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They were then
able to bang the serving utensil on the rim of his pot. and transfer
whatever he was dispensing onto your tray. Their aim was not always true
however, although in hindsight I suspect it was done deliberately because
we were new. Finding a seat at a large table was the next task, and we sat
down to our first army meal.
Within a few moments of sitting down, a very young looking officer came to
my side and asked "Any complaints?" He was accompanied by a short squat
little man with a thin moustache, a beret on his head, and a red fancy
sash across his breast. I was about to say something, only to be told by
the Orderly Sergeant to "Shut up". It seemed at the time to be a pointless
question, if I was not allowed to answer it one way or the other.
Dinner over, leaving by way of the exit. We washed our tray in a huge tank
of cold water, the surface thick with oily material. We then stacked them
up ready to be steam washed for the next meal I hoped.
On returning to our hut, we found a sheet with Part I Orders written on
the top. This suggested we turned in early as an early start 0630 would be
required. We needed no second bidding, most of us had early starts. The
fire would not light, so bed was the warmest place to be. Lights were
turned out by an unseen hand at 9.30pm, soon to be drummed into us as
"2130 Hrs". Soon the chatter died down, and sobbing could be heard from
various beds. It was a strange experience to be with 29 others. Various
sounds came over and the night engulfed me. My first day was over.
As dawn broke the following day, the door of the hut was thrown open and
the Lance Corporal banging a dustbin lid encouraged us to rise. What a
sight, all shapes and sizes, staggering around in various states of dress.
Four wash basins, no plugs, no mirrors. This was to be the norm for most
of the establishments I subsequently served in. We were in the cookhouse
at 0700 hrs. stood in line, ate, washed up our trays, returned to our hut
and waited.
0800 hrs. More shouting: "Fall in" and "Double" to the R.Q.M.S — the
stores. Sized off in alphabetical order: Adams, Brown, Cousins, Drafer and
so on. The piles of equipment were placed in a kit bag as if by an
educated robot. I reached my turn, went through as the others had done,
and reached the end where I had a buff form to sign. Here I was called
upon to state my number. I thought for a moment and said "It’s
2-3-something, I think". You would have thought that I had blown up the
Houses of Parliament. A storeman told a lance corporal that I had
forgotten my number. The lance corporal told the Corporal. The Corporal
told the Sergeant. They then all shouted at once that I was not as
clever as I should have been, or words to that effect. They produced a
sheet with my name and number on and reminded me. The storeman then told
me "I am only going to say this once. Come in here again without knowing
your personal number, and you will be up in front of O.l.C."
I signed it and went to check off my kit. This caused some concern and
delay, that did notgo down too well. The Corporal said "It’s all there son, trust me,
I am a storeman." This, I
was to find out very soon, was my first mistake. We all returned to our
hut and put on our
denim shirt, hairy vest, sport drawers, cellular jersey wool, beret (blue
with badge), socks,
boots, gaiters, belt (with buckle). We were all starling to look the part.
It became obvious
very soon that the army had only two sizes. Too large and too small.
However, showing
some ingenuity, we exchanged some with our neighbour and looked better for
it.
Following our first NAAFI break, we reassembled outside for our first
parade. I had asked
the man behind the counter what NAAFI stood for, and he replied in a low
voice "No
ambition and few interests". At least, I think this is what he said - he
would not repeat it.
The parade was quite an eye opener. We were all sized off and stood in
line abreast. The
R.S.M. with two junior NCOs in his wake, gave us a number as per our place in
line. He
used his stick, placed one inch under your left nostril, and told you to
tell him what he had
told you. When this was done, he went to the next quivering recruit, until
he got the end of the line. He then marched away to the centre of the square, which seemed
miles away. The
following complex instruction came from this distant figure: "1,4,7 and 10
stand still! 2,5
and 8 one step backward and one to the left! 3,6 and 9, two steps backward
and one to the left."
It was a shambles. The R.S.M. raced across the square with the stick in its
vertical stance —
he was like a man possessed. Red in the face, he threatened the NCO for
failing to have
prepared us fully, and hopped about for a full 2 minutes. I could see what
he was trying to
do, and thought it a little ambitious. I wondered whether I could help it
along by suggesting
an alternative way, although I thought better of it this time. He tried it
several times more
before giving up. He then tapped each of us on the shoulder with his
stick, and placed us
in the appropriate place. The line got shorter as we were now in 3 ranks.
Happiness was
short-lived however, as we were advised to learn who was in front, to the
left, behind, and
to the right. This was to be our position for the rest of our training
period.
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