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Thursday the 4th of February is a day well remembered, when a new chapter in my life was born. Having said good-bye to my mam and dad, Valerie my girl friend came to see me off at Barrow railway station. At the time I did not really want her to see me off, but still it was nice of her to come. As the train pulled out tears welled in her lovely eyes, a scene that must have been enacted many thousands of times over the generations. I was determined to keep my cool and give it my best shot, just the same as my brother Frank had done five years previously. On the train down to Preston with Geoff Stubbs, we met up with another Barrow lad I knew named Les Lowther, he was also going to Fulwood Barracks and it was like birds of the feather sticking together. Our train arrived at Preston about 2.30pm, on the station platform, were other lads carrying small cases and along with me looking quite apprehensive to say the least. Standing outside the station entrance by an army lorry was a corporal, with a very loud voice he was shouting, “ anyone for Fulwood Barracks.” Soon eight new recruits were climbing into the back of the lorry. When it was my turn, I nearly touched a blancoed belt, which was hanging down from the frame of the lorry. A private who was with the corporal shouted out in a nasty voice, “ don’t touch that belt, I want to keep it clean!” Not knowing at the time, but finding out later when you are a lot wiser, that these type of soldiers who make pitiful excuses, so they can get home postings. I have a term for them and that is, “ bull shitters!” The truck did not take long before it arrived at the barracks. Passing through an archway before stopping by the side of a large square, we were all given a brief lecture, then allotted our barrack rooms, mine was Mons platoon, Room five, G passage. The rest of the day it was all go, with a corporal taking us to the Quarter- masters store, first for all our bedding including mattresses then returning for two pairs of khaki denims, beret underpants, vests, trainers and PT shorts. Also a great coat, tin helmet, mess tins, pint mug, and webbing, not forgetting all eating utensils, these were all put in a large kit bag and signed for. At the time we were not allowed battle dress uniforms, until we were all capable of wearing them to army standard and that would be in a few weeks time, which to me seemed an eternity. Once all our army equipment was issued, we were told to change into khaki denims and shirt etc. All civilian clothes had to be packed up and put away out of sight. Some of the other lads must have arrived much earlier as they were already changed into their khaki denims. No one bar the corporal said a word, as each and everyone absorbed his strange new surroundings. The room was about thirty five by eighteen feet long; eight beds were spaced evenly and certainly military fashion around the room. A fireplace was opposite the door and so obviously, the beds were dividely spaced each side of the room. Each recruit had a large steel locker at the side of his bed, which had ample room to take all his kit. At the end of each bed stood a wooden boot box come table, which was about two feet high by eighteen inches wide. What was most noticeable about the room was the cleanliness and in particular the shiny floor. It was like walking on a mirror, and seeing it, is too believe it. In the next ten weeks, I would soon discover why the room was so clean and shiny. In our room, which was number five in G passage, only seven beds were taken up, because some recruit had not turned up, for reasons I didn’t know. The lads who shared my billet were Eric Shaw from Ashton under Lyne; Jim Prince from Moss Side Manchester, Les Sallis and Jim Pearson from Lancaster, Mick Maher from Liverpool and a lad named Robinson from Bury. Although a decent sort of lad, Robinson found it difficult in the infantry and was later transferred to the Pioneer Corps. Having all introduced ourselves, it didn’t take long before we were like long lost friends, just as the saying goes,” Birds of the feather flock together.” Once changed into the denims, which were new and very stiff to say the least and to be quite honest, we all looked like bags of shit tied in the middle. When issued the black berets were not shrunk and when worn, were similar to long playing records, I am sure they would have kept our shoulders dry when it rained. Absolutely nothing fitted correct, because as you are aware we were not getting fitted out at Burtons! Early evening, the corporal in charge took us all down to the to the NAAFI canteen, we must have looked a pretty picture and I am sure this was a ploy by the corporal. Other soldiers not in our platoon, who we came into contact with, had similar smiles on their face. It is only after one has been in the forces a month and see a new intake arrive, that you understand how funny one looks, when wearing the khaki denims for the first time and then of course it is your turn too smile. I met two Barrow lads I knew in the NAAFI that night, they were Gordon Smith and Ken Lavender, and they had been called up a month earlier to join the Loyal Regiment. Even though these two lads had only been in the army a month more than myself, they seemed at the time to be two old sweats and this was not for what they said, it was for the way they looked. Each batch of recruits depending on how long you had been in the army, were so much smarter than the next batch and so forth. It was just a case of settling in that first day, without having any undue pressure put on any one of us. In my opinion, all the many films shown about horrors on ones first day in the army, is just a load of rubbish, but it was definitely the calm before the storm. The rest of the night before lights out, was spent talking to my fellow recruits, who may I add were a grand set of lads. Although Geoff Stubbs and I were in the same platoon, he was billeted across the landing. Geoff also seemed to be settling in quite well, which of course was pleasing, because if there was a problem, there was always someone you knew near at hand to confide in. As for Les Lowther, he was in the rival platoon named Arroya. Having a rival platoon in Basic training, is the army way of bringing the best out of you, in striving to beat the rival platoon and believe me it works It felt odd being away from home that first, obviously feeling a little unsettled, I seemed to be awake a considerable time, trying to come to terms with the unknown world that lay ahead. My thoughts drifted off to the time, when as a ten year old boy in the Methodist cubs, I went on my first and last camp. The camp was only for the weekend, but after one rainy night living in a tent, on the outskirts of Ulverston, I got home sick. No doubt missing my mam’s food and the comforts of home, I made my mind up that camping was not the life for me and I was going to do a bunk. When no one was about, I packed up my clothes etc. in a kit bag and made a beeline for home. Running across the fields as fast as my legs could carry me, the cub masters had got wind of me leaving and had set off in hot pursuit closely followed by a large noisy cub pack, trying to head me off. Even though I carried a large kit bag, the noisy chasing pack could not catch me up, because of the determination to get home, made me run that little bit faster. I made it to the bus stop at Tudor Square Ulverston completely out of breath, but my luck was in as a bus was just leaving for Barrow. Smugly I gave a wave and a smile, as the bus passed the pursuing, puffing, red faces of cub masters and the cheering cub pack. On my arrival home, my parents gave me a good telling off, but later as usual in the Parkinson household, they saw the funny side of it all. As I grew older, My parents would often bring the episode up in family gatherings, to every ones amusement and my embarrassment. There was no way I was going to run away from Fulwood Barracks; that is for sure! A boyhood hero of mine had been down this road many years before, during the Second World War. He was my mam’s brother Bill Flockton who lived in Leeds. A very tough and handsome man, he served in the London Scottish Regiment, in the Middle East and the Italian campaign including the battle for Mount Cassino. He was born and raised in the Easy Road part of Leeds, when times were hard and like the thousands of his fellow countrymen, he went off to war when his country called. He was a hero to me then and although deceased many years now, my Uncle Bill is still a hero to me now. Glancing round the darkened barrack room, with shadows alien to my past, I felt very content that I was in such a fine company of men, who were going to play a large part in my future life. With this contentment in my mind, I drifted off into a deep sleep. |
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