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MAYHEM, MUTINY, COOKHOUSE RAIDS & ‘SPECIAL TREATMENT’

 

(Submitted by Dave PERROTT)

 

 

AAS Arborfield

 

 

I arrived at Arborfield on Friday 9th September 1949, and my first meal was smoked haddock.

 

I was interested in your (re: George MILLIE) comments about physical exercise. I had for several years been used to carrying hundredweight sacks of coal and coke, so a kitbag was not at all daunting. A bag of coke of that weight was twice the physical size of a bag of coal, and when it was up on my shoulders I could only just reach the ears to balance it. By the time I entered AAS I was well used to physical labour.

 

In regard to the constant search for food, there was the occasional stampede for a few extra morsels of NAAFI cake, and the practice of wiping out the cookhouse egg-trays with a slice of bread. On one occasion I was awarded ‘jankers’ for lying after taking food from the cookhouse.

 

After a meal in the cookhouse you dumped your plates and washed your mug and ‘eating irons’ in the huge sinks of steam-heated water.

 

We did a series of special tests for trade selection, some of which being of the type: “What does this funny ink-blot remind you of?” and others to test for colour blindness – picking letters and numbers out of multi-coloured patterns. “You’ve got ten minutes to answer these 100 questions”. I believe that it was the result of these that made me a Telemech, although I had chosen to be a Vehicle Mechanic. They appealed to my vanity by saying that I was too bright to be a VM – I’m a sucker for a kind word. McCOLL was offered the same trade but he knew what he wanted.

 

At that time rationing was still much in evidence in regard to soap, sweets and clothes.

 

I recall that we were paid at the rate of 2/- (two shillings) per week over the table.

 

Money-lending and fag rackets were practiced by those few who were out to make money.

 

Physical stature decided which Squad one was assigned to, one of which was that under Sergeant Ginger ROBERTS. It was so-called ‘bad drilling’ that placed TUCKER in ‘A’ Squad and Lofty THORNTON in ‘D’ Squad, or some other tall unfortunates. It was quite an advantage to be roughly of average height.

 

Punishment Drill was frequently awarded for poor performance, during which the squad was marched on to the ploughed ground at the top of the parade square. It was a delight for the Drill Instructors whose favourite order was “Mark time!”

 

It was not uncommon for several sets of mess tins to come clattering down from lockers, having been rigged with a length of cotton to be tugged by the perpetrator after “lights out”.

 

Wakey wakey, rise and shine, show me yours and I’ll show you mine!” and “Hands off cocks, on socks!” were two of the favourite wake-up calls at Reveille.

 

A Workshop Punishment period on Wednesday evenings was awarded for bad work or behaviour.

 

There were many illegal practices in regard to the wearing of uniform – one was ‘slashing’ the peak of one’s S.D. cap to rake the peak at a sharper downward angle to emulate the Guards style, and the wearing of ‘gaiter weights’ to keep the uniform trousers hanging in a manner to eliminate creases.

 

Personal abuse was common: “You’re a moron, laddie!” being merely one of a host of insults, followed by: “What are you?” “I’m a moron, Sergeant!”

 

I recall the old boy who operated the incinerator always asking: “Any tins today, Joe?” because they blocked the fire-grate. This prompted the stock reply: “No” and the dustbin was then tipped into the incinerator to the accompaniment of ‘rattle – rattle – rattle…’ Then run like hell to escape the old man’s wrath.

 

I also remember the mutiny against Apprentice Lance Corporal BUST.

 

The dreaded ‘log PT’ - Jack SAVILLE’s fault - we ended up running around the field behind the gymnasium with the ‘log’ held at arms length above our heads.  At one stage we were lying on our backs with the ‘log’ across our chests, lifting it to arm’s length and lowering it again. We then held it, still at arm’s length, above our chests and the PTI shouted: “Legs raise and lower. Legs raise …” and Jack SAVILLE muttered: “Haircut – haircut – haircut…” and we all collapsed in a heap. Punishment? Jankers as usual!

 

The night before we left Arborfield we emptied STOCKER’s kitbag whilst he was at the NAAFI, nailed it to the floor, put a very large carefully padded stone in it and filled it up again. The fun came when he tried to pick it up in the morning. He carried it all the way to Newark on a hot day on the Tube etc. Poor chap. He didn’t deserve us really!

 

The Pirate

 

Fred HALL is legalised at last,

   No skull and crossbones top his mast.

He now transmits without a fear,

   He’s paid his thirty bob this year.

His call-sign G3HBU

   Blasts through the ether calm and blue.

 

 

[Notes: (i) in this context a ‘Pirate’ is an unlicensed Ham (amateur radio operator); (ii) Fred Hall was a civilian mathematics/electronics Instructor at AAS Arborfield.  George MILLIE]

 

Fred HALL was our Electronics Instructor – it was he who formed the Ham Radio Club. Brian STOCKER, Brian BARBER, George MILLIE and I were among the handful of founder-members.

 

Paddy VILLIERS, ‘A’ Company, was involved in incident that culminated in him smashing a pint-pot over STOCKER’s head whilst he sat having his breakfast. He had several stitches in his head. I believe the incident was about STOCKER trying to get his pint pot under the tea urn tap before VILLIERS, the next in line.

 

There was always a ‘Phantom Wanker’.

 

At the cinema ‘Tom & Gerry’ cartoons – the huge roar of: “good old Fred” when the sub-title came up: “Producer Fred Quimby”.

 

My memories of the masochistic Matron who pulled out my left eyebrow with tweezers and then so lovingly proceeded to scrape the scabs off the revealed impetigo with the edge of the same weapon.

 

The story of CSM ‘Bull’ WESTON’s bull terrier bitch. His comment as he roared around the corridor in his vest the morning after was: “Don’t let me catch the little bastard who put my dog up the stick!”

 

Remember ‘Project Wokingham’? I was on History with Paddy and another; we had to speak to the parents and visitors on Passing Out Day. My rather nerve-wracking and unsatisfactory introduction to public speaking.

 

I seem to remember an incident where I lobbed something, maybe a snowball, through the workshop window. We were crossing from the trade classrooms to the door in the side of the building and I hurled this projectile at someone, obviously not very accurately, and it went through the glass just above the door. Funnily enough I don’t remember a great fuss about it, which seems unusual.

 


 

Army Air Corps Centre, Middle Wallop

 

This may raise a smile! I remember some of the Fleet Air Arm chaps in the dining room when the very junior Orderly Officer approached their table with the usual: “Everything alright chaps?” received the reply: “Just like Mother makes Sir!” and as the smile started to spread over the young officer’s face added: “Bloody awful!” or sometimes: “When she’s pissed!”