From my Memoires....... My time as one of Arborfields inmates began on September 8th 1953. Armed with the travel warrants issued by the Recruiting Office in St. Albans, I betook myself to Luton Railway Station and there met up with another potential victim whom I had previously seen at the medical fiasco some weeks prior. You know what they say about a misery shared! We scored what was destined to be our last triumph over adversity when we reached Waterloo Station. Where a rather gullible canteen lady in the station buffet was persuaded, on the strength of our travel warrants, that we were “Nashos” being called up to serve our two years and therefore entitled to swill Whitbread’s Pale Ales. (My partner in crimes name was Mike Wilding, another film star.) Still glowing from the after-effects of this major triumph, we duly arrived at Wokingham Station and found another six or seven equally apprehensive young lads disembarking from the train, also clutching travel documents and bags or suitcases as though their lives depended on them. The more I think about that first day the better my recall of it, as in ‘seeing’ again, that some of the suitcases were actually carrier-type bags. I had a very small case containing such items as pairs of socks, toothpaste, shaving gear (in pristine condition), and of course underwear. The toothpaste and shaving tackle were the only things that I got to keep; the rest, along with the civvies I wore down there, was parcelled up and sent back to poor old Mum. A tall, slim Sergeant from a line regiment gathered us around him, and after telling us who he was asked if anyone had a fag and was immediately surrounded by a forest of hands waving packets of sundry brands. I remember he seemed very pleased to take hold of a packet of Capstan Full Strength. As the rest of us started to put our fags away, he said: Ill take them all lads; no smoking permitted at AAS other than with the Commandants and your parents or guardians permission. So a chastened and glum bunch of “sprogs” (recruits) found themselves being bundled into the rear of a Morris 15 cwt (truck) for the journey through the wilds of Berkshire to the portals of AAS Arborfield. Once through the dreaded front gates we disembarked a short distance from the cookhouse and were then dealt with as regards basic roll call and such by a clerk from HQ Company Office. A small squad of A/Ts (Apprentice Tradesmen) marched past the rather untidy file that we had formed into and sotto voce we heard for the first time the dreaded four-letter word “Jeep”. The rest of the day passed in a frenzy of activity, with kitting-out and allocation of bedding and billets; we eventually linked up with a larger group that had obviously arrived on earlier trains or by other means. My first Army meal was quite memorable for the fact that it was my first ever encounter with curry and hot chilli peppers; the fact that the cook made a very creditable attempt to get as much on my thumb as on my plate was a standout too. Anyone who succumbed to the heat and dropped the plate was grabbed for cookhouse fatigues of course; luckily I was able to hang on to mine. The latter end of the day and early evening also passed in a blur of activity that encompassed such things as learning how to fold and put away kit. Sew box pleats in denims that were obviously made with covering hippos in mind, and being shown how to clean brass equipment, and “beaze” boots. I had been allocated a bed space in Barrack Room F4 under the auspices of one Corporal Roger TATLER, a rather aloof sort of person with a decidedly upper-crust accent. F4 was the closest billet to the cookhouse and we were chuffed at the advantage that it would give us in getting to the front-end of the queue; how naive was that? Someone had obviously done his homework as to everyones height, because it was soon obvious that we were all short in the leg in F4. The National Elf Service personified! Later that first night, as we sweated over burning toe-caps and flying knife handles, working ceaselessly at the stubborn bumps on our toecaps, the room was called to Attention! The Apprentice RSM had descended upon us! We were instructed to: Stand easy by our beds until he approached our bed space and then come to attention and name ourselves. As he entered my weeny bit of territory I sprang to attention with all the acquired skill of an ex-Army Cadet and bellowed (well, piped actually) my name and of course ended up with a loud: Sir! I was rewarded with a grunt of what I presumed was approval; after a couple of words from me I was asked whereabouts in Australia I was from? Turned out that he and I had lived in fairly close proximity in Victoria during the three years my family had lived there. This, I felt, was a promising start indeed! Then he moved on to the next bed space and the inhabitant thereof came to a sort of attention but never volunteered a word. The App/RSM said: Give me your name lad! Lander was the response. After a short but pregnant pause the App/RSM snarled: Lander - what? Quick as a shot I called out: Hope and Glory! This was not a good move! I came to know the blanco room very well that night as I scrubbed it clean! That first night was also memorable for the fact that the billet “pecking order” was being established. A thickset East-Ender named EVANS was chancing his arm and failed when he tried it out on me. He then made the bad mistake of trying harder with the shortest guy in the room, Bob MALCOLM. After two thumping disasters in short order he gave up on the idea of being the ‘king’ and we settled for a sort of loose democracy. Thus ended the first day of my extinguished career at AAS Arborfield.
Posted on: Fri, 16 Jan 2015 09:46:38 +0000
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