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I never wrote and told my parents, about my illness and of being in hospital, but I did write to my sister Jean, telling her basically what had happened to me. I did this in case my mother found out from other sources of information and if that was so, Jean could and did explain it to them. One of the things you learn very quickly in the army, do not cause worry and stress to mams and dads, whatsoever. The camp at Buea was far superior to all the other army camps in the Cameroons and it was here at Buea, where (C) and (HQ) Company were stationed. The billets for all troops were made up of long rows of huts, made of corrugated aluminum sheeting. Each row was partitioned off into rooms with beds, to take three or four soldiers. All the rooms had a door and quite large ventilation come window flaps and unlike Bamenda Camp not a tent in sight. The cookhouse, dining mess and naafi were again quite good and although the lads at Buea didn’t appreciate this, I am quite sure they would have done if they had known what Bamenda Camp was like. As all ex-rank and file soldiers know, camps that house the battalion (HQ), also breeds the inevitable bullshit and Buea was most definitely a bullshit camp. There are in all camps, a small minority of NCOs and Officers who thrive on bullshit. These kinds of soldiers did not have a clue when it came to the ins and outs of leading men and proper soldiering, because they would rather see a stone painted white, than the welfare of the squaddy. When leading patrols in the bush, their decisions and performance as leaders, was completely useless and gained no respect whatsoever. Thankfully, for the regiment’s sake, they were well and truly in the minority, because other Officers and NCOs of the Kings Own Border Regiment were worthy of the respect earned and given. The Camp at Buea although built well up an hillside, it was over shadowed by Mount Cameroon, which at 13, 800 feet is the third highest mountain in all Africa. Quite often the summit of the mountain was shrouded in cloud and mist, but when it was clear, the mountain looked and was, a formidable sight. The scenery can be quite breath taking, when viewed from a great height and the view from Buea Camp was no exception. The great poet Wordsworth, who in his famous poem The Daffodils, wrote. “A flash upon the inward eye, which is the bliss of solitude.” Those words of wisdom, sums up the spectacular scenery observed from Buea Camp. I had been (HQ) Company runner for three days, when CSM. Marsh asked me if I could help him out with a problem. It would not have made any difference to what reply I gave, because I still would have had to do it, but saying all that, CSM Marsh was a good bloke and I didn’t mind doing him a favour! The job in question, was temporary Batman to the Officer Commanding (HQ) Company, a Major Nash. Apparently the Major’s original Batman, had got himself into some form of trouble outside the camp and ended in the Buea Camp jail. Even though he had been the Major Nash’s Batman for a long time and had got him released out of nick without any charges brought against him, but the circumstances, forced the Major to get rid of him. Ironically the Major’s ex-Batman came to see me, and said he was glad to get away from the Major and only stayed with him, because his wife had been kind to him back at Barnard Castle. Obviously a little bit of sour grapes, because if it hadn’t been for Major Nash, he could have spent fourteen days in the army nick. I reported for duty early next morning and met for the first time Major Nash. He was over six feet tall with a full head of dark hair and had a broad Moustache, much in similar appearance to the now infamous Lord Lucan and I must say he certainly looked the part of a British officer, but most definitely from a different era. In England, I would be expected to clean and iron his clothes, equipment and billet etc, but in the Cameroons, it was totally different. Local native women were employed for the officers, to do all their washing and ironing, while other native women were employed to do all their housework. I just had to clean his Sam Brown belt, boots and other minor jobs of unimportance. This went on for a about a fortnight and obviously not taking to kindly to being somebody’s skivvy, I ducked and dived, in other words kept out of the way. I kept constantly going to the (HQ) Company office, to see when I would be shipped back to Bamenda and always I received the same excuses. They were certainly getting fed up of me going, but I was just getting fobbed off and I was equally determined to get back to my mates in Bamenda. The corporal in charge of (HQ) Company office was a real fuss arse. Whenever I set foot in the office, he would always look at my puttees; to see if they were put on regimentally, and with a southern false swanky voice, always made a snide comment. It certainly would have done him a world of good, if he had been sent out on patrols and done a bit of real soldiering. It might have stopped him being an out and out plonker, which in everyone’s eyes he most certainly was. In writing that, he would probably have been a liability on patrols, because once a plonker always a plonker! The one consolation for me being at Buea Camp, was meeting Eric Shaw and Geoff Stubbs who were in (C) Company, that is when they were not patrolling the Delta regions. Other Barrow lads stationed at Buea who I knew quite well, were Brian Rook, Tony Hird and Tommy Swann and I must say it was great to see and talk to them. No matter where one goes in life, it is always comforting to see a friendly face from one’s hometown. One day out of the blue my large kit back arrived at the Company office with all my main equipment that had been left at Bamenda Camp during my illness. Thinking this was very strange; I made a beeline to see CSM Marsh in his office. He informed me, the job had been made permanent and if I had any complaints, to take it up with Major Nash. The CSM had no doubt let me down that was for sure, because he had not been honest with me from the outset. On seeing the Major in his billet, I asked him when I could return to Bamenda Camp as I didn’t want to be his Batman, he replied quite sternly, “ Parkinson stop bothering me. This is where you are and this is where you’ll be.” I thought to myself, I might be here, but you won’t get much out of me. All I wanted to do was to get back to Bamenda and join my platoon back on patrols. This was the second time I had been shanghaied into a job alien to my wants. Don’t get me wrong, this was an easy job that other soldiers liked to do, but I wasn’t the sort to enjoy it whatsoever. I had been well and truly conned, and I certainly didn’t relish, being down at Buea for the duration of my stay in the Cameroons. A week went by, when Major Nash unexpectedly said, “ Parkinson, you have got your wish! I am taking over command of Support Company in Bamenda and you’re going too.” Even though I detested the job of Batman, it was pleasing to know I was getting back to Bamenda. The officer’s laundry women at Buea were a very happy crowd, constantly chattering and laughing while doing their work. Every time I went anywhere near the women, one would make a comment, which was always followed by roars of laughter. Although trying to keep a straight face, I would also burst out laughing which went down well with the women. One day Major Nash’s laundry woman trapped me in a corner of the Major’s sleeping Quarters and said. “ I love you, I love you, I am your mother.” I have never moved so quick in my life and in my haste to get out I fell over outside the hut, to be met by a laughing cheering crowd of laundry women, who had congregated outside. I am quite positive they set me up and I am very honest to write, being set up that day by such a very happy crowd, was an unforgettable memory. The morning before we set off for Bamenda, the Major was in bed, still pissed from the night before. Half sloshed, he told me to go down to the cookhouse and get him some bacon and eggs. The cook at the Officers mess was as usual in a bad mood nastily said. “It’s too late, he can’t have any, because I’m cooking dinners now not breakfasts.” On reporting what the cook said, the Major snarled. “ Just go down there and tell him, I want bacon and eggs now!” The cook was as mad as hell, when I gave him Major Nash’s order, but reluctantly with a lot of swearing from a very high vocabulary, he cooked the breakfast. When finished, the cook just threw them on the plate and staring at me without saying a word, in his last act of defiance spat on top of the eggs. When I took them back to the Major, he said. “ That is better, in future when I ask the cook do something, he better bloody well do it.” With tongue in cheek, I said. “Yes Sir, he certainly will.” On the return to Bamenda Camp, the journey in the Landrover, because of the dry season, it was done in a day’s driving. I had to report to the Company Office and CSM Kershaw and as usual in his off handed official way he brought me to attention and said, “ Parkinson, no one gets away from me, not even you.” It was no good trying to explain that I wanted to get back to the Company, but being CSM Kershaw, he just didn’t want to know. I was with Major Nash for another six weeks before he was sent back to England on another posting. During that period of six weeks, I would accompany him on motor patrols visiting the various section of the Company. Part of this period of time was spent at one of the out stations, named Sante Customs. One day the Major went of into the hills on his own with a local native guide, looking for diamonds. During the course of the day, CSM Kershaw asked me where he was and on hearing my reply, he said. “ I hope he finds some, in the shape of a diamond headed cobra.” I thought that quite amusing coming from the CSM. One morning back at Bamenda Camp while waiting for Major Nash’s return to England. A European farmer came to the area, which housed the officers quarters, looking for Major Nash. He was directed to me, and I could sense straight away, that he was in a very bad temper. I couldn’t have cared less, but I still pointed out to the farmer, the Majors sleeping quarters, and I also knew he was trying to sleep off a bad hangover. The last I saw off the farmer, he was rushing into the Major’s quarters, I don’t know what happened, but I heard a lot of raised voices and as for me I beat a hasty retreat, with a broad smile on my face. I accompanied Major Nash to the RAF airstrip at Mamfe on his departure from the Cameroons. While there he asked me to Iron two nylon shirts, that he could wear alternatively on his journey home. I had to use a borrowed charcoal burning iron and of course the inevitable happened, I accidentally burned a large hole on one of the shirts. I just packed it up, and left his tent for good, but I ‘m certainly glad I wasn’t around on his flight home, when he came to change into it! The Major seemed unpopular to his fellow Officers and senior NCOs and to be quite honest, I did not like him either. His RAF plane flew out and I never saw him again.
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