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A Walk in Newark.

Turning to the crescent of Bancroft Road with the post war semi's built by Mr Vickers, with the Oriel windows in the stair well, pebble dashed walls, front bay.
Hipped roofs, Satellite dishes, Sky, TV aerials, digital aerials, horizontal and vertical.   Mahogany doors, windows, some white, wooden, uPVC, add on porches, garages, extension, hedged, Beech, Leylandii, Holly, fenced, unfenced, open plan, cars and vans in their drives.    
Every conceivable shape and shade, for better for worse, for young, for old and busy lives.

Cats sitting on the front door step waiting to be let in and dogs let out to roam around their garden.  
Larger dogs like Alsatians, Labradors making themselves known by barking, jumping up at the gates at the end of the drives and little dogs,  Jack Russells, Scottish Terriers running round continuously yelping, defending their masters home.

The odd curtain drawn open by the dreamy eyed only to be taken by surprise seeing me pass, our eyes meet, equally surprised by the sudden movement.
Fleeting figures darting in and out of the front rooms still wearing dressing gowns become visible through the net curtains.   I cast my eyes away as if disinterested.
And now the ravenous smell of bacon frying comes wafting through the air from some houses still denying cardboard and wheat breakfast cereals.
Cries of babies and children penetrate the walls but no sound of adult voices except the occasional farewell of wives seeing off their husband as they walk to their cars parked in the road.
Colder mornings bring windscreens frozen white with engines revving and drivers scraping and spraying furiously.

Passing through the gates of the sports ground the open countryside greets me.
Looking around, dog walkers far off on the perimeters clutching their bags of unmentionable debris.
The stark patches of concrete, bricks and rubble still show once where the cricket pavilion, seated shelters and other buildings long gone, mischievously burnt to the ground by local youths hell bent on relieving their apparent boredom in the long dark evenings.  
Seen by no one, condemned by everyone.

Who heard the motorbike doing wheelies across the nurtured pitch of someone’s beloved cricket pitch this morning?    The skid marks and scars of a perfect brake n'turn executed with idle skill where wickets fall and batsmen score their boundary strokes.  
Across the fields past the rows of Poplars are the Gypsum spoils with lorries labouring up to spill yet more waste,   their tailgate's clanking and booming shut.

A petrol engine starts up yet again and the clanking of the belts and chains pitches high above the throbbing of the engine.
Through a well-worn gap in the link fence and across the field, that no one owns, where the dogs roam free in the long grass and shrubs.
Passing the earth-banked ramp of the old footpath bridge that crossed the single line railway, now long gone.  
And on again across the field to the earth track where walkers and cyclists pass on the way to work.

Greeting all I meet, surprising their sullen faces but forcing a greeting in reply.  
The pretty girl approaches and I stand aside but her face avoids mine with as if such acknowledgement may get unwarranted attention.   Smiling at myself and greet her anyway with 'Morning'.  
An embarrassed reply hesitantly follows but without eye contact.
Another dog walker passes through the overgrown shrubs of the treasured but now abandoned bowling greens.  
Why?

Joining the path that follows the route of the railway line now edged with overgrown shrubs and birch trees.  
The path meanders between the original straight lines now covered with macadam and the occasional signs of horse and ponies passing by.    
Walkers jauntily come to view with their dogs smelling their way from one invisible delight to the next.  
Who knows what stories these scents produce in doggy worlds.
Tola the Rhodesian Saddle Back greets me, dragging along Peter, ambling along the track, with more stories from the days of his National Service as a tank gunner, radio operator, crewman with the Royal Irish Hussars.

The forklift driver passes on his bike and gives a begrudged and muffled greeting on his way to work.    
We shout a 'Morning' back to him as he disappears down the track without looking back; it took two years to get that much out of him.  
No Wendy and Sam again this morning.  
Her son has just come back from a tour in Afghanistan and we are still waiting news of his 'ventures. "Where's Chris and her little Jack Russel?"  "Have you seen Terry lately?"  "Saw him yesterday, he was asking after you".
Soon I come to the road bridge and take the climb out of the track onto the main road again where the noise of passing traffic takes over.  
"Bye Peter", "Bye Tola".  
They go on their way.

And so back to home for toast, Marmite, honey marmalade, cheese, crumpets, pikelets, boiled egg, fry up on Saturday and tea,
"What we got this morning?"   And, of course, the morning newspaper.
Has the paper boy come?

Memories of a Junior Leader 1959 to March 1962

I lived on a farm in the country which was at least a mile from the local village in one direction and 2 miles and a bit from town and the secondary school which I attended until I was 15. I say 2 and a bit because of that bit, prevented me and my sisters getting on the school bus at the end of the lane. So we were bikers from an early age.
My interest in Army followed on from joining the local Army Cadets. The detachment I joined was badged ‘Sherwood Foresters’, the Notts and Derby Brigade or The 45th Foot. Later to be amalgamated, with the Worcester and Foresters Brigade. I became a cadet Cpl and decided to make a career of the Army and applied to be a Junior Leader when I left school at 15.
I had my heart first set on the Royal Armoured Corps at Bovington Camp Dorset and I was intrigued with the Iron Fist of their badge and the hope to become a Tank Commander.
As it turned out, there were no vacancies in the Regiment at that time and I was offered a vacancy in The Junior Leaders Royal Army Ordnance Corps. I asked my Cadet Sgt Major about the RAOC and he assured me that they had tanks in the RAOC, in fact, so he said, they had everything! So assured that I could have my tanks I agreed and joined the RAOC.

On the day I joined my mother wanted to take me down to Blackdown but I put my foot down and we agreed to say good bye at Nottingham Railway Station. From there I travelled down to London, St Pancras, crossed over London by tube to Waterloo and then out along the Southern Rail to dear old Brookwood where I presume I was met and taken by truck to Blackdown Camp.

I started in North Frith Barracks in Aug 1959, at the top left hand corner of Blackdown and then moved over to Dettingen Barracks with the JLBn.
The object of the Junior Leaders and their predecessor, Boy Soldiers was to train young men for SNCO’s and Warrant Officers. The age group was 15 to 17.1/2 although some 14 year olds were not unknown. It was rumoured that some were ex Borstal boys and other lads who apparently were given the choice, by the Judge, “Borstal or are you going to volunteer for the Army”?
There was some trade training but only B trades which at the time was only storeman or Clerk RAOC. This happened only in the final term instead of education.
We were based, in the days described above, in North Frith Barracks which was North of Deepcut and opposite Dettingen.
In the summer of 1959 there was a large intake and there were two Recruit Houses with Sgt Johnnie Walker and Sgt Pete Britcher. The REME Juniors had moved out six months earlier to make room for the expected increase in recruiting.
When we passed out, we Mulcahy and Watts House together with a third house, Recruit House formed the new C Company under Major Reason Challiner who recently passed on, and the late CSM Al Carmen. Al Carmen was an ex Inspector in the Colonial Police Force and a professional boxing referee. In his office he had some ‘artistic’ photos of Diana Dors on his wall. He later became a Vehicle Specialist and I believe appointed a Conductor.

My house was Mulcahy with the late Capt G.B Hopkinson (‘Hoppy’) the House Officer and Johnnie Walker. I can’t remember the Watts house officer.
We use to explore the tank tracks and coniferous woods all around the barracks over the weekends sometimes out all day, just coming back for tea. We had to get back for tea because we never had enough money to buy food in the NAAFI very often. Although I do recall feasting on a cold tin of baked beans and a pork pie from the NAAFI shop once or three times. Shear delicacy of it..........
Later on, we would explore the ranges over towards Pirbright. Once we got as far as Rifle Association Ranges and were very pleased to be asked to do some target spotting in the buts. They taught us the Bisley scoring and shot pointing system and they were well pleased with us. We were told to report to the office afterwards and we all got at least 10 bob each for the afternoon. We only got 25 bob (£1.25) on a Wednesday morning so having 10 bob on a Sunday night was real wealth. We didn’t rush back to tea that night but had a fry up in the NAAFI. I don’t remember how much we use to be paid because they kept back so much ‘in credits’.

We would have to pay for barrack room damages and on pay parade you wait for your name to be called out. On hearing your name you would leap to attention and march to the front of the paying Officer and shout, “Sir”. The Sgt would say something like 25 shillings less a shilling barrack damages and the officer would sign your pay book and hand you the cash from neatly arranged piles in front of him. You would then glance down and say “Pay and Paybook correct Sir”! whether it was or not actually. Salute and march back to the squad and fall back in and then to Ease until the last man had been paid. Quite a performance, every week.
The residue of your pay would be sent as a money order to your home address for each leave at the end of term. I always seemed to have enough money on leave. The reason why they sent your ‘credits’ home was because in the past there was some bullying and some lads went home on leave with no money, apparently?

We attended education classes each morning and sat the ‘Junior’, Intermediate’ and ‘Senior’, Tests. This was equivalent to the Army Certificate of Education, 3rd, 2nd and first class. Each morning we would muster outside and be inspected by the House Sgt. We would then be fell in with our respective classes and marched by the Junior NCO’s up to the education huts up by the sports fields. The Sgt would then go and inspect the rooms and woe betide you if you got picked up for a dirty bedspace!

Friday night was bull night and the rooms, and all you kit had to sparkle for Saturday mornings inspection. For the jobs a boy would be selected for his skills because if anything was failing we would be in trouble. Not just from the Sgt but letting down your room mates was a crime! Two of the experts were the polish ‘flipper’ who precisely flicked the polish to precisely the correct space so it could be rubbed in and later buffed with the other expert. The Bumper. Too much or too less polish in a spot could ruin the effect and cause much extra work. The polish was usually flicked with the flat end of a button stick. Swinging the bumper was an art not blessed with everyone who would get the other menial jobs like latrines, ablutions, outside areas or dusting.
Saturday morning was an early start and the room had to be finished off, and kit laid out on the bed for inspection by the House Officer or CO. While this was going on we would be on Battalion Parade under the RSM endlessly marching around and around in slow and quick time.

Education training was a major part of our training and took part every weekday morning up to lunch time. Up to 1960 you had to pass all subjects in the one sitting, and if failing, you resat all the subjects. In 1961 they changed the rule and individual subjects could be accumulated. I was thankful for that because although I passed my Junior and Intermediate at the one sitting I found the
Senior Certificate much harder to obtain and had to sit my final subject later when posted to the ranks in the RAOC to complete my ACE I.
Some boys who were considered bright were allowed to commence their studies at the Intermediate level. I had to start at the Junior entrance level although I passed both Junior and Intermediate in successive terms, surprising them all, including myself. On passing the Intermediate Test we were allowed to wear two stars on our lower arm on the Service Dress. We still wore the old pattern SD which is reminiscent of the uniforms of WW1 but with trousers rather than those with the long puttees.
The subjects we took according to my certificates, were Junior; English, Arithmetic, General Science and General Studies.
Intermediate; English, Arithmetic, General Studies and Map Reading.
The Senior Test had two compulsory subjects which I think was English and Advanced Map reading, and required another two (or three?) optional subjects to complete the qualification.
On passing these tests we were ‘exempt’ the equivalent in Army Certificate of Education (ACE).
The ‘Advanced Map reading’ we studied was considered well above the equivalent, ‘Applied Map Reading’ in ACE I or even GCE ‘O’ Level Geography. But, we did get an extremely good grounding in map work.
In 1961 we also had the choice of Arithmetic, Mathematics or the new subject, ‘Military Calculations & Arithmetic’ which was based on the type calculations one would expect in the service.
We were taught by RAEC instructors and in the fifties and sixties most of them were SNCO’s but later they were required to be commissioned.

A ‘fry up’ in the NAAFI was usually; sausage, egg, chips and beans with a slice of bread and cup of tea. Lashed with salt and vinegar. Price? I think it was about two and eight pence if my memory serves me right. Not cheap but about 32p in today’s money.
Now when you got a stripe you had to do Duty Cpl. Not very pleasant trying to keep order but the great thing was that you always got served a free fry up courtesy of the NAAFI manager just before closing time.
If you smoked, you could sell it for some fags. The number of fags depending how far you were off pay day.
A better duty was ‘WVS’ (‘Weavers’) NCO. You had to issue out all the books and games and make sure they were returned and all locked up before closing.
The Weavers was like an oasis of quiet calm compared to the barrack room and the NAAFI. There you could write your letters, play card and board games and of course the WVS lady was always there to offload your troubles. I can’t get my head round the new ‘WRVS’ despite the Royal honour.

The worse duty was fire piquet; it was for a whole week. First we had to be trained by giant of a Sgt. Sgt North I believe.
We had one of those ‘fire chariots’ It was a box containing hose, standpipes, and nozzles etc, slung between a pair of ‘horse cart’ wheels with a pole and a tee handle at the end. Two lads would stand each side of the front to steer and the rest pushed. Fearsome vehicle it was too with no brakes.
There was a fire practice every day just before tea. We would drag this monstrosity on wheels at break neck speed around the roads of the barracks. God help anyone in the way.
When we were in North Frith barracks we had to do tin bashing in the cookhouse every night too. It was as bad as being on jankers.

I got a little diary for Christmas 1960 and one of the few entries was on Fri 13th January 1961 with the entry “Moved to new accommodation in Dettingen Barracks”.
It seems we were always doing drill in the afternoons, sport or weapon training. Note that I did my SLR TOET’s that term. Tests of Elementary Training!
Another thing that I had long forgotten is that we not only had church parades on a Sunday, we also had them on a Wednesday morning.
This was quite an occasion and would always attract spectators out of the Cafes on Deepcut hill. We were led by our Corps of Drums and Bugles with a Drum Major who use to swing his stick or mace? Up into the air and catch it to everyone’s cheer! I note that some parades were without the Corps of Drums which made the march back to camp very irksome and no spectators. Our favourite tune was Black Bear usually played as we were marching back into the barracks. There is a point where the drummers stop and the steel studded boots would keep the beat and we would force our heels into the gravel at that point. Real stirring stuff only a soldier would appreciate.

Sportswise, I wasn’t much of a sportsman but I did manage to get into the Bn Hockey Team. I think we were trained and led by a Captain Field. I remember him well because I took a part of his shin off one afternoon with my stick.
I also boxed for the company as a Bantam weight; 9 stone to 9 stone 7 lbs, if my memory serves me correctly. I wouldn’t mind being a bit closer to that now? I think for a time I was a Bn Boxer and attended the morning training sessions and was privileged enough to having the ’boxers diet’ which for the evening meal included steak. I presume my elevation to the Bn team was solely on the fact that there was no one else of my weight to select. I don’t recall ever taking part in any events other than inter company. I do recall Ted Macey talking to us between bouts and advising us where to aim our blows to gain full advantage. When I got into the ring, I managed to aim my first blow precisely in the position advised by Ted. Smack above the nose and between the eyes. Dong, his eyes glazed over, and I followed through with blows like a deranged windmill. I got a technical knockout and a little fame for a few days.
In my last year I was introduced to Gliding by Sgt Walker and went with him and some other lads to Lasham on a Wednesday afternoon. The flights were paid for by the PRI and we filled in a form at the end of the afternoon for all the bills to be paid.
One leave, I decided to spend a fortnight at the flying club and took a hand full of PRI forms with me. My flying instructor was Derek Piggott who flew the stunt scenes in the film The Blue Manx and others. I did manage to get my first flying license the ‘A’ Certificate so I was well pleased. I believe I was the first Junior Leader in the Bn who went solo although I did notice someone else claimed this in the ‘Thunderbolt’ some years later. When I got back to camp after the leave I found I was in trouble for using the PRI forms to pay for my private flying lessons! It never occurred to me it was wrong. Anyway I found myself in front of the OC and got a rollicking for using the PRI forms and congratulations for going solo.

The Barrack rooms had a large central chimney about four foot square. There was a coke fire on both sides. We used to take the fire bricks out so that we could get some heat out of them. Yes I can smell those acrid fumes now. And........ If they didn’t glow red, how were we supposed to do our toast?
It was a miracle how we lit those fires. All we got was the coal or coke and only if you hung around between 4 and 4:30 pm for the store man to open up and let you in. Trouble was that it was tea time, and it meant you were last in the queue for the goodies. If it was your room job and you failed it meant that you had to go over the wall and nick some if it got cold and the room wanted the fire.
They never issued kindling of any sort, or coal, so God knows how they expected us to light coke!
The education huts, yes those wooden ones, along the side of the sports field, started to get stripped of their external cladding.............
We also had to do a Company Office cleaning duty too. The cleaning bit wasn’t so bad but in the winter the fires had to be lit. Now if the OC’s or the Sergeant Majors fire wasn’t going when they got in, again you were in trouble! And, they didn’t provide any kindling either and the coal drum had to be replenished. You lived on your wits in those days.

The coal yard was an unroofed brick building with about 10 foot high walls. So if you had failed to get the 4:00 pm issue it was over the wall mate! And, it was quite a job to get over it. The front of the coal yard had large corrugated iron covered double doors and inside the coal or coke was stacked up against the walls.
I think I, or an equally lightweight sucker, would be thrown up and over it by a couple of the bigger lads. Not that I was over enthusiastic about it. You seemed to be ‘expected’ to do these jobs. Getting that coal bin back over that wall must have been somewhat of an effort so I reckon that we just flung over large lumps of coal for your mate to collect? (Oliver Twist would need little adaption to fit this story) Getting back was the problem especially if the coal stack was low. I had heard of lads left trapped in there all night only to be let out in the morning to explain himself to the Sergeant Major.
I also remember coke being stacked high outside the shower/bath houses. So why didn’t we help ourselves to that? Probably did. But in those days didn’t they use to whitewash piles of coke and the such to deter pilfering? I remember in the early days we had a story of a ‘phantom sh!tter’! A spate of sightings were reported of a giant ‘turd’ being found on the top of the coke pile. Now that is difficult without disturbing the coke pile?
Even more so, when, apparently finding the object on top of a snow covered coke pile, in the midst of a Blackdown winter. And, no footprints or other signs of human construction! All this was before Monty Python was ever thought of. Such was the passing conversations of the average Junior Leader in the primitive cold barrack room.

There were always the two main camps.
Blackdown in the North with North Frith, Dettingen and Alma barracks, and Deepcut in the South with North and South Minden Barracks. South Minden was across the Pirbright road.
My recollections end in 1981 when I was in the North Minden barracks when I last attended the School of Ordnance. This was later renamed the Princess Royal Barracks.
When I was going through the ‘Depot and Holding Bn’, in 1964 en route for Borneo we were billeted in those lovely ‘spiders’on the Deepcut side of North Minden. They were wood construction and far more comfortable than the ‘modern’ two storey brick buildings. And, they had central heating. No dirty old coke stoves to clean out. Ablutions and showers were centralised. They were clustered just north of the RAOC memorial close to the square. A short cut led past close to the church into the village. The SKC cinema or ‘kinema’ was close by too. Between the spiders, Company Offices and the square was the statue of Private Barry which later became famed by adult recruits as ‘Mr Smith’ but we didn’t seem to take much notice of him in our days further up the road. We did form an Honour Guard a little further down on North Minden Square in front of the RAOC Memorial on Remembrance Sunday. Being in November and cold we would wear Greatcoats and gloves on that parade.

Wonderful days, I only wish I could remember more details and names.

Supply clerk and black sheep - another service story

Back in 1968 I was posted in my specialist role as provisioner and found myself in the PC&A of COD Bicester. This eventually became the CICP and then DSM of the LSG based in Andover.
We were the first to use the new computer provisioning method named in those days System 2. System 1 apparently was the new but analogue method used by Technical spares at Donnington.
The cell was mainly manned by SNCO's, predominantly Sgts and headed by a Captain and WO2. I think we had a couple Cpls too.
It was a strange set up with us all, officer included sat around with our desks facing each other in a large open plan square surrounded by filing cupboards. Each Sgt/SSgt had a range of the inventory and was responsible for forecasting, buying and controlling their 'items'.
I had socks. Doesn't sound a lot but believe me I had quite a range of different types, colours, materials, etc.

George Patterson a SSsgt was one great guy. Always had a joke and a story to tell. George's items were gloves and greatcoats. Again various patterns and colours of the gloves because in those days they were just not khaki, many of the regiments had their own special colour. One day a Quartermaster phoned to complain about the shortages of his Rifle Bde, black gloves. George answered the query listening carefully and making sympathetic excuses.
But the QM had a parade coming up and needed his Bn equipped with the traditional gloves.
George without batting an eyelid explained that the black sheep whose wool was used to make the gloves was becoming a rarity, perhaps he had noticed himself the scarcity of black sheep on the local farms. The QM apparently agreed and seemed pleased he had the answer.
No doubt he would pass on the same story to his CO when he complained about his men’s kit.
Believe me this story is true! I sat next to him when he was on the phone.
I think George was something to do with the Corps football team, and he was the manager of a Bicester team. Sadly George died a few years later.

Even when System 2 was up and running on a main frame computer, in those days every bit of information that was wanted had to be requested on a special input form.
There was a Forms Completion Guide about A3 in size and listed all the forms and how to fill them in.We could request a print out for stock level but it was only actioned on each nights run from the tapes the encoders worked on during the day. That figure though was out of date because you did not know what stock movement had occurred since the printout. Sometimes I even had to phone up the depot and ask them to have a look at the bin card so I could give info to MOD.
Once in the early days someone was requesting a list of 'dues out' for a particular item. There was a little tick box entitled 'Dummy Voucher' at the end of the transaction codes. We didn't know what it meant so we ticked it.
The next morning a messenger arrived with one of those 4 wheeled hand carts full of 'Dummy Vouchers' for every unit on the list.
It took a few weeks to get rid of all the paper without admitting our error.
We use to fill in many different forms in the beginning before we got the information we needed.
I went back to the DSM as it had become, in 1978 (ish) as a WO2. At this time we had got to System 3. I don't think it was until 1980/81 that we actually got a few PCs where we could get real time inquiries and they were centralised and we had to fill in a request form to use it.

The Queen visited Bicester in May 1978 and naturally we had preparations.They decided to renew the carpet. Now CICP had an enormous open plan floor plan so it must have cost some money. Apparently, to get it delivered and fitted in time, we only had a choice of what was available. A nice light buff coloured one. Yes, the colour that gets dirty pretty quickly.
They also built (apparently) a personal suite including the inevitable royal toilet in the conference room. We never actually saw it. The door was always locked, and all had been removed after the visit, and before the room was unlocked again. So we couldn’t have a look around (as we would have liked).
The SO1 Provision decided the two military cells should put on a display; Clothing and Camp stores. The clothing section put quite a nice display together, Uniforms, etc on dummies scattered around the section. They were tailors dummies of course.
My section, the camp stores, was tasked by our SO1 with putting on a cooker display. You know, Hydro burners, camp kettles etc, and of course a cam net hanging down from the ceiling to make it look realistic.
Yes, I was embarrassed to have anything to do with it.

On the day of the visit HM came into the section, and was shown the cooker display by the SO1. The look on her face was a picture. You know the kind of uninterested look she sometimes wears.
The highlight was a grand looking gentleman in dress uniform and gold aiguillettes standing at the back waving furiously. I looked around to see who he was waving to. It took awhile to realise it was me he was trying to attract. He mouthed a "Hello", "How are you?" to me. Followed by "Nice to see you". I felt a lot better then.
Afterwards the Section lads asked "Who was the guy waving to you Q?".
"Oh", I said nonchalantly, "That was General Stanyer", "An old friend of mine." I lied. But I did meet him when he was Brigadier and Commandant of COD Bicester and he inspected my unit when I was Chief Clerk of 46 (shadow) Company.
Made my day.

The carpet had to replaced again soon after the visit. It showed up all the tea and coffee spills and drips from the tea room to all the sections …
The story goes that they employed about 100 (?) extra civilians in the CICP to cope with the paper work after the computerisation. When challenged, when they were going to cut them back, some years later, it was said that they were now employed to meet the extra efficiency gained by computerisation...............

I think the first tour I had at Bicester between 1968 and 70 the civilians went on strike and the military clerks were called in to continue the issues function. We manned it for just two days and reduced their backlog by two weeks. They never said a word when they got back to work.
There was in fact no malice between the military and civilian workforce and we got on very well.
I enjoyed working there.
In fact it was the best job I ever had and I was sorry to leave there but I was told I had to take my promotion that I had earned! On this occasion I truly would have preferred to stay.
But the extra pension money came in useful!

Being administered by 16 Bn RAOC was a different issue and their regimentation took the icing off the cake. But by this time John Bollers was RSM which was a pleasant consolation. That man was a real gentleman and a very fair RSM.
His pace stick got stolen from the table inside the Sgts Mess which traditionally announced his presence.
After quite some furore and accusations, I initialised a special issue from CICP to the QM of 16 Bn of one pace stick for the attention of the RSM.
This little favour of mine created a lot of problems for me because the RQMS wanted to know on what authority he was to account for it. There must have been some friction between them or a lack of enterprise?
I was removed off the block when a MOD Release Note arrived on my desk. I still wonder to this day how it got there?

Yes, to be employed as a materiel controller at that level was a rare opportunity. It was after all the hub of global procurement and experiences the high level of involvement in logistical problems.
I had the body armour in my section in 1978. Other 'new' buys and Troop Trials I was involved with were in no particular order:
Plasticuffs and many other specials for NI,
Lightweight trousers,
New working belt,
The working pullover with epaulettes. (originally it was just winter issue)
Supersession of tinned goods to moulded plastics,
Personal Load Carrying Equipment (PLCE),
Supersession of Plastic Paulins from tarpaulins,
The new portable cooker range and
Lightweight Shelters to mention the obvious ones.
I was also about when Mr Rayner introduced his M&S purchasing system called 'merchandising techniques', and lived through the problems of the 'Moritorium' (thanks Roy) when all our unplaced orders were cancelled overnight. The three services still expected to be supplied though.
I wish I could remember all the names and dates though.

I was lucky in that as the Captains posted to DSM were often sent away on long courses and detachments, such as Watch keeper in Belize etc.. This enabled me to command the Provision Cell most of the four years I was in this post and was truly the most worthwhile job I ever had in the RAOC.
The onerous task of producing the Financial Estimates and Long Term Equipment Planning forecasts was now levelled at me.
We had to take all our forecasts and have them examined by HM Treasurer auditors each year. That was certainly a challenge.
It was incredible, we were justifying the expenditure of equipment the three services needed to do their job and it was down to little old you to present the case!
To come out with all you wanted was quite an achievement. It was a fearsome task the first year I produced it but I eventually became quite adapt at it. I learnt how to 'pad' my inventories which came in useful when the Moratorium struck us without warning.
Ah Yes! Moratorium. We also blamed it for quite a lot of other things that was convenient at the time too!

Another one of my 'new' items was the new carbon fibre combat helmet. It was not meeting its service specification and was forecast a number of years late for its initial deployment. Consequently we were running out of the old Mk IV helmet because we stopped buying it. However, we learnt that a scrap merchant had bought up all the 'surplus' stock. Yep, you’ve got it. We bought the lot back. It was a mountain of all sorts. COD Bicester was not very happy with me but they kept us going until the carbon fibre helmet came on line although I had moved on by then.
We use to buy Motor Cycle helmets to afford some 'bump' protection for soldiers travelling in the back of armoured pigs in Northern Ireland.
The NI leather glove also was introduced with padding on the outside to protect the knuckles whilst holding their weapons.

My SO1 use to encourage us to peruse the sales park lots closely. We often found stuff that was still current, some in short supply. It was difficult to claw it back even though we had no stock in the depot.
Thinking about it, I recall that sales often caused major shortage problems.
If we had stock surplus to the current years requirement it would be still counted as an asset and put back the next buy in future months or years, etc.
But Sales would come along and earmark certain 'surplus' stock making it inviolate.
Consequently we ran short unexpectedly! And it was difficult if not impossible to recover because of the lead time and lack of finance.

RSM's - Story of service life

Once a RSM had it in for you, your days are numbered.I had an encounter with a RSM and managed to keep one step in front of him for a number of months.He thought he'd got me when he transferred me to the Guardroom on the Provost staff. He would call for me nearly every morning and I would be berated for some minor misdemeaner.
So I countered by applying for an immediate transfer for employment in my primary trade, as a Clerk RAOC.
A few weeks later it was confirmed I was indeed a Clerk and was transferred to the Orderly Room.Not to be outdone the RSM got me to be responsible for checking that all those on duty had reported and acknowledged the duty by signing a chitty in the Orderly Room in the morning.
Anyone failing to report I had to notify the RSM so that he could find a replacement.All went well for a few weeks but one afternoon I realised that a member of the guard had not signed in that morning and on checking found he was on leave.So in I goes and informs the RSM at 4:00 pm. "Why didn't you inform me this morning Cpl?", followed by "Get a volunteer or do the duty yourself",
"But Sir, I am a Cpl", "If you don't find a volunteer you will stag on!".Half an hour later I reported that I had indeed a volunteer. "Did he volunteer, or did you order him?", "He volunteered Sir". He didn't believe me but it was true.
I paid him well for his efforts so I didn't loose face.
Having got by that little episode things quietened down and got a bit better.One day a fellow Clerk threw a paper on my desk and mumbled something about pay parade. Being busy I put the paper in my in tray and carried on with my job.It was Pay Parade that morning and I got there a bit late and fell in.
The RSM was Paying Officer and he called out, "Where is Cpl H?" No answer and he started getting agitated and shouting what he would be doing to him. "Cpl Malthouse, Where's H?", "Don't know Sir", "Where's Company Orders?", (Here's the felony) "Don't know Sir".
Well apparently there was an important event coming up and it was on Company Orders and Cpl H was ordered by the RSM to bring a copy on to Pay Parade to read the details.
So when Cpl H eventually turned up and summoned to the RSM to explain himself he explained that he had to urgently go out of the office on a job and had given me the Coy Orders to bring on parade.S I was called in and asked again the same question to which I replied I had no knowledge. Then Cpl H was called in and asked to repeat his story to me.Well the penny dropped and I could see that I was being blamed but I protested that my statement at the time was true. I didn't know!
So I was charged with making a false statement and "deprived of Lance Appointment".I was very upset by the whole set up because to my mind I had not been untruthful on purpose.
But every story must have a happy ending so here's go.....
By the end of the year I had been posted to Borneo. My sub Lcpl was waiting for me at the new unit, backdated to before I got busted. Plus I was promoted Acting Cpl.News came through that my RSM friend had been caught fiddling the Sgts Mess account, Court Martialed, Reduced to Pte, 6 months imprisonment!
I still had the Regimental entry against me but 18 years on I was invited to provide mitigating circumstances for this offense. I wrote a long letter, much like this message and was rewarded with the LSGC medal.God has been good to me over the years.
At Br Troops Sharjah in 1970, the RSM was RSM Winterbottom from the Duke of Wellingtons? Can't rememember his first name; to us he was always 'Sir'. I think he was on the LSL and had been in the station for some years with the Commandant. He looked every thing an RSM should look including a mustache with waxed curled up points. which he twisted with his fingers. He didn't have much of a sense of humour. One night the mess was in singing mood and some Sgts pestered him to sing a song.
Now, it was not a good thing to pester the RSM, so we stood back to see what would happen. Well he got up and and gave us a brilliant round of some bawdy barrack song with all the actions. The mess was in raptures. After the applause died down, he turned round to his tormentors and said 'Now bloody well leave me alone!'
As Orderly Sgt you had to watch over all the camp and clear the NAAFI's and Clubs each night. The camp had up to two Inf Coy's and all the supporting arms at company/squadron strength.It was common practice for the Orderly Sgt to get extra's for misdemeanors while on duty.
In fact you were lucky not to get any following a duty.
The Commandant would drive around the camp after closing time and the RSM would be about ten minutes ahead of him clearing up all the drunks in his Rover and dropping them off to their barracks.Of course if there was something still going off at that time it was the Orderly Sgts fault!
At about 7:30 am (tropical hours) there was the hand over of duties at the RSM's office and if there was any problems that the Commandant had seen on his evening tour you could expect up to five extras. Another major sin was to be caught sat down drinking with the lads in the NAAFI.
There was only four SNCO's in the HQ BTS plus the RSM. The RQMS, Chief, clerk, Armourer and my self, 'Socks and Boots'. When the RSM wanted company, and most time he drank on his own, we were expected to share his table.He told us one day that a Sgt questioned his right to punish a SNCO by giving extra duties.
Winterbottom said, 'Punishment?' 'Punishment'? I'm not punishing you!'Last night you failed in your duty as a SNCO!' 'Now I'm giving you the opportunity to prove that you are a capable Sgt'.'Or would you prefer me to put you in front of your OC?''I'll take the extra duties, Sir'

Memories of Bodmin Moor and Fort Tregantle 1958 – 1961

- with additions by Roy Venables and Bill Chamberlain.
Our annual camp was at Fort Tregantle near the village of Antony where we were based. Tregantle is in "God's County", Cornwall just outside the town of Torpoint, where the car ferry links Cornwall and Devon.
What I want to do is retrace our route and where we camped out (bivouacked) on the moor at night, if we ever did.
The starting point, which most observers agree, was Cheesewring on Stowe’s Hill (North of Darite).
Cheeswring is the formation of stacked rocks that look like a double hamburger. Or in this case a Cheesburger? The actual place was more correctly known as Stowe’s Hill. Definite places I remember were; Brown Willy and Rough Tor.
On the route were; King Arthur's Bed, Dozmary Pool, and Jamaica Inn (which was out of bounds).
It is apparent to me now, that the crossings each year had different routes, although the main places mentioned seem to be common to all.
Jamaica Inn, which was an old coaching inn, was a bleak stone building, but very warm and friendly inside. (Not that we saw the inside as a junior - true). I called in one year while touring Cornwall and have some postcards of the interior too. I did feel as if I was entering a 'forbidden zone' even in later life!
The name conjures up many images of the wild past of smuggling on the moor - Daphne DuMaurier’s novels, ‘Frenchman’s Creek' and Rebecca', etc. Lorna Doone.
In my year we all started at Cheesewrings and were timed out as patrols. The section leader was called, given the first RV and off we went, still trying to find out where we were going. Some gambled and followed the earlier section but had to divert when they realised their error. I think we had different routes and criss-crossed all over the moor to keep us apart. In fact we rarely saw anybody else the whole time we were out, apart from at the RV's such as Brown Willy and Rough Tor, etc.
I recall when we got off the moor we went and camped near Tintagel above a steep cliff down to a small rocky bay with the waves crashing in. This was close to King Arthur’s Castle. (Or was this the halfway point?)

In Bill Chamberlain's memories he recalls about Bodmin Moor;
"The Cheesewring was the start and I am sure we passed through St Breward, skirted Dozmary Pool, with the first bivouac on Rough Tor and then down onto the Camelford road, on via Rockhead, Trebarwith and down to Trabarwith Strand. Dip in the icy sea. Return via Brown Willy.”
‘We got a lift around Valley T in a flat back wagon, which lives in the memory or rather the stench does...!!!’
“It was bloody marshy between Rough Tor and the Camelford road, meant having to circumnavigate via Trecarne and then on to Valley Truckle.”
“I can recall most of my two trecs over Bodmin, my memory was initially hazy as to the point on the coast where we met up with JJ Thompson and had to take a swim, as there had been a few suggestions. “
“I was in two minds and Capt Thompson, & Chris McHale confirmed it was Trebarwith Strand.”
“When we returned via Brown Willy , to the best of my knowledge the return point was somewhere north of Bolventor and and the Cheeserings”

Geoff comments:
Bolventer is where Jamaica Inn was, so Bill’s route, a year earlier, must have been a bit different? Jamaica Inn was out of bounds because (apart from being a pub) was where some of the permanent staff were holed up. Pencarrow and Valley Truckle are just to the South of Camelford. Rockhead and Trebarwith are the villages on a direct line between Camelford and Trebarwith Strand.

Roy Venables remembers:
The little party of which I was a member got no perks or free rides and I think we dutifully followed the prescribed route as best we could.
“I`m fairly sure that we went into the sea at Trebarwith Strand and if I had been asked, I would have said the route was circular with the plunge in the sea taking place mid way.”
“I remember no training, simply getting into a 3 tonner and being dropped somewhere - did groups get dropped off at different points along the circuit perhaps, so as to keep them separate?” “ We used dry stone walls in fields as one side of our rudimentary shelters.”
“We had no sleeping bags or proper rucksacks, relying on the standard of the day of groundsheets and blankets and 37 pattern web equipment large packs. I remember washing my feet in a clear stream and a sense of being off the leash for a few days.”
“There was a supervisory team of permanent who went around the area in Land Rovers on the main roads and others on the Tors we passed through. Apparently they manned defective No88 Sets according to Captain John K Heads a House Officer. It did not occur to me then or since that there were people like Captain Head with inadequate communication equipment, actually trying to actually control matters.”
“As I mentioned earlier I recall asking locals for directions to Rough Tor and receiving blank looks until it dawned that their "Row ter" was the dialect way to pronounce the name.”
“I have been trying to recall who I was with on the Long March, but with no success. Would we have been in groups of about 5 or 6 and were they democratically run? “
“The weather for the most part (1958) was good and the scenery to me seemed spectacular with lovely villages and pleasant locals. St Breward sits vaguely in my mind as one village on the route.”

Geoff continues:
Trebarwith Strand is just south of Tintagel whilst Boscastle is just a bit further north.
But we seem in the right area. I hadn’t realised that Boscastle, the place where that dreadful flood disaster happened, was close to where we stayed.
It is incredible how we safely crossed that moor with the equipment that they issued us. The main thing I remember was that woollen hat/scarf that we rolled up and folded into a ‘commando like’ hat and probably the 38 pattern Large Pack. I think we also got a flimsy waterproof with a hood but that is all we got. The rest we had to scrounge/beg/borrow, and yes, probably steal for ourselves.
We did do some pre exercise training. Field cooking and bivouac making at the top of the sports field. Then we had a weekend exercise to practice our skills probably around Ash ranges area. We were taught map reading in education classes. We used the service prismatic compass and those white rectangle ivorine protractors. No Silva compasses around in those days.
The bivouac was made by threading together our capes/groundsheets and we were not given an extra one for the floor. I think we even had to scrounge the string! They gave us nothing! We managed to bring back some poles cut from the woods to string our bivvies to. Some used dry stone walls in fields to build their bivouac against.
There are photos showing some doing just that on Rough Tor. Those large stones with the horizontal cap stone were in fact a ‘Quoit’, which is an ancient burial place.
They might have been less keen to use them if they knew that. The incredible thing is that although the staff knew quite well we needed poles for the moor and you don’t get wood on the moor, they wouldn't let us keep them in the barrack room. If they found them in our lockers they would say 'what’s this!’ 'It's not on the kit layout picture!', 'Get it out!' ??????
It's incredible no one got lost or badly injured. One of the lessons I carried for the rest of my service, and I still have it, is a tobacco tin containing the emergency kit. Never did find a use for it though. Thankfully. But never had the heart to dismantle it.
I also learnt to keep to high ground as much as possible. Once gained, never go downhill unless you can avoid it, until the objective is in sight. Hard, but wonderful times.
The place where we rested 'in that area', wherever it was, not far off the old castle remains below the rocks and coves of Tintagel, I think.....

Anyway, it was a marvellous place. We climbed down a very steep cliff face path into a very small bay and the Atlantic was crashing into the surrounding rocks. Quite spectacular. On that day there was a great log floating between the sides of the cove (which were sheer cliff) and we were swimming out to it and riding it in! Sheer folly. Unsupervised, unprotected, but that's how it was in those days. If someone got hurt, it was their fault! We didn't have the culture of finding someone to blame.
In fact that was a feature of our training in the Junior Leaders. You never blamed anyone. It was always down to you. But we helped each other. When asked why you had failed to do some thing, you automatically said, 'No excuse, Sir'

On the Moor we cooked using the Hexamine Stove. They were those little tin folding metal stands and a lump of hexamine which you called 'fire lighters'. I don't recall a problem with matches. We probably even had some spare dry ones in our 'emergency tobacco tin'. After all we all smoked in those days, so no doubt we were especially careful with the lights for our ciggies.
There was always an argument on whose mess kits would be used to cook up the food because they would end up in a sticky charred mess. To get them clean enough to eat from was quite a chore, and to get them back to a barrack room shine, hours of work with a Brillo pad and Brasso many weeks after the exercise.
We ate as we always did in those days, good old British Army Compo. There was always a scramble for the various packs. Some better than others. We were supposed to get a different type each day to get a variety and balanced meals.
One of the favourites was the A pack. It contained salmon and other delectables but not much substance in them. One of the least popular was a pack which had Irish stew in. (The 'C' Pack?) We seemed to get a lot of that stuff but at least it was a substantial meal and kept us going. Of course we had plenty of those packets of Army Biscuits, 'hard tack'. Often ignored for the first few days but appreciated later on in the week when we go hungry. A packet of hard tack and a tin of ’bully beef' and you thought you were in heaven!
There was also a utility pack in every pack that provided the important roll of toilet paper, the can opener and a little piece of paper which was entitled ' Read First'!
Although we rarely read it, it gave all the menus and cooking instructions the pack contained. There was matches and boiled sweets, which were also quite nice. I well remember the tinned bacon. It was rubbish and no reward for all the effort to unroll and cook it. I loved those tinned sausages and have always enjoyed them since but I haven’t seen any for a long time. The cheese and margarine improved only after being deprived from good food for a couple of days or so. Then was excellent with a packet of hard tack. This was probably the first days of owning one of those ubiquitous little folding can openers which from then on were permanently attached to our key rings. One other thing we were issued with was a pack of water purification tablets, again rarely used.

Roy Venables comments:
“The only other delicacies I remember now were the tinned cheese, which was fine when you got hungry enough, and super dark chocolate with raisins which came with some boiled sweets in a tin.” “Never seen tinned cheese since those days, it did become pleasant, when you became hungry enough, after a few days”. “I also recall climbing hills and thinking "It will be fine when we get to the top, only keep on" and then finding at the brow that a fresh hill was revealed and so on and so on.”

Geoff continues:
I recall one day while on the moor, it rained. And it rained. We were soaked through to the skin. We were so cold and wet we stood ankle deep in a stream, under a small hump backed bridge, for some respite from the relentless driving rain. God knows how we managed to dry out. No help from the permanent staff. Sympathy in those days was a word in the dictionary that comes after sh't and just before syphilis.
One year three boys did get lost for a few days. There was quite some concern but they turned up about two days late none the worse. Apparently they had got lost and knocked on a remote farm house for help. They were put up in the farm barn and there was a farmer’s daughter................ so the story went at the time. One was a boy Sgt (Taffy H'- I'll not disclose him to spare his blushes) but after the usual rumours of what was or wasn't going to happen to him, all was forgiven and died down.
There were some pre training exercises where we got dropped off from a 3 tonner.
Bill Chamberlain talks about one. I did one in Wales. Crossed the Black Mountains, Coltwolds and Chilterns that way. Dropped off, march to a RV, pick up a lift to somewhere else, dropped off, etc. I think they called them 'Chindit' marches?

Roy Venables recalls:
“We were issued as Jun Ldrs with blue woolen swimming ‘cozzies’ and these items were carried across Bodmin Moor to facilitate the dip in the sea at Trebarwith Strand which I simply recall as being cold and wet rather than spectacular. These items were taken away when you were issued with BDs for mans service. Additionally I seem to recall being issued with some knee length underpants named "John L Sullivans" which were never worn, remaining neatly folded for kit inspections.”
“The rooms at Tregantle Fort had very deep windows in which numerous lads could sit. “We were at Fort Tregantle for two weeks and I think the march occupied most of one week.” “We went into Plymouth at one stage and I remember looking out over Whitsand Bay out to sea”. “Tregantle too seemed an amazing place to my boyhood mind.”

Geoff continues:
I can't remember the room allocation in Tregantle or even the make up of the marching teams on the moor. I do remember that I was involved in the map reading although I suppose we were all, to some extent or another. This for me, created a life long interest in maps and map reading and all the peripheral instruments in map making and using. I have a nice collection of maps, books, protractors, and compasses. I even have a service compass although I suspect it is of Indian origin.
Tregantle Fort was quite enormous. I thought it was a left over from the Napoleonic Wars. I have recently read, “The fort formed the outer line of defence for Plymouth and was designed to hold 35 guns”. “It was completed in 1865 following the news that the French Navy was building iron-clad warships.”
There certainly was a lot of stone or concrete in the walls.
The rooms were accessible via a long dimly lit corridor and had high barrel shaped ceilings. I think they were lime washed although probably flaking. Again the rooms were not very bright either. There was no furniture except for the folding iron bedstead with a hard three piece mattress?
Our kit was stored in our kitbags and yes there was a kit layout we had to comply with. Yes we learned that there was actually a way of packing the kit bag in a certain order so that you could find anything.
The large, high windows, you recall Roy, were at the wall end towards the fort quadrangle.
There are pictures on the Internet of a recent Cadet Camp which show the rooms somewhat decorated?

While in the fort the boys mounted a full royal type guard. We wore blancoed 37 pattern webbing. There was a stickman to be competed for, and if you got selected you were able to run messages for the guard until midnight, then you could get your head down all night.
They played the game of 'Stand to the Guard' every time a field officer approached, so we had to hang about the guardroom when not on sentry with your kit on, ready to fall in outside the guardroom door. Quite a game it was and I don't think we got any rest the next day either.
While we were at Tregantle the Drums and Bugles had a number of engagements culminating with beating the retreat in Plymouth. I notice latter photographs of the band, the absence of bugles and what appeared to me as those marching glockenspiels?

Scotty on the ROL Forum wrote, “Before the road bridge was built in 1962, the ferry and Isembard Brunnel's rail bridge was the only links from Plymouth to Cornwall.
Tregantle Fort closed last year as an accommodation/training camp. The only thing now in use is the ranges.”

Two up, two down

I was born in one of those rows of houses, two up two down.
My Mum had no electric or gas cooker cooker, she prepared everything on one of those fire ranges with a built in oven and hook to hang a kettle. The oven could take a roast plus space for two or three saucepans, etc on top. The fire had to be regularly and rigorously raked out or it wouldn't get its full heat. Then Dad would be in trouble.
The stairs was enclosed with tongue and grooved boards with a door at the bottom of the steep stairs.
We had no toilet or bath in the house. There was a Belfast sink with cold tap in the kitchen. This was before they had come back as a fashion icon.

Across the road we had an allotment and an outside Privy which had the latrine bucket which Dad emptied at the top of the garden once a week (I think?.
On the back of the door was a string of cut up newspaper. I don't think the Izal shiny toilet paper was yet a regular feature. This was the first stage of luxury toiletry.
Next to the Privy was the Wash house which had a coal fired copper boiler with a wooden slat lid. A corrugated wash tub was where Mum would pound her laundry with one of those wooden dollies. A short stick was another aid to allow her to remove the hot clothes from the boiler into the tub. The only other thing was the great big mangle where clothes were wrung out before putting out on the line. We use to help Mum turn the handle but it was very hard work to squeeze out the water. Outside the wash house on a nail hung the galvanised steel bath which was brought into the kitchen once a week for all of us the bath in.

In the winter it was terribly cold to wake up in a cold bedroom with bare floorboards or lino. We would wake up with the windows frozen over with jack frost images. There was a small hand made rag rug by the bed which we carefully stood on getting out of bed. These were made out of old clothes cut up into strips and threaded into an old hessian sack.
At night, Mum would take out the iron oven shelves, wrapped in old newspaper into the beds to warm them up. I can remember the steam coming when they touched the bedclothes! And on top of the bed would be covered with Dad's Greatcoat from the Home Guard, like an eiderdown.
This was the wonderful and happy life I started out from. I reckon we were happy and probably considered ourselves well off more than some others.

It was the norm in the 1940's, but I must admit that living in the country we were probably at least 20 years behind those living in the towns.
When I was a lecturing at the local college one afternoon, the subject was Industrial Architecture and I described the place where I was born much like I have written above.
One of the lads who was intently listening asked me where the house was I described. It turned out he was now living in the very same house. The house now has a toilet and bathroom and the allotments are now built over with new houses.
Life has its surprises..........

I have added a bit more that I uploaded to Friends Reunited which pads out my history:
I was born in the village of Fiskerton, California Cottages.
We moved to Thurgarton and I attended the Village School from age six in 1950. Most of this time I was in leg irons or full leg plasters to correct my club feet.
Naturally I played Humpty Dumpty in the school Cristmas Play. They were cruel in those days. We moved to Sandford on Thames in 1951 for a short time and then on to Morville Heath (near Bridgnorth) in 1953 (ish)
I remember two major events there. A total eclipse of the sun when we went to school with smoked glass pieces and of course the Coronation when we were given a commerative New Testament.
In 1954 we lived on Magadales Farm, Thurgarton with my older sister Margaret and younger sister Maureen. Our parents later moved to Southwell, and laterly in Potwell Close, Easthorpe. I attended Thurgarton CofE School until the Edward Cludd School opened in 1956(?)
In Form 2 to begin with (Mr Reece) and then progressed through 2a, 3a, and finally to 4a.
When I was at Thurgarton School boys of my age group in village schools throughout the catchment area attended the National School in Southwell one day each week for woodwork classes with Mr White (who later moved to the 'Cludd). Most of the same year then met at the 'Cludd when it first opened.
I joined the Army RAOC as a Junior Leader at 15. Served many places round the World. I finally settled down in Newark in 1984.
I was employed as a Woodwork Supervisor in a Training Workshop and became a Lecturer at Newark & Sherwood College in 1990.
I retired from full time teaching in August 2004

It's only fair, or is it?

One of today's biggest problem is caused by society trying to be fair to everybody.
Today nobody cannot be denied anything. Nothing, and that includes rights and rights and rights.
The act of balancing and 'making it fair and even for everybody' in itself changes the status que and denies someone else their 'birthrights'.

If you look at all the Acts of Parliament that have been created in the last thirty or forty or so years, ie, Equality, Discrimination, etc.
Although these have made many, such as women, perhaps, quite rightly, equal in all respects, and minorities, etc. They have also caused many problems and changes to how our society lived worked and played.

The Health and Safety at Work Act has saved many lives and injuries and created a safer environment to work in. But, how ridiculously it has got to, with some of its interpretations that prevent villages having pageants, sports days, etc. without an assessment, insurance, etc.
Village halls now can't cook breakfast, serve tea. They are not allowed to sing publicly without a license................. relentless restrictions to our society.

No doubt these acts have made life more just and fair for many people but they have caused an awful lot more problems that were not there before.

My Normality

Many of us were brought up in a very different world where the norm was quite normal.
Here are some of my norms. Many are no longer with us, no longer tolerable to today's society but to me they were the norm and we accepted them. No doubt some people will add to them and others deplore them.....

My norm was.....
Children misbehaving publicly were chided by adults and if the child went home and told mum they were chided again.
Women stayed at home and looked after the home and the children.
Policemen patrolled the streets and were welcome by all except the wrongdoer. Children, for no real reason feared them.
Adults were mostly heterosexual and homosexuals kept private for fear of reprisal or prosecution.
Best butter and lamb came from New Zealand.
Couples in love got married to live together and raise a family.
We sent missionaries to Africa and other countries to convert people to Christianity.
We could put up stepladders to change light bulbs in public buildings and clean windows.
County sport teams comprised of players born in the county.
Oh yes, The England team manager was English and most professional sports teams were also the same nationality as the team name suggested.
Counties were a historical division of the country not affected by political make up.
When we grew up and left school we were young men and women, nurtured and helped until we became an adult at 21 and then were responsible citizens. At 18, fathers took their sons proudly into the local pub for their first pint.
Oh yes, drugs, heroin, etc. was what we read about in crime stories, films, etc.
The long summer holidays were to allow children to help their parents work in the fields, harvest, pick, etc.
Villages had a shop and a pub, a blacksmith, a carpenter and joiner, a wheelwright and a church and chapel which families went to on a Sunday and then straight into the pub afterwards.

Our History

There are people who are striving to upset all our past and who wish to rewrite our history and the way we look at things.

What has happened in the past cannot be changed. We may regret what our fore fathers have done, we may be embarrassed and ashamed for what they did or said to each other whether to our friends or our so called enemies.

The one thing that is certain; we cannot change what has gone. We can only learn in the light of our own perceived reality.

If something was done or said in the past that no longer fits in with our modern thinking it is not necessary to consider that it was wrong.
It was done or said that way because that was the way considered the best option at that time.

Equality?

There are many things to praise the cause for equality. But how can we all be equal? And equal to what?

There are those people amongst us who seem to want to wipe the card clean and all of us to treated the same. This is a plausible idea but will inevitable isolate others.It is certain that if we take from one side of the equation the other is unbalanced.
How can we put right the inequalities of the past at one stroke? To be rich is to have some people poor.

If we called in all the community's assets and shared them out it would not be long before some people would have more than others. So why try to put right what is a natural phenomenon?

Racists?

The word racist is over prescriptive when it describes the criticism, censure or even disapproval of another, country, race or religion.
We (English) are an insular race, proud of our background and the role we have adopted over the centuries. We are even parochial. Haven’t you ever been in your local pub or library and a stranger to your street or neighborhood walks in?
Even if they are of the same race, religion, etc, we say (or think) ‘What are they doing here?’ Or ‘What is he up to’. Sometimes it makes us feel uneasy when strangers appear on our patch!
This does not make us racists or bigots. It is quite natural.

Just because we critisise others, even our own neighbors at times, doesn’t mean we are racist. We have strong and weak, black and white, male and female. All differences have their strength and weaknesses. Why don't we just accept that we cannot be all the same? Prejudices are another thing.

I cannot defend prejudices but I do defend the differences and defend preferences.

Homophobic?
And, while I'm at it. The word 'Homophobic' is also a bit harsh especially when used for people like me who criticise the practice and make their preferences known.
Peter Hitchens from the Daily Mail recently wrote this which counters the use of this word in my view.
"I have no doubt that some of the responses to this posting will accuse me of an invented complaint called 'homophobia'. If and when they do, and I can already hear the faint baying sound of the liberal mob, perhaps they would care to explain exactly what they mean. 'Phobia' means a fear or hatred. I have no fear or hatred of anyone because of his or her choice of sexual activity. It's the action I disapprove of, not the person. I wouldn't bother to write or speak about it if the issue were not incessantly raised by equality campaigners who demand that society changes to suit them. I think sex of any kind outside marriage is wrong, so my disapproval of homosexual acts is just a minor part of a general moral position".
Although we have got to accept that 'men and woman living together as 'partners' is now becoming 'acceptable' to much of the community, and I would have difficulty pushing that sex in that situation is so wrong.
But, I would prefer they got married! If only to pass on the family name and protect the children.

Power and people in charge

Power is made not at the top but by the captains and lieutenants to provide their authority. To pay homage to a monarch or absolute leader whether a king, president, town mayor or who ever, gives those subordinates the power to act in whoever's name they act. Without the figure head the lieutenants and other supervisory staff would have no one to act for and become headless.

If there was a revolution say like the Russians had, then when the dust had settled there would involve leaders. They may be hidden behind the guise of a committee or may well be the committee themselves but one thing is certain, someone will need to lead and the masses must follow. To allow everyone to do what ever they would wish would result in anarchy.

Some people consider that left to there own choice the people would make the right choice. Perhaps they would but it would be their own choice and not necessarily to the advantage or consideration of the community.
Some people really believe that what it is right for them, should be denied to the rest of the community.

Job's Worth

Sometimes, people get indoctrinated with procedures, rules and regulations.
At times we should try to peer beyond the bureaucracy, constraint and tedium of officialdom and ask why?
We should try the common sense route. When there is of course a common point of view?

I was sent on a Middle Management Course when I was in the Army. None of us who attended really were over impressed with the need after 20 years as SNCO's and Warrant Officers. But it was surprising how uplifting some of the discussions were.
We ere encouraged to question why we did things a certain way. On some occasions, dare I say, even break the rules to achieve a goal.

There are even situations in work and life where there are no constraints yet we still invent them because we think it ought to be like that.
Why?
The corporate way is not always the most expedient way. Many times though, we have no alternative.

But I think more people should question "Why"?

Health and Safety practices

It's not just the culture of compensation. It is also the culture of the need to blame someone. "Someone must be blamed"!

Today we seem to invent new words, phrases or misuse words to suit modern life. Risk Assessments for instance is a management technique. It is used by managers to assess risk.
But like the CV, 'The Curriculum Vitae' or more correctly, "Personal Particulars". (Why use French?) it is misused.
The CV was introduced by the Professional and Executive Register to summarise qualifications and experience when professional people applied for jobs. Now it is used by even out of work labourers and school leavers and must be as much use to an employer as a bull’s tit.

The Risk Assessment is misused in a similar fashion. It is a necessity for modern management at all levels because it shows that the responsible person did his assessment correctly. It can be a cop out for denying an event, or perhaps an excuse for not understanding what could go wrong, or not, because of lack of experience or knowledge of the job.

Now Managers, Foremen, Supervisors have always been required to manage but they used their skills and experience to judge the safety of a particular activity and that was the end of it. We know that going back, there were horrendous things that went wrong and some extremely dangerous accidents happened that could have been avoided.
But we learnt from them and laws were passed to prevent such things happening again. Eye Protection, Abrasive Wheels, Coffers, dams, tunnels, excavations, working platforms, hard hats, drivers rest periods, etc etc. All these subjects have regulations or codes of practice under the umbrella of the HASAWA. They were introduced to provide a safe working environment and most were introduced by the trade union movement starting way back from the Factories Act in the 19th Century. And now the EEC add to them with monotonous regularity.....

But the management of risk may be made without producing reams of paper and denial of the activity. A risky activity may still legally take place as long as everyone is aware of the risk and steps have been taken to reduce those risks to an acceptable manner.
And if something does go wrong then the organiser or manager has to justify their decision just as an Engineer or Architect has to account why his bridge collapsed. Bridges and Buildings still collapse but not as regular as they use to. Engineers, Architects and Managers are getting better. (I have just had a horrible thought. Could it be that they dont take risk any more and denying innovation?)

A negative Risk Assessment should be a challenge to a Manager. The answer surely is to find a Safer way of doing it!
Not "Sorry, can't do that", " 'Ealth & Safety! "
Say's Fred Spoon, "Here we go again"!
I can’t see us ever being able to go back to the days, when people in responsibility, could take unacceptable risks with their labour or the public.
And I can’t see lawyers failing to jump on the band wagon, every time something goes wrong.

Still in the end when things do go wrong we can resort to that other modern necessity.
The Counsellor..............

The Holy Grail and Creation

In the papers recently it is reported that a 14th century church's stonework was chipped no doubt by hunters looking for the Holy Grail. They were trying to remove blocks of stone to see if there was a void hiding the relic.

Now the Holy Grail is the chalice used in the last supper, and received Christ's blood. It did once exist and might still be hidden somewhere, surely?
I would love to know is where the Grail is and what is in the artifact called 'The Arc of Covenant'?

But, surely you will say, if I was a true believer I should have the faith to understand?
I mean after all there are some questions in life that do remain a mystery.
I believe we were made and the World was made for us to inhabit.
I believe in the 'Creation' but not necessarily starting with Adam and Eve.
I think after 'Creation' we were then allowed to 'evolve' into the form life is now.

So there you are. I'm having it both ways!

Welcome

Hi all,
I'm Geoff and I'm a retired soldier and lecturer in woodwork.



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