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Regular Army Enlistment

 

Gloucester, 8th September 1949

 

 

Pity not. The Army gave

Freedom to a timid slave:

In which Freedom did he find

Strength of body, will, and mind:

By which strength he came to prove

Mirth, Companionship, and Love:

For which Love to Death he went:

In which Death he lies content.

 

Rudyard Kipling

 

 

 

43 Rosebery Park, Dursley, Gloucestershire:

There were very mixed feelings in our household on the morning of Thursday, 8th September; Mother was on the verge of bursting into tears, claiming she hadn’t slept a wink all night; my young brother Arthur’s sentiments were unclear; my grandmother retained her aloofness; and I was in a state of elation and excitement in the certain knowledge that today marked the beginning of my new life. Although I had expressed a strong desire to make the solitary journey from Dursley to Gloucester Recruiting Office for my attestation, Mother insisted that she and Arthur would accompany me.

 

 

The Recruiting Office, Northgate Mansions, 108 Northgate Street, Gloucester:

I recognized most of the other lads who had attended the entrance examination a few months earlier, and to my utter relief they, too, were burdened by the presence of their parents.  At last, the final stage, swearing the oath of allegiance and signing the document, Army Form B271A, “Regular Army Attestation”. Assembled in a group before Major Morrison, the attestation officer, each recruit with a Bible clenched in his left hand, collectively swore (uttering his own name):

 

“I, George Arthur MILLIE, swear by Almighty God, that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to His Majesty King George the Sixth, his heirs, and successors, and that I will, as in duty bound, honestly and faithfully defend His Majesty, his heirs, and successors, in person, crown, and dignity against all enemies, and will observe and obey all orders of His Majesty, his heirs, and successors, and of the generals and officers over me”.

 

Immediately following this, each recruit appended his signature at the bottom of his attestation document, in duplicate, marking the moment when our status changed from civilian to soldier of the King, traditionally known as “Taking the King’s Shilling”. There was a choice of periods of service engagement – “eight ‘n four” (eight years with the Colours and four years in the Army Reserve), or “twelve straight” (twelve years with the Colours). I chose the latter.

 

 

 

Formalities complete, and permitted a few minutes to say farewell to parents, siblings and sundry relatives, we hurried away. A mysterious brown paper bag, found to contain four thick bully beef sandwiches, was issued to each - our first haversack rations – being food to sustain us during the train journey to Arborfield, or wherever individuals were destined to spend the first three years of Army life. I recall the scene quite clearly – a gaggle of excited young lads, each with a small suitcase in one hand and haversack rations in the other, assembled in the courtyard, answering a roll call, and boarding a 3-ton truck, our transport to Gloucester railway station. Similar scenes were being acted out in other towns and cities around the country, each small group to meet up at our appointed Camp during the afternoon. Ordered off the truck at the station, we were “fell in” and the roll was called yet again, and then handed over to the RTO. Now his responsibility, he was to ensure that (a) there were no last minute escapees, and (b) we boarded the correct train according to our appointed destinations.

 

After all the excitement afforded by the morning’s activities it was nice to just sit down for a couple of hours, consume the questionable contents of the paper bag, and get more closely acquainted with one’s new comrades. We were traveling only as far as Reading there to detrain and continue the last leg of our journey to Arborfield by road. The journey proved uneventful; at Reading we disgorged on to the platform not knowing what to expect, and it was at this point that the niceties of ‘civvy street’ were left behind and we were thrust headlong into the Army’s methods of doing things. We were, without exception, totally unprepared for the welcome that awaited us.

 

“Over ‘ere, you lot!” barked a strident voice that compelled one to obey immediately and without question. “Get fell-in outside on the double!” The commands issued from the mouth of a drill-sergeant were taken up by others assisting. Harangued unmercifully from the platform to the car park in front of the station we got fell-in as ordered, in complete disarray, not really knowing what “on the double” required of us. This appeared to try the patience of the drill sergeants who were prompted to shout all manner of abuse, using words that I certainly had never heard before. Their stentorian voices continued to bark rapid-fire orders in as yet an unfamiliar and incomprehensible language peculiar to their breed, eventually restoring order within the ranks of their shell-shocked charges. Finally getting fell-in to their liking, once again the roll was called. “On the truck! Mooooooove! On the double!” came the order. Why was everything ‘on the double’ I wondered. I wish I knew what it meant. I suppose this was some psychological ploy to prevent us from thinking too much about what was happening, and our immediate fate.