Sod off, Boyce!

When I joined the army at Maidstone on 6th May 1954 I found myself in the company of a variety of young men, drawn from all walks of life. There were, of course, the loud brash ones as well as the quieter types who realised that they couldn’t beat the system, so they would be well advised to go along with it. About half of this ‘intake’ were transferred, after ten weeks training, to the Royal Sussex, who were due for a tour of duty in Korea, but were in need of extra ‘Bods’ to bring them up to strength. I was among several who volunteered for this adventure, but in the event we joined them in Germany and that’s as far as we got.
One of the chaps who came with me was a modest, friendly sort by the name of Ken Terry. I found him to be my type of person in every way. He was not very tall, being about five feet four in his high-heeled socks! He was of a chunky build however, although I hadn’t really noticed this, until the first of the tales I am about to relate.

Shortly after arriving in Minden I was sitting on my bed, one evening, when Ken came in to talk to me. Across the room from me was a thick, Sussex cowman, by the name of John Boyce. He was about five feet eleven and of burly build and surly manner. He kept making all sorts of remarks and threats to Ken, along the lines of “You don’t belong in this room, get back where you belong!! Eventually Ken said “Ah, sod off, Boyce!” at which point Boyce jumped off his bed and came running across the room. As my bed was beside the door, Ken was able to get away and run down the wide, stone-floored corridor, which ran end to end along the centre of each floor of this three-storey building. I went to the door, cursing Boyce for being such a pain in the arse when I heard a shout. As I looked down the corridor, I was just in time to see Ken stop and face his pursuer. As Boyce reached him, Ken took him by both arms, just above the elbow, clamped his arms into his sides, lifted him off his feet and threw him bodily backwards, against the concrete wall! He sank to the floor and sat looking stunned for some time, before staggering to his feet and making his painful way back to his bed! Ken just gave his trademark, innocent grin. Instant justice! I never failed to be astonished at this little bloke’s feats of strength, and all delivered without a single boastful or aggressive word.

Throughout our stay at Minden, various blokes would come along to the room in which Ken, myself and four others lived. They all knew about this little powerhouse, and wanted to pit themselves against him, but all in a friendly way. Tony Saunders, a fellow driver of mine and long-standing mate of Ken, came along evening after evening to pick a ‘fight’. This invariably ended with Ken lying back on his bed, nonchalantly studying a magazine, while Tony struggled to extricate himself from the leg-lock in which he was firmly held.

Another time, we were taking part in training on Luneberg Heath and I needed to hide my truck in among some fir trees. I knew from experience that if about three men took hold of one of these trees, which were about six to seven inches thick, and rocked it to and fro, it would eventually break off at the base. Accordingly, three of us were just taking hold of this tree, when up came Ken with the usual grin on his face. “What yer doin’?”, he asked. “Getting this tree out of the way,” I replied. “Get out of it” and so saying we stood back and he put his hands on the trunk, with his elbows bent. Then he simply straightened his arms and the tree broke off! Honestly!

Almost immediately a Jeep came along with a driver and an officer on board. As it reached us it became bogged down in the silver sand, which is to be found all over this heathland. We were commanded to help free it, so we all gathered round, looking for convenient handholds. However, this proved unnecessary as Ken had already taken hold of the Jeep by the spare wheel and lifted it out!