2nd September 2010

The Life that Jack built

My autobiography
The ups and downs in the life of Jack Gale

Word Count 131,237

My Autobiography
Index
Chapter Page
1 1 2 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 3 3 13 13 16 21 23 27 28 30 33 35 38 39 40 41 44 46 48 50 52 54 56 57 66 73 75 77 78 84 86 88 90 91 93 95 97 100

Title
Book 1 Early days Early Days Book 2 Mining Mining. Just the Job Surface Work Settling in First blood Change of job Tech. training Lofthouse Training Training Continues Teddy Boys Picnic Black Bed Seam Fight to a Standstill End of Training Underground Proper Loader End Like a Custard pie Panic Safety Officers Assistant Haunted Spirits John The Strong Ebor 27 Pony Driving Thorpe Hotel Another Fight Atomic Shelter Spies A Soho experience First Aid Playing with Fire Sucker Punch Coal Face Training A Piece of Coal Mines rescue A fall of Roof Shot Firing Low Roof

Chapter
37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71

Page Title
102 104 107 109 112 113 116 118 121 121 123 132 143 149 158 163 166 169 173 177 181 184 187 194 199 202 210 216 216 218 221 225 227 231 232 233 235 237 Unions Home Coal Freddie Photography A Tall Story Shot-firing Regular Normans Ghost A Death Book 3 Military Police A New Beginning The Depot Training Proper Last Eight Weeks Prison with a Parole Back into RMP Training Berlin East Gate Zonal Border Sector Border Ernie Allied Komandantura Shooting Standbye PT Course Jims Visit Beginning of the end Dead & Alive hole Book 4 A Civilian again Im a Civilian Dog Handling Beryl Leeds Market Civil Police College The Dole Roofing A single man again Elaine The End

One

My Very Early Days

roucho Marx once said I must confess, I was born at a very early age

And as this statement also applies to me: I remember very little of my very early childhood days; so I can only really recall what actually sticks in my mind. Born in November 1936 I first went to Middleton, Leeds infant school round about the same time as World War 2 had been declared. My Dad worked at the Yorkshire Copper Works munitions factory and Mum as a seamstress in a tailoring factory, they both started work very early of a morning. I remember also going to school an hour earlier than normal and having my breakfast and dinner there. It was years into my adult life before I realised that dinner is classed as the evening meal and Lunch is the meal taken around mid-day. Once a week, the whole class would parade outside the headmasters office and each pupil would be given a spoon-full of malt treacle. Nowadays Treacle is usually sweet, this dollop was far from sweet and we all hated it. Although it would have been pointless to complain for a clip round the ear, or slipper to the seat of ones behind, would have been the result. In those days an order, from a person in charge, had to be obeyed. God forbid if I had complained to my parents about a teacher or even a policemans assault of my person, I would only have expected either parent to say You must have deserved it So complaining was always a pointless exercise I had a very happy childhood and I gratefully thank my parents and my grandparents for this.

Mother Anne and Father John, although not rich, were both hard workers and provided me with everything I wanted or needed. I wasnt spoilt but I wanted for nothing.

My brother Jim was born six years after me and Sister Linda, 10 years. My maternal grandmother, Lily Howcroft, was like a second mother to me, and as each of my siblings were born, she to them. During the war years my mother worked full time and my Nan looked after me. Taking me to early school and picking me up in the afternoon. The only thing I remember of my infant school days was my first playground fight it remains uppermost in my memory. Really it was to sort out the pecking order amongst the bigger boys of the class, although of course at that age I knew not what pecking order was all about. I was challenged by Brian H. with the words, Cock or Hen? Most boys would reply Hen signifying acceptance of the challengers fighting ability and would then be left alone. To reply cock denoted that you accepted the challenge and a fight would ensue to secure your place within the pecking order. I dont remember what my reply was but certainly it would not have been Cock for I was completely afraid of the challenger and so must have replied something unconfirmative (Is

unconfirmative a word?) like, Im no hen; but by the same line of reasoning I didnt feel like a cock neither Further challenges were uttered but I could not back down and so a fight ensued. Usually these playground fights consist of shouldering or pushing ones opponent; much like stags do showing strength but because I felt that I was fighting for survival, I must have struck out and a proper fist fight commenced. The upshot of the battle was neither a win, draw or a loss, for me but I must have given a decent account of myself because from that point onwards I had no more challenges from him, or anyone else for that matter. I never had to fight anyone again until my senior school days Although during the whole of my education from infants to junior to senior schools I was always in the A Classes I was never academically minded. The annual school exams always confirmed that I was neither brainy nor was I a dunce. Of forty or so pupils in each class the best position I ever achieved was 12th and the worst was twenty third. Usually I came in about eighteen or nineteen. I now know why I failed my Eleven plus exam it was though rushing. All my life I have always had the urge to get any job or task done as quickly as possible and then idly rest after. I reckoned that this attitude was just my lack of patience. In those days there were no lessons in preparing for forthcoming exams. No exam technique or the like, one just sat down and got on with it. The eleven plus exam would decide whether I was to be educated at a grammar or a secondary school. I turned my exam paper over as instructed and my first impressions were how easy the questions were. Unbeknown to me they were, to start with; but they became harder as one progressed through the paper. As usual I was the first one to finish and for the next 20 minutes or so I just idly sat there until time was up, in my certain knowledge that I had passed with flying colours. My parents had promised me a new bike if I passed the exam and I just sat there dreaming what colour bike I was going to chose I now realise how wrong I was, I should have used the time to check all of my answers for even a few corrections may have made all the difference. The bike I did not get until very much later. My progression through infants and junior schools to the seniors must have been very uneventful as nothing comes to mind until entering senior school at the age of 11 Senior School held pupils for the 4 years between the ages of 11 to 15 The pupils in each year were streamed and had 3 classes A, B, & C. Each class was of around 40 pupils All pupils on entrance to the senior school were designated a house partition. The names of the houses were McCauley (Red), Cook (Blue), Priestly (Yellow) & Turner (Green). I was assigned to Mr Westgarths class of 1A class and the Turner House. My first impressions was how big all the other boys of the upper classes were; not necessary in my class because I was slightly above the average size but certainly all the boys, who were a year or more older, were. At that time I had a friend called Clive, he and I had a hobby of collecting steam train numbers and often spent our dinner, sorry lunch, hour down by the train line about a mile away from the school, noting down train numbers and underling them in the reference books we had. During morning and afternoon breaks we ran around the outside of the playground pretending to be trains, puffing air out of our mouths making engine noises and revolving our arms pretending they were steam pistons. About four weeks into my first term in senior school and older boy, bluntly said, What are you doing?

I replied quite proudly Im Mallard pulling out of Leeds Central Station. Mallard was the famous blue streamline locomotive that had set the world speed record for a steam train. He sneered and said You're in the seniors now, only kids and infants play trains and with that he walked away in contempt. I remember this incident vividly because to me he sounded so profound. I realised that I was now grown up and I wasnt a young child anymore. From that point on I never had the inclination to pretend to be a train nor did I ever collect another train number, although even now I often reminisce in the steam era. I now realise how harsh the winter of 1947 was and how obtaining coal was in great demand. The open coal fire was the main source of heat for our house. Dad, being a good worker, could afford to pay for coal but the supply was the problem. He decided that the family, mam, dad, younger brother Jim (sister Linda hadn't been born yet) and myself, would begin living in the main bedroom with the gas fire constantly on. Those few weeks remains uppermost in my memory. The whole family in one cosy, warm room. Whilst the snow rose higher outside, we played cards, board games and listened to the radio. I was quite disappointed when the bad weather dissipated and we moved back into the house as normal. That year dad decided that he wouldn't put his family through such cold again and decided to get a job at the local coal mine, Middleton Broom Colliery. Which he did the concessionary coal allowance being the spur. When he was a younger person he had worked at various pits so he knew what he was doing. I have got to put on record that at no time did I ever feel cold that, or any other winter. Back to school; throughout the year a pupil, if he did well may receive points or marks from a teacher or have points deducted for minor bad behaviour. (The cane was always given for bad behaviour) All points were added up at the end of the year and a half day holiday was granted to the winning house. Most pupils took points scoring very seriously. Being an all boys school all the masters were male. Most of them commanded respect and if they didnt it get from a pupil, would not hesitate to use the cane to get that respect. A small number of the masters who caned indiscriminately got respect but it was for the cane and not the man. Most adults remember a particular teacher for whatever reason which tends to prove how important they are in ones upbringing. Which brings me round to the master I have uppermost in my mind, Mr Wiggins. I thought I was his favourite and he always seemed to spend more time teaching me rather that the other members of our class. I now know that was not true, for most of the other pupils probably would have said the same thing that they were his favourite. That was the mettle of the man, all and every pupil was as equally important to him and he made it show. It was only very much later in life that I found out that he had died in Morley near Leeds. Had I known at the time I most certainly would have attended his funeral to pay my respects to his family and to relate to them how much of a positive influence he made to my life. For most of my first year nothing to note happened I must have just kept my head down below the parapet and not got shot at. Shot at proverbially I mean During the year inter house competitions were held. Athletics in summer, boxing in winter, swimming in spring and Rugby in autumn It was a few weeks before School sports day and the class was in training for the athletic events. I was no good at running but managed to be chosen for the high jump.

I managed to come first in the inter school house competition that then qualified me to enter the Leeds Schools Childrens Day Championships at Roundhay Park. I managed a third place there which gave me such a buzz; yeah! only third place but it also meant, to me, that there was only two other boys in my age group in the whole of Leeds that cold jump higher. In those days during the austerity of the post war years we only received a paper certificate, which I still have, but if theyd have given me a gold watch I wouldnt have been any prouder. Each subject taught was usually a by individual teacher. As each lesson finished the whole class would decamp to another teacher and classroom. One particular lesson the classroom overlooked the playing field and a rugby match was in progress and I was sat near the large French windows. The teacher gave us some written work to do and then announced that he had to leave the room for a few minutes. As soon as he left the whole class looked over to the windows and the rugby match. Get your fat head out of the way Galey! I cant see the game. Hollered George C. I pretended not to hear him for George was one of the names of the class and I had always tried to keep my head down and not be noticed. Did you hear what I said Galey? This time he shouted louder making sure the whole of the class heard. It was a direct confrontation, he was high in the pecking order of the class and I wasnt even placed. Im trying to watch the match as well. I weakly replied. If you dont move Ill get you at dinnertime. It was a direct challenge now. Suit yourself I replied, I was quite literally shaking in my boots. I am tempted to report that I was shitting myself but as Ive promised myself whilst writing my story that I will refrain from expletives I wont say that, but I most certainly was. George was an inch or so shorter than myself but wider in the shoulders and somewhat heavier. Right dinnertime it is I was praying that George would forget his challenge but inwardly knew that the rest of the class wouldnt. Dinnertime came for me sooner than normal and as we trooped out of school someone suggested that the fight should be held on the spare piece of land behind the local Tivoli picture house, well out of school bounds. This meant to me that a teacher would not be on hand to break it up.

I would be exaggerating if I said there were hundreds forming a large ring around George and me but it did seem to me that the whole school was in attendance, waiting to see George give me a good hiding. The fight started by George rushing across the circle in my direction with all arms flailing. I moved to one side and stuck him about the head with a left clenched fist. It was so easy I was very surprised how easy it was. George was as surprised as I for he immediately turned around a made another rush at me. Again his arms were punching where he thought I would be, rather than where I was, he wasnt looking at where he was aiming for. We fought this way for some time and Im glad to say I kept out of harms way. George realised that he was taking far more punches than he was giving and accepted defeat and I gladly accepted the end of the fight. We shook hands, as one did in those times and a mutual respect was established. I know now, which I didnt then of course, that George wasnt a boxer, he was a fighter. Fighters are usually willing to accept more punches from their opponent as long as a few of theirs land on the mark. Usually a fighters punches, when they land, are heavier and very effective. A boxer will use his feet to get in and out of punching range, picking off his opponent as circumstances permit. He usually will not willingly trade punches blow for blow. Advice, which I received later, was that a boxer who feels he is losing a fight against a better boxer should resort to fighting him. And vice versa I was naturally a boxer From that point on I became a respected member of the class and my pecking order was raised. The second year started uneventfully and in November the whole school began preparation for the coming inter house boxing tournament. During Physical Training sessions the PT master would arrange PT benches in a square and give general instructions of how to box. He then paired up pupils of around the same height and weight, and set them boxing. The ones he thought had potential he recorded their weights and slowly the four inter house boxing teams were formed. I was chosen to box at my weight for my team Turner. My father in his youth had had a number of professional fights and boxed under the pseudonym Sandy Gale. He was never nationally famous but quite well known around Yorkshire When I got home and told my father that I was to box proper he showed me some basic stances and moves and the many types of punches, especially the straight left which if delivered correctly can have a demoralising effect on an opponent. I found that type of punch was quite natural for me to deliver. He also showed me how to manoeuvre the inside padding from the front of a boxing glove to the side so that less padding is in the front knuckle part of the glove. When punching an opponent he would feel more knuckle than padding and strictly illegal of course. One cannot do that with 'modern' gloves but in those day boxing gloves were not very well made. The inter-house boxing tournament was held in the afternoon The boxers were not informed who their opponents were until actually entering the ring it was then that I found out I was matched against George (another George) H George H had a Leeds coat of arms cloth Badge sewn onto his boxing shorts. This denoted that he was the reigning Leeds Schoolboy Champion so I was the obvious underdog. The fight started somewhat slowly as we both circled the ring, George began a two handed attack and I counterpunched with a straight left which luckily connected. Much of the fight went that way and although I was very happy when the final bell sounded after three rounds I felt elated and, I hoped, given out as many punches as much as I took.

The three Leeds Schools ABA judges adjudged me the winner. Me! I had beaten a Leeds champion. From that point on my pecking order within the school soared. Older names now accepted me and I was cock a hoop. That year, after fighting through four heats I won the Leeds Schoolboy championship at my weight. I further went on to win this championship at my weight a further two times making it three in all.

When I won on the last occasion, and being fifteen years old I was eligible to box for the Yorkshire championship. Again I had to box four preliminary bouts at different venues before the final. The Final was held at the miners welfare club, Mexborough, near Doncaster, Yorkshire. My opponent was a lad called B. Woodcock. (One of the reasons I remember the lads name is that there was a Bruce Woodcock who was a British professional heavyweight boxer whose career began just after the war 1946 and was came to an end in 1950 of course this is not the same person) At the weigh in the afternoon I weighed in at 2 and a half pounds over the weight limit which was 8stone 4pounds. I had around 3 hours to get the weight off or I had to sacrifice the fight, My father who always attended my fights asked if there was a boiler room or some such within the building. We were directed to an adjacent annex. My father then found some clothing from goodness knows where and I was overdressed He then instructed me to begin skipping and running round the room. I was sweating almost to near exhaustion. These exercises carried on for an hour or so. I was not allowed any drink during the session. Just a few minutes before the last weigh in time he instructed me to go to the lavatory and force myself to expel any urine and other. Just before standing on the scales before the last time He told me to take off all clothing except for my jock strap and my boxing trunks. I must have been exactly on weight limits for the officials began having a slight disagreement whether my weight was acceptable. The scales were very accurately designed and fit for purpose. My father offered to have me remove my trunks and jock strap which he reasoned would take me an ounce or so below the limit. It may have made a difference for the officials agreed that I could fight. We retired to the dressing rooms and from goodness knows where my father produced a ginormous bar of chocolate and a bottle of milk to drink. I was instructed to tuck in. He reasoned that the energy I had spent during the weight loss training had to be replaced. Normally I loved chocolate but having to eat it took away the pleasant taste.

The upshot was that I lost the fight on points by majority decision meaning that one of the three judges deemed me the winner. It was the first time that I had lost a boxing contest. I was devastated and even now writing this I think if only all things being equal I would have loved to fight the fight again. The Leeds City School Swimming Organisations Gala was forthcoming. Our PT teacher let it be known that anyone interested in trials to put their name forward. He timed all the interested trialists over 25 yards. Although I had no swimming technique I gave of my all and was accepted into further training. The upshot of it all was that I became the Leeds city free-stroke champion over 25 yards. My prize was free admission for a year at the Union Street swimming baths and personal tuition from a dedicated swim trainer. He refined my freestyle stroke which made me much faster and so for the following two years I won and so became three times Leeds City freestyle champion. I was also a member of the school Cricket team and Ruby League Team, although not really excelling in either sport. In the first week of my fourth and final year at school the headmaster announced during assembly that elections were to be held to elect eight prefects. The old prefects had now left school. All pupils of the school were given a small piece of paper that had twelve names that the masters had originally chosen. The pupils were instructed to put a tick against eight of the names. I was later informed by the headmaster that I had been one of the eight to be elected and because I received the most votes I would be made the head boy. This became and still is the proudest moment of my life. My last day at school became very emotional for me. I remember walking home from school knowing that was my last day; and from then on my life was to change very dramatically. I had been a very big fish in a small pond and now I was but a tiny tiddler in a very large pond. My mother had arranged a job with my uncle. He was a tiled fireplace fitter. in those days most homes had a cast iron range, usually a 'Yorkshire range', fitted in the main room of the house. When house were first designed most did not have a separate cooking oven so cooking was done on the Range. As most houses were fitted with a gas oven, the ranges became obsolete. The style at this time was to remove the iron range and replace it with a Tiled open fire place. I began work the following Monday. By Tuesday I hated it. It was the most dirtiest place imaginable to work in. Taking the old ranges out uncovered many years of soot that always seemed to settle on me and my lungs. The soot engrained itself into the very pores of ones skin and took hours of washing to get myself clean. I worked for Uncle John W. for almost 6 months and although the work for him was rewarding and satisfying, for me it was exactly the opposite. Is this all I have to look forward to? The only memorable thing I can recall is: John was removing a back boiler fitting and I was stood there watching him. He looked at me and said. "What am I going to do next?" I replied. "You are going to unscrew the boiler nuts". "What am I going to unscrew them with?" he said. "With a spanner of course." "Where's the spanner then?" he retorted "In the toolbox" I knowingly said

"It shouldn't be in the toolbox! it should be in your hand, ready to hand it to me. Now use your head and start to think ahead!" I didn't like it at the time, but this taught me one of the great lesson of life and I thank John for it. During my teen years there was a youth club held within the school rooms. Many different activities were held, weight training, sports, dancing, music, boxing, drama and many more. Most of the youth of Middleton attended the youth club and most teenagers attended it responsibly. In fact I met my future wife, Brenda there. One evening the youth club head asked me if I wanted to consider myself to attend the Outward Bound School in the Lake District. Leeds city council were sponsoring four places. He explained that it was a character building course that was full time for 26 days. I agreed to him putting my name forward for interview. After attending interview later I was awarded a place. Little did I realise what was in store for me. The Outward Bound Mountain School set in the Eskdale area of the Lake district was miles away from any other habitation. The main house, or should I say 'the mansion' was set on a slight hill overlooking a lake. Well they called it a 'tarn', which was a new word for me. We were soon to learn that at 'reveille' again a new word to me, we were required to run around the tarn then jump into the water, which involved total submersion, before being dismissed to get dressed ready for breakfast. This was in November, so believe me the water was very cold, sometimes jumping in meant breaking the surface ice. I soon learned to dread the sound of the bugle call to get out of bed and do the run., although I've got to admit that after the dip I felt much better for it. On the first day we were divided up into troops of eight, although in ours there was nine. In our troop there was a student from the RAF one from the Army and one from the Navy. They were regular boy servicemen and when they became Eighteen they would attend their respective officer training colleges, to become regular officers. There was also one who had been sent by the company, whom he worked for, in preparation for high office. And one who had attended a public school and had very rich parents. I seemed to be the only one who was 'normal', well what I considered normal.

The principle of the school was Sir John Hunt, although he hadn't been knighted at the time, becoming a 'Sir' after being the head of the expedition that first climbed Everest. in 1953 During the day we attended lessons in, Fell Walking. Mountaineering, Rock Climbing, Orienteering, Map Reading, Self Awareness and many other akin subjects. After the first week we were supposedly adequately trained for a 2 day expedition. We were given a simple map reference and after reaching it would find a 'clue' to a further map reference. At the end of the first day we would erect bivouacs in which to spend the night before setting out again

early the next morning. These expeditions gradually became longer and the clues harder to find as the course wore on. When my mind was occupied in lectures or on expeditions, I enjoyed myself but in 'free time' I was very homesick. It really was the first time away from home for any period of time, although I would never have admitted homesickness to anyone, for I considered it a weakness, I was; added to this fact was that I was missing my girlfriend Brenda. The upshot of it all was that I completed and passed the course and was glad to get home to 'normal' life.

MINING

(Book 2)

Two

JUST THE JOB

My father had said to me, " If tha wants, I'll get thee a job down't pit". My initial reaction was to cast it off out of hand. The mere thought of going down a hole in the ground and working underground was totally awesome and more than a little frightening. My name is Jack Gale and being just Fifteen and a half years was not long out of school. The year was 1951 and I was lucky in the fact that my generation enjoyed full employment. It wasn't just a case of which job to take after leaving school but more the fact of how much wages one received at the end of the week. Not having the advantages of a grammar education, I had left school with only a basic level of knowledge. In all ordinary senses my life was mapped out, I would leave school, get a job, meet a future wife, save up to get married, get a house, have kids, grow old and then retire. Probably a not too long a retirement at that, very old ex-pit men were few and far between. But of course I thought of nothing much further ahead than the end of the working week when I got paid and what I would spend my money on. I was born into a coal mining family. Father did, and his father had, worked down the same pit, Middleton Broom Colliery, in South Leeds, Yorkshire. All my young life, it seemed, my father had said "No son of mines going down't pit" And now here he was offering to get me a job down that self-same mine. Although it was sometime after, that I realised my father had an ulterior motive behind his suggestion. Having had some success in schoolboy boxing, he was thinking bigger things for me in the amateur and then the professional ring. I, on my part, had no thought of boxing as a future. Although I was always afraid when actually entering the ring, as soon as the bell went I would enjoy boxing. The problem was that I hated the time spent training, which was necessary if anyone was to succeed in that or any sport. Basically I was very lazy when doing something that was less than exiting or interesting.

My dad had reasoned that if his son spent less time at work he would have more time to rest, and be refreshed, before going training in the evening. He realised, having been a Semi professional boxer in his day, perhaps his son could aspire to the greatness he had never achieved. He reckoned that sport was the only way his son would be able to get out of the normal working class routine and actually make something of himself. In the days that followed I slowly came to the realisation that a move from my present job as a labourer, for a tiled fireplace fixing company, was long overdue. I had been working for my Uncle, who owned the company, for all of three months. The work was boring and the pay was relatively small, two pounds Ten Shillings. The hours seemed long, Forty Four hours a week. In comparison to the colliery's Six pound odd, for Thirty Seven and a half hours work. The more I thought of a mining job the more I realised that there were more pros than cons. When I asked finally of my father, "Exactly how much are the wages at the pit would I get" he must have done some research, for I received the reply. "Six pounds Seven and Six, when tha's done thee training" This sounded an enormous sum to me but the clincher was "An tha'll not have to go in 't' Army." (My father had a broad Yorkshire accent.) National Service was in operation at the time, all able bodied youths, unless they were a deferred apprentice, had to enter one of the three military services on attaining the age of eighteen, for a period of two years. Coal mining was an exempt occupation, well, underground working was. The ones that entered mining to evade the services were nicknamed 'Bevin boys' after Earnest Bevin who saw an act through parliament. That last remark of not going in the army, was the clincher for me, I had never been away from home for any length of time in the past. When I had thought about it, the Army seemed an unattractive prospect. "Will you ask about a job for me then Da?" I asked. "I'll see Benny Wilkie in the morning" replied dad. Benjamin Wilkinson. was the Colliery Safety and Training Officer. True to his word father returned home the next day with the news that he'd arranged for me to see the training officer on the following Saturday morning. "What makes you want to work within the coal mining industry, Jack?" was the interview opening question from Ben Wilkie. Being unused to interviews or answering technical questions, I had to study for a moment, before replying "Cos there's more money in it" It was the only answer I could think of. "That's true Jack, but there is also danger, dirt and hard work as well. And the good money only comes when you actually work underground. Surface work is no better or worse paid than most jobs." "Oh! of course I want to work underground that's why I'm here" says I. Although I hadn't really thought that once coal was brought to the surface it had to be processed. I think that I had expected to go straight down the pit. Ben W. went on, " You will start work on the surface in the screens for a few months. Then if you are acceptable to us and you are happy to remain with us then we will send you for Sixteen weeks training, prior to your start underground. You will be trained underground at a training pit and at the surface training college at Wakefield. Eight alternate weeks at each. Do you understand all that and do you have you any questions for me?" "Yes when can I start"

"Okay then Jack, you look big enough to work here and coming from a mining family you should have an insight to what pit work entails, can you start on Monday"? "Yes", I responded. "OK Monday morning at six report to the Screens. See Joe Garvey. there, He's in charge. He'll show you what to do" "Where are the screens?" I enquired. Pointing out of his office window Bennie W. replied, "That tall building next to the Headgear, see you on Monday". And with that the interview was obviously over. It was some time later that I realised that to do what was right, I should give at least a weeks notice to my present employer. But on thinking, I owed them nowt nor did they owe me. My mam would phone my uncle and put it right, which she did.

Three

SURFACE WORK

Monday morning came all too soon. My mother woke me at a Quarter past Five to a mug of tea and a fried egg sandwich. My 'snap' was waiting in a tin. Father just happened to be on days also this week. He worked the 3 shifts about, days, afternoons and nights. I escorted him on the walk to the pit. We arrived there about quarter to Six, him going to the 'lamp room' after directing me to the screens. My first impressions of the pit yard was what a dirty, dusty, muddy, dull place it was. Everything was a mucky black and grey. I was certain I had made a mistake and would not like it here. Climbing the steps to a first floor large 'gantry' type building l saw that all around was covered in stone and coal dust. I felt filthy just by being in the place. Even though there was no machinery in operation, the air still seemed thick with dust. It was the dirtiest place I had ever been in. Down the centre of the large room lay a steel conveyer with giant hoppers at each side and a walk way in between. The room was empty of others save for a youth about the same age as myself. "Is this the screens?" I asked of the youth. The youth nodded in reply and said, "Are you just starting today as well? I've been told to wait here for Joe Garvey. I'm Tommy Clapton., what's yours"? "Jack, Jack Gale" I replied. Just then a steam generated hooter sounded, to signal the beginning of the Six O clock shift. Almost before it had finished a group of about Twelve to Fourteen persons entered, some young some old and some that seemed very old. I saw that the only mid-aged man had only one arm. "You two, over here" The one armed man shouted. As we both joined him he said" I'm Joe, You'll be Tommy and you Jack . Is that right?" We both nodded in reply. "Jack I know your father, he's okay, don't let him down. I'm in charge of the screens. Both of you do as you are told and we'll all get on okay". With that he pulled a long handled lever and the steel conveyer trundled into action, moving quite slowly. He then turned a switch that started the 'Shaker'. This machine was a series of giant riddles, which were situated slightly higher than the conveyer. The riddles moved to and fro. The noise was as loud as I had ever heard in my life, it was deafening. Coal with added Rock, after having been washed and riddled to separate all the dust and smaller pieces, fell on to the conveyer. The other workers spaced themselves out on either side of the conveyer and were beginning to sift for pieces of rock or other debris that was mixed among the coal. As they picked it out they discarded it overhead and behind them into the giant hoppers. I realised that at the end of the conveyer was a metal slide that deposited the sifted coal into the railway wagons below. I had noticed the wagons earlier when climbing the screen steps. The rock hoppers operated to a similar operation, only the discarded debris would eventually find its way to the many spoil tips that surrounded the colliery. "You go on that side," he ordered Tommy, and you stay this side," indicating me. "Do what they are doing." The trouble with the screen job, I soon learned, was that it was boring. The high lights of the day was when little or no coal came down the conveyer. Because the pit machinery was old and great demands were put on it, periodically some part of it would breakdown. Then the coal output of the colliery stopped. This happened at least once or twice a day, usually for only a few minutes but sometimes the stoppages could last

for an hour or more. When a stoppage occurred the workers tended to gather in small groups and all manner of discussions began, mostly about pit gossip. The younger lads congregated together and the older men formed their own groups. I noted that they were very few mid- aged persons among the screen workers. I learned that the younger ones were only employed there prior to going on underground training and the older ones were men who were too old or physically handicapped to work underground. Most of the older screen hands were old colliers, many suffering from 'lung'. Pneumoconiosis or Silicosis were diseases that affected breathing due to the very dusty atmosphere underground, especially at the coal face. At least three of the older men had fingers missing due to underground pit accidents. One walked with a pronounced limp, I later learned that he wore an artificial limb the result of an underground accident. On later enquiring about Joe Gas missing arm I was told that he had been the victim of an underground accident. The story was:Joe was part of a coal cutting machine team. At a time when the team was engaged in 'turning the machine round', ready for a return cut. He accidentally had his arm sheared off with the fast revolving cutting blades. The tale went on that Joe was brought to the surface on a stretcher minus his arm. When the pit ambulance room attendant enquired where the missing arm was, no one really knew. His mates had been in such a rush to stretcher him to the surface and to the waiting ambulance; no one had thought that it was important. It had not been brought out of the pit with Joe. An immediate order was made to locate the arm and to bring it to the surface. It later transpired that the arm had been thrown into the gob by an unthinking worker. The gob is the void which is created after the coal has been withdrawn. All rubbish and rock waste is discarded into it. All supports in the gob are withdrawn and the roof is allowed to fall in. All manner of panic surrounded the face for although the person who threw the arm into the gob was found, he could not remember the exact spot where he had thrown it. Coal faces can be over a Hundred Yards long. Coal production on that face had to be stopped. For the rest of the following shift, work ceased until the arm was located. The arm was found and wrapped up in an old piece of sacking. Supposingly, because the sacking was not long enough, it had the fingers and part of the hand protruding. A collier carried the limb out of the pit, under his own arm in full view of all. It is said that when the hospital took charge of the arm it was immediately disposed of via the incinerator. So much for Joe's arm. The working day, because everything was new to me, passed rather quickly. At exactly Two Thirty Joe Garvey told us that those who were under eighteen could go, their shift was up. The over eighteen's had another Half hour to go and in a lot of cases, overtime if they wanted it. I was walking home in my 'muck,' for there were no pit head baths at this time, they were not to be installed for at least another three years into the future. It seemed quite normal for me to walk the streets of Middleton covered in coal dust and dried sweat. No one gave me a second glance for Leeds had once boasted a number of collieries. On my journey I began to reckon how many hours I would be working. Six till half past Two, less half hour for 'snap' was, Eight Hours. Multiplied by Five shifts, reckoned up at Forty hours a week. That was more than my father had said. Sometime later at home I put the times to my father and got the reply. "Thirty Seven and a half hours only applies to underground workers. Anyway you will be working Four hours a week less than your old job and there is very little travelling to work time. And no tram fares."

I supposed he was right and had to agree. Anyway at the end of the week my wages would double, I consoled. Mid-shift sandwiches 'Bait' or 'Snap' as it was usually called was taken from about 10 'O' Clock onwards. Joe G. would tell three or four of us at a time, to go for their snap. Usually it would be taken in a small ante room to the rear of the screens. There was a canteen in the pit grounds but it sold no hot food other than sandwiches and tea. Coffee was a rich mans luxury and wasn't even on the bill of fare. A few cold sandwiches or pork pies were on offer but the canteen was mainly used by colliers who had just finished a shift or needed a bite to eat because they were, or had been, working overtime On the second day of working Tommy, a lad called Eddie and one called John and myself were ordered to go for our snap. Eddie was a likeable lad who, it turned out, was just Eighteen years old. He informed our small group that the following week he was to go on his underground training and because he was eighteen or over he would only have to 'do' three weeks training. I didn't know whether to envy him being able to begin working underground so soon. On first appearances I took to Eddie, I soon realised that if I ever was at a loss as to what to do and needed advice, Eddie was the one to see. I felt he would not put me far wrong. I had still not really likened to the idea of working underground. The thought still frightened me somewhat. Did I suffer from claustrophobia? Would I be able to work in very dark surroundings? I know we would be issued with a lamp but would it be enough? I had already heard of tales of old colliers who had been killed down the pit and whose spirits still haunted the underground galleries. I still was unsure if I believed in ghosts and I did not relish the idea of knowing for certain that they did exist. The other youth John C. was Sixteen and a Half. Although slightly shorter than me he was squat and built like the proverbial brick WC. He had thick curly ginger hair. His neck was as wide as his head and he looked as if he easily outweighed any of the other lads and older men of the screens. Although his IQ was obviously limited he made up with it with his mouth. I took an instant dislike of him. As the Four of us were eating, Johnny said to both Tommy and me, "You realise that you will have to be initiated before you can be accepted by the screen team? Being unsure as to what initiation meant and not wishing to appear ignorant I said nothing. What's initiation? and when will it take place?" asked Tommy. "You'll know when we come for you" laughed Johnny. Tommy relayed to me that he had been told by the training officer that it would be Six to eight weeks before he and I would go on underground training. I was a little relieved for the confirmation that Benny Wilkie had told me at interview. At least it would give me time to reconcile to underground work. Johnny interrupted by stating "I go in Four weeks time, I cant wait, I'll show em how to shovel coal". The way he said it I believed he could do it as well. John seemed to ooze confidence. I secretly wished he would go tomorrow. Although I disliked him, I grudgingly admired his self-confidence, something I lacked a little of. At about Ten O Clock, on the Wednesday of my first week at work, coal suddenly stopped coming down from the shaker. Joe G. stopped the steel convey and said to one of the older men, "Colin, go up to the pit bank and see what's up. Take Jack and Tommy with you, show them around up there if you have time. Colin beckoned the two of us to follow him. We went out of a side door which led to some steel stairs. As we were climbing the steps I noticed that a steel roof supporting 'H' girder was erected directly across our stairway path. On the

girder someone had chalked, in capital letters, 'DUCK' on it. A further wag had added in lower case, 'Donald' before it. I was busy looking around my new surroundings and on reading 'Donald DUCK' wondered why anyone would want to write that on a girder. As I climbed the steps I hit my head on the girder. Feeling my scalp, a little blood formed on my fingers. Now I realised why it said 'DUCK', it was a low beam warning. I quickly recovered myself pretending not to have hurt myself. Colin asked, "Are you all right?" I shrugged, "Yeah I hardly touched it." But secretly my ego hurt more than my head. The steps led up to the pit bank. The bank was situated three floors from the ground. When Colin asked the 'bank' foreman what the problem was, he was given the reply that a main underground conveyer belt machine had broken down. It was estimated that it would take about two hours for repairs to be completed. At this news Colin began to explain to Tommy and I, the workings of the pit bank: Rails on which Tubs run on were laid from the front of the pit shaft in a large circuit, with a few diversions, around the pit bank space. The rails eventually led to the rear of the shaft, they continued through and were fixed in the 'cage'. The shaft was surrounded by a Five Foot (1.5m) high steel safety fence, with risible gates at the front and back. Two tubs of coal are raised to the surface in the cage as it is called. Each tub contained about a quarter of a ton of coal. The safety gates are raised automatically by the cage. At the rear gate of the cage, empty tubs on rails are pushed on to the cage by two workers. The full tubs are ejected at the front, being replaced by the empties. When the full tubs have been replaced, the 'banks-man' signals that the cage can begin the descent of the shaft for the process to be repeated. There are two cages whilst one is rising the other is descending. The banks-man is the only person allowed to operate the cage signals and is in charge of the pit bank. The full tubs are then pushed round to the 'Tippler'. The tippler is a round cage type device that is closed in at the sides but open at the top. The tippler is electrically rotated a full 360 degree circle. The coal falls out into a hopper and the empty tub is then fed to a parking space, ready to be forwarded back down the pit. The coal from the hopper is directed down a series of slides into what is called the 'washer'. The washer is a large rotating drum where a series of high pressure water jets clean the coal of dust and other small impurities. The water is drained off and the slurry saved for drying out. The resulting coal dust is still valued and used in industrial blow furnaces. The coal is then fed onto the shaker and thence to the screens. Colin took Tommy and myself over to the pit shaft. Both of us looked over the gates down the shaft. It was a large round hole about Eighteen feet wide. The sides were brick lined. I wondered ,did they have to dig the shaft out and then brick lay the sides? Obviously they couldn't do it the other way round, then how did they do it? We could not see the bottom of the shaft, it was in total darkness. Besides the Two steel ropes that hauled the Two cages up and down there were Eight guide ropes. Four for each cage ensured that each corner of the cage remained exactly in it's position in relation to the shaft. We were told that it was well over Six Hundred Yards (600m +) deep to the Ebor Seam of coal. There were other seams of coal but the Ebor seam was the one that the pit was currently working. "Does tha still fancy working down there then?" Colin asked. Both of us nodded affirmatively, "Yeah of course, can't wait", replied I but secretively I felt very anxious at the thought of it. "Come on then we'll get back" added Colin.

Back down at the screens on hearing of the probable two Hour delay, Joe G. instructed all workers to have their snap. Joe then left, telling one of the older men that he was going to the canteen for a mug of tea. As was usual during a break all the younger lads gathered together, as did the older ones in their own group. The discussions arguments and wishful dreams put forward were many and varied. A lot of talk among the young was about what they would do when they eventually got down the pit. John C. as usual tried, and in a lot of cases succeeded in commanding attention. John had two young followers who looked up to him and would usually be at his side John said "I think now is the time to initiate the new uns". It was said in a light hearted manner. He looked to his two mates. They immediately nodded agreement and glanced first at me and then at Tommy waiting for John's choice. To pre-empt the decision I, who had been expecting this would come around sometime, laughingly said, " The first one that comes near me gets this wrapped round his neck" and with that I picked up a piece of pit timber that was handy. I tried to appear to be joking but at the same time I wanted them to think twice before tackling me. I made it obvious that I would take nothing lightly. John realising that I would not be one to come quietly, commanded, "Take Tommy first" and with that the Three surrounded and grabbed Tommy. The scuffle that followed was playful and humorous even to the older workers who were watching but probably not to the receiver, Tommy, although even he was laughing and seemingly taking it in good part. The rest of the youth of the screens joined in. I hung back a little but not too far back, because I wanted to be one of them, but not too constructively. Before Tommy knew it he was trussed up with his arms behind his back. His trousers were pulled down and removed, displaying the fact that he did not wear underpants. He was then manhandled on to the unmoving conveyer belt. A rope was produced and a noose was placed around his neck. The other end was thrown over a steel roof carrying girder and held. Someone then set off the conveyer Tommy had to start walking in the opposite direction of travel in order to maintain his balance. Another youth had a small bucket of axle grease and was stirring it with a stick. He then menaced that he was to smear Tommy's private parts with the grease. Everybody, including myself was laughing. The episode at first glance looked dangerous. If Tommy lost his footing it appeared that he would be in danger of being hanged. He would be unable to regain his feet because of the moving conveyer and his bound hands. I looked over to the person who was holding the other end of the rope to see that it was Eddie. It was being held loosely. I was relieved that if a problem occurred Eddie would certainly let the end go and avert any serious result. Just as the lad holding the grease laden stick began daubing Tommy's privates the conveyer stopped moving. A loud shout ordered "Eh! Stop that yer silly young buggers, ave yer no more sense?" All eyes turned to the command. It was Joe the foreman. He had stopped the conveyor. "Enoughs enough", he pronounced, "untie him". And with that the episode ended. No recrimination were made or given by Joe, he seemed to accept it as normal screen behaviour.

Four

SETTLING IN

"They tell me that you've done a bit of boxing," John C. asked of me on my Fourth day of working. "A little at school" I replied. I would have liked to put John in the picture and boast of my boxing successes being Four times Leeds schoolboy champion and a single time Yorkshire finalist. I decided against saying owt, it wasn't done in those days to brag. "I've done a bit myself" continued John. "What weight do you fight at?" "Just over Ten stone." I answered. "That's just about my weight," John said, "give or take a couple of pounds." I was amazed that John was within my weight I would have put him at least two stone heavier. "We will have to have a spar sometime" Johnny said "Yeah' I'd like that," I replied, I probably sounded not too convincing. I felt that if Johnny could punch as hard as he looked he would probably take my head off with his first blow. The conversation ended there. I was satisfied that it had gone no further. I was a little afraid of John but knowing myself I would not have backed down under any circumstances. I have always been able to hold myself against most, in the ring or out, I always had that feeling of being afraid before any action but also knew that once any action started I could rise to the occasion. I have never sought a confrontation nor ever backed down from one. Another youth of the screen team was of Irish descent. George O' Neil. George was a fine upstanding youth and a very good worker. He never seemed to complain or raised his voice, preferring to speak quietly. Consequently whenever he spoke people tended to listen to what he had to say. And what he had to say always made sense. I now felt that I had three new friends, Tommy Clapton. the youth who started at the same time as me. Eddie Barker. who was soon to leave the screens to do his three week underground training and George O' Neil. It came as a little surprise to learn that the colliery operated a Week in hand when paying out wages. When I told my mother she obviously knew of this fact. She said she would help me out, which I knew she would. She had done so many times in the past. My wages would be Five pound odd rather than the Six pounds odd that my father had said that I would be earning. The difference in pay being underground working. Still it was twice what I had been getting at my previous job. I was slowly coming round to the fact that I hadn't made a mistake in taking a job at the pit. In general there was a feeling of togetherness that I hadn't realised had been missing in my old job. Although I still did not like getting up of a morning and going to work, I did not mind actually working. Perhaps I hadn't made a mistake in taking a job at the pit after all. Swearing at the pit was the norm. Although I have tried to keep out the swearing in this written account, please take it as read. Everyone swore, from the Pit manager to the lowest worker. Every sentence was strewn with expletives and it seemed every second word was usually punctuated by a Four letter expletive. Nobody listened or took notice of you if you did not or could not swear. I and my younger brother Jim were brought up in a family that did not swear. The most we had heard from our father was an occasional 'bloody'. My mother not at all. At the pit I soon learned to swear like everyone else. It is hard to explain but when I was away from the pit and swearing was not the norm I did not swear. But as soon as I entered

the pit yard I lapsed into a swearing mode. And I could give as good as I got. Which brings to mind: One weekend the family were eating our Sunday lunch, or dinner as it was called then. I was explaining, to all at the table, of an event of the last week at work. I was so immersed in my pit tale that momentary I was at work. I forgot myself. "So when Johnny said that, I told him to Fuc..." I realised my mistake as soon as I had uttered the first few letters of the offending word. I lapsed into silence. In fact the whole table was silent, until my mother said, " We realise that everyone swears at the pit but leave it there when you finish work." It wasn't meant as a put down or a reprimand merely a statement of fact. "Now what was you saying about Johnny C." continued my mother. The incident was as if it had never happened. "Er! I told him to go away." said I feeling my cheeks redden. An additive to this story on swearing. The first time I heard my father swear was when I was with him at the pit top. He was cursing and blinding about something that had earlier happened down the pit and was berating one of his mates. I was astounded, my father did not swear, I honestly thought he did not know how to swear. What impressionable minds we have when we are young.

Five

FIRST BLOOD

It had to come. I had been working at the screens about two weeks. Joe G. had stopped the screen conveyor, a large piece of rock had descended on to it and it was too heavy to lift off and throw it into the hopper in one piece. Joe said to John, "Get the hammer John and break it up" John C. then said to me, "Jack go get the hammer for me, I've got to break this lump up," and with that he jumped up on to the conveyor. On reflection if John had asked me to get him the hammer, I would have done so. The hammer was no more than a few yards away. But it got my back up to think that he was ordering me about. "You want it, you get it for yourself. Joe said for you to get the hammer not me." I retorted. "Are you getting me the hammer or do I give you a leathering?", threatened John with an expletive of words. "If you think you can give me one," The whole screen team heard the heated words. Neither person could now back down. John sounded the more confident of us. "Are you going to get the hammer or do I give you a good hiding after work?" "No, get your own hammer and if thats how you want it, so be it" I had no intention of backing down now. "Jack, get me the hammer will you?" asked Joe G. It was said more as a way of cooling the situation down. "Yes," I answered, "but I'm getting it for you not him." and with that I went and got the hammer and gave it to Joe, who in turn gave it to John. It was all a bit petty but my place in the pecking order of the screens was at stake. I always felt that to show weakness was not manly, although at the time I was trembling. Soon after Joe called time for the under eighteen's. "I av'nt forgotten," said John as he passed me on his way out of the screens. "Nor me" I responded. Although secretly I wished John had. "Behind the 'lamp hole' then". The lamp hole was the building were the miners electric lamps were stored and charged. "Right I'll be there within Ten minutes." I was hoping to sound the confidence that I did not feel The area behind the lamp hole was considered out of the colliery premises. It was common knowledge that fighting anywhere on the pit surface or underground was not tolerated by management. Instant dismissal was the threatened punishment. In later years I saw and heard some really heated arguments that looked like coming to blows. They never did, not on pit premises anyway. All the under eighteen screen team and a few others, who had heard that there was a fight on, gathered at the scene of the proposed fight. A ring of spectators formed. My adrenaline began to flow and I was no longer afraid. A feeling of self-preservation was taking over. I always felt like this before every fight in the ring or out. "Last chance to apologise," offered Johnny. Did I detect a note of uncertainty in Johns voice? I hoped so, it was to my advantage. "No way," was my reply and with that Johnny lunged forward like a charging bull. I was not taken by surprise, other than being surprised how easily it was to step to one side and hit Johnny fair and square to the side of his head as he continued past. True to a bulls action he turned and made another rush forward, exactly the same thing happened. I could not believe my luck.

My father had always coached me to try and get the first punch in, and if you can keep that one ahead you should win in the end. Here was I with the first two full on target. I was a boxer and John was a natural fighter. A fighter is usually the one to come forward both hands punching. He does little covering up and is prepared to accept punches to get some of his own in. He is quite happy to stand toe to toe with his opponent, swapping punches. A boxer uses his feet to avoid any rushes and punches. He is always prepared to counter punch and learns to hit whilst retreating. He is not usually prepared to stand toe to toe. It is a well-known fact that you should fight a boxer and box a fighter. If you were losing a match change your style of fighting. I had no reason to change my style John was doing all the work for me. The fight carried on in much the same vein with John now trying to come to grips with me and me keeping my distance. Throughout the whole of the fight I wary of the fact that if I relaxed and let John get just One punch in it could be curtains for me. Luckily this did not happen. Suddenly John stopped and said, "Enoughs enough," with that he held his hand out to shake hands. In those days it was the done thing to shake hands to call the fight off. I took Johns outstretched hand and said something to the effect of. "Fair one." I could not believe my luck I had just finished a fight with quite a worthy opponent and come out without a solitary punch landing on me. I felt elated. Although I went home with a little spring in my step, I still realised that if John had connected with just one good punch the outcome would have been vastly different. As I reached our house I could see father clipping the privet hedges with hand shears. "What you doing Da?" I enquired. "What does it bloody look like? Salmon fishing?" "No, it's just that I don't understand it," I joked "it's not like you at all, I didn't know you liked gardening, are we entering our garden in the Tenants best kept garden competition this year?" I carried on indoors before he had the chance to fling the shears at me. My father hated gardening and only just managed to keep it tidy. On asking my mother what the story was about Da's gardening she replied. "We got a letter from the housing place this morning, giving us 14 days notice that if the hedges are not pruned to below the regulation maximum of 6 feet then they will apply for an eviction order. Anyway its frightened your dad into doing something about them." "I'll give him a minute when Ive had my tea." I offered "Yes he'll appreciate that After my meal I gave Dad a break. Funny that, if he'd have told me or asked for help I'd probably make some excuses as to why not. By not asking me he'd put me to shame. Besides I was a little short this week Dad will probably now lend me something. It was November the Fifth. Tommy C. had invited me to his Bonfire. He had said that he had some brilliant fireworks. The fireworks of those days could be described in many ways but brilliant was not one of them. When I arrived at the bonfire the party was in full swing. There were plenty of peas and pies and bonfire toffee. Lots of fireworks and bangers were let off, but as of yet I had not seen any that were unusual. I asked Tommy where these brilliant fireworks were. He went into his house and came out with a 'pill' of mining explosive. "Where did you get that. I gasped, "You'll get Ten years if you are found with that in your possession "It's nowt" he said "I found it in the screens. It came over the shaker."

I had seen a few cartridges, or pills as they are called, of powder come over on the screen conveyer. At such times they were handed to Joe Garvey. I think he took them back to the Explosives store. "What are you going to do with it? I was becoming interested. "Set if off of course" "It won't go off. I've heard you can hit them with an hammer or put it on the fire and it still won't go off" "It will with one of these" he said. With that he produced a 'Little Demon' firework. The little demon fireworks were the strongest of the day and gave out a very loud bang. "You can't let it off here," I cautioned "there are too many people about" "We'll go over into the back field then." Tommy said. I agreed. It would be something most unusual. A little exiting. With that we both went to the field at the rear of his house. Tommy, with a penknife, slit open the grease proof paper of the pill and then sliced it in half lengthways. It was a little like plastericine, quite pliable. We placed the little demon in the centre of the cut open mine explosive. Then it was moulded around the firework, leaving the blue touch paper protruding. He placed it on the ground upright and lit it. We raced away as fast as we could. The firework exploded but it did not set the explosive off. We further tried a few more times, all to no avail. By the time we had finished the pill was in numerous pieces. We collected them all up and returned to the bonfire. Throwing on the pieces. They burned with a slight blue flame. Afterwards I realised what fools we had been. We could both have been maimed for life, or even worse. But it did prove how stable the mines explosives are. The day after our fight if I had expected Johnny to say something about the scrap to me, I was very mistaken. He was loud, vociferous and as self-assured as usual. It was if the day before had never happened. I thought, at one time during the day, I heard him say to one of his mates, that my punches had not hurt him. I was not sure but if he indeed said that, I could well believe it. My punches seemed not to have affected him at all. My kudos in the screens team rose a little. One good point in my favour was that no one tried to involve me in any further initiation rites. Other newcomers were not so lucky. Over the next few weeks I gradually became accepted as a full screen member and often the screen charge-hand would send me on short errands. This would enable me to look round other parts of the pit yard. If nothing else I was always interested in my surroundings. One morning, during a lull, Joe sent me to have the First Aid box brought up to date. Screen workers were very susceptible to cuts bruises and trapped fingers. Bandages and plasters were used quite often. At the 'ambulance room', as it was called then, there was a man in attendance. It was questionable if he had any medical qualifications, other than a first aid certificate. This was a time when safety first at work was not a priority, producing coal was. The ambulance room was more of a storage room. It had a long couch for the placement of injured miners waiting for an ambulance to ferry them to hospital. Other than the meagre medical stores it also served as a soap and towel sale room. As I have said there were no baths at the pit for normal workers. Deputies and upper management had a small makeshift place were they could have a lukewarm shower but for the normal workers there was nothing. Once a month all colliery workers were given the opportunity to buy subsidised soap and towels. The soap was of the hard wearing variety but it was cheap and did the job. The

large bath towels were luxurious by the standards of those days. Usually all workers took advantage of buying the pure white heavy towels when they could, even if their own towels had not worn out. A ready resale value was placed on them to friends and neighbours. A small money making side-line. As I was leaving the ambulance room I looked across the pit-yard and saw Fred W. Firey Fred as he was usually called. Fred was another old collier. He was about Forty but looked at least Fifteen years older. He had worked underground most of his adult life until a fall of roof underground had trapped him. He was supposed to have been buried for over a hour before he could be released. His resulting head injuries were not just physical but mental as well. He never seemed to be quite with it. Normally he had a pleasant disposition. He would always wave or shout greeting and pass the time of day. It was also common knowledge that if anyone upset him he could lash out, with anything he could lay his hands on. Firey Fred was employed to do the menial surface jobs. He was presently engaged in cleaning the pit-yard toilets. The only surface toilets (there were none underground) other than 'management only' toilets, were a Six cubicle block. Every cubicle had a wooden seat with a galvanised metal can underneath. Each can had been doused with a toilet chemical. The back under-wall, where the cans stood, was left open to the elements to create an air circulation. As I was walking past, Firey Fred was pulling a bucket out from under the rear wall. As he usually did, he hoisted it to his shoulder. John normally then transferred the can to the top of his head, his hands holding the side handles. He did this usually as a little show of his competence, proudly walking the length of the pit-yard. The contents of the can would be then poured down a washer drain. "Hiya Fred", I shouted, although it was doubtful that he knew me. Firey Fred was hoisting the can from his shoulder to his head, as I called out to him. At that moment, as he turned round to look at me, his head went through the bucket bottom. The galvanised bottom must have been weather eroded allowing the inner metal to rust, causing weakness. Fred's head went almost through the bottom. A cascade of liquid and solid human waste cascaded over his head and shoulders. Fred let out a howl of protest. Taking the bucket from his head, he threw it in my direction. It was the funniest thing I had ever seen. I just could not help but laugh out loud. Firey Fred obviously did not think it was something to laugh at. He began to run over to me, seemingly to blame me for his misfortune. I wasn't waiting around to explain. I was off like a shot. It still remains the most hilarious incident of my life.

Six

CHANGE OF JOB

Eddie B. left the screens to go for his three weeks underground training and Johnny C. to do his Sixteen weeks. I was promoted, if you can call it promotion, to the pit-bank. It was a less boring job than the screens but somehow there was less opportunity to 'muck around' My job, with another worker, was to push the empty tubs on to the waiting cage, displacing the full tubs. Then a short interval before the next cage and a repeat of the process. Looking down the pit shaft no longer filled me with dread but.. One Monday morning the bank foreman instructed me to report to the 'Wood yard' There I was to stand in for the regular worker who was off sick. I was to work with Alan, an older collier. Our job was to load tubs and 'Chariots' with materials for transportation underground. Chariots were Four wheeled bogies with open sides. The wood-yard was the easiest job I'd had since starting at the pit. Provided Alan and I did the work no one questioned us on what we were doing. Snap time was always well over an hour sometimes Two. Alan could tell a tale or two and I was fascinated by his underground reminiscences. Each day we were given a order form, detailing what was needed down the pit. The wood-yard contained all sizes of pit props. All roof props down Middleton Broom Colliery were timber. There were no steel 'Dowty' props at that time. The longest wood props were some ten feet in length and the shortest was only Twenty one Inches. When I looked at the smallest pit props and placed them end on it seemed impossible that anyone could work under such low conditions. Alan confirmed coal face workers did. One time I even placed upright Two One Foot Nine (54cms) pit props, Six Foot apart and then placed a 'bar', or a flat piece of timber, on top of them. I tried to imagine what it would be like to work in such cramped conditions. I seriously doubted if I would be man enough to endure such places. In later years I would work in such, and lower, conditions. 'Bars' were wooden planks to support the roof. Usually with props at either end and one in the middle. They were Six Foot (2m) long by Six inches (15cms) wide and about 2 Inches (5cms) thick. Rings were steel H girder type supports. Semi-circular with one end of the bend straightened out. Two rings were erected together with a steel 'fishplate' bolted to connect the them. They ranged from the shortest at Six Feet (2m) to Fourteen Footers (5m). Rings were transported down the mine on Chariots. I spent two enjoyable weeks in the wood-yard until the previous youth returned. My next job was back to the pit bank. No mind, I had only two more weeks to do before I went for my Underground training. Prior to the Coal Mines (Training) General Regulations Act of 1945 the only training given to a new worker would be what a boy learned from his father, big brother, uncle or such who took him below ground as a 'helper' On the First of January 1947 the coal mining industry was nationalised under the National Coal Board. They soon began to regulate and enforce the Coal Mines Training Act.

Seven

TECH. TRAINING

Before I knew it Monday morning came. It was to be the first day of my Mining Training. Along with Tommy Clapton. George Lee. and George O 'Neil. We had to report to the Wakefield Technical College in Bell Street. We were to spend a week there full time. Then to the Lofthouse colliery for a week then weeks 'about' for Sixteen Weeks. Besides being a full time educational establishment, the college had a department geared for mining theory. It catered for entrants like myself, through to higher education for those studying for the Ordinary or Higher National Certificate in Mining. The day started at Nine O Clock and worked to normal School hours. There were Twenty Three lads in the class, all under Eighteen. They came from various collieries of the number Seven Area. It was quite pleasant to be working in clean clothes, just like being back at school only getting paid for it. In the weeks to come we would be instructed in mining theory, the history of coal and the mining of it, mine safety, mine Fires, Ventilation, Gases, the rules and regulations of mining, management, methods of working coal, underground machinery, first aid, fire fighting, mine rescue and a host of other subjects. The first week was devoted to the theory of mine safety and the need to be constantly vigilant to potential hazards. The general history of how coal was formed was explained:It was the constant laying down of pre-historic forests over long periods. This timber and vegetation residue was overlaid with sediments which later became rock. The great heat and pressures, formed the great forests residue into coal. This happened Hundreds of millions of years ago in the carboniferous period of time. A very interesting point was made by one of the instructors of that time. He stated "That the original surface of the Earth has never been found within man's present knowledge." As that time was the early Fifties I have often wondered if man's knowledge now has progressed far enough to realise Earth's original surface. I was surprised to learn that there are several types of coal. Anthracite, more usually found in the areas around Wales, Cannel, Brown Coal, Lignite, and even peat, all being forms of coal. We were informed that in the Yorkshire coal fields alone, it has sufficient reserves of coal for an output of Fifty Million tons of coal a year for the next Few Hundreds of years. I could relate to the forest theory. I often found specimens of plant fossils embedded in the rock whilst working in the screens. At one stage I used to collect them. Fossils of plant leaves were common. The only fossil of a true life form that I found was an ammonite this was from the Jurassic period of time but it was a poor specimen. Different methods of mining were discussed, from the general collection of coal that is sometimes washed up on some beaches, to early Bell pits through to the modern mining practices of the day. Again I could relate to the Bell pits, there were many examples of them in the Middleton Park woods. Bell pits were dug where the coal seam is relatively near the surface, sometimes only a few yards deep. When the top surface was removed and the coal was reached, it was hewn out all around the sides. Hence the name Bell pits, because of the shape of the excavation. Few roof supports were used. When the roof became unstable it would fall in. Another Bell pit would then have to be excavated. The examples at Middleton Park, and there are many, are round shallow holes.

I made a host of new friends at the college. Every weekend we would all meet in Wakefield centre for a night on the town. Wakefield had a wide and varied slice of weekend night life, much better than Leeds. The starlight ballroom catered for teenagers like myself. Every Friday and Saturday night a group of us would sneak into the Station Arms where the oldest looking of us, or the one most daring, would go and order and collect pints of beer. Underage drinking was quite exiting at the time and it made us feel quite macho. Then after a couple of beers time for a dance. The Rock and Roll era was upon us and although at the time I could not jive I secretly envied those who could. Dancing is only a matter of confidence something I lacked. Occasionally a fight, or should I say a minor scuffle, might break out. Rival factions would usually be involved and although I never started one I usually ended up in the middle. The skirmishes of the time involved unwritten rules, no weapons would be used only fists. Putting the boot in was frowned upon and was considered to be taking advantage. A fight would end when one side acknowledged the superiority of the other. Then it would be handshakes all round. Although looking back they seemed very serious confrontations I now realise they were just part and parcel of growing up. I was finding my pecking ordered place within my society. In the coming future, many would be the time when I had to run to catch the last train from Westgate Station, to Leeds, which left at one minute to Midnight. And many is the night I have missed it, sometimes on purpose. It was around this time I began courting seriously. For a number of years I had been a member of a youth club held of an evening in the local school. It was a mixed club with members ranging from 12 to 18 years of age. There were many various activities held there and one of them was weight lifting. Nothing sophisticated or anything, we didn't even get changed into training shorts and vests. The group was not even properly supervised except for a slightly older person in charge. Members of both sex's would wander in and out of the classroom willy nilly. I had previous noticed a young lass whom I found out to be about my age and named Brenda M. I took an instant shine to her. Whenever she was around I tended to show off. Laughing that littler bit more at mates jokes or talking more louder whenever she was in earshot, trying to show her what a fun person I was, which was not strictly true. I never seemed to be able to get Brenda to notice me or get her in a position to 'chat her up' One evening a few of the lads were having a friendly weight lifting competition. I initially wasn't taking part but then Brenda and her friend Mary S. entered the room. Trying to impress them I announced that I could lift the weight most of the others had failed at. Room was made for me and I took my stance at the weight. I squatted down and grasped the bar in preparation for the lift. I had mentally decided on the squat method of lifting the weight. All eyes were on me at this time including Brenda's, she was the one I was out to impress. Suddenly I heaved at the load and as in the correct manner I managed to swing and raise the weight with my arms straight above my head whilst still in the squat position. So far so good now all I had to do was straighten my legs and move from a squat position to a standing one. It was going to be harder that I had thought. Straining to regain an upright standing position I felt my trouser crutch split and with it I lost all concentration with the lift. The bar began falling backwards taking me with it. The whole class, including Brenda, erupted in fits of laughter, with me laying on my back, legs akimbo with an obvious split in the seam of my strides. I vowed and declared to my-self at the time that I would never try and show off again, what a foolish promise.

Eight

LOFTHOUSE TRAINING

The following week George O' N. George L. and Tommy C. and myself reported to Lofthouse Colliery. It was to be our first taste of going underground. All students were issued with a pair of steel toe capped boots, a pair of dark blue cover-alls, a hard miners helmet and a leather belt. We were then each allocated a locker for our outdoor clothes in the 'clean area' of the showers. After stripping, we walked naked, clutching only our towels, through the shower area to the dirty locker area. Our working clothes would be stored in the Dirty locker. Dressed in our Pit wear attire we were led to the lamp room and issued with a lamp and instructed how to use it. The lead acid lamp is in the form of an electric battery, which is slung on your belt, with a flex that connects to the cap lamp. This lamp is designed to give about Ten hours use between charging. The instructor then led us to the man riding shaft. The winding gear in the man riding shaft is usually Electric driven. We had been instructed that this shaft has greater controls incorporated in it and the speed at with the cage ascends or descend is governed, giving a safer smoother ride. The other Shaft is usually steam driven. Greater speeds can be used at this shaft as coal is outputted and materials inputted. The faster the winding speed the greater the potential coal output. All persons about to descend underground must first be searched thoroughly for 'contraband'. Contraband being matches or any smoking materials. (In all the years I worked in the mining industry I never ever saw or heard of any miner flouting the contraband rules. In this area all miners are very responsible persons) Before one enters to the input pit shaft one must go through two 'air doors' These doors are needed to maintain a regular air flow underground and will be explained later. The cage held Twelve persons. I was in the Second batch. I did not feel afraid but was a little apprehensive. I knew I would not panic or do anything silly, but who knows. My turn to enter the cage came. We were packed in and the gates were closed. The banksman rang the winding station for the cage to descend and we were off. The cage, although closed in at the sides has large open grill type gates back and front. Going down is not unlike being in a lift. It travels a little faster but on the whole it is quite smooth. The brick lined shaft flashed by. Water drained down the brick lined walls. It would collect at the bottom of the shaft into the 'sump' to be pumped out to the surface. As we descended, my thoughts returned when I had first seen the shaft at Middleton. I had thought then, how can you brick lay a shaft as you dig it? It cannot be bricked before it is dug nor can it be safely dug then bricked. It is impossible to stick bricks under, instead of over other bricks as you dig. At college I had found out that the shaft is dug to a short depth, say 20 yards (7 m). Circular H rings are then secured at the bottom. The virgin shaft is then bricked up from the lower ring to the higher one. The shaft is then excavated again. Lights from the Black Bed seam flashed by. This was the seam being currently worked at Lofthouse. We were headed deeper to the Silkstone seam. This seam had been worked out of coal years ago and now was used only as an underground training seam. At last the cage came to a controlled stop, we had arrived. I had expected to feel some emotion, elation, afraid, pleased, at least something but everything seemed normal a bit of an anti-climax.

The pit bottom opened out into what can only be described as a large irregular shaped brick lined room. The walls were white lime washed. It was well lit by electric overhead lights and was about Twelve Feet high. To one side was a brick office type room for management use. Inset in one of the office walls was a sliding window. I had an idle thought, occasionally the office window will get dirty and someone will have to clean it. So being a window cleaner down the pit is not as silly as it sounds. On the floor of the pit bottom large metal sheets had been laid. The sheets had become polished with the tramp of feet and the many turnings of wheeled tubs. Rails were laid across the area. three dark tunnels led off somewhere. We had all been issued with a 'check.' This is a coin like piece of metal with a number that is registered to the individual. The check is handed to the underground on-setter. It would be retrieved on leaving the pit and handed to the surface banks-man. The system worked that if your check was down the pit you were, or in theory were, down the pit. It has happened when a miner has forgotten to retrieve his check and underground search parties have had to be made for him, whilst the miner is home in bed. There were two instructors to the Twenty odd of us and were told to follow, in single file, one of them. The other brought up the rear. Our first day underground was to be just a general tour of the workings. After going through a series of Air doors we were shown the Stables where the pit ponies were kept. The stable contained about Thirty stalls for horses but only Two were now in use. When this seam was working some Thirty odd years ago, Pit ponies were much in use. As ponies were still being used in most pits for the transportation of materials, we would be instructed in the handling of them. As we walked down the main inward roadway of the Black Bed seam we were aware of a flowing, quite strong, passage of air. It was like a strong wind at a constant speed. The main heading was about Twelve feet (4m) high. The floor was very uneven and at all times you had to watch your footing. Everywhere there was coal dust but this had been diluted with white limestone dust. We had been instructed that coal dust by itself is potentially very explosive. In correct proportions the limestone neutralises it. To one side of the roadway, rails had been laid. In between the rails lay a thick steel plaited rope. Near the side wall was another length of rope. Rollers were placed at intervals to carry the rope and to prevent friction from the floor. We were told that it was called an endless rope haulage. In the past tubs of coal would have been lashed with chains to the rope and would have been hauled to the pit bottom for their extraction out of the pit. The main roadway, we were told, was about Four miles long. Every few Hundred Yards other roadways branched off at right angles to the main roadway. These were old headings to bygone faces. When these faces were in operation the coal was, in general, hand hewed and loaded into tubs. The tubs would be brought by pony power to the main roadway. Then lashed, with chains, to the endless rope to be hauled to the pit bottom. On the walk down the main roadway the instructor stopped our group and ordered everyone to turn off our lamps. Other than miners, very few people have ever experienced total darkness. Down a mine there is a complete absence of light. It is impossible to see anything. Usually if we are in darkness on the surface a chink of light can be seen, however small. Down the pit nothing can be detected. Whilst our lights were off the instructor told us that in the event of a light failure it is possible to 'feel' your way, by use of the tub rails that line the floor of the roadway. Providing you know the general layout of the mine, the wind direction will help you to decide in which direction to feel your way out. Other than that, and if you are quite safe,

stay where you are. A search party will come to find you when you are missed. Your 'check' is still down the pit, proving that you also are. We were told to re-light our lamps and we continued on our tour. One of the old coal faces had been preserved for instructional purposes. We were allowed to crawl under the face and see the coal seam. I had expected to feel claustrophobic but I was very surprised not to be. A more detailed description of the working of a coal face will be detailed later. The first week we were instructed mainly in mine safety and what to do in any emergency.

Nine

TRAINING CONTINUES

It was then back for a further week at college. This second week of training, at college, was dealt with ventilation, fires and the gases that are released when coal is worked. Ventilation is achieved within pit working by a huge fan situated at the top of one ( up cast) of the two shafts. Usually the man riding shaft. The fan sucks air up the shaft from the underground workings. Because of this air displacement, air from the top other shaft (downcast) is drawn down this shaft into the workings. A system of air doors allows the air to circulate around the mine. A good ventilation system is an obvious necessity. Roadways that connect intake and return roadways need to have a barrier to stop circulation from taking a shortcut. This barrier must be movable. Air doors are the movable barrier. There is always at least two airdrops in tandem. If one door is opened the other remains closed. To have Both doors open would interrupt the correct circulation of air and would cause serious circulation problems. When coal is released from a coal face, poisonous and potentially explosive gases are also released. Providing there is good ventilation these gases are easily dispersed out of the pit. The 'deputy' or 'Fireman' is the charge-hand of the district. He is responsible for all aspects of 'his' area, usually a coal face. The deputy and the 'Shot-firer's', both of whom are explosive trained, are constantly aware of the need to test for the presence of 'firedamp' which is a methane mixture of gases. Deputy's and Shot-firer's are middle-management. Methane is easily detected with the aid of a safety lamp which they both carry at all times. The modern safety lamp is an updated version of the original lamp Sir Humphry Davy designed in 1816 Since its introduction the Davy lamp has stood the test of time and has been the means of saving innumerable miners lives. The safety lamp incorporates an oil lighted wick. The flame cannot make direct contact with the outside of the lamp because of small mesh metal gauze. The flame cannot traverse across this gauze. Air can circulate within the lamp. In normal air the safety lamp flame burns yellowish. If methane is present in the air, the flame burns with a slight bluish tinge at the edges of the yellow flame. The amount of gas present determines the shape of the bluish flame. An equilateral triangle of the blue flame indicates approximately two to two and a Half per-cent presence of methane. A mixture of between Five and Fifteen per-cent gas in air is explosive. Any percentage of gas showing its presence on a safety lamp is regarded as potentially dangerous. Underground fires we were informed are caused in a number of ways. Naked lights, Flames from explosives, friction caused by machinery, defective electrical apparatus and spontaneous pressure combustion. All were discussed and the urgent need to be aware how they can start and what actions to take, to contain them at source. It was around this time that I had managed to make myself known to Brenda. I had already learnt that on Thursday evenings she and her friend would go to the local fish and chip shop. I made a point of just happening to leave the Youth club at the same time as her. I shouted to my mates, within Brenda's earshot, that I was not going their way home this Thursday night but that I intended to go get some chips. (At that time a bag of chips cost Four pence (2 p) Following close on Brenda and her mates heels I closed up on them and casually announced that I might as well walk with them part of the way, announcing quite off handedly that I was going to get some chips. When they said that was where they were going I pretended surprise and said that I may as well accompany them. I had tried to appear to make myself look 'cool'

but I suppose I was fooling no one. The upshot of it all was from that point I began to regularly to escort Brenda home of an evening. Slowly I progressed to be allowed to walk with her, hand in hand. It was the high point in my life at that time. Gradually it progressed to a quick peck on the cheek as a good night kiss and after I would walk home with a spring in my step. Throughout my courtship of Brenda, very little happened sexually, though not for want of my trying. Good girls didn't in those days.

Ten

TEDDY BOYS PICNIC

Each Friday we were allowed out from training early. trainees had to return to our respective pits for wages. After receiving my pay one Friday I was approached by Bennie Wilkie. the Training Officer. He asked me how I was getting on and I replied. "Fine, I'm enjoying my training. I can't wait to work underground" Bennie said, " A week tomorrow is the Wakefield Miners Gala. Middleton is to put on show a lorry float. It has been suggested that we have the theme as 'The Teddy Boys Picnic'. You and your mates have Teddy boy clothes haven't you?" "Yes." I replied. "Are you interested in being on the float. You will get paid for it and you may even win a prize" I was all for it, and said so. It sounded like a good day out. I'd heard of the famous Wakefield miners gala. "Can you arrange for yourself and two others to get dressed up in their finery and be here at Nine O Clock Saturday week?" Continued Bennie. "Yes, I'm sure I can arrange something." I responded. "Good I'll see you next Friday pay day, to finalise things. I'll leave you to organise your mates." I was quite looking forward to the gala. Most of my pit mates would be only too willing to have a day out and get paid for it. At that time the Teddy Boy fashion was in and anyone who was anyone had a Zoot suit. As promised Bennie met me on the following Friday and asked if all was okay my end. It was. He said the float had all been prepared and was ready for the morning. "See you tomorrow morning at Nine" he said as he left. The following morning Six lads had turned up, my two new friends Peter W. and George L. and Three other acquaintances, one was to act as barman. Bennie Said, "I can only pay for Four of you, but you are all welcome to ride the float. The more the merrier." and with that he handed me Four Brown Envelopes each containing Two Pound notes.

Bennie then led us to the Float. It was a lorry decked out with flowers and coloured crepe paper With 'Middleton Broom Colliery', emblazoned on the side. A smaller sign said 'Teddy Boys Picnic' On the open backed lorry there was a table and chairs and what purported to be a small bar with beer pumps. all the furniture had been screwed to the lorry floor. One of our crew was to be dressed as the barman. We all, except the barman, were dressed Teddy boy style. We had amongst us red, blue, black and two purple full drape, finger length, jackets. Black drainpipe trousers. White shirts with Black boot lace ties and Tony Curtis, DA style haircuts. We felt that we looked like true Edwardian gentlemen, Royalty, real Counts. Is that the way to spell Counts? We were issued with make believe coshes and open razors and told to make believe that we were drunk and having a good time in a bar. Bennie then handed us two crates of Beer. Each crate contained Six pint Bottles of Newcastle Brown Ale. It was suggested that we should share the bottled beer and use the eight pounds Bennie had given us, as a kitty. We could buy more beer at the gala. We all agreed. Then Bennie said, "If that's the case, here is an extra Four quid, I'll claim it back in expenses." It was a pleasant summer morning. The Lorry was driven to Wakefield Town Centre which was the meeting venue for all the floats of the other collieries. By the time we had reached the start point we had drunk the beer Bennie had supplied. One of our crew dropped in to 'The Bridge End' pub for a further supply of bottled beer. At Eleven O Clock the gala procession began. All floats then began a very slow convoy drive to the main park in Wakefield. The journey took about an hour. Walking alongside the floats were school children carrying buckets in which spectators along the route deposited coins. My mate George Lee. oozed confidence in the presence of females. In many ways his was the confidence I wished I had. George would do anything for a laugh. He tended to jump in both feet without looking where he was going to land. Halfway through the procession George said "Watch this" and with that jumped off the moving float. He ran forward to a group of teenage girls, grabbed one of them and put his arms round her. He bent her over and kissed her full on the lips, just like we had seen film stars in Hollywood do it. A roar of approval came from the crowd. George then demanded that the girl put a sixpence in the nearest collectors charity bucket for the benefit of being kissed by a Teddy boy. She complied. He then went to a second girl and repeated the action, getting the same response. The crowd loved it and applauded for more. All Five girls succumbed to his advances and half a crown extra went to charity because of Georges spontaneity. Reading my last paragraph the recounted event dose not sound very daring by today's standards but in the early 1950s it almost reached the point of rudeness When George clambered back onto the float he urged each of us in turn to repeat his performance but none took him up. I personally would have loved to enact his daring do but lacked his confidence. Each time the beer ran out then one of our team would dismount the slow moving float. Sprint forward into a pub. Order the beer and by the time the float drew level he would be waiting to deposit the bottles on it. This happened to each in turn. By the time we reached the gala proper we were not pretending to be drunk, we were. Inside the gala grounds was a beer tent, my mates and I headed for it and spent most of the early afternoon there. Just before 2-45 the tannoy announced that the floats were now to be judged and that all interested persons should report to the respective displays.

Peter W. was missing, no could remember him leaving.. No matter there were plenty of us to enact the scenario. Our float was supposed to depict a group of drunken Teddy Boys having a good time. We did not need to act our part, we were Teddy Boys, we were drunk and we were definitely having a glorious time. We managed to win third prize of a standard lamp that would be later raffled off at the pit. The proceeds, like all the collections at the gala, went to a miners charity. After the judges had made their decisions were all set off for a further round in the beer tent. As we were approaching it we espied Peter in confrontation with another group of young Wakefield miners. They were Five to One-ing him but we would soon make up for that. To cut a long story short it seems as if Peter had tried to move in on one of the other groups girls, she had been quite willing but her boy friends had caught up and collared her. With our group turning up, the numbers were now more even. A fight ensued but before very long it was broke up by the Gala Marshals. Eventually we and our opposers were ejected from different ends of the grounds. It meant that we would have to make our own way home but no matter Four of us had already previously decided to remain in Wakefield for the evening. Peter's new found bird, we now knew to be called Jayne, remained with him. It was proposed and accepted that we adjourn to the Railway pub and later The Starlight Ballroom. As we entered the dance hall a quartet on stage were playing old time music. The Paul Jones, Military Two Step and such like. There was a friendly atmosphere in the room. It was usual that there would be half an hour of differing types of music. Old time first then modern dance, quick step , waltz etc. and afterwards a rock n roll session. The jive music being played by one of the quartet from records. The name Disc Jockey had not yet been coined. Peter got his bird up to jive. Jayne was quite good at it although Peter dancing was very limited. When they returned to our table Peter suggested that she learn me how to jive. I had secretly always wanted to learn bop but was too shy to try. Probably the beer gave me Dutch courage but when Jayne suggested a dance I agreed and enjoyed every minute of it. All I seemed to have to do was to stand there and keep holding out a hand, Jayne would take it and dance around. I had no idea what I was doing but because Jayne was so good it made me look presentable. I relished in the idea that at the next Youth club dance session I would get Brenda up and show I could dance after all. The Rock and Roll half hour ended and the quartet came on again. Because it was a Valletta and none of us wanted to dace to old time music it was suggested we retire to the bar for a drink. As we entered who should be there but the Wakefield gang who we'd earlier had a set to at the Miners Gala. We walked up to the bar. Jayne suggested that we leave it but to a man we, nor they, were having none of it. Something was said, by whom I know not, it wasn't important both groups knew what was going to happen, again a fight started. The whole place was in an uproar. Tables were overturned , buffets and anything handy, were flung across the room. It was just like a scene from an old time Western film. It seemed that the fight was only seconds old, actually it was much longer, when into the room rushed a single policeman and a couple of bouncers. Both factions respected the Police uniform and the fight stopped. All males involved were placed under arrest and thrown into a 'Black maria' Police van and taken to the main Wakefield Police station. Each person was taken to an interview room and statements were taken. We had seemed to be in the cells hours when an Inspector came in and cautioned us, each in turn, that on this occasion the ballroom had decided not to press any charges and so the Police were taking the matter any further. Providing we returned home peacefully the matter would be dropped. NFA (No further action) as he said. A great time had been had by all.

Eleven

THE BLACK BED SEAM

The Third week of training at Lofthouse Colliery we were taken on a tour of the working Black Bed seam. This working seam was very modern by the standards of the day. At Lofthouse the coal that was initially loaded on the face conveyers was carried by a further series of conveyers, gate, main, heading, main heading. Eventually cascading their loads into Mine cars which were hauled to the pit bottom by large Diesel engines. Each mine car could hold over three tons of coal. The Shaft at Lofthouse was wide enough for mine cars to be hauled to the surface. The raised coal then began a somewhat similar process to that of our pit at Middleton. A more detailed explanation is later given of the layout and working of a typical mine of the period. Basic first aid is taught to all miners in training and they are encouraged to take a more detailed course of study to obtain the St Johns First Aid Certificate. Part of our underground training dealt with ponies and their handling of. Pit ponies we were informed had almost as much regulations pertaining to them as humans. Part three of the General regulations of the Coal mines act of 1945 dealt with the care and treatment of horses and similar animals. It specified the hours and places in which they could be worked. The ill treatment of them was subject to a fine or even discharge. We were shown how to harness the ponies, the usual orders of command, their feeding and welfare. Signalling underground can be made in a number of ways, from switching your cap lamp on or off, to making a telephone call. All mines of that time had a telephone system. Some more sophisticated than others. The most basic involved revolving a small handle a number of times with short intervals between. The number of complete rings indicated who you wanted to contact. Middleton had this basic system. At the Lofthouse colliery they had a modern dialling system and even the pit manager could be contacted directly from almost anywhere in the pit. Another method of underground signalling consisted of a pair of wires, six inches apart. These separated wires were strung overhead, the whole length of a conveyer belt or an endless rope haulage. A small electrical charge (by mining regulations not more than 25 Volts) ran through the wires. By connecting the two wires at any place along the whole length, a circuit was created. This caused a warning bell to ring at the machine operators station. One ring instructs the operator to stop the machine, two rings tells him to restart.

Twelve

FIGHT TO A STANDSTILL

During the fourth week of training underground we trainees were queuing to be 'rung out of the pit. There was always an amount of jostling to be among the Twelve to get into the first cage. As most were trying to get to the front of the queue I managed to edge my way near the front. A voice directly behind me said, "You get on that cage before me I'll have you on top". I recognised the voice but pretended not to hear him. I was tempted to 'hang' back, but there was no way I would lose face in front of all the others who had heard the threat. The person who uttered the threat was Brian Greatorix I had heard that he had signed professional forms for Castleford Rugby League Club as a prop forward. I was slightly in awe of him. Although he was as tall as I and about my weight he looked, to me, 'rather hard' I got on the cage, secretly wishing that he would also managed to get on the same cage. He did not, he was resigned to the second one. I was already getting washed when Brian entered the showers. I was hoping he had forgotten the incident but no. He uttered in front of everybody within earshot, "I told you what would happen if you got on the cage before me, you've got it to have". I mumbled something but I didn't feel too confident to say much. The upshot of it all was that most of the course congregated just outside of the pit premises, a ring of people was formed and the fight began. I tried boxing him and because he obviously had some boxing experience I didn't feel very successful. He must have tried the same thing with the same result that in the end we both stood toe to toe slugging at each other. My blows on him were full blooded and on target, but his also were the same on me. My punches did not seem to be having any effect on him but his were on me. We seemed to be 'at it' for ages when we both seemed to step back before a further onslaught. As we stood back he said something to the effect "You've obviously done some of this before", meaning fighting, I immediately recognised this as, he was willing to talk. My answer was "So have you, do you still want to carry on" "Call it a draw then," he offered. I was more than thankful to call it off. My answer was an immediate, "Yes". I had just had the hardest fight of my life, inside the ring or out. I was relieved to get out of it evens. The surrounding spectators broke out into spontaneous clapping which in itself was unusual. At least they had enjoyed it. With that we both shook hands and went our separate ways. There was no animosity felt or given. Throughout the rest of our training we had a new found respect for each other. We both bore our black eyes and facial bruises with a little pride for most of the following week. I grew to like Brian when I got to know him. We became quite good friends. He sometimes joined our group of mates during our evening weekend jaunts round Wakefield.

Thirteen

END OF TRAINING

I was surprised to learn during training that when a roof support is erected, it does not 'hold up' all the rock seams and strata above it, through to the surface. It only supports the weight of the rock seam directly above that support. The strata of rock above the immediate rock seam, usually remains intact. That was the theory anyway in practice it was something else. Towards the end of the course at the Technical college we all were informed about the opportunity for further study to management level. We were told that anyone interested could submit an application for interview. I decided to apply. I and two others were required to take a short written test to show an education level. I was a little apprehensive of this because I realised my education wasn't that good. I must have passed the initial test because I was invited for interview. At the interview I was informed that the course entailed a day a week release from work and 2 nights a week of my own time. The course of study was to H.N.C. level and would last Four years. The qualification was to pit management. Numerous questions were asked of me but I must have given satisfactory answers because I was offered a place on the next course. This would start in about two months hence. Before I knew it the Sixteen week training course was over and I became qualified to work underground. I felt a little sorry that the training course had come to an end and having to say good-bye to my new found friends. I promised to continue meeting them in Wakefield at weekends. I was still attending the youth club a couple of nights a week and because I took part in the many sporting activities, Boxing Swimming and Athletics etc., the youth leader asked if I would be interested in applying for an Outward Bound Course being sponsored by the Leeds City Corporation. I replied in the affirmative and he promised to make further enquiries on my behalf. My courtship of Brenda continued.

Fourteen

UNDERGROUND PROPER

It was to be my first day underground at Middleton Broom Colliery, Leeds. Tommy C., George L and George O' N .and I were to be taken on a tour of the underground workings with Bennie W. We had been instructed to go to his office at 9.O clock on our first Monday. When we duly reported we were informed that Benny was already underground attending to another matter. We were to make our own way and meet him at the pit bottom. Booking out lamps, we went to the man riding shaft. There we were informed that the shaft was undergoing maintenance. All men riding would temporary have to use the other shaft. We walked round and climbed up the steps to the coal shaft pit bank. Whilst waiting, with others, the banks-man, who knew that it was our first time down Middleton said. "First time down eh lads, I'll have a word with the winder to let you down steady". He had a slight smile on his face. As I have prior explained the Man Riding Shaft was electrically driven and governed to restrict the speed of descent. The cage we were about to enter was steam driven and greater speed could be used. The time came for us to alight the cage. The banks-man 'rang' the cage off and we began our descent. Suddenly the speed of descent greatly increased until it felt as if it was out of control. The weight of my body seemed to decrease. Never had we travelled any way near as fast when descending the Lofthouse Colliery. I was truly frightened. The others riders in the cage did not seem unduly perturbed. We reached the bottom with a juddering halt. The others alighted as if nothing had happened. I was glad to get out in one piece. George L. looked as white faced as I felt. I was to find in later rides that it was quite normal to ride fast down the coal shaft whereas the electric driven, man rider, was quite smooth and comparatively slow. Benny W. met us, as promised at the pit bottom. After telling us to hand our checks to the on-setter he led us out of one of the exit tunnels. Ben explained that he was to take us to one of the numerous 'faces' of the seam. He told us that there were Six faces in operation at that time. He would show us the workings of the face and we would then follow the progression of the coal as it was extracted out of the pit. We walked down roadways varying from Twelve to Six Feet in height for about three Miles. Evidence of the weight of the forces acting on the steel ring supports was evident, especially in the tail gate we visited. On our travels inward Bennie explained the working of a pit, in particular Middleton. He explained:A seam of coal can be imagined as the filling in a sandwich. The bread above and below is the rock, with the filling, coal, in the middle. The area of coal can be tens of miles square. Due to rock Strata faults, the workable 'Ebor' seam at Middleton had about Four Miles of square area. The coal seams can vary in height from pit to pit. At Middleton the average height is two feet and a few inches thick. Other pits boasted seams of Four to Five Feet. He went on that to describe a coal face. It was easier to think of a plan view of the capital letter E. With a piece of chalk, (all Deputies and management carry a piece of chalk) he drew an end on letter E with the legs pointing downwards. The centre leg of the E he called the main gate and the outside legs were the two tail gates. The coal face was the long upright of the E. Coal face lengths vary. An average distance between a Tail gate and a Loader gate is some eighty Yards (80m). The Left and Right Faces combining at around one Hundred and Sixty Yards (160m) or more. The main gate usually is about 9 foot (3m) in height and the two tail gates Six foot (2m).

Longwall or forward mining being the extraction method of coal used at Middleton Colliery. (A different method is now more commonly used, called retreat mining) He further explained that at the start of a new coal face the main gate and the two tail gates are driven forward about Fifty Yards (50m). The coal, in between the gates is called a pillar. This pillar is left intact to protect the main heading gate from excess weight. The coal is hand hewn and blasted out with explosives, at right angles to both left and right sides of the main gate. A coal face heading can also be started from the tail gates driven towards the main gate. Only about Nine feet (3m) width of coal is taken. The rock above the coal is the roof. The face headings meet somewhere in the middle, with little more than a few inches (50 cm) out of alignment. Great accuracy is achieved due to the mine survey department. The coal or the strata under the coal is then undercut by a machine. The jib that is at right angles to the machine. The jib has a fast continuous rotating chain with protruding tungsten carbide tipped picks. The jib of the machine is about Six feet (2m) long. Holes are drilled in the face of the coal to a depth of about Six feet deep, at Six feet intervals. A conveyer, or what is commonly called the 'belt', is then installed the whole length of the face. 'Chocks' which are extra roof supports are set at the roof break off point. When all tasks are completed and running, a shot-firer will stem the drilled holes with an explosive charge and 'fire' the 'shots'. Miners will then space themselves out along the face and begin to hand shovel the loosened coal on to the conveyer belt. A short pick would also be used to hew coal from the face that has not been loosened by the explosives. Wood props and bars would be set to contain the new exposed roof as the coal was shovelled on to the conveyer. The coal cutting machine would be turned around in one of the Tail gate 'corners' and a new cut started to begin the whole process again. As the face moves forward, Six Feet per day, the void left becomes what is called the 'Gob'. All supports were, or should be, withdrawn from the gob area. The gob roof then falls in, relieving the weight on the face roof. All waste material is deposited or thrown into the gob. Compacted stone packing were built in the gob at either side of the gates. This packing helps to take some of the weight from the gate supports. The whole process from the cutting of the coal to the hand extraction of it was designed to take Twenty Four Hours. When all worked perfectly it did. Which was not all too often. Bennie throughout our journey continued to explain:The coal from the face conveyers fed on to the gate conveyer. Each Gate conveyer in turn led on to series of larger width Main gate conveyers. At each conveyer machine station a worker was placed to ensure that the conveyer belt can be controlled. His job is to turn the conveyer on or off as required and to keep the area free from accumulating spillage falling from the belt. When we reached the end of the conveyer system the coal tumbled into mine cars. The mine cars, were slightly smaller than the ones at Lofthouse, held about two and a half tons of coal each. This point was called the loader end. The Safety Officer told me this was to be my place of work on the following day. He introduced me to a youth called Douglas G. He did not look much older that I. It turned out that he was about Six months older. I was told that I was to be under the charge of Doggie for a period of three weeks. I was to be within hailing distance of him at all times during that period. After this probationary period I would on my own and could be placed anywhere in the pit that I was trained for.

We followed the trail of the loaded mine cars up the main heading. They were hauled to the pit bottom by a diesel engine locomotive. George L. was to be a diesel drivers mate. At the end of the Main heading there was a huge tippler that rotated the mine cars. The coal was then fed again on to a short conveyer. There it was loaded in to the smaller tubs that I had handled on the surface at the pit bank. The tubs were then pushed on rails round to the shaft cage. In turn to be loaded in to it for transport to the surface. Ben W. then took us to visit the stables. Tommy C. and George O'N. were introduced to the stable manager, Alfred Day, for their three weeks supervision. They were to become a pony drivers.

Fifteen

LOADER END

The following day I met Douggie, my minder, as arranged at the pit top. He escorted me about a mile inward to the main loader end. My first days work underground was to begin. As I have described the main loader end is where the whole of the pit conveyer system empties the coal into mine cars. At this point the roadway is quite wide and well lit by overhead electric lights. Wide enough for the two sets of engine tracks that are laid. Diesel engines, with their loaded mine cars, can pass other mine cars that are being filled. Higher up or lower down the main roadway from the loader end only a single track is laid. The procedure at the loader end was:Five mine cars were loaded with coal. A further Five empty cars are brought by a diesel. The empties would be left and the full cars hitched up and taken to the pit bottom. A steel rope would be attached to the front mine car. It was fed over a series of pulleys. At the other end of the rope was an electric 'Tugger' engine. The rope was attached to a drum on the engine. A switch decided which way the drum would rotate. A handle controlled the drums speed. With the switch upward and the handle drawn back the drum would rotate winding in the steel rope. The mine cars would inch forward. By slow skilled use of the rotating handle the mine cars could be adequately filled. At the change over between cars, instead of stopping the conveyer, a metal sheet was placed between the cars. The coal filled steel sheet would be emptied and placed over the space between the next empty car. When the five cars were full the steel rope would be detached and by reversing the 'tugger' engine the rope could be hand pulled back to be re-attached to the Five new empty cars. The engine driver would couple up to the full cars. Push them forward to the single track 'inbye'. The engine drivers mate would change over the track points. They would then be hauled past the loader end to the pit bottom, 'outbye'. The process would be repeated many times during the shift. The loader end was a two man job. At times it was nice and easy with not a lot of work to do. At other times when the coal was coming thick and fast, there was lots of spillage which had to be shovelled back into the cars. During the first and the last hour of the shift things could be quiet. It was at these times that the devil made use of idle hands Out of the rock wall opposite the conveyer end, a large room had been excavated to house the electrical boxes and tugger engine. We called this room the dug-out. Makeshift seats had been built out of spare timbers covered with old conveyer belting. Different items of tools were also stored within the dug-out. When the coal was coming over the end thick and fast both Douggie and I were on our feet all of the time. When there was little to do we sat in the dug-out probably reading a newspaper or comics. Workers, management and other passers-by would briefly stop to pass the time of day or relay the current gossip of the day. Most of the time there was a light hearted mood at the loader end. Tricks, jokes and/or 'winding' people up was the norm. As I have stated, there were no toilets down Middleton Pit. Anyone who was 'taken short' or had to relieve himself, had to go into any convenient place. The resulting waste would then be thrown on to the nearest conveyer belt or mine car. For safety reasons it was strictly illegal to ride on the conveyer. But many men did. They jumped on to it then, because of the low height of the roadway, lay down full face

forward. Many has been the time when men coming from their place of work had jumped on the belt only to have lain in someone's human waste.

Sixteen

LIKE A CUSTARD PIE

I had been at the loader end for two weeks. One morning at the beginning of the shift, coal was only lightly coming over the conveyer end. The diesel driver, Colin T. having brought Five empties was waiting for the current cars to be filled. As he usually did, he came and stood with us in the dug-out for a chat. After he had left, although we did not realise at the time, the dug-out began to smell strongly of excrement. We looked round all around the dug-out and on the dusty floor for the offending smell but to no avail. Often excrement came over the conveyer and into the cars but that smell was only fleeting. Soon the coal began to come over thick and fast and the smell was forgotten. Although every time Douggie or I neared the dug-out we got a whiff of it. I accused him of the smell whilst he placed the onus on me. Even the pit manager Mr Poskitt. who visit us for a few minutes on his rounds of the pit remarked on the smell. Telling us, as he left to, "clean the place up." Towards the end of the shift when the coal became thinner I went to sit on the makeshift seat. As I sat down the offending smell reared up again. I realised my sitting down had stirred something up. Taking up the piece of conveyer belt seating I discovered that the underside had been smeared with someone's human excrement. Colin, the diesel driver arrived on the scene and remarked "Oh you've found your present then? I just thought I'd leave it for your coming Sixteenth birthday." Douggie and I both called him all the names under the sun and many more besides. Although it seems now a filthy trick, taking it in context it was a minor thing. A good laugh and I was to get my own back, literally. I had been racking my brains how I could get one back on the diesel driver, Colin. Douggie suggested something and I thought about it and decided to refine his idea. One morning when I had time on my hands I took my leave of Douggie and walked a little way down the track for some privacy. I then defecated in a small white sweet paper bag. Twisting the corners like a bag of sweets I carried the 'parcel' back and put it to one side. Colin came in his diesel to collect the Five full cars. As he drove passed our dug out on the way to the pit bottom I shouted "Colin, have a birthday sweet" and threw the 'parcel' into his lap. When he returned some Fifteen minutes later I was very wary and expecting some retort, in action or words. But nothing, Colin never mentioned it. It was as if the incident had never happened. I was puzzled and a little disappointed that my trick had fell on stony ground. The coal began to come over the loader end thick and fast and work began in earnest. The whole shift carried on as normal and I completely forgot the incident. Towards the back end of the shift, Colin drove down with the Five empties, the previous Five were not full. Colin parked his diesel and came and stood to my left hand side. I in turn was watching the conveyer end spilling coal. Colin asked, "All right Jack?" Without looking at him I nodded a reply. With that he flattened the Sweet bag full into my face. Imagine a clown thrusting a custard pie into the face of another. That describes his action. I had to scrape the mess from out of my eyes so that I could see. It was all so sudden and unexpected. I was at a loss what to do. I had to do something in retaliation. I swung round and grabbed his coat lapels and pulled him close to me at the same time trying to wipe my excrement covered face over his shirt and coat.

We began to wrestle and ended up on the floor in the dust. Unbeknown to either of us the sweet bag remnants had fallen to the floor, Douggie gingerly picked up one corner and deposited it between our wrestling bodies. We were totally unaware of this. The upshot was the both Colin and myself became plastered. I was reasonably lucky because the shift was almost over and having cleaned down as best I could left for the pit bottom for extraction out of the pit. I did not have a change of clothes, there still being no pit head baths so I had to walk home smelling. Colin, whose shift started at Seven O clock, had another hour to go before he could be relieved. That day I really got my own back in more ways than one.

Seventeen

PANIC

Four days before I was to be released from being under Douggie's supervision the deputy of the district called on us. It was towards the end of the shift, Douggie and I were waiting for our relief and preparing to finish our shift. The deputy, John Hindle. explained that our relief had not turned in for work and that there was no one to step into his place. He asked Douggie to do a 'double un'. This meant work over time until Seven O clock in the evening. Pay at time and a half worked out that you got another full days pay. Meaning a 'double one'. Douggie had done this a few times before. The loader end needed only one attendant during the evening, very little material came over the belt end. Douggie said that it was impossible that day as he had somewhere to go. John asked me if I would do it. I reminded him that I was still under Douggie's supervision for another four days. John Hindle said it would be all right, I knew the job. I agreed, pleased in the knowledge that the deputy trusted me to be on my own. The diesel driver brought sufficient mine cars to last the evening and night shifts. There were about Twenty parked up. The main roadway had a slight decline. The system was that when Five full cars were full, he steel rope was uncoupled and a few of the brakes of the cars were released. The cars were allowed to roll slowly down the roadway under gravity using the brakes to check their progress. I was instructed to park the full cars well down, past the cutting, on the single track. The brakes on the individual cars were not usually well maintained. The brake shoes often too worn to do the job. Even with a brake full on a car could roll under its own gravity. The cars were usually checked by placing wooden bars (planks of wood) across the rails tapping the wheels. The bars were strewn down the side of the track. I was reminded that Harry Silverwood. and his men were working at the far end of the main roadway. Harry S. was the Union president of the colliery. He was arching out the main roadway making it longer, about two miles down the track. His team only worked the afternoon shift All was going well, I had no problem. There was very little work to do other than occasionally pull the tugger handle to move the cars down little by little. It is pointed out that when the cars were pulled forward down the slight incline the brakes were mostly on. At about Six O clock, the Five mine cars had been filled. I stopped the conveyer belt and 'tugged' them to the far end of the rope. I released some of the brakes of the empty cars and gravity allowed them to roll down the track. As they reached the loader end I quickly locked on the brakes and the cars stopped. The steel rope was reset and the conveyer belt restarted. Then I had to lower the full mine cars further down the roadway as instructed. I released first one brake then another and because they did not move, another brake was released. Still they did not move. As I was releasing the Fourth brake they slowly began to move down the roadway. I quickly then began to pull on the brakes but having reset them, all the cars still continued moving forward. I realised that I had to place bars over the rails to halt the moving full cars. As I place one bar across the rails the mine car wheels just 'jumped' over it and continued unchecked. Although the full cars were only travelling at a few miles per hour, to me it was very fast. I was panicking now I kept throwing bars under the wheels but they refused to halt the gathering speed of the cards. I was well aware of the

team of workers working at the far end of the heading there would be no way to warn them of the runaway cars. They would have no chance of survival. I carried on throwing the bars across the rails until I was nearly out of bars; except for one, a thick one. In desperation, even in the certain knowledge that it would not stop the runaways -the bar it was too thick anyway- I threw it under.. The wheels did not jump the bar, the wheels bit into the wood. The cars were slowing down. I then realised I had a chance. Bar after bar I threw under the wheels and slowly the cars came to a thankful halt. Somebody up there did like me after all. Gathering a handful of bars I placed them under each and every wheel. I over spragged the wheels being so relieved to have been given a second chance. There was no way those cars were going to move again. Returning to the loader end I was full of sweat, not from exertion but of fear. Fear of what would have happened if the mine cars had carried on out of control. Over the two miles of downward track, really high speeds would have been reached. Harry S. and his team would never know how near to death they came that evening. I will never forget the incident it still brings me out in a cold sweat as I write this. Later that year steel 'drop' Warwicks were installed in the roadway. One above and one below the loader end. A drop Warwick is a long H girder. It is fastened to the roof of the roadway with a hinge. Roofing Rawlplugs are used for fixing. The girder can be lifted up until it is level with the roof. A hinged bracket and release bar is fixed to the roof. The bracket can then be slotted over the other end of the girder. A wire is attached to the end bracket release bar and strung along the roadway sides, upwards of the incline. A sharp pull on the wire will cause the release bar to swing forward allowing the Girder end to drop. With one end of the Warwick to the roof and the other end to the floor any runaway mine cars would sprag against it causing them to stop. If there had been a drop Warwick in situ when the mine cars ran away from me I certainly would have used it and been glad of it. Not long after the instalment of the drop Warwicks, one of my new mates Peter Whitehead. who was now a loco drivers mate was injured with one. A drivers mate job is to couple/uncouple mine cars, change rail points, etc. When the loco is in motion he would stand on the rear mine car coupling holding the edge of the car for balance. A loaded loco was travelling underneath a raised drop Warwick. The coal was piled higher than the Warwick. It dislodged a large piece on the rear car. Peter fingers became squashed between the coal and the mine car edge. Serious injury was caused to his right hand. His ring finger had to be amputated at the Second knuckle. (An additive incident to this amputated finger. Chapter 50 describes saluting where Peters missing finger is described)

Eighteen

SAFETY OFFICERS ASSISTANT

That September I had notification from the Training Officer that I was to begin my day release and two evening classes at the Wakefield Tech. college. Monday was the specified day. Tuesdays and Thursdays, 7 till 9 were the evenings. At college we were to be instructed in all the subjects of our previous training but at a much deeper level. I enjoyed my day release from work but the two evening were a bit of a bind. I was now courting Brenda seriously. Just after starting college Bennie Wilkie approached me with the proposal that I become his assistant. His previous assistant had taken up duties at a nearby pit as a full Safety/Training Officer. Ben outlined the duties that I would be undertaking and assured me it was a responsible job. I immediately agreed to the prospect. The job appealed to me, there would be little manual work attached to the new job. I was Sixteen and a half and I had the exulted title of Assistant Safety Officer. The title cut no ice with my mates, they jeered and called me 'Bennie Wilkie's Bum Boy' The first day in my new job, Ben had left instructions to meet him at the pit bottom at Ten O Clock. He was to take a party of civic VIPs on a tour of the mine. When Ben and his party arrived underground there were eight persons in all. Three of them were women. Ben suggested that the party follow him in single file and that I brought up the rear. We were going to take a general tour of the workings. We were walking in-bye and came upon a pony driver, Archie Brook., whose full tubs had been derailed. He was bending over with his back to us, straining to lift the tubs back on to the rails. His trousers were torn from the fly hole, round underneath the crotch, almost to his waist at the rear. He obviously was not wearing any undergarments. It looked as if he was wearing two half pairs of trousers. As we came upon Archie his wedding tackle was showing to all and sundry. Normally such a sight down a pit is not worth a second glance. But with the ladies present Ben was a little embarrassed. Not only was the pony driver showing all his manhood he was swearing about almost everything and everybody. He had not noticed who we were because without turning round the driver said, "Give us a hand mate with these (Expletive) tubs." Ben waved to me to give him a hand. As we lifted the tubs back to the rails it was then that Archie noticed Ben and the ladies in our party. He turned to Ben and said, "Sorry Bennie I didn't realise it was you." and then laughingly turned to the ladies and said. "This is the second pair of trousers I've ruined today. Sorry about my language." Ben accepted this apology without comment and we continued on our way. A successful tour of the pit was carried out with the VIPs giving us their compliments. Two days later Ben handed me a parcel that contained an old pair of Ben's trousers. I was instructed to give them to the pony driver who we had met whilst taking the VIPs on a tour of the mine. Ben was a large man, especially round the middle. When I handed them to Archie, he fell about laughing. I've got to admit so did I. He put them on, over his own trousers. He looked like a circus clown. There was no way he could wear them and he told me so in no uncertain terms. I explained they were given in good faith and he calmed down. But there was no way he would wear them he would be the laughing stock of the pit. I reported back to Ben that the trousers had been gratefully received.

Once a month, part of my new duties was the taking of dust samples. As described earlier, coal dust in its raw state is potentially very explosive. When any explosion occurs the concussion wave that precedes the fire causes the dust to rise into the air. So providing fuel for a chain reaction. The coal dust can be 'diluted' and rendered comparatively harmless by the spreading of Stone dust. Stone dust a is white limestone dust that is delivered down the pit in hundred weight paper sacks. The person spreading the dust stands upstream of the air current and using his hands scatters it all around the sides and floor of the roadway. This scattering of dust only adds to the general dusty atmosphere of a mine. Dust barriers were situated at certain key points. These were a platform like apparatus that was erected near the roof. The platform was filled with loose stone dust. In the event of an explosion the barriers were designed to fall. The stone dust would be spread out with the concussion wave and hopefully halt the explosive chain reaction. The mining regulation at that time required that samples of dust be submitted to the Area mining laboratories for analysis. All Roadways where men or air travelled have to be sampled. The safety officer instructed me on the dust sampling duties and gave me the written mining regulations that covered this subject, to study. The method of sampling was that mine plans had been prepared and zones of sampling designated. My duties were to work to the plan. I had to walk down the roadway in a zigzag pattern collecting dust from the roof, walls and floor. I had a small brush to sweep the dust into a round brass 60 mesh sieve. The sieved fine dust collected into a holding bottom. A portion of the sample was then placed in small envelopes and marked with a code that corresponded to the mine plans. I enjoyed the task of dust sampling, within reason I could take as long as I wanted over the task. I was allowed to travel to the surface as the need arose. I travelled the whole area of the mine workings as my duties required. I had the run of the pit. No one ever questioned where I was or what I was doing. Answerable only to the Manager, the Under manager and the Safety Officer.

Nineteen

HAUNTED SPIRITS

One day I was on dust sampling duties. I was near the coaling pit bottom. A diesel driver and his mate and a few from the pit bottom workers were going for their snap, as I had done many times before, I decided to join them for mine. We all collected in a small bricked office. As always, the talk amongst the lads was many and varied. A diesel driver Harry related that at the weekend his next door neighbour had died in bed. He had been asked by the Funeral director in attendance to help carry the body downstairs. He described being at the head of the body whist his mate was at the feet going down backwards. As they passed a bend in the stairs the body had to be twisted. This caused residue air in the body to be expelled out of the mouth. Harry described as "It moaned into my face." He described having almost dropped the body in fright. With the telling of the body story, ghost tales in general were discussed. One chilling tale that I remembered most was :It was circa 1926 The general strike was at it's height. Most industries had closed down, as were the pits. The strike at the Belle Hill pit, near Leeds, had been going on for over two months. No workers went underground, except for a deputy who, once a day, descended to check water levels in the sumps. And to pump water out as necessary. One particular day having done his tasks the deputy needed to relieve himself of bodily waste. Going out of the pit bottom he backed into a stall, a small opening cut into the rock side, and dropped his trousers. Just as he began to defecate a hand clapped on his bare behind. With a scream he pulled up his strides and raced back to the pit bottom. He rang the bell to get himself out of the pit. On reaching the surface he, obviously in distress, was asked what the problem was. He managed to gasp that there was someone, or something down the pit. He was assured that no one, other than himself, had been down. The banks-man should know he rang them all down and out. The deputy was insistent and pointed to a bloody hand print on his behind. A search party was organised. The deputy refused to join it. On searching, where the deputy had described, they found a man. All the front of his face, his arms and body was covered in blood and gore. His clothing was in shreds. By the time he was stretchered out of the pit he was dead. The upshot of the story goes that just across the road from the Belle Hill pit is The Wood Lane Insane Asylum. (It is still there) The man had escaped from the asylum and entered the pit shaft area. He is supposed to have slid down the cage guide ropes, hence the blood and gore. On reaching the bottom he crawled out of the pit bottom to the place where he had touched the deputy. The deputy's hair is supposed to have turned white overnight and he refused ever to go down a pit again. The Belle Hill pit in the story was only a few miles from Middleton. Their extreme workings would probably extend to our far workings. I was sixteen and a half and very impressionable. In the cold light of day the story probably never happened it's too full of holes. But alone, down a dark pit, tales take on a life of their own. On hearing the story I have to admit a chill went up my spine. Whilst I was with others it was not so bad. After snap time was finished I had to carry on with my dust sampling duties.

I had to sample a part of the pit known as the old workings. It was a two mile long roadway that led to the 'New pit'. Why it was called that I know not because the new pit was last worked at about the turn of the century. The roadway, to the new pit, was kept open because every Second day the new pit shaft sump had to be visited to inspect the water pumps. These continually drain out collected water. The New Pit was at a slightly higher level than our seam .If the pumps were stopped and the roadway was closed eventually the water would eventually flood down into our present workings. I went to seek out John H. the deputy of the district I was about to travel. I had to inform him that I was to walk the road to the new pit and that it would take me about an hour. I was required to report, in and out, whenever I travelled into 'out of way' places. I began my dust sampling a little slower than normal. My mind was not on my job. I was conjuring up all sorts of terrors. I could not get rid of the tales I had just heard. It was cold and quite windy in the roadway to the new pit. I was feeling very lonely. I did not want to go any further. The wind blew up a piece of scrap paper behind me, it made me start. My spirit jumped out of me and probably hit the roof. I was going no further. It was easy to fake the dust samples for the whole journey it would be impossible to prove I had not completed the task. Without moving from the spot I just sat down and forged the samples from the dust around me. Half an hour later I informed John H. that I had completed my tasks and was out of his area. I went out of the pit to Ben's office to prepare my samples for sending to the area laboratories. The samples would take two weeks for us to get the results. Any samples that were below a certain standard would be highlighted and the offending area of the pit would be designated for stone dusting. That night my mind could not rest I had failed in my duty. What if there was an explosion made worse by my actions What if men were killed because of me? I could not think of a way out. I could not tell Ben W. that I had been afraid to walk down a perfectly safe roadway. This was the first time in my life that I'd had such a terrible worry on my shoulders. For two days I wrestled with my conscience trying to find a way out. Then I concocted a plan. I went to see the Safety Officer as I usually did for instructions as to any duties that he wished me to carry out. Sometimes I could suggest where I might be gainfully employed. I said that whilst dust sampling the new pit road, the area looked a little dark. Indicating a build-up of coal dust. It didn't really. I suggested that I take any spare worker from the pit bottom, there were always a couple, and stone dust the offending area. Because he had nothing more important for me to do that day, Ben agreed. I went to see John H. and asked him if he had any spare workers. I spoke of the Safety Officer's instructions. John said that he had two I could use. One of them went to the stables and booked a pony out, whilst the other lad and I began loading chariots with bags of stone dust. On the arrival of the pony, we hitched up the chariot and proceeded to the new pit roadway. We gave the whole gate a really thorough dusting. A heavy weight lifted from my shoulders, I had wriggled out of my dilemma and learnt a great lesson of life Coincidentally enough on the return of one of the samples, a few weeks later, it showed that a small area was a little over the permitted level of coal dust. It would have had to have been stone dusted anyway.

Twenty

JOHN THE STRONG

My college day release was going quite well I thought. I was struggling a little with maths. I had only a very basic education at school. Most of the class were ex. grammar school boys. In maths for instance I had never heard the word algebra, never mind calculate in it. Some of the others were used to doing quadratic equations whatever they were. When first year exams results were given I had passed, not with high marks, but with sufficient to enable me to be granted a second year of study. It was during this first year that I took a course of St. Johns First aid lectures which gave me a qualifying certificate. From that point on I carried, at all times, a satchel of First aid equipment. A series of Morphine Safes were installed at strategic points within the underground workings. These were small sturdy safes set in concrete into the rock wall. Only responsible persons who were qualified in the use of morphine were entrusted with a key. I felt very grand when I passed a course of instruction and was given a key to the safes. Morphine is given to seriously injured miners who are in great pain and it is thought there may be a delay in being treated by a doctor. Morphine cannot be given lightly to a patient and strict records must be kept of any administration. If Morphine is ever administered a large 'M' must be drawn on the forehead of the patient to ensure that a double dose, which may be lethal or habit forming, is not given. Part of my duties was to periodically check the safe contents and record same I also had to periodical check fire hydrants and extinguishers. Both these are usually situated at key points and where machinery is constantly being used. A fire could break out where machinery bearings have broken down and friction has caused the machine to overheat. Prompt action by the person on the spot can save lives. One shift I was checking the Fire extinguishers in the coaling pit bottom. There had been a hold up at the pit top. No coal was being hauled up the shaft. All the pit bottom lads had congregated in a group. Amongst the group was Johnny C. I was surprised to see him there because his usual job was as a conveyer belt attendant. Johnny had been boasting about how he had taken up weight lifting at his local club. The discussion was about how much each could lift. It was suggested that John should show us how he could lift a full tub of coal off, then back on to the rails by himself without using leverage. He completed the task with ease and made it look a non-event. John was a very strong person all had to agree There was an old tub to one side of the roadway. It was in bad state of repair and was not used. Someone further suggested that if it was completely overturned and Johnny was under it could he lift it with his back and be able to stand up? It was obvious he could and John said so. Ah! but if a lad sat on the upturned tub could he still do it? John said he would have a go. He got under the tub. Instead of one lad getting on top, all of them, me included, got on. There was no way he could lift it There were about six people on it. Even then John was almost moving it. "Come on Johnny," they urged "you can do it." John heaved and pushed. There was no way he could lift the tub. I doubt if Charles Atlas, who was the strong man of the time, could have done it. One of the lads nodded to another and one got off the tub, quietly telling all the others to remain on it.

As one lad got off then his weight would be compensated with a couple of one Hundred weight sacks of stone dust. They then put steel rings and fish plates on top. No way could Johnny free himself he was trapped. They remained ignorant to his pleas of release. He was left him under the tub until the Deputy came and made the lads release him. The whole episode did not seem to faze or bother Johnny. There again nothing ever seemed to.

Twenty One

EBOR 27s

One day the Safety Officer instructed me to escort him to the Ebor Twenty Sevens. Ebor 27s was not a face but a place on the underground plans at the extreme edge of our workings. Whilst we were walking to the 27s, it was almost three miles away, Ben explained that new Coal Board policy was such, that all pits were eventually to be coupled up. This meant that roadways would be driven toward other pit workings to connect them. It was to provide an emergency escape route. The policy was being carried out with the atom bomb in mind. They did not call it nuclear warfare then. It was thought that if disaster occurred underground and the pit bottom could not be reached then the miners would have an alternative escape route. The same could be said if an atomic bomb was dropped in the vicinity of the pithead disabling the winding gear. When we reached Ebor 27s all that was there was a short tail gate about Six feet high and about 10 yards long. The gate ended with a loose rock fall and a small opening over the rock. It would have been impossible to clamber over the rock into the opening. We were there because air was leaking through, over the small opening, from an adjacent pit into our workings. Robin Hood, Rothwell, Near Leeds was our neighbouring pit. Ben checked for gas with his safety lamp. It was indeterminable. There may have been a hint but not enough to be certain. Ben was not satisfied. He decided to surface and the next day return with a more sophisticated gas detector. The next morning we returned to 27s. Ben had brought a McGlucky gas detector. It showed that there was just under one per-cent of methane gas escaping from the Robin hood workings. Ben decided that further action was necessary. Although one percent is not dangerous in open air any build up can be potentially explosive. It was necessary to monitor the air outflow. I was instructed in the use of the gas detector and was told to remain there. An air sample was to be taken every Twenty minutes and the results entered into a book Ben had brought with him. I would be relieved at the appropriate time. Robin Hood miners were driving their heading towards our 27s gateway. I was to spend three weeks at 27s doing nothing but take samples every twenty minutes and read. After that first day I brought plenty of reading materials. The easiest and most boring job I ever had.

Twenty Two

PONY DRIVING

The pit used to work on Saturday mornings. Only certain faces produced coal. Most districts used Saturday as the time to catch up on work that had fell behind. It was purely a voluntary shift. Ben had given me permission to work Saturdays, not for him, but for any deputy that needed a willing hand. One Saturday morning I had got a job working in the coaling pit bottom. To describe the coaling bottom is:Because the shaft at Middleton, was not wide enough to haul mine cars to the surface, coal had to be pre-loaded into smaller tubs. These were the type of tubs that are described earlier on the pit bank. After the coal has been emptied from the mine cars via the tippler it runs down a short conveyor belt. At the end of the conveyer there is a loader end. The coal is fed into tubs. the tubs are pushed around on a circuit of the pit bottom eventually reaching the shaft cage. The full tubs are pushed into the cage displacing empty tubs. The empty tubs are fed around to a short downhill gradient. they are held on the gradient by means of metal lockers. Steel spikes with a protecting handle. The lockers are placed into the wheels of the tub and acts as a holding device. When a tub is filled with coal the loader operator pulls down a long handle that stops the coal flow. The coal is held temporarily in a chute. He nods to the locker man who takes out a locker and the empty tub rolls forward into the full tub. The slight gravity at the loader end, the speed and weight of the empty tub causes the full tub to be displaced. The circuit continues. This particular Saturday my job was to locker the empties and hold them on the incline until the loader end man indicated that he wanted an empty to replace the full one. To forecast the empties arrival at just the correct moment required perfect timing. At the beginning I was way off getting it exactly right. After much practice I felt I was getting better. Towards the middle of the shift I thought I was getting perfect. The empty tub reached the full tub exactly as Dick B. pulled the loader handle to stop the flow of coal entering the tub. He did not now need to indicate I knew when an empty was required. Dick B. the loader end operative, was a natural comedian. He could turn anything around and make a joke of it. It seemed that everything he did or said was funny. A pleasant guy to be in the company of. Dick, as tubs were to be changed over, stopped the flow of coal with the handle at his Left hand. His right hand controlled the tub. He was wearing huge boxing type metal studied gloves. They protected his hands from misplaced coal coming over the conveyer end. He always allowed his Right gloved hand to remain on the full tub until just before the empty one rammed into it to displace tubs. Exactly at that point he would remove his hand, place it on the incoming tub taking control of the new empty. Each time the changeover I would look to make sure he removed his hand which he always did. After a while I forgot about his gloved hand, I was skilled at my job. Just as I was beginning to think nobody could do this job better than me I released a locker. The tub began to roll. Dick was not looking at me. He had his gloved hand at the point of impact. The empty was going to ram into the full tub and Dick's hand was in between. I shouted at Dick. He took no notice. I screamed at him. I tried running forward to hold back the tubs forward momentum. But to no avail the tub was well on its way.

He seemed to be unaware of my screams and the impending crushing of his Right hand. The tubs impacted, his hand was in between them. I was almost sobbing. Dick just turned around and looked at me, grinning. He had clenched his fist within the glove and allowed only the glove to be between the tubs. Although I could not have been held at fault, even if an accident had occurred, it did not relieve my feelings. The relief knowing Dick was okay. I almost turned angry at what he had put me through, all for a joke. He was lucky I did not attack him out of sheer relief. But there again that was Dick B. On my travels to Ebor 7s I used to chat to the Deputy, Willie R. He was a likeable old rouge and seemed to take a shine for me and I certainly to him. I was enthralled to listen to his old pit tales. I could always be guaranteed a job on 7s if I asked Willie. One Friday I had asked if he could find me a job for Saturday morning. He had replied that although his face was not working that Saturday he could fit me in with something to do. It involved getting a pony from the stables and 'acquiring' some tub rails for his Right hand tail gate. His regular pony driver was off that day. To explain a pony drivers job:Every morning a tail gate pony driver would hitch his pony to a number of Tubs of pit props and bars. He would drive them from the pit bottom, via back roads, to the face of his tailgate. On reaching the face he would empty the supports, from the tubs, and throw them forward until they reached the face. When the face workers called out for the timber, he would throw them on to the conveyer. The face workers would take off as many as they required. It was in every bodies interests that tail gate rails were laid as near to the face as possible: Both from the pony driver, he had less distance to throw forward the props. The face worker who got the roof supports as required and on time. The Management, greater safety for its workers. The face advanced about Six feet (2m) a day. Therefore the pony driver always had this distance every day added to the distance he had to throw the supports forward. If the driver did not 'acquire' sufficient rails, his work became harder every day. Often the pony driver had so many problems reaching the district and he would be late supplying 'his' face. In extreme circumstances the face would be 'filled off' (all the coal shovelled to the belt) and the whole eighty or so Yards of roof exposed without any supports. Until all supports were properly set, face workers were in mortal danger. In later years I would be in this position and this terrifying uncertain time has to be endured. Management never seemed to see the bottleneck or potential danger, alleviated easily by the extra orders of tub rails. There were few, if any, new tub rails sent down the pit. Pony drivers had to forage in old workings for the much sought after old rails. Often they would put themselves in potential danger in order to fulfil their needs. Willie R. had told me to bring a chariot of Six Foot rings to his district and that he would meet me in the tailgate later that morning. I went to the stables and the stableman said I had to take out a pony called Royal. On entering Royal's stall I wondered if I could harness him correctly. I had been shown at the training pit but could I remember? We had been told of the importance of the harness exactly fitting the horse. In some sort of fashion I managed to put the harness on the pony. If I had done the job correctly I knew not.

I was leading Royal through the air doors, down the rather steep drift road from the stables. Royal suddenly lay down to the floor and began to roll around in the dust. All his four legs were thrashing about in the air. He was rolling over and over. I didn't know what to do. I was a little panicky. Had I done something wrong? Given him too much, too little water? Harnessed him incorrectly? I reminded myself of the strict rules governing horses underground. Had I unwittingly contravened one? Suddenly almost as fast as Royal had gone to the ground he got up. He carried on following me as if nothing had happened. I later found out that all the horses on reaching that point in the drift enjoy a roll in the dust prior to a shift. I hooked the chain from the pony's halter to a chariot of rings and set out from the pit bottom. I had seen other pony drivers stop and 'locker' up at the top of the roadway called the Traveller Drift. The traveller drift is a long steep roadway. 'Lockering up' is to place, specially made, lengths of hard wood between the struts in the tub wheels. This action stops the wheels from turning. A locker acts as a brake. Because the metal wheels are on metal rails there is little friction. The tubs can still move forward under pressure or gravity. Having secured my locker at the top of the drift I urged Royal forward, which he did. Although riding on the chariots or tubs was forbidden I, like all the other drivers I had seen, jumped on-board. We started going forward slowly at first but the chariot slowly advanced faster. Royal instead of pulling the load now was just going fast enough to keep just ahead of the chariot that was now moving under gravity. The lockers were only just stopping the chariot from being completely out of control. Faster and faster the chariot sped until Royal was in a Four legged gallop. The roof and sides of the roadway flashed by only inches away. I dreaded to think of anyone walking up the traveller at this point because the roadway was only wide enough for a single tub or chariot. Anyone would surely be mown down. Although small refuge holes are cut into the rock side they were few and far between, at least they were on the Traveller. It was a nightmare ride, I wanted to be off but there was no chance of getting off at that speed. Had I made a mistake and not put enough lockers in the wheels? Suddenly the roadway widened out and the end of the traveller came into view. The roadway was also levelling out. Royal, having done this Hundreds of times before slowed his gallop until the chariot was once more under his control. He began walking and pulling the load. I ordered "Whoa". Royal obediently stopped and I withdrew the locker brakes. It would be all level or slightly uphill from now on. I was to find out later that all of the pony drivers experienced the headlong flight down the Traveller every single working day. How there were few accidents must be luck or the good judgement of the pony drivers. Other times I did the ride, it was very exhilarating. I unloaded the rings in the tailgate as instructed by Willie R. and waited for the deputy as arranged. When he arrived he told me to re hitch the pony to the now empty chariot and we both rode back out down the tail gate. He directed me to a crossing gate and down to the Left tailgate of Threes. Ebor 3s had been worked out of coal many years previously. Although I knew where this tailgate was I had never been down it as there was a single wooden bar across the entrance denoting a no go area. As it was now no longer a ventilated section no air circulated in it. We both dismounted the empty chariot and left it and Royal at the entrance. There were no rails leading into the gate. Some other pony driver had been before. When I remarked on this fact to Willie, his reply was that there was further in.

I did not like to enter a forbidden area but could not appear chicken in front of Willie. We began our trek up the gate. The roadway when it had been in use would have been Six Foot wide and high. Because it had been abandoned many years ago, the roof and side weight had seriously misshapen the metal rings that supported the roadway. In places we had to crawl forward on our hands and knees. We advanced about fifty yards inroads before we saw the rails. They had been originally laid when the road was in use. We walked a further Fifty yards before we set about dismantling the rails. Throwing them back towards the start of the gate where Royal was waiting. Royal would wait there in the pitch darkness, as commanded, until he became hungry or his inner time clock told him it was shift end. He would the about turn and slowly walk back the way he had come still in complete darkness. Eventually he would reach back to the pit bottom and the stables. Horses had done that before and would do so again. How they found there way in complete darkness is any one's guess. It was slow laborious work getting the rails up. The rails were laid on to wooden bars that are set on the floor. 'Dog nails' are hammered home to secure them. We had brought a large claw hammer with us for the nail extraction. That part was easy but because of there being no air circulation the heat in the gate was overpowering. We had to have a breather every Ten minutes because of the heat. At one such point Willie lit his safety lamp and held it up to the roof. The bluish tinged Yellow flame showed the presence of Methane. Willie reckoned that there was at least Seven per-cent gas in the atmosphere. Seven Per-cent is an explosive mixture. He warned me not to say anything to anyone about our escapade. I was more than a little glad to vacate the area. We got the chariot loaded and made our return to the Sevens tailgate. I was instructed to lay them up to as near the face as possible and to hide any surplus rails at a spot he designated. Rails were valuable. It was a common practice among pony drivers to go into other gates to steal rails, even to the extent of ripping up already laid rails. The worse sin was to steal another's rails at the beginning of the gate rather the other face end. Although this did not happen on a regular basis, it did occasionally. There was no honour among drivers where rails are concerned. Some ponies can be very clever and experienced. If a tub was travelling too fast for a horses gallop, a clever horse will use its hind quarters to help slow down the tubs. It has been known for horses to kick their hind legs and uncouple the chain leading to the tubs. They then swerve to one side and allow the runaway tubs to carry on without them. In one tail gate the roofing weight had lowered the roof so that for a few paces it was lower than the pony's hindquarters. A certain clever horse would walk or stumble forward on its front knees, the few steps to get under the low part. There seemed to be no end to the talents of an intelligent horse. I've actually seen them ride on conveyer belts with the driver. They can also can be incredibly dumb. Although I did not witness it, I have got the story first hand:Archie B. used to drive Mousey. Archie was, the fore mentioned, Dick's younger brother and featured in the earlier trouser incident. His pony, Mousey, was a young inexperienced headstrong horse. Whenever it could it would get the bit between its teeth and begin a headlong gallop. Whenever a pony gets the bit between its Teeth no amount of pulling on the reins will make it come to a stop. By pulling on the reins you are in fact pulling the pony's head. Its head is stronger than your arms. Archie's horse Mousey was not a very clever horse, all it knew was how to run fast. Archie had lockered the tubs before progressing down the traveller. Mousey broke into a Four legged gallop. Half way down a wooden locker broke. Archie who was riding on a chariot at the back tried to place another locker in

the wheels. He was unsuccessful they were going too fast and besides the side walls gave no room. Mousey who must have realised that the tubs were running away. Instead of checking the tubs with its hind quarters, like most intelligent horses did, Mousey ran even faster to try and outpace the runaways. Archie could see lights near the end of the traveller flashing side to side, a warning. He realised that there was a problem there. He could not stop his horse. To save himself, his only action was to jump off, which he did. The obstruction was derailed tubs. Mousey ran headlong into the back of them. Other horses would have moved to one side of the tubs, there was plenty of room. When Archie and other pony drivers reached the scene, the horse seemed unable to stand. Management was informed of the horses accident. The Area Vet was called. Archie describes running the past events over in his head and how he could have avoided it. He blamed himself for the horses injuries but no blame could rightly be brought to his door. He could not have foreseen the locker breakage nor that it would happened at a very narrow part of the roadway, making it impossible to insert another locker in the wheel. He told me that Mousey was attempting to stand up and with his, and others help, the horse managed it. Archie was then left alone with his pony. The horse kept hobbling as though it was about to fall but miraculously it still remained upright. The pony was obviously in extreme pain. Archie examined the horses exterior for signs of injury and of the obvious small cuts none seemed to be life threatening. But most of the horses weight was on three legs, the right rear leg hanging a little. It obviously hurt Mousey to place weight on that leg. All the time Archie was talking to his horse, trying to comfort it. He took out his snap tin and offered it a sandwich. Mousey showed no inclination to eat, normally it would have wolfed it down. He was aware that one does not give an injured person anything to eat in case that person has to be operated on. This of course would not apply to a pony. He tried to give it a drink of water, more to make himself appear to be doing something constructive. It drank a little. After about half an hour one of the stablemen, Joe, came down the road with a pony pulling a flat-bed chariot with no sides. Archie was glad of the company. The stableman gave the pony a cursory examination and pronounced there was no hope for it. "It should be put down now," he said, "but I do not have the authority to dispose of the animal." Just then Mousey began to urinated, Archie remembers the urine was discoloured brown. The stableman said loudly, "that denotes internal bleeding. That horse does not have a cat in hells chance." Archie remembers thinking how he wished that Joe would not talk like that in the presence of his horse. It just didn't seem right somehow. The vet arrived Two hours later. He examined the horse and pronounced that it had broken a fetlock and had seriously damaged another. It was in great pain and could not be saved From his equipment he extracted an air pressurised humane killer. The gun was placed to Mousey's Forehead and the trigger pulled. A bolt killed the horse instantly. The flat-bed chariot had earlier been placed adjacent to the standing horse and most of the weighty carcass dropped on to it. The Vet then produced a small shafted hammer and a set. Placing the set on the dead horses spine he hit it, with the hammer, with force. The horses back was broken. The head and legs were then folded and roped up. The horse, the stableman. had come down to the scene with, was hitched up and Archie was instructed to drive the chariot, containing the dead horse, to the pit bottom and out of the pit. Archie distinctly remembers sitting on the dead, still warm, horse whilst talking to the animal. He recalls saying to the carcass, what a fool you, (the horse) had been. I tried my

best to hold you back. I could not help the accident. How sorry he was. All of this and much more. He remembers tears streaming down his face and when no one was around, openly crying. A very upsetting incident to all concerned. A pony becomes part of a young driver, it is an extension to himself. The same pony driver, Archie, remembers travelling towards the pit bottom a little too early to finish. The Manager met him on the road that led to the stables. He flashed his light for him to stop. Archie did so. When asked where he was going Archie replied, "To the stables. I've finished.". The manager replied "Get thee-self back down't road lad, there's Fifty years work of coal still down there. Go get some of it out." Archie had to comply, turned his horse round and returned to his gate. Another Pony story which I can confirm: A horse was needed in the pit bottom, a place of work where height was at a maximum. The work required a horse of great strength. Any of the other ponies, although very strong, would have found the work too demanding. A large horse was especially ordered for the job. Sam was a large Dapple Grey horse. By no stretch of the imagination could he be called a pony. He was much larger and seemed to have a more proud bearing. Sam was put to work in the pit bottom. It became not unusually to see Sam pulling Twenty Tubs all in a line. Although this was not done all the time occasionally a strong horse, like Sam, was needed. Sam always rose to any task. Sam worked for years in the present job. He was such a fine looking and friendly horse he was everyone's favourite. Lots of workers brought it carrots and other titbits. One shift whilst Sam was working, a number of tubs 'ran away'. The runaways trapped Sam and it fell to the ground obviously badly injured. The area vet was called. He arrived on the scene and diagnosed a seriously injured back. The horse could not be saved. It would have to humanely killed. The stableman at that time was Alfred D. He loved his job, no, he loved his horses. He asked to be allowed to take Sam back to the stables and try to save him. The Vet told Alphie that he was on a loser but, reluctantly, gave his permission for Alphie to try. The vet prescribed a course of painkillers for the horse. Alf, with others, manhandled Sam on to an open sided buggy and it was taken to the stables. In the stables Alphie D. concocted a series of slings and harnesses to haul the horse to its feet. A further set of cradles were made. These, using old conveyer belting and ropes, were strung from the roof. The horse legs could just touch the floor but most its weight was supported by the cradle. Many months elapsed before any sign of the horses recovery could be seen. Slowly but surely Sam was bought back to fitness. By the time the horse was ready for harness again he had to be re- 'broken in' (Trained) again. Sam had forgotten how to act on orders or pull tubs. With love and perseverance, within the year saw Sam pulling the same weight as before. Without question Alphie D. saved Sam's life. An end tale to this last story was that when Middleton Pit became more modernised in 1968 Sam was made redundant. He was brought to the surface and sent to a Mine Pony's Welfare Home to live out its days. Someone at the home decided that Sam was such a fine looking horse he could be 'shown' at galas and fairs. The horse went on to win many prizes and rosettes. Sam's story was featured in the mining official newspaper, The Mining Gazette.

One week I asked Willie R. if owt was doing this coming Saturday Morning? The deputy said he could find something for me to do. Descending the pit and handing my cheque to Willie he said that his Right Hand Gate pony driver rarely worked Saturdays and I was to take his place. I went to the stables and as before my horse was Royal. Royal was one of the pits few 'Paint' ponies, in that he had more than one hair or coat colour. Most of the other horses were just a plain dark brown, one was a Mousy Grey. Royal was a rich Chestnut Brown with a large White blaze to his forehead. He was, like most of the other ponies, of Russian extraction. His forebears were originally bred on the Steppes of Russia. They were distinctive in being small but having great strength and a very hard mouth. Because of this hardness, other ponies, not Royal, could sometimes be uncontrollable. However hard one pulled on the reign, even if the bit was correctly positioned in the mouth, it would be almost impossible to stop them if they did not want to be stopped. Other ponies, when they were in the vicinity of each other would attempt to kick or bite the other horse. Royal was different, I had learned from others that he was in a league of his own and almost docile in temperament. He didn't need a rein and would stop or go on command. He was considered by many to 'have a brain' and probably knew the job better than any driver. He was a much valued horse down Middleton Broom Colliery. Progressing through all the rigmarole as on the previous occasion, harnessing him up and not being suprised at his roll in the dust, I hooked his halter to two tubs of wood props and a chariot of rings and urged the horse forward. We set out on our journey to Ebor 7s. Royal stopped without command at the top of the Traveller Drift to allow me to locker up the front tub wheels. Going fast down the drift was not as frightening as before but whilst doing it I was still a little apprehensive. We reached the face uneventfully. The faceworkers were screaming for the pit props to be thrown on to the face conveyor, it transpired that I was a little late, in comparison with the regular driver. When my task was completed the corner man said that the deputy had left instructions that I return to the pit bottom and collect some 9 foot rings to be delivered to the Main Loader Gate. Leading my horse round to the front of the now empty train and hitching it to the front chariot, putting a single locker into a back tub wheel to check the train a little, we set out to travel down the slight decline, which is about 600 yards long. Suddenly and without warning my electric light went out. Royal was ordered to "whoa" As previously described the cap lamp is the Lead Acid Battery type. I had never experienced a lamp failure before, the lamps are considered very efficient and hard wearing. First beginning to fiddle with the lamp and then the battery I found there was very little to be done. There was I sat on a chariot, hitched to a pony, in the middle of a roadway, in complete darkness. As before said, few people have experienced the total absence of light that occurs down a pit. What do I do? My thoughts went back to the mine training instructor who advised that providing a person in darkness is not in a dangerous position then he should stay where he is and wait for a search party to come to his aid. Or, providing one knows the layout of the mine, follow the rails by touch until coming to a lighted area. I was in no danger and in a few hours miners would be coming down the gate after filling off the coal. Or there was another way I could consider, maybe my Pony, will walk on without light. I decided to give it a try. "Get up Royal." I commanded and the horse began pulling the load exactly at the same pace, it was as though the horse could see. It felt very strange moving in total darkness. I began thinking my journey ahead. At the bottom of this gate the road yards there is a series of two Air doors. Air doors, as described earlier, allow air to circulate efficiently round the mine. There are always at least two in tandem. When one door is opened the other has to remain closed.

What would Royal do when he reached these doors? Normally, if we were going in the right direction of an opening door, he would 'Trap' the door meaning he would nuzzle with head to push the doors open. We were going in the right direction but it could /not be expected that the horse would know where the air doors were when in complete darkness. He would, as likely, walk into the first door and stop. It would not hurt him, I reasoned, we were walking slowly and he was wearing a leather blinkered head cover. When Royal walked into the door and stopped I could then feel my way forward to open the door and lead my horse through. I became aware of the chariots move round the rails at right angles and into a lesser current of air indicating that I had reached the bottom of the tail gate. We were now heading in the direction of the Air doors and my expecting that my horse would suddenly halt as he bumped into the first door. I felt the movement of the horse check and slow somewhat and then heard the noise of Royal 'trapping' the door. He had not walked into it as had assumed, he was opening it. He could not possibly have seen the door but was acting as if he had all the light needed. The horse must have sensed our approach of the ventilation door. Once we had passed through the first door I heard it self-close and felt royal approach and trap the second one before passing through. We carried on at the same steady pace and after turning into the Main 7s Loader Gate in the far distance I could see the light from the Conveyer Loader End Station. We reached it successfully and I relayed my drama to the attendant. The old collier, whose nickname was 'Yungun' looked to be well over Sixty but was probably more in the region of mid-forties did not seem suprised by my experience but merely said. "Horses have a sixth sense with which we cannot even begin to understand. Ive known horses refuse to go into some districts where miners have been killed in accidents. I remember one gallower I drove as a lad, and I'm going back Thirty years or more, refuse to pass slowly at a certain point. Always broke into a gallop well before it reached it. It would run past this here point and once past would resume to act as normal. I could never fathom it out. When I told the stable man about its antics he told me that a horse and driver had been killed at that point. The deaths had happened many years before my horse had ever been born but somehow my Gallower knew. Stranger things have happened and are still happening down a pit. Don't treat your horse like a fool, it isn't. It knows things you don't." I thought it all a bit far-fetched and exaggerated but my horse had just acted as though it could see in perfect darkness there was no getting away from that. "Changing the subject, Yungun" I said, "Ive often wondered why do they call you Yungun? that's not your Christian name is it?" Yungun laughed out loud, "No my names William, well Bill for short. When I were a lad I used to drink in the Madhouse, yer no the Market Tavern in Leeds. One time I was in there I'd had a few to drink and began taking the piss out of this old codger. He'll ave been about Sixty if he was a day. He was saying nowt to me back and I took that to mean he was scared shitless of me. The beer was talking and I was ribbing him unmercifully. The more I took the piss the more it must have been winding him up. I ended up calling him a silly old XXXX who wasn't fit to lace my boots. That was the last straw, he jumped up and gave me the hiding of my life. Me a young Twenty year old and him Sixty Plus, it should have been a no contest, well he laced my hide and really showed me in front of the regulars. 'That'll teach you to call me old,' the pensioner said, 'ave some respect to your elders.' It taught me a great lesson of life and from that day Ive called everybody 'Young un' so as not to cause offence. Young one see?" I had a bit of a laugh at his tale. Again I changed the subject. "I'm thinking of continuing my journey to the pit bottom without light. What do you think? can Royal handle it?"

"Oh your Gallower can handle it all right, that's not the problem but you should stay here until someone is going your way. In about an hour or so, the Shot firers will be going outbye, they will see to you." I had One of Two choices, remain at the station for an hour, or continue my journey. For safety reasons I should choose the former but if I did that it would make me late getting my materials back and then late again getting out of the pit at the end of the shift. I was in a quandary but because I felt a little triumphant, a little exhilarated and also a little afraid during my last ride, I decided to carry on. "No," I said to Young Un, I had found a new respect for the ponies sixth sense after my experience and Young Un's tales, "Ive decided to carry on." The idea somewhat exited me a little. Young un tried to dissuade me but I was having none of it, I knew what I was doing. Nothing untoward happened on my subsequent journey, reaching the pit bottom quite safely. I reported to John H. the area Deputy that I needed a fresh lamp sending down from the surface lamp room. I boasted to him of my experience in the darkness. After listening to me he gave me the bollocking of my life. I had risked the wellbeing of my pony. What would have happened if another horse and load had been coming in the opposite direction? I would not have been able to signal my presence, my horse and the oncoming one could have been killed. I had to admit to myself that I had not thought of that eventuality. According to John there were more Mining Regulations governing the welfare of a pit pony than there were for humans." Think of all the forms that I would have had to fill in." He moaned. I realised now, at the first Loader End Station I had not thought my problem through. I should have considered all the eventualities and stayed safe where I was. My actions had been headstrongly foolish and completely wrong. Wait a minute I studied, as John was berating me, at no time has he mentioned that I might have been injured as well. Does he think that the horse is more important than me? He had left me with the distinct impression that it was. A fresh lamp was dispatched from the surface lamp room and my shift carried on as normal. Another lesson of life learned, think twice before you act once.

Twenty Three

THORPE HOTEL

No written account of my life could be complete without a chapter about the Thorpe Hotel. From being Sixteen and a half I have looked old enough to pass as Eighteen and gain entrance into The Thorpe Hotel for a drink. Although very rarely did I go in midweek, most Friday and Saturday nights would be spent there either accompanied by pit mates or with Brenda. The Thorpe was often nicknamed the 'Rattrap or just the 'Trap' because it was said that a rat had been caught in the ladies toilets. The true story really was that the local 'Wag', Eric M. had been ratting down at the local tip with his Jack Russell dog. For a laugh he had fetched a half dead rat back with him and placed it on the paper holder in the ladies toilet cubicle. Alice C. an older customer, went into the cubicle for a pee. She sat down and as she raised her eyes they became level with the rat. She fled the toilet with her knickers round her knees screaming that a rat had just tried to attack her. The rat may have moved, because it was still alive, but it was in no state to attack her. A good laugh was had by all. The Rattrap was a large modern two story building with the upper floor being the licences living premises. The landlords name was Charlie P. in his youth he had been a professional Rugby League player for Bradford Northern and been capped for England. He was considered by one and all to be a very 'hard 'man. The ground floor consisted of a large 'Tap' room, a singing or best room and a small tap and bottle out sales room. The inside of the Tap room was quite tastefully furnished by the standards of the day. There was real lino on the floor that now covered the original painted concrete. Just recently the back rest seats had been reupholstered in foam padding and a nylon covering material, replacing the horse hair stuffed furniture. There was proper curtaining up at the windows, instead of the late blackout curtains. All was quite up to date although the nicotine stained walls and ceiling could do with a lick of paint or failing that some soapy water and plenty of elbow grease. In the centre were 3 Domino tables, each table had a strict unspoken pecking order of players who used them. The top table was reserved for the elite players. Us young uns we were never invited to play on that table we had to make do with the bottom one, or sometimes to make numbers up, the middle one. One evening, early on in my Thorpe career, someone suggested getting a 'brag' school going. Up to that point I had never played Three Card Brag for money I had played, at home, for matchsticks but never seriously. I was invited to play. Soon there was six seated players and a few onlookers. For the benefit of readers who are not familiar with the game of Three Card Brag, each player puts the stake or ante money, in this case sixpence, into the centre of the table and is then dealt with three cards face down. In turn, each player is allowed to look at them or remain blind. A player who has seen his cards must double the stake of a preceding player who has not seen his cards and is deemed to be bragging blind. I was not very good at three card brag because I always tended to 'see' my cards early on and so at that stage would have to double the stake. If my cards were not too high then I would 'fold' rather than pay double. Sometimes I would have 'stacked' the winning hand because of my uncertainty. If on 'seeing' my cards and it was a reasonable hand I would happily pay double but then all the other players would 'know' I had a good hand. Unless I was to seriously gamble and brag blind I could not really expect to win either way.

The game had been going about half an hour when someone suggested a 'back break' meaning suspend the game whilst some players went to the 'back'. (toilets) Not wanting to go, I remained in my seat. At this point the earlier Eric M., who was also a cousin of mine and well respected in the Middleton area, said to me and around the table in general. "Jack you know that's a mugs game to play?" "Yeah so they tell me Eric, but it passes the time." I replied. "Anyway I don't play for big stakes, I'm not that much of a gambler." As I was answering him he had picked up the pack of cards and carried talking on about the evils of gambling. He placed the deck in the middle of the table and said to me. "Cut them." I did so and he began to deal out four hands of three cards face down. "Would you brag on that hand?" he enquired of me. Without showing them to anyone else I looked at my cards. I had an Ace, King, Queen all of the same suit. A running flush. A very high hand indeed. I nodded in affirmation. "Would you back that hand?" he said pushing one of the hands towards another man. "I most certainly would" was the response. The third hand received much the same reply from another man. "How much would you each bet on your respective hands." He announced to us all. I said. "Every penny I have and then I would start borrowing." and turned my hand over. The second and third players said something similar as they turned over their hands. One producing a One Two Three and the other a prial of Fives. Very good hands in anybodys eyes. "Then you would all go home broke because I have the winning hand." and with that, for the first time even for him, he turned his cards over to reveal Three Three's the highest hand possible. What he had just done seemed impossible at the time. All onlookers were amazed I now began to realise how Eric had won his esteem within the pub. One time Ernie G. had been rabbiting with his ferrets. He usually brought his catch into the bar and sell the rabbits for upwards of half a crown and if he had been very successful give one or two to old age pensioners for free. Freshly caught rabbit was to most peoples taste and he had no trouble selling his catch, boozing most of the evening on the proceeds. His two ferrets were tied up in a cotton bag on the floor. Eric M. had an idea. Winking to Ernie he picked up the bag and undid the string at the neck and stood up. He called out to everyone in the bar. "Can I have your attention please? I am now going to draw out the names for the coming Christmas domino handicap. I need a lady to pull out the first name. Mary, will you do me the honours?" and with that he offered the opened neck of the bag. She put her hand into the bag expecting to feel pieces of paper but as soon as she felt the warm furry wriggling animals she let out a howl of shock. She pulled her hand out very quickly but not fast enough to escape the teeth of one of the ferrets. As her hand came out so did a ferret still with its teeth embedded in the fleshy part of her fingers. It was so funny everybody in the pub fell about laughing, everybody that is except Mary B. Eric hadn't planned, or wanted the ferret to bite Mary, all he wanted was to give her a shock and everyone else a laugh. Eric being an old ferret man soon dislodged the ferret by gripping with his thumb and forefinger at either side of the animals mouth and squeezing. The ferret released its grip. Eric apologised to Mary B. by buying her a double rum which he knew she was partial to, so from her point of view it was almost worth it. On Saturday nights after the first hour or so in the tap room I would go into the Singing room which was quite large and nearly always packed. At the far end of the room there was a small raised stage with a piano and drums duo playing mostly the old time songs.

Lily Mac, Eric's older sister usually got up to sing. She was as beautiful as her voice and when made up was the spitting image of Elizabeth Taylor. Lily's favourite first song usually was: "Heart of my heart I love that melody Heart of my heart brings back a memory When we were kids on the corner of the street We were rough and ready guys But oh how we could harmonise." All the pub patrons would join in with her rendition of the song. Most could relate to a happy youth. When Lily finished all would applaud for an encore. She would not be let down until she had sung at least two more. Other singers got up and sang current or one of the older songs. How Walter. the piano player, kept in exact time with the singers rather than the strict tempo of the music I don't know but he always did. Having said that, Walter never did have any music shown, could he read music? I doubted it we all assumed he played by ear. Walters drummer accompanist was Plonker Bill. He seemed to drum out the same beat whatever the song, only going faster or slower as the case may be. I had always thought that he was nicknamed 'Plonker' because of his playing style, plonking along regardless. I soon revised this idea when I saw him stood up against the urinals one night I gave him a double take, he was hung like a babies arm that had an apple in its hand, a very large plonker had plonker Bill. My mind goes back to one episode. I knew I had a good voice because I sounded good in the bath. I wanted the applause and adoration Lily Mac received from the customers of the Thorpe. My problem had been that I could hardly remember any songs words throughout. I decided to learn exactly by heart the top song of the 1956 'Rip it up' by Little Richard. All that week I practised in the bath and when I was alone down the pit. I got the song off word perfect. Saturday night came, I was to show them all how well I could sing. I rather fancied myself as a pop star with all them dolly bird swooning all over me. Getting up on the stage I told Walter that I wanted to sing 'Rip it up'. He replied he was not too sure of that one but to carry on he would follow me. I began to sing:"Well it's Saturday night and I just got paid Fool about money don't try to save My heart says go go, go all the time cos it's Saturday night and I feel fine I'm going to rock it up.. gonna rip it up.. gonna break it up.. gonna shake it up.. gonna rock it up.. at the ball tonight." I even managed a wiggle or two just like I'd seen Little Richard do on film at the Tivoli Picture House. Normally in the Rattrap everybody gets at least an encouragement clap, most get an encore shout. Sometimes the applause may only be a polite one but applause they always got. I finished my song and... Nothing. No clapping, no one was even looking at me. Everybody seemed to be talking amongst themselves. Had the microphone been on? Had I suddenly

become invisible? I had even rehearsed another one being certain they would clamour for more. The hadn't nor didn't. I got off the stage puzzled and re-joined my mates. None of them commented one way or the other and I could hardly ask for their praise. I decided on another tack and went over to the table my mother and father were sitting at. My Ma always gave me encouragement whatever I did. I sat down beside her, expecting her to bring up the subject of my singing. She did not; she was busy talking to her sister. "How did you like my singing mam?" I interrupted. "Okay." was the only one word reply. She carried on talking to my aunt. One word 'Okay' that's all my singing was worth. Was my ego squashed or was my ego flattened. I promised myself there and then that was the end of my singing career and would never sing in public again. It was their loss not mine. That same evening by half past Eleven most of the customers had left and as I got up to go I remarked to one of my mates that the night had been incident free, with no fights or disruptions. I had hardly got the words out of my mouth when in the far corner of the room two fellars began fighting egged on by their women folk. From behind the bar came Charlie P., the landlord. He rushed up to the two fighters and without no more ado grabbed each by their coat collars at the scruff of their necks and crashed their heads together. He released the two men as they bounced apart and they fell to the floor poleaxed. It had all been done so quickly and efficiently that the incident was nipped in the bud. I had often seen scenes in cowboy films where the lawman does a somewhat similar act but this was real life. Most evenings I went home the worse for wear because of drink often I would go to bed but as soon as my head hit the pillow I would realise my mistake. I should have stayed up a little longer and had some supper. The bed would start spinning and a deep seated ache would grip my groin. Why does the bed always start rotating when Ive had some beer, I would moan to myself. I would only be able to stop the spinning by opening my eyes. But I don't want to open my eyes, I want to go to sleep. Eventually I would go to the toilet to be sick, it usually helped. Adjacent to the Thorpe Hotel was piece of spare scrubland. In the centre, hidden from the road among bushes a space had been cleared. Because of regular use there was a large circle where no grass had been allowed to grow, a minor dust bowl. It was the venue for the pitch and toss school. Every Sunday afternoon around 2-15 when drinking hours were up many punters would congregate for an illegal game of chance. Before the start of the game a lookout would be posted near the main road. His job was to warn players of any oncoming Police Patrol. Every few months the Police would arrive on scene but because of the lookout the players would already have legged it across the open fields of East Ardsley. Although on few occasions punters had been caught and fined imposed at the Wakefield Magistrates Court. On leaving the game most players would tip the lookout at least the price of a pint and winners, dependant on how much they had won, appreciably more. A dollar (5 shillings) or half a dollar was not unusual. A game of pitch and toss consisted of any number of players, the more the merrier. They would congregate in a circle. A punter would step into the middle to declare himself the pitcher. He would balance two coins, usually pennies, on his index finger or a flat piece of wood. He may announce. "I'll head em for a dollar." or some such amount. The amount offered would be the maximum he would stake on any single bet. The other punters round the circle would decide if he could produce his forecast or not and bet accordingly. The pitcher would accept as many single bets against him as he could afford. Any person round the circle was free to engage in any bet, for any amount, from anyone, as they deemed fit.

When all bets were taken, the pitcher would toss the two coins high into the air and allow them to fall to the ground. If the coins turned up two heads or two tails all bets would be settled. If the coins came up a head and a tail then it was a 'no bet' The pitcher would toss again until a result was obtained. Small fortunes, well a lot of money for a working man, could be made or lost in a Sunday Dinner time session of 'Tossing' Certain pitchers would practice for hours a home trying to perfect a method where they could throw coins to order. They were trying for an impossibility. To correctly toss the coins they had to be thrown above head height and spun. One time I was watching I saw a short man stooping low to the ground when about to toss the coins. Although strictly speaking the coins would travel above his head, they would have only a short fall to the ground. The first time he was about to toss the coins another punter came up behind him and kicked him up the backside. As he floundered in the dust the ribald comment was. "Get thee stood up and toss em properly or get out of middle." He did toss correctly for ever after that. One time I arrived home for Sunday lunch at about 2-30 and my mother was preparing dinner, the smell emanating from the beef roast was, as always, mouth-watering. The meal was set for 3-0 clock when my dad always arrived home on time. Three O clock came and went, no father. "When did you last see your father?" My mother asked. The question reminded me of something, I couldn't remember what. "He was still in the Rattrap when I left." I answered. " He was going to the tossing school with my Uncle Fred." "But he always comes home on time even when he goes there." was my mothers response. "Anyhow we are waiting no longer come and get your dinner." We all sat down and ate in silence, dads dinner was put on a plate and confined to a low lit oven. After dinner I went to watch TV in the sitting room. There was a repeat of a new astronomy series called the sky at night with Patrick Moore. As was usual I fell asleep in the chair. I was awoken my mother saying to my father "What time do you call this? Your dinners been in the oven for nearly Two Hours. It will be burned to a cinder." I got up and went into the kitchen for a nosy. My father was covered in mud and grass stains. His suit jacket and a knee of his trousers were torn. His hands and face was grubby. He began to explain his absence and appearance. "At the Pitch and Toss school the lookout shouted that the Police were on their way. We all scooped up our stake moneys and scarpered down the track that leads to the Little Wood. The coppers, who normally give up once we head down there kept chasing us all the way. As I was scrambling over the barbed wire fence at the bottom I tripped over it and ripped my suit. We all ran along the railway embankment that leads to the road down by the Ardsley station. Who was waiting there for us? the Police. Unknown to us they had been shepherding us into the only exit where they were waiting. Twelve of us were bungled into a Black Maria and taken to Wakefield Police Station where we were charged with illegal betting. I'm up in the Magistrates court tomorrow morning. And I had been winning as well, I was in front almost Eight quid at the time." It might not have seemed funny to my Ma and Da but I had to go up to my bedroom before I dare laugh out loud. His Eight Quid winnings would go towards his fine and a new suit. Gadge, the window cleaner, and his brother Tommy were two other characters of the Rattrap. Their's was a most unusual brotherly relationship. One minute they would be as thick as thieves and inseparable, the next sworn bitter enemies. They played tricks on each other, often unmercifully. Sometimes the events went beyond the pale but whatever happened one day bore no resemblance to the day after, then all would be forgotten and forgiven. For an example, one Friday Gadge had completed his weeks round of window cleaning and in the evening was doing his monetary collections. When he reached one long road where he 'did' most of the houses, the first housewife said "Ive just paid your Tommy only Ten minutes ago." The next house he received much the same response. "Ive paid your Tommy."

Tommy being skint at the time and knowing Gadges window cleaning round had decided to help himself to some beer money. When Gadge caught up to his brother later that night in the Trap all hell broke loose and it looked as if murder was to be committed but resignedly Gadge had to calm down as there was no way he would get his money back, by now it had been splashed down the pubs urinal walls. The next night all was as before and the incident was never mentioned again maliciously, other than to have a good laugh. Gadge was single, he boasted of the fact. "I'm going to be a bachelor like my dad." he would often announce. Although being single was not to say he didn't have an eye for the ladies. He often took out single, and sometimes not so single, ladies. When he was hard up and he did not have anyone better, he would fall back on Ginny. (Ginny is not the ladies true name) Ginny was a married women, somewhat older than Gadge, who's husband had left her some years previously. One Sunday evening Gadge related to me an incident that had happened over that week-end, he explained:"On Saturday night after a session in the Trap, I took Ginny home. When we got to her house the sitting room light was off and only the kitchen one on. She said that it was more romantic in that light but I knew it was to hide the mucky house. She and I, without getting undressed, began to make love on the flock rug in front of the coal fire. Afterward in the early hours of this morning I made my way back home to my mams house. When having today's Sunday dinner my mam remarked that I must have been drunk the night before. Well I'd had a few but certainly was not drunk and told her so. Well my Ma wouldn't have it and said I must have been drunk because I had been falling over on my way home. I told her I remembered everything about the night before and I definitely had not fallen over. Anyway how did she know? even if I had. With that she got up from the table and fetched my new Powder Blue trousers from my upstairs bedroom. She showed me two great big mucky stains on the knees. Explain them then? she says. I couldn't tell her that the stains on the knees were not from falling down but from Ginny's mucky flock rug. I had to take the grief and say nowt." Real characters of the Thorpe were Gadge and his brother Tommy and I still frequent their company to this day. Jackie B. was another character of the Trap. He regularly brought his dog Hox, which was a beautiful White English Bull Terrier, into the tap room. The dog was a reputed fighter and would set about any other dog on Jackies command. Jackie on the other hand was also a fighter of repute. He would back himself, or his dog, with money, against all comers. He had fought many times over the years and no one could remember him ever getting beaten. His boast was that he would fight any man, if the price was right, or any dog bare handed. He further boasted that he would back his dog against any other dog, or any man who dared. Up to that time no one had ever taken on the man against dog fight, but all knew Jackie was serious in his offer. Hox was also quite famous around Middleton for its fighting prowess. Although not exceptionally large Jackie said it had a fighting brain. One time I was walking with my girlfriend, future wife Brenda, in Middleton Park when I heard a commotion near the lake. As we walked over I saw Jacks dog Hox in a fight with another, much larger dog. Hox had managed to get the other dog by the throat and it was thrashing about wildly, efficiently Hox dragged the other dog into the lake shallows and when deep enough held the dog's mouth under the water. Hox from time to time released its throat hold to snatch a breath of air but at the same time it was holding the other dog under

the water with its paws. It then quickly grabbed its original hold. The hapless dog drowned rather than being killed in a fight. The incident, Jackie often boasted, proved his dogs fighting brain. Incidentally Jackie was barred from the singing room sine die, which I took to mean forever, because he had caused so much trouble in there. And at one time Charlie, the landlord had barred Hox from the Tap room for Six months for the same reason. Quite an anomaly that, for at one stage Jackie was barred from the singing room but not the tap room whilst his dog was barred from the tap room but not the singing room.

Twenty Four

Another Fight

I had met Johnny C. on a few occasions down the pit. We tolerated each other but we could never be friends. I had been instructed by the safety officer that any accumulation of coal dust that collected regularly under the return belt of a conveyor should be cleaned up. It was the job of the conveyer attendant to ensure all areas within his boundary was clean. I was told to remind conveyer attendants this. Johnny C. was a conveyor attendant. One day when I was dust sampling in his area I remarked that there was a pile of coal dust that needed cleaning up. I thought I had been quite polite in reminding him of the task. I obviously had not been because John immediately took offence at my suggestion. He really lost his temper, Who was I to tell him what to do I was not his gaffer. If I wanted it cleaned up I could do it myself. Perhaps I said too much, perhaps he did but the outcome was that we would meet at the pit top to sort it out. The news of the coming fight spread like wildfire throughout the pit. John C. and Galey are at it again. Again I was not looking forwards to the coming fight. I knew that if I was slightly unlucky or off my guard Johnny would wipe the floor with me. A rather large crowd gathered just beyond the lamp house, outside of the pit property. The upshot of the fight was like the first one with him. Again we shook hands, we both respected each other. As we shook hands he remarked within all earshot that the result would have been different had the fight taken place within a ring under proper rules. I was certain I could beat him under any circumstances and I took him up on the offer if he could fix it up. He said he could. A week later I got a message that Johnny had indeed fixed a boxing match up at a local Sea Scouts Gymnasium of which he had been a member in the past. I took up his challenge and a fight was arranged. We met, along with a few of our mutual friends at the Sea Scouts hall in Cookridge Street, Leeds. A proper referee was in attendance. The boxing match turned out exactly like the previous two fights. I easily out pointed him. Back at the pit later the next week I'm afraid I was in a boasting mood telling all who would listen how easy John C. was. Word must have got back to him because I was told that he had said that I had not really won all the previous fights and he wanted another decider. What I realise now is that a lot of people were mixing things between us. Things were reported that had not really been said. Another fight was arranged. This time I intended that I would demand that he would confirm to all spectators that he had indeed lost and that I was the once and for all winner. The fight began. This time he managed to come close to grips with me and we ended up wrestling on the floor, each punching at the other. At one point during the floor punching he suddenly grabbed hold of my testicles to stop me from hitting him. Such dirty fighting at the time was just not done. Even as he did it, he realised the 'foul.' He immediately let go and apologised. We both stood up and he said "enough?" He held out his hand. I took it but said. "You concede that I won then?" "Yeah" was the reply.

I somehow did not feel that I had been vindicated, a single "yeah" did not seem to be enough. I wanted all around to know and recognise that I was the winner. Then I would never have to prove the point again. Just as Johnny turned his back to me he said something to one of his mates who was holding his coat. I mistakenly heard him say "Ah! but he didn't beat me fair and square" I was so mad at this statement that I, without warning, grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him round to face me. I let go a full blooded punch directly to his chin. It was delivered with all my strength. It knocked him down. "What's that for." He wailed "I did beat you fair and square." said I. "I already said you did." accepted Johnny "Why did you say to your mate about my not beating you then." I retorted. "I didn't," replied Johnny, "all I said to him was give me a hand to put my coat on" I then realised I had dropped a 'goolie'. I had acted with undue haste. He had indeed made the request about his coat. I felt the lowest of the low, hitting a defenceless man. An unpardonable sin when participating in an arranged fight. I had to apologise and helped him to his feet. I had won the fight but lost a battle.

Twenty Five

ATOMIC SHELTER?

Robin Hood pit was situated at the Half Way House on the Leeds, Wakefield Road, Rothwell. It was about Four Miles From Middleton Broom Colliery as the crow flies. Middleton was a small pit in comparison with others, about Five Hundred people work there. Robin Hood had been even smaller. It was now worked out of coal but maintenance men worked regularly to keep the pit in good order. There was still development work in progress. The surface was being landscaped. Soon after the underground connecting road from Middleton To Robin Hood was completed Ben W. took me down it. As we were walking Ben began to confide in me about the nature of the road and why it had been built: As has been discussed it was primary an escape route for both pits. But just as important pits were being connected with the Atom Bomb in mind. Underground shelters were envisaged as protection against the bombs. In those days people were beginning to realise Atomic bombs could and probably would rain on the British Isles. The cold war had started. I was finding this a little hard to believe. I could understand the importance of an escape route. If a disaster incapacitated the two shafts, miners could then be directed to the nearest other shaft. Atom Bomb shelters was another matter. We eventually reached the Robin Hood pit bottom. It was much like the one at Middleton, I remember looking up the shaft at the small circle of light at the surface. It looked much shallower than at Middleton. There was an on-setter in attendance and he offered to wind us out. Ben declined saying, "We must push on." We headed off in another direction from where we had come Occasionally Ben looked a what I assume to be a plan of the Robin Hood workings. I was wondering if he had got us lost, for I had no idea of the way back, when we turned a corner. Confronting us was a metal air door. I had never ever seen anything like it. It was not locked but it hung on great hinges with a large bolt and hasp type device at the side. Going through this door we were met by a second similar, but much larger, door. Once through this one we entered a roadway that was about Twenty feet in height (Six meters). The roof was curved at the top like normal roadways but that was where the similarity ended. The concrete walls were smooth. They were painted a light beige colour. Everywhere was spotlessly clean not a speck of dust anywhere. The floor had a kind of Red polished non slippery surface. There seemed to be no air movement but the air was fresh and clean. The roadway was well lit by fluorescent tubes set in the roof. There was no sign of any weight problems on the roadway. If I did not know better I could swear I was not down a pit at all. I was amazed and I think Ben was, because although he had prior knowledge of its existence, it was the first time for him to see it also. "What do you think of it?" he asked. "Amazing, what is it" "It's an atomic refuge." he explained, "In the event of miners becoming trapped down the pit they can survive down here. Although it is by no means finished, it will be stocked with food and all the essentials for living down here for long periods. Eventually there will be sleeping, preparation of food and office accommodation in-built." The roadway was about two hundred yards long and at the end were doors similar to the ones we had come through initially. We did not go through them but retraced our steps and headed back to Middleton.

I have often wondered about the air circulation down in that place, the steel doors were unlike any air doors I had ever seen, there seemed to be no air circulating yet the air condition was perfect. As we headed back Ben said, "Dont tell anyone what you have seen, it is not a secret but until it becomes common knowledge keep it to yourself." And I did for many years after.

Twenty Six

SPIES?

There is a tailpiece to the last chapter which happened about two years after the above incident. I did not connect it at the time nor have I any proof that the following event connects with the above but the facts are true, here goes:It was almost two years later. By this time Robin Hood pit had been landscaped and little evidence could be seen to denote that a mine shaft had been there. Only one small building was to be seen and even that was hidden by shrubs. About a Hundred yards away going towards Leeds at the Wakefield Road / Sharp Lane junction was a building. In my younger days the building used to have MOD (Ministry Of Defence) and RAF roundels attached. As of a few years ago these signs had been taken down. The signs then denoted that it was a private printing company. The, now modernised, building is still there to this day and has now become part of a public library. One evening Brenda, my future wife and I were sitting on a bench talking. The bench was at the side of one of the roads that leads to the Robin Hood and MOD site. As we were sitting chatting a very large black car drew up and stopped adjacent to us. The car held Four very conservative looking men. I am tempted to say they looked like spies but at the time that was the last thing I was thinking of. The front passenger wound his window down and said, "Do you know where the Robin Hood is?" "Is it the pit or the pub?." I asked "It could well be either one," he said, "Its near a military establishment, that's what we are really looking for" "No I don't know. There's no Military Establishment round here" I answered. "None at all?" he persisted "There used to be an RAF building down near there," I offered, "but they have moved because there are no signs on the wall now, Its a printing company now." "That still might be it, He said, "which way?" I gave him directions and thanking us they left It was months after I thought of the incident and tried to put two and two together. I may have arrived at Five but :Were they spies tracking down potential military targets? If they had been genuine MOD men why ask for directions? They would have known where the ex. RAF building was, or at least have an address. Did the ex. MOD building have, or even do they still have, an entrance to the underground Shelter? The Atomic Underground Shelter that I saw was not far from the Robin Hood pit bottom. Stranger things are likely.

Twenty Seven

A SOHO EXPERIENCE

A mate from the Thorpe, George B. and one from the pit, Eddie C. and myself decided to organise a trip to London for the Rugby League Cup Final. I went down to the Rugby Headquarters in Chapletown Road Leeds to pay for and pick up the tickets. We had decided to travel to the smoke by train in the early hours of Saturday morning, seek out cheap Bed and Breakfast accommodation for the Saturday night and travel back late Sunday afternoon. Early Saturday morning the train pulled into Kings Cross. Back to London I thought. Back to London, that's a laugh, the only other time I'd visited the capital was also to see a Wembley RL Cup Final with the school and I was only 10 or 11 at the time. I saw Warrington Beat Widnes 19 nothing, but I still felt the same excitement welling within me as I did when stepped down from the train all those years ago. As we exited the station Eddie asked. " What should we do first?" Personally I wanted to see the sights of London, Buckingham Palace, Tower Bridge, Parliament, etc. George must have been reading my thoughts because he said much the same thing as I had been thinking. We agreed on a sightseeing trip and followed a sign that directed us to the Underground. Soon we were confronted by an Sub-Way Map. I remembered seeing one many years ago and I hadn't understood it. Now it looked very straight forward, the differing coloured lines representing different lines of the system. We could see on the map where we were, Kings Cross/St Pancras, that it was on the Northern Line, although it seemed also to be on the Circle and other lines as well. I remarked this fact to my mates. "Must be like different coal seam levels down't pit." George said. I nodded agreement. "How convenient that all these stations are in an exact straight line with each other and what a compact place obviously London is." Eddie dryly commented. I had no idea if he was serious or not. "By the look of this map we could walk to most of these places," he continued, "they all seem near each other." "No I don't fancy walking," says I "Lets ride it will be an experience to travel underground. They both laughed at my unintended pun. "Me," I said, "I would like to go see the Houses of Parliament. I once went there when I came here from school. We were met by Hugh Gaitskill, the Leeds MP. Parliament is bound to be central." It was agreed Parliament first Stop. The trouble was Parliament did not seem to be on the map. "Obviously there is no underground station near the Houses of Parliament." Commented Eddie. "There's bound to be." Answered George. "Excuse me mate," he said to a passer-by, "which station is nearest to the houses of Parliament." "Westminster of course." came the immediate response. We had a lot to learn about the smoke, things are not as straight forward as they seem. Manoeuvring through the system, changing once on route, we managed to exit at Westminster successfully. There in all it's true glory was the Palace of Westminster with Big Ben standing so tall and majestic, a true symbol of Great Britain, just like on the pictures. We even waited until 8-0 clock just so we could hear Big Ben inform the world what time it was, Magical.

As I looked around I half expected to see all the famous landmarks but very few were in sight. I could, looking down the river, see Tower Bridge and what could be the Tower of London it then began to dawn on me that London is a very big city, much larger than Leeds. Throughout the morning we did most of the main sights, even discovering a small market that was Petticoat Lane. We learned that it is World famous for its Sunday market and agreed that tomorrow we would return to see it. Towards the edge of the market we found a workmans cafe and had a full English breakfast for Five Bob. It seemed expensive at the time but the plate was full. About 12-0 clock we decided to make our way to Wembley, by this time we had learned the intricacies of the sub-way system. The plan was to find a pub to have a drink before kick-off. Outside Wembley underground station crowds were beginning to gather and seemed to be heading in a general direction. At the beginning of Wembley Way we found a pub that was overflowing with both Leeds and Barrow supporters, there was no hint of animosity between the rival fans. The beer was flowing. We had been made well aware that London beer is vastly inferior in both taste and strength to our own Yorkshire brew, Melbourne Bitter, but we were prepared to sup it under protest. Funny how the taste gets better with every pint. Must be a new barrel theyve put on. Before too long all the pub was singing. Why is it that all Yorkshire men want to sing 'On Ilkley Moor baht at' and Lancashire folk 'She's a lassie from Lancashire'? Oh! and the locals 'Maybe its because I'm a Londoner. The time seemed to Fly by and soon it was time to go to the match. I was a little reluctant to leave. Entering Wembley stadium for the second time in my life and looking out around the vast ground was an experience. It was breath-taking, the atmosphere electric. I had never seen so many people in one place before. We found our designated ticket places in the West Stand, community singing had just started and we joined in. Traditionally the last song or hymn is always 'Abide with me' I am not a very religious person but that hymn caused a lump to come into my throat, it is jingoistic, reverent and seems very apt for the occasion. The Rugby match, I heard later by connoisseurs of the game was not that exiting but it certainly was for me at the time. I screamed my head off for a Leeds win, which they did 9-7. What do we do now? we were non-plussed, get on the underground we supposed but were to? Centrally we decided but where is the centre of London, again neither of us knew. Innocents in London we certainly were. George heard one of the fans shout to his mate "See you at Piccadilly Circus." "That's it," George said, "lets go to Piccadilly Circus." We all agreed. Exiting the underground at Piccadilly behold there was the famous statue of Eros, just like the 'In town tonight' films on at the Tivoli Picture House back home. Walking round we found a pub that contained a large number of Leeds RL fans. We joined them and more drinking began. During the early evening the fans convinced us that Soho was the place to be, thats where the life is, they explained. Coming out of the pub with other fans all were trying to show their presence with noise, myself included. All congregated in the centre of the famous island, someone dared another to climb Eros and a feeble attempt was made. Another, then another tried but failed. None seemed as if they were really trying. Anyhow I'll show them, I drunkenly decided, racing up I jumped and grabbed hold of the curved first part of the plinth, managing to wrestle myself above it. The rest of the climb was fairly easy and I found myself hanging onto the outstretched leg of Eros shouting "Leeds. Leeds. Leeds" Really I couldn't believe my daring it was so unlike of me, perhaps London Beer was not so weak after all.

A voice rose above the other chanting fans. "Get down now." it commanded. Looking up at me were two policemen waving me down. Obeying their orders I dismounted. Of the two Police officers One was a young Police Constable and the other an older Special, part time, officer. The Old Special then began tearing a strip from me. What he was going to do if I didn't behave myself, how he was going to lock me up and throw away the key. Exactly what he said I remember not other than his attitude. His approach and handling of me was certainly not the prescribed one, of that I was sure. I was becoming quite angry taking all this abuse for a copper, being brought up to respect the uniform, at no time in the past had I been treated by the police but with the utmost of respect. I began to say something in retaliation, at which point the young Constable took over the caution. First he took me to one side, out of earshot of the others, the Special included and began to explain how they couldn't allow persons to climb or damage public monuments. He spoke to me like a father all his words penetrated and were obviously true, I had been totally at fault. He went on that he understood we'd had a little drink to celebrate our win and there was nothing wrong with that. I sheepishly apologised because he was right, he ushered me on my way, telling me to certainly enjoy myself but always think of what I was doing. I learned a great lesson in life with that incident. treat people with respect and they will return with respect. The old Special Constable had been guilty of almost escalating a minor problem into a somewhat larger one. There were certainly enough fans to back me up. Whereas the young PC had done his job perfectly and renewed my faith in the Police. We followed the other fans into the underground, where we came out, I forget but after a short walk it was announced by someone that we were in Soho. Soho was nothing like I expected it, it was relatively quiet. There were a few neon lights advertising clubs, etc. but they were not very appealing. Slowly the number of fans disappeared into one club or another whilst some just walked off. We were left, just the three of us. What to do now? "I fancy going into one of the clubs." Suggested Eddie. "It'll cost the Earth." replied me. "That last spieler said it was nothing to go in and the strip show was just about to start." Continued Ed. "I don't know," I said hesitantly, "what do you think George?" "Might as well," George replied, "it'll be something different." That was it, we decided to walk back to the club where the lady spieler had enticed us with an imminent floor show with no admission charge. We walked past the door lady and down some steps into what can only be described as a tarted up cellar. We were confronted by a man seated behind a table. "That will be Ten Bob each Gents." He announced. "The woman on the door said there was no charge." said George complaining. "Ah! thats for members of the club, are you members by any chance? we had to admit we were not" "Sorry lads but after the initial payment of the Ten Bob you will be able to come and go as you please. You will become full members." I didn't like the idea and looked over to George who was shaking his head but by this time Eddie was already into his pocket for the cash. George and I acquiesced and stumped up our money. As we pushed through a beaded curtain about Six or Seven women rushed up to us and began clawing at us saying "He's mine" or "Leave him alone, I saw him first." and other such phrases. All of the women were dolls, beautifully made up and dressed like film stars. I'd never seen such company in real life, much less been in it. There seemed to be Three vying for me and I felt very wanted. Before I could make a decision or a choice, two of them suddenly left and I was escorted to a table with a most handsome young lady. She was

immaculately dressed and made up to perfection. Something similar had happened to my mates and before we knew it we were all separated and seated at extreme ends of the room. I was no sooner sat down at a table when a drink appeared at my elbow, placed there by a waitress and another drink for the hostess. A bill was thrust under my nose for Two Beers, Sixteen Shillings. That's Eight bob for a glass of beer I inwardly gasped. "I didn't order this." I started but the hostess hushed me to silence saying "They only serve this type of beer in here, unless you wanted a whisky or a spirit or even champagne? The trouble is these are quite expensive. Did you want something else? I can order anything you like." There was no way I was going to buy a spirit or Champagne at these prices, if Beer is Sixteen Bob a pint what would a whisky cost? She continued "I know the beer is quite weak in here, not nearly as strong or tasteful as the beers you Northerners drink but this is a very special place. You can afford Sixteen Shilling can't you?" I was ashamed into saying "Of course I can, it was so sudden that's all" I handed a pound note to the waitress and sipped my beer. It wasn't even beer it tasted like watered down shandy. I had no sooner drank half of it before two more drinks were delivered by another waitress, again with a bill for Sixteen Bob. When I queried about my change from the first pound, my hostess said that the waitress would have assumed that it was her tip. Her tip I inwardly fumed, her Four Bob tip had been the equivalent to Three pints of Melbourne beer at Thorpe prices. Over in the far corners sat Eddie and George with ladies, they seemed to be enjoying themselves. How had we become separated so easily? My hostess chatted me up very expertly, she wanted to know all about me, where I came from and what I did for a living. What a quaint attractive Yorkshire accent I had. How handsome and broad shouldered I was. She made me feel very special and wanted. The live strip show was promised to come on very soon. She asked me if I fancied her. She made it quite plain she was available. But with that knowledge, beautiful as she was, I didn't, feeling completely out of my depth. Politely declining her offer, for I was sure I wouldn't have been able to afford her even if I had fancied her, I tried to change the subject. "When is the floor show starting?" "Should be on in the next ten minutes or so." was the reply. A Third set of drinks appeared, I'd hardly started the second one. "I didn't order nor want these." I objected. My hostess appealed to my good nature. "Please pay for them or I'm liable to get the sack for not pleasing you. I have two young children at home and we depend on my earnings from this job to survive. Anyway the show starts in a few minutes. You don't want to miss that, I promise you it's well worth waiting for." I paid for the drinks but said that those were the last, I was paying for no more, with that the hostess, without a word, got up and left. Soon after the manager came over and said that to remain in the club I must buy drinks. If not would I leave quietly. I decided to go and the manager escorted me on my way. As I was leaving I moved first to Eddies table then to George and said that I was leaving and would meet them a couple of hours later at Kings Cross Station. I told them that I had decided, partially because by now I had very little money, not to search for Bed and Breakfast but to catch the first available train home to Leeds. It was about 8-0pm My two mates seemed to be having a good time with their individual hostesses and I didn't want to spoil things for them. I left. Counting up my coppers outside the club I realised I had only Three Pound Fifteen and Three-pence left, I had spent Three and a Half quid in there for three half pint drinks of near beer. As I was walking down the road George rushed up to me and said. "Wait on Jack."

"I thought you were staying." I replied. "No way. I couldn't afford that place. My first set of drinks cost me Sixteen Bob and the Second round One Pound Five Shillings. As I was querying the prices a third lot came also at Twenty Five bob. I had already decided I was not enjoying myself in there when you came to the table. I asked Eddie if he was coming and he said he was taking his bird home so I left him to it. Peter and I walked round looking for a cafe. Over a cup of tea we discussed the Soho experience. Somewhere in the back of my mind I recalled reading of such places in the News of the world Sunday Paper, where unsuspecting punters were expertly relieved of their cash by very experienced hostesses. They were called 'clip joints' and we had fallen hook line and sinker. We had nowhere to go now, money for both of us was a little tight, we decided to head for Kings Cross to enquire about trains to Leeds. On reaching the Railway Station we found that the next train was at midnight, nearly three hours away, so we retired to the station Buffet. About an hour later who should walk into the Cafeteria but Eddie, somehow his walk resembled a dog with its tail between its legs. He joined us and soon began to relate his tale. "Before I knew it this bird had grabbed me and we were sat down. These drinks came over and I had to pay a pound for them. Can you believe that? ten bob apiece. Anyway when I protested to my bird she said that her commission depended on me buying her drinks. When I tasted the beer I told her that I didn't want any more drink, that I would rather pay her for sex rather than waste money on drink. She said that she fancied me also and that within the next half hour her shift there would be finished, she could then leave with me. That all I had to do was buy a few rounds of drink to keep up appearances. Towards the back end I told her that I had only Seven Pounds odd left. I agreed to give her Five pounds for herself and to pay for the next round. Then we would be able to leave. She said there was no need to get B&B, I could stay at her place tonight. I paid the last round and gave her the Five. Come on lets go I urged her. As I was about to get up she said that she couldn't be seen leaving with me, she was not allowed to fraternise with the customers outside of working hours. She said to leave now and soon after she would go get her coat and handbag then would meet me outside in about Five minutes. I waited outside and waited. I thought blow this for a game of soldiers I'll go see whats holding her up. As I was about to re-enter the club as the manager came out. Where are you going? he asked. None of your business, I told him anyway I'm a member here. Oh! are you he said then where is your membership card? I realised we hadn't been issued with one and said so. He said he knew what the story was and warned me to go before there was any serious trouble. He left me in no doubt what the story was so I left. As I was going up the street I got to studying, they can't treat me like that and get away with it, I'm going back I had a lot of money at stake in there. I went back, the woman spieler on the door protested but I just brushed past her. I went back down the steps into the first room before the main room. Through the beaded curtain I could see my bird propping up the bar on a high stool with the other slags. she'd been lying when she said she take me back to her place, it was all just a con. I was about to go in and at least demand my Fiver back when a huge Fijian Bouncer appeared. Well I assumed he came from Fiji cos he was built like brick shithouse. He stood in front of me barring my way into the main room. Where do you think your going, he demanded. I told him it had nothing to do with him.

The manager has already told you to be on your way, he said, now I'm telling you. With that he put his hand into his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out this long stiletto blade that suddenly flicked open. He waved the shiv to within inches of my face. This is the only time I will warn you now XXXX off. And I did." Our train was announced standing on Platform Four. We boarded it and settled in for the four hour milk train journey home. The journey to the smoke had not been as we'd originally expected of it but it certainly made a very memorable page of life.

Twenty Eight

FIRST AID

Ben W. asked me if I was interested in becoming a member of the Pit First Aid Team. He said that a team from Middleton was being formed. That it would enter intercolliery competitions. The team would meet every Wednesday evening for two hours training. Competitions were to be held at our mining area offices, or away at other area offices, on the last Saturday of every month. All training and competition time would be paid for. I liked the idea and agreed. For two Wednesday evening we trained. Our captain, Bill B. was an experienced First Aider. What he didn't know about first aid wasn't worth knowing. He had experience of many competitions before and he really knew his stuff. For two weeks prior to our first competition I swotted up on my St. Johns First Aid Book. I was beginning to find that my evening time was at a premium, Monday I went Boxing Training, Tuesdays and Thursdays Night School and now Wednesday was First Aid training. I was finding time to do my courting very hard to come by. We were a team of Four and we travelled to Area Seven offices for our First competition. On arrival there were Twelve teams entered and captain Billie pulled out a number from a hat for order of play. We were to be Fourth on. We were all dressed alike in Boots, Blue Coverall, Pit helmet and miners electric lamp. When our turn came we were led into a large hall where spectators were seated. At one end of the hall a large raised platform had been erected and a underground mock-up of a mining gate and face was portrayed. The scenario was that we as team had been called to this coal face and found a number of men injured. We had no prior knowledge of what had caused the injuries. We were to treat the patients as we deemed necessary. A doctor was on hand to answer any questions and to award marks for the correct diagnosis and treatment. Our captain soon showed that he was no stranger to competition. He aimed questions of the doctor in a staccato manner. It was to his own pre-formed plan. "Has the surface been informed of the accident" Bill asked. "No" replied the doctor. "Jack," he said to me "Inform Pit top by phone of the emergency and have them stand by to receive three Injured persons. Have them organise stretcher bearing parties to meet us on route out of the pit. Tell them we will keep them informed." A host of other instructions followed that I had to relay. I hoped I could remember them all. When Bill asked of the doctor if one of the injured miners were breathing he received the answered no. He then ordered another member of the team to commence Mouth to nose artificial respiration. Mouth to mouth or nose artificial respiration had only recently been entered in the manuals and was comparatively a new procedure. Bill continued his assessment of the situation in his fast and highly competent manner. At one point the doctor had to ask him to slow down he could not enter the points on his check list fast enough. By the time we had completed the first stage of the competition we were the leading team. The team then had to answer verbal questions from a panel individually. I was not looking forward to this part at all. I did not feel competent enough. Bill tried and succeeded somewhat to put me at my ease. He said it does not matter if we won or lost as long as we had tried our best On my individual verbal question I was asked to define the respiratory system.

I was in luck in earlier training sessions Bill had suggested that we learn the respiratory and blood circularity systems as they are old chestnuts questions. They crop up in competition regularly. I began parrot fashion:- "Air enters the nose and mouth and travels down the back of the throat to the"....etc..etc. The outcome of the competition was that we won. We each were awarded a First prize of Five Pounds. To me nearly a weeks pay. Plus a small trophy each. I was over the moon. In later competitions when I may have let the side down by being asked a question that I could not answer. "Don't worry," was the only comment Bill ever gave me on these occasions, "its all swings and roundabouts" I had a very deep respect for Bill.

Twenty Nine

PLAYING WITH FIRE

(In more ways than one)

The safety officer told me that there was to be an inter-pit fire fighting competition. The form would take an individual event and a team event. The individual event would consist of:At a signal pick up a CO2 2 fire extinguisher and run forward to a wooden cage like apparatus. The cage had one foot Six inches (46 cms) square opening. Inside, the cage had a door which led into a small maze of compartments. The extinguisher had to be manipulated around the obstacles. The extinguisher had to be discharged, with the resulting water jet, a target had to be knocked down. The shortest time taken would determine the winner. The team event consisted of Four men. At a signal the First member of the team would lift a hydrant grating and plug in a hydrant. The other three men would pick up large rolled hoses. The second man would hand one end of his hose to the First who would couple it to the hydrant. The others in turn would run forward each coupling one end of their hose to the one before him. The fourth, and last, man would couple a nozzle to his hose and signal 'water on'. The time trial would end when a target was knocked down with the water jet. Cash prizes were on offer. Five pounds for the individual winner, three and two pounds for the runners up. The same amounts were at stake for the team event each member of the team receiving the prize. I picked up Ten pounds that afternoon. We were also informed that all the pits in the area were having Fire Fighting competitions. Winners would then compete at area. Area winners would then go forward to a Divisional competition at Doncaster. Ben allowed the team to practice our moves in the afternoon after work. We were paid overtime for the pit top practice. Our team came second at the Area competition and I managed to come First individual, picking up Fifteen Pounds. Being Area winner I was allowed to practise every afternoon trying to shave microseconds from my time also earning grateful overtime whist doing it. I became Second individual at Division championships for which I received Twenty Pounds. Brenda and I, at around this time, began courting seriously, we had become an item. Although definite plans of marriage had not been finalised it had been agreed that on her Eighteenth birthday, in a few weeks, we would become engaged. Marriage would follow in about a year. We often engaged in loving clinches and I made numerous clumsy attempts at groping but was always 'knocked back' with the words "Good girls don't." At that time most girls didn't, not until they had a ring on their finger and a promise of marriage at least. I had tried, on many occasions to cajole her but the threat of pregnancy put her, as most people, off. We discussed the subject of contraception and after the talk I decided to acquire a packet of Johnnys One afternoon, having showered at work, I called in at the Co-op Chemist and a young lass on the other side of the counter enquired what she could do to help me. The sight of the female threw me. I hadn't realised how hard it was going to be to get some French Letters.

"Eh!.. Ehm.. I have a headache have you any aspirin? was the only thing I could think off. A tape of 8 aspirin was produced. Did I detect a slight smirk on the lassies face as she accepted my money? "Will that be all" She asked . Had she been in this situation before? I swear she was enjoying making me squirm. Here was my chance again. "Yes,.. er no, thank-you." I'd fluffed it again I retreated the chemist with my tail between my legs in more ways than one. There are Two chemist's at the top of Middleton Park Avenue, each within a stones throw of the other. Go to the other one and be more determined, I resolved. Walking across the road to Kershaws Chemist I discovered it was half day closing. Just my luck I'll have to go back to the other one and start all over again. I did but as I was about to enter, through the plate glass door window I could see the same female shop assistant at the counter. My bottle went once more and I about turned. What was I to do now it was a little too late to go into town. The barber's that was the answer, I decided, they sell Durex. Often when I have been having my hair cut Ive seen the pictured advertisement of a barber asking a man, who's hair he has just cut saying, "Something for the Weekend Sir?" I didn't need my haircutting, having just had it done the week before. What excuse can I give for going in? Yeah, Brylcreem, I didn't use the stuff but it's as good an excuse as any. I walked up the steps leading to the Second floor barber shop above the Tivoli Cinema. Luckily there was only a few old codgers in, none of them probably knew me. John Appleyard, or Johnny Barber as everyone called him was cutting hair, I walked over and stood by him. He stopped cutting. "Yes Jack what can I do you for?" Johnny knew me from being quite young. "A jar of Brylcreem please John." "Sure Jack," said he reaching for a jar. "have you come all this way just for that?" he enquired, for John knew where I lived. "Had to John the chemist is closed, half day." "Kershaws is but the Co-op isn't." corrected John. If only he knew I thought. As I got my money out to pay him this was the time I had planned to, offhandedly say "Oh! by the way I may as well take some Durex with me as well." but the words were not forming as I expected. I handed Johnny a Ten Bob note and waited for my change. "Anything else?" Johnny enquired. "Eh!.." again the words were just not coming out. "Packet of Three as well?" suggested Johnny. It was my chance. "Yeah go on then, might as well whilst I'm here." I tried to make it sound as if the rubber goods were a total afterthought. My packet of Three, Brylcreem and change were handed to me. They were mine not exactly as I had planned but mine they were. As I walked out of the room and down the stairs I heard a murmur of voices and a few laughs. Was I the butt of their humour? At that stage I didn't really care. To this day I cannot remember what happened to that first packet of Three, well that's my excuse. I dont kiss and tell. I do remember though when I opened the packet, inside was piece of paper which read.

Please supply ....... packet/s of Durex rubber Protectives. Thank-You

I retained that piece of paper it would save future problems.

Thirty

SUCKER PUNCH

The NCB boxing championships were being advertised. I had decided to enter. I was in reasonable shape because I had kept up my training at my local youth club. I also belonged to The Montague Burtons Boxing Club in Leeds occasionally turning out for them. On hearing that I had submitted an application form John C. did the same. The Saturday came that we had to be present at Area for our preliminary bouts. It was to determine who would represent Area Seven. (our Area) When we arrived we weighed in. I was surprised to learn John was within my weight class. So were two other boxers. the Four of us drew out of a hat for the fight off. The two winners of the afternoon events would fight for the area championship in the evening. I drew Johnny. I was so pleased. I was telling anyone who would listen that I would show Johnny up in the ring. I would prove to all, once and for all, that I was not only the better fighter I was the better boxer. I was doing what I hate most in other people, bragging. I was a hypocrite. The bell sounded for round one. I came dancing out showing, to all and sundry, how good I was. Bop! Johnny threw a Right hander that connected flush on my chin. I never saw it coming although I did see stars. I had never ever been hit with one like that before. I went down. Unused to being on the canvas I tried to regain my feet but my legs would not support my weight. I just fell down again. I did manage to get up but Johnny rushed in to easily finish me off. The referee stopped the contest, I was unable to defend myself. I had not struck a blow, I had lost. I was so ashamed I wanted the canvas to open and swallow me up. The punch that I had always been afraid of in all our fights had landed. I did not feel like going to work the following Monday, I was so ashamed. Of course I had to. I did think of trying to explain that I would have won if I had taken proper care instead of 'lording' it. But what was the point I had lost to Johnny fair and square. Just after this time I was called for interview by Leeds City Council officials with regard to my application for an Outward Bound Course. In this I was successful and the Eighth of November 1954 saw me ensconced at the Outward Bound Mountain School in Eskdale, Cumberland. The course lasted 26 days and it took me to limits I never thought existed. I had always thought of myself as a physical person and thought that nothing could faze me. There was not anything that could be thrown at me that I could not handle. How wrong I was. The very first morning the staff ordered us out of beds at six O Clock for a run around the tarn. This was a medium sized lake and although it was cold the run was not too bad. It was what came at the end of it. We were ordered to jump into the lake making sure the whole body was immersed. I have never had such a shock to my system Every morning was the same and it was something to be dreaded. Being winter, many times ice covered the lake and it had to be broken before the dip. We were all allotted into troops of Ten. I was designated troop leader which in itself was an honour. The members came from all walks of life, many like myself being sponsored by city councils. Some came from industry, some private and even the war office sent boys. In our troop there was a potential Army Officer and one from the RAF. There was an ex borstal boy and a public schoolboy. Two of our members came from Canada. We learned many outdoor survival techniques, rock climbing, fell walking, map reading, Caving, Canoeing etc. All skills had to be put to use in a final scheme that lasted a full 3 days self-containment in the field.

This course was the first time I had ever been away from home for any length of time I and although I never admitted it to anyone I was very homesick. It was a very strange feeling, whilst I was on exercise or my mind was preoccupied, the sickness did not affect me but when the periods of instruction had finished for the day, the evenings were hell. I was not only missing my home but my girlfriend as well. I would like to report that I enjoyed every minute of it but I have to admit it was very hard. Something that I was totally unprepared for. At the conclusion of it I wouldn't have missed it for the world but if I had been asked would I do it again the answer would have been a resounding NO.

Thirty One

COAL FACE TRAINING

I continued to study at Wakefield Tech. I had managed to pass my First years exams which guaranteed a continuation of my day release. The second year my basic Secondary Education was beginning to let me down, particularly in Mathematics. I could only manage to grasp Algebra in its simplest forms for now we had to calculate with Sine, Cosine and Tangents and there were no calculators in those days. All data had to be searched for in a book of tables. I was beginning to struggle. Electrical science was my hardest subject. Although I could grasp the basic idea of electricity, calculating the various values was beyond me. Of the Five subjects taken I passed in Four, even Maths, but, as expected I failed in Electrical Science. To carry on studying for my O.N.C. I would have to re-take Year two in my own time. Three night classes a week. I thought long and hard over my decision but I realised that even when I passed Year two, year three would probably be beyond my potential. Deciding to quit school I informed the Training officer. I discussed with him my problems and that I wanted to be put on the waiting list for coal face training when I became eighteen which was only a couple of months away. He was aware that I was saving up to get married and money was important. Ben, to give him credit, tried to persuade me to continue with my studies. He realised the opportunity I was throwing away. I could not see further than my face. All I could think of was doing my coal face training, which lasted 100 days, and getting a big money face job. I had already decided on completion of face training that I would take a Shot-firer/Deputy course. Because I had been a satisfactory worker and the Training Officer thought highly of me he decided to help me. He explained that although there was a long waiting list to go face training he would ensure that I got to the top of it on reaching the age of eighteen. He said that normally the first Forty days face training is taken on day shift, coal filling. The next 20 days on afternoons belting and chocking. The final Twenty days were on nights machine coal cutting. Usually when a person finishes his training they remain on that shift they finished on, usually a back shift.. He proposed that I would do my afternoons and nights first and then my final period would be on days. He assured me that I would then be able to remain on days. He was as good as his word. I completed my first two periods of afternoons and nights. When it came to do my Coal filling training, instead of helping out with a corner man as was usual, I found that he had put me with a team who were 'arking out' a new coal face. The new face was the North East 1s. I did not know at the time but anyone who arks (cuts) out a new face, is entitled to demand a permanent coal filling job on that face. Ben had done me another favour. Here I was just turned eighteen and a 'piece' of coal of my own. Men worked years before they were offered a piece' of the own and even then your face had to fit.

Thirty Two

A PIECE OF COAL

To describe a 'piece' of coal:A side of a face of coal is over eighty Yards long. That would mean that it would take Seven men to shovel the Eighty plus yards of coal on to the conveyer belt each shift. Each man would be responsible for about Twelve yards of the hewing and shovelling. The tailgate corner man taking slightly less. All the coal face workers, including me, who had a claim to a piece of coal drew numbers out of a hat. From that point on the corresponding piece to that number was yours and unless you could not do the work, was yours for the rest of that faces life. I drew the Third piece from the right hand tailgate. My new work mates quizzed me how I had come to get a regular piece of coal, having only just completed face training. I don't think initially they liked the idea but there was nothing they could do about it. All of my new associates, soon to become mates, were hardened colliers. All of them were at around Ten years older than I, with their resulting experience. The first shift I walked up the tailgate with my new face workers. They will all recognise themselves except one. To name them :GEORGE Cullen. He was in the corner piece. A man who tended to open his mouth without thinking but one whom you new exactly where you stood with him. He would not go behind your back about anything. He would be the first one to tell you to your face of any complaint. He took a lot of understanding but I grew to like him. HARRY Dinsdale. First piece from the corner. One of the most likeable men down Middleton pit or that I ever met. A deep thinker would never do you a wrong. He was the brains of the face. Whatever he suggested, he never demanded, went. We all agreed his way was usually the best. He was tragically killed later in a coal face incident. MYSELF, Second piece. JOE Dinsdale. Brother of Harry also a likeable person. Said little but turned out to be a great boozing companion. JEFF Taylor. or it could be Geoff I never did get to know. Fourth and last piece from the tailgate. Jeff was the older brother of the diesel driver who squashed the 'faeces' pie into my face at the loader end. A good bloke to be in trouble with. Although not educated he was nobody's mug. You knew where you were with him. I liked and respected all of my new team workers. There were two others on the team but they got to their pieces via the Loader gate. The time came for us all to crawl on to the face to begin our 'stints' of coal. I was determined to do well and show the others that I was worthy of my place in the team. On the roof of the face the deputy had chalked an arrow at Twelve yard intervals to denote pieces, I found my chalked arrow and proceeded to 'Break in' To break in means to hack and shovel a way into the broken coal face. The face conveyer is a bottom loader. The coal is thrown on to the bottom of the belt to be scraped off at the face loader end. The return belt travels along the roof of the face. At the start of breaking in one has to shovel over the belt until a space is made into the coal. Timbers are erected under the virgin roof and progression forward can be made. I hacked away as fast as I could at the coal before me. My shovel and pick whirred at speed. No one could possibly go faster that I. I would prove to them what a good worker I was and prove to be a worthy place in the team. I kept looking forward of me and below me to see how they were going on. They seemed to be shovelling slower in comparison to me.

I thought I was doing well. The sweat was pouring off me I was becoming exhausted. I had never worked so hard in all my life. As I looked back I saw Harry had completed his Twelve yards. He had 'filled' off before me and I had three yards to go. I still had a yard to go when Joe also filled off. Jeff also completed his stint before me. I was disgusted with myself. I had worked really hard and as fast as I could. How could I hope to keep up with them. I had suffered a loss of face. When discussing my poor showing they said that I had not done too bad, for they were old hands at the job. Nevertheless from that day on I was in a race with to fill off before them, they did not know they were participants in a race but I did. I had been working for some weeks, before I realised how Harry always managed to fill of before anyone else. Even though he always looked to be going slow. Every time he took a shovel of coal it was a full shovel. I probably shovelled half as many times again than Harry but my shovel would be only partially full compared to his. When I realised this fact I gradually became more adept at filling coal. It took a while but before long I could hold my own with all the others, except Harry. He always 'beat me off' at filling his piece. In all the time I worked there I only ever beat him off once, even then it was only because his stint had been in the 'rough'. More about the Rough late. Slowly I became an accepted member of the team and I was proud to be in such company. Ours was a new face with little problems, and were a good team. Helping each other out when needed. We made good wages. The year was 1955 and I was earning over Twenty Five Pounds a week without the occasional Saturday working, a small fortune in those days. Both Brenda and I were now seriously saving up to get married. I took and passed a shot-firer/Deputy course during my face training period.

Thirty Three

MINES RESCUE

I had been face working for a few months when I became interested in becoming a member of the Middleton Mines Rescue Team. I arranged to see The Training Officer for further details. He explained that I would have to go to the Mines rescue centre at Wakefield for training. It would involve a day a week for Six weeks. This would be a test of my suitability to become a member of the Middleton team. I expressed my enthusiasm and he duly promised to get in touch with me when he had arranged training. The following week I had to report to The Mines Rescue Centre, Wakefield for a weeks course of instruction. At the centre we had lectures on all the aspects of mines rescue. History, current regulations, safety, gases, breathing apparatus's, first aid, the transport of injured or dead miners from the workings, temporary roof supports, were just a few of the main subjects discussed. A typical day at the station would be lectures in the morning with practical training with artificial breathing systems in the afternoon. There are numerous types of breathing systems but the one we were specially trained for was the 'Proto' Apparatus. This system consists of a small compressed oxygen cylinder that is attached to a large 'breathing bag.' The bag is carried and strapped across the front of the chest. Inside the bag are Protosorb crystals that absorb carbon dioxide expelled when we exhale. A mouthpiece is connected to the bag and one tries to breathe through it at normal rate. A nose clip is also worn. Valves from the oxygen cylinder control the amount that is released to the wearer. Expired air passes through the bag and is cleaned by the crystals, the air being re-used. The main problem with this apparatus is that the crystals soon become CO.2 saturated. The Proto system was designed for a period of approximately two hours use. During practical uses of the breathing apparatus, we would enter specially prepared rooms that simulated underground conditions i.e. darkness, height restrictions, dust, heat, etc. We would be required to do manual work shovelling sand from one place to another for an hour. This work gave the wearer of the apparatus the opportunity to experience the problems one may have in actual mines rescue. Because we had a nose clip on and mouthpiece in, our only means of communication was a small hand operated horn. Signalling one hoot for stop, two to carry on etc. We also had a system of hand signs. Working whilst wearing breathing systems is no yoke. We studied the different types of gases before and after an explosion, Blackdamp, Whitedamp, Firedamp, Stythe, Afterdamp, all had their own peculiar properties and all had to be detected and respected. We also learned that the quickest way to detect for gas was to expose a small bird to the suspect atmosphere. These small birds, usually canaries, have such a fast blood circulation that an alien gas is quickly detected. Their metabolism takes up the gas fast and they fall of their perches. Providing one gets them back into good air again they suffer no ill consequences. The regulations of that time decreed that all mines that employed one Hundred men or more must keep at least two small birds on the premises. This last fact maybe why many miners are avid canary breeders.

I managed to pass the course of instruction and I became a member of The Middleton Broom Colliery Mines Rescue team. I was a very proud man. Twice a month we would have a day of lectures and practical training as a team. We could be called out at anytime to attend serious incidents at our own or other mines. Slowly but surely I was becoming an experienced miner.

Thirty Four

A Fall of Roof

Ten to Fifteen minutes before going underground at the beginning of the shift most workers would congregate on the pit top. For smokers this would be the last time for a drag, for the next Seven and a Quarter hours. They would be puffing away as if it there was no tomorrow. Right up to entering the air doors they would be smoking. All smokers used to have a small tin in which they kept a few cigarettes and matches. Just before a smoker entered the air doors he would stub out his cigarette and put the tab end into his tin. It would then be placed it in a large wooden case just outside the air doors. At any one time there were numerous tins in the case. All would be searched for smoking materials prior to the entry of the doors. Once underground a smokers mind and body would switch off for the need of nicotine. As soon as they surfaced their craving would begin again and they would retrieve their tin and begin smoking again. At no time did I ever have any knowledge of underground smoking. Many did try to make up the intake of nicotine by taking snuff, for snuff is of course ground tobacco. Another way of nicotine intake is via chewing tobacco. Although chewing is a misnomer, one does not chew tobacco. A chewer keeps a plug between his lower teeth and gum and occasionally sucks it. The result is tobacco flavoured spittle a horrible and acquired taste. A chewer must keep spitting out the juice for to swallow it or the tobacco is devastating to the stomach. I have known men literally turn facially green and then have to go out of the pit ill after accidentally swallowing chewing tobacco. Taking snuff or chewing tobacco is permitted underground. One shift our team went underground. We were told that our face on the North East was not ready. It had not been turned round the last couple of shifts. We were instructed to go 'fill' the Ebor 23s. The 23s face was always a very rough face to work. It was nearing its end of its working area and we had been told that within a few weeks it would hit strata faults and the coal would run out. The face would have to close. We spaced ourselves along the face and began to 'break in'. None of our team were happy with the situation or the working conditions but there is little we could do about it. Both the old roof and the newly cut coal roof was 'Bitting' (breaking up) I managed to break in successfully and got me a few props and bars up to protect my back. I slowly began working forward, setting the few supports that I had. It came to a point that I had no supports left. I was continually shouting up the face for them to put some props on the belt. All to no avail. Nobody answered, even if they could have heard me above the noise of the workings. The supports would be forthcoming when they were available. Probably the pony driver had been held up. I had two choices, stop shovelling coal until I had adequate supports to erect, or carry on and take risks. In the cold light of day the decision is easy, stop work. But to stop work when everyone else is working means that they will finish their stint before you and will feel obliged to come and help you off. Then you will lose face. Like a fool I carried on working. I was reaching out shovelling coal under virgin roof when it caved in. It buried me, not completely, but buried I was. I could not move. I shouted for help but did not expect anyone to hear, because of the noise on the face.

No one can hear anyone else unless the conveyer stops I was frightened, not because I was in pain, but because my cap lamp had been knocked off my head. I could not properly see, all appeared dark. The roof was bitting and small chips of rock fell on to my body enhancing my fears of further imminent falls. Miraculously Joe Dinsdale. heard my shouts, come to think of it they probably were screams. He rode down the conveyer and extricated me, then rolled me on to the face conveyer. Riding down the belt, fully outstretched, I consciously felt myself for injuries. I was complete and did not hurt anywhere. I was feeling relieved. On reaching the end of the conveyer it was stopped to allow me to get off it and enter the Main gate. I stood up and then immediately collapsed. My back could not stand my body weight. I could not stand up. I felt no pain but I could not stand up. I had to be stretchered out of the pit. I spent the next three weeks in hospital. A further period of Four weeks went by before I could resume work. When I returned my piece of coal on the North East 1s was still there, and was still mine.

A plan of Middleton Broom Colliery, drawn from my memory. (not to scale)

Thirty Five

SHOT FIRING

About two months after my injury, I stepped out of the cage to begin a shift. The under manager, Mr Kinsey. came out of his office and said to me. "Jack you've got your Shotfirers ticket haven't you?" "Yes" I replied. "Go back to the surface and collect Forty Dets. (Detonators) I need you firing today. I'm short of staff" "What about my filling money" I said. He realised that a coal filler, on a successful face earned bonuses and good wages. More than a shot-firer who was on Staff pay and was fixed. "Don't worry, you wont lose any money. I'll have it made up." I was satisfied with this. I about turned and headed for the surface and the explosive stores. Someone else, 'on the market', would be sent to fill my piece of coal off but the piece would still remain mine. Market workers were a pool of spare worker who stood in for absent workers. On surfacing I went to the explosives store. The attendant there had been informed prior of my arrival. I signed for Forty Detonators, and was further issued with a length of two core cable, a battery and key and a pricker. I then went to the lamp room to get a safety lamp and lighter key. On returning underground again I was instructed to go and 'fire' the Right hand face of the South East threes. This was to be the first time that I had fired a shot properly. I had studied what to do in theory. I had seen it done in practice but I'd never done it for real. The method of preparing and shot firing a hole according to regulations is :The shot firer is presented with bored holes in the coal face at regular Six feet (2m) intervals, Six feet in depth. On deciding which hole is to be fired the area must be cleared. Sentry's must be posted at least Twenty five yards (8m) away at either side of the hole, around a corner or behind protective cover. The hole must be cleaned out with a Six foot long scraper to clean out the hole of any loose coal dust. Check out the hole with a break finder to detect any breaks within it. Any breaks in the hole that are detected, should not be fired. A new hole should be bored. A test for gases must be made at the site of the hole to be fired and at least twenty five yards on either side of the hole. The explosive can then be prepared by using a pricker to make a hole in the soft pill of explosive. A detonator complete with attached Seven Foot (110cms) long wires is withdrawn from your case. It is placed in the hole of the pill of explosive. A half hitch is wrapped round the pill with the detonator wires. The required number of pills of explosive and the detonator primed one is then placed in the hole and pushed to the far end with a wooden rammer. Non-combustible material, like clay, is rammed home behind the explosive. The hole is fully stemmed. The cable ends are then coupled up to the two detonator wires that are protruding from the hole. The cable is reeled out at least Twenty Yards. A check of your sentries and a final test for gas is made. The other ends of the cable are coupled to your battery exploder. The battery key is placed in the exploder and "Fire" is shouted.

Turn the key sharply and the charger will create an electrical circuit that fires the detonator. After the explosive explodes the area of the fired shot is examined. If all is in order a further hole can be prepared and the above sequence can again be carried out. Except in multi-shot firing, another situation entirely, only one shot may be stemmed and fired at any one time. As can be surmised by the above instructions the procedure for firing one shot is time consuming. A shot-firer is usually required to fire Forty shots a day. To carry out the proper procedure it would take him all day to fire his quota. Whilst shot firing is in progress all work on that face must stop. (A shot-firer who held up a face from working all day would soon be without a job) Now I will tell you exactly what happened in those days when firing shots in coal at the coal face. All the holes, in the region of Forty, are all stemmed with detonator prepared explosives. Little stemming is used, it takes time, an 'extra' pill of powder used in lieu. The first detonator leads are coupled up to a Six foot (2m) length of cable. The cable is coupled up to the charger. Keeping your back to the explosion and your body well into the face side the battery key is turned. The explosion blasts conically outwards. Providing the firer is outside of that cone the blast will have no effect on the him. The cable and key is left coupled to the charger and the next detonator is coupled prior to a repeat of the above sequence. The whole Forty shots can be fired this way one after the other all within a short period of time. This cutting of corners of the shot firing regulations was completely unlawful but was necessary if the coal face was to be prepared on time. The extraction of coal was the ends to the means. All management, from above and below the colliery manager knew of such actions by the Shot-firers but of course could not officially sanction such acts. Shot-firer's started work only two hours before the coal fillers. It would be impossible for a shot-firer to do his job according to the regulations and complete his task. There would be no time for the coal filler to follow him and in turn complete his job. A blind eye was turned by one and all. The total time to fire his quota of detonators was about an hour or less. From the time of his last detonator fired, to the end of the shift the Shot-firers time was his own. Shot firing was the easiest job in the pit it could also be classed, at times, as the most dangerous job in the pit but I certainly did not. think of that. I completed my first firing shift before the age of nineteen. After that first shift, I was to fill in more often as time went by. A little story that happened whilst I was shot firing will explain the urgency to get the job done in time was: As has been stated after charging a hole, very little stemming of the hole is used, more than likely nothing was rammed up behind the explosive. An extra pill was often used to make up the deficiency. One time having prepared all my holes I was busy firing them. I coupled up one prepared hole. Unbeknown to me the detonator wires had become snagged to my boot lace. As I crawled forward the detonator wires were pulled out of the hole. The pill of explosive lay on the floor 6 feet from me. I twisted the key of the charger and the shot

exploded. I had my back away from the charge and was crouched forward. The resulting explosion left my backside peppered with small chipping's of coal. At the time I thought I was hurt more than I was. I had to get help from my other shot firing companion, Sid, on the other side of the face. He gave me first aid and had to fire the rest of my shots. I was in no position to. I could not report my injuries to the medical attendant, questions would have been asked. I did not even report the accident to my doctor. I had the next few days off due to a heavy cold. I was very lucky that a more serious injury did not result in my foolhardiness. I took greater care in the immediate future shift but again soon became complacent..

Thirty Six

LOW ROOF

Our corner man, George Cullen. was a great character. A good laugh. It was hard to take any offence at him. But the other four of us in the team had a problem with him. If any of us took sweets down the pit we had to hide them. Whilst we were 'filling' down the face George, more often than not, would come out of his corner piece and rifle our jackets that were hung up in the tailgate and acquire any sweets or goodies. Whenever he was taken to task about this he would deny it blaming the tail gate pony driver, the shot-firer, the deputy, anyone and everyone, but himself, was at fault. In the cold light of day this is stealing but it wasn't like that, it was just one of the 'done' things. One day I decided to teach George a lesson. I bought a bar of chocolate and, at home, carefully unwrapped it. One of the blocks of chocolate I carefully hollowed out. I refilled the hole with snuff. I resurfaced the block with molten chocolate and the block looked normal. In the tail gate whilst getting ready and putting on our kneepads I unwrapped the chocolate bar. and gave everyone a piece and, in the hearing of George, remarked that I had saved a couple of pieces for myself for later, on completion of my shift. At the end of the shift, in front of the others, I searched for the chocolate. As expected, it had gone. I outwardly cursed the thief. Of course George said. "It wasn't me, you know me better than that, it probably was the pony driver." I laughed and said. "I hope he enjoyed it because I had filled the hollowed out piece of chocolate with shit." George could not admit to being taken in nor could he berate me for my dirty trick. I left other tainted traps for George but from that day they were never again sprung. It was the first day back to work after our annual two week summer holiday. Most face workers dread that first day back. In normal practice if a face progresses forward daily, the roofing weight is all directed towards the past workings, the 'gob'. Before the weight can affect the new face, a new face Six feet further, has been created. The faster a face progresses forward the less weight problems arise. On return to work after a break the weight on the face is directly over where you are working. It is 'rough'. It is a very dangerous time for all concerned. Anyone who says he is not scared or apprehensive at this time, is fooling himself not me. It was to be my first real taste of 'weight'. I'd had other lesser experiences of 'rough'. The roof creeks and the floor 'blows' and the weight is 'on' but all that is taken in ones stride. Providing roof supports are correctly set and you take care, one should get along. Its called 'watching your back' I think the term explains itself. This day, the team crawled on to the face. The weight was on heavier than I had ever experienced it. I had started to crawl on to the face with my shovel blade the wrong way round. I realised that I would not be able turn it over. I had to return back to the tail gate before I could right way the shovel. The width of the shovel blade is less than sixteen inches. (40cms) We could not complete the 'filling off ' of the face that shift. It was left to the afternoon men. Their work in turn would have to be done by the night shift

Another time I remember 'the weight being on' the two foot (61cms) props that were normally supplied by the pony driver were too long. Our Four man team had a wood bow saw that was shared. We had to take turns in using it. Every 2 foot prop had to be sawn down before it could be set. I was about to set a prop. I measured the distance between roof and floor with my arm. I placed my Left elbow to the floor and extended my arm to the roof, fingers outstretched. I placed the width of two fingers of my other hand to the top of my outstretched fingers and they reached the roof. Measure that and it comes to about 20 inches. (51 cms) That is the height we were working in. One other time that the weight was on I had sawn a prop and cut it slightly too short. But by the time I had set it the roof weight just tightened to it. When I think about these bygone times I think how foolhardy we were. It is quite scary now but then it was normal and we were well paid for the normality. We had been brought up with tales of the really old colliers who without machinery had to 'hand get' all coal hewn. The seams were thinner than ours. They didn't have adequate light or ventilation. Things were really scary then. Those old hands were real colliers.

Thirty Seven

UNIONS

I have explained earlier that the pit worked a week in hand as regards wages. All work done was paid at a Union contracted rate. Any extra work done, above and beyond our contract, had a rate attached to it. Examples of extras were: If

the previous shift workers had not completed their tasks, we would have to do their work before, we in turn, could begin ours. The agreed rate would be 'booked' as extra by the deputy. The extra pay to be shared by the team.
If

there was a fall of roof in the gate and the deputy wanted us to clear it away then we could negotiate a 'rate' for the job.

'Wet money',

many times the face was wet. At certain times the face could be in inches of water. The worker then had to lay in this water and work. Men working in wet conditions, providing they finished their allotted task, could return to the surface up to Twenty minutes early and also qualify an extra bonus.

The deputy could issue a hand written note for a person who had been working in wet conditions to be able to exit the pit before time. three shillings (15p) extra for wet conditions, would be added to his shift money. Working in water is a horrible experience. The water is salty and contains chemicals that penetrates into every cut and opening. 'Wet' skin rashes and boils were quite common among miners who worked regularly in wet conditions. Powder money. Often we would have to carry a Five pound canister of powder. For this the rate was Nine pence (4p) per canister. The powder carried is explosives as used by a shotfirer. Many was the time as a shotfirer when I had experienced a greater explosion than was normal for the amount of powder that I had put in. Sometimes a coal filler will 'acquire' a few pills of explosives and feed them into the holes within his piece. He did this in the mistaken belief that the extra powder would greater dislodge his coal. It would, the first time. When a shot-firer suspects a miner of putting extra powder in his own holes he would automatically deduct a pill from his intended amount throughout that piece. Consequently that piece did not get the required amount it would otherwise have had. Less powder would be put in for at least a week. It soon taught the offending collier to stop messing about with the holes. All extras had to be paid. Every Monday morning all face teams would congregate outside the lamp room prior to their descent. Each team had what we called a 'puffler' or team spokesman. His job was to go to the mine secretaries office and get the details of pay and the extras that were to be shared by the team, the following Friday. The details were contained in a what was called a 'day note' Because George Cullen. had a 'big mouth', he was our elected 'puffler'. George was too thick to understand the figures contained in the day note. It was even doubtful if George could read properly. When he picked up the day note he would pretend to read and understand the figures, occasionally nodding or shaking his head at them. Then after a short interval he would hand the note to Harry Dinsdale. and say. "What do you think of it Harry?" Harry was

the brains of the team. He forgot nothing. Every canister of powder or wet money or other extras had to be accounted for. Because Deputies were accountable to the manager, they had to keep a tight rein on costs. They tended to 'forget' certain promised payments. More often than not something minor would be wrong. Harry would immediately spot it. He would say "George we haven't got paid for....". Whatever. This and that would be explained to George. He would return to the secretary and complain. The secretary could only promise to look into the matter. That would not do. In the past these promises to look into the matter were forgotten. Unless we were promised payment we were not going down the pit. This scenario happened almost every Monday, with one or other teams puffler. At that time the National Union of Mineworker were very strong. If one man refused to go down, all would refuse. It was all for one and one for all. The secretary was not in a position to promise payment. He would then contact the under manager who may already be underground or even at home. He would have to be contacted to sort the matter out. In certain cases when the item was disputed by the under manager then the manager would have to be called from home. By this time two to three hours could have elapsed. The manager even knowing that the men were at fault had to decide; to 'give in' to the grievance or stick to his principles. He knew that if the day shift did not go down then it was certain that the afternoons and nights would refuse to work. A whole Twenty Four hours would certainly be lost. All for what probably amounted to a matter of a few pounds. Always the management gave in. They could not afford not to. A minor strike at his pit could easily escalate to other pits. The manager would then agree to a settlement as long as the miners went down now. Then the men would say, "Yes we'll go down now providing we get paid for the time we have spent arguing this grievance". The time elapsed could easily have been three hours. The Manager would have to give three, or lose Twenty Four. In circumstances like these the manager was over the proverbial barrel. I have been in a position, as above, where we have all gone down the pit. travelled inroads for about a mile. Had our snap and when that was eaten it would be time to walk back for the shift was over. We would be paid for the full day. Sometimes the miners had a genuine grievance but more often than not, they were in the wrong. The union just liked to show its muscle. At that time we enjoyed it we were being paid for doing nothing.

Thirty Eight

HOME COAL

In March 1958 after almost four years of on off courtship Brenda and I were married. We had both saved up for a splash out wedding. More than a hundred guest sat down to a slap up meal and no expense was spared. I invited all my friends to our wedding but especially I invited my face mates and their wives. The wedding ceremony and reception went without a hitch and my father paid for a barrel of Tetley beer. It was put on after the bun-fight. Later that evening we retired to the Middleton Social and Welfare Club where the beer was in full flow. A great time was enjoyed by all. Especially when George had an argument with my new father in law and 'floored' him. George then promptly fell asleep under the snooker table. Initially after our wedding we stayed at my parents home whilst saving desperately for a deposit for a mortgage. It was usual then to put down ten Per Cent of the total value of any prospective mortgage borrowing. Within a few weeks we had saved over One Hundred pounds, an enormous sum for those days. We began house hunting in earnest. Although our deposit would restrict the property that we really wanted, quite decent houses could be had for around a Thousand pounds. We settled on a large through Victorian Terraced house of four floors for Seven hundred and Fifty Pounds. When we first viewed the property I had seen an immediate potential. I realised that the Two roomed basement floor could easily be made into a self-contained flat-let. The house would almost pay for itself, Brenda agreed with me and soon the sale was finalised. On acquisition of the property I made an appointment to see the managers secretary to apply for home coal. Home coal is a subsidised grant of coal to and underground worker who is also a householder It is a grant of Eight, One Ton loads per year. A load just over every Six weeks. It is only for the sole use of the householder and any infringement of the subsidy can invalidate the concession. I had all the necessary documentation for the coal concession to be granted Within a few months my uncle David and I had finalised do it ourselves work in the basement and it was ready for occupation. A tenant was soon found who agreed to pay Two pounds a week for the flat which came with the unlimited use of coal . Our private mortgage repayment was exactly Two pounds a week and the house now began to pay for itself As I was applying for 'home coal' earlier I remembered an incident a few months before, when the manager had come into our tailgate. He had asked each in turn how we were getting on. When it came to George C. he said to the manager. "Eh! Mr Poskitt. I want to put in for home coal." Really this was a trivial detail with which the manager did not really interest himself with. His secretary dealt with home coal issues. "Congratulations George, have you got married then?" "Well not exactly." Being married was a pre-requisite for home coal. "What does, 'not exactly mean', George. You either are married or not" In those days it was swept under the carpet when anyone lived together without a marriage licence. It was just not done "Well I'm kind of, er! erm!," George mumbled. "What George, come on, out with it." "Living funny" replied George, sheepishly. With that we all burst out laughing. The manager included.

The manager said "Well I've heard it described in many ways, George, but I've never had it described as living funny before. Go see the secretary, tell him you've seen me, and we'll try to work something out" and with that he was gone. Mr Poskitt did arrange home coal for George. At that time house coal was quite expensive. In normal circumstances a miner could not burn all his allowance and sometimes one would 'bend' the deliverer to deliver it to another address. The cost of a ton of 'bent' coal then was Five Pounds. A pit friend of mine was Peter Whitehead. Peter was the one who had his finger off whilst working as a diesel drivers mate. My wife and I often made a Foursome with him and his wife when going out socialising. Peter and his wife lived two streets away from Brenda and I. One Saturday, Peter was a little short of money. We had arranged to go to our social club that evening. Peter had an idea. On our terrace was a lady who owned Four of the houses like mine. She let all of them off in flat-lets or bedsitters. She was 'coining' it in. She, occupied one basement flat in the house next door but one to mine. She often offered to buy my house. The previous owner of my house had refused to sell it to her. Peter went to see if she wanted to buy any coal. She did. Peter said to me "Mrs Ruane. will give me Five Pounds for a ton of coal. Will you give me a hand to get it from my house to hers? It'll give me some beer money for tonight." I agreed. We went to Peters house with an old pair of pram wheels he had borrowed. Down in his cellar we loaded a sack full of coal. We manhandled it up his cellar steps. Through his kitchen to the street outside. Loaded it on to the wheels. Pulled and pushed the coal from two streets away round to Mrs Rouane's house. Lifted it from the wheels, down four outside steps, though her cellar kitchen and emptied it into her coal cellar. We returned for another sack full. We made this journey Twenty times, each time the sack contained a least a hundredweight of coal. Mrs R. watched all, she made sure that each sack was full and that there was indeed Twenty. On completion Peter said "There you are Mrs R. a ton of coal. A good Fivers worth of any body's money" Mrs Rouane. replied, " Peter, I've been thinking, I don't think the coal was worth Five pounds" "Come on Mrs R. we agreed, a Fiver for a ton of coal. You checked the bags were full and there was Twenty of them." "Peter I really can't afford a Fiver. Will you take three pounds" "No," said Peter "Five or nothing, exactly as we agreed" "Then nothing it will have to be. I haven't got the money" Peter and I looked at one another in the certain knowledge that Mrs Rouane certainly could afford the full price for the coal Peter said "I'd rather take it all back than be conned. You agreed on a price and now you've reneged." "I'm sorry Peter that all I can afford" Both Peter and I thought she was bluffing. Mrs R. had plenty of money. "I'll take it back" Peter threatened. "Take it back then. I really can't afford it Peter" "Come on Jack" And with that whole journey was made in reverse, all for nothing but we certainly kept face. I had completely agreed with Peter We still got out, as a Foursome, that night.

Peter loved to sing; the piano and drums in the Thorpe, or in the pit showers. (By this time showers had been built for all.) One of the many other places Peter sang was in the cage when ascending after a shift. Funny thinking about that, he never sang going down the pit, I wonder why?. Peter's voice was quite good really and the hollow sound of the pit shaft's reverberations made him sound quite presentable. One afternoon comes to mind during a cage ascent Peter began to sing. "Water. Cool clear water. Keep a moving Dan don't you listen to him Dan he's a devil not a man for he spreads the burning sand with water..." It was Peters favourite Frankie Laine song of 1955 'Cool Water' "Water. Cool clear Water. Dan can't you see that big green tree where the water's running free and it's waiting there for you and me" George Lee. another mate nudged me. He nodded down to his hands that were holding his plastic water container. He unscrewed the cap. "Cool water. Cool Clear water. Water... Water... Water..." Just as the cage came in sight of the pit top and Peter was coming to the end of his song, George turned back and splashed the remaining contents of his water bottle directly into Peters face. His surprise timing and aim was perfect. Although the cage contained 10 men very little splashed on anyone else but it's intended victim. "What you playing at yer silly bugger." spluttered Peter "Shut you up didnt it?," returned George, "and you got what youve been asking for, water." All the cage saw the funny side of the event, even Peter, he knew the act had not been done maliciously, only as a joke. Peter never sung 'Cool Water' in the cage again his favourite tune changed in 1956 to '16 Tons' by Tennessee Ernie Ford. Almost a year to the day after our wedding my wife gave birth to our first son Stephen, he was much wanted and planned for.

Thirty Nine

FREDDIE

There were many characters down Middleton Pit, all unique in their own way. But of them all, I must make mention of Freddie H. I do not have to mention his surname initial, all past workers and anyone who knows him will recognise him. Fred contacted Polio whilst he was an underground worker. When he returned to work after two years or so, it had left him with a pronounced limp. He was unable to walk without the aid of a stick. His job was at a face button. (Face conveyer operative) Fred's disabilities got steadily worse, but to more than adequately make up for it, he had a heart like a lion. His company, above or below the ground, was much sought after. He, along with others youths, would 'knock about' together of an evening and weekends. Because of his personality he was never short of company. Fred did his face training and he proved that he was more than able to do a face work. He, along with many of his mates secured a piece of coal on the South East 1s Every morning, Fred and his mates and our team had to walk in-bye approximately two and a Half miles. We would all set off from the pit bottom, walking in single file, together. Fred would always be the last. After having walked about half way all used to have a brief halt to get our breath back. The walking was hazardous and we all had to watch our step. There were many potholes and stones underfoot. Fred would be lurching this way and that, he was unable to walk without the aid of his stick. How he managed to remain upright was a feat in its self. Many times he would stumble and fall. Woe betide anyone who attempted to go to his assistance. They would only try it once and the tongue lashing they received would put them off helping him, in that way again, in the future. By the time Fred would catch us up, after our rest, we would be setting off again. Fred did not rest, he just carried on. The same thing would happen on reaching the face. Men would have a brief sit-down whilst putting on their kneepads, generally getting ready for the work to come. Many would have a bite to eat or drink and catch up on the gossip of the day. By the time Fred arrived the men would be almost ready to go on the face to work. Fred would quickly prepare himself and begin work at the same time as everybody else. Whereas all others had at least two short rests, Fred had none. The walking inroads must have taken double its toll out of Fred. Once under the 'low' (face) Fred was equal, in most cases, more than equal, of all his mates. When he was off his legs, on his knees or laid out, he seemed to be in his element. Nearly every Monday, Fred's gang would collect in the shower rooms. By that time showers had been installed. He and his mates would discuss the events of the past weekend. Most had that Monday morning feeling no one was looking forward to work. Invariably one of them would say to another. "How much money have you got on yer!" "Couple of quid" may have been the answer. A discussion would then ensue to determine how much each had got. If there was enough money in the kitty it would be lent or borrowed so that all would have roughly the same. They would then, as a man, decide to 'go back'. To go back meant that they were not working today. Fred would invariably state "Well I'm going 'down'." An argument would usually ensue. Many has been the time when I have seen his mates literally kidnap him and force him to go with them. I have seen them bodily carry him

struggling from the pit premises. They would be heading for a mornings fishing then the rest of the day on then booze. I must emphasise that the thing that kept Fred going was the size of his heart. In comparison, ours was the size of a pea. I still see him, he is still like that to this day. Nothing seems to faze him. A follow up to Fred's story is that as the Middleton pit was about to be closed down, the Manager, Under manager and Over-man all said at different times to Fred that; whichever future mine they worked at, there was always a job for FRED. They weren't saying it out of charity but in the sure knowledge that they would get a fair days work out of him.

Forty

PHOTOGRAPHY

Photography became my hobby. I had installed a darkroom in the attic of our house. In those days, although colour film was used, only monochrome film could be processed at home. Often pit mates would ask me to develop their films for them. I enjoyed doing it and was glad to oblige. One of our team asked if I could reproduce a series of pictures from other photographs. "Have you got the negatives" I asked. "No only the photo's", was the reply. I explained that even though I had never done this before I would have a go. "They are dirty photos you know?" I laughed and said that did not bother me (but it did). The following day he duly delivered the photographs to be copied. When I looked at them my heart froze. By today's standard they were no more that you can see in any page 3 newspaper. But back then they were very risky even depraved.. I could not go back on my word. Whilst going home they felt red hot in my pocket. I felt as though I had changed somehow and that everybody knew what I was carrying. In the darkroom that evening it became a challenge as I had never attempted anything like this before. After numerous attempts at the copying I managed to develop quite a number of acceptable prints. When I had finished I began to worry. What if my wife found out what I was doing up in the darkroom? What if I was caught carrying them to the pit? What if my mate was caught with them in his possession and informed the police that it was I who had reproduced them. There were so many what ifs.. I visualised my name in the Sunday News of The World. I could not allow them out of my possession and so, without leaving my darkroom, I burned them. I took the originals back to my mate and told him that I could not manage the reproductions. I handed them back and was greatly relieved to get them out of my sight. The fore mentioned Peter Whitehead. became interested in my photographic hobby. We decided to try and make our hobby pay for itself. Each Saturday and Sundays we would, after first gaining permission from the licensee, visit pubs and clubs offering to take photographs of customers enjoying themselves. The price was 3 postcard size photos for Half a Crown. (12 1/2 p) we did not make a fortune but the hobby began to pay for itself. It also gave us a good excuse to our wife's, going out boozing together. One day, Peter said "I think I've let us in for it Jack "What do you mean?" says I. "John Bloom's daughter is getting married a week next Saturday and he's asked me if I could take the wedding pictures. I, boastingly said Yes and gave him assurances that we had done other weddings." At that stage we had never done a wedding. We were a little under confident that we could take one on successfully. Both of us aware that a wedding is once in a lifetime event. It is totally unlike 3 postcards for half a crown, when we could give them their money back if things didn't turn out right. Peter had committed us and we could not lose face by turning the opportunity down, we decided to make the best of it. We did not have a light meter at that time so all camera exposure and time settings we made were pure guesswork. When we were taking pictures outside of our own family it did not

matter if the snaps were under or over exposed, we could always put it down to experience. Not so with a wedding. We agreed that I would use the tripod and arrange the positioning of the Bride, Groom, guests etc. Peter would take the same shots at different angles. We would both take a number of the same shots at different exposures and speeds to be certain of getting at least one picture right. The wedding day came. It was late Autumn and was foggy. The conditions for taking photographs outside could not have been worse. Peter and I were 'flapping' Could we take acceptable photos under such conditions? We had to get it right first time. We could not go back to John and his daughter and say "We've made a mistake can we take your wedding again?" I reaffirmed to Peter. "Take as many photos at different Speed and exposures setting as possible, I'll do the same." We could not afford to drop the proverbial goolie. The actual setting up of the groups at the wedding outside the church went without hitch with Peter snapping away at random. We were sure of the photos at the reception cutting the cake etc. because these were taken with flash and exposure times and settings are pre-set. Peter added a little side-line and did a roaring trade taking 3 snaps for half a crown. That afternoon we went to my darkroom to develop the films. We had taken 11 films. We were using HP4 film Twelve photos per film. Somewhere along the line two of the rolls of film went missing, to this day I don't know what happened to them. When we came to process another of the films and threading it into a developing tank I allowed light to get in. It became fogged. It just proved how inept we were at the photography game. To cut a long story short we were not very successful in the film processing. No, to use the right words we made a mess of it. When we came to developing prints from the negatives, most were under or over exposed taken at wrong speeds. We were in a stew. Our verbal contract with John B.s daughter was that we would supply a wedding album complete with Twelve pages of prints. We did not have Twelve good negatives to enlarge. An idea. Although one of the group photos was badly arranged the brides expression looking at the groom was one of true love. We enlarged the head and shoulders of the couple and presented it as a complete picture. It made quite a nice study and we were very pleased with the result. We further managed to manipulate the existing negatives to produce prints for Eleven pages. We could still do with another good photo to make up the album. Another idea. Peter and I went to the St. Mary's church in the old village, Middleton. We went to the vicarage and spoke to the Vicar, asking for permission to take a few photographs of the inside, empty church. We would of course make a donation to church funds. Then very few church heads gave permission for photographs to be taken in church. Some did, but most did not. The vicar on principle refused. What could we do. An idea. We hung around outside of the church out of the vicars sight. When he went out to do the rounds of his flock, we nipped back into the church. In those days all places of worship were always open for the passing worshiper and were never locked. Peter kept a lookout whilst I set up the tripod in the aisle at the back. I then proceeded to take numerous time exposures of the inside looking towards the large stained glassed windows. The exposures again were guesswork and some lasted as long as a minute.

On developing the film and prints we were amazed at the clarity and I think perfection of the prints. The darkened side pews with the high alter in the middle ground and the lights shining through the stained glass windows. I have never been as proud of any photograph, then or now, as that one We delivered the photo filled album to John B.s daughter. She opened it to find the first photo was of the empty inside of the Church. It was perfect so unusual. Looking through the rest of the album, without doubt she was delighted. She paid us the Eight Pounds Ten shilling (8.50) fee there and then, with a further pound for us to share as a tip. The following morning down the pit John B. who having seen our results, congratulated us most warmly. Telling all and sundry what truly professional photographers we were. If he had only have known. At the end of that shift we both travelled to Leeds centre and purchased a light meter with our profits. We never looked back again taking many, many weddings after that. I had to do a shot firing shift one Sunday morning. I knew that very few workers would be working at that time, only two on the face I was to work. I took my camera down. When I had completed my work I set the camera up in various positions showing the coal face. The light source was my helmet lamp. I set the time exposures for over two minutes. I also took some in the roadway. When I developed he pictures there was a quite an interesting selection. I was quite pleased with them. One stood out. It had been taken of the rock side of the gateway. Quite clearly a grinning face of a laughing cavalier could be seen. The bearded face and plumed hat were all in detailed. Had I taken a picture of a ghost? obviously not but it was an interesting thought at the time.

Forty One

A TALL STORY

Long Harry S. was a deputy. Although he was nicknamed long for obvious reasons he was very thin. He looked as if he weighed no more than a damp dishcloth. Most Deputy's worked weeks about. Each taking his turn, with two others, to man a district the full 24 hours. Harry had arranged with the other two other deputies that he would do the night shift permanently. The other two were quite happy with this agreement and alternated the days and afternoons between them. Harry S. never got a shower, preferring to go home in his 'muck'. Everyone thought he was a little eccentric at this. He had been working nights regularly for about eighteen months. One shift he was found Semi conscious at the end of some old workings. It was a suspected stroke they could not bring him fully round so he was placed on a stretcher and carried out of the pit. The stretcher bearers complained about the surprising weight of Harry and constant changes of carriers had to be made. At the surface he was examined by a First Aid attendant who unloosened his clothes. It was then found that Harry S. was concealing a large coil of copper wire wrapped around his waist. Afterwards the full story came out. Harry liked to be on nights because Once a full inspection of his responsible area had been completed and all workers instructed as to their tasks he would have plenty of time for other things. He would go up old worked out gates. When a face has been worked out of coal then it is abandoned. Usually In a number of these gates thick armoured electric cabling had been left. The cabling cannot be reused and is not worth the manpower to retrieve it for scrap. With a hammer and set Harry S. would dismantle the armoured cable and 'chop' off a length of the thick copper wire. No one would ever suspect a deputy of such theft. He would accumulate it at home and later weigh it in to a scrap metal merchant for cash. It was later estimated that he had stolen Hundreds of pounds worth of copper with his fiddle. He was later tried and convicted of theft of copper wire from the mine. He was, of course, dismissed his job. No wonder Harry S. felt so heavy on the stretcher, the bearers later complained.

Forty Two

Shot-firing Regular

The occasional shot firing job had now become permanent although not staff. The lack of qualified suitable persons to be employed at Middleton left a gap that had to be filled. I started work at the same time as the 'staff' shot firer's at Five O Clock. I had been working permanently for about three months. My wage was made up to the average wages earned by the coal fillers of the North East. My piece of coal still remained mine and I could return to it at any time I so desired. My pay was on average of Six pounds a week more than the Staff shot firer's and about three more than a deputy. The other staff men were not happy with this state of affairs. I was assured that they did not blame me, I had every right to claim the extra money. Neither could they could really blame management. They would be quite willing to employ any suitable qualified applicant. I was approached by the pit president of NACODS, (National Association of Colliery Overmen, Deputy's and Shot firer's) Walter Tuke. He put to me the salient points. His members could not and would not tolerate my getting more money than his members who were doing exactly the same work as I. Would I be prepared to join the staff and become a permanent? I had previously considered the option. I would be losing money but I would have a staff position and eventually be promoted to a Deputy. I agreed. I enjoyed shot firing and my future aim was to become an Over-man or the next pit Safety officer. The manager was aware of the NACOD'S grievances relating to my employment as a shotfirer. When Walter saw him the manager explained that he could not place me on staff until I attained the age of Twenty two which was the accepted lower age limit. Walter officially informed the manager that if the problem was not solved then he would have a NACOD'S Strike on his hands. The following Monday on my lamp, had been left a message to see the manager at the end of the shift. At the meeting with the manager, he said that he had special permission from Area and was able to offer me a permanent staff position. Would I accept. Of course My answer was yes. From that day, just a few months after my Nineteenth birthday, I became Staff. By taking the staff job my pay decreased, I had expected that but then I realised that I would have to pay super-annuation. This money was going into a kind of pension scheme and so it was in a sense being saved. Another setback was that I would have to work at least One maybe two Saturdays a month without extra pay. None of this bothered me because I felt as if I had hung up my shovel for good. The first Saturday that I worked I was instructed to go to Ebor 9s I was to take charge of the face. Although the face was not working that day, I was the Deputy. My brief was to help get the face ready for Monday morning. There was a problem in the Right tailgate with the coal cutting machine. On arrival at the gate the coal cutting machine was indeed stuck fast. The roof weight had lowered on to it. Luckily the team that had been sent to move the machine was headed by a very experienced machine man. Without him I would not have known where to start. He asked me what I wanted done. I deferred to him and asked his advice. He suggested that holes were bored at strategic point and that I fire them. I agreed. I think I would have agreed with anything he said. He was a very experienced miner.

We, sorry, the team succeeded, in the task. Before long the machine had been freed and turned round. I left them 'gibbing' in. They knew what they were doing, I would only get in their way. I had 'my' district to inspect. I was a very important man, or so I thought. There were two shot firer's to a district. At one period my mate was Sid Clarkson. He was an old hand at the game. Sid and I worked together and would help out the other if the need arose. He had been the one who gave me first aid when I had my mishap when the detonator come out of the hole. When we had finished we would meet in the gate. Sometimes if a shot-firer had any detonators left he may require to travel to another face where extra shots may need firing. This extra work could mean a couple of miles extra walk. We reasoned, as most did, that if they cannot find us they can't send us. Often Sid and I would go for a walk. More often than not we walked up a road that few people went. We would go well up the gate and turn off our lights By being in the dark we could see anyone approaching, they in turn could not see us. Miners have a cap lamp that throws a wide angle light. Officials and staff have a spotlight that focuses at a point. If a light was approaching our position we would be able to determine who the wearer was. If it was a miner no explanations would be necessary. If it was the manager or such then we had a ready prepared excuse. Sid was just showing me my way round these extreme workings etc. Everyone knew what the story was. Sleeping down a pit carries a heavy fine or even is a dismissible offence. Having said that, in those days, anyone who says that they have never slept or nodded down a pit must have a halo above their head. One particular day Sid and I went well up an old gate. We propped some wood bars against the rock side for back support. We ate our snap then turned the lights off. Sid did not normally go to sleep. I nodded. Suddenly in the distance I could see a light heading our way. It was a spotlight. I'd better warn Sid. He obviously had not seen it. Was he asleep? it was so unlike him. "S...." I tried to speak. Nothing was coming from my mouth. "S...." I tried again. I not only could not speak I could not move a muscle. However much I tried I could not move or speak. Is this what its like to be dead I thought. I was aware of all around but I could not move an inch. The light was getting nearer, it was a spotlight. We were definitely going to be caught sleeping and I could not do anything about it. Suddenly Sid turned on his light and said "Jack! are we going?" I awoke suddenly. I was back to normal. There was no light coming up the roadway nor had there been. "Its time to go" said Sid. "How long have we been here," I said, it felt as if we had only been here a few minutes. "About an Hour," replied he. "You were really going strong in your sleep, constantly grunting as though you were trying to say something and you didn't seem to be able to breathe properly. That is why I woke you up." "I was trying to say speak, I wanted to tell you something. I was trying to say Sid." I replied and went on to explain the past events. I had been asleep all the time and had been dreaming the events in reality. One shift I had completed my tasks. The face phone rang. It was the under manager, Mr Kinsey. Had I got any detonators left? I had and was instructed to go to the old Ebor 17s. A few shots needed firing. Another shot-firer, not Sid, who had also finished, said he would have a walk with me.

Ebor 17s had been a face but the coal had been exhausted. Recovery men were dismantling the main machinery for it to be transported to other areas of the mine. On reaching 17s the recovery men were boring holes above a face conveyer machine. The roof had settled on it. It was held fast and could not be extradited. While waiting for the borers to prepare the holes, my mate and I decided to have a bite of snap. We walked down the road, away from the face about Fifty yards. As soon as we got our snap tins out, hordes of mice came out of the holes. There are always mice down a pit. They come down in various ways, usually with materials. Once a pair take up residence breeding soon begins. There is only a certain amount of food for them, horse droppings and feed, the occasional half eaten sandwich that has been thrown away. The mouse population is, of course, governed by the amount of food within that district. A novel way of catching them is to place an empty bottle or one that is half filled with water, almost upright, making sure a pathway to the neck of the bottle can be reached by the mouse. A few crumbs of bread are deposited into the bottle. A mouse will smell the food and scamper into the bottle opening. When they have eaten the bread, the sides are too slippery for the mouse to climb out. They either starve to death or are drowned. I have seen many such bottle traps in old gates where numbers of mice have drowned or starved. When a district has been 'worked out' of coal then it is left. The mice are still there but the food supply is not. Normally the mice are shy creatures and scuttle out of the way when one is around. This day, because they were very hungry, they gathered around openly showing themselves. As we shone our lamps at them Hundreds of beady little eyes reflected back of us. a little eerie. We decided to have a little fun at their expense. I reeled out my long shot firing cable. I wired up a detonator and then the exploder. Then I took half a slice of bread and moulded it round the Det. I laid it to the ground and retired to the exploder. There was a mass of mice bodies all trying to get a feed of the bread. They were very hungry, they must have thought that all their birthdays had come at once. At just the right time I twisted the key and the detonator exploded, mincing dozens of mice bodies. Both I and my shot firing companion had a real good laugh at the spectacle. I had heard this trick has been done many times in the past by other shot firer's but it was a first for me. On thinking about it afterwards I was not proud of myself. I knew that they were 'only' mice But.. More important I had used a detonator illegally, the consequences were potentially dangerous. This is the first time I have told the story and I do so without any sense of gratification. I did wrong and I openly admit it.

Forty Three

NORMAN'S GHOST

"Have you heard about Norman C.s ghost?" my dad had said to me as couple of months earlier. "No, what's the story." I asked. "I don't know the full tale but that house he bought it seems it's haunted." Norman C. was a comparative newcomer to the pit scene. He was ex. Royal Navy. He had done his three weeks underground training prior to him working down the pit. He had bought a house in Holbeck, Leeds about two Hundred yards from my house. I afterwards heard much gossip about the haunted house but I could not verify it because Norman worked in a different part of the mine. One shift I was visiting Norman's place of work. It was months after my father had told me about Norman C.. I remembered his Ghost. I sought him out. When I began quizzing him he was very reluctant at first to tell me the tale. But this is the story exactly as he told it to me: Soon after he and his wife had bought their house things began to move. They never saw them move but sometimes items would be in a different place from where they had been before they went to sleep the night before. Both blamed the other for moving the items. It soon got to the point where, before going to sleep, they would note where each item was placed in the bedroom. Sure enough next morning something would have been moved. The ornamental candlesticks may have move to the centre of the dressing table instead of at the sides, l the alarm clock would go off at the far end of the room rather than the bedside table. They had heard small noises upstairs as if someone was moving around but they had put it down to old house noises. a few times their little Six year old daughter had awoken with cries that the little old lady would not go away from the foot of her bed. One Sunday evening his wife was out visiting her mother. As was usual Norman was getting ready to go to his local pub. He decided that it was a little too cold upstairs to get washed in the bathroom. He took his suit and from the bedroom wardrobe still on its hanger and took it down stairs. He hung the hanger on the doorknob of the door that led from the living room to the hall way. He got washed and shaved in the scullery. (We did not call them kitchens then) When he came out of the scullery into the lounge, his suit had disappeared. He searched both rooms but to no avail. He decided that he must have only thought he had brought his suit down from upstairs. He opened the door to the hall stairway and his suit swung in from the other doorknob. There was no other person in the house. It shook him. He realised that it would have been possible to have hung the hanger on the outside of the door and then swung it sideways, closing the door fast. But why should he do a thing like that. He was on shifts about. One afternoon he had just finished work. He was entering his outside door into the hallway, the stairs were in front of him. Looking up the stairs he saw a woman walking up the last few steps and was just turning round the stair corner at the top. His wife worked and their child was at school. Not too unconcerned he thought perhaps his wife was not at work and had fetched a visitor home. He opened the living room door on his right, no one was there. Looking into the Scullery, again no one. Calling his wife's name upstairs, there was no reply. He ran up the steps to see who the visitor was. There was no one to be seen. He searched all the upstairs rooms in such a manner that no one could get past him to the stairs. He said his search was so thorough he even took up small carpets. Why he did this he does not know But such was his search of the house. No one

could be found. He was definite that the person he saw on the stairs was no apparition. It looked just like any normal lady would. This, he said, was the final straw. He and his wife contacted their local church and a priest came and chanted prayers and sprinkled holy water in every room. He said that after that, the visitations, movements and noises had ceased. His child had stopped seeing 'little old women'." I said. "Wow! what a weird tale. So everything at the house has now stopped has it?" He said "Yes. It's been quite for months now. But last funny enough last Wednesday when I came home from my afternoon shift I came into the lounge and my wife had asked what had I been doing in the hall. I replied nothing, that I had merely been hanging my coat up and had come straight into the room. She said you must have been doing something as you've been making noises in the hallway for a few minutes I could hear your heavy breathing. Oh! yes I said "I did spend a few minutes there. I had been running and I was catching my breath." He confirmed to me that he had not spent any time in the hallway. He had gone straight into the lounge. But he dare not upset his wife and tell her that. I've told the tale exactly as I heard it from Norman C.

Forty Four

A DEATH

It was late 1959 I had just finished my shift and was walking outwards. As I passed the loader end an old acquaintance of mine said. "Have you heard about Harry Dinsdale.?" My ears pricked up immediately. "What about Harry?" "He's been killed on Twenty threes" "Ah!" I felt a pending of doom." are you sure?" knowing full well miners don't joke or maliciously spread rumours about something serious like this. "They carried him out past here a half hour ago." affirmed the man. I was so shocked, it was like losing a father. Harry had been good to me and for me. No further news was available at that time. It later transpired that a hug rock had fallen from the roof and forced his upper body into the duffy (machine dust wastings) He had suffocated rather than succumbing to physical damage. In the old days before Nationalisation if a person was killed down a pit, all work stopped and all miners went home. The National Coal Board realised that this practice was in no ones best interest. The Board lost production and the workers lost wages. The Coal Board made an offer to the Mineworkers Union. In the event of an underground death, if the men stayed underground and continued to work that day, then they would give a gratia payment to the dead mans next of kin of one Thousand Pounds. This payment would not affect his statutory rights. The unions accepted the offer. It was generally accepted though, that the dead mans district could not continue to work. I certainly could not imagine continuing working on a district that a mate had just died on. At Harrys funeral practically all the pit workers attended it was a sad day for all. A nicer man than Harry you will not find. What is the power that allows good men like Harry to expire prematurely. Where is the reasoning, I'll never fathom it out. It was not long after Harry death that newspapers began reporting the virtues of Atomic energy. It was to be the next best thing since sliced bread. Someday all energy would be produced this way it was clean and cheap. There would be no need for coal or oil. Coal especially was old fashioned and too expensive, it was to be to be a thing of the past. It wasn't exactly reported like that but that's how I interpreted it. I now began to look at my life down the pit. Up to that point I had quite enjoyed being a miner. The money was good. The conditions and work I could handle. I started looking around me: At the old colliers that looked ready for retirement but were probably only fifteen to Twenty years older than I. The constant coughing and having to stop through shortage of breath and energy. There goes me in a few years-time I thought. I discussed my feelings with my mate Peter Whitehead. He sympathised and confided that he felt exactly the same. He too was looking for a way out of the pits. From that point on I seriously began to consider at what else I could do. I was only trained to do one thing Mining. I had a thought, I wouldn't mind being a policeman. I would be trained for the job. Thanks to the mining college I now had a reasonable education. I was more confident now than at any time in my life, education had given me that, not my fighting prowess. Policemen were respected, the money and conditions of work was good. Okay that was it, I'd be a policeman. That evening I discussed my idea with my wife. She realised that I had slowly become disillusioned with mining and agreed that a policeman's lot could be a happy one.

I called in at the main Leeds police Station, Milgarth and made enquiries. A senior officer asked me a few questions and said that they would be in later contact. Two weeks after I received notification of an appointment for tests and interview. Once there I underwent a physical examination and an intelligence test. I was informed that all was okay. Then began my interview with a Chief Superintendent. I was asked all sorts of questions regarding the makeup of my personality. I had a clean police record. All was going well. The interview seemed to be succeeding. Then the officer asked me in which branch of the services I had done my National Service. National Service was still in force at the time. Of course mining was exempt, I told him that. "Unfortunately the Police Service is not an exempt occupation." was his reply. "It seems that you would have to complete National Service before we could accept you." The crux of the matter was, that if I were to leave the mining industry then I would have to go into the armed forces. I left the interview really down. I was trapped. The pit had now become my prison. Again I mulled over my problem with Peter W. telling him that I was seriously considering joining the army as a career. He seemed interested and said he might consider that outlet. We agreed to talk to our respective wives to sound out their feelings. Discussing the situation that evening with my wife she was in no uncertain terms about my joining the services. She did not like the idea. I tried to persuade her that I could go in the army and make it a career. We would get married quarters. We could both travel and see the world. She was still against it. I knew I had to do something, my pit bubble had been burst. From my next shift I began to hate the pit. Whereas before I could look at all the best the pit had to offer me. Now I looked completely on the black side My shot firing colleagues knew of my decision to join the police. The next day when I saw them they asked what had been the outcome. When I told them they sympathised and asked what I was going to do. I replied that I didn't know. It looked as if I would have to join the army and get that out of the way. I told them that I was thinking along the lines of making the Army a career. Just then Walter Tuke. who was an old ex-army man, said. "You wanted to be a policeman and you have to join the army, why not be an army policeman." "Army Policeman what's them then?." I replied showing my naivet. "They are just like the civil police but they are the army police. They are Military Policemen. They are called Redcaps." "Redcaps?" "Because they don't wear a beret like normal soldiers they wear a Red peaked hat and have an arm band with the letters MP. Theirs is the Corps of the Royal Military Police." From that point I was hooked. Wearing a uniform with a red hat and an armband with MP on sounded great. I would have to go home and re-talk it all over with my Brenda and I knew what that outcome would be. I couldn't possibly discuss it with her, I was sure she would dissuade me from my course. She certainly would make me change my direction. That day, after my shift, I again talked to Peter and told him of my wives attitude to my joining the army. He said that his wife wanted whatever he wanted. I told him what Id heard about the Military Police. He was very interested especially about the MPs and suggested we go and get further information. We both went down to the Army recruiting offices in Wellington Street, Leeds. After discussion, interviews and tests we were informed that we were both suitable candidates for the Army and that they were prepared to enlist us in Corps of the Royal Military Police.

The upshot being that we both signed there and then for '9/22', Nine years, with the option after every three years of re-signing, to a maximum of Twenty two years. That evening I went home to tell my wife that I had joined up. Two weeks later Peter and I were on board a train heading for Woking, Surrey, the Depot and Training Establishment of the Royal Military Police.

Royal Military Police 1

Forty Five

A NEW BEGINNING

What was I doing here on this train heading for Woking, Surrey? I was asking
myself. Was I about to make the biggest mistake of my life? I feared that I was It certainly felt like that. All my past certainties and confidence had now vanished, even though I was in the company of Peter Whitehead., I felt so alone. Peter and I, after much discussion had decided to give up our jobs in the pit and try and carve out a career in the army. The Royal Military Police to be precise I began to look back at the events leading up to my train ride. What had I given up? My secure Staff job, good money for not very hard manual work. A stable marriage with a son to be proud of . My wife and I owners of decent sized house which within the next Five years would be paid fully paid for, then we would be able to look for something better or even another one. Had I been so foolish and thrown it all away to step into the unknown? The more I thought about it the more despondent I became. Feelings washed over me similar to that of the homesickness that I had felt when I had attended the Outward Bound School in the Lake district a few years earlier. Surely I wasn't going to have to feel that way again. "Tickets please." The conductor of the train brought me back to my senses and the present. We were just passing Nottingham. This was only the third time I had ever travelled this far away from Leeds. The other two times was to see Rugby League Cup finals at Wembley then I felt inner strength, now I felt very weak and vulnerable. In the past family summer holidays was taken on the East coast at Filey or Scarborough, an experienced traveller I certainly was not. I was missing my wife and child already, what had I let myself in for? Before long our train arrived at Kings Cross / St Pancras. I knew we had to change stations, our train to Woking departed from Euston. Peter asked a guard which way to Euston Station and got the curt reply "Underground" indicating a tube station sign.

That's it we both realized. Once in the tube station we were confronted by a map with a maze of coloured lines, partly remembering my past Wembly visit experience we worked it out and got on a train that soon arrived at Euston. I felt better already as we boarded the next main line connection to our destination. At later times when Travelling from Kings Cross to Euston, or vice versa, I would tend to walk. Its almost as quick, only a short walk down Euston Road. The train soon arrived at Woking station. On enquiring where the Military Police Depot was, a station porter pointed over to a parked, karki coloured, single decked bus. Peter and I and Seven other youths went over to it. A soldier was standing by the bus holding a clipboard. The soldier was the smartest I had ever seen. He wore Karki Battledress, blouse and trousers. All the crease's in his uniform were razor sharp. He had a broad white blancoed belt with a brass shiny buckle. His boots had a polish on them that reflected light. A Karki peaked forage hat was perched high on his head, it had a bright Red cover with a brass badge at the front. There was a single white stripe on each sleeve. On his Right arm just above the elbow he wore a black arm band with the letters PM picked out in Red. PM I thought. My mate, Walter T. had said the arm band had the letters MP. I was later to find out that PM stood for Provost Marshal. The Provost being pronounced Provo. PM., MP., whatever the soldier looked immaculate and I couldn't wait to be dressed like that. I walked up to the soldier and said, "Does this bus go to the MP Depot?" Name?" said the soldier. "Jack" said I. "Say Corporal when you speak to me. What's your full name?" I had no idea what Corporal meant so I said "Corporal. Jack Gale" "End! your words with Corporal, Idiot. Get on the bus." Never in my life had anyone spoken to me in that tone of voice. I was very tempted to say something in retaliation but decided to bite my tongue, I am glad now that I did. It was the first time I had ever been treated or felt like shit and done nothing about it. It was not be my last. I got on the bus. Peter didn't make the same mistake as I and after giving the Corporal his details boarded the bus without problem. The Corporal turned to one of the other lads. "Name" he said to the next lad. "Pate J., Lance Corporal." "Ah! Weve got an old soldier among us. He knows the difference between a Lance Corporal and a Corporal. Well Prat, he emphasised the word Prat; you just stand over there and stand to attention. Heels together and head upright, hands to your sides. I'll deal with you in a minute." With that he dismissed Pate J. to one side. The soldier then got on with the business of booking the rest of the intake on the bus. We had to wait a further Twenty minutes for other new arrivals from another train. Pate J. was left where he was all this time. We spoke in whispers on the bus for we did not want to be the subject of the Corporals wrath. The train arrived. Only after the other new recruits were booked in and on the bus, did the soldier order Pate to board the bus. When I later asked Pate about his ill treatment, he said that the Soldier had only one stripe so was a Lance Corporal. A full Corporal has two stripes. Both are usually deferred to as Corporal. With his reply of Lance Corporal, Pate had unwittingly pointed out that he was only a Lance Corporal not a full Corporal. The soldier had thought Pate was trying to take the piss out of him and decided to put him in his place.

Forty Six THE DEPOT Arriving at the Woking Depot and Training Establishment the soldier ordered us to debus.
We were confronted with a large high brick wall that seemed to disappear in both directions. A 9 foot (3 Mtrs) high Archway with large Black wrought iron gates, with detail picked out in gold, led into the Depot. Inside the gateway was a further covered archway. High on the curved roof of the archway were reminders of battle honours won in the last two great wars and Korea. Also were inscribed were names of Military Policemen who had distinguished themselves within the Corps. The Establishment, we learned, was called Inkerman Barracks. Left and Right of the archway was a small window and a door. The entrance on the right, I later learned, was the orderly room. We were ordered to stand in line by the left door until our name was called outside what I now know to be the guardroom. The soldier who met us at the station told us that when our individual name was called we had to come up to attention. March smartly and quickly into the guardroom. Halt at the desk and when asked give our name, Surname first then the initial. Answer any questions put to us. When ordered to leave, about turn and march out. Re-join the line until all had been booked in. "Gale" I jumped, I hadn't expected to be called first. I immediately turned Left and walked into the Guardroom as stiff as I could and stopped at the desk. Woking "Get out of my Guardroom you sloven excuse for manhood" The soldier behind the desk, yelled at me. "When I call your name march smartly and quickly. Now move yourself and get out" I rushed out almost tripping myself up in the process. The guardroom floor lino had a Green mirror polish. I rejoined the line. I wasn't liking this at all. I didn't know whether I was coming or going. "Gale" This time I tried to be smart, fast and confident but feeling none of these. I halted at the desk. "Name, and date of birth." "Gale J." I replied, "25th of November 1936 Sir" "I am not a Sir," Bellowed the 3 striped soldier seated behind the desk, "An officer I certainly am not nor want to be. My rank is Sergeant, 3 Stripes, don't forget that. Date of Birth?" "25th of November 1936 Sergeant." I answered, I didn't know the difference between an officer and someone with stripes on his arm. I realised had much to learn. "25 11 36 all figures, that's how you give your date of birth in this mans army. Where are your enlistment papers?" I produced some papers that I had been given at the recruiting office. I had not thought they were important, I was soon to learn the Army treats all papers as important. Everything is made out in triplicate or even double triplicate. I was a little relieved that I had them in my pocket and not in my holdall. I handed them over. "Oh! A volunteer, we don't get many of them in this mans army we are honoured, most of our recruits are Green snotty nosed National Servicemen. Right now get out and re-join the line." I about turned and was glad to get out of the guardroom. This rigmarole went on with the others until all the new arrivals had been processed. The Lance corporal then announced that he was march us down to where we were to sleep. In single file he left turned us and ordered. "Quick march. Right turn." We were led out of the guardroom archway that opened out to a large smooth square tarmacadamed area. An earlier shower made it glisten in the late sun. This was the parade

ground, it was about 50 yards long on all four sides. There were four storied high buildings overlooking each side of the square. Opposite the Archway, across the parade ground was a high tower. On all four faces was a large white faced clock. The windows of the buildings, and there were many, were small and regular. A walk way led completely round the outside of the square. A very sombre place were these barracks, even in the daytime. I later learned that it had been built in the last century as a mens Prison that held convicts prior to their deportation to Australia. Later it was converted into a women's gaol before becoming the Depot and Training Establishment of the Royal Military Police. D.&T. Est. RMP for short. We were informed that only the ground floors of each block were used. The upper stories were condemned as unsafe. There were only Three tunnel exits from the Square. The barrack area and sleeping accommodation was set away from the main buildings and square. The wooden barrack blocks we learned were called Spiders. The name was given, because there was a communal central passage way with huts to the Left and Right sides, Eight in all. Inside hut E Block 4, which was to become our home from home, single iron beds lined each side of the wall. Down the centre aisle lay a length of polished beige lino. In the centre was an unlit coke burning stove the round chimney vent pipe protruded through the roof. The stove stood in a square concrete hearth. Along-side was a burnished copper coke bucket. We later brassoed the bucket until it shone. It was then filled it with coke, each piece placed carefully and uniformly into it. It was to be put on show for the sixteen weeks training period, rather than being used. The coke in this bucket was never burnt or used. We had another old bucket for coke carrying and using. The entire stove had to be 'black leaded' until it shone. At the head side of the bed alongside the wall was a large Green painted, double doored, steel wardrobe type of locker. At the foot was a small wooden polished foot locker. Some Twenty Four beds in all. The space that contained your bed and the large and small lockers was to be 'your bed space,' for the duration. There were Twelve in our party and we were told to claim any bed that was vacant. Peter and I could only manage to get beds within Three berths of each other. The rest of the beds would be taken within the next day when other new comers arrived. The Lance Corporal said, "Park your gear in the metal lockers and lock them. Keep the key with you. Then fall in outside. We will go and get your bedding. We did as we were bid and were then marched over to the barrack block where the bedding and linen store was housed. At the store an attendant issued us with a single flock filled mattress. A pair of White sheets, a pillowcase and four coarse wool blankets. A bedside mat. A knife, fork, spoon and a pint pot mug. We had to sign a receipt for all this equipment. Manhandling all this, back to the barracks, without dropping it to the wet floor was more by luck than management. Back at the barracks we were instructed to make up our beds. Evening meal was for the hour beginning at Five Thirty. Breakfast Six until Seven and Lunch at half past Twelve. For the next few days we were to be issued with kit and given general instructions on the do's and donts of the camp. We were informed that we could visit the NAAFI of an evening but we would not be allowed out of the camp area for the next Eight Weeks. After which time we would, providing we had earned it, be issued with a Seventy Two Hour pass. Eight weeks in this place, I inwardly groaned, Eight weeks before I will be able to see my wife and son again. Perhaps Brenda had been right all along. What have I let myself in for. I was feeling very sorry for myself even by now and I hadn't been here twenty four hours yet. The feeling of homesickness that I had originally felt at the Outward Bound course washed over me. At Six that evening we all trundled to the Cookhouse for our evening meal. It left much to be

desired. A pie and mash type of meal, with sponge pudding to follow. Plenty to eat if you liked that type of thing. If you don't, the sooner you get used to it, the better off you will be. We had been informed that the NAAFI would be opened at Seven. NAAFI is a synonym for Naval, Army, Air Forces Institution. It is a non-profit making organisation that has an establishment wherever any arm of the British forces serves, home or abroad. At all fixed points and in ships it has a permanent base. In the field it has mobile services. Servicemen everywhere have a lot to thank NAAFI for. At Seven many of us gravitated to the NAAFI by now most of us new recruits had introduced ourselves and the general feeling was lets go and cry into our beer. Inside, was like a cafe cum bar. All types of drinks, including beers and spirits, and food was served at realistic cost. Prices that a serviceman could afford. Snooker and other indoor games were provided. It was to be our only means of social contact for Eight weeks. Homesickness washed over me again , get me a beer I felt like crying into it already. Lights out in the barracks were Eleven O Clock. everybody who was not on duty had to be within their own bed space area by that time. Regular bed checks were made. We were left in no doubt that escapees would not be tolerated. The next morning I awoke to the duty Sergeant clashing Two metal dustbin lids together. "Hands off you cocks and on to your socks" he bellowed. It was Six O Clock. He marched the full length of the room and anyone who was not out of bed with both his feet on the floor would, he threatened, be tipped bodily out of it. He was true to his word in one case. We didn't really know what to do. No one had really told us. I wandered to the ablutions to clean up and shave. There it was a hive of activity. All other trainees of the other huts were rushing about like mad, grabbing the first available basin as it became vacant. What was all the rush about? I returned to our barrack room. Breakfast was from Six O Clock to Seven. We had plenty of time. In the future I was to realise that there is a considerable lack of time between Reveille and Morning Muster Parade at Eight. In training there is so much to be done. At times breakfast was a luxury we did without, rather than miss more important chores. The Lance Corporal who had met us at the train station came in at Seven Thirty and collected us for our first parade. We were required to appear at Morning Muster but we stood at the rear. We were still wearing civilian clothes. After muster parade a Three Striper joined us and introduced; no, introduced is the wrong word, told us in no uncertain terms that he was Sergeant Friend. He was to be the instructor for the period of our training. More trainees of our intake would be arriving today. We would then be a complete squad of Twenty Two. Sergeant is shortened to Sgt. I was beginning to realise that in the Army anything that can be shortened is. My rank, as far as the training centre was concerned was Probationer. The lowest rank possible. I was beginning to think snakes had a higher standing than us. The rank was abbreviated, to Prob. Probationer, as we were often later reminded, meant that we were on probation. At any time during training, if we did not conform, we could be RTUed. RTU meaning Returned to Unit. In my case Civvie Street. Many would be the time that I wished I was strong enough to take this easy option out. I must admit I was often very tempted. The coming Monday our training would commence in earnest. The training period would last for Sixteen Weeks. Sgt. Friend then lead the squad to the Quarter Master stores. We were now to be issued with Army Kit. We entered the stores in single file. There was a long, lino covered, polished counter. Heaped, the length of it, were numerous items of kit. Behind stood three attendants each holding a clipboard. The first attendant began serving the first Prob. Each taking the next one

in line. My turn came. I was first issued with a kit bag, into it were thrown items of kit. All was done at a very fast pace. Most of the items were totally unfamiliar to me. As I progressed along the counter the pile grew bigger and bigger. Whilst issuing the kit the attendant was shouting out the names of each item and marking it off on a clipboard: "Boots Ammunition. Pairs Two. Drawers Cellular, Green. Pairs Three. Housewife Sets. One. Vests PT. Two Mess tins. One large, One small. Caps Forage. One. Caps Beret. Blue, One. etc. etc." The list seemed endless. I did not have a clue what items of kit I had got, but at the end of the line I was required to sign that I had received it all. I would not have dared questioned the system, I think I'd rather have questioned the existence of God. The issued article, Housewives One. was not what it suggested but a sewing kit containing needles, threads and darning wool. The drawers Cellular were underpants. Once outside we were marched back to the barrack room, depositing the kit in the individual lockers, we were ordered to parade outside. The Squad was marched to the tailors to be fitted out with two sets of uniforms. Battledress Blouse and Trousers. In the 'Carry on soldier' film, I had seen soldiers, on entry, thrown uniforms that were too small or too large to fit. Being told to grow or shrink into them. This was certainly not the case at the tailors. They really endeavored to get the nearest correct fit with both uniforms. Trying on each set, the tailor began marking certain areas with French chalk. Later collected, they would be tailor made to fit the individual. We had been issued with a pair of 'fatigues 'these were Grey denim blouse and top. They were used when being involved with cleaning duties, hence fatigues. (they still had to be clean and ironed) We would be wearing fatigues for the first week of training, one set of Battledress would be returned from the tailor within two days. At all times, outdoors we had to wear a head-dress. At the beginning of training it would be a Blue beret. Later we were also individually measured for our 'Blues'. This uniform was a deep blue dress uniform with Red piping which would be issued later in training. After the B.D. uniform fittings we were Doubled, (Marched at double quick time, a slow running pace) to the camp barber. I am sure he came from Australia and his real occupation had been a sheep sheerer. All he did was start at the nape of the neck and shear all hair off up to three inches over the ear. Sgt. Friend stood over all the proceedings with the occasional comment. "Take some more off." Which the barber did. None was taken from the top of the head. The Sergeant explained. "What's under your beret is yours. What is showing is mine." For this hair mutilation we had to pay the princely sum of One Shilling and Three pence (7p) In the coming future members of our 773 squad would be having many of these such cuts. At least once a week was the norm. Many times would I and others be told to get a haircut by our instructor or the RSM having had one only a few days earlier. The most I ever had to get was 2 in a week but one of our squad held the record and had to get 3 in 5 days. That day other new trainees joined the squad. A few were soldiers who had transferred from other regiments. One was an Ex. boy soldier who had joined the cadet force when he was 15. He had now come of age at 18 The rest were direct enlistment's who were doing National Service. All of them received kit and the attention of the barber.

There were now Twenty Two in the Squad. On "Fall out" and entering my bed space I was dismayed to look at all my newly acquired kit. I did not have a clue where to start with it. At Four O clock Sgt. Friend entered the barrack room. He ordered everyone to stand at the foot of our their bed, on the Right hand side, facing the centre aisle. He instructed that when any senior rank entered the barrack room, the first one to spot him would shout out "Stand by your beds" To which we would all retire to the position we were now in, standing properly to attention. He then ordered "Stand at ease. Gather round me" He chose the middle bunk in the room and proceeded to show us how and where to stow the kit. "A place for everything and everything in its place." Was how he explained it. Uniforms were hung up on hangers in the correct order. Shirts and underwear neatly folded in a certain way and stowed on its appropriate shelf. Sock folded into an exact shape and displayed. All items of kit shown were placed in a uniformed way. Any deviation would not be tolerated. There was a sliding drawer in the locker that had a separate key. It was for loose items of personal use. The contents of the drawer would remain private and would only be inspected in unusual circumstances. The rest of the locker and contents could, and would, be inspected at any time without prior warning, although it would normally only be inspected when the owner of the locker was in attendance. Sgt. Friend told us to look at the uniform that he was wearing. The individual creases in it were in certain positions and of exact length. As an instance, of the six individual creases at the back of the blouse, the two inside ones had to be 7 inches long, graduating to the two that had to be 5 inches and the remaining two 3 inches. I had to admire the Sergeant, he now became my peer, he looked even smarter than the original soldier who met us on the bus. By comparison the Lance Corporal was a non starter. Tomorrow morning, we were informed, the Sergeant would collect us at 7.30 and that we had to be dressed in Beret, fatigues and cleaned boots. Cleaning material could be purchased from the NAAFI shop later. Tomorrow we would be required to wear fatigues, a green blancoed waist belt, and gaiters that strapped round our ankles. The boots had to be brush polished at this early stage. A beret with clean cap badge would be on our heads. The whole of that evening was spent cleaning and polishing different items of kit. The ex. boy soldier showed us the best way of achieving results. He was invaluable. He had arrived in uniform and looked quite smart. A lot of his kit had been exchanged but his boots and personnel gear he had been allowed to retain. All items of kit had to be imprinted, stamped or stencilled in indelible ink with your own army personal identity number. The following day when the duty sergeant woke us up we were alert and raring to go. We quickly made our ablutions and had breakfast. Only Two minutes seemed to have elapsed from reveille and in walked Sergeant Friend at 7.30 "Stand by your beds." someone ordered. We complied. Some were still putting on items of clothing. "Stand still" he bellowed. "I told you to be ready at 7.30 In future when I say a time I expect you to be ready 10 minutes before that time. Five minutes for the Queen and five for me." He then proceed to pace up and down the centre of the barrack floor, pointing out discrepancies which had to be remedied the following morning. Berating every each and one of us luckless excuses for soldiers. "Thank-god we have a Navy" was how he put it. "Open up your lockers" he ordered.

We all did so. He looked at them with dismay. "I can see I'm going to have a problem with this squad. Does these lockers bear any resemblance to the one I laid out yesterday?" He said pointing over to the middle locker he had prepared earlier. Most of us realised our own did not. "You are very lucky this morning I am in a good mood." If this was his idea of a good mood what was he like when he got out of bed on the wrong side, I doomed. "Because training does not officially begin until Monday I will excuse you on this one occasion. Now On the word of command, 'Go', I want you stow away all your gear. Lock your lockers and fall in outside in three Ranks. The last man moving gives me twenty press ups...Go!" he commanded There was a mad rush to do as he had ordered. I can't remember who did the press ups, as long as it wasn't me. The squad was then marched to the Square and placed in position at the rear. All trainees and instructors were stood at ease at the back of the square facing towards the centre. At the stroke of eight a person who I now know to be as the Regimental Sergeant major, RSM for short, strode on to the centre of the square. "Parade. Parade, Shun" Commanded the RSM Everybody on the parade ground came to a position of attention. An echoing, in exact unison, thud rang around the parade ground. Not being instructed exactly how to come to attention, our Squad was very dishevelled. "Instructors, Get on Parade." The RSM continued All the Sergeant instructors then march forwards to the centre of the parade ground and halted, in unison, exactly in a line. "Parade. Get on, Parade" Further ordered the RSM. The whole of the trainees began to march forward, as one, in three lines abreast. Without a further order, to a man they all stopped exactly at the same time. They were like clockwork. It was an eye opener. How did they know when to stop exactly at the right moment one had given any further commands. We had been instructed to remain where we were. At the RSMs command "Right Dress" The front and rear ranks opened out by taking Two short paces forward or backwards. An inspection by the individual instructors then began of all the trainees. The RSM chose one Squad for him to inspect. The shouting at individual recruits was astounding. I had seen film of soldiers being inspected and dressed down by a superior. It bore no resemblance in reality. How anyone could stand there and take the abuse that was being handed out. I was inwardly amazed. When the parade was over and all had been marched off the parade ground Sgt. Friend explained that was to be us starting next Monday. Although I wanted to start training, the sooner we start the sooner we finish, I reasoned. The remarks by the inspecting officers were very blunt and personnel. Could I stand there and take it? The squad was then marched over to the Orderly room. Each in turn, had to enter and confirm all written details held there. We were given forms to fill in that reaffirmed the information. One form also wanted details of hobbies and sports played. As I'd had a little success in boxing and Swimming I put them down. The forms were returned. Photographs were taken for an identity card to be later issued. "Probationer Gale" Someone shouted. "In here" What had I done wrong I wondered. I re-entered the offices. There was, whom I now know to

be, an officer. I didn't know the difference at the time. "I am Captain Thomas" He said "You've done some boxing I understand? "Yes sir" I replied. He asked me of my standard and I told him. He explained that he was the Boxing officer of the camp and in the near future a camp tournament was being held. "Come down to the Gym tonight at Eight. I'll have a look at you. See if you are any good." And with that he was gone. It was not a case of, "do you want to box?" More of a case, you are boxing. Anyway, I wanted to box. "Gale" a voice said behind me. "It says here you are a Swimmer" Again similar questions were asked of my ability as regards Swimming. This time the officer was Lieutenant Mayhew. He stated that sometime he would pick me up and take me to the local baths for time trials. I was then excused. That evening I presented myself at the Gym. I was dressed in army issued PT kit. It fitted me where it touched. The shorts fitted my waist but hung down to below my knees, black plimsoll's on my feet. Captain (Cpt) Thomas first weighed me to ascertain my weight class. He then said "The same weight as Miller" He shouted the gym, "Corporal Miller put some gloves on give Gale here, a few rounds." and then to me "Get in with Miller, lets have a look at you"

Cpl. Miller and I began to spa. I felt confident and thought I gave a good account of myself. Only a few minutes had elapsed when Cpt. Thomas stopped the fight and said. "That will be all. You two are about evenly matched. You will be giving an exhibition bout at the Depot tournament in two weeks-time. Now Gale lets start to get you boxing fit." I was unused to this assumption that I had no choice in the matter. In civilian life people asked me if I wanted to do things. Not in the Army, one did as you were told. I later learned that night that Corporal Miller was a Scottish ABA winner and British Railways Champion. Next morning began as the one before only this time we seemed to have even less time on our hands. After Morning muster the squad was marched to the medical centre. We were each examined by an Army Doctor and as in film comedy's the doctor actually did handle each soldiers scrotum and tell him to cough. It seems as if a hernia problem can be detected from this test. (Or should that be teste?) We were given a TAB injection. What it was for was not explained. It is only now that I realise that the same needle was used for us all. By this time it was almost lunch time. Our Sergeant said that after the shots we were allowed

a period of convalescence till morning. But we were warned our kit and barrack room must be cleaned and up to scratch by then. That evening everyone in the barrack room was complaining of soreness and swelling of the arm due to the injections. It transpired that the injections were, Tetanus Anti-Biotic and that the swellings were entirely normal. Anyone who's arm did not react would have to be reexamined later. Each day right up to the weekend we were issued with different articles of kit and shown how to use or clean them. We each had to go to the NAAFI stores and buy forty studs for our boots. The studs, we were told, was to keep the sole in good repair. But I suspect that the real reason was that it made a satisfactory noise when stamping the foot or marching. The squad had been shown where to put studs in the soles of the boots. Even the studs had to be in perfect unison with current practice. There were to be 3 rows in the sole of each boot, 2, 3 and 2 studs in each row. 3 studs in the heel. All had been issued with Two pairs of boots. One pair was for everyday use and the Second pair were for best. The best pair would only be used on special occasions, like passing out parades. These were the parades we all wanted to be on. The first passing out parade would be at the end of our eighth week with a three day pass after it. The final parade, after sixteen, would mean we had finished recruit training and had become fully basically trained Military Policemen. On the Friday we were all given sheets of Brown paper and boxes and instructed to wrap up all civilian clothes. These were then posted home. It was against standing orders for a recruit to wear other than army uniform until after training, Sixteen Weeks away. Even when we had a Seventy Two hour pass home we would still have to remain in uniform, underclothing and all. This day we were issued with one of our two uniforms of BD from the tailors. That evening a private soldier came into the barrack room. "Anyone wanting their Battledress ironing?" He stated "I'll do it, correct size creases and all." "How much" asked one. "Half a crown. (12 &1/2p)" said the soldier. "Take mine then." said he. "And mine" said another. Soon the soldier had Sixteen uniforms to iron, mine included. I had never had to iron a thing in my life, my mother or my wife did all my ironing. I just did not have a clue and was glad that someone would 'start me off' Only the ex. boy soldier and the transferees did not take up the ironing offer. Later that evening the soldier brought the uniforms back and duly collected Sixteen Half Crowns. Not bad for an evenings work. When I received mine I had expected it to be perfect, like the Sergeants was. I was to be very dismayed, the creases were in the correct position but they were a lot to be desired. I realised that it would take years of ironing to get it to the Sergeants standard. The whole of our time was taken up working on kit or cleaning the barrack room. That weekend I was feeling really down. I didn't make myself any better by thinking what I would be doing now if I was at home. Playing with my son, seeing a film, going for a pint. The more I thought of home the worse I felt. I had to force myself to snap out of it. Each time I wrote a letter home I felt like bursting into tears. I had a severe case of homesickness. Today's army recognises these symptoms and is treatable with counselling. In my heart, deep down, I knew I could fit in here given time. I had soon realised that the Army ran on rank. Anyone with a higher rank than yourself can give you a lawful order and you are obliged to carry it out. No

one asked you, you are told. I reasoned that as soon as I achieved the first stripe I would be senior to around Seventy five Per-cent of the British Army. Get two up and that percentage increases. I don't know if these percentages are correct, but they'll do for me I reasoned. I learned that after successfully passing training and becoming a fully trained, all are promoted to Lance Corporal, learning that soldiers from other regiments called this first stripe a protection stripe. Whatever it was nicknamed I could see that it wasn't given but truly and thoroughly earned. Prob. Conroy the ex. boy soldier had been declared the Squad Senior. He told me that it was possible to join the army at 15 and a half. It was called boy service. It was an ideal institution for boys who'd had no satisfactory home life. They were allowed to serve until they were 18 and then they could be granted a discharge or be signed up for a regular service engagement. The service could be for 3, 6 or 9 years duration. The more you signed for, the more pay you received. At the end of your signed contract time you could obtain a discharge, or sign for a further period of 3 years at a time up to the maximum of 22. My service engagement was 9/22 Prob. Conroy made up a duty roster that designated certain jobs to be done within the room. All in the room had certain responsibilities. If a certain area of the room was not properly attended to, then that person who had defaulted could be known. Everything in the barrack room had to be cleaned until it shone. Even the roof rafters were washed down regularly. That weekend we worked from dawn till well after dusk. All our waking time was devoted to cleaning the barrack room and or kit. The bed, every morning, had to be stripped and the blankets and sheets had to be folded into a box like shape. A blanket was stretched over the mattress. It had to be very tightly folded in an exact way. In the coming weeks our Sgt. would often bounce a coin on to the mattress, if it didn't rebound to a sufficient height then he would rebound on us from a great height. N.B. I have reread the last paragraph about the bed and now remember that the bed mattress was flock filled not foam; that came later therefore the coin bouncing on the mattress came later with the foam. The coming Monday was to be our first day of training proper.

Forty Seven TRAINING PROPER Monday came. By now I was used to becoming instantly awake as I heard the Duty Sergeant
shouting reveille in the other rooms before he had entered ours. I knew that I had to be up. It was useless prolonging a lie in bed for just a few more seconds. Ablutions. Get dressed. Make bed. Breakfast. Clean bed space. Barrack room duty. Check dress. Be stood at my bed by 7.30 when the Sergeant comes in. Where has all the time gone? There just isn't enough time to do it all. I seem to have just started getting ready and the Sergeant walks through the door. "Stand by your beds" Someone called. I stood there at attention, or what I perceived to be at attention, wondering what was going to happen next. Sgt Friend began to walk up the centre space, stopping, in turn, at each soldiers bed. Picking on everything and everybody. According to him we had wasted the previous weekend. Obviously, to him, we had done no work to our kit or the barrack room. At this rate the squad will certainly not pass out of this depot. I, and I am sure everyone else, was crestfallen. We had all worked so very hard. From the last Friday until now we had been working. Stopping only for Meals, short NAAFI breaks and sleep. I had never worked so concentrating hard and long before. Now here was a Sergeant telling us, me, that I had been wasting my time. I hadn't expected any praise from him but I certainly hadn't expected his berating. He was not satisfied, unless the barrack room was cleaned properly for tomorrow morning the whole squad would suffer. I palled, what more can I do? "Now get outside in Three ranks." He yelled. A mad dash was made by all to get out of the room and not be last. As before we were marched up to the square for Muster Parade. Again we remained at the rear when all the orders were given. As each order was given by the RSM. Sgt Friend relayed to us what was happening. Tomorrow we would be expected to march on parade correctly. When morning muster was over our squad remained on the square. Our first training proper was to be two periods of drill. Most of us had never done drill, or square bashing as it is called. Some took to it quite easy. I did not, I had to work very hard at it and was just about average. Some others were not so lucky. Even standing properly to attention has to be learned. To begin with one tends to try too hard and become rigid. It then looks false and unnatural. The idea is to try and relax but at the same time remain looking perfectly upright. We have all seen guardsmen fall down on TV when they have been standing to attention for long periods. They do so because blood pressure falls due to lack of a proper blood circulation to the brain. The trick is to try and relax as much as possible, to curl and uncurl your toes in your boots and to do the same with your fingers. Relaxing and tensing muscle groups also helps. All these movements are acceptable providing they do not show movement. Even marching and keeping in step with others does not come naturally. Prob. Lock could not swing his arms correctly. As the left leg is striding forward, the right arm should swing forward, opposite arm opposite leg. Lock was swinging same arm same leg. No amount of coaching could get him to swing his arms in the prescribed manner. Sgt Friend really laid into him. To hear the sergeant talk Lock was the lowest form of life, he was still a baby who had not yet learned to walk properly., If he didn't learn pretty soon, a nappy and dummy would be fetched and Lock would have to wear them.

I'm sure Prob. Lock believed, at the time, that Sgt Friend could and surely would carry out his threat. But no amount of bollockings or cajoling could get Lock to march correctly. The sergeant had an idea. He fell the rest of us out for a smoke break. We mustered in the ground floor passage way that surrounded the buildings overlooking the square and looked out of the windows. The sergeant placed Prob. Lock between 2 other recruits who could march. The 3 were in single file facing forward. They were given 2 sweeping brush handles to hold, one on either side. Three right hands were holding one handle with the 3 lefts holding the other. Instructed that on the command "Quick March" They would all begin to march normally swinging their arms. Prob. Lock was told to keep in step with his feet and allow his arms to relax and to follow the directions of the handles with his hands. "Quick march." ordered the Sergeant. Immediately they began to march forward swinging the brush handles with their arms. They started of okay but soon there was much confusion, instead of Lock being taught to swing correctly the others began to swing the same as Lock, same arm same leg. Experiment a total failure. The rest of the squad was in hysterics. It was the funniest thing that I had seen since I had arrived here. I thought that I had forgotten how to laugh up, up to now there had been nothing to laugh at. It took many drill periods before Lock could march properly but perseverance paid off, soon he was as good as anyone else. The first lecture that afternoon gave us a brief history of the Military Police. It being made a Corps in 1946. The role of the RMP., are soldiers who exercise police related functions in the Army. Maintain Military Law and order, discover, investigate and prevent crime. That first training day I received my first letter from Brenda. Reading it left me more down than I had already been. She wrote how lonely she was, my son was forever crying for me, all the lights had blown that evening of writing, it turned out to be an only an electric fuse but she had not known how to mend it. I felt wretched. Things were not going according to plan. I had not foreseen all this. When I got the chance that evening I replied to her letter. In it I again tried to reassure her that all would eventually be resolved although whether I believed it myself I had doubts. The Sixteen weeks, I explained, would soon be over. When I passed out of this place and had been posted to an RMP company, I would be able to get married quarters for us all. We would be a united family again. Patience was the key word for us both. I certainly was not on a bed of roses here. That night I resolved to try harder. Tomorrow our Sergeant would have no cause to pick on me. The coming day was to be our first muster parade proper. The next morning came all too soon, before I seemed to have time to turn around we were on parade. This time we marched out with the other squads. We all counted the paces forward in our heads. When we came to the seventeenth we came to a controlled halt. We tried so hard but it was very ragged, all stopping at slightly different times. The RSM bellowed out to us. "Get it together." Then the order came "Open order. March." This in effect means that the centre rank stands still, the front rank moves forward 2 paces, the rear rank moves back 2 It is designed to give the inspecting officer plenty of room to walk between the ranks inspecting the troops. Our squad officer, we learned his name was Second Lieutenant Boyce. He looked a right mummies boy to me. Later I was to find that he played rugby union for the army team and was considered quite a 'hard' man. He certainly did not look it.

Lt. Boyce began to inspect us. He looked at each one of us in turn remarking points to Sgt. Friend who noted them in a small book. At the end of the parade, we again remained on the square for a further 2 periods of drill. This time the Sergeant re-inspected us bringing out the points that the officer had noted. On coming to me he said "Have you had a shave this Morning?" On receiving an affirmative reply he said, "then stand closer to the razor next time. I see I am going to have to watch you." He went to town on us all. I ended up thinking I was not worth the ink that was printed on my birth certificate. Although to hear him talk I wouldn't have a birth certificate I was too low a life to have been born normally. All the instructors carried a drill stick. It was a Yard long highly polished wooden rod. It had a silver topped handle at one end and a rubber ferrule at the other. One time Sgt. Friend had inspected me and because I was not up to his requirements he pointed the drill stick end to the edge of my nose and threatened. "If you do not get a grip of yourself, Gale I will push this drill stick up your Right nostril and throw you over my Left shoulder. Do you understand? "Yes Sergeant." I shuddered. And at the time I really thought he could carry out his threat. I was by no means small in stature but he seemed to me a mountain of a man. In later years I was to realise different. What do I have to do to please the man I thought. I really tried hard last night, what more can I do? My only consolation was that everyone in the squad was put through the same ringer before being hung out to dry. That all very well for them I thought, but the Sergeant really means it when he gets on to me. That evening Peter and I decided to go for an evening NAAFI break. The NAAFI was situated in one of the buildings that lined the square. We left the barrack room, walked the 100 or so yards and entered the main block passageway. We exited a door of the block that led on to the square area. It was then required to walk at a very brisk pace, arms swinging shoulder high, round the pathway that surrounded the parade ground to the NAAFI doorway. As we were marching, my foot accidentally touched the square at the corner angle rather than the walkway. Instantly a voice bellowed out from across the Square. "Get off my square that man." It was the RSM. No one was allowed to touch, what he called, 'his square' unless doing drills or parades. "Come here. Now." he further shouted. As either of us did not know to whom he was referring to. Both of us doubled over to him. We all stood trembling to attention. the RSM was a very imposing person. His uniform was always immaculate in every way. "No one walks on my square unless I personally give him my permission." He bellowed. He then went into a tirade about what he ought to do with us. I do not exactly remember what because I had visions of spending the night in the guardroom cells. "Walk on my square once again and your feet won't touch the ground when I throw you into the nick. It will be mind your fingers as I clang the cell door shut. Now get out of my sight and don't come into it again. I will remember you both in the future. No go!" We fled away. All I had done was accidentally touch his beloved square. I made sure I never went near it again. The following morning. "Stand by your beds" came the order. We stood. In walked the Sergeant. At the foot of the beds was a small foot locker This had a shelf that displayed our best boots. Every spare minute I would put another thin layer of polish on them. It is called 'Bulling' your boots. Even the arch under soles have to be bulled. The only way to highly polish boots it to continually put thin layer after layer of polish on them. With a duster covered index finger

using round circular movements you worked the polish into the boot. Occasionally spitting on the boot or using iced water helped to contain and deepen the shine. The second pair are working boots and only the heel sides and toecaps are bulled, the rest of the boot is brush polished. New boots are not smooth on issue. They have a raised bubbly orange peel effect. This surface has to be honed and smoothed out. The ex. boy soldier showed us how to do it. A thick layer of polish is first applied and the handle of a spoon is heated over a candle flame, it is then honed all over, hours can, and are, spent on each boot. Someone who knew the ropes and had known what to expect produced an electric soldering iron with a blunt tipped end. It did the job of smoothing the leather bubble effect superbly. We were warned not to let any senior rank know of this easier way of honing boots. The old fashioned method was the only way to do it in training. On top of the foot locker were neatly arranged a knife, folk and spoon with your upturned pint mug was placed in the centre. After inspecting the barrack room for minute traces of dust or dirt, and always finding some, the Sergeant descended on the state of the mugs. He gave the order to "Upturn mugs." all turned their mugs over so that the inside could be inspected. Going to the first mug in the room he inspected it. He proclaimed that it was dirty, hooked the end of his drill stick into the handle and cast it over his shoulder. It smashed to pieces in the centre of the floor. All along the line he inspected mugs and more often than not found them at fault and hooked them over his shoulder. All fell to the floor and broke. He came to my mug. It was dirty. Again he hooked it over his shoulder but it's trajectory threatened a recruits head who saved himself injury with a reflex action by catching it, consequently there was no noise of it smashing. The Sergeant slowly turned round and looked at the recruit who was holding the mug. No word was spoken but the look from Sgt. Friende froze him. He released the mug and it smashed to the floor. Out of 22 mugs, he had broken 15. They would have to be replaced at lunch time from the Quarter Masters Stores at a cost, to us, of One Shilling and Three pence. (7p) "Fall in outside in 3 ranks. Last one moving gets 20." He ordered. As we ran down the centre aisle to get outside and not be the last in line, we could not help but grind the shards of pottery into our lovingly polished lino. The floor would have to be scoured of polish and resurfaced again that coming evening. A recruits work is never done. Another gruelling day ahead of us. That day we learned about the difference between officers and other ranks. Officers are soldiers who having been selected for officer training and having successfully completed it are then commissioned by the head of the armed forces, this of course being Her Majesty the Queen. Rank begins for them, in the army, as a Second Lieutenant, denoted by a badge of rank known as a single 'pip'. An Officers rank is usually is worn on his shoulder epaulette. They are always addressed as 'Sir'. Other soldiers start at the lowest rank of private, or in our case probationer. The first promotion by one stripe is to Lance Corporal he is then a 'non-commissioned' officer, an NCO. All NCOs are usually addressed with their rank. The highest NCO rank is a Warrant Officer First Class. All WO's are addressed as sir. The highest warrant officer at our depot was the RSM. Officers are soldiers who take an officer training course and on completion receive a certification of commission by the monarch. They receive the lowest rank of 2nd Lieutenant (pronounced left-en-ant) On the drill square we were being shown how to salute. Sgt. Friende ordered everyone to a position of attention and then to salute. He walked down the ranks correctly positioning our right hands. The fingers had to be outstretched with the index finger touching the right

eyebrow. The palm was flat outward and the elbow held high. It was a cold day and we were wearing Karki woollen gloves. Peter had half his right ring finger missing due to the mining accident earlier described. As Sgt. Friend moved to him he saw the loose gloved finger end hanging down. Grabbing what he thought to be a loose finger he began to yank at it. Bellowing at him, at the same time, as to his slovenliness. He soon realised that there was no finger within the glove. He was so surprised that for a brief moment he was lost for words. "What's this?" he blustered. "Finger off Sergeant." Was the Peter's reply "Well get the glove sewn up sharpish." Was all he could think of to say. "Today you are going to shed blood for your country, literally." The Squad Sergeant, one morning, announced. "You are all going to volunteer to donate blood. Do I make myself understood? You will volunteer" The emphasis on the word 'will' left no one in any doubt as to exactly what he meant. "This squad has been specially chosen to give blood to the Royal Army Medical Corps. RAMC. It is purely voluntary and you will be required to sign giving your permission. This blood helps those that may sometime need it. It could be you tomorrow. And if you don't buck your ideas up in training it may well possibly be any one of you that may need it." "All those who have decided to donate blood outside in 3 ranks. The remainder stay put, I'll think of something for you to do to keep you occupied." To a man everyone formed up outside the barrack room. I was quite willing to donate blood, it would be a first time for me. I wondered what the veiled threat contained if any of us had refused. Outside the guardroom an army bus was waiting to take us to the Military Hospital, Aldershot. Having never given blood before and I was a little apprehensive. I shouldn't have bothered it was nothing really. At least it got us out of barracks for the morning. We all received a copy of the training schedule for the coming eight weeks. There were at least 2 periods of drill and 1 of PT, Police holds or the Assault Course per day. Most of the other periods were held in the classroom. Thursdays was pay day. At certain times of that day each squad would parade outside the orderly room in single file and in alphabetical order. Inside the room would be a trestle table, behind which sat an officer and the pay Sergeant. Your name was called, you came up to attention and marched smartly into the room, halt at the table and salute the officer. The pay Sergeant would hand the officer your pay book and a certain amount of money. With your left hand you would take your book and money. Salute the officer and state. "Pay and pay book correct, Sir." About turn and march out. Outside you could then inspect your pay book details to see if in fact your pay and book were correct. Woe betide anybody who inspected his pay book before giving the officer the required answer and salute. I have to say that at no time was my pay and details other than correct. The army can make mistakes but they were not out to cheat you. Mistakes were rectified, unlike the mining industry at times. Each barrack room had a 'drying room' this was a place where centrally heated pipes lined the middle, and walls of the room. When completing the assault course for example we could be wet sodden through. Clothing was hung and dried there. Smalls could be hand washed and dried. Laundry for larger items was handed in, once a week, and returned the following week at no extra cost to a recruit. One sheet and a pillowcase could be exchanged per week. In the classroom part of a lecture was about who to salute. All other ranks (ORs) who are wearing head-dress, are required to salute all officers. If a soldier is indoors and is not wearing a hat he must come to a position of attention as a form of salute. A soldier who is sitting, when an officer enters, should rise and come to a position of

attention. We were reminded that when we salute an officer we are saluting the Queens commission, not the person. Most officers I found were worthy of a salute but there again a few were worth the splitting of the index and second finger for. A soldier in uniform is also required to salute a hearse carrying a coffin, as a sign of respect. At the end of the lecture the instructor asked if there were any questions. One recruit asked what one should do if he was sitting on the upper deck of a bus wearing uniform with hat and a hearse went by. "Look the other way, idiot" replied the Sergeant. We were issued with an identity card which bore the recipients photo. It was embossed with an army stamp and contained the soldiers details. It was AF (Army Form) 2603/4 (The 2604 was the plastic cover container) A soldier is required to have the ID card in his possession at all times. Through my own negligence I lost mine. I searched high and low, all to no avail. I could put off reporting its loss no longer. The Sgt. went hairless. I was not only lazy, scruffy and an idiot. I was now an incompetent lazy scruffy idiot. He would have to report the loss to the Commanding Officer. I would be on COs orders tomorrow morning at nine. That evening I was at my lowest ebb ever It had been instilled in me, the importance of the ID card. A finder, in theory, would be able to enter any British army camp in the world. I had been left in no doubt about the seriousness of my offence. The following morning I paraded outside the Orderly rooms for COs orders. I did not know what was to happen when I was ordered to take off my hat and belt. I had previously seen films of soldiers being paraded and their badges of rank and buttons tore from their uniforms. Their sword was broken over a knee. Was this to happen to me? I didn't even have a sword! Two NCOs in full uniform were to be my escorts. The RSM commanded us to attention. "Left Right, Left Right, Right Wheel, Mark time, Left Right, Left Right, Halt." Came the staccato commands. Before I had realised it I was in the COs office. I didn't know whether I was coming or going. Sgt. Friende was called to give verbal evidence of the loss. The OC asked my version of events. He then gave me a lecture on the gravity of my offence and pronounced. "Case admonished" It was a minor reprimand. The RSM then bounced us out in the reverse as he had done in. I was glad to get out. I felt that I had been treated very fairly. I learned a lesson that day from then on I always knew exactly where my 2603/4 identity card was. Slowly but surely we were gradually adapting to training. We did very little work in relation to Police work other that a Military Policeman's role in a Theatre of War. The first Eight weeks we were being trained to become soldiers. On the second half of the course the specialised Police training would be given. Although we wore dark blue berets for the first 8 weeks, all had been issued with a peaked forage hat. The chin strap of the it was new pigskin. It had to be a stained mahogany brown and then given a highly bulled finish. Polishing the chin strap was an art in itself which I quite excelled, mine was as good as any other in the squad. pity my boots were not. The red hat that my mate down the pit had remarked on was not a permanent feature of the forage cap. A cloth elasticised red cover was thoroughly wetted before being placed on the hat. With a pair of tweezers each individual crease had to be tweaked into an exact pattern. It would then dry in that shape. We often placed the covered hat on our heads and pretended we

were the real thing. Ah! someday soon. The wearing of the red topped hat and armband signifies that the policeman was on duty. We were instructed that, in theory, the MP is always on duty. Each time I received a letter from home it was in the same vein as the one before, things were not going right at home. The training was hard and at times it seemed too much, it was such a different life from the one I was used to down the pit. When I was down I felt like packing it all in but then I would realise the opportunities that could open on the completion of my training. I knew I had to stick it out to the end. I would dread getting letters from my wife it did not help me at all, after reading them, down I would go. At least once a week half of the squad was required to do guard duty. We had to parade, in uniform, for inspection. From six in the evening to six the following morning we were on call in the guardroom. We spent four hours inside and two hours patrolling the barrack grounds outside. The piquet's patrolled in pairs and were each armed with a wooden pick halve. Each pair had a different route around the depot. A solitary guard was positioned outside the guardroom entrance, he gave warnings of any approaching persons. During the four hours inside we had a bunk and mattress, we were allowed to sleep. When not sleeping we had plenty of studying and kit cleaning to do. We could not get undressed in any way. The boots had to be kept on for the full 12 hours although whilst in the guardroom the laces could be unfastened. We also then had them on for the next coming days training. When one half of the squad was on guard duty the other was on Fire Piquet. This entailed being in a room for twelve hours. We were on duty in case of a fire call out. Theoretically we would be the first on the scene of any discovered fire. Again it was a two on and four off duty but we never left the fire piquet room. It was the evening of the Depot Boxing Tournament. There were four squads in camp all at different stages of training. Ours was the junior squad. Every man in the junior squad has to take part in 'milling'. To describe milling:An equal number of men form a queue just on the steps at the entrance to two opposite corners of the boxing ring. At the sound of the bell the first pair enter the ring from the facing corners. They then attempt to batter the living daylights out of each other. When the bell sounds again after one minute they quickly get out of the ring being replaced by two others. Milling then begins again. It isn't a boxing match, it is designed to show courage and the 'guts' to have a go. Peter was part of the Milling team. He had never been in a ring let alone boxed before, no matter all he had to do was try. He gave a very good account of himself but unfortunately his ear was nicked, nothing serious but it bled profusely. He came out of the ring looking as if he had been in a massacre rather than a minute of boxing. The other three senior squads had to produce four boxers at differing weights to compete as an inter-squad competition. At the exhibition match with Corporal Miller I managed to out point him. After the boxing tournament Captain Thomas congratulated me on my win. He said that I had won quite convincingly. Would I like him to arrange other boxing matches both army and civilian? I said Yes, more because I did not know how to say no to an officer. Also I was wondering how it would affect my training. The Captain said he would put the matter in hand. Training continued, it never seemed to get any easier. The more I learned about Army ways the more I realised how little I knew. We had been in training now for four weeks. Every letter I received from Brenda was in the same vein, Why did I ever have to leave and join up?

how unhappy she and my son were, how empty the house was. It made my training twice as hard as it should have been. I on my part knew it would all work out for the best in the long run, time will tell. Every letter I sent, almost every day, tried to reassure her of this fact and always ended with the words, 'I love and cherish our marriage' which summed up my feelings. On the forth Saturday afternoon, as he had been earlier arranged, Captain Thomas picked me up and we drove in Woking. There was to be a local boxing tournament. An opponent had been lined up for me. The upshot was that I beat him quite comfortably. the Captain said he would arrange further matches The days wore on and became weeks. By now we were not the junior squad but the junior intermediates. Certain thing I excelled at like PT, Assault Course, Self Defence, Police Holds. Most other things I was only average, Drill, Army theory and the like. In certain things I was useless or thought I was useless. For instance I could never seem to get the high gloss finish to my boots. to put them aside shoes or boots in civilian life they were immaculate. Put the beside any other recruits boots they were manure. I was tempted to say shit but I have tried to keep swear words out of this account. Although recruit training would make a parson swear. I spent hours, days, no months on my boots but they never seemed to come up to requirements. I blamed everything on my deficiency. The Polish? I was using Kiwi like everyone else. My duster? The others bought them from the NAAFI like mine. The iced water? was I using the wrong type of ice? My spit? that seemed to be the only common denominator. It now seems stupid to blame spit but that's how important it was to me at the time. I tried everything all to no avail. Many was the time that I was threatened by the Squad officer Lt. Boyce that I would have to buck up my ideas or I would not be getting the 3 day pass in 2 weeks time. At that stage I would rather him say that he was to take off my right arm rather than withhold my 72 I needed the leave to try to make things okay with my wife, her letters continually left me in no doubt where she stood in relation to the army. On Saturday of the Sixth week Captain Thomas again picked me up for another boxing tournament in Guildford. When we arrived the organiser said that my intended opponent had rung in sick. We had come all this way for nothing. I was not worried being only too glad to get away from the claustrophobic atmosphere of the camp for a few hours. Just as the tournament was about to begin in the late afternoon, the organiser again came up to the Captain and I. He said that he had another boxer who was without a fight. He was my weight but vastly more experience than I. He had been an ABA finalist twice in a row. Did I want the match? I said of course, but secretly I was a little afraid of the competition. The organiser said that I did not have much of a chance but at least I would get a prize and would not have come all this way for nothing. That cheered me up no end. The bell went for the first round. the other boxer, his exact name escapes me, it was Redland, Redfern or something like that. He was obviously well experienced. Our styles were much alike in many ways. I was an orthodox boxer and my main punch was a straight left with a right counter. He was the same, over time I threw my left he threw his, with the result that we both connected at the same time and I did not get chance to throw my right counter. I was getting good solid punches in but so was he. I felt his were the harder and I should know I was on the receiving end. The fight continued in much the same vein throughout. I knew he had beaten me to the punch consistently. The final bell sounded. We retired to our corners to await the judges verdict. At that time the boxers did not go to the

centre of the ring where the referee announces the winner by raising his hand. Then boxers remained in their corners until the winner was declared. It was customary for the winner to go over to the defeated boxer, shake hands, show sportsmanship and utter commiseration's. I knew I had lost, I had been beaten by a better man "Gale in the Red corner the winner." The announcer declared. I realised that a mistake had been made and I waited in my corner for it to be rectified. My opponent remained in his corner, he was expecting me to go over to him. After a short wait he ducked under the ropes and left the ring. Where is he going? I thought, surely he knows of the mistake and that he really had won. I left the ring and someone ushered me to the prize table, I collected a table lamp. When I got back to the dressing room the Captain gave me the rollicking of my life. "How could I have acted so un-sportingly? They would never again invite him or his boxers again. I had shown the Corps of the Royal Military Police up." I tried to explain my confusion but it did not seem to gel with him. I left the tournament under a cloud. I didn't like, or want, the table lamp anyway. On the seventh week of training we were taken to the shooting ranges for live weapon firing. MPs are taught to handle and specialise in 3 types of weapon. Rifle, Sub-machine gun and the pistol. We were introduced to the LMG (Light Machine Gun) but only briefly. The long barrelled weapon was either the old 303 rifle or the new SLR (Self Loading Rifle) with its 7.62 mm rounds of ammunition. The sub-machine gun was the 9mm Stirling, SMG for short. The pistol a .38 and could be a Colt, Webley or the like. This was to be the first time I had ever fired a live round. We had been briefed and trained how to handle the weapons with dummy ammunition prior to arrival on the ranges. Sergeant Freedman, who was the RMP armourer informed us that the instructors on the rangers would tend to be a little quieter than usual, not because they had grown soft but because they did not want any recruit being startled whilst holding a weapon containing live rounds. One recruit did inadvertently point his weapon away from the target area whilst enquiring on a point of procedure. The armourer lapsed into a fit of fury. At one time I thought he was about to wrap the rifle barrel around the recruits neck. Even though the weapon was not loaded with live rounds it is still never pointed at anyone. The only time it is, is when it is used for the purpose for which it was designed. At the end of every session on the weapon ranges we had to parade before the officer or senior NCO in charge, showing an unloaded weapon and stating , " I have no live rounds or empty cases in my possession, Sir" At the onset of training we had been issued with 2 sets of webbing. one set of 14 items had been blancoed Karki Green. We wore and used them during the first half of training. The other set were to be white, 9 items. It was known that if any recruit did not pass the eighth week they would be back squadded to the junior squad, four weeks. They would then automatically lose the 72 hour pass. From week nine onwards we would begin to wear white webbing with our uniform. The blue berets we wore would change to the MP forage hat, not with the red cover that would come later. All that weekend we spent on the whites. First scrubbing them down and then bleaching them in neat bleach. Further scrubbings followed. We applied numerous coats of white blancoe, washing it off then reapplying. Each time all the brasses of the webbings had to be cleaned with 'brasso'. It is impossible to exactly relate how hard and diligently we worked our whites, we knew

how important they were. We lived and breathed whites that weekend. On Monday morning the whites would have to be displayed in a regular pattern across the bed. Some decided that they would not have enough time between reveille and morning muster. Many laid out their whites that Sunday evening. They slept on the floor covered in a couple of blankets. I and the rest arranged to be awoken at 4.30 am for the preparations. I missed breakfast that morning. Monday morning. The room practically gleamed with the white webbing and shone with the shiny brasses. All were laid very carefully across the bed in an exact orderly fashion. It seemed a glorious sight. It was worth all the hard work we had put into it. We waited nervously for the Sergeants entrance. This was one of the few times that we were fully prepared and standing by our beds before he came in. "Stand by your beds." came the order, quickly followed by "Outside in 3 ranks" We all rushed, to a man, outside to be taken for morning muster. After the parade we returned to the barrack room. "Stand by your beds." Was ordered and we complied. Sgt. Friend then went to the first mans bed. There laid out were the nine items of white webbing. "Is this supposed to be white?" He bellowed. "It looks a mucky shade of grey". He proceeded to the next mans bed making roughly the same type of comments. "Did I, or did I not say that today was to be a whites inspection?" he remonstrated. "How dare you all insult me and my intelligence with this rubbish?" He began marching up and down the room stopping at each in turn utter threats of punishment and promises of withholding the 72 hour pass. He returned to the first mans bed. Looking over it again he scooped up, with his drill stick, 3 offending items of the webbing. Going to the next bed he scooped up another 2 pieces. By the third bed and scooping up 5 pieces he realised that the stick was eventually going to get too heavy. He ordered 2 recruits to get the brush and to hold it at each end. A third was ordered to put indicated items over it. Half way down the room Sgt. Friend said "Oh! I've had enough of this. Put every item of webbing on the brush. When I say a whites inspection that is exactly what I mean. Fall in outside. You two," indicating the two who were holding the broom handle covered webbing. "bring the webbing." We all rushed outside wondering what was going to happen and expecting the worst. He marched the squad round the barrack lines to the boiler house area. The two carrying the webbing bringing up the rear. Situated at the boiler house were huge coke burning furnaces that heated certain areas of the camp. The squad was halted at the side of a large empty coke container. It still contained remnants of coke and coal dust. Throw it in." He commanded the webbing carriers. The webbing was thrown into the skip. "You." Pointing at me. "Get in." I climbed in. "Mark time. Left Right Left..." was the order. I began to march, on the spot, over the white webbing. For a full minute I marked time on the webbing whilst Sgt. Friend berated the squad on their failures. Sergeant Friend was no friend of ours. "Halt. Gale, throw it all out. All of you now fall out, retrieve your webbing and fall back in again.". All the items had been stencilled with your own army identity number. We all scrambled, each for his own. "Tomorrow morning there will be a further whites inspection and anyone who does not pass it will not be granted a 72. That is my promise." After returning the webbing to the barrack room we were marched off to lectures. That lunch time we began the procedures all over again for getting the whites ready for the

coming morning. The morning came and as before the Sgt. Friend walked up and down the room inspecting each set of whites making individual comments. We were worried because we thought that the general standard was not as good as before. We just had not as much time to spend on it. "It is not a good standard but at this stage it is only just passable," he pronounced. We all breathed a sigh of relief. "Now lets get some work done. Outside in three ranks." All that week we worked like we had never done before. Perhaps, just perhaps I might make the 72 after all. Friday morning Lt. Boyce conducted a pre pass out kit inspection. We were to wear our best BD. (Battledress) Green webbing and Berets. This coming afternoon would be the last time, in normal circumstances, that we would wear green webbing in training. When we returned after our 3 day leave we would begin wearing whites and a peaked hat. It would signify we were now trained soldiers and were in further training to become Military Policemen. As Lt. Boyce was inspecting my boots he remarked that unless they were better by this afternoon I would not be passing out. I calculated that I must have put over 400 thin layers of polish on my best boots before I ever wore them for the first time. That was on the eighth week pass-out. I do not exaggerate on the number. My boots were the best I could get them surely they would not back squad me for the sake of a pair of boots? I believed they would. I arranged for the ex-boy soldier to give them a final coat of polish, he had an extraordinary knack of bulling boots. His were even better than the Sergeants if that was possible. When they were returned, without question, they were a lot better and I breathed a sigh of relief. What was his secret I didn't know. Friday afternoon we marched out on to the square. We were inspected by the Commanding Officer who congratulated us on our turnout. We marched up and down the square to our instructors commands and proved that we were truly trained soldiers. It was a minor proud moment for me. Now could I take and pass the second half? Each of us was given a 3 day leave pass and a rail travel warrant. I was the happiest person alive, I was going home. We had been previously warned that until our full pass-out we could not wear civilian dress, even on leave. But because our 3 day pass was so near Christmas, our squad had been selected for duties over that coming period. On this occasion we would be allowed to bring back some civilian dress for us to wear, when not on duty, over the Christmas period. My leave pass began at 1600 hrs Friday and expired at 2359 hrs Sunday.

Forty Eight

LAST EIGHT WEEKS?

Peter and I travelled together and I was so pleased to reach home. My wife and son
welcomed me with open arms. I now knew what a prisoner feels like on his release. I had a lot of serious talking and convincing to do in the coming day or so. Eventually Brenda and I began to discuss our future. She had her idea of it and I had mine. I could see her point of view, what she wanted was a life with a stable future rather than the uncertainty of the army unknown. I wished she could have been more like Peter's wife Marlene, she only wanted what Peter wanted. My wife's argument was: I had promised that if we did not like the army there was a get out clause in my service contract. It stated that: In the event of my not being compatible with the service, I had the option that I could obtain my discharge by purchase in the sum of Twenty Pounds, providing that option was take within Twelve weeks of the date of my enlistment. I had to admit I had given her that prior promise. But I had not expected to seriously have to consider this prospect. Brenda urged me to take the option. I had been signed on now for Nine weeks. I tried to console her. Once I became fully trained and obtained a posting, we would be reunited in married quarters abroad. Her reply to that was that she was happy enough in her own home she did not want anyone else's. She had further complaint, there was less money coming in now I was in the army. I could not argue with that, I had taken a huge drop in wages when I left the Mining Industry. She urged me to buy myself out and return to the pit. The mere thought of going back down the mines again, after seeing what the army could offer me, filled me with dread. I would never go down the pit again whatever happens. coal mining, to me, was a thing of the past. I had a happy, though sad weekend, nothing was resolved and I still did not know in which way I was headed. I returned to barracks. Entering the guardroom, again I was again presented with the very strict regimentation of booking in by the Guard Sergeant. But this time it was different, I knew what the score was, I was aware of the rights and wrongs of the system and I knew what was expected of me. I realised that I had changed. I had become a soldier. Now I wanted to become a Royal Military Policeman. We resumed training but now Sgt. Friende's attitude to us seemed to have changed. He had moved up a gear and so had we. Now we were getting less bollockings, sorry telling's off, about our kit. Just as important I began not to take the criticism to heart but to endeavour to try harder to correct the complaint. The emphasis was now the role of the RMP in the Armed forces. One Friday evening after duties Sgt. Friend came into our barrack room to remind us of something. I remember not what. He told us all to be at ease with him and to gather round. He was not here in his official capacity and seemed quite friendly. I do assure the reader that our Sergeants name was indeed Friend, our squad number was 773. Sgt. Friend explained that the first Eight weeks of training was designed to demean you. To get rid of all the normal ideas of civilian life. To break you down. Any recruit that gave in at this stage, the army did not want anyhow. When a recruit was at his lowest ebb then he could be manipulated into the Army mould. When he was berating us at inspections and on the

square, it was not meant personally. That was the tried and tested way of military training. If I had realised these facts before I started training maybe I would not have taken it all quite so much to heart I pondered. We were still the hounded from pillar to post but now we had an insight of what was expected of us. We had a goal that was not too far away. We could look forward to coming out into the light, that we could now see at the end of the tunnel. Weeks Nine to Twelve were to be almost entirely taken up in the class room studying Law, both Military and Civil. We would have to learn, parrot fashion, huge tracts of it. At the end of the law course a written exam would be held. The exam decided if one passed out of training. Weeks Twelve to Fifteen would be Motor Transport Training. MT. Trg. All Military Policemen must have at least one driving licence for a motor cycle or motorcar. Anyone who already held both would be Army re-tested and may be excused MT Trg. I had a motor cycle licence so would automatically be trained for a four wheels. During MT Trg. all parades inspections, fire piquet's and guardroom duties are suspended. MT training weeks are the easiest of all. We were all were looking forward to weeks 12 to 15 Week Sixteen was to be a preparatory passing out of training week. That week we would be informed as to our individual postings. At the end of it, Pass out, and three glorious weeks leave. On our return we would begin preparations to travel, each to our own individual military unit. Oh! the thought of Singapore, Hong Cong, Cyprus, Malta, Kenya, Gibraltar, Aden. These were postings that were now within my dreams, even Germany sounded okay to start with. I had never been abroad in my life. In time I now could look forward to eventually visiting all of the a/m places. We had been told that the RMP operated a rotary system of postings. Every Two years one changed their unit and usually country of posting. Back to reality, I was still only beginning my Ninth week of training. We received our 'Blues'. This Navy Blue uniform was for ceremonial duties and was tailor made to fit the individual. It was a single breasted high necked collar coat, with stay-bright buttons. The uniform has Red piping down the trouser seams and jacket pockets. The hat was a peaked Black banded hat with a red topped crown. When a soldier wears his blues, in whatever regiment, he feels very special. I know I did. I received a message that Lt. Mayhew wanted to see me and that I had to bring with me my swimming kit. He had booked a driver and vehicle to take us to the Army Swimming baths in Aldershot. I was timed over One Hundred yards free style. He did not tell me my time but I could tell that he was impressed. He said that he would be in contact later. Three days after, I had to go see him again. He informed me that the Military Police was to enter a Pentathlon team in the coming Army championships. It was to be held in Four months time. Was I interested? I enquired what the Pentathlon event was, Id never heard of the event. He explained that it consisted of five events:- Swimming, Cross Country Running, Horse riding, Fencing and Shooting I explained that I had never done any Fencing, Horse Riding or Cross Country Running. His reasoning was that to train a good horse rider or fencer to swim fast would take much too long. I could swim fast and I had proved I was a good shot. I was fit, or I would become fit, enough for the cross country. The Army would teach me the other two arts. Later, he explained, I would be taken out of training and billeted at the Army Horse riding academy, to be equestrian trained.

After that I would go to the Army Physical Training school in Aldershot to learn how to fence and at the same time be trained for cross country running fitness. I expressed my fears that I wanted to finish my training first. I desperately wanted my promotion stripe. He assured, as soon as I began Pentathlon training I would be given my stripe. Recruit training for me would be at an end. I saw this as a great opportunity to better things. I felt capable that I could take the challenge and make something out of it. I agreed to go into training. Lt. Mayhew said that within the next few weeks I would be contacted again. I left with thoughts that to do well in the sports arena could take me high. But I still had the nagging problems about my wife. Our Squad was on duty over the Christmas period. Most staff and all other recruits had gone on leave. The squad was be split in half. Each half doing 24 Hours alternately. The half that was not on duty was duty free and could leave camp provided we booked in and out at the guardroom. During the Christmas period there were to be no parades or reveille. On Christmas Eve half of our squad was on guard duty. We, the other half, had the day off and decided to out for a Christmas Eve drink. We booked out at the guardroom, had a few drinks in the bars of Woking Town, came back to barracks and booked in. It was about 11.30pm. On piquet duty outside the guardroom archway gate was Taffy Watkins. Taffy was the timid one of our squad and as we booked in, one of our group said to Taffy. "Watch out for the ghost at midnight she is supposed to walk the tower every Christmas Eve." As said earlier, the Victorian ex prison buildings that overlooked the square were very gaunt, severe and sombre looking. Usually the only light that shone on to the parade ground, at night, was from the guardroom archway or the illuminated clock on the tower. The tower, meaning the clock tower, was directly facing the archway entrance across the parade ground, about 50 yards (Metres) away. We left Taffy on guard, laughing and joking. Arriving at our spider barrack room someone suggested we arrange for the ghost to walk specially for Taffy. We discussed the operation with what we thought military precision. Four of us got a white bed sheet and a candle. We congregated in the passageway under the clock tower. I placed the sheet over my head and I held a lighted candle under it. On the stroke of midnight I exited the tower on to the parade ground. I slowly walked around the tower heading for the other doorway. Taffy adjacent to the square wasn't looking in our direction. I hissed to my mates to make a distraction. One banged a door. It rang loudly around the square. I carried on with my walk. Taffy looked over in my direction and seeing the apparition let out a howl. I felt the urge to run and get off the square, but I had to contain myself and continued the slow walk to the other exit. As soon as I had done so I raced back to the barrack room. We all undressed laughing and climbed into bed, all lights were extinguished. We were still laughing about the escapade when we heard a commotion outside. It was the Guard Sergeant, we pretended sleep. Because Taffy had claimed to have seen the White ghost lady of Inkerman he had let out a yell. The guard Sergeant called out the guard and a search was made around the clock tower. The Sergeant had the suspicion that it was members of our squad that was fooling around. We were the only ones in camp and after all we had only just booked in. He came into our room and turned on the lights. Everyone was ordered out of their beds. Luckily we were all wearing pyjamas. He accused us of playing the fool although he could not prove it. He even threatened to take our pulses to see if any were racing. A fast heartbeat would tend to prove we had been running or up to some mischief. He didn't. He admonished us lightly and with a hint of a smile on his face, left. I have often wondered if I had been given a direct order to tell the truth. Had we had been

involved? Would I have confessed? I don't know. The upshot of the tale was that when the other half of the squad was relieved of duty and came back to the barrack room they related the incident. We pretended that it was all news to us. Taffy was convinced he had seen the ghost of Inkerman. We did not enlighten him. We all made a pact of silence. I kept to it. I wonder to this day does he know the truth? Inkerman Barrack was famous for its 'White lady' Ghost. Did we add to the mystery? On Christmas morning we had been instructed to remain in bed. At 9 O Clock the CO., RSM., other officers and senior NCOs came into the barrack room with an urn of tea and food. The CO served the Tea to us in bed. The RSM offered to lace the tea with whisky. Others handed out Turkey sandwiches, Christmas cake, fruit and nuts. It was rather disconcerting to be in bed with senior officers in the room and I personally was glad when they left. Even the guardroom duties were more relaxed than normal. We were treated quite civilised really. Our Squad began our Christmas leave on New Years Eve. During this break I continued to try and convince my wife to accept that the army was to be my future career. She remained negative, insisting throughout that I obtain my discharge by purchase. On return from leave we had entered the military law stage of training. I, not be particularly brainy, was a little apprehensive of it. We had been forewarned of the content and I wondered if I could commit to memory large definitions of offences and the dreaded judges rules. On the First day of Military Law we were given the first judges rule:'Whenever a Police officer is endeavouring to discover the author of a crime he may question any person or persons, whether suspect or not, from whom he thinks useful information may be obtained' There were Nine of them and Seven other definitions of offences. Arson. Assault Burglary. Homicide, Murder, Theft and Treason. All had to be learned word perfect. There were numerous other offences in both Common, Statute and Military Law that we had to have a thorough working knowledge of. At that time there were one of three cautions that could be given to a suspect. Each one had to be learned exactly. I had never before had to learn any tract parrot fashion. Before that time I did not know the meaning of the words, parrot fashion. It of course means to learn exactly as taught. Every word had to be in place, any added or missed, pronounced the definition wrong. We would be required to have a written test every day on the definitions. I was dreading this stage of learning. I now realise that every other person was in the same boat as myself. We had been instructed that all persons react differently to situations and what was ideal for one was not necessary right for another. Everyone learned things differently. That first evening I tried sitting on my bed trying to learn my first tract. As soon as I thought I had learned the first line, I forgot it before I could get the second line off by heart. I was at a loss, this was going to be even harder that I had originally thought. I remembered the instructor had said that his method of learning anything verbatim was to absent himself from everyone and to concentrate, completely alone. I had an idea. I went into the drying room. Few persons went in there, only to take in or retrieve drying clothes. I stood completely to attention with the written definition of the first Judges rule in my right hand. I read the first line and, still at attention, repeated it out loud. I repeated it

again and again until I felt I had it. I then read the second line and coupled it to the first. Again out loud I repeated them time and again. Anyone who came into the room would look at me, as though I was off my rocker, talking to myself, but having said that they probably understood the urgency of my actions. It began to work for me, within two hours I had the whole tract off exactly. I was jubilant, I had succeeded against all odds. I really felt success, I could do it, I was not thick. All that evening I repeated my new found knowledge to myself, determined that it would not escape me. My last thought before sleep that night was the judges Rule number 1 and the first thing I did on wakening was to repeat it. I was now looking forward to the law phase of my training with new found confidence. I knew it was in my capability to pass this stage. I was still receiving letters from Brenda about how unhappy she was, urging me to take the option of buying myself out of the army. I was completely all at sea with the idea. I just did not know where to turn for the best. I was in love with my wife but it was as if I was committing adultery with the army. On Tuesday the 19th of January I was in my tenth week of training. I had been in the army eleven weeks and two days I reckoned I had while Friday as the last date in which I could apply to the orderly room for a discharge by purchase. I still could not make up my mind I was like an Ostrich with my head in the sand hoping that my problem would go away. I just wanted for next Monday to come and then a decision to buy myself out would not be an option, it would be too late. Although training was hard I could see a golden end to it. More than anything that I had ever wanted was to pass out at the sixteen week stage. I was in a Military Law class and a runner came into the room with a message, 'The RSM wanted to see Probationer Gale in his office now' What had I done? The RSM only dealt with serious matters. On the way to his office I racked my brains as to where I had gone wrong. I knocked on his door. "Enter" Thundered the RSM On entering, he was seated behind his desk and an officer was sat at his side. "Probationer Gale reporting as ordered sir." I trembled. On seeing the officer at his side, I correctly saluted him. "Stand at ease Gale." said the RSM. "This officer here is Colonel White of the Royal Horse Artillery. He wants to speak to you." I stood properly at ease but my inner body was rigid. The RSM left his office. "Pull up a chair and please sit yourself down." said the Colonel What is going on here I thought. He seems friendly enough perhaps I am not in the doghouse after all. "So you are the fellow who is to come to my riding academy next week? I am here to tell you about the training you are about to undertake." I now realised why I was in this office. The officer was to brief me for the Horse Riding training in preparation for the Pentathlon event I was to be prepared for. Another school would teach me fencing exactly like Lieutenant Mayhew has said. I had forgotten all about Pentathlon Training "With respect sir," I interrupted. "There is a chance that I may not remain in the army. I am having marital problems and I may have to buy myself out." "Oh!" he said, obviously surprised. "I was not aware of this." He stood up. "Good-bye Gale" and with that he left the office. I stood up and saluted his hurried departure. A few minutes later the RSM entered. "What do you mean telling a Colonel that you are going to buy yourself out of the Army?" He bellowed. "You do not go around talking to Colonels like that."

"Sir, I am sorry but there is a chance I may have to do it, and I do not want the army making arrangements for me that I may not be able keep." "Sit down and tell me about it" The RSMs demeanour changed dramatically. He became like a father talking to a son. Although I could not relax in his presence, at least I managed to get most of my story out. "Can you afford to remain in the army and buy yourself out after your 12 weeks are up?" He asked. My answer was, "No sir, I can manage the Twenty Pounds but certainly not the Two Hundred and Fifty." That is what it would cost at least, even a day after the 12 weeks. He commiserated with my dilemma and said that only I could make the final decision. He understood that I loved my wife and child but that I was also looking for a future in the army. I had now to make a decision. I there and then decided to buy myself out and told him. He rang the orderly room Sergeant and arranged for me to see him. Within 2 hours I was on my way out of the barracks. A discharge by purchase order and a rail warrant in my hand. I felt the most despondent person on earth. Where do I go from here?

Forty Nine Prison with a Parole Weeks earlier I had thought, on the train from Leeds to Woking, that I may have made a
mistake in leaving the pit to join the army. Now, on the train from Woking to Leeds, I was certain I had made a mistake in leaving the army. Tuesday, late afternoon, I entered my house unexpectedly, to be greeted by my wife and child. Somehow I did not feel the same as when I had come home on the 72 hour pass. I had done all that hard work in training for nothing. I was now back to square one. That night I lay in my wives arms, I knew this was the woman whom I wanted to be with but during the day I wanted something else. That something else was not the pit. I wanted my cake but I also wanted to eat it. Thursday, I had been discharged from the army on the Friday morning, 2 days after I received a letter from the conscription board. It was to inform me I had been given an appointment for the following week to attend a service medical. I was still eligible for National service. They had been quick off the mark and had not let the grass grow under their feet. Saturday morning I went to see Bennie W., the mine training officer, for a job. As expected, he gave me one. Monday I returned to the pit. I was given a shot firing job but not at staff position. I was promised one at a later date. The pit, the people, the job, were exactly the same but I was not. It was I who had definitely changed. Whereas, prior to the army, I could see only the good things about the pit, then I grew a little older and began to tolerate it, now I hated it. The pit was my prison and I was starting a life sentence. Whenever I related to my mates how hard and different the training was at the RMP Depot I could see doubt creep into their eyes. Were they thinking that it had been too hard for me? That I could not hack it? Nothing could have been further from the truth. I had done the hardest part I had been almost home and dry. That first week I only worked 3 shifts, I had Thursday and Friday off. I just could not take it. I made excuses with illness but the sad fact was that I was feeling wretched and sorry for myself. 'Knocking', or absenteeism was to become a habit with me. I very rarely completed a full 5 shifts in the week. At that time the contract of employment stated that if a person worked the full 5 shifts then he would be granted and paid a sixth bonus shift. I very rarely received the bonus. In later months when I made an appointment to see the manager for a shot firing staff position, he took out my attendance record. Of the 12 weeks since I had been back I had only completed one whole week. He promised to review my case in 3 months and if my attendance record improved he would reinstate me to staff. Inwardly I knew there was little chance of that happening Peter W. I later learned successfully completed RMP training and was posted to Berlin. I remember him coming home on his embarkation leave, resplendent in his uniform. Very rarely have I been envious of another but I remember being so when I saw him. I pretended I wasn't bothered but my mind churned green with envy. Three weeks after my discharge Walter Tuke., the NACOD'S Union representative, said to me, "Why not join the TA" Walter was the one who had originally recommended the RMP to me. I had heard of the Territorial Army but did not know much about it. He explained that persons who joined the TA were interested in the Armed Services but held civilian jobs. It

was an army held in reserve. They were nicknamed 'Saturday Soldiers' He furthered that there was a TA Camp up at Oakwood Barrack, Roundhay, Leeds. "They have Redcaps up there too." My ears pricked up when he said "Redcaps". I did not know there were Military Police TA. Although having thought about it there must be. The news sounded good. That evening I found the telephone number of Oakwood barracks and rang them to enquire. "Yes they were the RMP TA and they had vacancies. Just turn up any Tuesday or Thursday between 7 and 9 PM. They would fix me up." The first Tuesday I arrived and enrolled with the 49th Infantry Division of the Royal Military Police. Territorial Army. 49 Inf. Div. RMP. TA. for short. I thoroughly enjoyed my first evening. Everyone, officers, NCOs and others were very friendly. I could not wait for the next drill evening on Thursday. I had expected the discipline to be pretty much the same as at the Depot in Woking. I could not have been farther from the truth. The weekday drill nights involved 2 hours of training. It varied from lectures to drill square periods or the preparation of kit for a coming weekend. Promptly at 9 O clock we were dismissed and the unit bar was opened. We usually drank until 11 That second evening I enquired of an NCO "How long does it take for a new recruit to pass out?" I got the reply. "When he's had too much to drink." I now had a new interest in life. Slowly but surely the TA began to mean more to me than just a hobby. I again felt the feelings of belonging to something important. My married life and employment were something quite apart from the TA. I would not have liked anyone to make me chose one or the other. I had already made a similar choice and regretted it.

Of the RMP TA personnel most had been in the army on National Service. Only one NCO had been a regular Military Policeman. We all had at least one stripe and I proudly wore mine. Every second weekend something would be organised for our unit. There were very many wide and varied types of weekend training. The first one I attended, we paraded on Friday evening at 7. The Unit vehicles were driven to

the temporary barracks at Knostrop, Leeds. The vehicles had been pre-packed the previous drill evening. At Knostrop we unloaded the vehicles and prepared our sleeping accommodation. The bar, we had brought with us, was set up and opened. Serious drinking began. It closed in the early hours. Saturday morning we were given a lecture by a visiting Regular Army Paratrooper. He detailed The Parachute Regiments role in a theatre of war or any coming conflict. He explained how, with the different breaking strengths of cord a parachute opens correctly, Fascinating. I would love to have parachute wings on my Left uniformed arm. Maybe someday. Saturday Lunch was prepared by our own unit Army catering Corps cooks. The ACC. The afternoons lectures were given by a nuclear and biological warfare expert. Detailing what a soldier could expect and how a soldier could be prepared for that type of warfare. After the evening meal we retired to the bar. It turned into a most glorious evenings drinking. One officer, Captain Richard's, had a bald head, it was also flat on the top. He drank gin from a small wide bottomed glass. Unbeknown to me he always waited until all had a few drinks inside of them and then, placing his glass to the top of his head, started singing the 'Muffin Man' song. He began :-

"Do you know the muffin man, the Muffin Man, the Muffin Man. Do you know the Muffin Man who lives in County Down."

All the time he was singing he was striding on chairs and walking across tables. His glass of drink remained firmly in place on his bald head. He sang a number of verses and as he came to the last line he pointed directly at me and spoke. "Do you know the Muffin Man?" All, now shouted that I had to do the Muffin Man route the same as the Captain. I had started with a full pint of beer. I tried to balance it on my head but I couldn't and had to hold it in place whilst I did my walk. Very little of the beer survived my tour most of it running down my head and neck. It was now my turn to pick on someone to follow me on but looking around, miraculously there was very little beer left in any of the others glasses. A good laugh was had on me but not maliciously Afterwards it was explained to me. The Captain always waits for newcomers, like myself, to have a full pint before he begins his song. Regulars who have seen his routine before, keep watch on him. When he begins his ditty they make sure that they have an almost empty glass in front of them, this will ensure the Captain won't pick on them. He also prepares the glass by wetting the underside of it before putting it to his head, it helps to stick it to his skin head. I was drenched and sticky with beer but I had enjoyed every minute of the evening. I was among new found friends. The session lasted until the early hours of Sunday morning. We rose Sunday for a late breakfast. Stowed our gear into the unit vehicles and drove the few miles back to Oakwood Barracks. There I had a lunch time drink then home. A most glorious weekend that anyone could wish to for. Weekends like drill nights were paid for at the regular army rates of pay. That's a great life, getting paid for doing something that you would have done for free anyhow. I went to work Monday and hated every minute of it. All I had to look forward to was Tuesdays, Thursdays and weekends. My life slowly began to revolve around the TA. I was

either looking forward to the coming times, or enjoying them. The first time I wore the Red cover on my forage cap and the PM armband was on a scheme on the banks of Loch Fyne, Scotland. The unit travelled up one Friday Lunch time. I was pleased that I had a good excuse to 'knock' that day off work. We pitched our tented accommodation in the early hours of Saturday morning. The camp site was on the side of the Loch with high ground on both sides. The scenario of the scheme was that we were the Police Force of an army, in occupation of a foreign country. Our location was at a defile. (A narrowing of route) Many fleeing refugees would have to pass through this defile at our point. (The supposed refugees were other TA soldiers dressed in civvies) We were instructed that most of the persons passing though would be genuine refugees and would not have to be detained, but probably among them would be infiltrating enemy agents. Our task was to discover and arrest them. It was rumoured that the supposed infiltrating enemy agents were recruit SAS (Special Air Service) soldiers undergoing acceptance training. We were told that as refugees or enemy agents they would expect to be treated roughly and we revelled in the task. All were searched, anyone caught hiding maps, compasses and the like would probably not be who they said they were. Genuine refugees would have no proper reason to hide such articles. Anyone found with suspect equipment were handed over for interrogation. We found maps, Compasses, illegal money, wire saws, small weapons and ammunition hidden among clothing. One even had a linen map of the area sewn into the lining of his coat. The interrogation team were civilian clothed persons not of our unit. I suspect that they were regular army interrogators or SAS instructors. When a suspect was handed over to them they were treated either very leniently or very roughly depending upon who escorted them into the interrogation area. A meal had been specially prepared for the supposed refugees of cold rice, that had been purposely under-cooked. They had to avail themselves of it or reveal that they were not genuine hungry refugees. It was also said that the persons who ate ravenously of the cold rice were indeed SAS in training and they were genuinely hungry, having gone days without proper food. I revelled in the play acting but all too soon we had to return to civilian life and the dreaded pit. Occasional weekends the unit went to the Hornsea, Yorkshire shooting ranges. We would spend Saturday afternoon on the ranges and then retire to the bar for the evening. Being quite a decent shot with the old .303mm rifle I graduated to the unit shooting team. We won the Division championships twice in a row.

At that time I had a Heinkel 3 wheeler, the controls, accelerator, clutch and brakes were similar to a car. Because it had the reverse blanked off and only had 3 wheels it could be driven on my motor cycle licence. I removed the plate that blanked of the reverse gear and thereby graduated from Motor Cycle hand controls to car foot control. At that time in the TA the CO., Commanding Officer, could test and grant a permit to drive army vehicles. The permit was acceptable to the civilian licensing authorities and a civilian licence would be granted. I wanted a drivers licence so that I could drive military vehicles. Many times I had approached our CO for him to test me. Each time he apologised but said he was busy. One evening I asked again and he said "Okay but I cannot take too long about it." We went outside and got into a unit Champ. A Champ was a 4 wheeled drive General Purpose Vehicle of the day. It had a Rolls Royce engine and although big and cumbersome they never seemed to break down. A little like the Land Rovers of today. The CO instructed me to drive out of the barrack gates about 50 metres away. Turn Left for 100 Metres then Left again into a Cul-de-sac. Make a 3 point turn and return. I drove less than a mile and was not required to answer any questions on the highway code . On arrival back at barracks he signed my driving permit. The Champs were fantastic vehicles. I loved driving them. Some weekends, Army motor rallies, with other units, were entered where much cross country and minor roads had to be negotiated and navigated. Off road driving in a Champ has to be experienced. On one rally I was a member of a 4 vehicle team, each Champ contained 3 persons. The route was designed to take 12 hours. From the start point we were given a map reference, on arriving at it we were given another and so on. The object of the rally was that the shortest distance travelled was declared the winner. All Speedometers were checked and recorded prior to starting up. The rally began. I was map reading at one stage and suggested taking a route that, on the map, had only a single dotted line denoting a pathway. At one point the dotted line faded out but after a few hundred yards began again. The map contours seemed not excessive and fairly even. The Champ would go anywhere, or so we thought. Would we be able to get through? We jointly decided to risk what looked like a major shortcut. The pathway started large and easy enough but it soon became smaller and smaller. Then wetter and wetter until to go any further would be dangerous folly, we would become bogged down so we had to stop. Time was not an urgent problem we could soon make that up. Never mind we consoled when we reverse the speedo will go back as well. Not so, it doesn't nor didn't. It remained at the last figure as when we had stopped our forward momentum. We reversed back to the road. Without doubt, now we had no hope of winning, we had thrown at least 7 miles away. Then I had an idea. I suggested that by thumb turning the knurled cover nut and pulling the

speedo cable out of the speedo hosing it would render the speedometer inoperative. It was disengaged. We drove an estimated 7 miles and then gave it a few more miles to make sure, probably about 20 in all, then re-coupled the cable. The upshot of the story was that we easily won the rally by at least 5 miles ahead of any other team. We each received a silver tankard as a prize. I also received another Pewter tankard as our unit team had won the overall team event. I would have liked to have recorded that I am/was ashamed at my part in the unfair play but I cannot. Alls fair in love or war. Another great weekend and paid to boot. On weekends when nothing was planned as a unit I would volunteer to go in and do whatever tasks were at hand, cleaning and packing equipment away, any administrative jobs that needed doing, anything as long as I was in barracks. I would sweep the barrack floors and polished the furniture for want of something to do. One chore I enjoyed was supervising others learning to drive. One Sunday morning I had been given permission by the CO to take 3 learner drivers for tuition. I booked a Champ out, had my work ticket signed by the MT Lieutenant and set off touring the roads of East Leeds. At each road junction I would give directions as to which route we were to travel. Driving along the Wetherby Road approaching the Leeds Ring Road Roundabout. I instructed the learner driver to, "Go over the roundabout and carry on towards Leeds." He complied literally and mounted the kerb of the island. By the time I had screamed at him to stop, and him doing so, the vehicle was near the centre of the grassed area. (There are large rocks and a tree on the island now but there was just grass at the time) Funny now, not then. Our CO had decided to enter our unit in the Divisional Motor Cycle Trials. He wanted rider volunteers. I just may have been the first to get my name down. I considered myself a quite a good motor cyclist, I'd had one for years, although I had not done any off road trials. We were taken on to the Yorkshire Moors near Bedale. The trials were to be held in 2 parts. At the mornings trial each rider was set off at 1 minute intervals across the moors. At the start, in the distance could be seen a white flag. The test was to get to it by whatever route the rider saw fit. When the flag was reached a further flag would be spotted and that had to be headed for. There were some 30 flags to be negotiated. The circuit had to be completed within 2 hours and the timing was considered reasonably generous. It was not a race. Completion of the circuit within the time period would qualify a rider to enter the afternoon stage which included riding in a disused quarry and would soon seek out the riders from the has-beens and probably never will bes. I had mentally booked m y place on the second stage. Setting off on the morning circuit I headed for the first white flag. Hills, valleys, ravines, ditches and streams all had to be negotiated as best I could. This being my first time on anything other than a road I was thoroughly enjoying myself. I was really going fast at times quite recklessly, or so I thought, considering the terrain. Suddenly a rider who had set off after me passed by me. Then another one and another. Especially the white helmeted Royal Signals Dispatch Riders who overtook me as though I was standing still. I tried to speed up but I was no match for them. I tried to make excuses in my mind and reasoned that it was because I was riding a 350cc BSA Rigid Frame, whilst they were riding 350 cc Triumph Telescopic and Swing Framed. Never mind I thought with 2 hours to get round the circuit it's ample time. I reached a large stream. My route took me through it. I had never driven a motor cycle through water before I drove at speed into the water and flooded the distributor. The engine spluttered to a stop in the middle of the ford. No amount of kick-starting would bring it back

to life. I noticed that other experienced riders were running through the stream at a steady pace, creating a small bow wave in front of the bike. Their experience kept water out of the working parts of the engine. I began to push my bike out of the water but my heavy calf length boots slipped on the river bed pebbles and I ended up floundering in the water. I managed to regain my footing and upright the motor bike. I pushed it to the opposite bank and began to try and dry out the affected distributor parts. I was there over a half an hour before it would start. By now I was seriously behind in my time and would really have to push it and take chances without regard. Driving down a very steep embankment I was travelling much too fast to negotiate the bend at the bottom. Instead of turning right at the end, my bike carried on forward. Luckily I was thrown bodily from it without injury. The bike ended up in a small ravine and ended up a complete write off. I walked back to the start point to report my loss with my tail, between my legs. I who had thought was such a great motor cyclists had failed at his first hurdle. In the afternoons trials I realised that I would not have been able to negotiate some of the hazards that the Royal Signal riders were completing with ease. I now knew that there are riders and there are riders and I certainly was not one of the riders. About 4 times a year the unit would hold a social evening for wives, girlfriends and families. As we were a comparatively small unit we would couple up with other units of 49 Div. The social gathering usually took the form of a running buffet and dance. They would normally be held at the Carlton Barracks, Leeds. An enjoyable social time was always had. I tried interesting Brenda in these activities telling her that it was all part of Army life showing her what she was missing but rarely did she attend One scheme, members of our unit were supposed to be paratroopers who had jumped into and captured an enemy airport. we took up start positions at a disused airport near York, in the Control Tower building. All that day and the coming night we sent out information gathering patrols. The opposing side did the same. We were all aware that the enemy was positioned somewhere on the perimeter of the air field. During the night hours we, the enemy doing the same, sent out 3 men patrols fully camouflaged up. It was a most thrilling time trying to detect where your enemy was, crawling forward, attempting to locate them under the cover of darkness. Sentries guarding their own areas who suspected enemy infiltration would periodically send up parachute flares. They lit up the night sky like it was daytime. Of course when such flares went up, one froze immediately and hoped to blend in with the darkened background. Whenever we encountered and enemy entrenchment we would lob thunder flashes into it and fire blank rounds, then scarper away quickly. Thunder flashes are loud explosive flash devises that simulate grenades. When one is thrown into your vicinity you are supposed to be dead and deemed not to take any further part in the action at that time. It was also strongly rumoured that anyone captured by the opposing force was given a thorough physical hiding by them. It was an added incentive not to get caught. On the Sunday morning 1st light the enemy suddenly showed. They had surrounded the airfield and were slowly working forwards to wipe out our positions. All taking part had been issued with arms and blank ammunition. Our unit had taken up defensive trenches around the control tower but gradually we were forced inwards. Our last stand was on the top floor of the tower. Hundreds, well it seemed like hundreds of the enemy soldiers were throwing thunder flashes at us. I think that secretly they were enjoying giving the Military Police a particular hard time. It became a dangerous moment as the concrete upper floor suddenly developed a

split down the middle. The tower was threatening to fall down around us. The scheme referees swiftly put a halt to it for obvious safety reasons. Another good, nay great, weekend. Whenever the CO. wanted volunteers to help the regular army MPs patrol the Catterick Garrison, Yorkshire, I was one of the first in line to get my name down. Each volunteer would couple up with the Regular Military Police and patrol the Garrison. I saw real MPs in action. In reality Catterick is a real dead and alive hole but to me, at the time, it was as exciting as any foreign station could be. Every year our unit held a fortnights camp. For a whole 2 weeks I could pretend that I was regular army soldier. Attendance at the camp qualified you for a bounty of around 200 Pounds. We were also paid regular army pay for the privilege. I would have gladly paid them twice as much for the pleasure it gave me. Whenever I think of the summer camps, and I enjoyed them all, one day sticks out in my mind. Our camp was based on the outskirts of Tavistock near Dartmoor. One evening we had been briefed on a unit move to another location. It involved about 80 miles of driving. The morning of the move our RSM had an occasion to rebuke me as to my conduct about a certain matter, I remember not what because it was a trivial matter. I felt unduly blamed for it and I was not in a very good mood as we drove out of the camp in convoy. I was driving a 3 ton Bedford. My co-passenger had attempted to make conversation but I must have failed to respond and so he lapsed into silence. Around mid-day the convoy stopped in one of the tiny villages of Somerset, I forget its name. It was a most pleasant small hamlet with very few houses. When someone asked where the pub was we were directed to what looked like any of the other natural stone houses. The door opened on what looked like an ordinary old house. The floor was flag-stoned and uneven and the ceiling joists were low. In the corner was a very small bar. Someone ordered a pint of sweet Scrumpy. I had never heard the word Scrumpy before and certainly did not know that it was home brewed cider. I ordered a pint of rough. It cost 9 pence (5p) It looked very cloudy in the glass, or should I say it looked like a thunder and lightning storm in there. Anyway I tried it and was very different to anything I had ever tasted before, a little too bitter for my taste. I asked someone what the Sweet scrumpy tasted like and I was offered a drink of his. That tasted a little too sweet. (Honestly this is not a 3 bears story) I determined that my next pint was to be half and half. I went to the bar and ordered a pint of mixed. "Are you sure, said the lady of the house. "Sure I'm Sure," I said, "a pint of half and half." "But you have only just had one and this is very strong stuff if you are not used to it." "I can take my beer. I 'm used to Melbourne Bitter." I boasted She served me another drink. Whilst we were drinking the lady of the bar offered to show us the brewing shed at the back of the house. There were huge piles of small green and reddish apples all over the place. In the centre of the shed was a large press and we were told that a layer of apples is placed on to a base then a layer of straw then apples again etc. interspersed with Sacking. Then the press face is lowered and the large screw turned. The apples are compressed to a pulp. The liquid flows from the press and is collected into barrels. Other than being sieved and a little yeast very little else goes into the preparation. It is allowed to ferment and then sold on the premises. We had been in the pub about an hour and then we had to move. In that time all I had was the 2 pints of scrumpy. By the time I got behind the wheel of the Bedford I was singing my head off. I was in a fantastic mood and at peace with the world, even with the Sergeant Major. When I look back on the incident now I realise that I was under the influence of alcohol and

was unfit to drive a bicycle never mind a 3 tonner. That scrumpy was mind-blowing stuff. I would love to drink it again someday providing I have the money for a Taxi home afterwards. Although I always took my wife and child on proper annual summer holidays these never competed for enjoyment as did the TA camps. I had been in the Territorial Army almost 3 years and all that time I had been slowly brainwashing my wife to allow me to re-enter the regular army. My wife had long since realised that I could not remain down the pit much longer. There was talk of National Service coming to an end and the armed forces would then be purely volunteer. It meant that I would soon be able to come out of the pit with having the sword of Damocles, National Service, hanging over my head. But now even the thought of joining the civil Police held nothing for me anymore. It was the army or nothing. Eventually Brenda reluctantly agreed on my re-joining. My house was a large 4 story through terraced Victorian building. Prior to my wives agreement and to my re-enlistment I promised to convert the house into bedsitter's or flat-lets. Brenda would live in one flat-let and the others would be sub-let that would give her an extra income until she was able to join me at whichever posting to which I was sent. This I did and what a nice little earner it turned out to be. When I informed my TA CO that I intended to sign up for the regulars he was delighted for me. He said that a special going away social evening would be held in my honour. A dance that had been previously arranged was brought forward especially for me. A dinner, speeches of good wishes and going away presents were given. It was a really touching and an appreciated time, I almost regretted leaving them. The operative word being almost. In February 1963 I again set off for the RMP Depot and Training Establishment, Woking. This time, because I was over 25 I'd had to sign a short service engagement of 12 years SS. I therefore was not guaranteed a long army career as I had hoped. 12 Years was my only definite contract. I would have preferred signing for 22 years but beggars cannot be chosers as they say. The coming 12 years may help to get the army out of my system, although I very much doubted it.

Fifty

BACK INTO TRAINING

This time travelling to Woking to join the Army I knew I was not making a mistake.
I seemed to have done the journey so many times. In fact I had done it only three but it had been done many more in my mind. Passing through the main archway it was as if I had never been away. In fact it had been almost three years since I originally obtained my discharge. Since then I had learned that the barracks had been named after the battle of Inkerman of 1854 in the Crimean war. I booked into the guardroom with little or no apprehensions. The guard Sergeant bellowed at me, almost identically, as when I had first entered though now I had inner knowledge. I was still a new recruit but this time I was not new to the system. In training I certainly found things had changed. Most of the squad instructors were now full Corporals rather than sergeants. National Service had been revoked, practically all recruit intake were now regulars. I did not have to send my civilian clothes home. When not actually doing training we were allowed to wear civvies. In theory recruits were allowed out of the barracks providing they registered in and out at the guardroom. In practice we rarely went out of the barrack area. Although occasionally at the weekend a few mates and I would go for a short stroll. There was still much work to be done preparing of kit but more emphasis was placed on the academic subjects. Saturday morning workings had been phased out. When a recruit finished training Friday afternoon, providing he had no guard or piquet's, he was free until Monday morning. We had always to be in barracks before 2359 hrs. Midnight, when lights were out. There were no cookhouse duties or potato peeling, all food preparation and washing up was now done by machines. Recruits were now only issued with one Battledress uniform. BD was to be finally phased out. A modern No 2s uniform had been issued. The number 2 uniform was easier to iron with far less creases. Personally I would be sorry to see the Battle Dress uniform go, I always felt very smart in mine. We also were issued shoes as well as boots.

Some brasses, like buttons and badges, were now stay-bright and did not need polishing. Brasses on the webbings though still needed attention. Boots ammunition had been changed to Boots DMS. These were easier to clean and more comfortable. They had a rubber sole, needing no studs. The fatigue denims were still issued but they had largely been replaced with 'Greens.' A trouser and top, rain and windproof uniform. Greens were designed for field use. The old 303 rifle had been fully phased out and the SLR (Self Loading Rifle) had taken its place. The spider barrack rooms were now centrally heated. The flock filled mattresses being replaced by a foam mattress. All in all life was a lot easier for recruits. Although still much attention was given to the smartness and cleanliness, more emphasis was placed on the academic subjects. I was issued with kit and given the rest of the week to bring it up to standard. I almost immediately applied to be up squadded due to past training. I was placed in a squad in the fifth week of training. I was overjoyed. Now I had only twelve weeks to do rather than the full sixteen. Although a little apprehensive at first as to whether training had changed too much. I soon slotted into the new R27B training squad reasonable easy. A Corporal, John Redman, was the squad instructor. I found him to be a very hard exact taskmaster but always found him fair in all circumstances Training was just as hard as I remembered it but now I knew what the score was. Whenever a senior rank berated me for my lapses, I did not take it to heart. I accepted it for what is was. It just made me try even harder. Pass-out week eight came and went. In weeks nine to twelve in Military Law I found that the old judges rules had been rewritten. A whole new set of rules and definitions had to be learnt. The cautions given to an alleged offender had changed. Whereas I had been looking forward to the Military Law stage I found that I had to work just as hard if not more so. I had to abandon much of the old Military Law definitions and accept the new. Weeks Twelve to Fifteen were MT training. I held both Motor Cycle and Motor car licences. I was required to take a driving test with one of the civilian instructors in a 3 ton Bedford truck. I had driven the heavy vehicles before and my driving must have been acceptable because he passed me as capable of driving most Military vehicles. Throughout the MT stage all I did was a weekly guard and fire piquet duty. Within reason the rest of the time was my own. In week 15 the Physical Training instructors held a competition to find the best recruit in PT Always being a physical person rather than an academic one I managed to win. the comp. Week sixteen we prepared to pass-out on the square. By now all our uniforms had now a single stripe on the sleeves. It was all over bar the shouting. I was still having problems getting my boots up to scratch. that chore was the biggest headache that the army had ever thrown at me. Although they were acceptable when viewed on their own, when placed with other recruit boots they were definitely inferior.

In April 1963 27B squad passed out. It was a glorious day. I felt so proud. If someone had given me a million dollars not to pass out I would have refused the offer. Without doubt it gave me the greatest satisfaction of my life.

I now had three weeks leave in front of me. Two weeks after that I would be off to my posting at 247 Pro. Coy RMP (Berlin) Germany. BFPO 45 On return to Inkerman Barracks after pass out and embarkation leave, again things changed. I was now an NCO and others treated me as such. I now had no fear of senior ranks or officers. I treated them with respect and it was returned. We had to remain at Woking until our flight plans to our individual units were arranged. Some of the squad were Home Posted, meaning postings within the UK. I was glad that had not happened to me. Although I would have preferred a more exotic posting like the Far or Middle East, I was satisfied with Berlin. I had heard that it was the plum posting in Germany. Prior to embarkation all kit, other than walking out uniforms, both civvies and army was prepacked and sent on ahead. The Sunday evening before my coming Fridays flight, a few of the squad mates suggested that we all go into town. It was for, what could be, the last time we socialised together as a group. Many of the squad had already left on postings leaving only nine of us. We all agreed to as night on the town. I then remembered that I had no civilian suit. At that time we always wore a suit and tie when exiting the barrack area. It was unheard of to go out casual, just slacks and sweater. My civvies and non-essential military kit had been packed away in a wooden box

and had been pre-sent to Berlin, to travel separate. I intimated that I would not go out drinking in uniform. One of my squad mates suggested that I borrow one of his two suits as he had not pre-packed yet. I agreed. He lent me a very light grey, almost white, single breasted, mohair suit. It fitted me like a glove. I felt like a ten foot tall movie star. We went out on the town for our last drink together. Towards the back end of the evening someone suggested going to the Atlanta ballroom for the last hour. We all agreed. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. I was dancing with someone when I realised there was an argument over in one corner of the room. It involved some of my mates. I went over to give support. There was this big guy shouting the odds. He was with a party of guardsmen from Pirbright, the guards camp which was just up the road. The argument started when one of my mates had asked the lady friend of one of their group to dance. The other had taken offence to this. All parties had a lot to drink, beer was talking. I intervened because It looked like we were outnumbered. The big mouthed lad seemed to be the leader of their group. I took the part of spokesman for our group. I said that the outcome looked like being a fight. As they outnumbered us I suggested that he pick his best 9 fighters and his and ours would go behind the dance hall and sort it out. He agreed. He looked around at his group. I certainly did not want to fight and thought I would try and bluff him out by saying. "Make sure you chose yourself? Cos I want you". He obviously would have been one of his group but I was hoping to put the wind up him and expecting him to back down. He didn't. He growled and replied "Yer, and I want you as well" "Tell you what then," says I, "None of us wants a riot in this place, why not just let the two of us sort it out around the back in the car park?" To my surprise he agreed to my suggestion The fight was on, he seemed a big lad but I felt confident that I could give as much as I would take . It would be a hiding or else. We made an pact that whatever happened between us no other would step in. Instead of it being a free for all it would be a fair fight. He, his group, me and my mates began heading out of the dance hall. Then I realised I was wearing someone else's white suit. I could take the coat off to fight but not the trousers. If it had been my suit I would not have thought twice. How do I get out of a situation that my big mouth had got me into. "Was it your bird my mate was chatting up. I enquired? "No, my mates." he replied. "It wasn't even his bird either. Shes a bit of a slag anyway." "What do you say that we agree that nobody has her" "What do you mean?" "I'll tell my mates to leave her alone. You do the same to yours. We are Military Police after all and we should not really be doing this." Whether he did not want to fight or did not want to get entangled with the MPs I don't know but he readily agreed to my suggestion. We each would warn our own group to keep away from the trouble making girl. We moved back into the ballroom bar together, almost as new found friends. I was so relieved to get out of the situation that I almost bought my own beer. The white suit had made me feel like a million dollars but it just might have cost me almost that to replace it, if it had been ruined in a fight. A good farewell party was had by all. Monday I was to fly to Berlin. Jock S. and George P. and myself were to fly from Gatwick to Berlin. I had never flown before it was to be a first. I was quite excited by the coming flight but I tried to hide it, acting nonchalantly. We three travelled in uniform aboard a commercial flight.

The actual boarding, take off and flight were really quite ordinary. Was I becoming a seasoned traveller? The English channel soon appeared and was left behind. France was the first sight I had of a foreign soil. It looked remarkably the same as England. What had I expected? West Germany came next and then the air corridor through East Germany to Berlin was announced by the captain. A Soviet fighter plane soon appeared on the right side of our aeroplane. It escorted us through the corridor and left us as we entered the allied sector of Berlin. Looking out of the plane window I could see a long swathe of ploughed ground that stretched into the distance, it was my first sight of the Allied/Soviet border. Our aircraft touched down at Templehof airport.

Fifty One

BERLIN

It was late afternoon as the aeroplane doors opened out to a new country and career for me.
We stepped down on to the tarmac at Templehof, my first time in a foreign country. Everything seemed normal. I had been expecting a sudden rush of adrenaline or emotion but nothing, although I had the inner feeling that I was glad to be where I was. After passport and custom controls, we were met by an MP from our new company. He was driving a Volks Wagon Mini Bus with an air cooled engine. The Volks Wagon was a very quiet and comfortable ride. "Hmm," I thought. "Almost as good as British buses." Our driver drove us through the streets of West Berlin, pointing out a few of the sights. The street lights were just beginning to come on. I knew very little about Berlin. I had the common knowledge of it being the capital city of Germany during the war where Hitler had made his last stand. I did not fully understand yet about Germany being split up into the four powers. Nor did I understand where Berlin featured in all this. I had heard of the 1948/49 Soviet road blockade, where all consumables had to be flown in by air, even coal. I think I had half expected a rundown city, from where I was looking it did not appear so. The Germans did not seem to be suffering from any deprivation. The shops windows seemed full and the street lighting along the famous Kurfustendam seemed very affluent and abundant. Our driver pointed out the Brandenburg Gate on the right as we turned up Strasse Des 17 Juni. This road led us on to Heer Strasse. He explained that Heer Strasse runs through almost the whole of the British sector. We were heading for the Olympic stadium area of Charlottenburg. As we drove along Heer Strasse he slowed the VW's speed down to exactly 50 KPH. (about 30 MPH) The reason, he said, that on this very long road there are many traffic lights. All are synchronised at 50 kph. At each junction as we reached a set of lights they changed to green, allowing us to carry on. If he had gone any faster, or slower, he would, at some time, have been met with a red stop light. It was in every drivers interest to conform to the speed limit. The driver further explained that in adverse conditions, fog or ice etc., the civil police can lower the speed limit as necessary. At each junction there was an illuminated sign denoting the current speed restriction. More respect for the Germans. We turned off of Heer Str. at a large roundabout called the Theodore Heuss Platz. I noticed that the main NAAFI called Edinburgh House was located there. Towards the end of our journey we passed through an avenue called Sportsforum. The sides of the road had high double mesh fencing. The road ended at a control box and beam barrier. The driver flashed his vehicle blue light to forewarn that ours was a police vehicle. The barrier was raised just at the right moment to let us through. I felt as if we had entered a concentration camp. We had entered BIB. HQ. Berlin Infantry brigade Head Quarters. Arriving at a very modern white marbled building, which was to be our home for the near future, we alighted and were lead into the RMP control room. It had a long raised counter behind which sat a Sergeant and two other MP attendants. The counter had a maze of radio and telephone equipment. We were first required to produce means of identification and then booked in. Shown were to collect bedding and given a bed space, we were left to our own devices until the coming morning. The accommodation was quite luxurious by army standards. That evening I found the Corporals mess, had a few drinks and introduced myself to the other drinkers. I was made quite welcome. Saturday morning at nine we introduced ourselves at the orderly room. There we were instructed that Part 1 and 2 orders were posted on the bulletin board at the entrance to the

building. All persons were required to read them daily. They contained future orders and notices. Part 2 orders were posted every afternoon and had a roster of duties for the coming day. Failure to read them was a punishable offence under company standing orders. They enabled you to prepare for a coming duty. When not on duty we were free to come and go as we pleased. The orderly Sergeant asked if we need any English money changing into Deutch Marks, we availed ourselves of the service. Told that we would not be required until Monday morning as per part 2s, we were given the rest of the time off. Our kit, which had been pre-sent, in the wooden boxes were waiting for us and we signed to take charge of them. Saturday afternoon George P. and I decided to go out of camp to have a look around. We were both dressed in heavy woollen civilian suits and wore ties. It was a glorious hot summer day. We had no idea were we were heading. We had walked about a mile out of the camp area. Other Germans seemed to be heading in a general direction so we decided that was the way to go. Walking for a further mile or so, the built up area gave way to trees and countryside. The track, I know now to be called Havel Chaussee, led on to a very large lake called The Havel. It was Berlin's beauty spot for water sports. People were swimming, canoeing, sailing, sunbathing and picnicking. All were generally having a happy good time. As we neared the waters edge people were pointing and staring at us, laughing. We had no idea why. We came upon a boat hire landing stage. George suggested that we hire a canoe, I agreed. Not being able to speak German I gesticulated to the boatman that we wanted to hire a canoe. He shook his head and pointed to a large high off the water pontoon type craft. It had four seats and 2 set of pedals. He urged us on to it. Paying our Deutch marks he cast us off. As we pedalled away many people were waving and still laughing at us. I realised we were too formally dressed for the occasion. George and I took off our coats and ties and rolled up our sleeves. The laughing stopped but people still waved at us. The saying 'Mad dogs and Englishmen came out in the mid-day sun' seemed perfectly apt for the moment. Rounding a bend in the lake we heard. "Coo ee" Both of us looked around. The call was repeated. The sounds came from the bank a few yards away. Coming out of the rhododendron bushes was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen waving at us. She was dressed, or undressed, in a white and pink polka dotted bikini. She had the most gorgeous figure with long blonde hair. Without question she represented a product of the supposedly German super race. She beckoned us over. She spoke a little English. She motioned that she wanted a sail on our pontoon. We readily agreed, after all we were on a diplomatic mission, friends across the sea and all that. She asked if her sister come too. With that her sister appeared out of the bushes. Her sister, also dressed in a bikini, was a little plump but still very good looking. We could hardly refuse, I gave up my pedalling seat to the gorgeous one. George was in the other pedalling seat facing the plump girl. I were in the passenger seat facing the blonde. All seats faced inward. As the gorgeous girl began to pedal it became very evident that the bottom half of her costume contained no elasticised sides. My eyes.. Well enough to say she certainly was a natural blonde. I had better change the subject. The hire period of the pontoon was about up. We paddled the girls back to where we had first seen them. Bade our fond farewells and took the boat back to the landing stage. So this is Berlin can it get any better? 247 (Berlin) Pro. Coy. RMP. was situated in the area of the Olympic stadium. The modern marble floored accommodation blocks were perfect. Centrally heated in winter, cool in summer. They had been built as athlete accommodation for the 1936 games. Not Two Hundred Metres away from our HQ were three large, up to date, swimming pools. One outdoor pool had a fifty Meter racing stretch attached to a large square recreation pool

area. Immaculate lawned areas were adjacent to the pool. Indoors there was a 50 metre heated pool with fixed and spring diving boards. It also had a 10 mtr high board. Along both pool sides were granite tiered, heated, viewing stands. It was the most modern swimming pool I had ever seen and all this was built circa 1935. My new found respect for the Germans continued. In the mess that evening I met Peter W. the mate who I had originally joined up with almost 3 years ago. We had kept in touch by letter and he knew of my imminent arrival. He informed me that his Berlin Posting was about up and now he was to return to the RMP Depot for a further posting. (He later went to Kenya.) Peter had been allocated an MSQ ( Married Service Quarters) and his wife Marlene and daughter were in residence. He invited me to visit him later that evening for a meal and chin-wag. It was gratefully accepted. Peter's MSQ was very modern and I could hardly wait to have my wife and child ensconced in one, it would make my life complete. Studying Part 2 orders on the notice board that Sunday I found that my first duty on Monday was to be East Gate duty.

Fifty Two

EAST GATE

Monday I paraded in shirt sleeved order, (no jacket top) White gaiters, belt and cross belt,
pistol and ammunition pouch. Red top and armband. My first duty proper. A pistol and ammunition had been booked out from the armoury. I had already studied the 'Terms of fire'. These standing orders covered circumstances when a weapon could be loaded and/or discharged. The parade was at 08.45hrs. The duty sergeant inspected and briefed the company. For the first hour I was to be accompanied by another MP who had prior experience of the duty. East Gate turned out to be the most boring job I have ever had. Exiting though it was at first, with it all being so new, it soon became tame. The East gate house contained two German civilian security staff. They checked the identity cards of civilians who worked within the stadium area. My job was checking the ID. of Service personnel. Looking back now I realise it was a figure head job someone to stand at the gate looking smart. I was relieved for NAAFI breaks and lunch. I remained there until being stood down at 16.30 hrs and glad to be away. Part 2 orders noted that I was on Zonal border duty in the morning. It is here that I must, briefly and simply, explain the political situation in Berlin at that time. After World War 2 Germany was split into two parts East and West. The allied powers, British, US and France controlled West Germany. The other half, East Germany was Soviet controlled. A high wire security fence had been erected separating East Germany from the West. The city of Berlin was entirely within East Germany. It is over 100 miles from Helmstadt, the nearest town in West Germany. Berlin was ringed on the outskirts by what was called the Zonal border. There were high wired fences, trip wires mines and such on the Soviet side. Berlin was further divided into the four power states. Although we had full powers in our own and limited powers in the American and French sectors, it was completely

open and we had free access. The Soviet controlled parts not so. A thick 3 Meter high wall divided the Soviet sector from the allied sectors. There were four checkpoint entrances in the wall. The most famous being Checkpoint Charlie. The others were mainly for civilian and diplomatic uses. West Berlin at that time had a population of approx. 2.3 million and an area 185 Square miles. Whilst East Berlin had 1.2 Million and 156 square miles. West Berlin was completely surrounded by the Soviets. The Berlin Infantry Brigade badge flash was a Black circle surrounded by a Red ring. the Red denoting Communism. British Military Police patrolled, twenty four hours a day, both Zonal and sector borders within the British sector. A note was pinned up on the HQ notice board. It originated from the CSM (Company Sergeant Major) stating that a visit was to be organised to the United States Military Police Berlin HQ. Anyone interested in attending were to append their names. I likened to the idea of seeing how the other half lived and set my name down. The date was for the following Saturday morning. We boarded 2 VW mini buses 24 persons in all and duly arrived at the US MP barrack gates. There the MP on guard phoned his Top Sergeant (who has the equivalent rank of RSM). He came to see us and apologised to our CSM in that somewhere along the line, wires had been crossed. He had it in his diary that the visit was for the next Saturday and that consequently nothing had been organised for us on this day. Our CSM said he had it booked for today and we could not possibly come next week. The US Top kick said he may have a solution. He could quickly organise something but he apologised in advance for anything lacking. We followed him into the camp and he went into a barrack room and roused a number of NCOs who were in bed having worked the previous night shift. Each US NCO took charge of four of us and was briefed to show us around their organisation and that we should all meet up for 'chow at 12-30 pm. Our guide began his tour at the transport garages. The first thing I had noticed about the US MPs was that they had their own vehicles imported from the USA. The British Army in Berlin relied on the German government to supply them with German made transport, usually Volks Wagons. Not so the Yanks they provided their own. Their normal roadway patrol vehicles were very large Ford Galaxys or Ford Taurnus's and were all very smart and flashy. We were given the chance of driving one a short distance within the barrack area, luxury indeed. They had every conceivable vehicle for every situation and I formed a new found respect for the Yanks. Their vehicle maintenance area was spotlessly clean and left nothing to be desired. Next we visited the communications room that had banks of telephones and radios. We were informed that phoning 'home' was a routine occurrence and that they could patch in to any spot on the Earth that had a US listening post. I had thought earlier that our own communication room back at BIB HQ was second to none, now I realised it was a poor second. We toured the camp looking in at all the aspects of life in the US Military Police both work wise and socially. The more I saw the more I envied them. The only place we were not allowed to enter was the American PX. Their PX is a Services shopping centre within every camp and we were led to understood that anything that is available in the USA can be obtained there. If the article is not to hand immediately then an order can be made and prompt attention given. Arrangement had been made that we would all meet outside the Chow Hut at 12-30. Hut not being the operative word, the building was the utmost in modern design. Again on meeting the US Top Sergeant he apologised that nothing food wise had been arranged for us and if we liked would we join the food queue for chow. We each picked up an aluminium tray that had separate compartments for the individual parts of a coming meal. On taking our turn in the

queue behind other US servicemen, arrayed before us were great banks of differing food, with at least five meat dishes all looking so succulent. There were also numerous salad dishes for vegetarians. All our group had heard about the size of American steaks and so practically to a man we indicated to the server that we wanted steak. I had heard before about American steaks but the one beset before me was ginormous. It was almost three inches thick and almost a foot long. I might exaggerate a little but not very much. Vegetables were heaped onto the individual compartments of the tray until it was overflowing. We were guided to tables that were ultra clean, litres of milk were on hand and could be taken as desired. I noticed that there was no rank discrimination within the canteen, all officers, NCOs and men ate in the same area. We were informed that there was a small room for visiting high ranking officers and VIPs but it was very rarely used, they preferring to eat with the men. I was largely impressed. On our departure the USMP Top Sergeant again apologised for not having anything organised for our visit and I wondered, if what we had seen and eaten was just run of the mill stuff, what would it have been like if he had known we were coming. The Yanks moved up another rung of the ladder in my appreciation of them.

Fifty Three

ZONAL BORDER

I was with Ernie H. on Zonal Border duty. Ernie later became my best mate. The Zonal
border of the British Sector was situated mainly in the Spandau area of Berlin. Three of the Nazi war criminal were held at the famous Spandau Prison. A little more of them later. Ernie was the driver of our vehicle a German made DKW jeep , nicknamed 'Deek'. It was painted black with a Military Police nameplate. The Deek had a blue light attached to the roof and a loud Martin horn. We rendezvoused at the border with the off coming shift. They handed over the standard border items of kit; flares, flashlights, Zonal standing orders, binoculars, maps, etc. and we stowed them into our vehicle. All vehicles were in radio contact to HQ. Ernie, the driver had been issued with a pistol and .38 ammunition. I with a 9mm Stirling Sub machine gun. Getting in the vehicle I placed my SMG down by my seat on the floor of the vehicle. I radioed base that we had successfully taken over from the previous patrollers and reported that we were beginning duty The full length of the zonal border, on the allied side had a small width roadway for the patrolling traffic. Civilians were not normally allowed access to this road. It is only a few metres from the first fence which was erected on East German soil. The fence, which was 3 separate fences really, was over 3 mtrs high. The 2 Metre space between the fences is freely patrolled by savage German Shepherd dogs. Further past the fences was a freshly dug and raked soil area. Anyone encroaching that area would leave an obvious trace. The fence also has a heavily mined area. Every Five Hundred meters or so there would be erected a high pylon watchtower, again manned by two border Police. The Zonal border area is almost all woodland and countryside. On the Western side it is quite beautiful. But across the wire the woodland has been ploughed under. A very foreboding place East Germany looked. We would drive slowly along the border road, occasional stopping to note any changes that may have been, or were being made. All incidents have to be reported however slight. Every mile or so, fixed points were usually identified by a 'Bravo' number. A radio report to H.Q. as "Bravo Ten, all correct." would announced we were at the start point of our patrol and all there was how it should be. About half way through the patrol the observer would radio to HQ , "Entering the EiseKeller" This informed that we were preparing to enter an area known as the 'Eise-Kellar'. A

literal name translation is Ice Cellar, how it arrived at its name no one really could explain to me. This area is roughly the shape of a frying pan or a cul-de-sac and is completely surrounded by the East. The narrow inlet, resembling the frying pan handle was just wide enough to allow our DKW vehicle to drive down, leaving very little on either side, which was Communist held territory. The dirt roadway had a slight bend in it and was bordered by thick vegetation and bushes. Once in the area, the road opens out to a shape resembling the pan proper. Very little is noteworthy and all that can be seen is a small farm and the rough roadway edges the outer perimeter. We would drive round the area and exit the same way as we came in. Usually there was nothing to report except for one evening. I was the observer on patrol alongside a driver. We had begun our drive up the short muddy roadway and was approaching the bend when suddenly we were confronted by a party of East German Border Guards, being led by a single Russian soldier dressed in full combat gear. The party had been coming from the East, were crossing the Western held road, and were about to pass back into the East. Strictly speaking they were trespassing on Western held soil carrying arms. A strict protocol no no. It could be taken, out of context, as an armed invasion of the West Whether the patrol realised that they were in the West I know not for they seemed as surprised as we. They reacted very quickly and pointed hand held Kalashnikov rifles at us. Nothing was said by them to us but the Russian gestured to his party to continue on their way. Still pointing their weapons at us, they moved completely across the road and disappeared back into the bushes of the East. It would have been pointless us reaching for our weapons, I only had an unloaded 9mm Stirling that was stowed in the side well of the 'Deek', it would have taken me all of a minute to locate and load My driver had a holstered unloaded pistol. We would have been no match for the Communist invaders fire power. I, as a matter of course, reported the incident at once to our HQ and had to submit a written report of the whole incident at the end of the patrol. It was the first time I 'd had a loaded, (I assumed) weapon aimed at me and I can report that it was not a gratifying experience, quite terrifying really. At meal break we would radio 'off watch' and drive to the British Military Hospital where a meal was regularly arranged for border duty personnel. Occasionally we would wave at the patrolling East German guards or in their control towers. Rarely would they acknowledge us. They were never alone, always at least two of them. It was common knowledge that at the start of their duty the East German guards did not know which section they were to patrol, or who with. It was designed to prevent them making plans to escape over the wire to the West. The said reason that there were always two was for one to keep an eye on the other. Looking at it all, what a sad waste of human resources. The third time that I pulled Zonal border duty as I got into the vehicle as was usual I stowed my SMG on the floor at the side of my seat. On the way to the hand over point, the driver, a full corporal whose name I forget, explained that the vehicle we were travelling in had a fault. Instead of continuing the patrol with this vehicle we were to take over the DKW that was already at the border. Our 'Deek' would be driven back to the garages. We would not have to manhandle any of the Border kit from their vehicle to ours, it could remain as it was. We met the off coming patrol team, handed over duties and began our patrol. There were no incidents during the patrol. At break we retired to BMH for a meal. Arms are not allowed into the hospital. Anyone entering BMH must hand over any weapons to the guard on the gate. My driver handed over his pistol and I groped down for my SMG. Horror. It was not there. I could not understand it. It should be there I had not moved it. I realised that was the answer, 'I had not moved it.' I should have transferred my SMG from the

vehicle we came to the border in, to the vehicle we were to patrol with. My SMG was still in the other DKW which was now in the RMP Garage. To lose a weapon is a court martial offence. I reported my loss to the driver. He reasoned to me that if I reported it to him officially, then he was duty bound to report it to HQ. On the other hand if he knew nothing about it he could not be expected to report the loss. Also the SMG may still be in the original vehicle and may still be there when we were relieved with it the coming morning. Did I want to report the loss of a weapon to him? I felt sick to my stomach. What was I to do? I finally decided that I would wait and see if the Weapon was still in place when it arrived at our location next morning. Officially I had not reported the loss to him. The rest of that shift was the longest night possible. I could not take my mind off the problem. The driver reasoned that it could not have been found at this time because we would have been notified of its finding over the radio. Just before 0600 hrs. next morning We waited at our relief hand over point. I in extreme mental agitation. As soon as the vehicle arrived and stopped I could contain myself no longer and rushed over to it feeling down into the vehicle well. Low and behold all my problems had suddenly disappeared. There it was. It had lain within the vehicle all night long in the garage. That incident taught me more about looking after your weapon than any lectures I had previously had on the subject. From that point on I always knew exactly where my weapon was. As I have reported the Zonal border area is mainly countryside. In the fields there are lots of market produce growing. Months later when my wife was installed in our MSQ I would plunder the fields for vegetables taking the odd cabbage, carrots or swedes etc.. Early one morning I pulled up a large cabbage and stripped off the outer leaves. Breaking the root off I flung it far into the field to conceal the plundered evidence. As I flung it with my left hand my large heavy gold wedding ring also flew off. It was pointless searching, for it was not yet daybreak. That Sunday lunch was the costliest meal I ever had. Some dark mornings we would chase rabbits for sport. Driving along the border path many times a rabbit would be picked out in the DKW's lights. They would run away from the source of light but still within the headlight beam. As we drove after them they were unable to see any other way but forward. Soon they would become exhausted and as a last escape resort fling themselves, into the darkness, out of the headlight beam. One time we were chasing a rabbit and instead of fleeing out of the beam, as was usual, it suddenly stopped exhausted. My driver was unable to stop in time and the 'Deek' ran over it. We stopped and found the rabbit, alive but with its back legs broken. I told my driver that he would have to finish it off. We could not leave it like it was. He had a faint heart and asked me to kill it, my heart was no bigger than his and I couldn't either. We both urged the other to do the dirty deed. I hated the idea of killing it. Eventually I decided that as I could not do it with my bare hands, I got him to drive the DKW over the rabbit squashing it out of existence. I never played the 'catch the rabbit' sport again. One morning at about half past five we were a little early and waiting at Bravo Ten for our relief crew to take over. They would arrive just after Six. All was quiet and just getting light, my driver and I were nodding. Suddenly a report rang out. It sounded like a gunshot and we both startled awake. Another report then another. I immediately radioed our HQ and we were instructed to investigate. The noises seemed to be coming from within the British Zonal border area. We started our DKW and began the drive along the border road. Another two shots were fired and soon we knew where they were coming from. We stopped adjacent to the wire fence and taking out our binoculars I observed that there was a man lying on the dug

and raked ground prior to the mined area and the high series of wire fences. Two East Border Guards were pointing their weapons at the fallen man. I could not see, at this time, if he was alive or wounded. All the time I kept my HQ informed of every event. The guards who had remained outside the mined ploughed area were shouting something to the fallen person, of what I could not tell. He remained completely motionless as we continued our observations. I requested our HQ if we should load our weapons and received a negative response at this time unless life or property is threatened within the West. It was not being threatened at this time. We carried on our watching of the event and before long an East German all-purpose wagon arrived on the scene. Orders were shouted to the man on the ground and he regained his feet. He began walking, nay stumbling because obviously he had been shot in his right leg. He placed his hands on his head as he moved towards his now captors and climbed into the waiting vehicle, soon to be driven off. Our relief crew joined us at the scene just as the vehicle disappeared. A full report of the incident was submitted by my driver and self. It appeared to us that the shot person had attempted to escape the East by running towards the wire with the intention of climbing over it. To be quite honest hed had no chance, even if the guards had not been on hand to get him the land mines or dogs would. The peace of the forest resumed. On evening I was getting ready for border duty. I had been on it the evening before and had forgot to properly clean my boots from an earlier cross country run. I could not parade in muddy boots and so reasoned that I could wear my best boots for parade then return to my room and quickly clean my working boots before putting them on. At least I would get through parade inspection without problems. Strabelene had been discovered by someone. Strabelene was a colourless liquid that was applied with a paintbrush to the toecaps and heels of boots. It made them shine like polish although a little false. When stressed the strabelene coating cracked into white Orange peel like lines. Strabelene had been outlawed by the RSM. I decided to put on my best boots for the inspection then ask my driver to wait while I changed back into my working boots. I paraded. Horror it was the RSM that was doing the pre duty inspection, usually it was the duty sergeant. When he came to me he looked me up and down and then at my beautiful best boots. "Strabelene." He pronounced. "No sir." I honestly replied "Strabelene." he again insisted. "No sir, Polish." With that he placed the heel of his shoe on to the toecap of my boot and ground it in. If it had been strabelene as he had suspected then it would have cracked white. It did not, indicating that it was indeed polish. Looking down at my boots he said. " Yes, you were right. It is not Strabelene. A nice polished pair of boots you had there. Well done" One of my best boots was now ruined there was a great gouge mark in the toe. I would have to strip it down and start it all over again. All that work now to do because I had been lazy in not prior cleaning my working boots in time. I learned my lesson. Afterwards I thought of the RSM actions. Had he known that it was not strabelene? Had he known that they were my best boots only being used for the parade inspection, knowing full well that I was to change them prior to going out on shift? Our RSM was a wily old bird. He was also a fair wily old bird.

Fifty Four

SECTOR BORDER

Sector border duty was patrolling alongside the famous Berlin wall. The wall stretched in an
almost unbroken straight line through the centre of the city. It took no account of buildings, streets or property continuing through them all. In some places it actually cut houses in half. On the Western side the half house could still be in use but in the other, the owner would have been forcibly evicted. The wall is built completely on East German land along with a 10 metre lead up to it. In places a painted line denotes the exact position of the border. The height of the wall , I estimated at about 3 metres and about a half metre thick. The British Sector border began at the French Sector near Tiergarten and ended at the American sector at Potsdammer Platz. In places it ran alongside the canal behind the Reichstag, the Ex. German Parliament building. This building had not, as yet, been repaired to its former glory. It still bore the hallmarks of war and its outside walls were very bullet pockmarked. Across from the Reichstag about half a mile away were many large blocks of flats, all of them were of different designs, many were normal looking but a few were very bizarre. When I pointed the diversity of the high rises, my partner said that after World War 2 there had been an obvious shortage of housing. With limited money in the coiffeurs to spend on housing the Berlin government could not afford to build on a large scale. They hit on an idea of offering a worldwide building competition. There was to be a prize of many millions of marks worth of Gold, as a reward to any building company who built a block of flats on that site and that block was adjudged the winner. Builders from around the world accepted the challenge and the unique set of High Rise buildings were erected. The buildings were judged and the award given. As a result the Berlin government received many residences for a relatively very low cost outlay. The border continued behind the Soviet war memorial past and in front of the Brandenburger Tor, (Brandenburg Gate) Unter den Linden. This gateway is a very impressive Arch with Twelve large stone round fluted columns upholding the main block arch. It was built in 1788/91 It was surmounted by a statue of 'Quadriga of Victory' which was a statue of a chariot drawn by Four horses. It was heavily damaged during WW2 and was restored to its former beauty in 1957/8 by this time the Soviets had turned it round and the chariot was now facing into the East. I felt quite proud to be able to have the privilege of viewing the Brandenburg gate from what was later known as the Kennedy stand, which was later re-built when the US president visited Berlin in June of 1963 President Kennedy was able to view the memorial, from a height. It was at this time that he uttered his famous "Ich bin ein Berliner" (I am a Berliner) speech. Although I was later reliably informed that Ich bin Berliner would have been more linguistically correct. The border continued through to Pottsdamer Platz. From the raised viewing stand at Pottsdamer Platz over the wall and about 50 Meters into the East there could be seen the famous Hitler Bunker. The area was a kind of no mans land where very few East German guards went. The bunker was just a small concrete indistinct building. The Sector border was mainly in a built up area. Sightseers were numerous. One day a colleague and I arrived at Pottsdamer Platz. We had arrived a little before our appointed time. We parked up before radioing in our position and 'Sitrep' (Situation Report). Both of us were in full uniform, Red Cap, White Webbing, MP Armband. British Military Police was emblazoned on the front of our vehicle. A lady approached us and with an American accent, very slowly and pronouncing each word said. "Do ... You ... Speak ... English?"

My partner reacted, also very slowly pronouncing each word said, "Yes ... If ... You ... Speak ... Very ... Slowly." With that reply I burst out laughing. It was meant to be a joke but he lady was very offended. She thought I was laughing at her. I did not mean to cause offence but the repartee reply was very funny. I apologised to the American explaining I was laughing at something else I had seen. I hope that she did not return to America with the idea that the British police are not so wonderful after all. One late summer evening on patrol we were ordered by radio HQ to go to an incident reported near 'the wall' at the Brandenburg gate. On arriving we were confronted by a youth who had completely undressed himself and had climbed up the wall and was kneeling upright with his hands as in a prayer position. He was completely motionless. The German Police were also in attendance. The wall and approximately the 10 Meters lead up to it is completely in the East. Nothing could be done about the youth on the wall. The West German Civil Police shouted to him but were getting no response. They told us that he was a West German boy who was showing his protest to the East, he was probably a little drunk. He being German was not our responsibility so we were acting as observers. We climbed the Kennedy Stand to get a better view of the surroundings, eventually Four East Border Guards approached the youth and spoke to him, again getting no reply. They seemed to be gesturing angrily and began cocking and pointing their weapons threateningly. A civil Police man who had accompanied us ran down the steps informing all that the situation could escalate. The West border guards and Policemen held their loaded rifles in readiness. I radioed our HQ describing the scene and events. I informed them of the Civil police response as regards to the loading of their weapons. I requested that my colleague and I also be allowed to load our weapons. We were given the affirmative on my request but reminded about the standing orders regarding 'The Terms of Fire'. Condensed the terms stated that return fire could only be made to protect persons who were already on West Berlin soil and were in danger of life from fire from the East. The terms were held to be very ambiguous in their meaning. I instructed my driver of our orders and we loaded weapons. All in attendance waited expectantly and there was a pregnant silence. After what seemed like hours and was probably Ten minutes, the East border guards brought a ladder and the youth was manhandled down and arrested. I learned later that he was detained for four days and then released back into the West. It transpired that they had treated him rather roughly and I'm sure he did not want to repeat the incident. It was the first time I'd had a loaded weapon in my hands waiting to use it in the manner for which it was designed. The CSM (Company Sergeant Major) announced that for anyone who had not yet visited East Berlin, he was organising a trip there. I put my name down for it. It was to be in our own time and was planned for the coming Saturday morning. There were eight of us in a VW Minibus. To pass through the East West border we would have to go via 'Checkpoint Charlie' Checkpoint C was in the American Sector. It was situated in a normal nondescript street called Friedrich Strasse. Buildings, shops offices and living accommodation were still in use on either side of the street on the Western side. Not so in the East. Across the Strasse/Street the Berlin Wall crossed. It was not intact at this point, one side of the wall runs nearly across and the other wall runs almost across, with a gap in between for vehicles. Any traffic that pass from East to West or Vice Versa must do a kind of S turn to drive round the wall. The S bend was designed to stop speeding vehicle escaping into the West. At each side there was a risible swing barrier both controlled by a East German Guard. All allied persons, civilian or other, travelling to the East must first book out, then back in on

return. Each allied power has its own desk at Checkpoint C. We booked out at the British office and were allowed to proceed on our way. As we drove up to the first barrier from our viewpoint we could see that another vehicle was beginning to exit from the East. The East German Border guard held up his hand to halt our progress. We could seeit was to let the other vehicle out first before allowing us to enter. An American MP from a short distance away saw that the East German Guard was stopping our entry. It was a known fact that the allies cannot legally stop the Russian Military into the West nor can the Russians stop the allies entry into the East. The American could not see the whole event and came to the wrong conclusion, that they were illegally stopping our entry. The MP opened the flap of his pistol holster and withdrew his weapon. He began waving it in the air. He was calling his colleagues for backup. We in the minibus could see a situation escalating. The East German guard saw the US commotion and placed both hand on his automatic rifle that was slung round his neck. It looked like a Kalashnicov. The Americans were making something out of nothing. It only need someone with a slippy trigger finger and a whole shooting match would start, with us in between the war. Luckily the out coming vehicle turned the bend at the wall and came into view of the Americans who, after realising what was happening, relaxed. I often wonder what would have happened if just one round had been discharged accidentally. In the British army anyone drawing or brandishing a weapon like the American had would have been severely dealt with. To the yanks it was a non event. We drove around East Berlin with the CSM pointing out things of note I hardly remember any of it really, it was not worth remembering. The East was a very drab place with very little colour. The only feature I do recall was: IIAMRTHNK BONHAM COBETCKON APMNN which translates as: The Soviet War Memorial Treptow. The park was a beautifully kept and the memorial buildings were spectacular. Another time I went into East Berlin a couple of mates and I decided to organise a tour. We had to request permission from our CO to do so. It was granted and we organised RMP transport to take us to Checkpoint Charlie. On alighting we walked back to a German bank near C.C. to change West German Deutch Marks to East German Deutch Marks. The official rate in the East was one for one. We had been forewarned that the bank we were visiting would give us 3 East for 1 West. We each handed over 20 WGDMs and received 60 EGDMs. It was against Military Authority Currency Rules to change money in the West for Eastern currency. We were aware of this but we had conveniently forgot, I think. Booking out at the British desk we walked into the East and further changed 20 WGDMs at the official currency exchange. It was 1 for 1. More important an official receipt, was given, for the exchange. We had been warned that any purchases would require an official receipt to prove you had exchanged the money legally. Walking around we again realised what a drab place it was. There seemed to be an absence of colour. No advertisements or wall hoardings. The peoples dress was very lack lustre in style and shape. Everything seemed to be made up of different shades of grey. We toured the apartment stores or what purported to be stores. All shopping places all had a sign outside saying that it was a HO Warenhaus. This denoted that it was a trading place as sanctioned by the State. The products on sale at the HO were very few. I asked to see some cuff links. A pair of cuff links were produced. I did not fancy them . "Have you anymore." I asked. "No, these are cuff links." came the reply. This, to me, summed up the East. Usually there was only one type made of every product. There was no freedom of choice. Other than take it

or leave it. Looking around, there was nothing to spend our East German Marks on. We went into a cafe and had a round of beers, sandwiches, crisps, anything just to get rid of our Eastern Money. We spent about three hours there but that was about two and a half too much. On our return we again went to the official exchange desk and handed back 20 EGDMs. Returned were 20 WGDMs. 1 for 1 We still had about 40 EGDM. each. Returning to the bank to get the money re-exchanged the bank refused saying they did not accept EGDMs. We returned to our unit much the wiser, We gave away the EGDMs to other potential visitors, they were no good to us. I am glad I went but I never wanted to go into the East again. A point of note regarding currency. At that time in 1964 the British Pound Stirling was worth 11.27 Deutch Marks. At the time of writing it is 2.26. 100 Pfennigs = 1 DM Has the Pound gone down or is it the Mark that has gone up? As previously stated the Army pay day was Thursday. As duties were round the clock we could go to the Pay Sergeants offices at any time within working hours to collect pay. Usually you would pre. decide how much pay you needed and inform the pay section accordingly. On pay-day you would collect your pay and the balance would be left in 'Credit'. Credits could be withdrawn at a weeks-notice, usually just before leave when extra money may be needed. In Berlin the army also had a system of Baffin's which stood for British Armed Forces Special Vouchers. BAFV's could only be spent in British Armed forces establishments, the NAFFI, Toc H, the Corporals mess, etc. A soldier would normally arrange to have his pay in proportions of German Marks and BAFS. Sterling was never used in Berlin. 'Rocking Horse' was the code word for the mobilisation of the British armed forces of Berlin. At random times and without warning an 'Operation Rocking horse' would be announced. Alarms would go off in all establishments and the standby patrol vehicles that would be dispatched from HQ. to loudspeaker announce that a stand to operation had begun. The married service quarters also had to be hailed. All service personnel, on duty or not, would have to leave whatever they were doing and go immediately to units of command. There they would receive their orders. All units had respective detailed tasks. In the case of the Military Police we could be dispatched to key Road Junctions, Bridges, Railway stations, of the British Sector, for part of our tasks was traffic control. Tegel Airport was a Royal Air Force establishment and was an obvious key installation. Also there were lookout positions from where a potential soviet attack could come in from the East. For the duration of operation Rocking Horse these points would be defended until announcement that 'Stand down' was announced. Everyone would then return to their respective units, returning arms and ammunition previously drawn. We could all then relax for another short period but of course another operation could begin five minutes after, for real. It was accepted by all the allied armed forces in Berlin that in the event of a Russian invasion The Allies would have no chance in a realistic defence of West Berlin, other than as delaying tactic. It was also understood that in a real war West Berlin would probably be the last place that the Soviets would invade and probably the safest in Europe. The allies in Berlin would be going nowhere anyway.

Fifty Five

ERNIE

Ernie H. and I had become very close friends, we had a close similar interest, swimming.
The company had a Water Polo team. Ernie introduced me to Hans Otto who was the company water polo team trainer. Hans was a German civilian police officer and had been a member of the 1936 Olympic Games German Water Polo Team. Training was Tuesdays and Thursday evenings. Hans Otto initially timed me over 50 Meters. He seemed pleased and invited me to train with them. On Saturday afternoon the team had a match with the Berlin Customs Officers. They visited the company every month for a friendly match. A Water Polo match has 4 quarters of five minutes each quarter. I was a reserve. For three of the quarters I watched intrigued. I had never seen a water Polo match before but I soon became aware of the general idea. Hans Otto told me to get into the water for the last quarter. I protested that I knew nothing of the game but was literally thrown in at the deep end. The referee threw the ball into the centre of the pool and blew his whistle to signify that the quarter had begun. I swam for the ball and managed to get to it first. Due to inexperience it soon was taken from me by an opposing player. I swam my heart out that game. Towards the last few minutes I was so exhausted I was almost drowning. I had always thought that I was a very strong swimmer but although I may have been fast I certainly was not strong. At one stage of the game I had to hang on the side of the pool trying to regain my strength. Hans laughed and said he would soon get me fit and was soon true to his word. In the coming weeks I trained like I had never trained for anything before. The main point behind it I enjoyed training. Enjoying any training was another first for me. I soon became quite a strong player. I secured a regular Left wing forward position in the team. We played all visiting Army sides to Berlin plus a few civilian sides. Under Hans Otto's expert training schedule we became very successful. I had much respect for Hans.

That first summer in Berlin was second to none. The sun shone practically every day. I gained an all over tan, my first ever. Oh! how I wished that my wife was in married quarters here. My life would be then complete. I was in a place and doing a job that I enjoyed. I had enquired as to the availability of married quarters. The news was not so good. Married Service Quarters or MSQ's as they were called were allocated on a points system. A soldier gained two points for every month of separation, plus five points per child. The number of points currently required was twenty plus. I realised that I would have to be apart from my wife for about another eight months. I wrote home and explained the situation as regards MSQ's it did not bode well with my wife. I said that I would try and get private accommodation. On enquiring about a private flat they seemed out of the question the rates were very high. Before I left my wife the last time I had converted our whole house into flat-lets. My wife lived in the middle one and rented out the other three. She also worked. Although not exactly flush she had an adequate income and could even manage to save. Later on in the year I thought I could sign a contract for a private flat that I could afford. I grabbed it with both hands. I had to bring my wife out at my own expense. When she finally came out the private owner of the flat decided to renege on the verbal contract. I did not have a place for her. We arranged to lodge temporary with another MP and his wife. We had this temporary accommodation for about six weeks. It did not work out. There were too many people trying to share one MSQ. My wife returned to the UK. Ernie and I continued as best friends. Whenever we were both off duty we would be down at the pool training and generally larking about. Ernie was an adventurous type of person. One day he suggested we make a parachute and use it on the high 10 mtr fixed board. We obtained 2 single bed sheets and sewed them together with string. Fastening twine to each corner and in the middle they were knotted them together to make a makeshift chute. To an extent it worked. I would hold the knotted end and jump off. Ernie would throw out and spread the sheet after me. The bed sheets did slow down our fall. Another foolhardy trick would be to tie a rope from the top board and climb up whilst the other was shaking it attempting to dislodge him into the water. Often we would both wrestle on the top board trying to throw the other off. Many has been

the time when we have both fallen off the 10 mtr board still wrestling in mid-air. How we did not succumb to injury is any body's guess. The main pool attendant was a German national. We made a friend of him and would often bring him British cigarettes. He did not want to upset us, being Military Police I think helped. The trouble was the more leeway he allowed us the more we took. Although at no time were we other than foolhardy. It all seems pretty childish now but we had to make our own entertainment both Ernies and my wife had not yet arrived in Berlin. One evening Ernie and myself had been in the Corporals mess bar drinking. Suddenly he said that he was going for a swim. I objected saying that the pool area closed at Eight O clock. The Women's Royal Armoured Corps, WRACs accommodation block overlooked the outside pool and so it was out of bounds. An armed sentry patrolled the area. Ernie insisted, it was dark outside we could sneak up to the pool and slide in with as little noise as possible. Because I'd had a few beers I agreed. We undressed under an archway that led into the pool area. Crawling like commando's we slithered along the grassed area that led up to the pool, across a concrete path and then slipped into the water. All around was in darkness. Suddenly a flashlight swung across the water. we both dived and swam to the far side, away from the light. The sentry was unsure if anyone was in the water and began walking around the edge looking in. I stayed put under the pool steps while Ernie sneaked out. I was in danger of being discovered. The uniformed sentry was nearing my position and I was about to swim underwater away from him. Ernie by this time had crept round the outside edge. Just as the sentry was near me and bending over looking into the water, he pushed him in. The sentry was in full uniform and carrying an SLR rifle. This was my chance to escape. I exited the water sharpish and both of us ran off laughing. The sentry was in no danger as the point of his entry it was quite shallow. We did remain under the arch until he had got out of the water safely. He may not have known but he had no chance of drowning we certainly would not have left him to that fate. That first winter was the extreme opposite of the summer. The winter air seemed so clean. The snow once it fell remained for quite a number of weeks. It did not seem to thaw into a dirty slush like it does in the UK. Although it was a lot colder than England it was not a damp cold. Ernie and I had a day off. He suggested that we book a pair of skis out of the sports store. We did and arranged company transport to take us to the 'Berlin Ski Run' Neither Ernie or I had ever been on skis before. The Berlin Ski run is a large mound of artificial hills and is in the American sector. The hills were supposedly made from the rubble made from the bombing of Berlin during WW1. The slopes were purposely built. First there were the junior and learner slopes. Ernie and I tried those. We soon came to the conclusion that we were both natural born skiers. We did not immediately realise that we both had big heads as well. It seemed easy providing you keep your skis slightly apart and lean forward maintaining balance. We needed something harder, something a little more testing. We enquired where the main slopes were and were directed to following others who were heading in a general direction. We came across a very steep slope and stopped, other continued going ahead.. This slope had virgin snow and no one was using it. Its far too steep for everyone else we reasoned. The slope disappeared far below. I dared Ernie to ski down it. He dared me. We both dared each other. There was no way either of us were going down. "I'm going down." said I. "So am I." Agreed Ernie. "Well both go together then."

"Okay. We both get set on the edge and at the count of three we both go, agreed? "Yes." said I. I had no intention of moving. It was far too steep. "I'll count us down. One two three go!" I pretended to take off. Ernie had the same thoughts as me. He was trying to fool me like I was him. I was calling him chicken for not going, when suddenly my skis slipped forward. I was moving unintentionally down the slope. I could not stop. I tried to keep my balance but my confidence was weakening. I was out of control. This skiing larks not as easy as I had made out. As I got half way down I was going miles too fast for my liking, probably about 10MPH. Looking forward further down the slope I realised that the end dropped off. I was on a snow concealed ski jump and hadn't known it. I could not stop and I certainly could not complete the jump. I did the only thing I could think off. I flopped backwards on my skis. It did not stop me but it did slow me down, there I was going down the ski jump on my back. When I came to the end I just flopped over it. Luckily the snow was quite deep over the end and I landed in a snow drift. I picked myself up and was very lucky I had not damaged my back. I did rip my new black anorak that I had just recently purchased from the main NAAFI stores. It had cost me all of Five Pounds. I trudged back to where Ernie was waiting, laughing. Up there, even then, knowing it was the ski jump, it still looked like one continuous slope. None of the other Berliners were fooled by appearances, only us idiot Englishmen. We located to the main ski slopes. They turned out to be far too advanced for us. The slopes were interspersed with trees and very steep and severe. One workman was even spraying part of the slopes with water. When it quickly froze it made the run even faster. Lets go home we both decided, I didnt want to learn to ski anyway.

Fifty Six

ALLIED KOMANDANTURA

Another duty in Berlin was 'Allied Kommandatura'. AK. was situated in Kaiserswerther
Strasse it was a large four story building plus cellars. It was supposed to have been a Gestapo headquarters during WW2 Now it was the four power conference building. Regular three power conferences were held at AK, the Soviets had long ceased to attend them. On entering the double massive oak doors that led into the ground floor foyer, a British MP was on duty at a desk. All persons entering had to prove identity. The top fourth floor had been allocated to the Russians but as they had pulled out of the regular conferences theirs was empty of staff or furniture. To the left of the foyer a French Gendarme had an office. His responsibilities lay on the third floor. In the right office was an American MP. His floor was the second. Ours was the first floor. The German Policeman controlled the ground floor and basement . In the basement there were many cell like rooms that in the past had been used during WW2 for the incarceration of political prisoners. On taking over the duty at 2000 hrs an MP had to sign over to his relief. During working hours most rooms would be used. Of an evening the respective policeman would go up to his floor and check that all doors and rooms were locked and made secure. There were supposed to be numerous secrets held in the many offices. Any doors that were found not secure he would take the key from his key press down in his office and lock it. Each was required to check his floor at least every hour. In the case of the British MP he had to record all incidents however slight in the Daily Occurrence Book, DOB. Anything and everything had to be recorded in the DOB. The American, French and German Policemen had similar responsibilities. It was an ideal place to study or catch up on your reading. Most MPs would visit the others in their respective offices for a chat. One evening, on duty at the AK, in the wee small hours I visited the American in his office. As we were talking he kept putting small counters into paper packets, making notations and sealing them in envelopes. He would then address the envelope. I enquired what he was doing. He replied that he was playing postal chess. "Oh! you play chess do you" I asked and he nodded. "I play a little as well. Do you want a game?" I thought I was quite good at the game. He produced a chess board from within his desk drawer. We set them up and I drew the white queen. I played a pawn. He quickly played his piece. No more than a couple of dozen moves after I was completely beaten. And I thought I could play chess. He proved me such a beginner and compared to him, I was. We were not in the same class. All the time we had been playing he hardly looked at the board and had continued playing his postal chess games in between. Afterwards, and without any sense of boasting, he said he was the American Forces Champion. He had travelled the world playing chess for the American Army. He hoped to make a living from it when he was demobbed. I had a few more games with him but I could not really enjoy them. I had no realistic chance of winning, but he was a really nice guy. Another time at Allied KOMANDANTURA. I was in the Americans office. We were chatting away about things in general. I was to one side of his desk. The yank was laying backward in his chair balancing himself on the back legs. He enquired what my pistol was. On receipt of it I had not noticed if it was a Webley or a Smith and Wesson. They do look similar. I removed it from my holster. It was not loaded. It was a Webley. I re holstered the weapon.

The American took his out. It was a 45 Browning. He was explaining the virtues of a large bore weapon like the 45. From his pouch he produced a clip of ammunition. Sliding the clip home in to its hand grip housing, he pulled the cocking slide back. It was now loaded. I warned. "Be careful." He was a little cocky and said not to worry the safety catch is on. I asked him to uncock the weapon. He replied "Okay, seeing as it makes you nervous." Just as he was about to do it he overbalanced his chair. The weapon exploded. The safety catch cannot have been on. He had pulled the trigger as he was falling back. I could exaggerate and say the bullet just missed me, but I will not. Suffice to say it missed. The round embedded into the wall in front of him. The noise was deafening. I had never been in a room where a round has been discharged. There was a large pall of smoke. Alarmed by the noise, both the French Gendarme and the German Policeman came running into the room. The American realised that he could be in serious trouble. He pleaded with us not to report the incident. All agreed not to. The whole in the wall was hastily covered up. When I asked him how he would account for the spent bullet he replied that it was easy to lose or gain rounds, little checks was made on them. Not so in the British army all rounds are carefully checked and have to be accounted for at all times. I felt guilty for not reporting the incident but no harm came to anyone and I could not let the others down. The next time I visited the American's office a calendar covered the bullet hole. Another time at AK it was months after the a/m incident. Again I was visiting the American MP again he was showing off his Colt 45. The Americans seem to have an attraction where guns are involved. I warned him not to load it. He agreed that he would not. "How long does it take to strip your weapon." He asked of me. "We do not have to strip a hand gun. That is the job of the Armourer. We only have to clean them." Was my answer. "I can strip mine in 9 seconds." He boasted. I wasn't really interested He then asked me to time him. I looked at the second hand of my watch and as it reached the top said. "Go" He began stripping his 45. Sure enough he stripped it within the 9 seconds. There were about six to eight pieces in all. He then said he could reassemble it in 20 Seconds. "Go on time me again." He urged. Again I said "Go." This time he had decided to explain his actions reassembling the weapon. "This cocking spring locates here." He began. Unfortunately, the indicated spring would not go in its place. Something must have gone wrong. He continued to try to relocate the spring. It would not fit. He picked up another piece still no joy. Two minutes passed and he still had not completed his task. I got bored and left him. No I didn't get bored. I left because I wanted to go outside so that I could have a good laugh at his expense. Two Hours later his relief came. The yank had still not completed the re-building of his weapon. He gathered up all the pieces and wrapped them in a newspaper. His parting words were. "Well I can do it in 20 seconds with a Browning 45." The Americans have a fatal fascination with guns. I had been on home on three weeks leave. My first duty back was AK. It was an evening shift. The first duty was to make sure all doors on my floor were secure. When I checked room 127 it was unlocked. I entered the room but there was no furniture or

anything in it. It was a small room with one wrought iron barred small window. I got the key from the downstairs keypress and locked the room. One hour later, on re-checking the doors, 127 was unlocked, once again the room was empty. I determined that the lock on the door was faulty and locked it once more. I noted in the DOB that the lock on room 127 appeared faulty and repairs may be needed. Each time that evening I checked the offices, room 127 was found to be unlocked. Although each time I relocked the door it appeared very secure at the time. No matter, no problem. At the end of my shift my relief came. He studied the DOB and said "Oh no, not that room again." I asked him what he meant by that. He replied that two weeks previously, when I had been on leave, a Lance Corporal Garle had been on duty there. When he checked room 127 it was unlocked. On entering the room he was supposed to have seen a women cringing in the corner crying out as if in terror. The women turned out to be an apparition and faded away. He is supposed to have fled the building refusing to re-enter it. The German Policeman phoned our Head Quarters and related the incident. A relief was sent for the L/Cpl. A search was made but nothing was found. The L/Cpl was RTUed (Returned to unit) that day to Woking. I must have looked as if I disbelieved the incident for my relief asked if I had read the DOB of two weeks ago. I admitted I had not, there had been no reason to. The past Daily Occurrence Book was retrieved from the back issue cupboard and turned to the relevant dated page. Sure enough the L/Cpl had been on duty and some other, a Corporal Sedman, had reported the event as described. I myself had found nothing untoward about the room or the building. I have to admit that AK was a very gaunt and severe place. All the landing lights were on time switches. If you did not check the doors on the landing quickly enough the lights would go out. It suddenly left one in a very dark and lonely place. AK was supposed to have been a building were many Gestapo tortures had taken place. If ghosts do inherit buildings then I am sure they would have liked AK. A point of coincidence, my surname is Gale his was Garle.

Fifty Seven SHOOTING Staff Sergeant Tilbury (that is not his exact name (its near enough) but he will recognise
himself) had newly arrived at BIB HQ RMP. He was a short lean impressive man who always looked immaculate dressed, civilian or uniform. He seemed to have no regular duties around the HQ and his name very rarely came up on the standing orders duty roster. Very occasionally he would appear on the ranges and proved what a competent shot he was, both with Rifle and Pistol. The first time I spoke to S/Sgt. Tilbury proper was one evening when I had drawn night desk. I had done the duty on numerous occasions and considered myself almost competent at the job. I always liked the desk duty because it made me feel important, every time I answered the phone and said "Royal Military Police Berlin, Lance Corporal Gale speaking, Sir." gave me a little buzz. I was always the most junior and lowest rank on desk duty but at that time it mattered not. When he took up this first duty I expected S/Sgt. Tilbury to ask, what the score was, how everything ran etc. Normally a new senior rank would take advice from his full corporal, or even his Lance Corporal at times. The Sergeant must have done his homework because he slotted in as though he had been doing the job for years. He was equally competent or more so than many of the other senior ranks. I now realise that most of the duties of the desk were common sense and having the confidence that incoming problems are only old ones in a new guise. I respected and liked the new Sergeant. On desk in normal circumstances, the early hours of the morning are very mundane, every ten minutes or so the Zonal and Sector border Patrols will radio in to confirm that all is well but in general there is little excitement. The other duty Corporal had gone to the cookhouse to get his mid-morning meal, leaving just Sgt. Tilbury and myself in the room. He opened polite conversation by asking what I had done previous to the army. I briefly explained my pit career and he immediately bonded by stating that both his father and grandfather had been old colliers in Kingsley, South Yorkshire and that he initially had worked on the pit top but soon realised underground was not for him. I told him that my father had originally worked at the Kingsley mine. We began chatting like long lost cousins, each relating to the other. I felt that if S/Sgt. Tilbury had carried only one or two stripes on his sleeve instead of his Three and a crown I could have made a serious friend of him. The rest of the duty hours passed without comment. Since our initial introduction whenever our paths crossed S/Sgt. Tilbury would acknowledge me and pass the time of day, he became a kind of peer figure to me. Looking on the duty roster one evening I noted that I had to report to the Sergeant Tilbury after morning parade. After the duty Sergeant briefed all as to duties, the parade was dismissed. As ordered I reported to S/Sgt. Tilbury who took me to a nearby interview room. He explained that our coming task was to be carried out in civilian clothes and to speak out now if I objected to that condition. He could easily replace me. Exited a little I immediately agreed. "Don't go reading things that are not there." he cautioned "All we are to do is to go and pick up a parcel. Once that is done we return here and the duty is done. No cloak and dagger stuff, a simple case of receipt and delivery. Understand?" I answered "Yes Staff." "That's another thing when we leave BIB HQ in civvies it would be wise if you called me by my Christian name Reginald, well call me Reg, it will save explanations all round. I'll call you Jack, Okay." Again I answered in the affirmative then added. "What type civilian dress do you want me to wear.

"Casual. Just a Shirt and tie, slacks and a jumper should be about all right, keep the colours low key. Manage that?" I nodded. "See you back outside the duty room at Ten sharp then. Don't forget to bring your ID and Warrant Card with you." and with that he left the room. At Quarter to Ten I entered the duty room foyer, true to my initial training RSMs saying, 'Be Five minutes early for the Queen and Five minutes for me', I had decided on Five for me as well. At Five to Ten Staff Sergeant Tilbury, Reg, walked in his dress similar to mine but more sombrely. He beckoned and I followed him outside to his own private transport, an old black 220s Mercedes Benz. Sitting in the right hand real leather upholstered passenger seat seemed like the height of luxury. The highly polished walnut dash-board was very appropriate, a magnificent car. I made a mental note to have one, one day. As we left BIB HQ Reg began to talk further of our duty. We were to go to a flat in Charlottenburg and meet a male person. After identity verification a package would be handed over by him and another received from the other man. It was to be a straight forward deal and nothing should go wrong. I was to take no part in the proceeding other that once inside the flat position myself by the closed doorway and deter anyone from entering until Ted had said so. Did I understand and were there any questions? I didn't have any, other than to ask why did he pick me for the duty. He replied that he hardly knew any others in the company and he rather liked me and looked as though I could look after myself. I grew a little in stature. Arriving at the designated address we drove through a arched driveway into a small square cobbled courtyard. All Four sides were built up into what looked like flat-lets. We debussed and after noting the numbered addresses on the outside wall we began climbing two flights of stairs. As we reached a landing, just coming out of the numbered door we were to visit was a man aged about thirty. Ted spoke to him in a language I could not verify but it certainly was not German. I got the impression it was Polish but I'm not certain. The man became agitated and started to re-enter the flat. Ted followed him in and I brought up the rear. All the time the Sergeant was speaking to the man in his own language, the man was becoming more agitated. As previously instructed I closed the door and stood with my back to it. This action further made the man more uneasy and he gestured at me. Ted said to me "Jack take out your Id card and show it to him." As he was speaking he put his hand to the inside of his shirt, I assumed to produced his. I reached to my back trouser pocket for my ID card but before I could produce it the man suddenly produced a small hand gun from his jacket side pocket and pointed it at us. I instinctively cowered to one side, never ever having a loaded (I assumed) weapon pointed at me, I am truly ashamed to say this but I was extremely frightened. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before A report rang out. At this point I would like to report what it is like to be shot. Feelings of pain, numbness or at least something, but I felt none of these. I was too astounded and shocked by this sudden turn of events. Staff Tilbury did not seem to be surprised at the production of the gun or the deafening sound of the gunshot, he immediately jumped on the man grabbing first at the hand that held the gun, immobilising that. He shouted to me for assistance, for at that stage I was just stood there. As we suppressed the struggling man Sgt. Tilbury was talking to him in a calming manner. It surprised me how calm Ted was as my heart and mind was going ten to the dozen. Eventually the man stopped struggling and once again my Sergeant told me to produce my ID card and to show it, at the same time he reached for his. The man seemed more calm now. I was instructed to let the man regain his feet. Just then there was a hammering at the door accompanied by German voices. The man answered back in halting German and Sergeant Tilbury went to the door to explain away the loud report of the pistol shot and show means of identity. It was around this time that I realised I had been hit by the discharged bullet. My

upper arm did not really hurt but blood was oozing into the wool of my sweater. When all had calmed down Ted pulled down the V neck of my sweater to look down at my arm injury. He pronounced it nothing more than a simple flesh wound and said something to the man, who produced a clean looking piece of cloth which was tied over my sweater directly on the wound and quite tightly. He then took off his own sweater and instructed me to wear it over my own. Wondering why I complied, it was a little tight but it stretched sufficiently for me to pull it over. After, I realised that by putting Teds jumper over mine it would hide my injury to outsiders when we left. During the first aid treatment the man was talking to me in his own language, Ted translated it as words of apology. I nodded my acceptance. Once I had been seen to, the two men conducted the business we had originally come to do, of exchanging packages, or more to the point thick envelopes. The Sergeants envelope coming from the waistband of his trousers which his jumper had been covering. What each envelope contained was never explained to me. When the business was concluded we both shook hands with the man and left. Exiting the building a German Civil Polizie car pulled into the square. Someone had obviously called the Police. Both policeman alighted and as one began his approach the other stood back with the covering advantage of the patrol car. Identification was requested and produced Sgt Tilbury spoke in, what appeared to be, fluent German explaining the circumstances. After my ID was shown notes taken and our identity confirmed by radio the German Police allowed us to drive away. Ted immediately drove me to the British Military Hospital in Spandau where I was treated for a gunshot wound to the triceps area of the Right upper arm. On the journey I had been told that the reply to any enquiry as to my wound was that it had been sustained by accident on the ranges. Funnily enough, no one asked me how I came by the injury, not even the doctor, which in its self was very unusual. Although insisting that I was physically okay, the MD decided that I should remain overnight for observations of any delayed shock. Whilst in hospital I was visited by Staff Tilbury who said it would best in all our interests that the past events be not mentioned to anybody other than my Commanding Officer, if asked, of course. He reminded me that I was subjected to the Official Secrets Act which I signed on enlistment. Whilst in hospital I was required to submit a full written report to my CO. detailing all the past events. Late afternoon the next day I was released. The injury healed almost fully within ten days with no detriment to me other than a scar which I still have. I was later fully re-embursed for ruined civilian shirt and sweater. This is the first account of the incident I have made since the event happened in May 1964

Fifty Eight

STANDBYE

Standbye duty was the cream of duties. Standby gave you the chance to be what you had
been trained for, a proper policeman, rather than just a glorified guard. Normally there would be two persons working standby duty together. One was the driver and the other was the observer. The driver had full charge of the vehicle but the observer, provided he was of similar or senior rank, was in command of the situations as they arose. Usually the pair would wait in the standby room. A bell would summon them to the control room, from there they would be dispatched to whatever incident. These were many and very varied. One time the alarm bell summoned my partner and I into the control room. we were given orders to sign out an SMG (Stirling Sub-Machine gun ) and 2 mags of live rounds. We did so and were ordered to report to Bravo four on the Zonal border. Bravo four was an area that at one time had been a cross over point between the East and the West. A Wooden control building had been erected on the Eastern side and was usually attended by border guards. On the Western side there was nothing to denote it from any other part of the Zonal border. When we reached the designated place we were met by a Military Police Major, whom I did not know, and the regular zonal border patrol. This officer seemed not to be in control of the coming proceedings this was being organised by 'suits'. We referred to 'suits' as persons who although dressed in civilian dress were obviously someone of importance, even being deferred to by officers, high ranking officers at that. On our side of the border were 2 'Suits', 2 uniformed Officers (the other one carried the cap badge of the Intelligence corps) a civilian dressed person who was handcuffed, our border patrol and ourselves. Our officer explained to us that there was to be a ' hand over'. We were in attendance just in case there was any trouble which was not expected. I remembered a few weeks earlier when confronted by a Kalashnikov Russian rifle in comparison with my SMG. I hoped all would go off all right. Not the weapons! the coming events. Anyone who has seen the film "The spy who came in from the cold' showing the handing over of a Soviet spy for a Western one describes almost exactly the events that were to come. At a pre-arranged signal the handcuffed man on our side was released and he was allowed to begin his walk to the East. The released man in the East began to walk towards us. As they past at the half way point little recognition of the other was given. They passed like ships in the night apparently unnoticed by the other. Our returned spy, for that was what I assumed

him to be, was ushered into a waiting limousine and was whisked away. We were ordered to return to HQ and hand in our weapons. A non-event really for which I was quite grateful. All vehicles, service or British civilian that were involved in a Road Traffic Accident, RTA. in the British sector had to be reported to and attended by the British Military police. On arrival at a RTA (Road Traffic Accident) an MP had to take charge of the situation. First Aid had to be organised if needed and ambulances called. Traffic control may have to be initiated. Measurements taken. Plans of roads and positions of vehicles involved were drawn. Statements taken from all persons involved and witnesses. Moving of vehicles to be organised and roads reopened as necessary. I attended many RTAs and found that no two were alike. I have been to some where the vehicle has been a complete write off and it had seemed impossible that anyone could survive and all passengers and driver have come out without a scratch. One RTA I attended was where a large American Maroon Ford Galaxy that had been driven, full frontal impact, into an oak tree just outside BMH. The car was a complete write off and at first glance seemed covered in a white dust that I later learned was powdered glass. It seemed impossible that anyone could have survived the impact. Before our arrival the driver had a disentangled himself from the wreckage, which was a feat in itself, and walked to the nearby hospital. When we met him there later his injuries were a slight cut to his chin that needed little treatment other than cleaning. A very lucky Yank. On the other hand, in some cases little vehicle damage could be observed at a RTA but serious injuries had resulted. I only ever attended one fatal accident. That had to be handed over to a more senior rank. Serious repercussions can result from a 'fatal' and have to be handled very diligently. One time My partner and I were returning from an incident involving British soldiers having problems in the American sector. On arriving it was a minor incident which Iwe sorted out. It required no further action (NFA) from the military point of view. We allowed the soldiers to continue on their way. We were driving along Bismarck Strasse at the usual 50 ks. (30 mph) As we approached a set of traffic lights they changed to Amber then Red. Across the road on the other side of the junction a small Fiat, German registered, car suddenly had the brakes jammed hard on. It stopped at the lights. There was no reason for the driver of the Fiat to carry out an emergency stop. He had plenty of time to safely carry on through the lights at Amber. A German lorry driver with a long trailer who was behind the Fiat had expected the Fiat to go through the lights. The driver locked his brakes on to avoid collision. His trailer jack knife behind him. He struggled to maintain control and managed to avoid hitting the Fiat, ending up just inches from it. His trailer skewed across the road and collided with two other oncoming cars. Behind three other vehicle also ran into the back end of the lorry. two other cars, one of them was a British Army DKW, had to swerve to avoid further impacts and ended up in a ditch. It was primarily a German Police job but because we were on hand we took charge until they arrived and were given full control. Our main concern was with the British Army vehicle. He would be reported, by me, for not driving with due care. Immediately after the accident when the lights changed, the fiat which had escaped unscathed, drove off without even a backward glance. In all eight vehicles were involved with no serious injuries in any of them. One evening I was ordered to attend 23 Polizie revier. The 23rd was a German civilian Police Station. The German Police were holding a British Green Jacket soldier. On reporting, a German Policeman led me into one of their cells. There I interviewed a soldier who told me that he had been having a few drinks at various bars and had gone into

the Rainbow Bar. He had asked for a drink but the woman owner ignored him serving all but him. He raised his voice to get a drink but with that the woman came from behind the counter and began hassling him out of the bar, shouting to him that they did not serve coloureds. He was a half cast soldier. She was pushing him out of the door saying he was drunk. He explained to me that to break contact with her he put his hand up behind him. But he made no purpose contact with the female. He then left and went to the ABC bar lower down the road, he had not run off but walked the whole time. At the other bar he joined some of his mates. The barwoman at the Rainbow had called the civilian police who found and arrested him at the ABC I asked the German Policeman to put him back in the cell until I could take a statement from the owner of the Rainbow bar. I went to the bar and through my interpreter I took a statement of complaint. The woman's statement was at odds with the soldier story. She said he was staggering drunk and hit her before running away. I could see no sign of drunkenness in the soldier, he had a drink but certainly was not staggering. he had admitted putting his hand up but not to making contact. He had not run away, the owner of the bar was easily able to follow him to the next bar. There were other facts but the soldiers story rang more true to me, although it was not my job to decide fault. I returned to the police station and took charge of the soldier. I told him that although I believed his version of events It was not my decision. His commanding officer would decide. I told him that I would not place him under arrest provided he peacefully accompany me back to his barracks. There I would hand him over to his own duty officer with the recommendation that he be allowed to sleep in his own bed that night rather that in a guardhouse cell. The soldier thanked me for being understanding and agreed to my suggestions. As we were leaving I noticed that he was in shirt sleeves. It was cold outside. I asked him where his coat was and he replied in the ABC bar, he had not collected it when the German police had arrested him. I said as we are passing the ABC we would drop in and collect it. We did. My driver remained with his vehicle while I went in to the bar, I had told him I would not be too long. As I entered the bar all hell broke loose, the bar was full of squaddies and all the soldiers mates began accusing me of arresting an innocent man. The Green Jacket was trying to explain that I was treating him fairly but I was in no mood for explaining my actions to anybody. "Get your coat now" I ordered the soldier. Just at that time a very large drunken soldier began prodding me telling me I was not going to arrest his mate. He was head and shoulders taller than I. He was very drunk. I shouted out to all in the bar. "I have not arrested him yet. But I can arrest him. In fact I can and will arrest everyone in the bar if you do not quieten down and behave yourselves. I will close this bar down." There was no way I could have carried out my threats. Looking around I saw one soldier who was sat quietly. I knew him to be an NCO in the same regiment. I said to him. "I know you to be an NCO. I give you a direct order to get this man off my back." indicating the large soldier. I then grabbed the first soldier and began ushering him out of the bar. Just as I was pushing him out, my partner thinking that I had been a long time, came to see if I was all right. Just then I heard a smack. It was obviously the sound of a punch. I looked back. The NCO whom I had ordered to control the large soldier had hit him. My mate saw this and said "Jack its a fight" He began to try a bustle past me into the bar. I pushed the soldier and my partner out. I had got my man and I didn't want any more. I returned the soldier to his barracks and handed him over to his duty officer with the recommendations as promised.

My statement of evidence to the soldiers CO slanted in favour of the soldier. Although in theory I should have remained completely unbiased. Prostitution in Germany is Legal providing the rules governing it are observed and acted upon. Squaddies whether it be legal or not will always avail themselves of the services of women of the night. Although strictly speaking it is not an offence for a soldier to pay for sex, it is frowned upon and discouraged. To ensure that the German Civil Police can be seen by the British army to regulate and keep in check legal prostitution, occasionally an MP is detailed to accompany a Civil Policeman on his vice rounds. I was instructed to escort a civil police officer on his vice patrol. We visited the many bars of the red light district of Spandau and requested the health documents of known prostitutes. At that time providing they were registered and that they kept up medical checks at least every month the civil police treat them with respect. We also visited the rooms that the ladies took their clients to, I must remark that they seemed very clean to me. The brothel that I saw was also clean and very efficiently run. The average going rate for services rendered at that time was around 25 Deutch Marks (around 2.50 Pounds) at that time. I did notice a person in anticipation of service in the waiting area of one of the Brothels. noticing his short haircut and an English suit he was obviously a British soldier. I could have asked for his ID of confirmation and then sent him packing or even reported him to his Commanding officer but he wasn't causing anyone any harm and was going about his own business. I conveniently looked the other way. In a way I envied his daring I had not seen my wife for many months now and it did enter my mind, however fleetingly, to..... Well On our rounds the German policeman did approach one lady who looked to me to be around sixty years old. Again he spoke to her very respectfully. After inspecting her Medical card and passing a few pleasantries he said. "Wiedersehen Lottie" as he bade her good-bye. He told me that her nickname was One mark Lottie. She had been on the game most of her adult life. She used to charge 1 Mark for services rendered but due to inflation her price was now 10 marks (1 Pound). She was said to be worth every penny and her services was always in demand by the Germans and hard up British Soldiers. He said that if he had to be in a position to have to use one he would see Lottie, not because she was the cheapest but because she was the nicest. I learned a lot of lessons that evening. Even females, practising the oldest profession, can still be given respect. The ones that I met seemed very nice persons. It made be revise my idea of the 'ladies of the night'. It certainly made me believe that Legal prostitution should be allowed within the UK. There were many different characters within our unit. Some I liked and respected. Some I disliked but still respected and one I did not like and did not respect. I would hate being his partner in any duty. I was not alone. Many of the unit had requested not to be accompanied by him. I will not give his correct name but will call him Colin. Colin had been in the RMP for over 4 years. He was a thick set loud mouthed man. He was also thick in the head. How he managed to pass out of our depot in the first place amazes me. He had tried twice to pass promotion exams but failed miserably each time. These exams to gain the second stripe, although not easy, are well within the average mans capabilities. He remained a Lance Corporal. Whenever he was out on patrol he would take every opportunity to belittle any soldier he could lay his hands on. Because he was your partner there were times that you had to back him up and hate it at the same time. Whereas a normal procedure would be to check a soldier when he had committed a minor offence, caution him as to his future conduct and then let

him proceed on his way. Colin would dangle the man on a piece of string berating them in a loud voice, trying to prove how powerful his stripe was, which it was. The stripe and police powers are very powerful and most times they were used in a correct manner. Colin always picked on Privates or other Lance Corporals, never any of senior rank to himself. He gave the Military Police a bad name. In many cases he tarred us all with his brush. Usually the powers that be kept him on duties out of the way of other soldiers. Colin had not been around for some time. I assumed he was on leave or had been transferred. One day, who should be striding down the pathway to our unit was Colin. He was wearing 3 stripes. I looked amazed especially as he was wearing a Karki forage hat with a badge that I did not recognise at the time. I asked him what the story was and he grinned. He had taken a course and transferred into the Military Prisons Unit. Their lowest rank, it seems, is Sergeant. I know very little of Military Prisons other than they are very hard places to be in. The film 'The Hill' starring Sean Connery springs to mind when I think of them. And from what I have heard it also describes the type of person needed to run them. A prisoner is treated like Shit within the system. Tales I've heard about the 'Glasshouse' are quite believable. Colin was a hard man and although he was a square peg in a round hole whilst within our corps he certainly would have been in a square hole in the Prison Service. Hole, Square and thick being operative words.

Spandau was a suburb of West Berlin and was within the British sector. In 1945/46 at the Palace of Justice Nuremberg, the famous Nazi war crimes trials were held. Twenty alleged criminals were tried. Twelve were sentenced to death, five were jailed and three were acquitted. Spandau Prison that the criminals were incarcerated to, now held only three of the originals, Rudolph Hess, Albert Speer and Balder Von Schirach.

A leaf from the Belsen concentration camp and Baldur Von Shirach's autograph.

RUDOLPH HESS (1894-1987) Had been Adolph Hitlers second in Command. At his trial he had conducted his own defence and had entered a plea of insanity. That had been rejected by the court He was sentenced to life imprisonment and died in August 1987 ALBERT SPEER. (1905-1981) He had been Hitlers main architect for the new third Reich. BALDUR VON SCHIRACH. (May 9, 1907 August 8, 1974) June 1933 Adolph Hitler had made anti-Semitic Von Schirach the head of the German Hitler youth organisation. Gualeiter of Vienna 1940/45 he carried out the policy of deporting all Jews. He was released from Spandau in 1966 Spandau prison was a strictly Military one. Consequently it was guarded on a monthly rota basis by the four powers, British, American, French and the Soviets. It was against prison rules for any guard to speak to any prisoner without good reason. A soldier guard was liable to be reported to a superior, by the prisoners themselves just to cause problems. Rudolph Hess was the main trouble causer in this. Very rarely did Military Police have cause to go into Spandau Prison. In 1964 Baldur Von Shirach had a medical problems that could not be treated in the prison, he had to be escorted to the British Military Hospital. The BMH was also in Spandau. He was detained there for an operation and treatment. It fell to the task of the RMP to guard him. He had a private ward that consisted of 2 rooms. All windows were barred. One MP guard was permanently on duty within the first room, he was unarmed. Unless an emergency arose he was instructed not to go into the inner room that contained the prisoner. There was also a guard stationed outside both rooms who was armed. An armed guard was also situated at the entrance to the hospital. My friend Ernie H. guarded Von Schirach on many occasions. Although it was strictly against regulations to speak to the prisoner, Ernie made friends with him. He had told me that the prisoner spoke perfect English. Von Shirach was supposed to have said to Ernie that Hitler had been completely wrong in the war against Europe, and often atoned for his misdeeds during that part of his life. Ernie always looked forward to that guard duty and the long conversations with the prisoner. After a few weeks of treatment Von Schirach was returned to Spandau Prison. A few months later he was returned to BMH for with a re-occurrence of his problems. I was to do duty guarding Von Schirach within the first room. Ernie by this time had joined the MT (Motor Transport) section. His prime job was as a driver. Ernie drove me down to BMH for the guard duty. He decided to look in on Schirach. As he was more aquainted of the layout than I, Ernie entered the room first. He opened the door of the inner room Von Schirach was standing with his back to the door looking out of the barred window. Ernie opened the door and seeing him said. "How are you going you old Nazi fat bastard." With that and even before he had turned round Von Schirach shouted. "Ernie. How pleased I am to see you." The War criminal spun round and grabbed Ernie round the shoulders in a hug then taking his hand, pumping it up and down in greeting. He was genuinely pleased to see him. Ernie then introduced me to Baldur Von Schirach. He held out his hand in greeting. I, hesitatingly, shook it. A long conversation between them took place. Von Schirach said that his 20 year incarceration in Spandau should come to an end in the mid-60s. He felt that he should be given parole now and that it was only the Russians that were holding things up. They did not want to give up the excuse of regular entry in to Western Berlin. He insisted that when he was released, Ernie must then come to visit him and his family. He had said that his family was quite well off. If Ernie ever had any money troubles he was to contact his wife or elder

son, they would help. Very few words were spoken between Von Schirach and myself during the duty. Although I did get his autograph. I tried not to appear rude but I kept any answers to his questions as a plain yes or no. I was cognisant that even those few words could have got me into trouble with a superior. I lost contact with Ernie when I left Berlin and I often wonder if he ever took up Baldur Von Schirach's offer.

Fifty Nine PT COURSE As previously said, in October my wife Brenda had returned to the UK after a brief visit to
Berlin. I was still applying for married quarters. I had been promised one early in the new year after acquiring enough MSQ points. On the 9th of November 1963 I received 2 letters from her. The first letter opened said how lonely she was. How just that day a tenant in one of our flats had done a moonlight flit taking furnishings from the flat and owing 3 weeks rent. She had no idea what to do next. She was feeling very depressive. After reading that I was really down. How could I help almost a thousand miles away? The second letter I opened apologised for the first. It had been written and posted in haste. The letter confirmed that everything had now been sorted. She had been to see her father and he promised to redecorate the flat. He had already got a new tenant and was in the process of tracing the previous one. Anyway it was only one weeks rent, discounting the deposit, not Three and not a substantial amount, the furnishings were easily replaceable. My father in law was to become the landlord of the property when she came to join me. He would sort everything out. All was now in order at that end. The Second letter was the exact opposite from the first. I was greatly relieved to receive it. It helped a little. Having said that, I was still feeling I should be home to sort it out. I had an idea. That same morning I applied to see my Commanding officer. I explained to him the content of the first letter saying how desperate I felt in that I was losing money. My wife was due to come to Berlin soon and I must have all my financial affairs in order before that. I omitted to say that I had received the second letter. The CO asked that he might read the letter for confirmation. I agreed and handed him the letter. He read it then sympathised with me, especially about my losing money. He asked if I had any leave left. I had not. He said that he was prepared to grant me 2 weeks compassionate leave. Did I have any free air flights in hand. I didn't He called the Orderly Sergeant into his office and explained the circumstances. The Sergeant said that he could issue rail travel warrants that would get me to 50 miles over the German border into Belgium. I would have to pay from there to Ostend at a reduced serviceman's rate. The same would apply on the channel crossing ferry. Another rail warrant would be issued from Dover to Leeds. All the warrants would be return. He said that the total cost to me would be in the region of five Pounds. The CO asked if that was agreeable. I affirmed. He gave instructions to the Orderly Sgt. "Get this man on his way ASAP." I was jumping for joy. I caught the Military train down the Zone and was home fourteen hours later, with a fourteen days leave pass in my pocket. The incident proved how the army can be understanding when it wants. The Military machine has a heart. I sorted some of my domestic problems out in the first few days and enjoyed the rest of my leave. I began my return to my unit. On Friday the 22nd of November I had reached Hannover, West Germany. I booked in at railway station with the RTO (Rail Transport Officer), to reserved a place on the Military Train that returns through the East German land corridor. Once on board I could relax until the train arrived in Berlin. We arrived at Brunswick

(Braunschweig) the train, as normal, stopped prior to being allowed to enter Soviet territory. An officer of the RTO section walked through the corridors of the train re-affirming the identity of the passengers. He explained that there was an emergency and a decision was being made as to if the train should proceed any further that day. On sighting me in MP uniform he suggested that I contact our Brunswick unit for instructions. I did so and was informed that I was to proceed there immediately. I found that the Helmstadt unit was on a full alert. The US President J.F. Kennedy had been assassinated in Dallas that day and a world crisis could escalate. I was issued arms and ammunition and instructed to help guard the Road/Rail Transport Checkpoint at Helmstadt. For Twenty four hours the British Army was on alert. I understood that all Three allied powers were at a state of emergency. The theory was that the Soviets may decide to take advantage of the American power vacuum due to the assassination. They may begin an advance into Western Europe. The Russians did not seek advantage. We were later stood down. I was two days late in getting back to my unit but I had a unique excuse. Whilst on compassionate leave in November 63 I had discussed past events with my wife. It would be some months before an army MSQ would be available. I had always been interested in anything physical and had already decided that someday I would apply to become a Physical Training Instructor. As the Course was held at Aldershot, UK I thought that I could kill two birds with one stone. Whilst my wife was at home I could also be in the UK. I should be able to visit her of a weekend and as a bonus I would be accruing MSQ separation points. On my return I applied to my Commanding officer to be considered for a Physical Training Instructors course. A week or so later I was tested by an Army PTI as to my suitability and passed. On Monday the 2nd of December I began a 3 week course of instruction at Sennalager, West Germany. The course was designed to get rid of unsuitables and to get a soldier super fit for the main event. A successful passing of the pre ACI would allowed me to take the full twelve week course in the UK. The first morning we paraded in PT kit. Immediately 4 instructors set us out on a cross country run. We had gone about 2 miles when the route looped and we were headed back to barracks. That was easy enough I, and most of us, assumed perhaps they are just taking it easy on us with it being the first day. As we neared the barrack entrance the instructors did not halt us but carried on past it. They are just having us on we all thought but we then continued on the second part of a figure of eight run. This lasted about another 2 miles. Again we approached the barrack entrance. Ah! this must definitely be it, again we thought. Wrong again. Once more we ran past it. We began running in the direction as at the onset of the run. We were to do it all again. Another 2 miles. For the second time from that direction we approached the entrance. A soldier adjacent to me muttered, "If they (The instructors) take us past the barracks again I'm packing in" I felt the same way although I would never have admitted it. One instructor overheard this. He halted the Squad. Pointing to the soldier who had said he was packing in, the instructor said. "Fall out you. Report to the CSM in the orderly room." (Company Sergeant Major) To the rest of us he ordered. "At the double double-march" and the run set off again for the second part of the figure of eight course. It was not at a very fast pace but very few of us had ever had to run as far as this before. Up to that point I had thought that I was fit. Probably for water polo swimming, I was. But for running this far I definitely wasn't. Constantly the instructors kept urging us on and not to give in. We were not being bullied but

were cajoled. The bullying would come later. After the run I realised that they were not looking for trainees to be superbly fit at the start of the course, they could soon train that into you. They were looking for soldiers that wanted to be on the course and not shirkers. The soldier who had complained earlier had been RTUed. No sign of him was left, by the time our run had finished. For the next seven days my calf muscles ached because of the first extended run. We ran at least five miles every day for the first week and thereafter we ran as a team carrying long heavy logs. By the time the course had finished I was the fittest I have ever been in my life. True fitness is a heady feeling which is impossible to describe, you can actually feel your blood coursing through your veins. I gave my all physically and mentally during the course and managed to gain 'The certificate of Merit' as the outstanding student on the 84 Pre A.I.s course.

I returned from the pre-course on Saturday the 21st of December and spent the next few days of Christmas 1963 in Berlin. On the last day of the year I travelled back to the UK overland, arriving at the Army School of Physical Training, Aldershot at 2300 Hrs. I had been travelling most of New Years Eve

day and had nothing wholesome to eat. I went to the cookhouse and requested the duty cook to fix me a quick meal. I was eating beans on toast as a peel of bells and hooters heralded the New Year of 1964 Here I was, completely stone cold sober, a lot nearer home to my wife and son but still some Two Hundred miles away. The following Wednesday morning the PTI course started proper. The main course was not as tough physically as the pre- course. We were already super fit and all that was needed to keep us in shape were a few top up fitness periods a day. The bulk of the instruction was learning the technique of physical exercise and passing it on to a class. Most sports that are played in the army were studied and the coaching techniques learned. In the minor sports we had to have a good basic grounding but in the main sports, Rugby, Football, Athletics etc. we had to have a thorough knowledge. I was promoted to Section Senior Leader of our Squad. I had to present the squad, as a whole, to whatever place and time for instruction. Part of my job was to organise the daily cleaning of the barrack room. Every Friday morning, throughout the British Army, there is the COs inspection. He, accompanied with a senior NCO, usually the RSM, inspects the living accommodation and conditions of his soldiers. The sword of Damocles is hanging over the soldiers head during this inspection because the CO can easily say the room is not up to scratch and order no leave passes for the coming weekend. Hence Thursday evening is busily spent getting the room up to perfect cleanliness for the coming inspection. All squaddies are busy doing their respective cleaning duties, then as if at a signal at 6.55pm all work stops. Everyone retires to the NAAFI or the lounge. There 'Top of The Pops' is on television. All watch the programme until it has finished at 7-30 and then they would leave and resume cleaning duties. I had often thought that if the Russians were going to attack the British Army they should do it at 7-15pm on Thursday evening, they would then be sure of the element of surprise. I worked hard at the cadre and again, determined to pass it, gave of my all. The course obviously enough involved much strenuous effort and it was in the mind of all that any serious injury could involve an RTU (Return to unit) until fit again, in that event the soldier would be able to return and retake the course. It was not unusual for an entrant to pass the majority of the cadre weeks before succumbing to injury and being RTUed as unable to physically carry on. In the Twelfth week of training I was in a class that was learning and practising grand circles on the High Gymnastic bar. On one of the circles at the height my grip became dislodged. I fell off and my chest connected with the bar. It was a very painful injury but I was afraid to report it for fear of RTUed. Unfortunately for me the next period was boxing training. Whilst sparring with an opponent he punched and connected to the injured part of my ribs. Down I went and was unable to get up. Taken to the Aldershot Military hospital a simple fracture to a left rib was diagnosed. The treatment for a simple broken rib at that time was to leave it to heal itself and not applying any strapping. On my return to the APTC school I reported fit to carry on. The thought of my having to come back and do all that training again really frightened me. I was very lucky as most of the more strenuous parts of training had been completed all that was left was theory exams in the many differing sports. On the final week of training we were taken to the military swimming baths for a recreation period. High above the water was a pair of trapeze stands fixed to the ceiling with accompanied ropes and bars. We were all given the opportunity of swinging from one trapeze stand and in the middle letting go to grab hold of the other bar as it swung towards you. Because most of us had forgotten to dry our hands before attempting the traverse none could

contain the grip on the oncoming bar, consequently we all fell into the pool. I decided to dry my hands and try once more, determined that I would be the first to succeed. I managed to grab and keep hold of the oncoming bar and began my swing back to the other landing stage. Unfortunately on landing my feet slipped under the landing stage and my left foot connected with a bolt that kept the steel stage in position. As I swung back to the centre now I had lost my momentum to regain any position on any landing stage. I just hung there with blood pouring from my foot. All I could do to get down was to drop into the pool. The chlorinated water entered the cut and it hurt like hell. Helped out of the water I was rushed again to the BMH. The doctor, after examining the cut, announced that he would have to stitch it. The worst was yet to come, he said that he would give me a local anaesthetic and that needle going in the ball of my foot was the very worst part. It was impossible to keep my foot still, it is bad enough just touching the instep, never mind sticking a needle in there. My leg had to be strapped down to contain my involuntary reactions. Six stitches were inserted Luckily the course was about over and once more I was not RTUed. I passed the course and as a consequence I was allowed to attach to my uniform the insignia of the crossed sabres on my right upper arm. A very proud day, no one had given them to me, I earned them.

I had excelled in coaching PE, Boxing, Swimming and Gymnastics and was recommended for special courses in these subjects and also for a further Advanced PTI course which, on graduating, would grant my acceptance into the Army Physical Training Corps and a promotion to Sergeant. How I felt at this stage to transferring into another Corps I was not sure. The idea of being a Sergeant greatly appealed to me but leaving the Military Police did not. A Sergeant in the APTC or a corporal in the RMP? But it was a decision I could leave until later. Promotion to Sergeant in the RMP was dead men's shoes. With the RMP being a very small Corps there was little scope for early promotion. It only came after years of exemplary service.

Sixty

JIM'S VISIT

Our Company water polo team continued to succeed, due mainly to the efforts of our trainer
Hans Otto. We won the Berlin Brigade Shield which gave us entry to the BAOR Competition. (British Army of the Rhine) We made a tour of the British Sector of West Germany playing matches at different garrisons. Whilst the team kept winning we were going further forward into the BAOR. competition. It gave me an ideal opportunity to travel widely within West Germany. Ernie and I visited Belsen, the sight of the infamous concentration camp of World War Two. There was very little to see really. It looked like a large landscaped park. There were great mounds of earth. Each had a sign denoting how many bodies were buried beneath. '10,000 TOTE' was the first plaque I saw, indicating 10,000 dead. There were many such mounds. It is said that no birds sing within the grounds of Belsen. I don't know how true that is but none did whilst we were there. I took a small twig with a few leaves from one of the bushes to put in my scrapbook and even now when I open it at that page my thoughts return to the place. It was a very moving experience. Our team won the BAOR Water Polo championship which qualified us to go to the UK for the finals of the British Army finals. In the UK we managed to win all qualifying rounds to the final. There we were runners up, being narrowly beaten by 3 coy of the Parachute Regiment. When we considered that our team was chosen from only around forty soldiers of 247 (Berlin) Pro. Coy RMP. We had done very well. Most regimental teams had hundreds from which to chose their teams. All credit was to our trainer Hans Otto. In June of 64 I was finally allocated an MSQ. My wife was a little reluctant but returned with my son Stephen to Berlin. The MSQ we were allocated was one of a block of four. Inside was very modern. They had been purposely built and were completely self-contained. All and everything was provided. Because of subsidies by the German government we were able to afford a maid 3 days a week. My wife soon tired of the help. She reasoned that she could clean the MSQ better than any maid. Anyway she had always made sure that all was spotlessly clean before the maid arrived. She soon dispensed with the services of her. In August my brother Jim and his wife visited us on an assisted army flight scheme. I had arranged some leave that coincided with his visit. For the short period my wife was happy to see family faces. We visited all the main sights of Berlin during the day and Jim, Ernie and myself took our leave in the evenings to visit our mess and to take advantage of the local brews. The Germans are proudly famous for their beers and it is a well-earned fame. I had been told that just before the turn of the century the German parliament equivalent had passed a law that stated the strict conditions for the brewing of beer, that only natural products could be used. My favourite tipple was Shultheiss, although there was no German beer that I did not like. Ernie was on Zonal and Sector border a few of the nights of my brothers holiday. Jim and I arranged to meet him. Although it was strictly forbidden Ernie took Jim on a tour of both of the borders which no normal tourists ever see. It certainly added to his holiday. Towards the back end of the holiday, funds were getting low. Jim said he would have to tighten his belt for his last few days. Ernie suggested we all go to give blood for cash. In the past, Ernie and I had been to the Krankenhaus (hospital) in the French sector to give

blood. The current price was 25 marks, a beer, a sandwich and a return autobahn rail ticket. With beer at around 50 Pfennigs (100 Pfs = 1 mark) one could have a good day on the beer with the proceeds. Brother Jim had never given blood before but was quite willing to earn the little extra cash. We explained the procedure to Jim, the only identification needed was a passport or an identity card. We duly produced these and was admitted. Both Ernie and I were laid out on a bed before Jim entered the ward. My plastic blood bag was half full even before Jim was hooked up to a system. When he saw that he was behind us he immediately began pumping his fist and arm. The blood began to flow into his bag rather quickly. We urged him to slow down but his bag was filled even before mine was. We were unhooked from the system and collected our cash vouchers. We began queuing at the pay-out window. Suddenly Jim looked over to me and with an ashen face said. "I feel light headed." With that he turned and fell forward, with his head butting a door that was slightly ajar. He fell to the floor as if poleaxed. Immediately nurses came from all directions to attend to Jim. They insisted that he go into a separate ward to lie down for a half hour and gave him a yellowish liquid to drink. The nurses would not let him out of the hospital until the time was up. He later said that as soon as his head had reached floor level, he felt all right. It has something to do with having less blood pressure in the brain after a blood donation and as soon as the body is level then the pressure levels. When we left the hospital, our first thought was to have another drink to even our body fluid levels up. Well you would have to, wouldn't you? We had already been given one bottle of beer with our cash reward. Going to one of the many lean to bars it was beers all round. Once we had the taste, there was no stopping us. We began an 'All Dayer' returning home rather late that night. Both Jim and I were in the 'dog house' with our spouses but it was well worth it. We three musketeers had a most glorious day, memorable even to this present time. Over the coming months I slowly began to realise that my wife would never adapt to life in Germany. She would always resent living in someone else house. She wanted to be in one of her own. She had one of her own and wanted to live in it. She wished to be back home in the UK so that she could easily visit her parents. I began formulating plans to appease her. My second son David was born at the British Military Hospital in Spandau in November 64. Both my wife and son could not have been better taken care of even if they had gone private. She was keen to take our new son home, to her parents, for Christmas. I had to take a course of instruction to prepare me for another cadre that would eventually gain me my second stripe. This would last from just before and to a little after Christmas. After discussions I agreed that we should pay for her and my two sons single flight home, well before Xmas. I would arrange for me to have UK leave early in the new year. I could buy a car and drive it home. We all could return after my leave to Berlin by car. I answered an advertisement in the 'Berlin Bulletin' which was a forces newspaper printed by the Education Branch of the British Army. It was for the sale of an Opel Caravan being sold by another soldier who was soon leaving Germany. The name suggests that it was some sort of mobile home but it was just a normal modern shaped car with a hatch back. I fell in love with it immediately and the price was right. I was very proud of the car and it turned out to be a beautiful runner. I never had a moments problem with it even though I drove many thousands of miles in it. I sold it when leaving Berlin and easily recouped my original investment. I passed my pre promotion course and drove home soon after it. We had a glorious leave in the UK. I drove back to Berlin with my wife and two sons. The drive both ways was incident free; other than stopping in France, on the return journey and being charged the earth for a midday meal for what we considered stewed offal. But even that meal, though horrible, is still

memorable. Memories, I felt, were/are like having your own private bank account. You can take a memory out of it, use it as you will and it can still be put back, still whole, into your account. Any amount of use of the memory bank will not depreciate the balance. I gloried in the chance of travelling, seeing and doing different things, if only my wife could relax and enjoy the uncertainty of it all. I was living, and enjoying, a life that would be hard to imagine if I had stayed down the pit. Brenda still continued to be uneasy with life in Germany. She wanted to be back in the UK. I discussed it with her and applied to my Commanding Officer to be considered for a post as a Physical training Instructor at the RMP Depot, training recruits.

Sixty One

BEGINNING OF THE END

In April 1965 I was transferred to the RMP Depot and Training establishment. The Depot
had now moved and was at the New and modern accommodation at Chichester, Sussex. Inkerman Barracks at Woking had been bulldozed. I was immediately given an MSQ within the barrack area. They had been newly built and were quite luxurious. Well I thought the accommodation ideal Brenda not so. She, my two sons. Stephen & David and myself moved in. The MSQ (as all are) was completely selfcontained and even more modern in outlook than the ones in Berlin. I hoped that Brenda could settle down a little and grow to enjoy 'Army Life', some hopes. Within a few weeks I was on a promotion course and qualified for my second stripe. I now reasoned that I was senior to around eighty per-cent of the British Army. I easily and soon slotted into the life of an instructor at Chichester. I was doing a job that I enjoyed. It gave me a lot of job satisfaction. I like to think I was very good at my work. In October 1965 I attended and passed a 'Self Defence in Relation to Police Holds' course of instruction at the Civil Police College Hendon, London. It qualified me to coach the subject. Some of the other instructors and permanent staff had night jobs on the side at 'Winguards'. The quite famous motor spares manufacturers had a factory in downtown Chichester. I applied to my company Commander that I may be allowed to take a part time evening job provided it did not interfere with my army duties. Permission was granted. Between the hours of 7 and 10 weekday evenings I worked at Winguards. The jobs were many and very varied, about the only similarity they had was that they were all boring and repetitive. One evening I was bending wing mirror stems. The job entailed taking a short length of steel bar and putting it in a bending crank. I then had to pull a long handled lever

and the crank bent the steel bar to the required shape. Release the bar, take out the bent steel, throw it in a receptacle, repeat the process. Can you imagine a more boring job? Time after time I bent bars, thousands of them. I was so good at it that I could look and talk to a work mate at the same time. Unfortunately my mouth got me into trouble again, I left my Left index finger in the crank as I pulled the bending handle. My finger bent much easier that the steel bar. The resulting injury was a broken finger. When the CO heard about the accident he reneged on all permission for members of his establishment in having side-line jobs. For a while I was not the most popular person on camp. One recruit in training had said he was interested in boxing. He wished to compete within the army championships. Me being also interested in the event gave him every encouragement and sought out the dates of competition which was only a few weeks away. Whilst enrolling him I decided to enrol myself for I thought that I could still 'do a bit'. The recruit was well under my weight and so although we trained together we could not spar fully. The army championships came round. I having not properly boxed in years still had confidence that I was as good as ever. The competition began. I was matched with a Scots Guardsman. He was short, for a Guardsman, and stocky. He looked a pushover to me. The upshot of the fight was that I was not as good as I had thought, he beat me easily. I must be getting old. I should have boxed him not fought him. I was ring rusty. I was ...Well there was a few other excuses I consoled myself with. But none of them seemed satisfactory. I realised I was just not good enough anymore. As I was always interested in Rifle shooting I joined the Depot Small Bore team. Matches were arranged and eventually I progressed far enough to compete in the army competition at Bisley. Although not coming first in anything I did shoot well enough to become one of the GOCs 20 I received a medal that certified that I was one of the 20 best shots of Southern Command. Not bad when considering that Army trained 'snipers' also took part in the competition. It was towards the end of 1966 and my wife was still unhappy within the army and was determined not to stay in it. She wanted us to buy another house near her parents. We still owned the large Victorian House and it continued to bring in rents. The mortgage on that had been paid off long ago. We had a little money saved and so I agreed. We raised a mortgage on a 2 bedroomed bungalow within shouting distance of her parents. Brenda now wanted to live in our new home and I had to agree, we would vacate our MSQ and she could return home to live in the newly acquired bungalow. I would go into single accommodation within the barrack area. I had said to Brenda that I would leave the army as soon as I could get it out of my system. But inwardly I knew that time might never come. Within hours of Brenda leaving I felt so alone. I began to question the judgement of my agreement in to letting her go back At the very beginning I was very lonely, during the day I had my very agreeable job and revelled in it but in the evenings all I had to look forward to was watching TV in the NAAFI or chatting to the other instructors, permanent staff or NCOs passing through the Depot on route to other postings. It was around this time that females were integrated into full Military Police Training and a Female Physical Training instructor called Leslie was assigned to our Gym. One of our other PTI instructors, Leggy, and Leslie soon became an item. It became a regular occurrence for a number of staff to meet regularly in the NAAFI of an evenings and all kinds of fears dreams and themes were discussed. One subject put forward was the after-life and how contact could be made via the 'Ouija' board. At this stage I still had not made my mind up about the existence of ghosts or spirits and became avidly interested. I

had only fleetingly heard about the Ouija board and was a little exited at the prospect of getting a session going. Joe R. seemed to be the most knowledgeable of our group and at first, although he would relate his past experiences, was reluctant to take part in any session proper. Eventually, after much persuasion by us all, he relented and set about making small cards. On each he printed a single letter of the alphabet and the numbers 1 to 10 He also made cards, one YES the other NO. He said he would need a short wine glass with a wide base and I went to the bar counter to get one. The barmaid, Beryl, said that there were no such described glasses in use. I noticed that there were two very fancy coloured wine glass ornaments on the glass shelves behind the bar and asked to borrow one. Beryl said it was more than her job was worth to remove one from the display, they were the personal property of the Manageress who was quite an Ogre. I urged and gave my assurances that I would take good care and be personally responsible for it. After much cajoling the barmaid relented and I returned to a table that had been set up in a back room, the electric light had been switched off and somebody had produced a lighted candle, the scene was very eerily lit. Four persons were chosen for the initial experiment and I found myself seated in the order of Leggie to my right and Leslie to my left, across the table was Joe. One other was assigned to take notes of any answers and the rest crowded around as onlookers. The candle that flickered and cast many shadows provided the only light. It was quite hard to make out the whole proceedings. Joe had placed the letter cards around the outside edge of the table and instructed each of us to place our Right forefinger lightly on the upturned wine glass in the middle. He said not to try and push the glass but if it did move allow it to and not to hinder any movement. The atmosphere, for me, was very tense and I knew not what to expect. At first, for quite a few minutes, the glass remained motionless and I began to feel a little disappointed and foolish. I was about to rise from my seat to conclude my part in the fiasco when the glass moved, then stopped again. It had been only a small movement but move it had. A chill went up my spine for, knowing that I had not pushed it I equally believed the others had not either. I was uncertain what I was getting myself into and unsure if I wanted to go any further with the experiment, should I pack it in? My excitement and curiosity got the better of Joe R. suddenly said, very sombrely, "Is there anybody there?" Who was he taking to I tried to reason, surely not to someone in the spirit world. In normal circumstances I would have laughed at the thought of someone talking to a ghost but the atmosphere at this time was far from funny. "Is there anybody there?" again intoned Joe. This time the glass shot to one side of the table and although not going over to the YES card it did go to the Y card. It then continued moving around the table without stopping and I had quite a job trying to keep my finger up with it. Ask it a question, Leggie" said Joe "What shall I ask it?" enquired Leggie. "Anything you like, anything you would like to know" "Who will be the first, among us, to die first?" What a stupid question I began to think, but before I had chance to continue my thoughts Joe swept his hand across the table knocking the wineglass from it. Fortunately it fell to the carpeted floor and did not break. I began to rebuke Joe for almost breaking my borrowed wineglass. Joe, with obvious anger replied "Blame him, has he no more sense than to ask such a question as that? Does he really have no respect, I'm packing in." With that he looked about to get up to leave. All, myself included, began to scold Leggie at his stupidity. He apologised with the excuse that he couldn't think of a suitable question to ask at the time. "Ask it what will win the 2-30 at Goodwood tomorrow." someone laughingly asked.

Surprisingly Joe did not treat the remark as unusual. "You have to be in proper contact with someone one the other side before the board will answer questions like that." he answered seriously. Joe was reluctant to begin the experiment again but after much inducement he relented. It was as before, the glass would not move at first but before long, move it did. Slowly to begin with it then it began to circulate the centre of the table. "Can you tell me the name of whom we are in contact with?" Asked Joe. The glass then veered to one side and stopped at the Letter J. "Put that down." said Joe. The person with the pencil and pad wrote J down. The glass then quite quickly moved to other letters and slightly pausing before carrying on. "It has spelt out JRYECROFT" said our note taker. "Does anyone know a J Ryecroft?" asked Joe. "I knew a Jimmy Rycroft." answered Leggie "Ask it how long it's been dead." "How long have you been on the other side?" asked Joe The glass responded by going to the figures 3 and then 2 "Thirty Two Years someone murmured. "That can't be who I'm thinking of," said Leggie "the Jimmy I'm thinking of has only been dead around Two or Three years." "Lets try and experiment." announced Joe. "Have you been on the other side 32 Years?" The glass moved to the NO card then continued moving round the table in a general circle. "Please J. will you keep control of the circling glass?" intoned Joe and the glass, first moving and stopping at the Yes card, then continued its movement round the table. "Leggie," said Joe, "When I say now, take your finger from the glass but continue to follow it around. Now " I could just make out Leggie taking his finger from the glass but continuing circling with it smoothly "Leslie can you now take your finger from the glass but same as Leggie continue following it around." Leslie did so. "Jack take your finger off." I complied and the glass continued unchecked. "I am now taking my finger off and the glass should continue moving." said Joe. The glass did so. I could see that Leslie and Leggie were not touching the glass only following it with their forefingers. I knew I was not in contact with the wine glass. This left only Joe who could be moving it but as he was at the opposite side to me I was unsure if he had genuinely removed his finger. Was he pushing the glass around? After a few seconds the glass stopped moving. Someone turned on the electric light. Joe then stood up and with a quiver in his voice said. "If you did not believe in the 'Ouija board before tonight then you most certainly must believe in it now." With that he took out his handkerchief and began blowing his nose and wiping obvious tears from his eyes. "Oh! come on," says I "I could see the three of us were not pushing the glass but you could have been." I contended. Joe seemed genuinely hurt by my accusations and said "I promise you I was not pushing that glass, believe me or not, please yourselves." He was either a good actor or he genuinely believed in the power of the Ouija board, his tears seemed real enough. I did not know what to believe. "Lets try it again." said someone and with the agreement three others took the places of Leggie, Leslie and myself. We Soon the glass, as before, began to rotate. Questions were asked of it and they neither proved anything one way or the other. "Ask it a personal question." said Joe to one of those round the table.

"Who will be the next to get injured?" said one. With that Joe swept the wine glass from the table and it smashed to smithereens against the wall, shouting "That's it You stupid XXXX. Ive finished." and with that he flounced off. The wine glass that I had personally taken charge of lay in shatters at the foot of the wall, how do I explain this to Beryl the barmaid. Making my profound apologies to Beryl I said I would pay for any damages and offered to meet the NAAFI Manageress myself to explain. Beryl seemed to take it all in her stride and told me she would square it. The whole Ouija incident left me more at loggerheads with myself, did I believe in the afterlife or not? Many times after we practised with the Ouiga board but no conclusive results were obtained one way or the other. One of our group announced that a sance was held every Wednesday evening at the Christian Science Church down in Chichester. Along with others I expressed the opinion that I was keen to attend. The following Wednesday a group of us attended the church. The proceedings were exactly the same as in most Christian church services, prayers were offered, hymns sung and a preacher gave a sermon. At the end of the service the preacher announced that this evening's visiting medium was a Mrs Hodlin. A small round of applause was given her and she began. "Would you all think of someone departed this life." I couldn't at that point thing of anyone other than my grandfather. Can I take you first." she said, indicating one of the ladies in the congregation. The lady affirmed and Mrs Hodlin said" You seem to have the apparition of a man standing just behind you, could this be your husband?" The lady nodded and Mrs Hodlin then tried to find the husbands name which she did after a few tries. The Medium began giving names of spirits that wanted to be remembered to the lady along with other information that only the lady could relate to. Sometimes the lady nodded in agreement at what was said and sometimes shook her head. The medium moved on to another person, then another. Then she looked into the direction of our group, at the time I was sitting next to Leslie (Leggie was on the other side of her) The medium said "Do you mind if I take both of you together?" Indicating Leslie and myself. It could have been misconstrued that we were couple, we were within a group but not together, together. We both nodded agreement and the Medium carried on, "There seems to be a rainbow like aura coming from each of you and joins in the middle, it is of a golden or silver colour. Are you married by any chance?" I could not resist the facetious remark. "I am, she's not." My comment seemed to put the medium off her stride, she flustered a bit asking if we were engaged, trying to explain her remarks. Failing to make any impression she quickly moved on. The whole episode was really a damp squib and nothing like what we had earlier imagined any sance to be like. At the end of the service as we began to move out of the pews a Lay Preacher came over to us and said that he knew it to be our first time and that we should not to be put off by the evenings events. Without exactly coming right out with it, he indicated that that evenings medium was not very good. He explained that, as in all walks of life, there were good and not so good people at their jobs. He urged us to try again the following week and assured us that when we heard some information from a medium that no one else could possibly have known then we would be assured at the existence of life after death. The evening had been different and we'd had a laugh, it was agreed that we would come once more. We wandered off to a local pub The following week we again turned up at the church for the service. There were Six of us this time Four fellars and Two females, Leslie and Beryl. Beryl had now began to join our company when she was not on duty at the NAAFI. This evening the visiting medium was a man. I forget his name I'll call him Mr X. He began talking to members of the congregation

handing out deceased names and backing then up with facts. Up to this stage most had agreed with Mr X, in what he said, to be true and correct. He seemed quite impressive. Looking over to me he asked if he might take me as a subject and asked that I think of some who I knew had departed. Again the only one I could think of was my grandfather. I nodded but was sure in my mind that he would not get him. "Do you know a name beginning with J?" he asked. I nodded amazed within myself in the knowledge that my grandfathers name was John. "It's either Jack or John." he stated. A lucky guess I thought. He began reeling off a number of names who wished to be remembered to me but I shook my head that I knew none of them, which I didn't. Then he quite determinedly said "Harry is looking over you and wants to be remembered." Again I shook my head in the certain knowledge that I knew no one, named Harry, in the spirit world. "Ah! But you do know someone called Harry I am positive this message is for you, think back it will come to you." Again I definitely disagreed with him. With that he moved on to another of the audience. Parts of what he had said to me were ambiguous and facts could be related to his words provided you wanted them to fit. I was totally unmoved by the experience. Our group retired to a nearby bar for a round of drinks and the past events were soon forgotten. As our group was walking home from the pub we were all chatting, Beryl asked what I had done before joining the army. Always ever eager to relate my mining experiences I went into a story telling mode. Part of it went:"And there was this fellar that got killed down the pit, he was a good friend of mine was Harry D." As soon I said the word Harry my mind went back to church medium. The hairs on the back of my neck bristled and stood out. I looked up in to the star spangled night sky and inwardly gasped. "Wow" I'll never ever forget that feeling, is there more into this than meets the eye? Have I just learned another lesson of life? (Harrys death has been described in an earlier chapter) Andy was another PTI instructor and we had become very good friends. One time we all visited the Christian Science Church Andy was told that the medium could see Andy in Uniform and that she could see a brown uniform did that mean anything? Andy, who was dressed in civilian clothes, replied uncommitted. Seeing that the whole group of us had short military style haircuts and that there was a barracks just up the road did nothing to help us believe the Medium was genuine. She also told Andy that soon he was soon to go on a course of instruction. Again most soldiers go on courses throughout their Military Life, nothing enlightening about that. She also said that he would succeed in his course and would then completely change his occupation. Andy at that time was waiting to go on a pre-advanced PTI course and if he passed and was accepted as suitable, would transfer from the Military Police to The Army Physical Training Corps. A very large step indeed with the certain promotion to Sergeant. Myself and the other PTI staff did not think Andy up to the standards required of the APTC and consequently thought he would fail the course. Six to Eight months later the Mediums prophesy came true and Andy passed the course with flying colours and transferred from the RMP to the APTC with the rank of Sergeant. Coincidence again? maybe. Every Friday evening at 5.00pm providing I did not have any guard commanding or other duties, I would vacate the barracks and begin a trek home to Leeds. Occasionally I might have a train warrant, or sometimes a mate may be going in my general direction but 95% of the time I hitchhiked. The journey by road, door to door, was over 300 miles and if things fell into place and I was lucky I could reach home by Midnight. By train it would be around 1.00 PM the following morning. Hitch hiking was a most enlightening way to travel. I have had lifts with some fine people. Come to think of it only good persons give lifts in the first place.

But seriously, hitch hiking in uniform was easy. During the daylight hours I could even be very particular and almost chose the vehicle in which I wanted to travel. Obviously lorries were slower than Jaguars. During the night hours all oncoming lights look the same and I had Hobsons choice. I have met all types of people from Bankers, Lawyers, Diplomats, Engineers on the oil rigs and even crooks. Being willing to talk and listen I have had many enjoyable journeys. I thank them all they all added to my memory bank. I particularly remember the then Belgian Ambassador and his wife who picked me up on the A1 just outside of Leeds. We had a most scintillating conversation about the state of the world and how if we ruled it we would change it. They were travelling to their London residence. Normally I would have been dropped off at the A1/A3 junction but they insisted and drove me to right up to my barrack gates. Almost 150 miles round trip out of their way. Many thanks to them I hitch hiked, almost every Friday and returned Sunday for almost six months In November 1966 a Southern Television Camera crew visited Chichester Barracks to film the training of recruit Military Police with the emphasis on females. All aspects of training were filmed including a visit to our gymnasium. Being Senior PTI NCO I was assigned to take a class of recruits, both male and female, in a Self Defence Period. The lady director of the programme first ordered her camera crew to take general shots of the lesson. At that time females, about six of them, always Self-defence practised with other females and never mixed with the men. The director asked could a judo throw be demonstrated on a female just for effect. I explained the training procedure as far as females were concerned but the director was insistent. I proceeded to demonstrate such a throw on Leslie the female PT instructor following it up with a ground restraining hold. A week later in the evening a show was televised showing all aspects of recruit training included PT. The clips of myself hip throwing and ground restraining a female seemed totally out of place because no such training is given nor needed. I continued as a PTI and enjoyed my work, but all good things must soon come to an end. In February 1967 I had cause to see the posting sergeant. He told me that my tour of duty at Chichester was about up and I would have to rotate. He had the position and authority that could post me to any of the places in the world in which the British Army serves. I got on very well with him. He asked if I had any preferences of posting. I had known of my coming move and had thought about it a great deal. I had two choices; to try and carry on with my marriage or to abandon it altogether. My marriage would not survive another move abroad, without going into fault finding, all was certainly not well. To call it a draw and forsake my marriage I would then be able to take an option for posting to Hong Kong, Singapore, Kenya Cyprus Gibraltar. My only problem would be of choice. To save my marriage and continue in the army would be impossible Brenda was insisting that I, once again, obtain my discharge by purchase. This time though it would be Two Hundred and Fifty Pounds. The money was not the problem, I was. Trying to appease my marriage and also myself I requested to the posting Sergeant that my posting be to Catterick, North Yorkshire. The Posting sergeant almost laughed in my face when I told him. "Only fools and idiots are posted to Catterick. It is a real dead and alive hole." was the way he described Catterick. He intimated about all the other exotic postings. I reaffirmed my decision to go to Catterick and explained the reasons. As Catterick is only some forty odd miles from Leeds I hoped that I would be able to visit my wife and family most weekends. I could still have the best of both worlds. It could prolong my army career a

little longer. He agreed to see what he could do. He was as good as his word and soon I was on my way to Catterick.

Sixty Two

DEAD AND ALIVE HOLE

In March I was on the train to my new posting, Catterick.

Arriving there I was allocated to a four men accommodation room that had seen better days. The place was the 'dead and alive hole', exactly like the posting sergeant had said. I began to regret my past decision already. My new work mates were okay but there was a very poor morale within the company. The main problem was that it was seriously under strength. Consequently the hours of work were long and unsociable. I had very little chance to regularly visit my family. I had to snatch a few hours with them at a time. And then it was never more than eighteen hours at any stretch. At least in Chichester I was able to visit every weekend. The duties of the company were many and varied. They in themselves were quite fulfilling. At least I was doing the job of a Military Policeman again. One event that springs to mind. I was on Saturday evening patrol. My driver and I decided to visit the Starlight Ballroom in Richmond. On arrival the Civil Police were already in attendance. They had been alerted to a disturbance inside. A military Policeman can only enter civil premises at the invitation of the owner or the police. We entered the dance hall with the Civilian Police. One almighty fight was in progress. There was about equal numbers of civilians and soldiers involved. The two policemen and ourselves quickly brought the skirmish under control. We arrested a number of soldiers and placed them in our army multi-van. The Police had also arrested a number of civilians. After placing them in the respective vehicles I stood guard over them. The two policemen and my driver went back inside to see if all was still quite and we could leave. There were a number of soldiers and civilians outside the ballroom. Many were still restless. One Soldier, who was in civilian clothes, began harassing me, uttering the words, "Let my mate go, He didn't do anything" I had no intention of letting his mate, or anyone else go and said so. He became verbally abusive. I said to him. "I know you to be a soldier. I am giving you a direct order, leave this area now or I will arrest you. Do you understand the order?" Ignoring my direct command, he then reached over to the vehicle door handle to open it, in an attempt to release his mate. With that action I took his arm and said. "I am arresting you..." Before I could finish my sentence he suddenly and without warning swung round, grabbed my lapels and head butted me. I remember things going quite dark and I actually saw stars. I was blacking out. As I was going down I realised that he was trying to kick me on my way down. I instinctively grabbed hold of his coat lapels to try and close up to him and save myself from falling down and a kicking. As I grabbed his lapels he turned his head sideways and downwards and bit my knuckles with his teeth. I was almost out on my feet and could not defend myself. Luckily the Civil police and my mate were just coming out of the dance hall. They intervened and saved my bacon. The soldier was arrested. We drove the soldiers to their respective barrack guardrooms and had them placed in the cells under arrest. The soldier who assaulted me was handed over, under arrest, to his duty officer for detention to the cells. The serious gravity of the charge was explained to him. My next course of action was to go to the Catterick Military Hospital. I arranged to be examined by a medical officer. I asked him to examine my teeth and confirm that two front ones were loose. He did. "Are

they consistent with being head butted?" I asked. He confirmed they were. Would he examine my Left index finger, main knuckle. He did and confirmed that it was an open wound. "Was the injury consistent with being bitten by someone's teeth?" Again he confirmed that it was. I requested that the officer put the injuries to my person in writing and asked that the consistencies with being head butted and bitten were detailed. The officer did so and the certificates were attached, with my report, to be forwarded to the offending soldiers Commanding officer. He would dole out any punishment he saw fit. Although any punishment given to an offender should not concern a policeman, and in the past it has not interested me; in this instance I made it my business to get to know. He received 56 days under close arrest within his own guardroom. I am unashamed to say he deserved every second of it. Another time I was on stand-bye duty. My driver and I had a call out to the Main Catterick NAAFI. The NAAFI was a large two story building that had bars, cafes, a social area and a dance hall. There was a fight in progress at the dance. We raced to the NAAFI. The duty officer and another two man squad had also been informed. They met us there. The duty officer was dressed in civilian clothes. When we arrived we all walked slowly into the dance hall. It had always been instructed in training to take your time when attending a fight. You never saw the old time policeman, like Dixon of Dock Green, racing about. They were quite content to retrieve the broken bodies after the fighters had spent themselves. The fighters were not smashing your furniture or bones in the fight. The duty officer who was comparatively new to the job did race in. As he entered a very large Fijian was about to hit another soldier. Our duty officer said to the Fijian. "I am Lieutenant Le Tissier of the Royal Military Police. You are under arrest." He had hardly got out the words, ' under arrest' out before the Fijian slammed a punch directly to the chin of our officer. He went flying across the room as though he was weightless. He then hit the soldier he was about to hit when he had been so rudely interrupted by our Duty Officer, Lt. Le Tissier. If the incident had not been so serious I could have laughed, it seemed so funny at the time. It still brings a smile to my face to retell the incident. We of course had to take action. I must say that it took four of us to place the Fijian under close arrest. I wished he could have been on our side he would have made our job so much easier. The many times I have been called to fights that were already in progress I tried to keep a low profile. I always found that my mouth was my greatest asset and used carefully could stop an incident or certainly help not to escalate it. Having said that last paragraph one evening I was on patrol duty and I passed the then famous Catterick Fish and Chip shop. After a few beers many soldiers congregate outside prior to returning to barracks. This particular evening a group of Tank Corps soldiers were having a heated alcoholic argument with some Royal Signals lads. Things looked as if they were going to get out of hand, or so I thought. I would nip the problem in the bud. I decided to separate them and walked over. As I've said, in the past my mouth had usually calmed down a lot of situations. This time it must have let me down. As soon as I arrived and asked them to call it a draw and shake hands, a fight started. I managed to separate the two main offenders. After I had cooled things down I reminded them that we needed all branches of the British army and that no one regiment is better than any other. They both readily agreed and said they had no intention of fighting until I had arrived on the scene. The original argument had about who was to pay for

the fish and chips. Seemingly they both wanted to pay. Seeing me they had forgot what their argument had been about and thought that they might as well give me something to do. In beer people do some odd things. I cautioned them and said that I would take no further action if they left the scene and returned peaceably to their barracks. They asked if they could get some food first. I agreed. They left arm in arm seemingly the best of friends. I will never understand human nature. One Saturday afternoon I was on mobile patrol. My driver and I had little to do. All was quite. We drove around the garrison showing our police presence. As we neared the Catterick outskirts the racecourse came into view. A race meeting was being held that day. The driver stopped our vehicle by the side of the course where it skirts the road. A race was in progress and we began watching it. A message from control came over the vehicle two way radio. We had to report back to the HQ immediately. On reaching HQ the duty sergeant gave us one almighty roasting. What were we doing watching the horse racing instead of patrolling? How did he know we had been watching the racing? When he had calmed down he said that the company commander had been watching racing on Television at his home. He had seen our vehicle parked up and had got on the phone to our control. We were showing the whole nation, on TV, that the Military police had nothing better to do than to watch horse racing. On afternoon I was duty desk duty in the control room. A man entered in civilian dress and said he was a Staff Sergeant in the Military Police and was just passing through. He wanted to look up and old acquaintance of his in our Sergeants mess. I asked him for some means of identification and he produced his 2603 identity card. I noted that he indeed was a Staff Sergeant and that his surname was Friende. I asked if he had any relations in the Corps. He replied that he had not. I said that my old squad Sergeant back in 1959 had a squad sergeant called Friende. "Yes" he said "That was me" I was flabbergasted. The man I remembered was a very large man. head and shoulders taller than me and built like a brick wall. Here was a Sergeant who looked normal and was in fact much smaller than I. I introduced myself and he replied that he remembered me, which I very much doubted. He probably did not want to hurt my feelings and was using a man management technique. It made me feel good at the time though. We had a little chat about old times and I felt perfectly at ease with him. I remembered in the past when I trembled whenever he gave me a dressing down on parade. I recalled how one day he had threatened to stick the end of his pace stick up my Left nostril and throw me bodily over his Right shoulder with it. At that moment of threatening I believed he could do it. How things had changed. I realised after that in my younger days when I was very impressionable I was in awe at my squad sergeant and looked up to him as an example. My mind had made him larger than life. How the mind can play tricks and distort events. One Friday A sergeant and five Corporals were briefed about a coming escort duty. We were to escort a convoy of the Royal signals Regiment in a move to Salisbury, Wiltshire. There was to be a Military Police vehicle at the front and one bringing up the rear. Our two vehicles would be in radio contact and also in contact with the Signals officer who was in command of the move. We were briefed that the convoy contained many secret documents and electronic equipment. It was reminded that a potential enemy would give their high teeth for some of it. At the time it seemed a little over the top to us but the fact that we were issued with arms and ammunition made it all too real.

Very little of note occurred during the move but I wondered how many persons had been trusted with loaded arms on the roads of mainland UK. A far cry from my previous life down the pit. Of course it is different now with the IRA threat but in those days a heady trip indeed. I was detailed for A&Ds, Absentees and deserters. There are few serious A&Ds in the British Army. Most soldiers who do not return to their units do so because of emotional problems that once are solved are happy to return to the army. I could relate to that. When a soldier has been absent from his unit for over 21 days his commanding officer will inform the RMP. An absentee soldier only becomes a deserter when he disposes of his kit and is determined never again to return. In theory a soldier can be absent for years without becoming a deserter. Most times A&Ds is a pretty much a non-event but a couple that spring to mind are: This instance I had to go to a soldiers previous address in Bradford, Yorks. My colleague and I first contacted the local civilian police and requested that they accompany us. A civil policeman came with us. I knocked on the door as my mate went round into the back garden to prevent any attempted escape from the rear door or window. A lady, who turned out to be the mother of the absentee, answered the door. No she had not seen her son in weeks, was the reply to my question. Could I come in and have a look round? I requested. She invited me in. I have been in a lot of untidy or dirty houses but never in one such as this. The front door led into a hallway and in front was the stairs. Beneath the stairs was a space that had been fenced in. The space contained a medium sized pig. They tell me that pigs are clean animals but this one had not been allowed to be. The straw, faeces and food combined to make a smell that was nauseating. How any human can live in such conditions was an insult to the pig. I made a very quick cursory search of the house to fulfil my duties but I was more than glad to get out into the fresh air. Another time on A&Ds I visited a house in Durham Town. After pretty much the same preamble as the previous incident I asked to be allowed to enter the premises. Consent was given. The householder accompanied me round every room. I looked in one of the bedrooms. The large double bed had not been made and the blankets were strewn around. Nothing unusual I turned and was about to leave. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a very slight movement. I turned about and approached the bed. Pulling back a corner of the covers a small beady eye peeped up at me, it was the absentee whom I was looking for. Had he not moved I would certainly not have discovered him. He was arrested and returned to his unit guardroom. Another time on A&Ds I had arrested a Soldier from the North East. We were travelling down the A1 at about 50 MPH I was in the back of a Land Rover. Because he had made a prior attempt at resisting arrest I handcuffed his right wrist to my left wrist. Suddenly he made an attempt to escape by trying to climb over me and to jump out of the back of the vehicle. I had to haul him back in. He was almost over the tailgate. I was trying to save myself injury even more than trying to prevent his escape. It was a case of self-preservation first. What he was thinking of I know not. He could not possibly have got away from the handcuffs even if he had survived the fall from the fast moving vehicle. One evening I had drawn standby duty. As reported we were seriously undermanned at 150 Pro Coy. RMP. I had already done duty on the day shift and although normally I delighted to work stand Bye, this evening I was ill at sorts. My driver and I were in our barrack room, cleaning kit and generally getting ready for the coming duty. I remarked to him that I felt very tired. He said he had just the job. When asked what he meant, he produced 2 small Yellow pills. In my sight he took 2 and offered me a further 2. I refused saying I did not take drugs. He had now put me in a quandary, should I report the matter? At that time there was no serious drug problems in the Army, in fact there was no drug problems in all the British Services. It was unheard of in normal circumstances.

As I refused I told him that I ought to report him on the matter. He produced the packet that they had come from. They were 'Phylosan' and were advertised as "Fortifying the over Forties." They were openly on sale at any chemist. I had seen them advertised on TV. He convinced me that they were harmless. He said he took them all the time when he had pulled frequent duties. It was like taking Aspirin for a headache. In normal circumstances I would not have but I took two with water. That evening I had completely forgotten all about the pills and the tiredness for I was full of life. It was only the next day that I realised the effect that the 2 tablets had on me. I remembered purposely going out looking for any trouble that I could clear up. I had entered the NAAFI hoping that something would happen. This fact in it self should not have occurred. We were supposed to wait for an invitation to enter by the manager. The sight of MPs walking in amongst soldiers trying to enjoy themselves is antagonistic. As I strolled, or shall I say as I strutted in through the NAAFI past a group of soldiers having a quiet drink one of them began singing "Little Red monkey, monkey, monkey" It was a tune of the day. The Red part of the song pertained to our red covered hats. I swung round and threatened to arrest them all and to clear the place if they did not behave. Really they were just having a bit of fun but I took it the wrong way. They knew I meant business what I had threatened. They shut up and said nothing. I was completely out of order. I should have been the one to be arrested myself and put in the nick. To those soldiers if they get chance to read this account, I apologise. Throughout that evening I was looking for problems to solve I was full of my own importance. I was acting completely out of my character, at that time though I did not know it. When 2 soldiers began a small skirmish outside the chip shop I waded in and grabbed both collars and crashed their heads together. Again completely wrong, my action was worse than their minor disagreement. It was a good job that nothing really serious happened that evening because I was not in a right mind in which to deal with it. At the time I was 'under' the influence I felt perfectly normal I was unaware of the extremes of my actions. It was only the following day that having reviewed myself I realised that I had acted improperly. I was rather lucky that evening. I learned a valuable lesson about drugs and never again took mood enhancing drugs, legal or otherwise again. Another time I came into contact with drugs I had been legally issued with them. I had pulled convey duty. We had been briefed that the duty would last approximately 36 hours without rest or sleep. We each were issued with 2 small white tablets that looked just like saccharin. Briefed that we should only take them if we could not keep awake during the duty but warned that they were amphetamines and would keep you awake for at least 36 hours after taking. During the time after taking we would have heightened stamina. After that time we could expect an extreme low. There is no more boring duty that driving in convoy. A driver is instructed to keep approximately forty yards from the vehicle in front and the speed is restricted to forty miles per hour. If one feels sleepy in convoy it is almost impossible to keep ones eyes open. Sleep deprivation is an experience in itself. The convoy was about ten miles from barracks and the end of duty. I was driving and tired. My eyes were heavy with sleep and I was tempted to take the issued tablet. I remembered that if I did I would remain awake for about 36 hours after. How I managed to stay awake without driving my vehicle off the road or into the one in front, I don't know, but I did. As soon as I reached barracks I was to bed. Others who succumbed to taking their speed remained awake

for ages after and afterwards came down to Earth with a bang. The unused tablets were returned to the camp MO afterwards. I continued to get home at my every possible opportunity. I hitch hiked the forty odd miles to Leeds and return as often as I could. Very rarely would I be able to sleep overnight at home. Although my two sons made me very welcome my wife didn't. I now began to suspect my wife, but had no definite proof, of adultery. Many times when I arrived home she would be out elsewhere. A male persons name, called G, kept cropping up in conversation. When I taxed her on the subject she denied everything. Had I been like the proverbial Ostrich and hidden my head in the sand? Looking back over the past few years could I have seen it coming? Could I blame her? Yes in some respects, no in others. I knew in my heart my own marriage vows were still intact and that I loved my wife but had I committed adultery with the Army? Was I was just as much at fault as her? I realised that I was guilty of being selfish and wanting the best of both worlds. Now I was torn between two worlds, worlds that I now realised could never come together. I realised that it had been my selfishness now my marriage was in such jeopardy. One Wednesday morning in a fit of depression I made petition to see my Commanding officer. I explained my predicament in that I could not have both the army and my family. I requested that I be able to obtain my discharge by purchase for the second time in my army career. He sympathised with my problems and granted it. Within a few hours my discharge was arranged and I was in possession of discharge documents. My discharge certificate reference comments written by my Commanding Officer were second to none and I was/am justifyingly proud of them. Soon after handing in all my army kit I was on my way home. Arriving home, my wife's parents were already at our bungalow. They had heard of the situation that she was in love with another. They, and I began to berate her, trying to show her what she was in danger of throwing away. We had two fine children two houses and no money problems. Suddenly in a fit of tears Brenda ran into the bathroom to later emerge saying "Now no one will have me, neither you nor G. ." with that she threw an empty pill bottle to the floor. What type of pills the bottle had contained I know not. My wife had made a suicide attempt and an ambulance was called and she was confined to a hospital bed for four days. After much discussion and to cut a long and difficult story short, the upshot of the situation was that we no longer had any future together. We would separate it was agreed that I would take custody of our eldest son Stephen. My wife would take charge of the younger one David, who was then 3 years old. Later I would also gain custody of my other son. Both our house properties and assets would have to be sold. If I had realised this situation would end like this, could I have pre-empted it and remained in the army. Saying good-bye to my marriage? I have asked myself this question on numerous occasions. Even now, depending on my feelings at the time the answer always comes out differently. I was now stuck in a situation with no career prospects and no training. Where was I to go from here? How did I solve my problems? Well that is another story and it can't be told yet, for I'm still adding to it

Book Three Now I'm a civilian

Sixty Three

Im a Civilian

Well 38 years after I can now begin to describe my later years. As related in my last four paragraphs I obtained my army discharge by purchase and on returning home my wife Brenda made an attempt at suicide. My mother in law insisted that I go to a public telephone, for we did not have a private one at the time, and call an ambulance. I pig headedly said She wants an ambulance let her go call for one. I fully regret these words now but at the time I felt that if she didnt want me then I wanted nothing to do with her. Father in Law Albert called an ambulance which soon arrived and Brenda was taken to hospital. Whether the suicide attempt was a gesture of frustration of the moment or as genuine attempt at death I know not. I do know that Brenda was confined to a hospital intensive care unit. She was released five days later. During these five days I was in sole charge of my two children of eight and three years. I was totally unprepared for looking after children full time. I made the best of it that I could, probably they were not fed a proper and varied diet or washed as clean as my wife had previously done but I tried hard. Upon Brendas return to the bungalow we hardly discussed our situation other than to reiterate that the marriage was over. She said that she would move out as soon as possible and that our two houses and assets would have to be sold and the proceeds halved. We did talk seriously about the childrens welfare and what would be the best for them. Obviously David was too young to make any decisions himself as to whom he wanted to live with and we agreed that he should live with his mother. Stephen on the other hand, when asked, decidedly stated he wanted to live with me, Brenda agreed with that decision. Brenda and I separately placed ourselves on the council house lists. At the time there was an abundance of council accommodation. And we were both assured that there would not too long a wait for a council house each. I began spending most of my time at my father and mothers house .My frustrations at the time are very hard to describe, I had many conflicting emotions. I realised that I still loved my wife but because I couldnt have her I felt a deep pain. Not the type of pain one gets when

gets when one breaks a legs or the pain of a toothache but one that lies deep inside ones gut. At the time I would gladly have had my right arm cut off it would relieve the heart ache for that is what the pain was.

Sixty Four

Dog Handling

I realised that I needed a job to support myself and son Stephen. I had heard that Securicor, a security company, were always looking for persons with proven track records. I decided to apply. My interview down at the Greenwood industrial estate office in Leeds was arranged. I duly filled in the application form and the interview went well. Have you any experience in dog handling? I was asked. I knew that dog handlers were paid six pence an hour extra. And so I lied and said Yes I had observed many Military Police Dog Handlers in action and knew most of the dog commands I reckoned that I could easily adapt myself into the position of 'Dog handler'. Deep inside I have a fear of dogs, it makes no difference whether they are large or small there is still that fear to this day but for the six pence an hour extra I could hide my phobia. The dogs I had previously observed were very well trained and true to whatever handler had charge of its leash. At the end of the interview I was offered the post of dog handler and the interviewing officer led me down into the garages where he signed out a small van and we drove around my prospective duties. They consisted of numerous factories, parks and private premises around the Batley Dewsbury area of Leeds that were to be patrolled. . Being issued with full Securicor Uniform I had pressed my suit and polished my shoes. Six o clocks the next evening my duties began and I was back in uniform again. Reporting to my superior he issued me with the individual keys to the many premises I was to visit. He assigned me a vehicle and told me to take Sabre one of the many dogs in the compound. With that I was dismissed to my duties. I had half expected to be taken down to the dog pound and introduced, or rather shown to my dog. My dog, I hoped, would then realise that I was one of them; my phobia of dogs surfaced. Reaching the kennels and on seeing me, all of the dogs began to bark and growl and jumping up at their wire cage doors in an attempt to get at me, or so I thought. I had visions of them getting loose and tearing at my throat. I began to walk down the central passage way with dog kennels on either side looking for the nameplate Sabre. There the dog was the last cage on the right and Sabre look ed and sounded larger that all the other dogs put together. I put my hand to the cage door handle and the dog made more noise than ever. There was no way I was going into that cage to get that dog. My life was worth more than. I stood rigid to the spot unable to move. I was, I admit, terrified. What could I do? I know I thought Ill go back upstairs to the office and ask my superior what dog he wants me to have. Hopefully hell realise that Im new to the job and escort me down to the Kennels and show and hand me the dog I am to take. Sabre. The last dog on the right hand side. All the dogs have their names printed on the individual kennels. was all my superior said when I had enquired which dog I was to take. I knew he was thinking, what a thick XXXX I was. Back down in the compound there was quiet, that is until I arrived and the growling and jumping at the cages began again. All trying, as I thought, to get at my throat. Sabre again loomed large and vicious. What can I do now all my options are spent I cannot go up to the office and tell them that I am afraid of dogs, Im an experienced dog handler. I know, I again thought, Ill put my foot a little way in from of the cage door so that I can open it enough to get my hand in but not wide enough for the dog to get out. The dog will obviously bite my hand after which I can withdraw it close and lock the door. I can then go back up to the offices and rant and rave that the dogs are not Police trained showing my

injured and bleeding hand. I can then resign with honour taking myself off to hospital. Problem solved. Have you ever tried to injure yourself? I can tell you it is very hard but I was willing to do it to save face. I placed my left foot a few inches from the door, unhinged the hasp and Sabre the dog bounded up at the door forcing it slightly ajar. I placed my hand inside the kennel and probably closed my eyes. The dog instead of savaging my hand began to lick it in earnest. A great weight was taken off of my shoulders. I now realised that when the dogs are in kennels other than eating and sleeping are bored and want to be out. When anyone enters the dog pound they are barking in expectations of getting out and enjoy serving. I put the leach on my dog and led him out in the correct fashion, with the dog on my left side, my right hand holding the end of the lead with my left holding it lower down. Although I had seen this method many times it was the first time for me. I made a few mistake on my first nights round, probably not visiting the premises in their correct order but on entering offices or a factory I realised that my dog knew the rounds better than me; so I just allowed Sabre to lead me the correct route, each time he stopped I realised that was one of the checking in points around the premises. 'Checking in' points were situated at the entrance and within the premises. Usually they were just a screw fixed in a wall with a key hanging from it. I took the key and inserted it the apparatus that I was carrying; this recorded the exact time I had visited that point. I took charge of many dogs during my short service with Securicor but Sabre was my favourite and I took him out at every opportunity. One evening I was making the rounds in one of the public parks of Batley All Batley parks are closed to the public at eight pm and my duties were that after ensuring that there were no persons within the park, secure the gates. This particular evening a crowd of boisterous teenagers were congregating around the band stand. I approached and informed them that I was about to lock up and asked them to leave. As is usual in a crowd there is always at least one who is a big mouthed ring-leader. Whos going to make us leave, you and whos army? he sneered. Just me and my dog. I tried to ooze the confidence which I did not feel. Sabre seemed to be aware of the beginnings of a problem and began quietly snarling and showing the whites of his teeth. Do I let the dog go now making sure he goes for you first? I said looking straight at the ring leader. Or is it easier for you all to leave the park now? I said to the crowd in general. One of the more sensible girls of the group said Come on its not worth the trouble and with that they all trouped out of the park. At the time of stating to the teenage crowd that I would let the dog go, I was bluffing. A trained dog handler does not let his dog loose on a crowd. The dog will attack anyone the handler states but whilst the dog is loose obeying its orders the rest of the crowd will be on you. What a handler does is let the dog of on a long leach and the dog is trained to sweep before its handler not letting anyone come within reaching distance of its master To have a well-trained dog at your side it ten times better than any muscular bodyguard. Its a tremendous feeling. A feeling of invulnerability. The dog patrol job was a night shift only and although I didnt mind the job which I felt I did well, I was looking for advancement within the company. Two weeks in the job and my superior officer asked that I meet him in his office. He informed me that the company would have to dispense with my employment because I was married but separated. When I protested he said that the companys insurance demanded that separated men could not be employed as they were deemed a security risk. I said that on my

application form I could have ticked the box Married which would have been true but I had wanted to be truthful. He agreed and suggested that I might reapply in say six months-time and I could try again. He said that my work for the company was exemplary but insurance rulings meant that I was now unemployed. I didnt want the job anyway. Sour grapes

Sixty Five

Beryl

Every one acts differently to differing events in life. The next chapter of my life I regret nothing, but I would, if I could change the way I reacted to my wifes infidelity but at the time, I know now, that I was very vulnerable. And logic didnt get a look in. I was feeling less of a man, my wife had fallen for another, I reasoned it was because I wasnt good enough or man enough for her. My basic instinct was that I wanted to prove myself a man in other mens eyes. During my time in the army at Chichester, Beryl was a young lady who worked at the NAAFI. She among others lads and lasses were acquaintances of mine. All friends used to meet up in the NAAFI of an evening and generally socialise. Occasionally we would play silly Ouija board games or visit the local churchs sances. Anyway I admit I was attracted to Beryl and I had the idea she to me but we both realised that I was married and we both new nothing could come of any relationship between us. We kept our distance but like any normal blooded young man I admit I was tempted. I can assure my family that at no time whilst I was in the army did I commit adultery with Beryl or for that matter anyone else. Anyway to get back, I was separated from my wife who was now in a serious relationship with a George Lilley and I was feeling less of a man. I wanted to redress the balance. I decided that I had the answer. I decided to phone Beryl at the Chichester NAAFI. Talking with the manageress she told me that some months ago Beryl had changed stations and was now working at RAF Tangmere. To cut a long story short and after much soul searching I contacted Beryl, told her of my change of circumstances and invited her up to Leeds. She took up the offer and came for the weekend. That week-end was the first time I committed adultery but I felt that it didnt count as I was separated from my wife and that she had committed that sin many more times before me. Although Beryl was much younger than I she was very beautiful and very attractive. I will readily admit that when she accompanied me socially I was quite proud and felt that I could hold my head up high again. It probably wasnt the ideal reasons to begin a relationship but at the time I probably wasnt thinking straight. Beryl and I seemed to hit it off and so I invited her to come up to Leeds on a permanent basis and she accepted. As I have already recorded my wife and I, were in possession of two houses the bungalow that we lived in, separately and Cambrian Terrace, in Holbeck, a large four story terraced house that we first bought when we married. Cambrian Terrace had been converted into three flats and rent was collected from them. Coincidentally the middle flat was vacant and so I installed Beryl into it.

As I have said Council housing was cheap and plentiful in those days and both Brenda and my-self obtained council accommodation. Brenda got an upstairs flat in Middleton Park Avenue and me a three bed roomed house in Throstle Place, both in Middleton, Leeds. Uncle David (Howcroft) helped Beryl and I with the house decorations. Early in the break-up of our marriage Stephen who was nine years old had been given the choice of who he wanted to live with. Brenda and I felt that he was old enough to make this decision. Without hesitancy he choose me. David who was only was not yet four years wasnt allowed to make a choice; we agreed he should live with his mother. We also agreed that I would have David at the week-ends him sleeping over on the Saturday night. Beryl and I moved into our council house along with Stephen, and as Ive said David visiting us of a weekend. This arrangement usually worked out OK. Any problems we had usually were of my makings. Beryl tried very hard to be a full mother to my two children but when they played her up, I can describe it no other way, and she looked to me for support I gave her none. This fact is one of my greatest regrets of my life. Beryl deserved better. Beryl tried to organise our lives as she had been brought up. Her ideas were not better or worse than mine just different. She was a southerner and I was a typical Northerner. If I had only just given in a little more perhaps things may have been different. On the whole though, although not perfect, we got along. One Sunday evening a knock came at the door and when I answered Brenda with four year old David in hand stood there. David only an hour before had just been returned to Brenda. Brenda started by saying she couldnt handle him. He would never do as he was told and all he kept saying was that he wanted to live permanently with Beryl and I. I looked at Beryl for a decision and she said straight away. Bring him in and with that she took hold of Davids hand and shut the door on Brendas face. From that point on David began to live permanently with us. I now realise that Brenda didnt want the encumbrances of children. She wanted to be with her new lover who looked as if he was on the verge of being very rich. Good luck to her, I say, shell get her rewards in heaven. Brenda, though, at this time was the bane of our lives both of us though for differing reasons. In my case I would not let her name be mentioned in my presence but inside I still thought a lot about her. Beryl on the other hand saw Brenda as a threat and that threat was constantly hanging over her head. I can see that now but at the time I just did not think. One would have to hear Beryls point of view on this, for only she can describe her feelings. One point sticks in my mind as Im sure it does with Beryl was :A hand knitted jumper was delivered to our house for David from Brenda. Beryls temper erupted. Does she think we cannot clothe or look after him properly or words to that effect she uttered. I replied with something like does it matter one way or the other? If you dont like it throw it into the bin Beryl was adamant and said Ive a good mind to take it back around and throw it in her face. My reply on that one, knowing Brendas fiery temper was If you do dont forget to duck That was like a red rag to a bull and with that she flounced out of the house carrying the offending jumper. About twenty minutes later Beryl re-entered our house and I could immediately see she had a bruised eye cheek. I told you to duck I said rather crudely, cruelly and completely unthinkingly Ah! But you should see the state shes in now. I certainly gave her more than she gave me. She countered.

I now know that Beryl and Brenda had a real ding dong of a battle on the steps of Brendas flat. Reports from onlookers and Gadge (more of him later) said that Beryl certainly came off the better. Good on yeah lass!! Brenda never, or very rarely made arrangements to see her children throughout all of the time Beryl and I were together . I admit I did not encourage, nor discourage, them to see her. Beryl often made remarks upon this fact Most of the time Beryl was like an angel she was a perfect partner, I could not have wished for a better more beautiful partner, my demeanour probably not so. But on occasions, just for a day or so, she was horrible to live with. We would have an augment about some trivial thing but because I wouldnt let the problem affect me, probably it made Beryl even angrier. I would walk out of the room to avoid further discussion but she would follow me. Fine Id say if you want to be in this room Ill go into another. With that I would move out of the room. But sure as not Beryl would follow wanting to continue with the problem. Each time I moved out of the room she would follow. I now realise that I handled the situation rather wrongly. Instead of dismissing her points out of hand and ignoring her I should have listened, even though I did not agree to her point, and pretended to understand. One particular time this happened and I had been in every room in the house with Beryl following me and I eventually lost my temper and grabbed her by the shoulders and bellowed. Leave me alone and without thinking, shook her. Unfortunately her head slumped back and cracked a pane of glass in a door. Another time exactly the same thing happened and I pushed her away with the effect that the flat of my hand brushed her nose and it began to bleed. I am not proud that the last two events happened and the last thing that anyone can call me is a bully, brainless yes, but people do stupid things in the heat of the moment and, I am not perfect, only truly sorry. Its easy, now with hindsight, to understand the errors of my ways but as they say youth is wasted on the young. And although I was not young at the time I certainly was not old. In the early stages of our relationship (20-Apr-1969) we had a son, Richard. He wasnt planned but he was a welcomed addition into our family. At only a few months old it was a great shock find he was a victim of cot death during the night. A post mortem certified that Otis Medina was the cause of death. I think Ive spelt it correct but it layman terms it means a serious infection of the ear. There was nothing that either of us could have done to prevent such a tragic event. I tried to react stoically whilst Beryl, understandingly reacted hysterically. I took comfort in the fact that Richard was buried next to my mother in the Cottingly cemetery, Leeds. It was after Richard that I realised I did have true feeling for Beryl and we tried in earnest to have another child and after about two years we managed to produce a son. Lee John Edward. John after my father and Edward after Beryls. Lee was a very strong and healthy boy. A year after, although unplanned but most certainly welcome, we produced another boy Christian Jack Trevor. Beryl and I agreed on Christians first two fore names and she went to register him. Afterwards whilst reading the birth certificate I realised that she had added another fore name unbeknown to me, Trevor. I lost my cool I admit. I felt that she had gone behind my back and I was frustrated because I could not alter it. I had a problem calling him Trevor, I still have. Again Christian was a healthy son to be proud of. Between Richards death and Lees birth Beryl and I married I considered my relationship with Beryl as a quite happy one, not perfect but a lot happier than most. Beryl on the other hand seemed always to be searching for something, if you asked her what she probably wouldnt be able to tell you.

Beryl was not content, she hankered, if thats the word, to be back living down South. Many times she would ask that we all relocate to live down in the outskirts of London. I being Middleton bred definitely refused even to consider it. Probably that was the beginning of the end she often visited her sister, Ursula and brother in law Trevor, theres that name again. After ten years together and without going into much detail Beryl and I agreed a split. She approached the council and was soon given a council house. It was agreed that Lee and Christian would live with their mother. I impressed upon them that they now had two homes one with their mother and one with me. I tried to assure them that they were better off that others with only one home. Being young and not fully understanding the point they probably agreed. So I was now a single man again. From the first day of separation I arranged, with the consent of Beryl, that I would pick up my two sons from school. I would feed and entertain them until it was time to take them home for bed. After a year or so of this they asked that they be allowed to live with me permanently. I readily agreed provided Beryl gave her consent. It was further decided that they live with their mum of a weekend. This arrangement was fully acceptable to me, during the week I was a father and protector and at the weekend I was a single man. I now had the best of both worlds. Unlike my first wife who very rarely took the trouble of seeing her two sons Stephen and David, Beryl never let her two sons down, always being there for them. She still is very close to them, as they are to her. Beryl and I may have had our differences but we have never, to my knowledge, disagreed about our two sons welfare, they always came first in any discussions. Both graduated from university, Lee in Engineering, he now lives in Brisbane, Australia. He is happily married to Abigail, a chemist. They have two sons Toby and Lochlan. Christian graduated in Business studies and now lives and works in London. He retrained in IT and now has a very good and remunerable job within that field. Christian is to be married in August 2005 to a lovely lass called Kathleen, Kat for short. I feel as if he has chosen well. All the family are looking forward to their coming nuptials. An update is that Christian is now married to Kat and they have produced a fine boy called Amory who is now 18 months old. Kat is now expecting another baby in 3 months-time and has been officially told it is to be a girl. An update is that Kat did have a beautiful Baby Girl Named Elizabeth. Beautiful being the operative word.

Sixty Six

Leeds Market

After my dismissal from Securicor again I began looking round for employment. My father said Why not have a word with Stan? Stan P. worked in the Leeds wholesale fish market and was the transport manager for one of the major fish wholesalers. His job started at 4-30 am selling fish to retailers. He would take orders by phone or from a customer direct. Boxes of fish and the like would be loaded on to various vans and transported to the retailers outlet or shop. I had worked for Stan P. a few times before whilst in the army. If I came home on a fortnights leave I would work the last week to earn extra cash. To cut a long story short Stan was approached and he told me to start the following Monday. I felt that van driving was a lowering of my employment standards but any port in a storm. I decided that the job would be a put me on job until something better presented itself. When I had settled down domestically the Civil Police service was always an option. I settled quite easily into the van driving job and was assigned the Harrogate district. There were three other drivers doing differing routes I soon settled in to my route as I had done pretty much the same whilst moonlighting during Army leave. On the second day and after my Harrogate rounds Stan handed me a whole fresh Salmon weighing in at least twenty pounds (9 kgs) and instructed to take it to Euro foods on Chapletown Road. When I asked for the delivery docket he replied not on this job. Ali knows how much it is and if he pays you, take it and bring it to me directly. With that he gave me a nod and walked off. I duly delivered the package and Ali did pay me two five pound notes. When I delivered these to Stan he tipped me a ten shilling note. Quite a nice tip in those days. Most days after my rounds I took dodgy deliveries for Stan. Sometimes I received a tip from Stan sometimes not, but I was not one to complain. At one fishmongers shop in Harrogate that I delivered to I often was given a cup of tea whilst the deliveries were checked. The assistants and I often chatted about this and that. On one occasion I was asked generally about myself. I was always willing to talk about my Army service and being an Ex-Military policeman. I also mentioned that I was a qualified Physical Training Instructor. One of the assistants said there was a Job vacancy at the Pannal Ash Civilian Police Training College advertised in Yesterdays Yorkshire Evening Post. Do you still have the Paper? I asked. A quick rummage in the dustbin revealed the Paper. Sure enough there was an advertisement for the recruitment of a civilian Physical Training Instructor. I tore the ad out and said that I would apply for the post and promised to keep them informed. One door close and another door opens as they say. I duly applied for the position and a few weeks later a letter arrived inviting me to attend an interview. The Police training Centre at Pannal Ash, Harrogate is set in large spacious grounds. The building itself is very large and impressive and overlooks all of the countryside around. It had been once the home of a very rich industrialist. There were about twelve applicants and we all waited in a small ante-room in turn for interview. The interview in its self was quite daunting. I entered a very large banqueting type room with a very large Oak polished table around which sat eight men and two women. Four of the men were in Police Uniform with the badges of rank that I now know to be Chief Constables. I was invited to sit on a small chair away from the table and I felt very insecure. Probably my seating arrangement was not by chance but I was welcomed by the Chief Civil Servant secretary I now know to be Mr Evans..

Earlier I had handed in a hand written paper of my past qualifications and work experiences. Unlike now, in those days CVs were not as common as they are today. Looking back my hand written rsum was very amateurish but I subsequently found out that I was the only one who had troubled to put pen to paper. It was explained to me that in all Training centres there is a Sergeant Police Instructor training Recruits; the home office had decided to see if a civilian instructor could do the same job thus freeing a Police Officer to do the job he was trained for. It sounded logic to me. I explained that I had been to the Hendon Police Training Centre on a course of Police Holds and Self Defence and roughly understood the setup of a P.T.I. in a civil establishment. My CV was handed to each in turn and questions were asked upon it. I felt quite confident in answering all of the questions. One lady interviewee asked me about my marital status. I had prepared myself for the question knowing full well that divorce or separation was frowned upon, my past job at Securicor told me that. I answered quite truthfully that I had been married over ten years and that I had a two sons. It wasnt actually a lie but only a portion of the truth. The secretary said that the successful applicant could be allocated one of the many semi-detached houses that were built on the side of the driveway, built specially for married Instructors. I intimated that as I had just bought recently a bungalow I would prefer to commute to and from Leeds. A final question was asked by the Chief Constable of Leeds. Why do you think you can do the job that has been described to you? My reply was that I had done a similar job at the Military Police Training Establishment for almost three years and I knew that I had been successful. The upshot of it all was that at the end of the day I was told that the job was mine if I wanted it: Which I did. Two weeks later I walked up the long drive of the training school to begin my first day.

Sixty Seven

Civil Police Training College

On the 3rd of January 1968 I took up the post of Staff Instructor of Physical education at the Police Training College. Sergeant Evans was the PTI that I was to replace. He was very likeable and had an effervescent character. Over the next two weeks he showed me the rounds. Training Civil Police recruits was much like training Military police recruits. My part of their training was to get them fit for the job that they had signed up for. I easily settled down into the job. Much of the difference from past experiences lay in the fact that now I supervised classes of around 60 to 65 recruits rather than around 20 to 25 soldiers.. As well as fitness training my job entailed instruction in Self-defence in relation to Police holds as well as 2 periods of swimming for each class twice a week. The Instruction period at that time for a civilian Police recruit was 12 weeks training. New Squads were formed every 4 weeks which meant that there were 3 squads at any time in training, usually, as Ive said of, between 60 to 65 recruits. Every Month a squad of recruits passed out of training and returned to their respective forces and on pass-out day part of my duties was to organised a physical display for visiting dignities and relations of the recruits that were passing out. Physical training for the senior squad (last 4 weeks of training) mainly consisted of rehearsing the passing out Physical Display. I took great pains to put on as an impressive display as possible. This involved showing a few minutes of a typical PT lesson the a showing of Police Holds interspersed with Judo Then A Log session showing coordination of teamwork with telephone sized logs of wood. With a lot of work from the students quite Spectacular exhibitions could be shown. Most visiting dignities and chief constable would send letters to the commandant thanking him on a fine passing out parade. Most often than not the chief constable of which ever force took the parade would especially congratulate me on a fine display. Such times I felt really good at my job and I make no apologies for boasting that I was Wednesday afternoons, as in the army, was an afternoon of sport. Most recruits could choose which sport they wanted to participate in. In this the other instructors joined in the organisation of individual sports. Rugby, Football, Boxing, Tennis, Swimming, Athletics were just a few of the sports organised.

Every 3 months the establishment would hold an exhibition of sport. In Winter it would be a boxing evening, in Summer an athletics meeting in Autumn a swimming Gala and in Spring field sports A few weeks before the sports occasion I would have to organise participants and this had to be done in overtime. I would work over from 6pm to 9pm on 3 evenings a week because without preparation and attention to detail these events can appear very amateurish. Again many dignitaries would be invited; Chief constables lord Mayors, Magistrates MPs and the like. Again I was sent many thanking letters for a good professional show. An incident comes to mind that happened during preparations for a coming Swimming Gala. I had already prepared lists of swimmers for inter class competitions in backstroke, freestyle, breaststroke races and the like and part of my job was to coach the student in swimming faster. I had earlier decided to introduce a little light entertainment during the coming gala races. I had borrowed about fifty aluminium dinner plate separating rings from the cookhouse. I halted swimming training one evening and instructed the students on the rules to the new event. I scattered at random the separators on the bottom of the pool and told all competitors that when their turn came they could take just one minute to survey the randomness of the rings and then decide a swim route round the floor of the pool. They could dive in any point round the pool retrieving as many separators as they could before surfacing I decreed that when all volunteers had had a turn then six students who collected the most rings would then compete proper at an event during the coming gala. All was going well as each trainee scooped the metal rings from the bottom and slid them on their arm before going on to get another one. One of the students who took part was a Welshman aptly called Taffy Watkins. Taffy was not particularly a strong physical person but what he lacked in ability he made up for in determination. He had the proverbial heart like a lion and always tried that little harder than others who were more physically competent. Taffy dived in and began swimming underwater collecting the rings. All eyes were watching his progress and counting each ring as he redeemed them. His number at that point was enough to get him in the finals and he had been underwater quite a long time. Suddenly he stopped swimming and we all assumed he was looking round to spot another separator. All happened in a few milliseconds of time before, as a group, we realised that Taffy was in difficulties and the rings collected were holding him on the bottom of the pool. I ordered two students to dive in and save him. They brought him to the side and I hauled him out of the water. He was not breathing. I immediately began the manual Schafer method of artificial respiration. And luckily after a few pressures to his chest he spluttered and began breathing on his own. I placed him into a three quarter prone recovery position and ordered a stretcher to be prepared in case he had a relapse. He didnt.

The main reason why I remember the incident was that earlier in the month I had instructed this class in Artificial Respiration. I had lectured on the deferent methods of Artificial Respiration. The Mouth to Mouth and mouth to Nose Method and also the two manual, Sylvester and Shaffer physical techniques. I instructed them that the manual methods would only be used in cases where a close seal with a patients mouth or nose could not be obtained. But in strictly all other cases the mouth to mouth method should be used. The point I make is that on my resuscitation of Taffy a perfect mouth to mouth seal could have been obtained but, without thinking and by second nature, I had used a manual Shaffer method. No student later queried my action but I often wondered if any of them noticed my obvious mistake. I thoroughly enjoyed my job and when I was at work I immersed myself 100 per-cent. My only problem with working at Pannal Ash, Harrogate was the distance I had to travel each morning and night. It was over 35 miles each way and travelling put two to two and a half hours on my day. As I have said I was offered a house on the Academy drive and it certainly would have made my job easier but I was separated from Brenda and at that time separation and divorce was still frowned upon. In fact every month on the evening before passing out a dance would be held; of course I was, along with every other member of the instruction staff and their wifes were expected to attend. In the beginning I attended alone but was asked by the commandant why I did not bring my wife he would love to meet her. I made some excuse about her being shy and said probably next time. The next time I spoke to Brenda I told her about my problem and how important my job was, she said she would accompany me to the next with no strings attached. I introduced Brenda to all the important people of the college To all intents and purposes it appeared to all that we were happily married I hated every minute of the evening. I wanted my wife at back at my side but as my wife and not as a convenience. By this time I was living at 2 Throstle Place, Middleton with Beryl and I certainly could not let this information be known to the commandant of the college. I l told the powers that be that my wife was a shy person and felt uncomfortable in crowds. I was therefore able to attend the formal dinners and dances alone. At times I sneaked Beryl in unbeknown to anyone It was not an ideal situation but.. I had been working at Pannal Ash for over twenty two months when the home office sent a representative to examine and audit the college books. As Ive said I was a civil servant. And so my salary along with all others was under revue. I was called in to the secretarys office, Mr Evans, who informed me that the auditor had enquired why I was being paid overtime. I was supposed to be salaried and therefore on a fixed income. I explained to the secretary that my agreed hours were from 8-30am to 4-30pm but at least twice a week I would have to take the last class starting at 4-40 meaning I did not leave the premises until at least 5-30pm. Other times I would be organising events Boxing Swimming etc. and that entailed working until 9pm I said if they dont want to pay overtime then I would take time off in lieu. He said he would explain my circumstances to the powers that be but didnt hold much hope. A few weeks later he told me that the home office had decreed that I was salaried and no overtime could be paid. It seemed that a mistake had been made in my contrary of employment and as a salaried person I could not be paid overtime. My reaction was that for almost two years I had been paid overtime and that constituted a contract but if that is how they wanted it; that was Ok. Ill work my designated hours but no more. He tried to reason with me that I must still do the job as I had been doing it. I said no, I wont. I felt so safe i n my employment for I had proved to all and sundry that I was good at my job they couldnt afford to sack me. I reiterated my stance on the subject and told Mr Evans that unless I was paid then no overtime would I do.

Mr Evans said that as far as the home office was concerned I was just a number and unless I obeyed their order then I would be out of a job. I remained adamant and said so. Two days later I was again called into the secretarys office. Mr Evans said that he had been directed by the home office to inform me that unless I obeyed their order I would have to resign. I really wasnt expecting this and replied that if the home office wanted me out of the job they would have to sack me because I had every intention of taking my case to law for unfair dismissal. I said that I would work until they could find a replacement but that I would not work overtime. Within the hour The Commandant had me in his office. He asked me to reconsider my position in that as Mr Evans had said, I was just a number to the home office just as he was. No single one is greater than the sum as he put it. I politely refused his request stating that my take home pay wasnt that good and if you take any overtime off I would be left very little. The commandant stressed that my services would be a loss to the college but said that the matter was out of his hands. He again asked me to reconsider, we shook hands and I left. By this time I had made up my mind that I was definitely leaving and again had a meeting with Mr Evans and told him so. By the end of the month a new Policeman PTI arrived. I left the Police training school the week before Christmas 1970 I had worked at the college for exactly two years. That same week I visited a solicitor and explained my case to him in that I had been unfairly dismissed and that I wanted to sue the home office in their breach of contract. He accepted my case and said I had a good chance of winning the legal action.

Sixty Eight

The Dole.

On leaving the police college I had decided that I would sign on the unemployment register, the dole. I reasoned that the longer I was out of work the more compensation I would ultimately receive.It just so happened that 1970 was a great summer and I enjoyed every minute of it.My very good friend George McAndrew, nicknamed Gadge (I never did find out why he was so nicknamed) was a window cleaner at the time and offered me to work with him. Two or three mornings a week we would get the ladders out and do a few windows. Gadge and I worked a few hours of a morning but then as lunch time came we repaired to the Thorpe pub and wouldnt come home until the pubs shut at three. It is at this point, looking back, that all though I thoroughly enjoyed that summer I am not proud of myself. I was rather selfindulgent. I hit on the idea that house painting was an easy skilled job and at each of the private house we window cleaned at we suggested to the owner that the paintwork was looking rather shabby and gave them a price for the outside woodwork to be done. It worked rather well and so we became painters and decorators. We graduated from there to repairing broken windows, gardening and soon we had to work every day of the week Six months after leaving the Police College my solicitor who was handling my case for wrongful dismissal, informed me that in essence I did not have a leg to stand on. He advised me to drop the action. He also stated that if I had left the college a month later than I did new employment laws had been passed and under those laws I would have stood a great chance of winning my case. On his advice I reluctantly did so Ce La Vie. In autumn of that year I realised that I had to get a proper job. I vested the employment offices to see what they had and they suggested with my Physical education qualifications that I might retrain as a Physiotherapist. But on further research I realised that it would entail four years of full time study and my only income would be a student grant. This was out of course. Swimming pool assistant manager was suggested but again the money wasnt too good. Eventually my brother Jim suggested that he might be able to get me a job roofing at the company that he worked for. I agreed and soon began working for Roy Roofing (Leeds) Ltd

Sixty Nine

Roofing.

'Auf weider sein Pet' (Germany 1994) Roy Roofing Ltd was a small company that employed about twenty. It was a well run company that specialised in built up felt roofs. To briefly describe a felt roof is that it is usually a flat timber roof base. Bitumen is heated up in a boiler until it is liquid. One Metre wide felt is positioned over the roof and then still in position is rolled back. Hot bitumen is then ladled onto the timber roof and the felt is then rolled out spreading out the hot liquid bitumen which adheres the felt to the roof. Two or three layers of felt is applied in this way hence the term Built up felt roofing I soon settled into a daily eight to five work patterns although I had never worked on building sights before, and certainly not on high roofs, but all in all I enjoyed my period of employment with Roy Roofing. After about six months I realised that built up felt roofing is basically only a semi-skilled job and with a little outlay one could set up a small roofing company of ones own. I asked Jimmy, my brother if he was interested in being self-employed. He was very interested. I , sorry my ex-wife and I, had just finalised selling our two properties, the Victorian house in Holbeck and the bungalow in Middleton. We both ended up losing the only winners were the solicitors handling our respective cases. I agreed with Jimmy that I would deposit 250 into a joint account in the Yorkshire bank. I wrote letters too many building companies in the Leeds area introducing our newly formed company. Work came in very slowly and money was very tight. I dealt with the paperwork and Jimmy was the more experienced roofer, being in the game most of his working life. Work at first was very slow in coming in but slowly we began building up contact and contracts. We made a lot of mistakes but we also climbed a lot of hurdles. I could see a future in the company Gale Bros. (Leeds) but it was not to be. To cut a long story short Jim and I had a falling out over procedure and we split the building contacts up and went our own ways. For the next 20 years or so I was self-employed. I made some decent money and I made some poor money but all in all being self-employed is more satisfying than being employed. In 1992 brother Jim and I, although we had made up our differences, and were still selfemployed were find incoming work was hard to get. A mate mentioned to us that there was plenty of building work to be had in Germany. I rang a contact number and arrangements were made for us to go to Neustadt in Germany to take up 6 weeks work. We made some good money during the 6 weeks and after a month at home returned for a further 5 weeks. Some good and bad times were had but we were well paid for it and it made a welcome change.

Seventy

A Single Man Again.

1980 and I was now a single man again. Well I was still married but separated and two children to bring up, but I felt single, especially at weekends when Lee and Christian visited their mother. I had no responsibilities; well for a couple of days at least, I could please myself. One thing I was certain in my mind was that never again would I enter into a serious relationship. A long time ago when I was about eighteen old mining friend of once gave me some advice: Why buy a book when you can join a library. I didnt fully understand what he meant at the time, in those days one night stands were unheard of. I now decided that was the life for me. Trouble was it didnt quite work out that way, I found that the ones I fancied I couldnt get and the ones I could get I didnt fancy. That last sentence was not strictly true. I met a young, very beautiful, lady called Sheila. I say young because she was 26 years old, (12 years younger than I) We instantly hit it off together and I escorted her on and off, for about 8 years. We had some great times together but I was unable to commit myself to the permanent relationship that Sheila yearned for. We produced a son called John. Who, now, with his partner Leanne have produced 2 further grandchildren Jac & Lewis. They have a loving relationship and they are bringing their children up in a very loving environment. Of a weekend the Thorpe Hotel was my second home I met all my old acquaintances and friends there. One day I suggested that we organise a mens trip and it was met with some enthusiasm. The landlord Tommy Mannion suggested that we have a meeting and form a committee to decide coming events. This was done and I was elected foremen and he the treasurer. It was proposed and decided that we have a mini holiday somewhere abroad in six months time. For six months we ran domino cards around the club and collected savings for the trip. It was decided to go to Majorca for four days. I wont go into detail about the mini break but it was highly successful. On our return we decided to organise another mens holiday and this time for the festival week in Benidorm. Thus began our annual outing to Benidorm and for the next sixteen years we, for a week, lived without a care in the world The festival week in Benidorm is like no other place Ive been. That week most that go there is either single or married pretending to be single. Its like being eighteen again everyone is intent on having a good time. The annual trip to Benidorm in 1997 is notable for one very good reason, I met Elaine.. Elaine had been recently widowed and to help get over her loss a very good friend of hers, Gillian urged her to go with her on their annual trip to Benidorm. She didnt really know many of the lasses but she agreed to go. To begin with she was like a fish out of water she didnt know how to let her hair down and go with the flow. She always seemed to be on the outside of the revelry.

On the Friday night, the last night of our holiday, I just happened to be sat alongside of Elaine in Steptoes in the outside bar. At one point I asked her to dance and the dance was so unlike all the other daces Ive had with many different partners. It felt so easy to be in her company. A thoroughly enjoyable experience. On our return to the table with all the others I began, or should I say, we began talking. Ask me what about and I cannot tell you because I dont know. It was a conversation as if wed known each other for years. The others lads and lasses made plans to go to another bar which was as usual but Elaine and I remained seated. We were enjoying our conversation and being in each others company. Soon we were alone. There was no sexual chemistry present, or should I say neither of us was trying to get off with the other, it was just nice being with someone you liked. We stayed there until about four in the morning, just talking. All things must come to an end, and we parted with me regretting not meeting Elaine earlier in the week. The very next year I made a beeline for Elaine, for I wanted more of the same that Id had the year earlier. To cut a long story short we both had a great time. I was not looking for a serious relationship not because I didnt fancy Elaine, I did, but I felt that I was too old for her me being 13 years her senior.

Seventy One

Elaine.

On Valentines Day 1998 I received a valentines card from Elaine. It was a surprise and most welcome. I sent her a letter back thanking her for it and casually mentioned that I might be travelling to Tyneside to pick up a computer that was being repaired. The computer repair, although not a lie was not strictly true. I was just testing the water to see how Elaine would react to my visiting her. She replied that a visit would be most welcome. After a telephone call it was arranged that, rather me travelling to Geordie land, Elaine would pick me up in Leeds City Square and we would travel to Whitby for the weekend. We both enjoyed a wonderful time but the weekend passed too quickly and so we arranged that I travel up to her home in Northumberland on the next weekend. I could hardly wait. Our relationship was so natural. That next weekend began a courtship that lasted well over a year. We visited each others home on alternate weekends, never missing once. Although at the beginning neither of us was looking for a serious relationship it soon became obvious that that was the way our friendship was heading. At that time I was sub-contracting for Garforth Roofing the proprietor being called Alan. When I told him of how our relationship was progressing he advised me to be careful. Because hed not had many good relations with females, he warned that women were the downfall of men and that in his opinion I would soon become under Elaines spell and would soon be at her bidding. Often as Im washing up and ironing I think of how wrong he was. Im happy I like to believe he was warning me off just so that he could retain my services. It got to the point that my I was only living my life for the weekends. During the week I went to work as usual, but my thoughts were only of the coming weekend. We both discussed our living together me with her or her with me. I realised that she would miss her family too much if she came to live in Leeds with me. Whereas I, by now lived alone, my two sons were at university and son John with his mother there was very little to hold me back. A decision was made and I came to Northumberland to live. With the help of Elaines contacts I set myself up as a roofing contractor. Work was as in Leeds I had too much or not enough. I had been living in Northumberland for bout Six months when, Johns mum, Sheila contacted us and the eventual outcome was that John came up to stay with us for the duration. We

enrolled him in the local school and at first seemed contented enough, for a teenager that is. Though he never seemed really happy Elaine and I slowly realised that he was homesick for his mum. Soon after he completed his GCSEs he returned to Leeds to live with his mum. He is now settled with his partner Leanne and they have a one year old baby Jak. No not a misprint. An update is that they now have a further son called Lewis. Theirs is a very happy and loving family. As Ive already suggested self-employed work was sometimes thin on the ground. During one spell Elaine and I visited the local Employment offices to see what was available. An advertisement caught our eyes. It was from a film casting agency wanting extras for a coming film. We both filled out questionnaires and sent them off. Work then returned so we thought no more about the applications. I received a letter from the casting agency inviting me to contact them as they had work for extras on a film being made in the Newcastle area. I replied in the affirmative and arrangements were made that I attend at an address in Easington, county Durham. I attended and found out that the film was largely about the 1980s miners strike. I became part of a crowd of miners protesting to the polices bullying tactics. All in all, a long day with little interest to me. Of the 9 hours on site only a few minutes were we actually doing something. I didnt really want to go the following day because of my lack of interest but because I had agreed to go I did. The second day was set in Newcastle city itself. There were about a hundred extras congregated in the Gallowgates bus station car park all waiting for someone to tell them what to do. Two faces in suits, who I found out later to be the casting agents, were looking over our motley crew. One of them pointed to me and the other nodded in agreement. They approached and told me that, with my agreement, they wanted me for an extra assignment. I agreed and was then driven off into the centre of Newcastle. There, in a side street was a film and camera crew all set up. I was introduced to the director Roger Daldry who I found was a true gentleman. He asked me if I knew anything about the film. I answered no. He then went on to explain the synopsis of the film being made. Its working title was The Dancer and was about a boy, called Billy, who growing up in a mining village during the pit strike of 1980 who secretly wanted to be a ballet dancer. His father who, when he found out about his sons ambitions, was infuriated and refused to accept his son as a dancer. The scene about to be played was that Billys father, who was short of money, had decided to visit a pawnbroker to pledge some of his late wifes jewellery. My role in this scene was that I was a miner collecting donations from members of the public who supported the Miners Strike. I was to ask for a donation from Billys father who being a miner himself, had no money to donate. To cut a long story short in the film, later to be called Billy Elliot I was part of a scene taken outside of the pawnbrokers office, in Pink lane, Newcastle which even for a few brief seconds the camera was directly on me. My only claim to international fame! Below is a still photo.

My transition from being a Leeds Lioner to becoming a Geordie came very easy. I had already known many people living here, so settling in came quite easy. Elaine and I have been together for about seven years now and, I think I can speak for us both, we are very happy. We continue to go to Benidorm and enjoy the lively atmosphere but now neither of us is looking for anyone or anything else. There will be no more additives to this autobiography: (I wrote this line earlier but life is and will constantly change so I'm writing about the change and will update ASAP) To bring the reader as little more up to date Elaine & I have been together for over 12 years now and plan to wed (my 3rd) in June 2009 (next year) In our lives together we have been Market stall holders and pub licensee's and at present we are now retired our lives are far from over. We both look forward to tomorrow. (In fact we are now looking at taking over our local pub.) I am now in my 73nd year (Elaine 60) and still going very strong. I remember, and live up to, the old pit saying "I can run, FXXX or fight anyone under 9 and over 90". We now live on a holiday trailer park and from our front door can throw a stone into the sea. Well, when the tides in that is. Our plan is to live here during the spring and summer and Autumn months and spend the winter abroad. We LOVE!!!! it Ive had some up some downs, some high and some lows but all in all, looking back Ive had more ups than downs and more highs than lows. At this point in time I realise that, due to my happy upbringing largely due to my mother and father, I am a reasonably rounded person. Ive had a very good life, certainly better than most and very few have had better. If I were not an atheist I would thank god for such a good, happy and varied life.

The End
(well not quite yet!!) PS. Elaine & I married on the 1st of April 2010 & We LOVE!!!! it