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This picture is 'culled' from the squad picture. Sgt. 'Bunny' Whitehead was the squad instructor and T/S Dancer our 'mentor'. [It would be easy to add three letters to his name]. Our Colour Sgt. was Brian Brenchley. Brian played such a low key roll it wasn't until we made contact in the late 1900s that I remembered him. ...he will forgive me for this... he knew his role and carried it out well.

We 'lost' our first instructor [L/Sgt Searcey?] as we flunked the 4^th week inspection. The older I get the more sympathy I have for this man who (it was a mistake) treated us like gentlemen and failed to develop that 'edge' in the squad, so necessary to get through basic training. The phrase 'their feet never touched the ground' became our watchword for the next little while... but, we did make the next step!

CATERHAM... Memorandum: It seemed as though everyone in the squad was present...It was Caterham; we were all being marched in for 'standing idle on parade'... i.e. 'feet less than, or more than, 12' apart. I think we were admonished, no punishment, but we learned the process and that phrase that governed our speaking to an officer... in certain circumstances anyway... 'I thank you, Sir, for leave to speak'.

REBELLION: Only once in my short career did I have anything more than 'Nothing Sir' to the question, 'Do you have anything to say' a question put to me as I had been marched in for dirty great coat buttons. "Quiet" or words to that effect came from Gold Sergeant Fulford (?). 'Let him have his say', responded the officer. So I said that the charge was wrong, I only had one dirty greatcoat button. I don't remember what happened after that, but the charge was dismissed.. there was never any retaliation from the Gold Sergeant! Good man!

November 27,, 2012: MEETING THE ADJUTANT: I was thinking how easy it is to lose your name [being caught doing something wrong]... I had not been at the battalion for long before I am close to doing just that! Along with others of my squad assigned to the 1 st Battalion I am marched into to 'meet the adjutant'. I am ( some would disagree) basically a shy (reserved?!) sort of individual and I had not travelled far from home. Caterham had been my most distant journey. I am stood there listening to the adjutant but at some point in time my eyes had wandered to look out of the window... I can see this chimney stack topped by, it seemed like, dozens of chimney pots..."What's your name", quickly got my attention. The adjutant asked my previous occupation (greenhouse worker) "Farm labourer" came the retort, "You'll most likely be in the cook house". OOOps! 

Pirbright, where we were treated as humans again, quite a change from the last 12, no, 13 weeks at the Depot! Food, good food and lots of it. Fresh air! Sgt Page treated us well. I have fond memories! The route march! The trip to Pickering where I was almost arrested with Guardsman Bob Piney! We innocently purchased 'fish and chips' and were walking smartly through the village. We were confronted by a Lance Sergeant who promptly told us that if he did not have a 'hot date' lined up he would have 'placed us in close arrest'. The food was hastily deposited in a garbage container and we (Bob and I) really wondered what all the fuss was about.

One other 'incident' occurred during the 'Bivouac Camp' (name supplied by Sgt Brenchley...good man!) We were 'listening' for the enemy and sure enough there loomed one of the squad lance sergeant's, leading a night patrol, looking for prisoners... I received a sharp blow the the side of the head... but eluded this man.

I also noted at Pickering the unique way of placing margarine (I almost said butter!) on bread... you will remember. It was melted to a liquid and applied with a paint brush.

You will remember of course, the "Sing or Double" command... it seemed that there was just long enough between the last word of the command and time to think of a song before you were doubling...it is recalled the theme song from High Noon got some severe handling.. and one learned the slower the tempo of the song the better for the pace...that is if you ever got to sing... There were two other places of remembrance... the tunnel that one was sent through and a fire was lit at either end... and the hill where one sergeant stood at the bottom, one at the top, and I think one in the middle... all seemed to take perverse delight in doubling us up and down the hill... funny, I did not remember any animosity on our parts... brain washed at last! And then the ramps one had to run up and jump off from the top... invariably someone balked, always the same person(s)... and the smelly pond, where someone was destined to get wet! Ah, those were the days! I never did get the hang of screaming slamming my bayonet into a sand bag.. I have a sneaking suspicion though had the sandbag shown more life I might have been encouraged.

There too was the competition(?) between the squad NCOs and the Amourer's section... the first group wanted you to slam your rifle butt into the ground every time you jumped and landed; the others who went berserk as each bump realigned the sights on the rifle... not that the rifle was particularly accurate... I trooped many times at the range! And of course you will remember your turn in the butts...and keeping and adding to the score... and the 'efficient' radios used...(the 2 tin cans and string would have been more effective!) I can think it was only due to a Higher Power that we actually came through WW II on the winning side!

Overall Pirbright and Pickering fashioned us into a unit (2 squads) worthy of the name Grenadiers.

Putloss, Germany

I concede my memory ain't what it was... even if it was something to begin with! I remember little or nothing about this trip... but what I do remember would best be forgotten but, it concerns only me. The train trip to Putlos was long and somewhere along the way liquor found its way into most of the carriages. I think our carriage was the only teetotal one... (I always knew Someone looked after me). By the time the final stop was reached most men were the worse for wear. The trucks waiting to drive us to camp were sent off and we were forced to march to the barracks. Not the most illustrious start!

The final 'going back to Berlin' party saw me, as Bob Crachitt remarked, making a little merry.. which was absolutely fine until I got into bed... but those of you who have ever imbibed know the rest of the story...

Guardsmen Herbert Garnet Baxter & John Walter Francis Tidridge represented one half of the Support Company Bren-gun Carrier drivers... the other 2, R.T. (Reg) Mann and Jack 'Slap Leather' Matheson(?) absent from parade. We all drove Sgts. Jones and I think Armstrong nuts at Pirbright as we learned to drive those obsolete machines! We flunked our driving test (Major Way?), but were duly sorted out by Sgt. Turner, Police.

[Slap Leather you say? Matheson read Western cowboy books... and as you approached him, he would inevitably go into the 'reach for your guns' position and cry, "Slap Leather".]

The carriers were built c 1947 and the 47 represented their top speed!

Reg Mann had played cricket for the MCC; he was 'bobless'... sat on his bed with 5 minutes to get dressed and he would still beat the rest of us and actually be ready. He and I were transferred from Queen's Company to Support Company.

My camping experiences in the army have not helped my love of  the outdoors. We dutifully took our kids camping but only just.

'Spit and polish' still held sway on these army occasions. One wonders why! No, I don't but, being younger it all seemed to be part of the process. Or as my gchildren and grandchildren might say, "Whatever".

Apparently during the Wars, soldiers were eventually removed  from the front line to a safer area; not to 'goof-off', as one might suppose, but to spend time drilling [marching] and cleaning kit. Alleged to  be good for the morale.

L/Sgt. Burke: Why a man would give up a nice Navy ship for this is beyond: me but there you go! Burke was the comedian of the group, well he told jokes...the humour depended on the listener.

               It's a tough life... but these guardsmen are making the most of it... the picture is posed so cannot say for sure if the men can read! Kidding.

       On many exercises there was much time to fill; most of the time you were in complete ignorence of what was going on. But, that's the army.

Sgt Smith inspects the guard. The turnout was quite good... you have seen the evidence in other pictures of brass cleaning etc.. The Lance Sgt, who shall be nameless, needs to do something with that rifle and the 'tongue in cheek' attitude... and, by the way, we were all deadly serious...

You will notice the FN rifles... as I recall, and other will disagree, they arrived in the 1 ^st in about 1955-56. They did not last long and we were soon back to the old Lee Enfields. Rumour has it 'they' were returned or stored because a) they couldn't be polished and b) 'they' made no noise during arms drill (you will recall loosened base plate...of course not!).. hey, my memory is not what it was either!

There was much discussion about this firearm under a different name...but I am sticking with the moniker, FN Rifle

Yours truly getting a wash... the other gentleman was either Tiffy or Taffy Jackson our R.A.S.C. corporal. A character indeed, resourceful and always cheerful.

  He was also slightly crazy, he towed me for some considerable miles with a rope. No brakes on my vehicle...I aged considerably! 

It looks a bit of a mess but I can guarantee it was cleaner than we found it before we left...

 I often wondered what the German farmers felt whenn we drove over crops and camped on their field. I imagine they were well compensated.

See remarks for the previous picture...not sure were all the mess came from...or what it actually is. Everything was cleared and cleaned before we left.

          Nijmegan, Netherlands, planning our strategy to visit the town... I can remember only Alf Crowley, (the shortest of the group) formerly of the Hampshire regiment. He was one tough hombre.

The visit to Nijmegan was to commemorate regimental victories in WW II. We were feted by the townsfolk and given dinner.

We had been transported from Düsseldorf to Nijmegan in coaches; they were supposed to return and pick us up.,. They failed to show so it finished up with the members of the Sergeants Mess, waiting for transportation at the side of the road. Some of the members were the worse for wear and we did not presents a pretty picture. I remembered passersby taking pictures...

Army trucks eventually arrived and we returned to barracks.

Well, At least our hat badges are clean. We had spent the day on exercises and it was summer and it was dry and we were on country roads....'nuf said!

I was trying to remember how  old we were...Not more than 20 at the most.

As I have said elsewhere I was once in Queen's Company...I was not into extraordinary cleaning practises... I got by! Here I am relaxing at a sporting event... In Germany of course.

I am reminded of the fact we 'trooped the colours' while serving in Germany. There was a general strike of some sort that kept the soldiers at home busy and we had the privilege of trooping in Germany. There were three units, us, the RAF Regiment and the Lincolnshire Light Infantry. The RSM was Dickenson (hope I have the spelling correct). The parade took place in front of an enthusiastic crowd of civilians who, until told otherwise, applauded heartily at every drill movement. The sight of the Lincolns doubling-by brought out loud cheers.

My fading memory also tells me of at least one parade with the Americans, French and the Russians in Berlin

 I love gardening but I never did like the idea of digging any kind of trench. A story: A junior officer of the Mortar Platoon, now a very (very) high ranking officer, was newly arrived at the platoon. He gathered all the lance sergeants around him and told us he was going to instruct us in the secrets of digging and shoring a trench. He suggested we take over when we felt ready to do so... talk about slow learners... the trench was finished before we cottoned onto the intricacies...

I am sure the officer finally made the grade (obviously) but he was once 'called out' on parade by the Commanding Officer for waddling sideways like a big crab...

Sgt Jack Phelps was the 3" Mortar Platoon Sgt: here he ponders his options when a live round 'died' in the barrel... I think it was dislodged with an axe handle. Sgt. Phelps was a 'good' sergeant... treated us like men. His drill practises had one minor flaw... he always bent from the waist when he carried out drill movements... so it was humourous to hear him say, "and keep your body upright just like mine"... Allowed us lots of latitude in our drill. Then there was the time there had been a mess 'do'...Jack was, well, we were all amazed that he escaped notice and functioned as normal... including back bent! Perhaps, if his back had been straight...

Tidridge's 15 minutes of fame... he was the platoon transportation L/Sgt, but with everyone else, joined in the more casual aspects of firing the Vicker's Machine Gun. In this particular case the weapon was on 'fixed lines' and each participant adjusted the gadget and tried to put a round through an empty .303 round! By some miracle I succeeded. Funny how things work out... I gave no further thought to this inci-dent...however, after being recalled for the Suez Crisis I finished up in 3 Company. One day I was transferred to Support and the Machine Gun Platoon. And, eventually in Egypt... presumably because of my shooting 'skills' I finished up #2 to #1 L/Cpl Wally Cox, on a weapon, firing over the side of a minesweeper, into the Mediterranean Sea!

         There is absolutely no need to elaborate on this scene... always welcome. Our officer would sometimes foot the bill. Good work by good people.

          I am not sure who sponsored the truck... it varied with locations. I remember church organizations.

Three men with nothing much to do other than kill time... at least we had some fun!

I'm quite sure these antics were viewed with dismay by seniors...but, let's face it we were just kids!

I eventually finished-up as a Driving Instructor... taking the course in Hampshire...

The jeep received standard camouflage treatment... not sure how effective it was... Shortly before the draping of the netting we had driven to the scene.. I had noted a suitable spot and drove or tried to drive, over a light dip in the forest bed... The jeep sank to its axles!

This was before I became an instructor.

A happy looking crew.... how I hated those denims... came in two sizes..too big or too small... I hope they are keeping the Dodo bird company.

Speaking of denims... on one occasion while on a scheme my bren gun carrier slid off the trail and was eventually towed to a garage. There was no accommodation available and I am not even sure where I slept. But I do recall trying to go for breakfast and being turned away by a corporal of some sort in a service regiment. I was too overcome to argue!

              Me, my jeep, Burke and my ill-fitting beret... there just has to be better headgear?

My first and only driver trainer course... we finished up with sufficient drivers... I should remember this guardsman... AH, I remember, Guardsman Coutts... he arranged a going away party for me at a neighbourhood pub... we snuck in late!

More students.. all passed on the first attempt!

              The battle dress being worn is a #3... fit only for use on exercises.

               I am guessing uniforms have changed along with some forms of drilll and the small arms would likely be different.

               Photograph was taken in Germany c 1955. I drove this truck, not sure why, but I believe a new way of doing things came about... darn my short memory!

               There was precious little sharing of information. 

            Obviously planning some type if activity... not sure what or where!

            Judging from the suntan, Malta.

        Not sure how, but 'everyone' sported a cap with a slashed peak on Malta. Regular issue caps were like mailman hats and generally detested by guardsmen. I remember hats were 'doctored' at Winsor Barracks shortly after we were kitted out.

Eat your hearts out!!! Wearing one of those delicious hats. Picture taken in Malta.

           Very business like! Apart from # 2 and 3 from the left, front row, all National Servicemen.

National Service men were those who were conscripted to service. At 18 year of age you were eligible unless you were in a selected occupation or attending university.

The two numbered men L/Sgt. Crowdy #2 and Colour Sgt. Smith #3 were veterans of WW II. Both good soldiers.  

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 it 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

Washing by the local ladies did not produce many sharp creases, nor was living under canvas helpful... Malta.

I cannot for the life of me remember how we dressed for the drill parades in Malta? Battledress? Can't remember if we still used the Lea Enfield rifle....

Gotta check that out.

One would never think playing soccer (football) would land a fellow in close arrest...it happened this way. Support Company, through our officer, arranged to play the fellows from the nearby RAF Station. We played,, we won. However, I had drawn boots from the 'stores'... they were 'orrible! They, quite literally, tore my feet to shreds to the extent I was placed on 'medicine and duty'. My feet mended, I attended sick parade on Saturday and was cleared for duty. It was later in the morning so decided not to go on parade... although I was ready and able to do so. I was sat in my tent, minding my own business, as it were, when the flap was opened and there stood the RSM in full glory. 'Put yourself in close arrest", said he, and I did. Apparently many others had missed parade! I received three evening orders. But, a funny thing happened on the way to the Commanding Officer's Memorandum...

The cut a short story long!: A L/Sgt from my company and tent comes to escort me to Commanding Officer’s Memorandum; it’s a fair hike (double!) from the guardroom to the CO’s tent; my companion is not very fit. As we make our way, we see our Company Commander, Major Giles(?); time for the order to 'break into quick time, eyes right, eyes front, break into double time', my escort is so out of breath he can't, but I do, and we continue on our way, ignoring the major’s command to 'come here', or something like that. The major must have had a sense of humour because he let us go!! Circa 1955 Malta

Bradbury Barracks, Krefeld, Germany.  The whole area was set aside for training exercises.   There was a bad start to the situation. There was a train journey  and along the way bottles of wine were for sale at a station. Many of the men drank too much and by the time  we reach the Krefeld point of disambarking many of the men were the worse for wear. A truck had been sent to pick us up and take us to the barracks. The officer was somewaht put out and sent the truck back to the barracks. He marched us to the barracks.

I hate to admidtthat on another occasion I drank too much. I think it was a party to celebrate the finish of the course. I'm not sure how drunk I was but when I got into bed... well never mind.  

Pirbright. This was the next stop after Depot training. It was so different, different and better food, more human instructors. I was there for six weeks starting approximately July 1953.

It was also the barrackes were reservists, me included, about to be demobbed were bedded for the process to be completed.

And, it was where the reseverists were kitted-out ready to join a battalion.

© All Rights Reserved by John Tidridge, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada