JOHN TIDRIDGE'S FAMILY TREE:

ARMY
The Call Up

In the fifties (1950's that is) every young man in England, was required to spend 18 months in the armed forces: The exception being if he were still in school or an apprentice, or was in a special job. This meant joining either the Army or the Air Force. The Navy was fussier and would not take men on National Service, the name given the period of service. This presented no real problems for me, apart from natural apprehension; it was just another phase of life that one had to go through. That sounds really corny, but people never seemed to make such a fuss of the 'phases of life' or whatever, as they do now. We never had the time to discover ourselves. Back in the old days, you were born, went to school, went to work, did your time, (National Service!) got married, retired and then died. Life was less complicated.

Shortly before my eighteenth birthday I received my call up papers telling me I had to go to an office in Southampton. I'm not sure which came first, but there was a Medical and an interview with a sergeant. Because of the interview, I decided to join the Grenadier Guards. I signed on for 22 years, with the option to leave as each third year occurred. So, at 18, I had a career. The medical came next, lines of young men standing around in their birthday suits, coughing in all the right places. The result was, I passed the medical with 'flying colours', fit to serve in the furthest flung corners of the Empire, doncha know!

The doctor found, and marked on my medical card, that he found flea bites on my shoulders. My Mum, no, she didn't come with me for the medical (!) however, she was horrified when I told her. You have to know that having fleas was a sign of uncleanliness and gave all those bad impressions Mum was so worried about. The doctor found no fleas. It would not have been surprising if he had, as I worked on a market garden where there were animals. All the animals were carriers of fleas.

LONDON AND THE BATTALION

The squad was then split up to report to one of the three battalions. The choices were not left up to you. Along with several others, I was sent to the 1^st. Battalion and assigned to the Queen's Company: More about this particular company later. My start at the battalion was not too encouraging, although I escaped unscathed. We were paraded in front of the adjutant, quite a high-ranking officer. As he was talking my gaze wandered outside of the office, looking through the window, country boy in the big city!! In no uncertain terms he brought my attention back to the matter at hand. He was not very encouraging when he suggested that agricultural workers, which I had been, usually finished up as cooks. Talk about stereotyping!! Fortunately for the Grenadier Guards I never did make it as a cook, never sent to try either.

The Queen's Company was the elite of the elite, every man over 6"2", all very keen on spit and polish. While other companies had officers as Company Commanders, the Queen was ours, albeit in name only. She did apparently take an interest in the goings on of the company. She did not show up while I was a member. But it was a unique situation. Having to always be well "turned out", the expression used for being neat as a pin etc!! It was rather a odd place for me to be. Although I nearly always passed inspections, the idea of being always neat and tidy was not my cup of tea, never was, never will be. While in the company I volunteered for the Guards Independent Parachute Brigade, that didn't work out, apparently I was too tall. However, the army had other things in mind for me.

I was told I was to become a Bren gun carrier driver, and, along with Reg. Mann, another one not too keen on spit and polish all the time type, I was sent to back Pirbright. More on this episode later. I should report though, that while in the Queen's Company, and later with Support Company, I did do some `Public Duties'. Public Duties is simply a word for doing guard duty at Buckingham Palace, St. James' Palace, the Tower of London or the Bank of England. I did my duty at all but the Bank. Must be a message there somewhere!! To you kids all this about Public Duties means very little. Actually it did very little for the guardsman either. Let me explain. First it meant that you were tied up on the duties for two days. If the Queen was `at home' it meant two hours on guard and four hours off, and when you were not on duty you were confined to a separate guardroom at the location.

Interestingly enough the `old soldier', the guardsman with the most seniority, did the least duty and ran a little canteen on the side. So I'm used to the alleged privileges of seniority.

The duties started off with a parade, and when it was our turn it meant nearly everyone in the company was involved. You were paraded by detachments, inspected by an officer.He checked each man to ensure they were properly turned out. I never did get to wear the red tunic because it was during the winter when I did public duties. I did though, wear the grey greatcoat and the bearskin (hat). When he approached you yelled, Guardsman Tidridge (if that was your name) Buckingham Palace Detachment (or St. James' Detachment or Tower of London Detachment) of the Queen's Guard Sir. When you were new at it you held your breath while he inspected you. You were taught quickly, by those in `the know', that this was a dead giveaway. The officer knew that you knew or were concerned, something was out of place, and he would look for it. What you learned to do, when you were more experienced, was to actually dare the officer to find something wrong with you.

It is hard to describe how you did it, but you learned!! It was a rotten way to start guard duty by `losing your' name as they (humorously) called it, which happened if the officer found something wrong with your turnout. I did not lose my name once. `Losing your name' meant that, say for instance, you were marching and not holding your rifle correctly, the non commissioned officer in charge would say, "What's your name", you'd give it, and he would say, "You've lost it". If you were unfortunate, someone would place your name in the charge book and later, you would receive, after hearing, extra duties. Fortunately you really had to be noticed several times before they would `book you'. It was seemingly worse when they learned your name, then it would be, "Sergeant Tidridge, you're idle on parade, do this or that, or you will lose your name."

After a while, as sergeants, we felt they, the person directing the parade, would call a name, whether that person was doing anything wrong or not. It just grabbed your attention and you automatically checked to see if you were doing things right.

My memory is a little hazy here, but it seems that some detachments were driven to their place of duty, some marched. It seems likely that those on Buckingham Palace duty marched to the Palace as there was the ceremony of the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace.  Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace is a world-renowned ceremony. Hundreds of people watch it. I suppose it is all steeped in history but basically all it is the handing over of the Palace to the new guard. But, they march and play the band and all kinds of things: All very interesting and enjoyable both for those taking part and watching. While to those looking on, the process is very formal, and it is, for those taking part and who are used to the process, a lot of fun. There is a fair amount of chatter going on, telling those out of line, to get in line, so that the show goes off properly. It is a real team effort.

The changing of the Guard and this applied, as I was to learn later, to changing the guard at any Guard's facility, meant the forming up of the new and old guards. Doing a little marching, getting on parade, a few arm (rifle) movements, and the officers handing over, and probably discussing the state of the facility, the new guard staying and the old guard leaving. For some reason, all the guard duty I did at Buckingham Palace was while the Queen was a way, so it was relatively simple. You were marched to the sentry box and read your orders, and because you were on your own, rather than `double sentry duty', you marched up and down when you felt like it. You had to watch out for officers so you could salute them, it got to the point where you saluted every man in a pin striped suit and bowler hat, with a rolled umbrella. This was an officers' off duty garb.

If you missed seeing an officer, you could lose your name, again, sometimes. I guess now as I look back, the strangest sight would have been watching us 'get on parade' after ten o'clock at night. We had to carry out all the proper drill movements, lifting our feet off the ground, but making no noise when putting our feet back on the ground again. The NCO gave all his orders in a loud whisper, so that he would not wake the residents of the nearby homes. Ah! That's the Guards for you! While you were at the post you would be visited by the Duty Officer who would ask you questions about the regiment or any thing else he wanted to. Again, if you were not on the ball, you lost your name; you could also lose it every time you went on parade. And, any passing member of the public who felt you were not doing your job could report you for being idle on your post.

Guard duty at the Tower of London was different; you were there to guard the Crown Jewels and actually had a loaded rifle. You also had a fair amount of time off because there was limited duty during the day. At ten o'clock in the evening you took part in the Ceremony of the Keys. Again,a very well known ceremony watched by the public.

As I remember it, the ceremony went as follows. On being approached by the Head Warden and his Party, the sentry on duty would come to the `on guard' position, which was rather ferocious, with the sentry facing the oncoming party with his rifle, with a fixed bayonet, and yelling:
"Halt, who goes there?"
The party would halt (stop) and the Warden would reply,
"The Keys"
The guard would ask, sternly of course:
"Who's Keys?"
The Warden would reply:
"The Queen's Keys,"
To which the guardsman would reply:
"Advance the Queen's Keys, all's well."

This was followed by another short ceremony, a prayer and hymn, and I think the playing of "Lights Out", by a drummer on a bugle.

I can assure you guard duty at the Tower was a little different. The place is older than the hills, all kinds of ghost stories. Anne Boleyn who walks the Bloody Tower with her `ead tucked under her arm', is the most well known. It's dark, damp, dreary, and you can hear the water of the River Thames lapping against the walls, and of course, the older soldiers didn't make it any easier by relating their `terrifying' experiences while on guard duty. But hey, not many other have done it. We heard stories of guardsmen dressing up as ghost to scare the sentries. I'm not sure what my reaction would have been.

I did have one small problem when I was on duty. People that you stopped were supposed to know the password, if they didn't know it there was bell in the sentry box that you rang and the sergeant would come running. Anywho, I'm doing my thing when this man and woman come towards me. I believe now the man was the worse for a night on the town. Anyhow, he didn't know the password, neither did his wife. It needed the sergeant to allow him on his way. St. James' Palace guard is not much to write home about, but again, not many have done it and now live in Canada. In retrospect, the whole guard system was a bit of a farce. I'm not sure we were actually guarding any of the places, particularly when you consider that a fellow was able to get over the walls of Buckingham Palace and get to the Queen's Bedroom. The Police didn't do a much better job either.

LEARNING TO DRIVE

As you will recall I said that earlier I was then sent to Pirbright to learn to drive a Bren gun carrier, a Bren gun is a machine gun. A Bren gun carrier was a small tank that looked as though the top had been taken off. Not very big, not particularly safe, but at least I was taught to drive at the government's expense! Incidentally I never did see a Bren gun installed in a Bren gun carrier. We used ours to carry three-inch mortars. But that's the British army. The time at Pirbright was different, relaxed, no drill parades, and, as I said, we were being taught how to drive.

I remember only a couple of incidents. If you stalled the motor you had to get out and insert a starting handle, some 5' long. It was inserted into the front of the vehicle and obviously went someway back into the vehicle. The sergeant would keep the motor turned off until you had cranked it several times. Then he would turn it on. Remember the dumb things they did to us in training, same principle. It worked. You really had to work at turning the crank, and the motor could cause the occasional kick back, and getting in and out of the seat was an exercise in itself. The vehicles seemed to be designed for people under 5'6", and the driver's seat for Mickey Mouse, however!! And, of course, if you screwed up while driving, the sergeant would turn off the motor, and out would come the crank handle.

Another trick, to teach you to be able to start and move a vehicle off on a hill without it rolling back at all, the sergeant would find a hill, you got out and put your cigarettes under the rear track. You then had to start the vehicle, move off, without rolling back. To most of you this would sound strange, having mostly experienced automatic transmissions. However, by careful, skilled manipulation of the hand brake and clutch, you quickly learned how to do this tricky maneuver.

The first sergeant we had was a friendly type, however, when we all went for our first driving test, conducted by an officer, this alone threw a scare into us, we all failed: A planned tactic, maybe? However, a tougher sergeant then arrived, he was the Sergeant of the Camp Police, bit of a twit. However, we all did pass the second time around. One other incident stands out, again this will be strange to you, but the gear stick was moved through the gears in a gate. This sergeant was demonstrating how easy it was to change gears. He insisted quite vehemently, that one could use one's little finger to change gears, and in a casual manner he tried to change gears. But it just didn't work. Finally, he had to resort to "ramming home" the gear stick. We had great fun repeating the episode to any one who had the time to listen. All mimed to perfection!! After the training we returned to the battalion waiting to be shipped to Berlin, Germany.

2020-04-10: Funny how you remember things!  I just started a 'messenger' conversation with Colin Parker former 1st Battalion man  c1954when a couple of bren carrier incidents came to mind! No connection with Colin.

The battalion was on a scheme and along with three other carriers driven by myself, Reg Mann, Bert Baxter and Jack "Quick Draw' Mathewson we were heading quite slowly along a forest trail, It was muddy. Suddenly my carrier was dropping off the edge of the trail, . staying  upright but sliding down the embankment. It came to a halt, no injuries. It was impossible, with the equipment to get the carrier back on track.

At some point the RASC arrived with the right ruck, hauled me out and we were off,, goodness knows where!  The driver and his mate were an enterprizing couple. We arrived at some barracks, they found a room and soon had a meal going on a heater of some kind.

They left next morning and I needed a breakfast. I had no clean uniform of any kind, just some good old Bluebell for shining  my Grenade. I'm almost at the canteen when I am confronted by a Corporal who tells me, in no uncertain terms, I am in no condition to enter the canteen. I leave hungry. All turned out OK allthough I have no memory of how I  rejoined the battalion. 

The next incident could have been serious: Baxter, Mathewson and myself wer watching Reg Mann with a crew, come charging across some open ground...completely unaware the ground dropped off dramaticaly and his carrier came flying over the edge and landed, again upright. The rest of us thought it was pretty funny..we were just lucky.

Berlin was our overseas posting. In London we were billeted at Wellington Barracks. These buildings had (apparently) been condemned for years, they were so old. I was there in the fall of 1953. All the toilets froze up. We had to go out of the barracks if we wanted to do more than urinate. So much for good old Blighty!! Before I moved to Germany, I was part of the Honour Guard for the 1954 Opening of Parliament. Nothing spectacular, but something else not many people have taken part in. All we had to do was to march to Buckingham Palace which was not far from Wellington Barracks, and then form up to be inspected by the Queen. Funnily enough, I don't remember the inspection.

The Honour Guard was formed up in a court yard inside the Palace. I remember we arrived early, not unusual for us then or me now. We were allowed to "stroll" up and down the courtyard until the appointed hour. We were formed up, inspected, I think it must have been the Queen, and perhaps, only the front rank. Then we marched passed the Royal family, as they stood on a doorstep. Most of those around at the time were there, The Queen, Prince Philip, Margaret, and several other lesser lights.

GERMANY

BERLIN

According to writing on the back of the photograph of the ship to the left the battalion left Harwich for the Hook of Holland on February 11, 1954, at 11.00 a.m. arrived at 9.30 a.m. February 4, same year! Added is this terse comment, "Blimey, what a crossing." John Tidridge does not remember the trip.

(On 'goggling the name of the ship it was discovered she was formerly the German minesweeper, Linz)

Shortly after that, the battalion moved to the British sector of Berlin and in to Montgomery Barracks. The name itself must have been a continual embarrassment for the people living nearby. It was not the name used when occupied by German troops I can assure you.What a change from Wellington Barracks in London. Smaller rooms, well kept, showers, we were in seventh heaven: Huge garages, buildings for the different companies. Not businesses, a battalion is broken down into companies. Remember, I mentioned the Queen's Company. On returning from Pirbright I was transferred to Support Company. Support Company, which as the name implies supported everyone else, in a military sense, machine guns, 3" mortars, heavier artillery. The Barracks complex came with playing fields, acres and acres of playing fields.

Our barracks were on the edge of the Russian zone. One day the Russians held one of our units of about three men. They had apparently strayed into the Russian territory. They were released unharmed. Russia was not considered a friendly nation at that time. In fact, if you were charged with a minor offence, say, dirty boots, the charge would read, while on active service, etc.

While in Berlin I saw the Brandenburg Gate that used to divide east from West Germany.

I visited the huge sports arena where Hitler made a lot of his speeches. I was in charge of a small group of men who had been detailed to help with an athletic event. Very easy and enjoyable.

One of our duties was to carry out guard duty at Spandau Prison. Here the seven war criminals convicted at the Nuremberg trials were detained. They were the leaders of wartime Germany. They were all alive at the time. They did not lead much of a life, nor did they deserve to: Each month the Guard changed, one month it was the British, the next the Americans, then the French and then the Russians.

The prisoners lived at the same standard as the guards; apparently the Russian standard was terrible, followed by the French, then the British, and the best, the Americans. We also did joint parades with all the other nations. It was quite a unique experience.

We also spent a lot of time fighting imaginary enemies. This was great fun and we all prepared to fight whoever that enemy might be, probably the Russians. Allegedly, though, we were all part of the Peace force for Europe. After year in Berlin we moved to Gort Barracks near Düsseldorf, and somewhere in between I had returned to England to be taught to be a driving instructor. This was great sport and made a real change. I was taught to drive a non-tracked vehicle, and to instruct others how to drive. The course passed very quickly, with only one incident that I recall. It was my turn to drive, we were in a three-ton vehicle, and the passenger door that I had to exit from was a considerable distance above the ground. As I tried to get out I missed my footing and I guess I just disappeared from the instructor's view, because, not only was the door high off the ground, there was a ditch parallel to the roadway. I landed in a ditch.

The same basic skills of this fabulous performance have since been repeated on golf courses and in swivel chairs.

I conducted several driving courses with my pupils all passing. We actually drove a jeep called a Champ, five gears forward, and then by throwing a switch, five gears in reverse, plus four wheel drive. Powered by, get this, a Rolls Royce engine!! While driving a Roll's might have been great, however, whenever we went onto the Autobahn, we were the slowest vehicles on the road. Our vehicles were governed, so that about 72 mph was the top speed. There was no speed limit on the German highway. We experienced our first really slippery streets on one trip. We had (no not me!!) several minor tail-enders, and of course, being British, the accidents could not have been our fault. It was the road you know! Again we spent a lot of time training and dashing madly around the country. Much, I'm sure, the consternation of the German people, who did not treat us too badly considering we were an occupying force.

One other little bit of information. We "Trooped the Colour" in Düsseldorf. There was a wide spread strike in England at the time and the Guards stationed there were doing the regular jobs to keep the country going. So, we had the honour of carrying out the parade in Germany. We had the R.A.F. Regiment and the Lincolnshire Light Infantry with us as part of the parade. The public was invited and I can tell you the Germans are an enthusiastic military minded lot. Every time we did a military movement they cheered and clapped. We were a pretty smart lot anyway, and it was great sport. They finally had to be told to wait until the end. The `Trooping of the Colour', I think, merely showed that the Regiment(s) were remaining faithful to the Monarch. Tradition don't you know.

Oh, yes, I was not always the careful (slow?) driver I later I became. I nearly tipped my jeep over. I was driving it to a soccer match, not too far from the barracks. Was driving way, way too fast, and came to a corner that was sharp, and I mean sharp, I had to drive off the road, go into a farmer's field to finally bring the vehicle under control. I can assure you my passengers were not impressed. I also embarked on a criminal career during my time in the army. It happened this way: and all over ice cream. I was a sergeant and there were three other guardsmen in the jeep with me. We were part of a convoy of several hundred vehicles, we were moving very slowly and, in fact, as I recall, the whole move was punctuated by long stops. One of these stops was in a village.

It was very hot and I thought it would be a good idea to stop and buy an ice cream. After all, how long could it take to buy four ice creams? However, I guess the guardsman who volunteered to go couldn't speak German, the storekeeper either couldn't speak English, or perhaps the money, in a single note, was too large for him to change. However, to cut a long story short, it took ages to get the ice cream. In the meantime the vehicles in front had moved off and here we were holding up large numbers of vehicles so that we could have an ice cream. An officer came by and I was told I was in open arrest. This simply meant I would be charged at some later date for holding up the convoy. I never was, but we never did get our ice cream: The hazards of war and all that kind of stuff.

They took these exercises very seriously. Pretty soon my three years were up. I had started to correspond with a certain lady by then.

But there was more to come. I'll probably tell you more about the period between my three years and my recall later.

In the early part of 1956 there was a disagreement over who should control the Suez Canal: Which was and still is a very important water way in Egypt, in the Middle East. When hasn't there been trouble in the Middle East? The President of Egypt at that time, Nasser, took back the Canal. It depends, of course, on where you were born, on who took what, however, the French, Israelis and British decided it was their Canal. I think the French built it, the British had control of it and were under contract to hold it for several more years. The Israelis were afraid that if the Egyptians got control of the Canal they would use it to invade Israel. It all sounds so very familiar. All three felt that the control of it was absolutely essential to the well being of the free world. Anyway there was a series of threats and counter threats.

I suppose someone drew a line in the sand and someone stepped over it. The Israelis, Arabs and French and the British were the most affected by this issue.

THE SUEZ CRISIS

The Americans were opposed to any new war and Foster Dulles their Secretary of State was almost anti-British. How did this all affect me? As I think back on the positive results that came out of it, obviously the good Lord had things in mind for yours truly. I had not really settled down in civilian life. No, I didn't grow my hair long or hang about. I had a job, but things were not settled. There were rumours of war and it was said that several thousand experts would be recalled into the army. I assumed this would leave me out!! However HM Queen Elizabeth had other ideas and I received a telegram indicating that I was to report back to Pirbright, and be prepared to serve again. So that's what hundreds of us did. We quit our jobs and returned to the army. The jobs were to be kept for us, so off we went. We were very quickly issued our kit and uniforms.

Then we were moved into Windsor (Victoria) Barracks, near London. Then about a week later we were shipped out to Malta, an island in the Mediterranean Sea. I suppose while we were all apprehensive, we never dreamed for a moment, though, there would be war or anything like that. We must have been dumb; why else would they have called us all back again? We made out our wills before we left England. Very shortly thereafter we were on a troopship leaving Southampton. The regimental band played us out of Southampton, that's right, our troopship left from my home town, with, `Davy Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier", ringing in our ears. Frightfully British tune doncha know!! A bugler played part of the tune on a rifle, with the mouthpiece of a trumpet in the barrel of the rifle.

We left Southampton in the New Australia. I don't remember much of the trip out, uneventful I suppose. When we arrived in Malta, we were greeted with cries of, "get yer knees brown". This certainly annoyed some of our fellows, as they had only recently come home from an area where your knees did get brown, namely Egypt!! They had been released from the army only to be recalled for this crisis.

We were billeted in tents on an airfield, (Qrendi) by a village of the same name. A picture of the village church is to the left. There was no grass, but concrete. As sergeants we had beds, the guardsmen had straw mattresses. We had to do all kinds of things to ensure the rain wouldn't get in under the canvas. Getting back to the airfield, it was the only one on the island and had been used during the Second World War and in fact quite famous. Again we embarked on all kinds of exercises. The worst part, of course, we did not know when we would be going home. I took my first aircraft flight in Malta. Our officer was a really good sort. It was only a small aircraft but it did give a good view of the island. He also took us to the place where St. Paul came ashore after he was shipwrecked, and to the huge Catholic Church built on the spot where Paul met with some of the islanders. The weather was beautiful, and very hot: The countryside that we saw rocky, the people poor. We learned that there was so little soil on Malta that ship owners had to pay some of their docking fees in soil.

Malta was probably the place where I was made aware that we are responsible for our own actions, and that one should not put too much trust in others. I think it has had both positive and negative effects on my life ever since. It happened this way. We were ordered to prepare for a drill parade. In order to do this one had to shine one's boots to a high degree of shine. Several of us sergeants were discussing the merits of this type of garbage and as a crew we decided that we would simply not spit and polish our boots for the next day's parade. We left for our respective tents. Next day only one sergeant had followed through with this pledge, which I suppose, in effect, was mutiny of a kind. It was me. I got dinged for having dirty boots on parade. This resulted in some minor inconvenience at a later time. Sure taught me a lesson.

I was also 'arrested' in Malta, nothing serious, but in the army it was close to mutiny. Let me explain. I had played on our soccer team and had injured my feet. You should have seen the boots they gave us.

This arial photograph shows the Qrendi Airfield ca1956. It came from Emanuel Muscat of Malta. I believe our regiment lived on the forward slash leg, but I am sure someone will correct me if I am wrong.

Emanuel asked if anyone has any pictures of the Airfield would they consider emailing a copy to him at:

Anyway I was given, what they called, 'excused boots' this meant that I did not have to go on parade. After several days I reported to the medical officer and was given `medicine and duty', which, as the name implies, meant I was required to go on parades and all those good kinds of things. There was a drill parade that same morning. I chose not to go on it as did apparently dozens of others. However, I was lying on the bed in my tent when one of the senior non?commissioned officers did an inspection, found me, and told me to put myself in close arrest.

This meant marching off to the guardroom (tent) telling the sergeant I was under close arrest and he `locked' me up in the corner of the tent. Actually I just sat on a chair waiting to be marched off in front of the Commanding Officer. This happened shortly thereafter. This additional story, all part of being in close arrest, probably won't mean anything to you; however, when you are in close arrest you are in fact a prisoner. In order to appear before the Commanding Officer another sergeant escorts you to the tent where the hearing is held. It was some considerable distance to the Commanding Officer's tent. A friend was my escort. We started off in grand style, on the double. We had to run about one mile.

Halfway there we spot an officer, this required `breaking into quick time', regular marching. We managed this OK, but my escort was so out of breath he couldn't give the command to salute. So I did: Much to the officer's amazement. He was one of our own company officers, so he knew us. We finished the salute, broke into double time and dashed off, ignoring the officer's shout that we return. He never did do anything about it. I received a very minor punishment, but by now I am a hardened criminal.

On one of our schemes I almost caught an octopus; at least it almost swam into the mess can I was cleaning. (A mess can was an aluminium (aluminum here in North America)dish about 5" square and 2' deep). We were issued two such tins. They were used for eating, drinking and washing purposes. (hopefully not at the same time) If one was short of washing?up water one could `wash' them by putting sand in them and drying up the remaining contents and then throwing the residue away. They also had a dramatic affect on all foods that had grease in them. As soon as the greasy food, such as eggs, was placed in them, the food congealed as the tins were always cold. Should mention to, that I had started off in another company, not Support Company, which meant that I would have been marching all over the place, and I did for a while. Then I was transferred to the machine gun platoon that meant we rode everywhere.

If I hadn't been transferred then I would have missed the following. We were on a scheme, fighting an imaginary enemy, and judging by the way the politicians were messing things up, it could have been anyone, including the Americans. We were ordered to return to our camp. The first thing they told us was that plans had changed and we were to board a minesweeper for exercises at sea. Aha!! Then we had a kit inspection. This is where every piece of equipment you have been issued with is checked to be sure it's all present, very strange. Then when we went to the docks to board the minesweeper (HMS Leverton) we took about 100,000 rounds of live ammunition. Something we had never done before. I guess we had been on board for about one hour when we were all called on to the deck. The captain simply said that we are now at war with Egypt any mail would be censored from this point on. I don't think anyone actually believed him at first, however, the message soon sunk in.

The trip across the Mediterranean was uneventful (if you call having everyone on board seasick, including the captain, uneventful) until we were just outside of Port Said (Egypt) harbour. Then we began to sweep for mines. We, the soldiers were told to stay out of the way; we did not need to be told twice. The sailors were quite happy because they received a bonus for every mine that was destroyed. We did not destroy any.

I want to mention one little incident here and couple it with an incident that occurred when I was a kid, on the way to church. Together, while on the way to church, with a couple other guys, we came across the Fire Brigade, as we called them. They had their escape ladder up the side of a building. One of the firemen asked if I would like to go up the ladder. I declined. It was some 20?25 years later that I had to come down a similar ladder!! I had to help a young fellow down from the Calder water tower that had climbed to the top to attract attention about something or other.

Now to the other incident: When we were on the minesweeper we drew alongside the supply ship. It was mail call. The other ship must have been over 60 yards away because of the rough sea. One of our sailor's shot a line to the ship, and rigged up, what I think it is called a Bosun's ladder. It's just a harness strung between the ships. A sailor merely seats himself into the harness and the sailors in the other ship pull him across the water. Again we were asked if we would like to try it, we, the soldiers all declined. I'm 59 years old now. I wonder when I will have to use one.

Although the war was almost over before we arrived, aircraft were still sending rockets into the city as we entered the harbour. At this point the minesweeper ran aground on a ship that had been sunk by the Egyptians. We were never told how much damage had been inflicted on the ship. At any rate, we were taken off the ship and stationed in a Brooke Bond Tea factory. I don't remember too much about the tea factory except that when we went to go to the toilet there was nothing to sit on. The place was all nicely tiled,with a flushing system, but no seats. There was the tiled floor with a tiled hole. That was all. I suppose one would get used to it in time. Although I don't know for sure, it had, I believe some religious connotation, something about a man having a baby.

Again my criminal background comes to the fore. To backtrack just a little: When we came across on the minesweeper, we sergeants ate in the Petty Officer's mess. We lived like kings. We thought we would return the favour by taking some tea to the ship. A staff sergeant and about four other sergeants and I loaded a large, large bag with tea and made for the harbour: To get from the shore to the ship raised a bit of a problem, quickly solved when we saw an unattended rowing boat. We all took an oar, except for the staff sergeant, who yelled out the time for stroking the oars. Military training rushing to the fore here, and we rowed across the harbour and presented the tea to the somewhat surprised sailors. I supposed we could have been court martialled.

While in the tea factory about four of us were sent to guard a small village. We spent 18 hours watching this place, no food except for some very green grapefruit we were given by some passing soldiers. It was a long day. The day ended with a patrol coming to relieve us, and us being chastised for failing to identify the patrol before we allowed them up to our position. Ironically the patrol made so much noise we knew who they were long before they arrived. It was a good thing that we were all on the same side!! The official record shows that the Allies won the war, the Egyptians , however, still probably have their own victory parade.

It seems that very shortly thereafter we were to return to Malta and we boarded another minesweeper and headed back to Valletta, Malta. On the way the minesweeper caught fire, burned out a motor and we were towed home. I have never been so glad to get off a boat in my life. We returned to a deserted camp. The rest of the battalion had been shipped to Cyprus. We obviously had to follow. The journey to Cyprus was made in a smaller craft. The journey was uneventful; apart from the fact that I ate my first real steak on board. The steak was rare, very rare, but was it ever good.

In Cyprus we were on active service. There was a civil war going on and the British were on one side. It's so long ago that I don't really remember all the ins and outs, but the Greeks and the Turks were involved and the leader of the Greeks was a fellow called George something or other and the leader of the Turks was Archbishop Makarios. I'm not sure that either of them liked the Brits too much. They both wanted home rule but neither wanted the other on the island.

There were attacks, quite cowardly from what we were told: Like dropping bombs from trees into trucks, on the British troops and civilians. We were never attacked but we had to be on guard at all times. Thorough searches of the camp had to be carried out regularly to check for bombs. We were still in tents, but this time it was a little better arranged. There were wooden surrounds for the side of the tent, and wooden floors. It was December when we were there and while it was quite warm in the daytime it did go below freezing at night. We had but a little heater in the tent and the water we brought in for washing and shaving in froze over night. But we were tough. We really didn't have too much to do; actually we were waiting to go home. The hostilities had finished in Egypt. Initially we were to be flown home. However, some people with British passports took our places on the planes and it didn't work out.

The more accurate information provided by Christopher Fagan (Captain) Grenadier Guards in an email letter of January 2012

The trouble in Cyprus was not quite as you described. You are quite right that the island was populated by Greek Cypriots (not actually Greeks) and Turkish Cypriots (not actually Turkish), and quite often there were mixed villages of both. The Greek Cypriots, led by Archbishop Makarios, were passionate to obtain 'Enosis' i.e. Union with Greece. They took no notice of the fact that Greece did not actually want them! Makarios hired a chap from Greece called General George Grivas, who had originally been trained by the British Army, to come and organise a terrorist campaign to try and achieve this rather silly (to my mind) emotion. Grivas came along and caused a lot of trouble as you know, and it was he and his followers that we were always looking for, not entirely without success. Meanwhile the Turkish Cypriots were not at all keen to have any union with Greece. They were led by a man called (I think) Rauf Denktash. Makarios was deported to some idyllic place much too good for him. Eventually, it was agreed in 1959 that Cyprus should have independence from Britain and Makarios was allowed back and became President of the island. However, they never achieved 'Enosis'. In 1974 the Turkish army (real Turks) invaded the island and in the end, having kicked all the Greek Cypriots out of the Northern half, the Turks retained the Northern half with a line that went from West to East straight through our old camp to, and including, Famagusta. The Regiment served out there for a time with the United Nations as a peace-keeping force. For a time after 1974 the Turks would not allow anybody to enter the Northern half from the Southern half. However, I managed to do so in 1976 when I went to stay with Captain (later Lt Col) Smith who was on the staff in Episcopi. I told the incredulous Turks that I was a member of the Turkish Legion, which had a grain of truth in it! So they let me and my family go to Kyrenia for three days. The Turks still hold the Northern half today.

ANOTHER LETTER FROM C. FAGAN RELATED TO THE SO CALLED RIOT OR MUTINY

From C Fagan: Dear Jim [White], who edits a weekly email newsletter.]

I thought it would be worthwhile following up various comments started by Peter Sanderson in your newsletter of 22^nd September and continued in subsequent newsletters of 29^th September and 3^rd October by John Tidridge, P. Barker and K. Wardle concerning the so-called “riot” or “mutiny” in Malta in 1956.

I was an Ensign (2/Lt) commanding a platoon in No. 2 Coy and I was in the officers’ mess at the time of the incident.

It is important to remember that in 1956 the Regiment consisted of both Regular soldiers and National Servicemen and that 3rd Bn was mobilised in August for the Suez crisis and brought up to Higher Establishment strength, doubling its size by calling up the reservists. These reservists had already served three years in the Regiment and had then left to go back to civilian life. It was, therefore, very difficult for some of them. The vast majority of the reservists were wonderful and experienced people, very willing to do their part in taking back the Suez Canal but anxious to return as soon as circumstances would allow, but inevitably there were a very few who were disgruntled, and in particular there were about six activists who had a completely disproportionate influence on those around them.

The Battalion was encamped under canvas on an airfield strip at Qrendi, and the officers’ mess was down a lane in a seamans’ rest home with sleeping quarters in nissen huts at the back. On the evening in question the Commanding Officer, Lt. Colonel Alex Gregory-Hood MC, had gone into Valetta.

I am not certain if it was in the Guardsmens’ Mess or the NAAFI, but the six activists, whose complaint was as much against the government as the Battalion, started to whip up trouble, which was no doubt fuelled by a beer or two, and a party of perhaps 100 men decided to go down the lane to the officers’ mess and air their complaints. We had just about finished dinner when they arrived and we went outside to see what was going on. There was a low wall bordering the lane outside and the Senior Major, who was Major David Wedderburn, (not Major, later Colonel Tony Way MC) got up on to this wall to address the gathering. He was known to “dine well” and he started off by saying words to the effect “Well what do you want? Come and push me off the wall!”. This would have been so easy in the circumstances that everybody roared with laughter and the party dispersed and returned to camp. Nobody was manhandled in any way and I am sure I would have remembered if any of my brother officers had been ‘dunked in a pool’!

Unfortunately, one or more of the six activists had got in touch with the local reporter for the Daily Mail (whose name I think was Brown) and reported that the Grenadiers were having a mutiny, and the next morning it was headlines in that paper. Thus, it was blown up completely out of proportion. It was a disturbance, but it was certainly neither a riot nor a mutiny. It was, however, taken very seriously, and Colonel Gregory-Hood gave the whole Battalion a blistering but extremely effective rocket which made us all feel very small. He later became the Lieutenant Colonel commanding the Regiment, but it is my belief that the publicity at such a critical time when we were “on active service” undermined his career and that otherwise he would very likely have gone on to higher rank.

As a footnote I am sad to report that of the 30 officers serving with the Battalion at that time, 18 have definitely died, 5 are definitely alive, and I am not sure about the other 7. I have a photograph of all but 6 of us outside the officers’ mess where the event took place. I am delighted to say that my Platoon Sergeant Alan Swain and one of my corporals, L/Cpl (later Sgt) Charles Smith are both alive.

I hope this will be of interest.

A MISSING PIECE

I was sure I had mentioned the 'riot' or 'mutiny' in my Suez comments as I had correspondence from a Grenadier who thought I had made light of the incident. In retrospect I may have. Christopher Fagan sheds lights on the situation and perhaps tells it like it was.

Here is what I remember: I saw a notice on a part of a cigarette package on the bulletin board of 3 Company that there was to be a meeting in the NAAFI at [and I don't recall the time now.

I heard noise of men shouting from the tent. I was told the barrack guard had been 'swept aside'. I heard an officer had been dunked. I did not take part in the occasion.

Some time later [another day] the RSM called a Meeting of NCO's and those NCO's who supported the dispute were invited to leave. No one left.

It would be sad if the Commanding Officer's [Gregory-Hood] career was jeopardized by this incident, as he was a fine gentleman

You would be surprised how racist one can become when you lose your seat on a plane to a person who has never seen England, but has a British passport.

It was pretty boring, but we did do at least one early morning search of a village for terrorists: This meant being in position at about 4 a.m. All the men of the village were put in a compound, and we searched the village for weapons. We found none. I did remember going into one very, very poor place, seeing a four poster bed, looking under the mattress for weapons, only to find the spring was a series of boards: Probably good for the back but not very comfortable. Chickens roamed freely throughout the home. These people were poor.

We finally did get to go home; we had Christmas dinner on board ship in the Bay of Biscay, which was a very rough stretch of water. I arrived home in Southampton, only to learn that the dock workers, my dad was one, were on strike . We had to spend the night on board ship. I was twenty minutes from home. And that was the end of my army career, apart from having to send my army gear back to the regiment. This was accomplished in short order. I have no regrets whatsoever, and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. I still think that if fellows can be kept busy for their time of service it would do all young people good to do service in the forces of some kind, for say, 18 months.

2012-MORE ON SUEZ, MALTA & CYPRUS

In late 2011 former Gold Sergeant Brian Brenchley had kindly sent a photo of the Officers from the 3^rd Battalion, taken in Malta in 1956. Unfortunately most of the names of the officers names were missing. Then this year he sent a picture complete with all the names but one, the Padre.

I felt an effort should be made to discover the name of the Padre, so, I started to search and did all things I thought were necessary. At some point I let Brian know what I was doing, his rather exasperated response was, in effect, he had 'been there and done that', without success. However, I did put the picture on Facebook asking if anyone could identify the Padre and that generated two responses. One from Captain Christopher Fagan and the other from Harry Wedderburn. Harry's father Major Wedderburn appears in the photograph. However neither could name the man in question. It is hoped to continue the conversations. Major Wedderburn was killed in Singapore in 1960

Here follows an account of the murder of Major Wedderburn... it seems to be a fairly good account apart from 'transferring' Major Wedderburn to the Coldstream Guards. To read the account click here

Headstone	Plaque	Elizabeth Cross

FEBRUARY 25, 2012

Dear John,

I am amazed by the photo! Sorry that I don't know the Padre's name (I was only about two at the time!), but am hugely excited: Major David Wedderburn was my father (killed in Singapore 26 Feb 1960 - yes, today, 52 years ago) and it's very moving to see new pictures of him. I visited his grave last summer and attach pictures of his headstone, the plaque in the church where we lived and his Elizabeth Cross.

......I served in the 1st Bn 1973/5 and the 2nd 75/77. You may also remember my step-father, Maj Warren Freeman-Attwood, who served in five of the Regiment's six Battalions between 1942 and 1960... but not Malta.

Harry Wedderburn

I kept up an association with the regiment by joining the North American Guards Association. I may add more later. At the present time, January 1995 I am considering my options. Some when in 1995 I left the Guards Association. I became firmly convinced that they were a little bit of old England that I did not particularly like, class distinction and racism. Tradition holds firm and I rejoined the Association. It still is rather out of date, but I enjoy reading their newsletter. I kept some mementos and have acquired two very nice pieces of china, a guardsman in full dress and a 'head' of a guardsman. 1999. I have also acquired a cut out of a guardsman, some pictures and an article I wrote for the Edmonton Journal. I received $50.00 for my efforts.

December 20 2001 I re-affirmed my membership in the Associations I am not, however, convinced that it serves much of a purpose now. Most of the members are old. There do not appear to be any new members. It's a shame really, but that is how life goes.

December 23, 2017: Sixteen years since my last entry. This all came about for two reasons....I checked the page and found that the piece on Suez had disappered, along with the Major Wedderburn story. More by luck than judgment I managed to retrieve said articles. The second reason follows:

Dear Mr.Tidridge,
I was with the 3rd.Bn. 1955-1958 PublicDuties Windsor Castle/Trooping Colour/Malta/Cyprus.
I witnessed the " mutiny" at very close hand.
Major Wedderburn climbed on a wall and confronted several hundred men   said " What appears to be the problem men ?"
A single voice answered " Get down you black bastard." And that was that.What else could the men do. Of course in the context of the Guards culture it was out of order. But the conditions the men were expected to deal with after standing down post Suez and the thoughtless way that drill/kit inspections etc were imposed it was surprising that more serious action did not occur.
As for "5-6 activist stirring trouble" not to my knowledge. 
Re Mr. Fagan perhaps he still remembers the late night card sessions with the  men.
Regards,
David Robinson.

Hello David,
 

My reply:
I suspect we are close the same age [I was born 1935] so dispense with the Mister, please!

Thank you for your letter... interesting your account of the 'mutiny'... I will not ask for you to definpublic dutieshand'.

You will know, of course, Major Wedderburn was killed  guarding a gold shipment? There's an account on my site...

I was resting in my tent, shortly after reading a note on the 3 Company notice Board, there was to be a meeting in the NAAFI... [I was trying to remember one of the meanings of the acronym, but thought better of it] and that's my entire involvement in the affair.

I did not find the conditions too bad, I suppose the privilege of rank would have accounted for that! I do remember at some point it rained heavily and the water cascaded through the tented area causing some concern to the guardsmen... it ran under our beds.

When politicians visited the camp, it was rumoured one commented on the fact the men's food did not look bad, he was promptly told it was because of their visit, or so the story went. And, I know this sounds terrible, but the food in the mess was excellent.

Would you mind if I put your letter and my reply on my web page... if I don't hear from you in a week I will take it as an OK!

All the best for Christmas and the New Year and again, thanks for writing.

John Tidridge

22545749

In December 2016 I again received correspondence from Emanuel Muscat  of Malta who had written a year earlrier providing the name of the airfield where the 3rd battalion was stationed during the Suez Crisis.. He wrote this time to give more information on both the use of the airstrip for troops but also if its use during the Battle of Malta.  This facinating story can be found at

https://www.facebook.com/emanuel.muscat.14/media_set?set=a.551678394846201.140340.100000121360231&type=1

The newspaper article, two pictures above, tells the story of the arrival of the Anti-Aircraft Regiment at the airstrip and also gives a mention of the notorious riot of the Guards and, incidentally, of another regiment shortly thereafter.

FOOD FOR THOUGHT, GRIST FOR THE MILL...

Over the years incidents have occurred that have resulted in mixed reports on the causes and results and endings of improper assemblies.... so:

The following [paraphrased] question was posed to a friend, a non-serving Grenadier:

‘Do you think a union for soldiers would have solved some of the situations that have given rise to unlawful responses to perceived ‘poor conditions and situations?’

His response: “Interesting subject soldiers and trade unions. The answer is that they do not live well together. Right or wrong, stand still. In battle conditions you do what you are told even though that means you may be almost certainly going to be killed. It may well be that you do not have a very good NCO or officer-that’s tough, you still have to do what you are told. Under non battle conditions one could be tempted to ease off on these, but I think that would be wrong. Modern soldiers are highly trained, skilled valuable tradesmen not to be used as gun fodder, but same still applies, I think.

Have you read about the mutiny of the Scottish troops in Italy? Broadly they had fought through North Africa, then Sicily and were now in Italy and were war weary. They had been “promised” that they would now be relieved, but someone changed their minds, and the guys mutinied. The ring leaders were court martialled, but were all subsequently let off, I think. Not enough is written about the impact of gradual “shrinkage” and loss of one’s mates, one after the other, on morale, in war books. Makes you realize your turn has got to come. The good soldiers, the brave, the leaders go first, of course.”

For your consideration.

2018-02-09-Going through an earlier web page I came across this photo... taken on the minesweeper. I do not remember where it came from...not good at keeping records. The only two persons I remember are the late Capt. Martin and most likely the late Sgt. Fulford[?]

You will notice, I suspect, the light coloured belts and 'harness,' scrubbed clean for desert warfare.

The army has some God-like ways of doing things... mysteriously! We were on a scheme chasing some enemy on Malta. Word comes down (see what I mean about the earlier statement!) that we are going to be placed on a minesweeper... to continue the scheme. However, we have a kit inspection, and we load 100,000 rounds of live ammo onto the ship, moored in Valletta Harbour... some scheme.

At about 16.30 hr we are all assembled on deck, the skipper tells us we are at war with Egypt... 'Sure", I am sure was the quiet response.... but then he talked about censoring our mail and it became reality...

I have described most of the trip elsewhere... but suffice us to say, once recovered from seasickness, apparently endured by everyone on board, we lived well and were treated royally by the crew of the HMS Leverington.