I shall impress you now with the professionalism of Support Company of which I was proud to be a member. This was the title given to the company in any infantry battalion which provided the “support” weapons to back up the rifle companies. Support weapons in my service days were medium machine-guns, anti-tank guns and my platoon with 3-inch mortars. As well as these three platoons we had the assault pioneer platoon. This was the battalion-level equivalent of the Royal Engineers and had responsibility for pontoon-bridges, rafts for river-crossing, mine-laying and similar fun activities.
Humber 1 ton 4x4 combat truck
My personal role was as a “combat-driver” to a 3″ mortar detachment. This required me to drive a Humber 1-ton 4×4 truck, usually at breakneck speed, over the roughest terrain, in all weathers. This was a vehicle of rather imposing appearance and go-anywhere abilities, powered by a 4 litre Rolls-Royce B60 engine. This engine was fully water-proofed and would run underwater when fitted with a snorkel. The chassis had all-round independent suspension with longitudinal torsion-bars and there was a self-recovery winch. Just imagine a young man of eighteen years being given this beast, with instructions to drive it across ploughed fields, rough heathland and rocky hillsides often in deep snow or mud up to the axles! It was as though all my birthdays had come at once!
So to the point of my story. I think the season would have been late summer and our unit was taking part in a brigade, twenty-four hour exercise. Night fell as we drove across the training area and as we were in battle conditions the only light allowed on the trucks was a small convoy light, hidden under the rear of the vehicle and visible only to the driver of the truck behind. The night became very dark and driving conditions, difficult enough already, were suddenly made worse by a flash of lightning, very high up in a black sky. This signalled the beginning of the development of a weather phenomenon which I have experienced only on this one occasion in my life. An electric storm at such a high altitude that no sound of thunder reached us,on the ground directly below. For the ensuing three to four hours, the sky and the landscape around us alternated between brilliant illumination and total, impenetrable blackness. In all this time there were no thunderclaps and not a single drop of rain fell.
The Mortar Platoon convoy consisted of the lead vehicle, an Austin Champ, a jeeplike 4×4 in which was the platoon sergeant, Bill Burton; his radio-operator; a corporal and, of course, the driver. Following this were four Humber 4x4s of which mine was the rearguard. Each of these carried, in the back, the component parts of the weapon: barrel; bipod and baseplate along with a number of mortar bombs; practice rounds in this case, but sometimes live! The three members of the mortar crew were also carried in the back, on relatively decent seating. In the cab beside the driver was the detachment commander; in my case, a lance-corporal called Mick Dodd.
In these weather conditions Sgt. Burton was having a dreadful time with the map-reading and found it impossible to see any terrain features and almost as difficult to read a compass. The platoon had been given a map reference with instructions to “dig-in” at this point, in order to give covering fire to the infantry as they advanced upon their objective. After a couple of hours of blundering around the convoy came to a halt and I just sat in the cab and waited to move on.
Battalion Anti-tank Gun (BAT) with its towing vehicle, an Oxford Carrier
The next thing I remember was when I awoke in broad daylight, still sitting in the cab with soldiers going past, looking very warlike, with fixed bayonets on their rifles! Almost the first person I recognised among them was the Regimental Sergeant Major, who wore an expression of both rage and bewilderment. I barely had time to think “Oh shit, we’re in trouble” when the cab door on the far side was wrenched open and Major Ormerod, the Company Commander was violently shaking our still comatose lance-jack! “Corporal Dodd,” he roared “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” “How the fuck should I know?” replied Mick, before coming fully to his senses.
The seething “Nod”, as the Major was universally known, then set off to the front of the column baying for the blood of poor Bill Burton. It transpired that we were exactly on the spot we had been searching for all night. If we had only established ourselves there, all would have been well.
The whole platoon was paraded and given something of a bollocking! In order to atone for our sins we were told we would get no breakfast until mortar pits (6ft deep x 6ft across) had been dug, and all the drivers had hidden and camouflaged their trucks to the entire satisfaction of “Nod”!
Back at barracks a few days later the company paraded for debriefing by the worthy Major. “This was not a good exercise for Support Company,” he began. “Over the course of the exercise, I found one medium machine-gun pointed at “A” company, I found another medium machine-gun pointed at “C” company; I found a battalion-anti-tank gun pointed at Battalion Headquarters and the whole of the mortar platoon FAST ASLEEP IN THEIR VEHICLES!” Even Nod was unable to suppress a wry smile and the rest of us collapsed in laughter.