Extracts from the Audio Memoirs of Major LWA Lyons - Training - Part Two - 1940

On Christmas Eve we were lined up for some sort of drill when a sergeant came over and spoke to Romero and I.
‘You look like intelligent chaps, would you like an inside job for the day’
So we readily volunteered. What fools we were!
He told us to report to the cookhouse, where the sergeant cook looked at us with sympathy
‘I’m afraid it’s a potato peeling job for you chaps. Some have been done but we need some more. There are five sacks that need to be done, over there by the potato peeling machine…’
‘Ah, we can use that…’ said Romero.
‘Well no, I’m afraid it’s broken… but there is some cold water over there, a sink and some knives…oh and yes, half the roof is missing so the snow will be coming in, so best keep your great coats on. Start off for an hour or so, then come back in side to warm up a bit’
So we struggled on until our hands were frozen stiff then went in for a cup of cocoa…then back out again. We eventually finished at two in the morning on Christmas day. I must say, I had leant my lesson. When you’re in the ranks, never ever volunteer for anything.
In the British army on Christmas day all the officers wait on the men. No officer gets leave over Christmas. The ranks are served whatever drink they like whiskey, beer…and the meals are served by the officers who act as waiters…it’s a great tradition.

The food was marvellous, not only at Christmas but in general; good quality and so much of it. The effect this feeding had on some of these recruits, especially these chaps from the east end (many of whom were bags of bones when they arrived), was incredible. They all filled out and had become strong young men.

When the war in France began to get desperate, and it became obvious the British would have to evacuate, we were then all engaged in building sea defences on the beaches. We also used to practice sprint marches at night, marching 200 yards then running 200 yards to move to various parts of the coast, in preparation to thwart an invasion if it ever came. Of course in actual fact, our defences were so weak that the Germans could have walked all over us with great ease. The Channel Islands were then occupied and the Jersey Regiment soldiers arrived in boats to join the Hampshire Regiment.

The Intelligence Corps chaps were in some ways a strange crew. This chap who was my friend, John Remero, was Anglo-Spanish and his family had a Hotel in Tangiers called the Hotel Normandy. He had come over as a volunteer. There was another very old chap who spoke Hausa, and came from Lever brothers.

In our platoon there was this man Rigden, a huge man of about six feet four, an ex-borstal boy. He could be very aggressive, but he responded to kindness and consideration and was a very welcome member of the platoon, because of his great strength. He would quickly volunteer to carry the anti-tank rifle, which was a terribly heavy weapon. In the same way, if anyone was struggling with a Bren gun he would pick it up. By the end of a march he would be carrying peoples rifles and all sorts of things…he really was brilliant.

There was this fellow in, another barrack room, an immensely strong man, who was Rigden’s deadly enemy. On one occasion they arranged to have a fight. The Sergeant Major said it would have to be a regimental fight, under company orders, in case someone was seriously hurt. On the day of the fight we all had to parade in our PE kit and march to the gymnasium, where there were tiers of seating. The two contestants came in wearing shorts only, no boxing gloves and no seconds. The senior officer present announced that he would give the order to start the fight. They started fighting, bare fisted punching, clutching, head butting, everything. Eventually Rigden downed this fellow with a tremendous blow, and he lay on the floor bleeding from all points, with our man Rigden beating his chest like a gorilla. A first aid party came in to take the poor fellow away, we were marched back to barracks, and that was the end of it.

There were three eastenders in our platoon (who had also benefited from the food and exercise) and they told us what life was like in London for poor people like themselves. On Saturdays they would draw lots to see who would be going to the cinema. They would empty their pockets and give all the money to the lucky one, to go a buy a ticket in the ‘nine pennies’. Then later, after the film, they would all go to the public baths where it was warm and had wooden benches to sit on. The keeper of the baths was an old soldier who sat next to a stove smoking his pipe. The luck man would tell his friends all about what he had seen at the cinema, with the old soldier listening in.

Friday was always IE (Interior Economy) day, devoted to scrubbing and cleaning the barracks. Later in the afternoon the inspection team would come to view our work. Some times the Sergeant would pick up a shovel and throw ash or coal dust over the freshly scrubbed tables, so that we would have to clean them again.

The Hampshire regiment had spent 47 years in India, and so a tiger had been incorporated into the badge, as was of course, the Minden Rose. (Soldiers from the regiment had plucked roses from the hedgerows to put in their caps before the Battle of Minden in 1759.)

There was a square that was the parade ground. Nobody was allowed to walk across the square; you had to march across it. So if you needed to cross it you had to wait until another soldier came along. The most senior would march the other man across. If no one came you had to march yourself across, by giving yourself orders to quick march, and all the rest of it.

The band would quite often play the regimental march, named the “Knife, fork and spoon”. This tune is shared by many of the line regiments of the British army and is taken from a very old marching tune of drum and fife. Whenever the regimental band played this tune you had to stand to attention, no matter where you were, even if you were in the office or barrack room. It was a punishable offence not to do so.

Sometimes there was an all ranks regimental dance. The drill hall would be finely decorated and in the middle of the hall would be a tableau of all the cups and war trophies, including the four drums that had been captured from the French at Waterloo.

There were unending bugle calls all day long starting with the morning jankers. Then reveille, cook house, last post etc until lights out.

The barracks were so old that there were no toilets attached to them. The toilets were in blocks like public lavatories would be and many of the coverings were missing. The moment any frost came, the whole thing would freeze up and we would all have to march into Newport to go to the lavatories (many of which were also frozen up). So it was a pretty uncomfortable time for all, whilst the winter was on.

Every Sunday there was church parade and those of other denominations or religions (who had hoped to have escaped) were marched of to the Methodist Church or the Synagogue in Newport.

With the invasion threat, if you went anywhere off camp you had to be in full marching order, even when on leave, with your rifle 50 rounds of ammunition, rifle etc. This meant that if the balloon went up you were prepared and would simply report to the nearest unit. This seemed a sensible arrangement but it was a bit of a bore crossing London on the tube.

In the evenings we stayed in our barracks cleaning gear for the next day, lights out was at 10.30. It was most annoying being treated like children. In fact however, by this time of the night we were all so dog-tired, that we were soon asleep.

Sometimes the whole battalion would march out somewhere with the bands playing and the flags flying. All the marching orders were given by the drums, first roll signalled the right markers to fall in and so on and so forth. It was all very impressive and gradually people began to like it.

The day before payday we had to sign acquaintance rolls for our money. I had made an allowance for mum from my pay, and she received an extra allowance from the government because of that. This didn’t leave much for me, enough to buy cigarettes occasionally, one packet of chocolate wholemeal biscuits a week and a meal at the “Bugle Hotel” in Newport once a fortnight.

On a march the officer in charge had the option of allowing a ten-minute break every hour or a twenty-minute break every two hours. Most officers preferred the latter as this gave the men more time to take off their packs and massage shoulders and feet etc. It was all fun, but then we were young. It can’t have been much fun for the older conscripts.

Anyone who was caught moving their rifle from shoulder to shoulder too often was given a course in arm strengthening back at the barracks, whereby one had to hold a rifle with arms out stretched for a minute or so, then lower them, and then bring them up again. This would be repeated about 20 times. You would soon learn not to change shoulders to often.

We IC boy where getting quite proficient with our Webley .45 revolvers and our motorcycling, which we did in Parkhurst Forest.

On one occasion we were all marched into the middle of the forest to the gas warfare school. We were marched into this gas chamber wearing our respirators. The various gasses, which were likely to be used, where released and we were instructed to take a small sniff of each (by putting the little finger between face and mask) in order to be able to recognise the smell.

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