ALDERSHOT 1958 – RECOLLECTIONS OF MY FIRST WEEKS OF NATIONAL SERVICE CALL-UP
By Brian Beckett
Two weeks after being conscripted into the Royal Fusiliers at the Tower of London I was transferred to the Royal Army Service Corps in Aldershot having been classified ‘medically unfit for infantry’ due to being diagnosed as partially colour blind . I arrived at the RASC’s 5th Training Battalion at Blenheim Barracks on December 19,1957, with a large number of National Servicemen from other regiments, all of whom for various reasons had also been declared unfit for infantry.
The RASC provided clerical, transport, and logistical support throughout the army and the 5th Training Battalion was its reception centre. Newly called up recruits arrived at fortnightly intervals and were processed, kitted out, given jabs, attended lectures, and inducted into the rudiments of square bashing and the the handling of a rifle, all within a timescale of two weeks. They were then moved on to other RASC establishments for a further eight weeks basic training and tuition for their designated army trade.
We had all been subjected to a harsh training regime with our previous regiments and fully expected more of the same at Blenheim Barracks but quickly learnt we would not be given any training at all. Instead we were going to spend our time whilst there ‘on hold’ as the training we had already received with the regiments was considered compatible with the Corps’s induction programme. We were to await the Battalion’s next intake due in January to arrive and complete it’s induction, then move out with it. Furthermore, the camp was winding down for Christmas, its last intake of the current year had just departed and it was inconvenienced by the short notice of our arrival. So a few days later we were given leave for the holiday period.
Blenheim Barracks was a sprawling and depressing Victorian complex located at North Camp. Its accommodation blocks had inadequate washing facilities and ineffectual means of heating. The standard of catering was poor and there were concerns the staff would even manage to spoil baked beans. As was the army custom, the orderly officer of the day came round the dining hall at mealtimes asking opinions of the food and whilst most people kept quiet amazingly there were some favourable comments, to which the officer would inevitably seize upon to deflect any complaints that were bravely voiced.
The army cookhouse scenes in the 1960 film ‘The League of Gentlemen’ depicts an amusing but a reasonably accurate picture of how it was.
The battalion’s working schedule resumed early in January with the arrival of the first intake of conscripts of 1958 whom we ‘on hold’ were to accompany at the finish of it’s induction. Our on hold period lasted over a month and was toilsome! Early each morning we attended a work parade and were delegated jobs for the day around the camp, commonly known as fatigues. Fatigues would range from working in the cookhouse, menial tasks in the officers’ mess, mending fences, coal deliveries around the camp, and anything else that needed squaddie labour. It was obvious some people previously had had an easy home-life and had difficulty in coming to terms with the various jobs. Cookhouse fatigues were the most frequently allocated and most hated, they involved a twelve hour stint at seemingly endless spud bashing, the cleaning of ‘much burnt’ tins and pots, and numerous other messy jobs.
Skiving was the inevitable consequence, an art that was perfected to a high degree.
There were other ordeals to contend with. One was guard duty, this was a tedious 12 hour night bind involving a sequence of 2 hours on watch and 4 hours off, but it was virtually impossible to get any sleep in the off periods as the bunks in the guard room were not fitted with mattresses and so we had to lay on the springs with just a blanket of questionable cleanliness. Furthermore, we were still required at the morning work parade after finishing the all night duty.
Fire picket duty was another task, in the event of a fire we would have to run round the camp and get everybody moved to safe areas. This was tolerable, we were positioned in the NAAFI canteen all the time it was open during an evening and were required to go round clearing and cleaning tables, but for that we did get a free meal and refreshments. The jukebox however played the same handful of current popular tunes at full blast non stop the whole evening. When the NAAFI closed, we were allowed back to our billets feeling somewhat shell shocked and very much hoping the guard would have no need to call us out during the night.
Despite of all the foregoing it was generally accepted that Blenheim Barracks, with no intensive parades, bull, or training involved, was for us a holiday camp when compared to life at the barracks of our previous regiments.
Departure day arrived with relief. There was never a sense of belonging to the place as apart from the fact we were useful labour nobody really seemed to care about us. I was designated for clerical training and moved up the road to the 2nd Battalion at Willems Barracks near Aldershot town centre.
Willems Barracks was another vast grim Victorian place. Accommodation was in three storey blocks that looked like run down tenement buildings, but they were in the process of getting a bit of makeover with workmen on site. This was fortuitous, because prior to our arrival items of servicemen’s kit, particularly boots, had been stolen so we were never required to lay out anything for inspection. Furthermore, the billet floors were covered in paint splashes that needed to be professionally sanded before the rooms’ occupants could be told to restore them back to a highly polished condition, happily we departed before that came about.
The return to exacting discipline of parades, weaponry, PT, and inspections under the ever-watchful eyes of intimidating corporals & sergeants was a severe wrench. The RASC agenda however was not so intensive as that of infantry regiments because trade tuition formed a large part of the eight week training programme. Clerical training included lectures, exercises into the ways of army administration, and typing instruction on ancient machines. This was a comparatively easy period with little square bashing involved. We paraded each day after breakfast and midday meal and were marched off to the warm classroom block.
NCOs throughout the army had a stock of witticisms/threats/sarcasms that were continually directed at National Servicemen. Such as ‘I’m almost standing on your hair, get it cut!’ and ‘Next time you shave stand closer to the razor!’ Faintly amusing and nonsensical now, but then for those on the receiving end they were deadly serious.
There were still the problems of cookhouse fatigues to struggle with but they were allocated on a rota basis with names appearing on routine orders the day previous; skiving was strongly discouraged, The food was marginally better than that served at Blenheim, but a disconcerting fact about the kitchens was the number of cockroaches seen, which didn’t seem to worry the catering staff. It would have needed a brave man to make a complaint. In retrospect an anonymous letter to the Daily Mirror might have helped as the newspaper had set itself up as the National Serviceman’s friend and had become a thorn in the side of the Army.
And of course as previously noted there were guard duties. Guard duty at training camps from my experience was bit of a farce. The task was always given to semi trained conscripts, it involved walking around camp buildings in total darkness and all weathers guarding ‘no one knew what’. It was detested and most put little effort into the activity. A pick helve was carried as a weapon but with no specific instructions given for its use, and although the conscript delegated to duty outside the guard room had a rifle it was unloaded. One night the IRA carried out an abortive armed raid on the training camp at Blandford, injuring the trainee conscripts on guard duty (this was the old IRA and ten years before the Northern Ireland troubles). A wave of anxiety went round the barracks. After this incident everybody did for a while become more focused but there was no doubt very few would have stood much of a chance against a determined group of intruders.
Camp barbers only knew how to use electric clippers and were inclined to run wild with them, so to get a decent army approved haircut it was necessary to visit the barbers at the NAAFI Club in Aldershot. Aldershot was not an attractive town but it did have several cinemas all within easy walking distance of Willems Barracks. I recall the evening I saw ‘Bridge Over the River Kwai’ and the uproar in the auditorium when one of the characters in the film was seen to cock a sten gun incorrectly.
The Company Sergeant Major came round selling 6d (2.5p) raffle tickets one morning, daring us not to buy one. I didn’t dare and won a £1 premium bond. I still have it, the only one I’ve ever had and its never won me anything. In those days a £1 would almost buy three return train tickets between Aldershot and Waterloo.
There were very few pleasures to be had that did not involve expense. During the first six months of service a conscripts pay was 28 shillings a week (£1.40p) but after so called legitimate stoppages only received about £1 and from that there were mandatory essentials such as blanco (colouring compound for webbing) and toiletries to buy. Prior to call-up I was taking home nearly five times that amount after stoppages. Thankfully I did not smoke – the cheapest cigarettes then were about 3 shillings (15p) for twenty – there were times when I saw people in need of a cigarette without the wherewithal to buy any metaphorically climbing walls in desperation.
The prices in the NAAFI canteen were not noticeably cheaper than those off camp.
A much resented imposition was the demand of payment for barrack room damages. If something had to be repaired or replaced, even if it was only due to fair wear and tear, we were still held liable. No arguments were brooked!
Collection of pay was tiresome. It wasn’t a simple act of walking into an office and collecting it, we had to attend a ‘pay parade’. Once lined up our names were called in alphabetical order, the person would then march over to the paying officer’s desk and salute, present his pay book for endorsement and signature, take the cash given and state loudly ‘money and pay book correct sir’. Then salute again, smartly turnabout and march back to the parade line. Everyone remained standing there until all had completed the procedure, the whole operation took ages.
Someone had managed to scrounge a dilapidated radio and a highlight was to lie on our beds listening to the Top 20 hits that went out on Radio Luxemburg on Sundays between 11.00pm & midnight. Being from London and duties permitting I could get home on a Sunday quite easily for a few hours and enjoy home cooking and have a proper hot bath, much to the envy of my room mates. It was a torturous time for those with girlfriends, always worrying about the possibility of receiving a Dear John.
A member of our room surprisingly managed to get discharged by working his ticket. One of the successful few out of the many National Servicemen over the years that had contrived. He replicated a skin disorder that he had had when a child by vigorously scratching the back of his legs until they were seriously inflamed, then reported sick. The Medical Officer sent him to the military hospital. After several visits, with the ludicrous situation before each visit of him having to go through the process of recreating the inflammation, he was diagnosed with a skin allergy aggravated by the coarse material of the army uniform commonly known as BD (battledress) rash and so declared medically unfit. We all knew what he was doing and gossip around the camp was rife, so it was amazing that the NCO’s never got to hear.
The end of trade training heralded the announcement of our future postings. For those with the best exam results there were several home postings on offer scattered around the country at various army establishments that were very much sought after. Staying in this country held no attraction and I opted to be included with the draft destined for Germany.
We returned from embarkation leave to the RASC Depot at St Lucia Barracks in Bordon a few miles from Aldershot to spend our last week in this country. It was a depressing place with most occupants seemingly passing through en route to an overseas destination or arriving for demob processing. There were bizarre scenes of sergeants awaiting demob having to make themselves useful sweeping pathways or fetching and carrying. Our presence was to ensure we were fully documented and seen to be fit for travel. There were several briefings and even an amusing talk from the garrison padre about the delights and pitfalls of German clip joints. We had an intensive inspection of kit one morning, all of which had to be laid out with precision on our beds. It was common knowledge that in barracks around the country people on such occasions were known to have set out their kit the previous evening and slept on the floor. We were told in no uncertain terms not even to think about it, such was the Depot’s fear of the Daily Mirror.
Footnote After arrival in Germany I was posted to a very small unit on an RAF base. No parades, inspections, guard duties, or menial tasks ever again!