system without having to get passes. In fact, I could and did visit my parents' Ewell shop, which was stretching the area rather. Some tram and bus conductors would avoid taking fares from men in uniform. Some of the latter devised ingenious ways of fare-dodging. Edith and Michael went and stayed for various times in the months that followed.

In the end several of us were posted to the:

33rd INDEPENDENT GUARDS BRIGADE

This Formation had been set up as last-ditch defenders of London should we be invaded after Dunkirk. The Welsh Guards Battalion was based in Pinner, Middlesex, a suburb north of London, its HQ (as usual) a grand mansion. The Brigade had two other Battalions and the usual Services, one being our Signals Unit. Our lower ranks occupied three or four newly built suburban houses along a concrete road laid by a developer who ceased operations when the war started. It was nearly a mile from the Welsh Guards HQ and linked by a narrow country lane. Next door to us lived a couple with a small boy of 2 or 3 years. The Sergeants' Mess and Company Office were in a large house not far away; it had a library with polished wood-block floor, too small to need the Bumper but looking big for hands-&-knees treatment required from us Signalmen on that fatigue. Our 9 or 10 vehicles were parked along the concrete road beyond our billet. At the far end a gap in the hedge led to surprisingly open country.

I am tempted to go into much detail about the strange new life which went on there for Eric Peters, me, the Parson's son and the rest until the summer of 1943. The house had central heating with a coke/anthracite boiler in its kitchen. The kitchen served as Guardroom for an NCO & 4 or 5 men nightly. A garage was the QMS's store and vehicle workshop. Every bedroom had several double-decker iron bunks. Regulations existed about bed-space distances and cubic feet of air space per man but the only person who appeared even to think about them was a CSM we acquired a month or two later. He stretched his arms between beds, looked unhappily up at the ceiling, and shook his head but made no comment. In similar houses beyond our civilian neighbours Despatch Riders, Drivers and Linemen were billetted, then more civilian families. Sgmn Poxon, a young Cockney non-smoker who had the ill luck to be in the upper deck of my bunk, asked what I smoked. When told it was Three Nuns (pipe tobacco, ed.) he produced an elaborate fantasy of the ill effect on personal hygiene of the convent life. Instead of listing the inhabitants I will leave them until they force themselves into the action.

Trucks, 8-cwt, Fitted for Wireless

Our arrival from St John's Wood coincided with the delivery from the makers, Humber, of six of these trucks. They were fitted with a transmitter/receiver: Apparatus Signalling No. 11 ("Eleven-Sets"); one large switch gave the change-over from listening to a frequency and transmitting on it. They were supplied from a large 12V battery, of the same rating as that which the truck used. A separate gear lever could connect a second dynamo to the engine to charge the wireless battery. A third gear lever enabled one to choose 4-wheel drive, when all gear ratios were reduced. The tyres had deep treads, like those on tractor wheels; they were "run-flat", i.e. when punctured by bullets they wouldn't collapse on the rim, though we had to keep them scrupulously to recommended pressure. The two top gears were synchromesh. The engine was a large, smooth 6-cylinder one, related we thought to the pre-war Humber Super-Snipe car engine. We never got more than 12 miles per gallon. It would accelerate quickly to 59 mph, at which point a governor took over and acceleration ceased. A painted sign at the back gave the Army speed limit: 50 mph. In spite of their official designation - "8 cwt" (407Kg) - I later found, when cleaning the massive frame of the chassis (a rectangle braced with diagonals, all H-girders) a warning: "Load not to exceed 4 tons."

When the Brigade went on exercises one truck would be at Brigade HQ and be Control. Others went to the Battalions and any other cooperating units, such as Artillery. All sets would be tuned to the same Frequency for both transmitting and receiving, so everybody knew roughly what was happening. The standard crew for each wireless truck was 1 Driver, RASC, and 2 Operators W&L. So, you will ask, why was I so interested in the vehicle itself? Because the RASC failed to provide the drivers. The crew was reduced to two; our Lt 2 i/c, took us new operators out for a drive in the new trucks and found just enough of us able to drive to set up crews: an operator and a driver-operator. He was not impressed by my performance, mainly because with the Guy Ants I'd got into the habit of double-declutching: worse that unnecessary. Also with this smooth Six engine I hung too long in too high a gear. However his verdict was: "You're careful and I suppose you'll get used to the truck."

Operating with 2-Men Crew

The antenna for the 11-Set was built up from a set of aluminium tubes, diameter about 3cm, about a metre long, with a threaded socket at one end and male thread to match at the other. A lead from the 11-Set went to a socket on the roof to take the first tube. On the move we would normally have 2 or 3 sections mounted. Collars could be clamped between sections, with holes for attaching guy-ropes when a tall antenna was needed in stationary working.

"On the move" brought the problem of finding the way, usually to a given Grid Reference, which might be changed by orders coming to the man on the set in the back. ALL SIGNPOSTS AND PLACE NAMES HAD BEEN REMOVED on the threat of invasion and weren't replaced until after the war. You can't drive and map-read, so the driver (whom I will henceforth call "I" as there was never anybody else) depended on having a reliable map reader in the front with him. This could be the other operator only when the wireless was not in use while on the move. If it was, then often a young Guards 2/Lt or Lt would be beside me; pretty unreliable. Occasionally I had Sgmn Poole as operator, even worse. I give an example. He had got us thoroughly lost and all I could do was cast rather aimlessly about hoping to be moving in the right general direction judging by the sun's position. Suddenly Poole shouted, "I've got it!" and pointed to a newly sprung cornfield just ahead, vivid green. He'd matched it with a triangular green area on the map - the conventional symbol for woodland.

However I settled down to a regular partnership with Sigmn, later L/Cpl, Williams. I couldn't have been blessed with a better. Highly intelligent - he should have gone through University - he left school early, became a printer and was a compositor, setting up ads. in the Daily Mail. He spoke broad cockney and had in his head a collection of verses in that language. The only one I remember in toto is, sadly, not for family reading. His paybook had a note that all his postings were to be in the London area so that he would be within call of his wife, disabled by a withered arm. The only skills beyond him were driving and speaking "Commission-worthy" English.

Our troubles weren't over because there's more to crewing a wireless truck than steering and operating. Immediately it stops moving the truck must be concealed with a camouflage net. These were issued as large, coarse nets, together with scrim, 3-inch wide bands of coloured sacking, yellow, khaki, shades of green, black; we wove the scrim into the mesh to make irregular sploshes of colour at our own choice. The purpose of the net is mainly to cover the give-away shadow of the vehicle; as that moves with the sun somebody will have to move the net now and then. I had to do daily maintenance of the truck, feed it with petrol and maintain its Log Book. Before Jerricans were captured in N Africa and copied, we had useless flimsy cans, the top corners of which had to be pierced with a screwdriver or bayonet, one hole to pour fuel, the other to admit air. Even with a large funnel spillage was inevitable and the can could never be drained.

Somebody also had to get or receive and dish out meals from field kitchens. In winter the one not operating had to be awakened every few hours and run the engine to prevent freeze-up: no antifreeze, and the Humbers were designed for N Africa and over-cooled for home use. A heavy blanket for the bonnet came with the truck but was invariably used by the one snatching sleep. I found my front hair frozen to it with hoar-frost some nights when Williams yelled to me from the operator's seat to wake up and run the engine. The trucks were drained each night when parked in our concrete road. There was competition in the mornings for water from the house supply. I remember being astonished one morning to see luke-warm water I slopped on the radiator freeze as it trickled down. The warmer the water the easier to turn the big engine when cranking for a start.

The Working Week

There was no set routine for this but some generalisation is possible. Meals were provided at the Bn HQ; the Sergeant Cook I learnt was an alumnus of our old C. of E. Longfleet School (Poole, Dorset). (That made no difference when I did cookhouse fatigues - peeling sacks of spuds, washing up and scouring pots.) We walked the mile to each meal, and nearly as far for a morning break at the only canteen, a NAAFI. On Mondays we often dispersed to suburbs a few miles around to sit and practise operating, making up messages intended to amuse or throw the other operators; we had to be careful not to pass information useful to German Intelligence, e.g. about the weather. If they picked up our morse they must have thought us lunatics. It was best to park in a street where camouflage nets could be dispensed with and kindly ladies would come out from their villas with coffee or tea and cakes. In winter it was hard to stay warm in spite of wearing thickest pants & vests, putting denim overalls over BD, keeping greatcoat collar up and using the cap-comforter as a scarf or headgear pulled down over the ears. It was enjoyable in summer.

The other "regular" day was Thursday, devoted to Adm. In the morning all blankets were taken out into the road and shaken. Washing was collected into individual bags and handed to the QM Store, clean stuff having come back the previous day. Dusting rooms became a bit special after we got our CSM: he had an instinct for running a finger along the only bit of picture rail or door top we'd missed. After lunch we went to a public bath (I think). After Montgomery's influence was brought to bear on keeping fit, the bath was preceded by a cross-country run, not competitive, except for me. I liked to trail behind two or three ex-Public School youngsters until we came through the gap into our road, then sprint past them. They would tell me that at my age it must be bad for me. I leave the rest of Thursday afternoons until later because interesting and complicated features were added.

Applying for Commissions

Half a dozen of us were soon encouraged to apply to be commissioned as officers. At that time the procedure was to fill in a form to be submitted to a panel of officers. Three choices of "Arm" had to be offered, e.g. Signals, Artillery, Infantry. The successful applicants were then interviewed by two selection panels of about three officers, the second lot being of such exalted rank that I no longer remember what they were. They fired all sorts of questions. I only recall one topic, brought up by a query put to me about my giving Signals as first choice; he wondered why a Languages graduate should not choose the Intelligence Corps. Suppressing my private opinion that I Corps personnel may get involved in dicey forays in enemy territory, which would run counter to my objective of staying alive, I brought up the topic that I was renewing a youthful interest in wireless matters. I also claimed the broadening influence of engineering family and friends. I happened to mention that I'd made a woodturning lathe from a tailor's sewing machine. He seized on this and made me explain in full detail how that was done. I spare you that; but I attribute to his interest my getting the necessary signatures to the paper. So did Eric Peters and the four or five young Public School sparks. Whereas the latter group soon moved out for their new training Peters and I heard not a word. I was quite content to stay in the London District, within reach of Ewell where Edith and Michael could visit.

It became clear that our Brigade was to continue indefinitely training Guards Officers and men, with a change from time to time to using them in experiments. One such was to see how many days they could be militarily effective when deprived of sleep and inadequately fed. It is grim by the third day. We were thankful that our wireless links were not part of the experiment. Even so to follow a column marching at 3 mph all day in our Humber, Williams keeping radio contact, was a dismal experience.

One Sunday morning I had a heart-stopping brush with a Military Police Sergeant on the railway bridge at Clapham Junction. He asked where I was posted and when I ventured: "London District Signals" he looked at my arm symbols and said, "Yes - and attached to ... ?" Having listened to my plans for the day and my destination, Ewell, he relented and let me pass with the warning that I wasn't entitled to go there; and not to try it again. Soon after that I had home leave and returned to Pinner with my Raleigh bike. Not only did it cut down the time for visiting the NAAFI but I could get to Ewell after duty, 1800 hrs, and be back by 2359, never meeting MPs; but more of that later.

Go to Chapter 8. Go back to Chapter 6.