Basic training with the QORWK

Queen’s Own Royal West Kent Regiment

Queen’s Own Royal West Kent Regiment

The majority of my service was with the Royal Sussex Regt. in Minden, in N.W. Germany, although I had in fact completed my basic training with the Queen’s Own Royal West Kent Regt. in Maidstone and it is this that I shall deal with first. The ten weeks I spent in basic training at Maidstone were something of a shock to the mind and the body. On arrival, we apprehensive young men were directed to the quartermaster’s store where we were assessed at a glance. “Large”, “Medium” or “Small”, called out the Colour-Sergeant and a kit-bag containing most of our requirements was thrown in our general direction, with the exhortation “Should anything fit, bring it back and we’ll change it!” We then had to struggle to our barrack block, carrying all the gear with which we had been issued, in addition to the suitcases we had all brought with us!

Once we had found our individual bed spaces, we were told to change into the denim fatigues and go immediately to the bedding store, where we collected a bedroll consisting of mattress, blankets, sheets and pillow. The clever trick here was that the braces to hold up the trousers were buried deep in the kit-bag, with no time being allowed to dig them out and put them to use. Therefore, carrying this bedding on the shoulders, with gravity having the inevitable effect upon the trousers must have been a hilarious sight to behold. It was not amusing to us at the time!

We began to get ourselves sorted out, with many cries of “Gather round” from the platoon sergeant whose job it was to initiate this disparate collection of lads into the discipline of army life. By the time we fell into our bunks we were all pretty shattered, both emotionally and physically. We were informed that reveille would be at 06.00 hrs, but this information did little to prepare us for the whirlwind which actually occurred.

First the bugle call. In this case the “short reveille” or “rouse” (Get out of bed, Get out of bed, You lazy bastards, etc.). Scarcely had the last note died away, when a dervish, in the form of a corporal, flung open the door, beating on it with his cane as he did so. There then emanated from this N.C.O. a stream of profanities and obscenities, the like of which I have not heard either before or since. It went something like:“WAKEY!, WAKEY! RISE AND SHINE! GET OUT OF THEM FUCKIN’ WANKIN’ CHARIOTS! HANDS OFF YER COCKS ‘N’ ON WIV YER SOCKS! D’YER WANT TO SLEEP ALL FUCKIN’ DAY. GIT UP YOU IDLE BASTARDS. WHEN I’M UP, EVERY BUGGER’S UP! This must be the origin of the expression “rude awakening”!

Now it starts! Get washed, shaved and dressed and then to the cookhouse for breakfast. There we find a vast tray of fried eggs, or, more accurately, one enormous, multiple yolked, fried egg! The cook separated one of these yolks, and its surrounding white, from the mass and hurled it onto the proffered plate. It was quickly joined by bacon and sausage. Whatever else may be said about army food, I always found these small sausages delicious. Then there was porridge, cereal, bread and jam, and tea from a large urn. This was collected in the one pint, “Mugs, China” with which we had been supplied. We were also issued “Mugs, Enamel, One Pint” which were for use “in the field”.

After breakfast we were shown how to fold our blankets into a “bedbox” which was placed at the head end of the bed. The thing which, to me, summed up the futility of this way of life was the “lightweight” blanket used to cover the mattress. This was a dark grey-green in colour and down the centre was a narrow black line. This black line had to be dead straight down the centre of the bed. It served no purpose other than to give us poor sods something else to get straight! Over the following days we were instructed in the art of “blancoing” our webbing, polishing brasses and, particularly, the secrets of “bulling” boots. This consisted, firstly of smoothing the grain of the leather on toe-caps and heels. The preferred tool for this job was a spoon-handle used with much elbow-grease and heated in a candle flame. When the leather was suitably smooth, a thick layer of Kiwi boot polish was built up by the infamous “spit and polish” method. i.e. Take a duster, stretched over the forefinger and apply a generous amount of the polish to a small area. Spit onto this and work in, using a small circular motion. Repeat this procedure until the whole toe-cap has a smooth coating of polish. This is then brought to a high gloss by the judicious use of water and cotton wool. This process actually works, but in my experience, only with Kiwi. Cherry Blossom did not lend itself to the process!

Barry Marchant

Barry Marchant

In the following few weeks we learnt to strip and reassemble the Lee-Enfield rifle, the Bren light-machine-gun and the Sten Machine-Carbine. We were marched round and round, and up and down on the parade ground and had every conceivable insult and indignity heaped upon us. We learnt the art of rifle drill, but, sadly for us, it seems we were not taught the drill manoeuvre “right incline”! This omission was to cause the downfall of a number of us later in our service! On the subject of insults, I was found, on Muster Parade one morning, to have a speck of dust in the welt of my boot. The Platoon Commander, a lieutenant whose name I have forgotten, on discovering the offending particle, put his face a few inches from mine and roared, “How dare you come on parade in this condition? You are a dirty, filthy, scruffy, idle soldier. What are you?” “A dirty, filthy, scruffy, idle soldier, sir,” I was obliged to repeat. “What a twerp” was what I was thinking.

The barrack room had to be kept spotless at all times, with the wooden table scrubbed, the broom and mop handles scraped or scrubbed and the galvanised bucket polished. Saturday morning was the time for the Platoon Commander’s room inspection and therefore, Friday evening was taken up with preparation for this event. Every item in the room had to be dusted, washed, scrubbed or polished. The main focus of our attention though, was the floor to which polish was applied by hand, and then buffed up by heavy, long-handled bumpers which were wielded with great energy, by everyone in turn!

Possibly the most bizzare eccentricity in this frenzy of rubbing, scrubbing, scraping and polishing, concerned the “fire point” in the corridor outside the room. This was of the usual type, familiar to most of us. A red-painted wooden stand, on which were four red buckets bearing the legend “FIRE” in black paint. Two of these contained sand and the other two water. On the morning of the room inspection the sand had to be raked over to show a clean surface and the water in the buckets was changed, in order to remove the dust which had settled on it in the past week!

We carried out weapons training and field-craft on the back field, adjacent to the River Medway, from which a small inlet had been cut beneath a tree. A rope suspended from this tree formed part of the assault course. We had to swing across this water, on the rope. In addition to this the assault course had a six-foot wall, a twelve-foot wall and various other tunnels and obstacles. Some of the blokes thought this great fun, but I have to confess it was not “my scene”.

About three weeks into our training we were told by our Platoon Sergeant, Sgt. Johnson that half of the intake would be transferred to the 1st Battalion The Royal Sussex Regiment at the completion of our training. The reason for this was that the Royal Sussex, currently in Germany, were to go to Korea. Their battalion was under strength and men were being transferred in, from several other regiments. Sgt.Johnson asked if any of us would like to volunteer for this transfer. This was 1954 and I knew that the Korean war was over, and I considered that as I was in the army I might as well go somewhere adventurous. If I stayed with the Royal West Kents I would go to Luneberg in Germany, with their 1st Battalion. Accordingly, and against the ubiquitous advice “never volunteer for anything”, I put my name forward. I hadn’t considered how my father would react to my action. He was very upset at my leaving the “Queen’s Own” as it had been his Regiment in the Great War. However, the fact remained that I might have been selected for transfer anyway. So, back to the story…..

When we were considered to be well enough trained that we would present minimum danger to ourselves or to each other, we were taken to the ranges at Lower Halstow, on the North Kent coast, for live firing of, first the rifle and later the Bren. This was quite good fun, once one had become used to the kick of the rifle, which was quite painful if you were wearing “shirt-sleeve order” and had nothing but the shirt material to protect the collarbone. The Bren was a much easier weapon to handle, the recoil being absorbed by the gas operated automatic firing mechanism.

On these days we were divided into two parties. These were known as the “firing party” and the “butt party”. The butt party was responsible for raising and lowering the targets, and for “patching up” after each session of firing. The butts consisted of a long concrete shelter backed by an earth bank. In the lee of this shelter was a row of about twenty target frames. These metal structures could carry two wood-and-paper targets which were four-feet square, unless the “shooter” was as far back as the 500 yard or 600 yard firing points. In this case a six-foot square target was used. These two targets were mounted one behind the other on a counterbalance system, so that if one was up the other was down and out of sight from the firing point. A target was put up and the shooter fired off the requisite number of rounds in the allotted time. The butt party then pulled down the targets and the officer in charge came along and checked the scores, according to the holes in the target.

The target was marked, from the centre out, Bull, Inner, Magpie, Outer and was in three colours, black, beige and white. Two men manned each target and were equipped with paste and brush and rolls of appropriately coloured paper for patching over the holes. This made the target re-usable for the next bloke. There was also a hand-held snap-shooting target, a two-foot diameter plywood circle mounted on a length of 2×2 timber. This was held up for ten seconds and the marksman, two hundred yards away had to try to put five rounds through it. This was all a bit hairy for whoever was holding it, especially if a round went through the 2×2, occasionally below the circle!

When the four-foot target was in use it was possible to indicate to the marksman, after each shot, the score for that shot and to point out precisely the point of entry, so he could adjust his aim, if necessary. The target indicator consisted of a length of wood,about six feet, with a plywood triangular pointer at the end, painted white on one side and black on the other. If a bull was scored, the pointer was used, white side out to indicate the precise point of the hit. In the case of an inner the stick was shown straight up and then twisted round and round, showing black, white, black, white and then pointing out the hit.

The next sign was for a magpie in which the white pointer was pushed vertically up and down in front of the target, the point of entry then being shown as before. When an “outer” was scored the target marker was waved in a wide arc, to and fro across the the target, with much gusto before coming to rest at the appropriate far-off corner of the target! The greatest fun was reserved, however, for the shot which missed the target entirely, sometimes ricocheting, to great effect, off the metalwork of the target frame, other times ploughing into the earth bank and showering the target operators with soil, grass etc. This brought into play a large union jack, waved enthusiastically and then used to indicate the path of the wayward round. This was accompanied by cheering and calls of “SHIT STICK!” from everyone in the butts!

Soldiers

L - R: Ginger Belfield, me, a friend whose name I have unfortunately forgotten


L – R: Ginger Belfield, me, a friend whose name I have unfortunately forgotten

Halfway through the day, the firing party and the butt party changed over and took full advantage of the opportunity to get their own back in whatever way. On our return to barracks, there was an enormous cauldron of boiling water set up outside, which was to be used for cleaning the rifle-barrels. By means of a dipper and a funnel, ten pints of this had to be passed through the barrel. This “boiling out” process was followed by normal cleaning and oiling.

Towards the end of our ten weeks training period we set out on a 24-hour exercise, which took place on the hills of East Kent, around Shorncliffe. The most vivid memory I have of this adventure is of the eerie screaming of rabbits in their death agonies, this being at the height of the myxomatosis epidemic. These poor creatures were pitiful, both to hear and to behold.

The final event of our training was the Passing Out Parade. Local dignitaries and regimental brass were present, to see us do our stuff, as were photographers and the families of the now fully-fledged soldiers.

At the conclusion of this display we went home on fourteen days leave, before spending five days in a transit camp at Canterbury. This was the home town of “Ginger” Belfield, with whom I had struck up a close friendship during our stay at Maidstone. “Ginger” took me to his home each evening of the five days we were there. His parents made me very welcome and I found a friend in his younger sister, a pretty little redhead of about sixteen with whom I exchanged letters during a large part of my service.

During our time at Maidstone we had several times seen “old soldiers” from the 1st Battalion, and we were all very jealous of the green webbing which they sported, thinking it much more “professional” looking than the buff which we wore at the Depot. We accordingly, all bought supplies of this blanco (khaki green No. 3) and applied this old soldiers colour to all our webbing. Belt, gaiters, straps, pouches, frog, haversack and pack all received the treatment, and, I have to say, I was very proud to wear it. We had done all this at home during our leave!

After our brief stay in Canterbury we went by train to Harwich, en route to Germany via the Hook of Holland.
The crossing of the North Sea was on one of the three troopships which plied this route, Empire Wansbeck, Empire Parkeston, and Vienna. On this occasion it was the Wansbeck. Many a tale was told of these tubs by the soldiers who passed to and from the continent. The troopdeck was way down in the bowels of the vessel where the accommodation consisted of rows and rows of narrow canvas bunks, three high, suspended from steel uprights by a short length of chain at foot and head ends. This was an overnight service and on arrival at the Hook we boarded a train for the journey across Holland, into Germany and eventually to our destination, Minden.

We were met at the station by a truck which took us out to the edge of the town, to Elizabeth Barracks. We were sent to our various companies, in my case “B” Company and then taken to the cookhouse for supper, it being about 20.00 hrs. We were now members of 1st Battalion Royal Sussex Regt., who, we noticed to our chagrin, wore buff webbing, so we knew what our first job would be!

Wansbeck

Wansbeck

Vienna

Vienna

Parkeston

Parkeston

Photos: The RAF Eindhoven Association