In the early days we were instructed in the various do’s and don’ts of army life and introduced to the Army Act and King’s Regulations. We were told that ‘barrack-room lawyers’ were not permitted to quote from these. Complaints could be made only through official channels and it was forbidden to contact our Members of Parliament with our gripes though of course they couldn’t prevent our parents from doing it for us. Forbidden also was the singing of Irish nationalist songs or whistling The Dead March; likewise engaging in discussions likely to cause ‘alarm and despondency’ was also ruled out. All of this together with a bit of regimental training was gradually converting us into obedient little souls.
Plymouth and Devonport were primarily navy-oriented, true there was the RAF station at Mountbatten with its Sunderland flying boats and there were assorted army units scattered around but essentially the navy was supreme. Being a peace-time garrison area the civilian population was used to the presence of the forces and was not particularly hospitable, a vast contrast to the friendly treatment meted out by the Scots when for a month or so I was billeted in a distillery in Wishaw.
Fore Street Devonport was at one time full of public houses and other establishments catering to the needs of sailors and in an effort to provide alternative entertainment, one, Agnes Weston, opened the premises in Fore Street known as Aggie Weston’s. Here one could sit and read or talk, take a bath at sixpence a time, enjoy a film or otherwise relax and unwind. It was here that having paid my dues by singing a hymn and listening to a short sermon I was given a cup of tea and a bun while I watched the film The Citadel based on Cronin’s novel of the same name.
When we were on duty at Hamoaze House and when there was little or no activity some members of the GOR shift were permitted to sun themselves for short periods on the green slope of Mount Wise, within hailing distance should air activity commence. From this vantage point near the Scott memorial we watched the panorama unfold, ships of the Royal Navy, the aircraft carrier Illustrious for one, steaming down the Hamoaze into the Sound and beyond while the Cremyll ferry kept up its routine of to-ing and fro-ing across the river. The summer of 1940 was very hot and many of us quickly browned, life was still unchallenging and boring, however there was plenty of entertainment available to us. At the Forum in Devonport I saw Balalaika with Ilona Massey and later The Wizard of Oz with Judy Garland. Plymouth had many cinemas but I can remember the name of only one, The Royal but I do remember the theatre, The Palace, near the Octagon, where I saw several variety shows and a couple of Gilbert and Sullivan operettas. For The Yeomen of the Guard I could only get a seat in the second row from the front on the right-hand side and as a result got the full benefit of the big drum.
Usually we went as a party of four or five, first to get a bite to eat, often at Goodbody’s and then off to a show. Sometime after the air raids had started in earnest five of us went to the Alhambra in Devonport to see a strip show, the main attraction being Phyllis Dixie; I was surprised to see sailors taking their girl friends in with them, remember this was in the early 1940’s and the mores were a little restrictive then. The performance followed the usual pattern for a variety show of that period, several acts in the first half, an interval, then a similar number of acts in the second half. The lesser performers would appear only once while the principals would appear in both halves. Phyllis Dixie’s earlier performances had caused a few eyebrows to be raised and the Lord Chamberlain who at that time had control of those things banned parts of her routine, a fact exploited by her when she appeared, clothed, in the first half and recited a little piece titled The Girl the Lord Chamberlain Banned. It was a clever piece really but the suspense was too great for one restive matelot who stood up at the back and yelled, “Fer Chrissakes get them clothes off before the bloody siren goes.” She was quite unfazed by this and continued with her patter but obliged him in her own good time, in the second half. The show was quite innocuous by present day standards, a little risqué perhaps but not sordid. That sailor probably had second sight because in a later raid a German bomb flattened the Alhambra.
During the winter months the heavy rains turned Bowden Battery into a quagmire and we all went round in rubber boots. Some intelligent being among us thought that a trench dug all along the centre of the battery would drain off all the surplus water, unfortunately the trench had closed ends and once it was filled the ground again became a miniature lake but now with an additional hazard; if you didn’t watch your step you would be up to your knee in water as you put your foot in the trench. In some of the more unpleasant weather it was decided to dispense with the armed sentry at night and the high gates would be locked. To cater to those brave souls who had gone out and wished to return to the fold a bell-push was fitted outside the gates and a moveable bell installed in whichever hut the duty gateman resided and he was supposed to answer the call. Often the evening’s entertainment was gambling, pontoon usually and if the gateman was involved it became a bit of a nuisance for him to have to break away from the game just to let someone in, and so one dark and rainy night, fed up with the constant interruptions, he disabled the ball and sat back to enjoy a quiet game. One returnee getting no response to his repeated bell pushing hammered so loud and long on the corrugated iron gates that somebody not on duty went out into that foul night to let him in. The returnee, in high dudgeon strode down to find the gateman and in the process put his foot in the trench. He was our CO and he wasn’t very happy. The excuse given was, I believe, faulty wiring.
After an air raid the Line Section would go out to effect repairs, to get communications going again and at the same time the lads would pick up anything that appeared to belong to nobody and that could be of possible use to the army; done by civilians that would be called looting. In this way we became the recipients of bricks, breeze blocks, I-beams and other odds-and-ends. Having acquired these what use could be made of them? Someone had a bright idea and suggested that as we had no inspection pit for our vehicles perhaps we could build an above-ground structure that would serve the same purpose. The job was given to the man who could use a pencil and who had some engineering experience, me I prepared a design that consisted mainly of two horizontal I-beams surmounted on two low brick piers with two longer I-beams leading up from the ground level to the piers. Since the track would be fixed this would only be suitable for one type of vehicle so it was designed for our utility vans. To get down to load-bearing earth the low earthen wall on the north side was to be excavated locally where the piers were to be built down to the level of the battery floor. The design was pigeon-holed.
Many months later when this had slipped from all memories I found myself when the morning parade had been dismissed to be a member of a fatigue party. A signalman who had been a tailor in Glasgow was put in charge and we were ordered to report to the QM stores and draw picks and shovels, then we were marched up to the low earthen wall and told to dig. Exactly where and how far to dig nobody seemed to know. After a while the penny dropped and I realised that this was to be the preparatory work for the vehicle inspection structure. I told our ex-tailor, “There are drawings of this somewhere.” He made enquiries and sure enough the drawings were found; there was one snag however, he couldn’t read a drawing and I had to explain. The work was not finished by our shift and the next day another fatigue party had the pleasure of swinging the picks and shovelling. Work on this project was stopped for a long period and in the meantime the western part of the ground was surfaced with asphalt the hard standing so beloved by drill sergeants and their superiors, now their charges could stamp their boots audibly instead of squelching silently in the mud.
Much later just before I left Bowden Battery work was resumed on the structure but by this time officers had come and gone and I was standing by the latest Two-pips as he surveyed the two long I-beams. “Sergeant! “he snapped.“ “Sah,” answered Three-stripes. “These I-beams,” said Two-pips, “are too long, I will not have them intruding into my parade ground, get me a ruler and some chalk.” Just listen to the man, he had two pips on each epaulet, he’d only been there a couple of weeks and already he owned the joint, my parade ground indeed. Three-stripes obliged with alacrity and Two-pips said, “I want them both shortened by three feet.” He took the ruler, no fool he, he knew that three feet equalled 36 inches so he measured in 18 inches from each end of both I-beams and chalked lines. “Get these down to Ordnance, “he said, “and get them to cut off the four ends.”