Denis climbed down and rescued the survivor, adopted him one might say. How the cub was fed I don’t recall but he lived mainly in our hut and became quite tame. He travelled to Bristol in Denis’ battledress blouse and was duly shown family and friends. He was still quite young and played happily with the troops though at night he used to steal our socks and shred them; he stayed with us some time but one day he disappeared and the sentry who had been on duty the previous night said that he had seen the vixen on top of the cookhouse roof so perhaps she had found her son and reclaimed him.
We were kept busy one way or another but not always fairly. Denis Cleese complained that over the previous 10 days he had averaged only four hours of sleep per night; this was obviously due to mal-administration. The officer hearing the complaint brushed it off, saying that four hours of sleep was enough for any man. Later the duty rosters were reorganised. The army hated to see soldiers with too much spare time; whitewashing border stones or blacking the soles of boots really served no useful purpose except as make-work projects designed to keep us out of mischief. In keeping with this idea various little schemes were thought out to keep us occupied and sometimes bribes were offered such as being excused duties or being eligible for late night passes. So it was that late night passes were offered to the members of the hut that provided the best turned out soldier for guard duty.
I regret to say that our principles had sunk so low that we all entered into the spirit of this with gusto. Some polished boots to a mirror-like shine not forgetting to blacken the soles and count the hobnails before metal polishing them; others pressed trousers and brushed the uniform of our protégé. Brasses were polished to an unbelievable lustre, then, as we were about to present our man we looked outside and saw the rain pouring down and the mud beginning to form. Not to be beaten we stood him on a short plank; with a soldier at each end of the plank and another behind to provide stability we carried him to the appointed place on the parade ground and deposited an immaculate Bert Hickman ready for the inspection of the guard. We won.
I think it was in 1941 that the GOR was relocated once again, this time to Area Combined Headquarters (ACH), somewhere in Plymouth; we were driven there for our shifts daily by lorry but I have no idea where it was exactly and I couldn’t find it today even if I tried.
Anticipating the arrival of our ATS replacements the military had taken over some small houses facing the southern entrance to South Raglan Barracks; these were quite empty except for quantities of bedding (the girls were to be much more pampered than we were) and of course the houses required fire-watching at night. This duty was not so onerous as might be thought. Much in the manner of the fairy story The Princess and the Pea we piled up mattress upon mattress upon mattress until a normal bed height was achieved and the addition of clean sheets and pillows completed the ensemble At no time when I was there fire-watching was there ever an air raid, or if there was I slept through it. With the coming of the dawn I replaced all the bedding just in case a snap inspection was called, then I caught the lorry back to Bowden Battery where I was granted the morning off to compensate for my exhausting night duty.
There were many air raids on Plymouth, some were minor but there were also some major ones. I seem to remember four but I was never down in the centre of town for these; for many raids I was in the GOR but for two I was in a pub, The George in Crownhill; I recall the noise of the planes and of the exploding bombs and shells and seeing the fires over the city with the occasional brighter redder flare-ups as planes crashed. Walking back to our billets one could see some damage and some of the houses in Fort Austin Avenue were burning but the city centre and the docks area bore the brunt of the action. AA fire was credited with the downing of 16 planes in the major raids, other ‘kills’ being credited to the RAF. Going into the city after a heavy raid was a rather sickening experience, smouldering ruins and desolation and the knowledge of untold deaths and misery. Before I left Plymouth in 1942 the guns at Rame and Down Thomas were either replaced by or augmented with rockets (‘Z’ batteries).
Around this period Bristol became the HQ of the 8th AA Divisional Signals and Plymouth became the No2 Company. Our shoulder flashes now changed, the red flames were extinguished and were replaced by an 8-pointed red star smack in the middle of the bomber; still very pretty and prophetic.
