a new challenge

A special end-of-month challenge for all you guys. There are various pics throughout the posts of this month. Ignoring the one for Bob's Boatyard on the 24th, there is always someone (or something) featured on the right hand side of each picture.

The numbers below correlate to the names of the people in the pictures, e.g. a '3' associated with Bob's picture gives a B. You have to figure out which picture the number relates to.

Substitute the numbers below for letters. One letter is used twice and is italicised.

Word One: 1, 2, 3, 4
Word Two: 2, 6
Word Three: 5
Word Four: 3, 4, 2, 1, 1, 5

First one with the right answer wins a fiver!

The simple life in Puttarpathi.

I've stayed in this village for a week now. It's the birthplace and residence of Sri Sathya Sai Baba. He's supposedly a human incarnation of the Hindu deity Krishna. (You can find out more by googling 'Puttarpathi'; there's plenty of sites with information about the place and Sai Baba (Swami).)

I spent the first couple of days in the Prashanti Nilayam Ashram. It's an accommodation complex with several worship areas. It is a big difference in lifestyle compared to London or even Bangalore.

For a start there's no television. No computer, no pubs/cinema/etc. There are places to get food and drink, but that's pretty much it. There's a very relaxed park-like atmosphere, which I liked. Once you walk outside the ashram though, it's back to the busy Puttarpathi streets and the outside world.

Right now I'm staying in a hotel just a stone's throw away from the ashram. So we can still go and observe the 'Darshan' prayers and see Swami in the afternoon. The hotel's great. I've already gone back to the summer routine of watchin TV and surfing the net lol. Not gambling much which is good :)

yak yak yak

Found someone at the poker table who uses an expression we all associate with Claire:

Bennyboi: "yak"

Lol.

stringing the days together

Have just returned from a mini-break to Leeds - one last look at Bungle before everyone moves out. Don't think I've ever eaten so many burgers in such a short period of time. I'm like that guy on 'Super Size Me'.

Thursday

This was an unnecessarily complicated day. Since, of course, we were out late at Fab, I hadn't had much sleep. By 7.45, I was up to help Dan move his stuff into Andy's current flat as the keys to his new place weren't released yet. After packing all his things into the car and sitting through Otley Road traffic, we arrived at Avtar on Brudenell Road to find that the ditzy girl in the office had failed to record the deposit receipts correctly, so we had to find Andy - no mean task, since he wasn't picking up his phone and not responding to texts. Without Andy's receipt for his deposit, there was nothing the ditzy girl could do, (is there ever?) so we returned to Bungle and unpacked all of Dan's stuff.

After sitting around for a while over coffee and card games, Andy eventually replied to Dan's messages. He agreed to meet us at Avtar later, so we got back in the car (leaving Dan's stuff behind) and drove there. It then transpired that the landlord of the new house still lives there, so they had to call him to release a copy of the keys. After this was done, we did a quick recon to familiarise ourselves with the area, and then went back to Bungle to re-pack Dan's things, which would take two trips. To make things worse, the quickest route to the new house was down Cardigan Road, which entailed sitting in temporary traffic lights every time. Nautrally, I had intended on leaving Leeds before midday, but it was almost 3pm before I got onto the M1. My reward for helping Dan was some petrol money and a lunch at McDonalds :)

Wednesday

Hard Rock Cafe, Courtyard, Drydock and Fab in the evening. This was made possible by part payment of wages from my dad. Eating out at Hard Rock has become something of a routine every time I visit Leeds now, and it's worth it every time. This time I almost ventured to be different, trying the full rack of BBQ ribs instead of the 10oz customised burger I have virtually every time - but I figured that there would still be more meat on the burger. The When I Come Around video came on, much to my delight. Even better, no lingering memories of Jill! An added bonus of eating out at HRC was the waitress serving us did not appear to have any underwear on. For extra sophistication I ordered an Irish coffee after the main course. She seemed impressed.

We called Loaf after eating and found him, Julianne, Wesley, Sinead and Vicki at The Courtyard, just up the road - it was Sinead's 22nd so the obligatory drinks were bought for her; I have no idea how long they'd been there, but it seemed they'd drunk a lot! Since Dan still had some packing to do, we returned to the car and I dropped him back home, then came back out again. By this time, everyone else had moved on to the Drydock. Considering that all the exams are over and most students had theoretically disappeared, the Drydock was busy, although nowhere near as busy as the previous night. Much hilarity here as a drunk guy with a walking stick sold an ashtray to a drunk Ben for a fiver. Lack of custom meant Drydock closed a couple of hours earlier than advertised, so we trooped off down the road to Fab. Vicki's boyfriend Lee met up with us here. I spent a good portion of the time in Fab watching Ben have a go at pulling Sinead; the only real alternative was watching Kill Bill on the installed screens for the millionth time.

Earlier on today I managed to get a copy of Burnout 3 at Cex for £10 - not too shabby. The only mistake I made was not bringing up my memory card to transfer the game save, so all the time I spent living at Bungle playing Burnout 3 has gone to waste. Boo hoo. Weirdly, we bumped into Chris (from last night) at Cex. I had the luxury of not getting up until around midday. I went with Guy to the bus stop on the Otley Road and consumed much Red Bull. Got some pasties from Ainsley's for lunch. We don't seem to have Ainsley's down south, just chav central Greggs.

Tuesday

Very hungry when I arrived in Leeds so I stopped at the McDonalds on Kirkstall Road and ordered two meals. Can't you just tell that a heart attack is imminent? The drive up was alright, nothing special though - it took 3.5 hours. Continued on my way to Bungle and unloaded my stuff into Vicki's old room. Pleased to see that a small group of us ultimately went to Cockpit as expectations for the evening weren't high - initially Ben just wanted to go for drinks at Drydock. We met Chris and Guy in there who he knew from his time at Ster; they were up for Cockpit. In the end he bowed to peer pressure and came along with us, even though it meant severe sleep deprivation and possible fucking up at work.

Along the walk to the Cockpit, we stopped off at McDonalds, taking my burger tally to three for today. Was kind of drunk after having a few at Drydock: I seem to remember talking about this one time Jon Grubb brought a minger back to our place. Jon then shamelessly proceeded to shag her on our living room sofa. I was sitting in McDonalds with Dan, gulping food down before Cockpit, and I vaguely remember shouting something like: "It's not pleasant to bring a fookin minger back to a place which isn't even yours and shag her silly." According to Dan there were two girls in the booth opposite us who were trying very hard not to laugh.

The bouncers at Cockpit almost didn't let Dan it at first, but through my superior powers of persuasion...lol. In any event, the punk room wasn't open, and I felt more than a little mortified at dragging everyone down to the train station for a non-event. Fortunately, after speaking to one of the bouncers, I established that Slam Dunk was 'go' from midnight. Just the small question of the interim 40 minute wait ;)

Was slightly worried at first as I didn't recognise any of the first 20 tracks the DJ played. Then the room started filling out and I knew every single one of the next 20 or so. Good times. Ben found a couple of Irish girls called Sinead and Clare - Sinead he knew from work too. Apparently the idea was that Clare "was for me", which was very generous of Ben, although in practice it didn't work out as, of course, she wasn't single. Highlights of Slam Dunk include watching Ben trying to pull Sinead by cracking jokes about paedophile priests, and observing a George Michael lookalike strut his stuff to The Ataris. Of course, there was the usual Reel Big Fish/Rancid/Less Than Jake skanking. I'll say it before and I'll say it again: for £3, there's no other night like it.

The only problem all night was the rookie mistake I had made in eating dinner just before jumping around lots. As plenty of freshers will no doubt attest, this is not the smartest move to make. From 1.30 to 2am I was forced to sit out and gulp down tap water - it's always extremely hot inside the Cockpit. They'll tell you they've installed air con, but they're lying. Guy crashed at our place. In the taxi, he regaled us with tales of his mates abusing coke, and how one of them once pointed a gun at his brother's head merely for taking a line of coke this guy thought belonged to him. Fun stuff indeed.

have you ever seen a cat eat her own nose?

"I can't believe you ate my pie!"

note to self: rival has 'jack' shit (groan)

------HAND 4------
Game #2814232464: Omaha PL ($1/$2) - 2006/06/26 - 20:10:05 (UK)
Table "Hill_Gail" Seat 5 is the button.
Seat 1: Lanfear ($284.25 in chips)
Seat 2: Open-Book ($176.50 in chips)
Seat 3: _will ($164.75 in chips)
Seat 4: Cold_cuts ($250.25 in chips)
Seat 5: Brummieg ($37 in chips)
Seat 6: janita18 ($172.75 in chips)
Seat 7: PICTACARD ($196 in chips)
Seat 8: kingcow ($46.25 in chips)
Seat 9: kimpeek ($200 in chips)
Seat 10: Buzzer ($182.25 in chips)
janita18: posts small blind $1
PICTACARD: posts big blind $2
----- HOLE CARDS -----
dealt to Cold_cuts [Ah 7d Jh Jd]
kingcow: folds
kimpeek: folds
Buzzer: folds
Lanfear: folds
Open-Book: folds
_will: calls $2
Cold_cuts: raises to $9
Brummieg: folds
janita18: folds
PICTACARD: calls $7
_will: calls $7
----- FLOP ----- [Js Ts 2d]
PICTACARD: checks
_will: checks
Cold_cuts: bets $28
PICTACARD: calls $28
_will: folds
----- TURN ----- [Js Ts 2d][2s]
PICTACARD: checks
Cold_cuts: bets $84
PICTACARD: raises to $159 and is all-in
Cold_cuts: calls $75
----- RIVER ----- [Js Ts 2d 2s][5d]
----- SHOW DOWN -----
PICTACARD: shows [3s 5h 6h As] (A Flush, Ace high)
Cold_cuts: shows [Ah 7d Jh Jd] (A Full House, Jacks full of Twos)
Cold_cuts collects $399 from Main pot
----- SUMMARY -----
Total pot $402 Main pot $399 Rake $3
Board [Js Ts 2d 2s 5d]
Seat 1: Lanfear folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 2: Open-Book folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 3: _will folded on the Flop
Seat 4: Cold_cuts showed [Ah 7d Jh Jd] and won ($399) with A Full House, Jacks full of Twos
Seat 5: Brummieg (button) folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 6: janita18 (small blind) folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 7: PICTACARD (big blind) showed [3s 5h 6h As] and lost
Seat 8: kingcow folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 9: kimpeek folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 10: Buzzer folded before Flop (didn't bet)

I was just guessing numbers and figures

Hey, how's it going. Here's a quick update from India. We (me and parents) got to Bangalore airport at 4am on Tuesday. Stayed with Dilip, a relative's friend. His house is really close to the airport, literally next door lol.

It was mainly sightseeing on Tuesday and Wednesday. We saw Brindavan gardens and Mysore palace. I managed to get some sunglasses at a market outside the palace. They cost 250 rupees. So in British sterling (1 pound~80 rupees), its 3 quid!.

Markets are not the only places to get bargains though. Goods/services are generally cheap here. Lets say, a restaurant meal for 4 people is 8-10 pounds. In London its more like 30. We got a return train ticket from Bangalore to Chennai for 8 each. The cheapest GNER london-leeds (similar distance) return I've managed is 20. Get the message? Just imagine how much clothes, DVD's, etc you can buy here.

aye aye, cap'in

a warm welcome

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

the beautiful game sure isn't football.

------HAND 3------
Game #2774290554: Omaha PL ($10/$20) - 2006/06/22 - 21:15:41 (UK)
Table "Beech" Seat 3 is the button.
Seat 1: U B4MATT ($1138.31 in chips)
Seat 2: IamBroke ($2638 in chips)
Seat 3: Chang002 ($1402.50 in chips)
Seat 4: Ganja420 sits out
Seat 5: Cold_cuts ($700 in chips)
Seat 6: pwwolfgan ($2553 in chips)
Cold_cuts: posts big blind $20
----- HOLE CARDS -----
dealt to Cold_cuts [5h 6d Ks 7s]
pwwolfgan: calls $20
U B4MATT: calls $20
IamBroke: folds
Chang002: raises to $40
Cold_cuts: calls $20
pwwolfgan: calls $20
Ganja420 sits back
U B4MATT: calls $20
----- FLOP ----- [5d Kd 8h]
Cold_cuts: checks
pwwolfgan: checks
U B4MATT: checks
Chang002: bets $100
Cold_cuts: raises to $460
pwwolfgan: folds
U B4MATT: folds
Chang002: calls $360
----- TURN ----- [5d Kd 8h][9c]
Cold_cuts: bets $200 and is all-in
Chang002: calls $200
----- RIVER ----- [5d Kd 8h 9c][Tc]
----- SHOW DOWN -----
Cold_cuts: shows [5h 6d Ks 7s] (A Straight, Ten high)
Chang002: shows [Jc Jh Kh 8s] (Two Pairs, Kings and Eights, Ten high)
Cold_cuts collects $1477 from Main pot
----- SUMMARY -----
Total pot $1480 Main pot $1477 Rake $3
Board [5d Kd 8h 9c Tc]
Seat 1: U B4MATT folded on the Flop
Seat 2: IamBroke folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 3: Chang002 (button) showed [Jc Jh Kh 8s] and lost
Seat 5: Cold_cuts (big blind) showed [5h 6d Ks 7s] and won ($1477) with A Straight, Ten high
Seat 6: pwwolfgan folded on the Flop

Bernard Herrmann

Bernard Herrmann, the world-renowned composer of the memorable Psycho film score, portrayed as an emotional sort of guy:

"By 9.45 that evening, with only the last sequence to record, Herrmann was too exhausted to continue. At Herrmann’s request, Laurie Johnson conducted the long cue.

A surprise but welcome visitor at the session was Genevieve Bujold. Recalled Gerhardt: “As she spoke to Benny in a heavy French accent I could tell he was about to get the hanky out. She told him of all the trouble she’d had with Cliff Robertson because he spent all his time in makeup and didn’t make their love scenes meaningful.

She said, “Mr. Herrmann, he wouldn’t make love to me – but you made love to me with your music.” And Benny started to cry. He would tell that story over and over at dinner, and start crying again every time."

at last, a real post!

oh no, it's full of weird stuff I found on the internet.

Petra's Views!!!

All views posted here are Petra's and are probably shared by very few! ... Now sift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table. Spoon. ...

Alaska Bob's Recipes - Fish Taco Recipe for Halibut Tacos

Alaska Bob's recipes featuring a Fish Tacos recipe for an Alaskan fish and seafood taco ... 3 tsp olive oil 1/4 lime - juice from. Fish Taco Ingredients ..

THE GO: BOB
So, if it's a damp, dark cellar that keeps my spark bright, then in the deprivation
... Time to wake up. Bob's already writing songs, this is horse-shit. ...

MMSA story - Depunker DEPUNKED!!!!!
"I saw--we saw--that right in the middle of the front of his silk boxers Ronny
... Bob's slender erection quivered like a divining rod aiming directly ..

knob polisher:
1. A fellator for fellatrrice. See fellator for synonyms.

2. Derogatory appellation for a male homosexual regarded solely as a fellator .

My grandmother from Norway (I call her Bestemamma)

Bob felt a little squirt of pee expel from the tip of his dick when he turned back to see Mr. Stoker taking his wooden paddle off the hook by his coat closet. "After we're finished here--and we still have your complete cooperation in our dealings with Ronny--you'll be able to rest assured that you have completely made up for the indiscretions you participated in under the influence of that....that....long-haired baggy-pantsed PUNK!"

By the time Bob finally became aware of the stiff meat that Mr. Stroker was concealing in his lap under thin layers of khaki and cotton, his own teen schlong was thrusting over it like a slim saw across a thickish log, in his relentless yet futile attempts to escape even a single one of the 40 painful smacks of the wooden paddle on his bare ass.

summer of quads, quads, quads

Even when playing 7 card stud, a game I have rarely played.

------HAND 5------
Game #2752903534: 7 Card FL ($10/$20) - 2006/06/20 - 19:31:18 (UK)
Table "Adelaide"
Seat 1: Cool_Card ($343 in chips)
Seat 2: lokolai ($800 in chips)
Seat 3: Tanged ($1613.99 in chips)
Seat 6: Cold_cuts ($1220 in chips)
Cold_cuts: posts the ante $1
lokolai: posts the ante $1
Cool_Card: posts the ante $1
Tanged: posts the ante $1
----- 3rd STREET -----
dealt to Cool_Card [Td]
dealt to lokolai [2c]
dealt to Tanged [5c]
dealt to Cold_cuts [Ah Qd Ad]
lokolai: brings-in $3
Tanged: calls $3
Cold_cuts: calls $3
Cool_Card: calls $3
----- 4th STREET -----
dealt to Cool_Card [Td][Th]
dealt to lokolai [2c][3s]
dealt to Tanged [5c][3d]
dealt to Cold_cuts [Ah Qd Ad][7d]
Cool_Card: bets $20
lokolai: folds
Tanged: calls $20
Cold_cuts: calls $20
----- 5th STREET -----
dealt to Cool_Card [Td Th][Kc]
dealt to Tanged [5c 3d][2d]
dealt to Cold_cuts [Ah Qd Ad 7d][As]
Cold_cuts: checks
Cool_Card: checks
Tanged: checks
----- 6th STREET -----
dealt to Cool_Card [Td Th Kc][5h]
dealt to Tanged [5c 3d 2d][4s]
dealt to Cold_cuts [Ah Qd Ad 7d As][Kd]
Cold_cuts: bets $20
Cool_Card: calls $20
Tanged: calls $20
----- RIVER -----
dealt to Cold_cuts [Ah Qd Ad 7d As Kd][Ac]
Cold_cuts: bets $20
Cool_Card: folds
Tanged: calls $20
----- SHOW DOWN -----
Cold_cuts: shows [Ac Ah Ad As Kd Qd 7d] (Four of a kind, Aces, King high)
Tanged: shows [2d 3d 4s 5c 6h Qc 2h] (A Straight, Six high)
Cold_cuts collects $174 from Main pot
----- SUMMARY -----
Total pot $176 Main pot $174 Rake $2
Seat 1: Cool_Card folded on the River
Seat 2: lokolai folded on the 4th Street
Seat 3: Tanged showed [2h 6h Qc 5c 3d 2d 4s] and lost
Seat 6: Cold_cuts showed [Ac Ah Ad As Kd Qd 7d] and won ($174) with Four of a kind, Aces, King high

quads yet again! not well paid this time, though

------HAND 4------
Game #2742908404: Omaha PL ($2.50/$5) - 2006/06/19 - 20:13:31 (UK)
Table "Succory" Seat 2 is the button.
Seat 2: JohnNoob ($524.63 in chips)
Seat 5: Acegolf ($517.34 in chips)
Seat 7: Cold_cuts ($564.88 in chips)
Seat 8: Mopsy ($203.50 in chips)
Seat 10: MINI-ME sits out
Acegolf: posts small blind $2.50
Cold_cuts: posts big blind $5
----- HOLE CARDS -----
dealt to Cold_cuts [3h 3d 2c 5h]
Mopsy: calls $5
JohnNoob: folds
Acegolf: calls $2.50
Cold_cuts: checks
----- FLOP ----- [3c 5d Qc]
Acegolf: checks
Cold_cuts: bets $5
Mopsy: raises to $15
Acegolf: folds
Cold_cuts: calls $10
----- TURN ----- [3c 5d Qc][2s]
Cold_cuts: checks
Mopsy: checks
----- RIVER ----- [3c 5d Qc 2s][3s]
Cold_cuts: bets $25
MINI-ME joins the table at seat #6
Mopsy: folds
Returned uncalled bets $25 to Cold_cuts
Cold_cuts: doesn't show hand
Cold_cuts collects $43 from Main pot
----- SUMMARY -----
Total pot $45 Main pot $43 Rake $2
Board [3c 5d Qc 2s 3s]
Seat 2: JohnNoob (button) folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 5: Acegolf (small blind) folded on the Flop
Seat 7: Cold_cuts (big blind) collected $43
Seat 8: Mopsy folded on the River

off to India

Leaving tomorrow, 1st stop is Bangalore. Then we'll be going to Chennai (used to be Madras) and Putapatthi. There are some other places which I can't quite remember. I'll try and post when I'm there. If not, see you in 2 weeks!

happy father's day, said the ladies

More quads... what the hell am I doing?! Also I played some $5/10 PL earlier, sitting down with $300. Raised pot preflop with TTxx, and the chip leader - a loose Swedish player - calls. Flop is AT6 and he puts me all in. Thankfully he doesn't have AA so he is effectively drawing dead with few else outs. So I doubled up to $600 and quit. Seems I made the right decision - he turned super-aggressive after and made a lot of money.

------HAND 5------
Game #2733179384: Omaha PL ($2.50/$5) - 2006/06/18 - 20:45:54 (UK)
Table "Ivy" Seat 4 is the button.
Seat 1: petesckin ($409.91 in chips)
Seat 2: TheFool ($593.75 in chips)
Seat 4: Leevan ($95.81 in chips)
Seat 5: subben ($425.75 in chips)
Seat 6: Poker_vic ($117.50 in chips)
Seat 7: Jonny7 ($467.50 in chips)
Seat 8: Bling619 ($492 in chips)
Seat 9: Nikkaa1 ($334.38 in chips)
Seat 10: Cold_cuts ($396.25 in chips)
subben: posts small blind $2.50
Poker_vic: posts big blind $5
----- HOLE CARDS -----
dealt to Cold_cuts [9h Qs 4h Qh]
Jonny7: folds
Bling619: folds
Nikkaa1: calls $5
Cold_cuts: calls $5
petesckin: folds
TheFool: folds
Leevan: raises to $10
subben: calls $7.50
Poker_vic: calls $5
Nikkaa1: calls $5
Cold_cuts: calls $5
----- FLOP ----- [Qc 6s 8s]
subben: checks
Poker_vic: checks
Nikkaa1: bets $15
Cold_cuts: raises to $95
Leevan: is all-in $85.81
subben: folds
Poker_vic: folds
Nikkaa1: folds
Returned uncalled bets $9.19 to Cold_cuts
----- TURN ----- [Qc 6s 8s][4d]
----- RIVER ----- [Qc 6s 8s 4d][Qd]
----- SHOW DOWN -----
Cold_cuts: shows [9h Qs 4h Qh] (Four of a kind, Queens, Eight high)
Leevan: shows [Jh 7s Jd Ts] (Two Pairs, Queens and Jacks, Eight high)
Cold_cuts collects $233.62 from Main pot
----- SUMMARY -----
Total pot $236.62 Main pot $233.62 Rake $3
Board [Qc 6s 8s 4d Qd]
Seat 1: petesckin folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 2: TheFool folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 4: Leevan (button) showed [Jh 7s Jd Ts] and lost
Seat 5: subben (small blind) folded on the Flop
Seat 6: Poker_vic (big blind) folded on the Flop
Seat 7: Jonny7 folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 8: Bling619 folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 9: Nikkaa1 folded on the Flop
Seat 10: Cold_cuts showed [9h Qs 4h Qh] and won ($233.62) with Four of a kind, Queens, Eight high

this is unbelievable. 7 hands later....quad jacks again!

------HAND 4------
Game #2718161394: Omaha PL ($1/$2) - 2006/06/17 - 12:06:52 (UK)
Table "Determine" Seat 9 is the button.
Seat 1: Junior15 ($146.12 in chips)
Seat 2: Cold_cuts ($319.50 in chips)
Seat 3: AnalCraig ($214.25 in chips)
Seat 4: DonJuan1 ($90 in chips)
Seat 5: petesckin ($395 in chips)
Seat 6: Lanfear ($219 in chips)
Seat 7: SBAAMA ($25.25 in chips)
Seat 8: Smergel sits out
Seat 9: Konra3107 ($189 in chips)
Seat 10: CHIPPPY ($137 in chips)
CHIPPPY: posts small blind $1
Junior15: posts big blind $2
----- HOLE CARDS -----
dealt to Cold_cuts [3s 4d Js Jd]
Cold_cuts: calls $2
AnalCraig: calls $2
DonJuan1: calls $2
petesckin: calls $2
Lanfear: folds
SBAAMA: folds
Konra3107: folds
CHIPPPY: folds
Junior15: checks
----- FLOP ----- [Qh Jc 6h]
Junior15: checks
Cold_cuts: checks
AnalCraig: checks
DonJuan1: checks
petesckin: bets $11
Junior15: folds
Cold_cuts: calls $11
AnalCraig: folds
DonJuan1: calls $11
----- TURN ----- [Qh Jc 6h][Jh]
Cold_cuts: checks
DonJuan1: checks
petesckin: bets $15
Cold_cuts: raises to $30
DonJuan1: folds
petesckin: calls $15
----- RIVER ----- [Qh Jc 6h Jh][7s]
Cold_cuts: bets $75
petesckin: raises to $329
Cold_cuts: is all-in $201.50
Returned uncalled bets $52.50 to petesckin
----- SHOW DOWN -----
petesckin: shows [Qc 6s Qs 5h] (A Full House, Queens full of Jacks)
Cold_cuts: shows [3s 4d Js Jd] (Four of a kind, Jacks, Queen high)
Cold_cuts collects $654 from Main pot
----- SUMMARY -----
Total pot $657 Main pot $654 Rake $3
Board [Qh Jc 6h Jh 7s]
Seat 1: Junior15 (big blind) folded on the Flop
Seat 2: Cold_cuts showed [3s 4d Js Jd] and won ($654) with Four of a kind, Jacks, Queen high
Seat 3: AnalCraig folded on the Flop
Seat 4: DonJuan1 folded on the Turn
Seat 5: petesckin showed [Qc 6s Qs 5h] and lost
Seat 6: Lanfear folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 7: SBAAMA folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 9: Konra3107 (button) folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 10: CHIPPPY (small blind) folded before Flop (didn't bet)

quad damage revisited

------HAND 5------
Game #2718161324: Omaha PL ($1/$2) - 2006/06/17 - 11:57:22 (UK)
Table "Determine" Seat 2 is the button.
Seat 1: Junior15 ($95.62 in chips)
Seat 2: Cold_cuts ($192.50 in chips)
Seat 3: AnalCraig ($217.25 in chips)
Seat 4: DonJuan1 ($89 in chips)
Seat 5: petesckin ($198 in chips)
Seat 6: Lanfear ($227 in chips)
Seat 7: SBAAMA ($276.25 in chips)
Seat 9: Konra3107 ($208 in chips)
Seat 10: CHIPPPY ($139 in chips)
AnalCraig: posts small blind $1
DonJuan1: posts big blind $2
----- HOLE CARDS -----
dealt to Cold_cuts [Js Ah Jc 6d]
petesckin: folds
Lanfear: folds
SBAAMA: calls $2
Konra3107: raises to $9
CHIPPPY: folds
Junior15: calls $9
Cold_cuts: calls $9
AnalCraig: folds
DonJuan1: calls $7
SBAAMA: calls $7
----- FLOP ----- [Jh 9d Jd]
DonJuan1: checks
SBAAMA: checks
Konra3107: checks
Junior15: checks
Cold_cuts: checks
----- TURN ----- [Jh 9d Jd][9s]
DonJuan1: bets $14
SBAAMA: folds
Konra3107: folds
Junior15: folds
Cold_cuts: calls $14
----- RIVER ----- [Jh 9d Jd 9s][3h]
DonJuan1: bets $66 and is all-in
Cold_cuts: calls $66
----- SHOW DOWN -----
DonJuan1: shows [7h Th 7c 9h] (Three of a kind, Nines, Jack high)
Cold_cuts: shows [Js Ah Jc 6d] (Four of a kind, Jacks, Nine high)
Cold_cuts collects $203 from Main pot
----- SUMMARY -----
Total pot $206 Main pot $203 Rake $3
Board [Jh 9d Jd 9s 3h]
Seat 1: Junior15 folded on the Turn
Seat 2: Cold_cuts (button) showed [Js Ah Jc 6d] and won ($203) with Four of a kind, Jacks, Nine high
Seat 3: AnalCraig (small blind) folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 4: DonJuan1 (big blind) showed [7h Th 7c 9h] and lost
Seat 5: petesckin folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 6: Lanfear folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 7: SBAAMA folded on the Turn
Seat 9: Konra3107 folded on the Turn
Seat 10: CHIPPPY folded before Flop (didn't bet)

take 2

Have put a fiver on England being eliminated by the quarter finals at the latest. Some think I'm mad, that they will reach the semis or go on to better things. But the match against Trinidad served to augment my concerns about national football, not diminish them. How is it possible that a team as feted as England, with global superstars such as Beckham, Rooney, etc. can struggle against virtual unknowns? (Save for Hislop, the West Ham keeper) May I dare to venture that the answer is, Trinidad have nothing to lose by playing as one united team, whereas England are playing like a bunch of overpaid egomaniacs out there for personal glory. No wonder they were full of smiles boarding the plane to Germany - I would be too if I was making millions a year to get embarrassed by nations with little or no footballing pedigree. It's no surprise that England have done well (or better) in tournaments where the team selection has included players who sacrifice personal vanity for the greater collective good - Stuart Pearce is a name which particularly springs to mind - and they have utterly failed otherwise. Unfortunately, the other hyped up teams such as Brazil, Argentina and host nation Germany aren't performing as well as expected either, so perhaps England will make it further than they rightfully should.

one great cross from Beckham, one big leap from Crouch…..

Those were Tydsley’s words just before Crouch scored the opener. Gerrard’s trademark screamer settled the match. That was a relief eh??!!!

I remember watching the Paraguay match last Saturday at Ramani’s mate’s flat. That day was a little different. Anish and his flatmate Nikhil organised a barbecue and it was all going smoothly after the match. We went for a little kick about outside and I noticed a few Asian teens hanging around the area.

They approached us and offered to play a 5-a-side. So we got some of the guys from our party together and went to a nearby playground. It was a good run out, especially as I hadn’t done any real exercise in ages. We lost something like 10-6 to them (I managed to score one for us haha).

Walked back to the flat and they started to follow us, chanting, gloating n all. They started to threaten us, asking for money that we apparently bet with them. (??!!) Nikhil got a little heated up and was ready to throw the kitchen sink at them, and I had to restrain him. They started to throw bottles at us; there was broken glass everywhere and everyone rushed back inside.

That wasn’t the first time I had seen this happen, but it was for a lot of the other people at the barbecue. I was the youngest one there (everyone else was 25 and over), but I had to stop some of the guys from confronting those Asian pikeys. Thought I was the immature one.

Anyway, enough of that, I’m packing up for a trip to India with my parents. Leaving next Monday, and coming back on 3^rd July. I should be able to catch some World Cup highlights in Bangalore…..

murder on the dancefloor

A-musing at Elle Awards

Muse had a ball at the Elle Style awards this week. Matt from the band unexpectedly ended up on the dancefloor, with interesting results:

"I was getting into fights on the dancefloor with loads of men in suits! Spilt some beer on some bloke and he tried to get into a fight and it was really funny. I'm not the fighting type, but I knew I could win because he was so afraid of me spilling beer on his suit!"

And he says Sophie Ellis-Bextor asked him to play on her record: "I wondered if she was taking the mick, but I would have done it if the guy who was with her wasn't such an absolute arse! He insulted my band!"

theatricality loves company

Muse meet their biggest fan

Indie group Muse have revealed that one of their biggest fans is Queen guitarist Brian May who presented the band with a Kerrang award earlier this year.

Last night the group played to a sell out gig at London's Dockland's Arena.

The group told Radio 1 they had a special visitor to their dressing room:

"It was really wired last night because I was just kacking it as I was so nervous about going on stage; we then got a knock on the dressing room door and just saw a big load of hair."

The "big hair" was Brian May.

ooh, fanmail.

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: RMHenderson
Date: Jun 10, 2006 6:13 PM

Hi. I think that if you pay me a visit - you'll really like my music. I certainly liked yours.

when you fish for something you just can't find....

You LOSE to JAMIE the POKER GOD. (see what I did to the Coldplay lyrics there, Bob?)

------HAND 5------
Game #2661112414: Omaha PL ($1/$2) - 2006/06/11 - 19:19:16 (UK)
Table "Swaps" Seat 8 is the button.
Seat 1: GODRULES sits out
Seat 2: EXORCIST1 ($86 in chips)
Seat 3: madmanthe ($436.71 in chips)
Seat 4: Cold_cuts ($308.51 in chips)
Seat 5: mmwhops ($157 in chips)
Seat 6: Geri14 ($396.50 in chips)
Seat 7: YAMI ($146 in chips)
Seat 8: tjooh ($274 in chips)
Seat 9: team taff ($189 in chips)
Seat 10: petesckin ($325.50 in chips)
team taff: posts small blind $1
petesckin: posts big blind $2
----- HOLE CARDS -----
dealt to Cold_cuts [Qh 7s Qs 8s]
EXORCIST1: folds
GODRULES sits back
madmanthe: calls $2
Cold_cuts: calls $2
mmwhops: folds
Geri14: raises to $11
YAMI: folds
tjooh: calls $11
team taff: calls $10
petesckin: folds
madmanthe: calls $9
Cold_cuts: calls $9
----- FLOP ----- [Tc 6h 9c]
team taff: bets $57
madmanthe: folds
Cold_cuts: raises to $228
Geri14: raises to $385.50 and is all-in
tjooh: folds
team taff: is all-in $121
Cold_cuts: is all-in $69.51
Returned uncalled bets $87.99 to Geri14
----- TURN ----- [Tc 6h 9c][3s]
----- RIVER ----- [Tc 6h 9c 3s][2s]
----- SHOW DOWN -----
Geri14: shows [Ac 5c 5h Ah] (A Pair of Aces, Ten high)
team taff: shows [Th Kd Jc 9d] (Two Pairs, Tens and Nines, Six high)
Cold_cuts: shows [Qh 7s Qs 8s] (A Straight, Ten high)
Cold_cuts collects $239.02 from Side pot #1
Cold_cuts collects $588 from Main pot
----- SUMMARY -----
Total pot $830.02 Main pot $588 Side pot #1 $239.02 | Rake $3
Board [Tc 6h 9c 3s 2s]
Seat 2: EXORCIST1 folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 3: madmanthe folded on the Flop
Seat 4: Cold_cuts showed [Qh 7s Qs 8s] and won ($827.02) with A Straight, Ten high
Seat 5: mmwhops folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 6: Geri14 showed [Ac 5c 5h Ah] and lost
Seat 7: YAMI folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 8: tjooh (button) folded on the Flop
Seat 9: team taff (small blind) showed [Th Kd Jc 9d] and lost
Seat 10: petesckin (big blind) folded before Flop (didn't bet)

disparate collection of thoughts part 5

This is not an easy post to write. I want to avoid all the veritable cliches of saying things like "wow, doesn't time just vanish", although there is some truth in this. I can't believe how quickly time goes, or that it's already June. It seemed like I was seeing in the New Year with the other guys from Virgin just last week.

An analogy. Compare my life to the orbit of an electron. Round and round it goes - indifferent, perpetual and unfailing. Like most other people my age, I long to discover the wider world out there, if only I had the financial disposition to do so. Of slightly more pressing importance is the extreme difficulty in breaking into the industry I want to make a career in - the music business. Music equipment is, on the whole, not cheap by any stretch of the imagination, and most amateurs - even semi-pros - will head into a studio to record audio. But I am not part of a boy band like Busted, which conventional studio setups cater for. I like a greater degree of experimentation in my music. I want to find a studio that merely has a piano in, so why am I having so much difficulty finding one? Am I not looking hard enough?

The experience of university was a double-edged sword. It advanced my knowledge of Western classical music, which was the primary aim anyway, and it gave me something much greater - the ability to relax, perhaps not be so introspective, (why am I writing this, then?) and a certain level of independence. I made some very good friends during my time there, learnt that (surprise, surprise) most girls are completely useless, and brown-nosing will get you anywhere.

What university did NOT teach me at any point was the technical - some might say useful - aspects of recording music in the modern sense. This is the point at which I get a more-than-slight suspicion I have wasted almost three years of my life studying a pointless degree and a five figure sum on a needless student loan. Recognising this, I went to a college in North London last summer for an introduction to Pro Tools module, which I passed. If I pass 3 other linked modules then I will be a qualified Pro Tools operator, enhancing my job prospects. The problem of money arises yet again - each module is in the region of £600 or more.

There are more basic problems, though. Frequently when I am working on the rock opera, I will come up with a riff that I will then score out, but only to a certain extent. Then I will give up on that riff and start on a completely new direction. It is almost as though something inside of me is telling me to give up on it, that it will never be performed, that you might as well do something vaguely more constructive with your time.

So then I think ... well, if I were to give up on music, what else am I good at? The answer is very little. At high school, maths was the other thing I was even remotely good at, and god only knows there are a billion better mathematicians out there than me. For the time being at least, it looks as though music is here to stay. And I do enjoy making music, but the problem is I am not sure if that will readily translate into producing vast quantities of it throughout a career in film or TV music. For instance, I want all my music to be innovative, creative and original. Buzzwords from a modernist philosophy, you might say, but those words are what I'm sticking to. So how far and how long can a composer go creatively before he exhausts all musical trains of thought? How many ways are there to write an F minor chord? How many ways can you write a piece for violin? As Wittgenstein said in The Tractatus: "The limits of my language are the limits of my world." In its most primal, reduced form, one must always consider music a language. It has many nuances, shades and colours, and has an admirable range of expression. Therefore, the key to constantly being innovative and challenging in music is to probably find a way to remove these limits. And that is a question I am unable to answer.

disparate collection of thoughts part 4

limefires in the wilderness
autonomous gazelles
projector screens

a new album, waiting in the wings, soon to be unleashed upon

BAGGAGE

Box 01 > Dayopen
Box 02 > Fling
Box 03 > Million Colours
Box 04 > Ballerina Box
Box 05 > (The Problem Is) We’ll Never Be Together
Box 06 > Tax-on-a-metric
Box 07 > Corner Shop Café
Box 08 > Nightcityscape
Box 09 > Promenade Cruising
Box 10 > Venice Gondola
Box 11 > Sunday Garden Centre
Box 12 > Last Thoughts Before Jumping
Box 13 > Dayclose

back to winning ways....

Although it would have been nicer if he called my bet on the turn ;)

------HAND 5------
Game #2639193034: Omaha PL ($1/$2) - 2006/06/09 - 15:08:40 (UK)
Table "Swaps" Seat 10 is the button.
Seat 1: DaniG80 ($100 in chips)
Seat 2: Staalegd ($853.50 in chips)
Seat 3: Greenday7 ($452.75 in chips)
Seat 4: bnewman1 ($203.50 in chips)
Seat 5: Rados0309 sits out
Seat 6: EXORCIST1 ($281 in chips)
Seat 7: mmmouse ($182 in chips)
Seat 8: 28kgbarra ($155 in chips)
Seat 9: nish2525 ($255.25 in chips)
Seat 10: Kakse ($136 in chips)
Staalegd: posts small blind $1
Greenday7: posts big blind $2
----- HOLE CARDS -----
dealt to Greenday7 [Qh As Qc 3s]
bnewman1: calls $2
EXORCIST1: folds
mmmouse: folds
28kgbarra: folds
nish2525: raises to $9
Kakse: calls $9
Staalegd: folds
Greenday7: calls $7
bnewman1: calls $7
----- FLOP ----- [8d Ac Qd]
Greenday7: checks
bnewman1: checks
nish2525: bets $37
Kakse: calls $37
Greenday7: calls $37
bnewman1: folds
----- TURN ----- [8d Ac Qd][Qs]
Rados0309 sits back
Greenday7: checks
nish2525: bets $148
Kakse: folds
Greenday7: raises to $406.75 and is all-in
nish2525: folds
Returned uncalled bets $258.75 to Greenday7
Greenday7: doesn't show hand
Greenday7 collects $441 from Main pot
----- SUMMARY -----
Total pot $444 Main pot $441 Rake $3
Board [8d Ac Qd Qs]
Seat 2: Staalegd (small blind) folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 3: Greenday7 (big blind) collected $441
Seat 4: bnewman1 folded on the Flop
Seat 6: EXORCIST1 folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 7: mmmouse folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 8: 28kgbarra folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 9: nish2525 folded on the Turn
Seat 10: Kakse (button) folded on the Turn

disparate collection of thoughts part 3

second derivative
propagatory disposition
jumbled polymorphic shapes

disparate collection of thoughts part 2

subduction zone
haruspiciously inclined
damped harmonic motion

Eric P. Gray: A Life In The Armed Forces

Have some respect for your elders, especially those who fought for your country and won, instead of shutting them off in care homes to wither and die.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

MY LIFE IN THE ARMED FORCES
DURING WORLD WAR II AND BEYOND
BY ERIC P. GRAY

It seemed inconceivable that within twenty years of a disastrous war which ended in 1918 with very heavy loss of life and was supposed to bring about the birth of a brave new world, we found ourselves once again preparing for another war that would take place over a much broader front. From the outset it appeared this would merely be a European affair contained within the framework of Europe. At the beginning of recent wars it was always felt and expressed with belief that it would all be over within twelve months. World war II prediction was no different, advanced technology and the probable use of gas seemed to confirm such a prophecy. Little did we know that all the principal nations of the world would become involved, engaged in land battles from Europe to the Far East and engaged in sea action from the Atlantic to the Pacific.

When war was declared on Sunday 3rd September 1939, I was approaching the age of fifteen and living in the village of Mylor Bridge in Cornwall, still at school, looking forward to three hectic terms of concentrated lessons and many hours of undesirable homework – perhaps looking forward is an overstatement!! It was no wonder that at the outset, a young teenager like myself, did not consider having to get involved in a war and could look forward to a normal life of examination and working for a living. It was beyond comprehension then, that within a very short period of time, I would be analysing the daily newspapers regarding the number of aircraft thought to have been lost each day, the number of vessels that had been sunk, the numerous casualties from various land battles, the terrible loss of civilians and destruction of buildings by bombs. The war on the continent suddenly took a turn for the worst and in less than twelve months we experienced evacuation of Dunkirk (in early June 1940) when about three hundred and fifty thousand men were rescued from the French beaches and brought home by all manner of ships though under constant fire and attacked by many sorties of enemy aircraft. This left our country wide open to an immediate invasion, now a short war looked imminent but not with the result we had in mind.

Later that June the effect of war had its first impact on me for we were susceptible to air raids, now that the English Channel was all that separated us from the enemy. Whilst taking the geography examination for my School Certificate, we were interrupted by the wailing of the air raid sirens and immediately scrambled to the underground shelters in the school playing field. This enabled us to exchange ideas amongst ourselves relating to the exam paper but little to my advantage as geography was my best and favourite subject. Irrespective of that short break in concentration I obtained a reasonable School Certificate, but what of the future? Under the circumstances one would have thought that finding a job would have been relatively easy considering so many men were being called up for active service, but this was not the case. Being almost sixteen years of age was a disadvantage because after only two years of training I also would be conscripted into the forces. However, after two interviews and associated written tests I was successful, which came as quite a surprise as the final outcome was between myself and the son of the Falmouth Town Clerk, putting me at a definite disadvantage. Consequently I started work in February 1941 in the costing and accounts department of Silley Cox and Company, the firm responsible for repairing ships in the Falmouth Docks complex, employing at that time almost three thousand men. For safety reasons, our department had been relocated to nearby Penryn, a private house named Saffron Meadow. Work took me to the Docks at least twice a week when I was able to perceive and appreciate the damage caused to vessels by bombs and torpedoes. Land mines attached to parachutes were directed at ships in Falmouth, but the only serious casualty was an oil tanker, the British Chancellor. On occasions successful attempts were made to shoot down the parachutes before their targets were reached, resulting in the mines landing without danger in the sea. Maybe these experiences were to later affect the decision I had to make as to which arm of the Services I would join on call up.

1941 was not a year to remember for as a country we had little to cheer about. On the high seas and on land we suffered heavily, and cities were being bombed continually by day and by night, and even our village of Mylor Bridge sustained six fatalities from stray bombs. We found shrapnel in our garden which I ought to have saved as a souvenir and reminder of this sad occasion – at the time these things did not seem important. We would often watch the white searchlights with anticipation as they criss-crossed the clear night skies hoping an enemy plane would be illuminated in their beams. Falmouth was circled with anti-aircraft guns and barrage balloons floated in the skies. To prepare myself for eventual war service, I decided to join the Falmouth Sea Cadets. We met over Taylor’s garage situated at the far end of the main shopping street and were instructed in tying knots, sending morse code signals by Aldis lamps, semaphore, (signalling with flags) scrubbing and cleaning ship’s decks etc. After six months I resigned as travelling home to our village by bicycle late at night during winter was extremely hazardous. The enforced blackout eliminated all street lighting, no visible lights from buildings were allowed and car lights were screened which gave drivers limited vision. The blackout was the strangest thing about the war, particularly so in winter when it began before tea time and lasted until long past breakfast the next day. When you left a dimly lit home, it seemed like stepping out into sudden blindness, you stayed and waited until your eyes become accustomed to the change, until in fact shapes could be picked out against the skyline.

Why did I decide on the Sea Cadets in favour of perhaps the Army Cadets? My work involving ships no doubt influenced my decision – also, I already knew others in the docks who had earlier joined this cadet unit. Having lived at the head of a creek with water at the bottom of the garden, perhaps the sea was in my blood. As a ten year old, I can remember often being taken in a rowing boat to Mylor Pool by my grandfather, who was an ex-Seaman. He would visit the vessels laid up because of lack of work and take on board magazines and books for the temporary staff. As I waited, tied up at a ship’s stern, the foul smell emanating from the marine growth on the hulls of the ships stayed with me for many years.

I then volunteered to join the Mylor Home Guard, originally known as the LDV, (Local Defence Volunteers) a civilian force of men presumably to guard and protect their locality from any foreign incursions. We met in the Church Hall and held drill practice in the car park alongside. Broom handles were used in place of arms at first, but by my time rifles had been provided. Guard duty, drill parades and manoeuvres were all part of the scene and would have no doubt helped to provide some partially trained recruits for the near future. We did all night guard duty at the old Mylor Dockyard in case of a sea landing. This was an eerie experience being situated beside the Parish Churchyard in an almost deserted area.

By early 1943, I had to decide which area of the forces, either Army, Navy, or Air Force, would be my preference. Working in the office with us at this time was a nephew of the Dame of Sark. The hereditary Dame governed and had sole control of all laws and decisions and even to this day no motorised transport is allowed on the island. Sark, being part of the Channel Islands, was now in the hands of the Germans and he was one of the few who managed to find refuge in England. He suggested I ought to consider the Special Branch of the Royal Navy. Consequently I duly applied and was instructed to attend an interview at Bristol. Travelling overnight for the appointment and arriving at Templemeads Station about two o’clock in the morning necessitated a wait of five hours before one could venture into the outside world. This was an experience not to be missed, a weary wanderer virtually isolated in a large railway station with very limited lighting but a great deal of noise. The slamming of train doors, the shouting of station staff especially when the daily newspapers arrived from London and were being unloaded, the shunting of wagons, the hissing of steam and above all an uncomfortable seat did not endear me to sleep. However, at a reasonable time and after a clean-up and some food, I caught a tram to Whiteladies Road. Although Bristol had been extensively bombed, I saw very little damage to the city on my way and was perhaps fortunate there were no air raids during my short stay. My interview was in the presence of three high ranking Naval officers and as expected I was not acceptable. Perhaps if I had been a relative of the Dame of Sark I would have passed with flying colours.

Decision time could be delayed no longer. Flying in the Air Force was definitely not on – chances of survival pretty grim. Sailing with the Royal Navy or Merchant Navy was a daunting prospect as German ‘U’ boats still ruled the seas. So by process of elimination the Army it had to be, at least I inwardly thought that by using ones initiative on land there was always a possibility to escape. I realised Army conscription would involve the first six weeks in barracks, forty odd days in which to accept the discipline of life in the forces. We would learn to march like automatons in foot blistering boots, to salute Authority and to acknowledge that henceforth for the duration of hostilities each man was no more than a number and surname, in my case, 14590125 Private Gray. After this punishing introduction to Army life each man would be allocated a particular unit for further training, depending on the wisdom of those in charge. Had I been ten years older I would probably not have been called up as the older numbers of the staff were exempted, being classified in a reserved occupation. Accountants with specialist knowledge of repairing ships were necessary to prepare and price the complicated accounts prior to submission for payment.

My medical examination and written IQ tests were carried out at Redruth and in due course I was instructed to report to the ITC (Infantry Training Centre) at Beverley in South Yorkshire on 15th April 1943. at least our outside dug out air raid shelter would no longer have to be endured with its earthy and damp smell, although probably by this time we had already erected a large steel shelter in our sitting room that could also be used as a table, a real luxury in comparison. My first reaction was that surely it was not necessary to send me all the way to the north of the country, there must be many training centres much closer to home, but who was I that should question the authorities on such an issue? No doubt they would have considered the south as unsafe, being easy targets for air raids and could well have been forgiven for what I thought an ill-conceived posting to the north. My mind began to speculate as to which area of hostilities I might find myself serving in. Perhaps North Africa, Italy, the Far East, or the eventual landing force to France, as all these areas would most certainly require land forces with infantry at the forefront.

Similar to my previous interview at Bristol, I once again had to travel overnight, this time by way of London with dreaded thoughts of escalators which had as yet never been encountered in Cornwall – also, of crossing on the London Underground system for the first time. It was not unusual in those days for people living in West and Mid Cornwall not to have travelled any further than Plymouth, just over the border between the two counties. These rare occasions would usually be for the annual shopping spree or a visit to the Argyle football ground. Nevertheless any final destination was reached in due course, together with other recruits we were herded into three ton trucks for the short distance to the barracks. Little did I realise that my new style of life was to last for more than four years. There were about thirty of us whose careers were changed on that day, who for a short period of time would be working and living together as a Platoon, that is, the smallest unit of a Battalion. We were quickly issued with our uniforms, boots, etc. and had our inoculations – Army life had begun. The prime object at this stage was to instil discipline into men from all different walks of life and to make them as fit as possible. To this end we were continually kept on the run, even when going to the cookhouse for meals. We were drilled from morning to dusk and taught how to “order”, “slope” and “present” arms, terms used for guard duty or ceremonial occasions. Our training took place mainly outside the barracks at Westwood, close to the Beverley race course. The area was enhanced at this particular time of the year with a wonderful display of white blossom on the may trees that seemed to abound. Here we had firing ranges, areas for crawling about under camouflage, open spaces for judging distances and above all targets for bayonet practice. The latter was always the most nerve racking as you find yourself charging at a dummy, stuffed to resemble a real person, shouting your head off and thrusting in the bayonet, (positioned at the front end of your rifle) then twisting and withdrawing same prior to advancing on to the next pretend victim. In reality if you find yourself that close to the enemy, however cynical one may have been, any training that has been undertaken could well and truly save your life. We soon found out what NAAFI stood for and would take advantage of the food and drink made available especially during the evenings sometimes with entertainment thrown in. my first and only appearance in a boxing ring did not end in disaster, but alas left me with a bleeding nose – my opponent knew a little of the art so it was not surprising I ended up feeling the worse for wear. My weekly wage in civvy street had been one pound fifty pence which had been reduced to one pound and five pence on joining the Army. These amounts seem trivial but were worth much more in spending terms as compared with today’s equivalents. Beverley itself is a small market town about eight miles north of Hull and at one time was the county town of the East Riding of Yorkshire. At weekends, we could go into this ancient town which boasts of a thirteenth century Minster and during the tenth century had associations with King Athelston. The local people were very hospitable and did not hesitate to invite servicemen to their homes after church, no doubt realising most of us were away from home for the first time and this was greatly appreciated. The six weeks soon passed and we awaited with apprehension news of our next assignment. Strange how easy it had been to accept the harshness of a training depot and experience the lesson to be learnt. Firstly never volunteer for anything, always keep bedspace clean and tidy, never ever forget the eleventh commandment – thou shalt not get found out, acknowledge that leave is a privilege and not a right.

To my utter surprise I was detailed to join the 1st Battalion D.C.L.I., (Duke of Cornwall’s Light Infantry) at that time stationed in the New Forest. A battalion normally consisted of about one thousand men split into some six companies under the command of a Lieutenant Colonel. The 1st had previously fought in the North Africa campaign where after being surrounded, almost all became prisoners of war. The process of being reformed was now going ahead to eventually become a Training Demonstration Battalion – this information came to light much later. Infantry men were known as “fort soldiers” and the Light Infantry, as the name suggests, were the first troops to engage the enemy as they were not inconvenienced or encumbered with heavy weapons and could always be ready to move camp at short notice. This also later proved to be true as we found ourselves being moved from one side to another frequently and quickly. Those of us, about thirty, joining the unit at this time travelled down by train to Ringwood in Hampshire from where we were marched three miles to join ‘C’ Company in a clearing in woods in the village of Ibsley. Many of us for the first time had to acclimatize to sleeping under canvas and were probably just as excited as Boy Scouts on their initial induction to camping in tents. We had reasonable comfort in the barracks but a ground sheet was the only protection here between solid ground and the body. We were informed in the following morning that our stay was temporary and that we would be moving out in a couple of days or so. As we were all virtually ‘Rookies’ and required further intensive training, we were to be known as the ‘Recruit Platoon’. Strange as it may seem in that short period of time I came face to face on this site with Kenneth Carlyon, a driver in the Company. We knew each other well as we came from the same village of Mylor and were both members of the Methodist Chapel. It so happened he was to be the only so called local I would encounter in my four years in the forces and in fact we only met up on one further occasion, much later on in Southampton. Soon we were packing up our kit bags and in no time at all were on the ferry at Lymington for the short passage across the Solent to the Isle of Wight, and finally found ourselves at another tented camp in the centre of the island just south of Newport. Nearby Rookley village had little to offer but the area was the site of an assault course, ideal for toughening up army recruits. For the first time I came across the word ‘Palliasse’, and realised it was the name for a not-too-comfortable mattress of straw. No doubt the straw was provided by local farmers and had to be stuffed into what resembled a large pillow case or bolster; this constituted ones bed. Several weeks were spent tackling the assault course under warlike conditions, i.e. thunder flashes, rifle shots, and smoke canisters consistently thrown in the direction of the hapless participants. The course, tackled with full pack and rifle, consisted of crawling under sections of barbed wire, climbing high fences and jumping down ten feet the other side, crossing narrow planks over mud and swinging on ropes over water. This type of training was similar as depicted in the television series ‘Soldier Soldier’. It’s beyond belief that men and women now volunteer for this kind of life. On small sites such as this there would normally only be one cook and meals would be served into mess tins carried in our pack. Afterwards we would wash and clean our own utensils and everyone had to peel a small number of potatoes for the following day. Unfortunately for us our cook was a compulsive smoker and could always be seen serving out food with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. To make matters worse, a weekly free ration of cigarettes was issued to all – being a non smoker I suddenly found I had many so-called friends.

However all things good or bad come to an end and by mid-July we had moved to the outskirts of the village of Chale in the south-western side of the island. We were billeted in a large house close to the cliff edge beneath the well known Blackgang Chine, the latter having recently been transformed into a large leisure centre. Due to coast erosion the cliffs around this area are known to be collapsing into the sea and causing much concern for the future. The remainder of the Battalion were stationed near the villages of Whitweeland Nikon, HQ Company given choice position in the pretty hillside town of Ventnor. This period of my Army life was destined to be the most relaxed and enjoyable of all even though we were still being trained to be soldiers. The summer weather was perfect as we lazed on the grassy ledge leading to the cliff edge listening to lectures on procedure etc. and having discussion on many issues. We learnt how to strip down, reassemble, and use Bren guns (rapid firing machine guns) which in our unit were transported around on mechanised carriers that resembled small tanks. Usage of hand grenades and mortars also played a part of our instruction. Perhaps the most arduous task was the miles of route marches that we had to overcome, resulting in many blistered feet, to be cooled in bowls of cold water. A main road, known as the Military road, connecting Chale and Freshwater, was the scene of sore feet but thank goodness it was mainly flat. In one week alone for five consecutive days and packs, we marched its length there and back, totalling about twenty five miles each day. In American films the soldiers always seem to be singing whilst marching to the same monotonous tune but in our case we would go through the whole range of modern pop music and some of the first world war songs, not always with the correct or appropriate words. We were a happy bunch of lads and put a brave face on our ordeal. To make matters worse, there was one chap who was unable to keep in step, being almost six foot tall he stood out like a sore thumb, bobbing up and down like a cork in water.

Before the end of the summer, we had moved to Seaview, an ex-holiday camp on the north side of the island near Freshwater. Unfortunately we could not take advantage of the facilities as all beaches on the south coast were possible invasion landing areas and were heavily sealed off with barbed wire and tank traps. During this spell, part of our duties included a cycle patrol of the coast line, especially the creeks and inlets that abound near the village of Newtown. It was thought the enemy might try to infiltrate this sparsely populated locality by sea or by air and build up a nucleus of sympathisers for an eventual takeover of the island. Needless to say proof was never found to substantiate such a conception, in fact local smugglers were not even caught red-handed. Most of our time was spent in fitness pursuits and a Special Staff Sergeant was brought in to organise events. As a Recruit Platoon our days were numbered and we waited to be told individually what our future would be within the Battalion.

Stationed more than 200 miles from home, there was no possibility of taking advantage of long weekends away from camp. About this time, however, I was due for leave and travelled down to Cornwall. Trains in wartime were not the most comfortable of transport, invariably all seats were taken and people and service personnel straddled the corridors astride kit bags, suitcases and other luggage, sleeping and snoring in corners or any space that could be found. The journey from London to Plymouth took about five hours and was certainly no picnic. There was always a mad rush at Plymouth station as nearly everyone seemed to leave the train for food and drink. Tea was often provided in jam jars (no plastic cups available yet) as crockery would never have found the way back to the original supplier. The remainder of the journey through Cornwall was quieter and more interesting, passing over several viaducts and travelling through stations that were nameless, nameplates having been removed during the war. The station loudspeakers were often the only way of knowing exactly how much of the journey had already been completed. After changing trains at Truro, Penryn station would eventually be reached. Rodney Prout would be at hand providing his taxi service to transport me to my home a couple of miles away. Rodney was not very talkative but sometimes would impart local news of interest or local gossip. Most young servicemen at my age of eighteen would have someone of the opposite sex awaiting in anticipation of their first leave. In my case I had previously left behind Sylvia Treneer whose home was at Clamansack near Constantine. Unfortunately for her father, the family comprised four girls, a great disappointment considering he had a farm to run. We met when Sylvia was staying with relatives at Trevissome, (on the outskirts of Mylor) rather more convenient than the ten-mile cycle ride I made on many occasions to their farm. Within a few months of this leave I received a letter telling me our relationship was over. Although quite surprised at this unexpected news, somehow I was not unduly upset – perhaps after all our relationship was more or less platonic and local opposition being at hand whilst I was away proved too strong an attraction.

On my return to base I was well pleased to hear that I had been assigned to the Signal section, and looked forward to this new venture with great interest . it was good to know that my future life would not be involved with weapons but instead wireless sets. Little did I know that my idea of sitting around in trucks all day surrounded by wireless sets was not to be. Our signal platoon was part of HQ Company, i.e. non-combatant personnel, which also included medical staff and stretcher bearers, intelligence, buglers, drivers, and Orderly room, (office staff) usually in the region of two hundred and fifty men in total. I do not remember seeing any of the rookies once we dispersed, some must have joined our 2nd Battalion as reinforcements after the North Africa campaign was completed. In 1944 this unit was involved in the fighting in Italy especially around the monastery at Cassino. It took many months of hard resolution before this Benedictine monastery was overcome because of its position set up high on a hill.

At the end of the year, we were to leave the Isle of Wight for the mainland and found ourselves in Bournemouth … or was it Bascombe? Whatever, the hotel was large and it was heartbreaking to hear the massive stairways resound to our heavy army boots. Snow began to fall before Xmas – difficult now to believe this was the first time in my life that I had ever seen snow, which just goes to show what mild temperatures we experienced in Cornwall during my earlier years. It was great to be on the sea front of a major seaside resort but how much better if it had been summertime. Even in wartime the influx of holiday makers did not completely come to a halt. Having taken holidays in the Bournemouth area in more recent years, comparisons can be made. Instead of being put through over PT (Physical Training) and drill on the walkways overlooking the beaches, it was infinitely much better merely strolling along to watch others enjoying themselves, especially taking advantage of the gentle waves which of course was not possible in 1943 because of the barbed wire entanglements. Training with the signal section now began in earnest. Since I was the only new addition to the section at this time, and all the others well versed in procedure etc., it was a case of picking up the skills as we went along. Even semaphore, signalling with flags, was still being taught. Wireless sets were the main method of communication in the infantry as opposed to telephones, the reason being obvious since mobile phones were not yet available. The No. 18 set when used in action was carried similar to a backpack with a range of five miles in normal operating conditions. Each Company would have a member of the signal platoon attached to it so that HQ could make contact at anytime and Company Commanders could speak directly to each other. A frequency would be allocated and all sets tuned in and checked for sending and receiving messages before they dispersed to their designated company. The No. 38 set, being much smaller and worn on the chest, was specifically for night work use or when in very close proximity to the enemy. The set was operated by a throat microphone so that actual speaking aloud was not necessary, just a whisper could be transmitted and heard by the other sets on the same frequency.

By the end of January 1944, our relatively enjoyable stay on the south coast was to be replaced by a taste of life in the north east of the country, a chilling thought, mid winter in the county of Durham. The only redeeming part, so we thought, was that HQ Company would be stationed in the grounds of Hamsterley Hall, a large house in a country estate. We should have known better than to imagine a cosy existence with the Lord of the Manor, instead we were billeted in temporary huts. Worst of all, our washing facilities were out in the open and with temperatures around freezing point most of the time, it was far from ideal. The remainder of the Battalion was spread out in areas with names such as Rowlands Gill, Annfield Plain, Consett, Burnopfield, and Chester-le-Street. I can only remember one excursion from the estate, and on that occasion we were taken to Gateshead to watch a football match, obviously only a friendly. However before long the apparent reason for coming so far north was disclosed, i.e. to carry out manoeuvres on the bleak North Yorkshire moors in the worst conditions possible. We travelled about fifty miles south, then east to the open moorland to take up what would be front line positions. The ground sheet we carried in our pack was set up as a bivouac for sleeping at night and taken down by day, not much protection in such cold conditions. Trenches were dug which would have been necessary for cover from the enemy in wartime. It almost seemed that you were helping to dig your own grave and made you feel quite sympathetic towards grave diggers who did this work for a living and poorly paid at that. Temporary toilets had to be dug and a water supply obtained. Four companies would normally be ahead of HQ and one in the rear as reserve. As no attack was expected to be made for a few days, the signal section set up a temporary switchboard at HQ, and ran lines to each company. The distances were not great but the terrain with bogs and thick growth did not help to reduce the hazards. The weather was so severe rum was added to the tea – unfortunately it went through me like a dose of salts. In those icy conditions the least use of the temporary toilets the better, but in emergency circumstances there was no alternative but to brave the elements. When the exercises really began I took up my position complete with wireless set only to find HQ was not receiving my calls, I could hear them without any problem. Eventually someone turned up by motorbike to investigate the cause of my failure to communicate. To my shame and embarrassment I had made a stupid blunder. We were previously instructed when operating in damp conditions that it was wise to remove the granule section from the microphone and place it in your pocket, where the granules would keep dry. This of course is exactly what I had done and there they were, still keeping dry in my pocket. You can be sure it never happened again.

We were heading back to the south of England again in March, and found ourselves camping out in the suburbs of Southampton. The site was at Stoneham Park, and although adjacent to the local golf course, we saw little activity in that respect, just occasionally the odd ball could be heard crashing through the undergrowth. It was strange to be in a city so large with easy access to such a thorough tram service making journeys to the centre so convenient, and to me something new and quite exciting. Although I had been in the Army now for almost a year, this was the first site that enabled us to take part in any outdoor recreational sports. Later I was to discover that being a professional footballer meant you were likely to get promotion quickly, and unlikely to be drafted away from the unit, in other words much glory was placed on the results of a Battalions’ football team. I trained with our team and later played in my first ever match. At school, rugby took priority, and local teams did not play at all during the war, so I found myself in a side comprised mainly of professionals and what company I kept. There were players from teams such as Arsenal, Southampton, West Brom, Brentford, Brighton, and Cardiff including two notable players. First and foremost was Alf Ramsey, who played for and captained Tottenham Hotspur, also played in and captained the England team and in 1966 was manager when England beat Germany in the World Cup Final. He was called “The General” because of his command on the field, quiet and modest, liked by everyone, certainly deserving of the title “Sir” bestowed on him in later life. There was the Arthur Rowley, who in one particular season after the war scored more goals than anyone else in the English League, rather a robust type and certainly not modest. I was never a permanent team member but enjoyed being in the presence on and off the field of such exponents of the game.

Having been stationed at eight different sites during my first twelve months, it was obvious the postal services took a long time to catch up with us. In fact for thee months our full address was not allowed to be used due to the build up of forces in the south of the country for the eventual invasion across the channel, we were known as HQ Area 171 Home Forces. It is surprising how important receiving news from home and loved ones is to service personnel, it not only keeps you in touch but continues a bond with the past especially to those serving abroad. Though the Germans are now certain that the invasion of France will come, no one knows exactly when or where the blow will fall. Security was strict, the entire coast from Wales to Lands End in a strip ten miles deep was closed to all but residents and restricted business. On April 17th the whole country was closed off, all travel outside was stopped. We were now cleared as a Holding Battalion to be held in reserve to provide replacements for early casualties. In May, we moved a few miles to Sarisbury Green, a small village on the east side of the River Hamble, now a yachtsman’s paradise. Our stay here was for only two weeks, and then our Battalion took over the running of the large transit camp at Park Gate alongside the main road between Southampton and Portsmouth. It was estimated that over a quarter of a million troops were assembled along the south coast at this time together with weapons and supplies, camouflaged vehicles were parked alongside all the main roads. Operation Overlord (D Day) was fixed for June 5th giving three days grace until moonlight and tides would make invasion unsuitable. The landings were actually postponed for twenty four hours due to very bad weather. Thousands of American soldiers passed through our site before embarking on their passage across the channel, many never to return. Our task of helping to provide temporary sleeping arrangements and food during the period and to attend to all the other responsibilities of a camp site was not heroic or fulfilling but absolutely necessary. A large marquee was provided for their entertainment as those in transit were not allowed off the site. On the other hand, once the initial landings had been secured, we were able to visit local towns and cities when off duty. Nearby was the small village railway station of Swanwick, where the staff could not cope with the influx of soldiers. The ticket collector was usually outwitted by those who made use of old tickets by filling in the punched holes or who merely jumped over the low railings of the platform, easily done at night when dark. Although the WRNS (Women’s Royal Navy) were stationed at Warsash, only a couple of miles or so down the road as it were, there was no time for any get together. Warsash is now known worldwide for its marine fire fighting training depot and has a naval vessel tied up alongside that is set alight to portray actual conditions that can arise at sea. A fire on board ship is extremely dangerous as there is just nowhere to go, no way of escape and for this reason men and women from all countries come to learn the skills required to deal with this emergency.

Before the summer was over, our Battalion was to be greatly reduced in numbers. Names of those on the first overseas draft were duly posted and the port of embarkation was understood to be West Hartlepool in the north of the country. From this information, we gathered that our destination was not France as all reinforcements in that direction would leave from the south coast. Italy seemed the likely area as thousands lost their lives prior to reaching home including many of our 2nd Battalion. There was a rush to read the noticeboard to discover ones fate – my name was included and typed alongside was “Waiting Man”. This meant that should either of the Sergeants of the signal section not return from their embarkation leave I would take their place. The amount of leave was only about four days, so I decided it would not be worthwhile travelling all the way to Cornwall. However, one of the lads called Keafe invited me to stay with his family in Bristol which I was glad to accept. I remember walking up onto the wide expanse of the Downs and admiring the Clifton suspension bridge not knowing that in about 25 years hence I would be residing in Bristol and staying there for over 20 years. From the Downs, there is a wonderful view below of the River Avon where, after its launch in 1843, Brunels S.S. Great Britain, the first ever ocean-going propeller driven ship, sailed through the horseshoe bend on its way to the open sea. The vessel, being a wreck, was salvaged from the Falkland Islands and towed by pontoon to England in 1970. At that time I was working at Avonmouth Docks where the ship was placed in our drydock for examination prior to being towed up the river to Bristol. I was privileged to see the complete wreck at close range. It has since been rebuilt and on view to the public in the same Bristol dock where it was built originally. All personnel of the draft travelled north and assembled at a camp site at Seaton Carew on the outskirts of West Hartlepool. I was relieved to find all were present and correct and free from any medical problem. West Hartlepool is a small coastal town now in Cleveland and close to the border of the County of Durham, not a glamorous spot. My stay would be short lived as I wandered into town on the Saturday evening to seek out the local amenities for myself. The only life was a small fairground and while standing about watching the activities, fell into conversation with a local girl by the name of Emily Williams, daughter of a butcher. She told me she was engaged and her boyfriend was away fighting in France. With true North Country hospitality, she invited me along for Sunday tea but in view of her future commitment, it would have to be at her Aunt’s residence, obviously not wanting to upset her parents. My stay in the north turned out to be more pleasant than could have been anticipated. It so happened that not long after my return to base, a further draft for embarkation was posted and once again my name appeared as ‘Waiting Man’. I took the usual leave, travelled to West Hartlepool, saw Emily again and within a few days returned to base, so for the second time I was let off the hook.

We spent a couple of weeks in a private house in Shoreham near Buckingham Park. This was to be the last occasion I fired a shot on a rifle range which in this case was situated off Mouse Lane in nearby Steyning. By the end of summer 1944, we had made great strides in the Italian campaign and had invaded the south of France, however London was bedevilled by flying bombs. The V1 was a fast, small and devastating weapon killing thousands of Londoners and proved very difficult to catch – their launching pads in France and rocket pads for the even more deadlier V2 were blasted with great intensity putting a quick end to these assaults. In September, we moved into the Imperial Hotel in 1st Avenue, Hove, in reality only a small terraced bed and breakfast accommodation. We were only a few yards from the sea front, almost opposite the King Alfred naval establishment which more recently has been transformed into a modern leisure centre. In view of the large number of men from the Battalion sent overseas, we were now reduced to just over one hundred, mostly specialists. Our task for the next six months involved retraining troops sent home from the battlefields of France. After their leave expired, we would put them through training exercises on the South Downs between Shoreham in the West and Woodingdean in the East, and then they were sent back to active service. The Devon and Somerset regiments stationed near Lewes completed the three battalions that made up our Brigade, with whom we worked together in these training programmes. Due to the long envisaged stay in Hove we were required to set up our own Signal Office for the first time, and used the basement of the Hotel for this purpose. The switchboard was quite large with several outside lines. It was necessary to link up a special private line to the Battalion Senior Officers, who were billeted about a mile north of our position. We ran the cable along the balconies of the other houses in the avenue until we came to the main thoroughfare through Hove. It was my luck to have to climb to the top of existing telephone poles to secure the necessary height over the road – I didn’t relish it one bit, having no previous experience of this type of work. In view of the cut back in personnel there were only three permanent staff in the signal office, Tony Webb, Bob Finnemore and myself, although Frank Hall (our despatch rider) also helped out when not on call. Frank was the most placid and genuine person you could ever meet. We still keep in touch after all these years and have visited him and his family many times where they live in West Cornwall not far from Lands End. Tony has also stayed in contact although originally from the Isle of Wight. We saw a great deal of them when they later moved into the Somerset area, Tony having become a vicar in the Church of England.

Very little time was devoted to sport at this period, mainly because we were few in number and rather spread out, although occasional visits were made to the nearby Goldstone Ground, the one time home of Brighton and Hove Albion football club. It was not long before I found myself once again in the north of England in order to attend a Signal Instructor’s course, the site being at Catterick, for some years headquarters of the Royal Corps of Signals. This particular area brought back memories of my school days when the rivers Ure, Swale and Nidd were parts of our geography examination – now I was to physically discover their intensity with just a map and compass as my only guide. This was part and parcel of the course as signallers in warfare could not afford to get lost. The remainder of the course was not quite so intensive, although on one occasion we were dropped off in the middle of nowhere and had to find our way to a prescribed destination. Thank goodness we were in small groups and not likely individually to disappear off the face of the earth. We were thoroughly brought up to date on wireless procedure, checking sets for faults and making good, sending and receiving morse code messages. One aspect of an Instructor is to be able to stand in front of a class and put over a subject clearly and precisely. Each of us was given a topic and without preparation had to deliver a speech of three minutes. This doesn’t sound long in theory but in practical terms in front of a critical audience it seemed like a life time. The result of the course was expressed as follows – A, B, or C for Theory and X, Y or Z for instructing ability – my grading was BY with which I was more than pleased. Having passed I was now entitled to wear my signal badge on the top part of the arm above the stripes, normally the badge was worn on the lower part of the sleeve. During the two weeks in the area, we were able to visit the nearby town of Richmond, so beautifully dominated by its almost one thousand year old castle. In the centre of the cobbled market place is the church, with a curfew bell that was rung to warn the townsfolk to cover their fires at night. This was a necessary precaution in the days when many of the houses were built of wood. The town standing on a hill was the subject of the song “Lass of Richmond Hill”, not to be confused with Richmond in Surrey, although Henry VII was apparently linked to both places having been Earl of the Yorkshire Richmond and having built the Palace of Sheen in London. (In later years the name was changed to Richmond.)

Having spent another leave in Cornwall in November 1944, I once again returned to the Hove signal office. A special telephone link was set up using what was known as a Fullerphone for messages classed as secret. Morse signals in code form were passed daily down the line and it was my duty to translate the signals and then decode them. Most of the messages were in fact very detailed weather forecasts, which at that time was considered secret information, but all in all it was merely an exercise, should the need arise. Frank Hall had the task of teaching me to ride an army motor bike, a necessity for anyone showing promotion material in the signal section. We travelled up as far as the road leading to the Devil’s Dyke, a well known beauty spot overlooking the Sussex Weald. I took over the steering at this point with Frank behind as pillion passenger, and I found the heavy machine much different to my only previous experience on two wheels, my bicycle. At my first attempt we veered onto the banking by the side of the road – fortunately without causing any damage to us or the machine. Confidence grew and I quickly improved. Little did I know that it would be another eighteen months before I would saddle up again and in much different circumstances, in fact as a convoy despatch rider in a desert. Most of my time in Hove was spent on the telephone switchboard, especially in contact with the GPO exchange in Ship Street Brighton. In those days you could not dial a number direct – the number required was passed to the girls on the switchboard, who would put you through when the number was obtained by them. In view of this procedure, we soon became familiar with the voices and names of the GPO operators. This became more apparent at night times when they were not so busy and wanted to have someone to chat to. Some of them were on all night duty and would ring us up in the early hours of the morning to chat or pass messages that could well have been held back until daybreak. We however were on a sleeping vigil in case of emergencies and had to work normally in the coming morning. You can imagine these late calls became a nuisance and did not go down too well with us. It was inevitable that, being so familiar with their voices and many long chats, Tony and myself – both being free as it were – made blind dates. Consequently I arranged to meet Joyce Stedman outside a Brighton cinema one weekend in February 1945. No doubt we were both apprehensive at first, particularly so Joyce, who at the age of seventeen could have been taking a grave risk dating a soldier whom she had never set eyes on before, especially without a chaperon or friend in attendance. Our first encounter went smoothly and so began a relationship that was to last for life. After watching the film “The White Cliffs of Dover” and seeing Joyce home, I then had to find my way to Hove in the blackout, a walk probably taking three quarters of an hour through many unknown back streets via Preston Circus and the Seven Dials. Joyce had two older brothers who I would not meet for a further two years as Jim and Harry were both abroad serving in the R.A.F., however, I made acquaintance with her older sister Doris, who lived nearby and younger brother Derek, who lived at home. Joyce and myself were able to have ten months together before I was sent abroad - in that time, we spent many hours walking and cycling around Sussex. Brighton was the first town where I had seen public transport in the form of trolley buses. These quiet vehicles were a great improvement on trams and no doubt would have continued to be used if there were fewer cars taking up the roads.

Our long stay in Hove, however, came to a close in April 1945, and we were heading for Wales, by train to Haverfordwest and then by Army trucks to our destination near Castlemartin. This south west corner of the country was very isolated and still out of bounds to the general public. We were to find the cliff paths held some real treasures. At St. Govans Head, a 700 year old chapel had been built in the rocky cliff face which had to be walked through to reach the cliff edge. The superstition is that if you count the steps going down and then again coming back up the total will always differ. (We didn’t get that far involved.) Wandering down to Stackpole quay, one wondered why it was ever built so far from civilisation – there are, however, many fresh water ponds nearby at Bosherston, which makes one believe quarrying may have been carried out in bygone days. Our so-called signal office was in a Nissen hut situated close to the cliff edge. We were not lonely here and had unexpected company in the form of many rabbits who found their way into the hut. They were certainly very mobile when calls came through on our telephone exchange, and could be seen scampering to their hide-aways, no doubt not appreciating our intrusion. Our site was alongside an Army tank exercise area to enable our unit to experience working in conjunction with tanks. I was thankful to be tucked away indoors, even if it was no better than a draughty hut. Soon I was entitled to a weekend leave, and decided to visit Joyce in Brighton irrespective of a rail journey of over 200 miles each way, and although less than three months had passed since we first met, love must have been in the air. Joyce for many years believed I slept on Brighton beach under the pier, far from the truth as I in fact stayed in the local YMCA hostel in the Strine. Returning to Wales with my head still in the clouds, I left my dress forage cap, green in colour as opposed to the normal khaki, on the train. Good news came in May on the announcement that the war in Europe had come to its final conclusion. VE Day (Victory in Europe) was a time for celebrations throughout the country. Our nearest town was Pembroke and we were able to watch the firework display around the castle, and join in the local festivities. Before long, however, we began to wonder what the future had in store for us; although our battalion was well under strength, war in the Far East was still far from over.

We returned once more to Sussex, but no longer to be billeted in comfortable private houses or even tented accommodation as provided in various other areas. This time we occupied a Barracks, a similar situation to when I was called up and reported to Beverley more than two years ago; drill parades and guard duties loomed in sight. The fact that we were a Light Infantry Battalion meant hat marching was at 140 paces per minute as opposed to the normal 120 paces, though I doubt if anyone could actually prove the accuracy of those figures. Guard duty covered a period of 12 hours involving 2 period each of 2 hours on guard, the remaining 10 hours spent trying to find a peaceful corner in which to sleep. Our new site was on the outskirts of the village of Maresfield, about 12 miles north of Lewes and 10 miles east of Haywards Heath. It was consoling to know that Brighton was not too distant, although later the transport situation caused one or two problems. During this period the Battalion was to be entirely reformed as part of a new Division which would play a decisive part in the final stages of the Japanese war. Many of the older man were being released to return to civilian life, and new intakes arrived in their place. Once reorganised, we began a period of intense training with the emphasis on tropical conditions. Nearby Ashdown Forest represented the jungle, many areas of abundant trees and shoulder high vegetation – perhaps conceivably it was all part of a plan to clear the region of unwanted growth, which obviously had not received any attention during the war years. A few days was spent near Wadhurst, on the Kent border, giving us the opportunity to wield axes etc. and learn how to deal with dense woodland, the kind of situation we would find to a much greater extent in the Far East.

A full signal platoon had to be trained to meet our future requirements, and much of this rested on my shoulders. Wireless communications and telephone line laying were the main subjects to occupy our time, flag signalling and morse code had by this time been outdated for fighting troops. On one occasion, we ran out our own telephone cables in the main street of the local village by making use of the existing electricity board poles. Unfortunately one signaller slipped and grabbed the main electric wires – luckily, he fell onto the top of a thick garden hedge and although black and blue managed to survive. By an ironical chance, the war against Japan ended in August 1945, during our first Divisional exercise. We were making our way down a “jungle track” on a journey that was to last a few days and to add to the realism, the weather was at its hottest. Suddenly a voice broke into the normal flow of messages to announce in a casual way that the war with Japan was over. The abrupt ending came as a result of the dropping of atomic bombs on the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki with disastrous effect. If the serious consequences were known in advance, I doubt whether the terrible infliction would have been perpetrated. Naturally the exercise still went on, and battles fought to enable us to learn exactly how a Light Division would have moved under difficult conditions in the swelter of the Far East forests. There was very little enthusiasm for our workout during those two days, for minds were more occupied as to our future role and destination, hoping that plans already approved for the Far East would no longer be put into practice. Although we were able to be involved in the VE celebrations in Wales, VJ (Victory in Japan) celebrations evaded us due to our pretend jungle battles. Much to our great disappointment, being part of the Brighton festivities would have been much more worthwhile.

The end of the war brought an immediate break from military work, and we were given a fortnight rest at Lancing on the south coast, where the emphasis was on recreation. On our return to Maresfield, we continued with the usual routine and found ourselves unfortunately moving towards peace time conditions. The difference was soon noticeable as drill parades increased, kit had to be laid out for inspection more often, discipline and general tidiness was enforced even to the extent of whitewashing the stones at the entrance to the camp. Nothing would be quite the same again. Barrack room life is something that grows on you and is dependent on the type of individual who shares the quarters with you. We must have been lucky and had few problems. Each hut would probably have had bunk beds to accommodate between thirty and forty men, the room heated by the old-school type tortoise stove. We even managed to find a squad of card playing enthusiasts and would often be found settling down to a game of bridge. Distractions by Draper in the form of playing tunes with knives or other implements whilst fancying himself as a “drummer” had to be endured, whilst poor old Maltby had a bed wetting problem and eventually after many complaints had to be discharged. Perhaps worst of all was the setting up of a new Bugle platoon. Imagine the noise of about twenty men being taught daily to play Reveille and Retreat, early morning call and evening lights out. These same buglers when accomplished would be leading us on drill parades – how we wished in a way that war conditions were still observed, so that we did not have to listen to band practice every day. A short distance at the rear of the camp was a natural swimming pool, but due to the nature of the English summer weather, we rarely took advantage of it. In recent years, we have attempted to find whether the pool still exists by taking a footpath starting beside the Maresfield cricket field. The area has been truly upgraded and a series of three or four pools stacked for angling ran alongside the path leading to a large house. We spoke to the owner, who informed us that the banking holding back the water collapsed some fifty years ago, and the pool as such no longer exists. By continuing along the footpath, we could have walked the short distance to the village of Piltdown. The village pub is called The Piltdown Man, after the discovery in 1912 of a coconut-shaped skull reputed to be the most ancient human remain yet found in England. Archaeologists were still arguing about its authenticity many years later, but at least it brought fame to this small country village where the local public house was named after the fossilized skull.

An Army truck helped us to keep in touch with Brighton as transport was provided each Saturday to take us to and from Haywards Heath station on the main railway line, the truck being lovingly described as the “passion wagon”. This enabled me to see Joyce quite often, but on one occasion things did not quite go according to plan. In order that we could have that little bit extra time together, Joyce decided to join me on the train on my return with the intention of alighting at Preston Park station, a distance of no more than a mile from Brighton. Unfortunately the section of the train in which we found ourselves was not alongside the small platform, so Joyce had to travel up to Haywards Heath and wait for the next train back. Arriving home near midnight after a good fifteen minutes walk in the blackout could not have endeared me to her parents. On another occasion, a Sunday, Joyce came up to Uckfield by train and then by bus to Maresfield to spend time with me. We had a lovely day together and waited at the bus stop for the nine o’clock return to Uckfield; no bus arrived. After enquiries, we discovered that particular bus (the last for the evening) was used on an alternative route. I was on all night guard duty at ten o’clock, so something drastic had to be done. Flagging down a large Army truck that happened to be passing, I hoisted Joyce into the front seat, and away they went. Neither of us were concerned about any risk that might be involved; I guess we trusted people more in those days. On the 5th of November we managed to meet up at Lewes to view the well-known torchlight procession through the town and mixed with the thousands who had come to see the many effigies on parade and watch the barrels of tar being rolled down the main street to the river. This same river caused many problems in October 2000 when, after torrential rainfall, the town was virtually cut off to all traffic due to terrific flooding. Several feet of water played havoc in residential homes and commercial property, whilst a similar tragedy struck nearby Uckfield earlier that same week.

Clearly a fully trained Battalion with its full compliment of Officers and men could not remain in the U.K. for long. Rumours were frequent and sometimes alarming, and we were not surprised when we received orders to mobilise for the M.E.F. (Middle East Forces) After a period of leave and sad farewells, I travelled with the advance party to Telbury Docks in London to assist in loading stores etc. on the S.S. Strathmore. We then sailed around to Southampton where the remainder of the Battalion embarked together with many civilians, some going on holiday and others returning to their home countries. We sailed on the 5th of December, and passed through the notorious Bay of Biscay with very little discomfort, although getting used to sleeping in hammocks took a little while. Being a member of the advance party, I was excused all duties on board, which included helping in the galley and security patrol, so was able to enjoy a relaxing time cruising in the Mediterranean Sea. Standing at the stern of the liner, one could experience the thrill of the crystal clear water as it was churned up by the thrusting propellers, the whiteness of the swirling water contrasting with the surrounding blue sea. Our first port of call was Valletta, Malta, where we were soon besieged by small boats trying sell various types of goods whilst we were at anchor. Others would encourage money to be thrown overboard which they would then dive to retrieve. In the early part of the war, Malta was of great strategic importance, having a naval dockyard, but unfortunately little defence. As they were besieged and bombarded continually for months on end, the inhabitants spent a great deal of time in the existing system of natural tunnels, caves and galleries. Their casualties from these raids were proportionally twice as heavy as we experienced in England. For their unrelenting resistance, the people of the island were awarded the George Cross Medal. C.H. Bailey, a shipping company for whom I later worked, had interests in Malta and Joyce had fears that I might have been required to go there and help in their overseas ship repair utility. This fell through however, but the company to this day still owns and runs a hotel on the island. It was a good voyage with formal and impromptu evening concerts on deck, and even dances in the afternoon for those inclined that way. This was a mixed passenger ship which enabled the sailing to be much more enjoyable than life as a normal wartime troopship.

After nine days at sea, and on a calm and not too hot evening, we could smell Port Said long before we could see it. We slept that night at anchor with our ears full of the sound of Arab voices, who were consistently trying to sell oranges and other ware under the portlights and windows of the accommodation. In the early hours of the 14th December 1945, we disembarked, boarded a train of cattle trucks and moved south to Ismailia, close to the Suez canal. The slowness of the train, the discomfort of the wagons with about 30 men in each and the continued presences of natives selling all kinds of goods are some aspects of the short journey that stuck in the mind. We next found ourselves being transported to the desert transit camp of El Quassassin, a site that needs no introduction to anyone who has served in the Middle East. The desert, for some romantics, is the scene of dusty battles as shown on films, of starry blue night skies, or beautiful maidens being carried off on the back of a horse. Realistically on the other hand, it features pungent smells and indefinable noises with far too much sand and sun, and too many flies and other insects. We had to endure two weeks under the last named conditions, with tents our only shelter from the heat. Leaving England on a cool and damp day in early December did not prepare us for the heat of an Egyptian desert, which even at this time of the year was hotter than any summer back home. The climate change was unbearable for me and, having a high temperature, was confined to sick quarters for the first few days. There was a N.A.A.F.I. in a central position to all the camp sites where food and drink could be obtained. Trouble occurred however on returning under a dark starlit night and trying to find your own particular site; not easy with sand on all sides and nothing else to guide you. In fact on one occasion we were fired upon trying to enter unwittingly the wrong camp. Others were in a sad and sorry state after drinking with some of the locals; methylated spirit was mixed with the drinks which caused partial blindness. This we found out because on their return many stumbled over the tent guy ropes. Once, during our stay, we spent a day in Cairo perhaps to give us a real insight into Eastern customs and lifestyle. It is just as well for the general sanity of the Forces that those posted to El Quassassin rarely remain there long.

Rumours were rife regarding our final destination until at last we were informed we had been chosen as Demonstration Battalion to the Middle East School of Infantry (M.E.S.I.) and would be stationed near their depot at Acre in Palestine. We were pleased to see that the cattle trucks were now replaced by railway coaches. As we made our way through the Gaza strip, some of the local Arab people could be seen climbing aboard the windowless coaches, even as the trains were moving. The unmanned road crossings had trains racing through with no regard for other users. We alighted at Haifa, and were driven the extra few miles to our new location, Camp 253 as it was known, arriving there three days before Xmas. The town of Acre was very old and had seen many battles over the years. The port was used by the Crusaders, having sailed from Dartmouth, to try to promote Christian unity in a country beset with a great deal of unrest and continued as such for two centuries. After the fall of Jerusalem, Acre became the governing centre of the Crusaders for about another one hundred years, until defeated by the Turks in 1291. The Turks attempted to promote the town as a “little Constantinople” and built many buildings with minarets, domes, courtyards, fountains and marble columns with their own distinct flavour.

No sooner had we arrived in the country, we heard about the very recent bomb attack on the King David hotel in Jerusalem with 100 fatalities. This outrage was carried out by the Jewish Underground Resistance Movement; we now realised we were virtually in a war zone played out between the Arabs and the Jews, which of course is being carried out to this very day. Why, we asked ourselves, should British soldiers be put at such risk in an area that had no connection with the British Empire? During the Great War of 1914-1918, the British Government offered independence to both the Jews and the Arabs. With a view to defeating the Turks by a revolt in the desert, Britain encouraged an Arab Nationalist Movement and made promises about setting up an Arab state. In the meantime, a movement of Jewish migration back to Palestine was gaining strength, and Lord Balfour made his famous declaration that a national home for Jews in Palestine would be supported by the British Government. Having promised territorial independence to two nations, Britain, under a League of Nations mandate, was given the task of partitioning the country. By 1929, terrorist activities were put into action by both sides as neither would accept the suggestions for partition – this situation continued for ten years. To appease the Arabs, a White Paper was issued in 1939, limiting Jewish immigration and limiting the purchase of land by the Jews. So it was that while we were fighting for our lives against Hitler and Mussolini, we also had to support the White Paper and above all prevent civil war. To their credit, the Jews did throw aside their internal affairs and supplied men for the fighting forces. However, at the end of the war in Europe, their efforts to return to Palestine were intensified and many British troops were sent there to keep law and order. We found this situation would involve us in the not too distant future. The country at this time was one of the world’s “hot beds” and one of the areas where conditions of “active service” still applied to the British forces.

Camp 253 was tented except for toilet blocks and messrooms, and we were warned to be wary of scorpions, a spider-like insect with a nasty sting in its tail. Xmas was hardly noticeable, especially as the bulk of the stores did not arrive on site until the morning of the 25th. The camp proved less secure than we had hoped. During a gale that lasted two days, the tents of one Company, which were situated on a hill, vanished one night. Corrugated roofs flew through the air, and one small veranda collapsed. The duties of a Demonstration Battalion were considerable and very instructive. The title explains itself – to show on the ground how things “should be done”, performed in the presence of Officers and Officials from many countries. To this end, we had a very short time to acclimatise ourselves and get acquainted with the unusual ground conditions, and also to work in co-operation with the various other participating armoured units. Training continued for my signal section as communication was vital to ensure orders and timings were transmitted and understood. Each morning when exercises were due to take place, I would have to attend an “O” Group (Officers Group) to make note of the signal requirements. We had a Signals Officer but in name only, rarely getting involved in the day to day activities. It was after one of these meetings that I found myself on a charge for the first time, i.e. not complying with Company orders. Each day our personal rifles were taken to a central area and placed under security guard until 6pm, by which time they should have been collected. This was necessary as camps were raided by both Jews and Arabs in the hope of obtaining weapons to use against each other in due course. As our “O” Group meeting had run late that day, my rifle had not been claimed and the RSM (Regimental Sergeant Major) had issued me with a charge. The RSM was not the type of soldier one would want to upset, and needless to say I trod very carefully after this incident, knowing that revenge on his part would be sweet. Fortunately for me, after explanations and discussions, the charge was withdrawn, and so my previously good conduct would not be affected. Sergeants had their own separate mess room on the site, where drinks and food could be bought out of working hours, and a limited amount of games and entertainment provided. We were fortunate to have a member who could play the piano by ear, and it was great to sit and listen whilst he played a melody of tunes – he was, however, temperamental and would only play if in the right mood. Our site was relatively close to Galilee’s best known coastal resort of Nahariya, and so we took advantage of the glorious sands and warm sea on many occasions. The area was originally settled in by German Jews in 1934, who turned their hand to tourism with extremely successful results, greatly appreciated by all of us.

Palestine is only about the same size as Wales, say 200 miles long by about 60 miles wide, at least that was the area I covered between Bethlehem in the south and the Lebanon border in the north. My journeys did not include the southern region comprised mainly of the Negev desert and the Dead Sea. The Jewish immigrants were continually taking over open spaces in the countryside and building up their own settlements, known as a Kibbutz, where people lived and worked as a voluntary group for the benefit of all. The town Jews lived in modern houses and flats, and had luxurious lives with expensive cars and jewellery. The Arabs, on the other hand, had changed little since Biblical times. Arab agriculture had improved, but men could still be seen with oxen trying to turn over land which produced little because of the lack of goodness in the soil. The women continued to carry pitchers on their heads and to walk alongside the men, who would be riding on their donkeys. Their homes were not much more than mud huts and the Bedouins could be seen roaming the desert and living in drab old tents.

The first news of trouble was communicated to us over Xmas when we were informed that a small ship, having avoided the blockades at sea, had beached at Nahariya, only two miles from our camp. It transpired that two hundred Jewish immigrants had landed ashore. Normally, these vessels would be intercepted and the men escorted to Cyprus, where a special camp was set up at Dhekelia to house them. Within a very short time, searches would be made on several Kibbutz to ensure only bona fide immigrants were resident in these settlements. As a unit, we were involved in many of these searches, especially those close to the Syrian border and below the Golan Heights. The Golan Heights is a much desired ridge of land over 1000ft high, and has seen battles fought between the two countries for many years. An early morning start was always necessary on these search occasions, as the convoy of lorries and men would need to be in position long before the inhabitants were up and about. The journey would usually take us towards the Sea of Galilee and from Tiberius itself we travelled north along the edge of the lake to our destination. On arrival, the first task was to erect guards on all exit roads and set up a wire compound on the perimeter. Each dwelling would be knocked up and all residents taken to the compound, where their identities would be checked. In the meantime, their houses would be searched especially for weapons and ammunition. Schools, playgrounds and public buildings were notorious for the amount of weaponry found discreetly hidden. Window sills contained rifles, sand pits covered up ammunition dumps, and underground dug outs held all manner of war equipment having air ventilation supplied through the upright sections of seesaws. Our actions naturally created resentment with the Jewish inhabitants and retaliatory raids were made on Army camps and personnel. Some soldiers had been caught and flogged, and left on waste land - in consequence, instructions were later issued to the effect that servicemen were only to leave camp in groups of six or more.

Although many restrictions were brought into force, we were on occasions able to visit several of the towns and villages associated with the Bible, mainly relative to the New Testament. A tour of the area beside the Sea of Galilee (or Lake Tiberias as it is commonly called) was well worth a day out. On the way, we passed Mount Tabor, the site of the Transfiguration (i.e. a glorification in appearance) where the face of Christ shone like the sun, and his garments became white as light. Here we saw an unusual flat-topped mountain, where the different denominations had built churches on its summit to commemorate this event. After driving through hilly country, we suddenly drop down to the lake which is nearly 700ft below sea level. Its shape is thought to resemble a harp, which is the English meaning of its present Hebrew name of Kinneret. We walked around the town of Tiberias which then was relatively small, and paddled in the stony lake, able to visualise its use by the local fishermen in days of old. As we travelled north alongside the lake, we could see the Mount of the Beatitudes, the site of the Sermon on the Mount also where Jesus chose his twelve disciples. A little further on was the village of Taghba, where the miracle of the five loaves and two fishes took place. Capernaum is the last place on the western lake side where Jesus taught in the synagogue and healed the sick. The River Jordan runs into the northern end of the lake where Jesus was baptised by John. It seemed amazing that the journey I covered between Tiberias and the River Jordan was less than ten miles, yet it unfolded so much of the New Testament stories.

After almost five months in Palestine, a holiday entitlement was due to me, and in May I went to the Forces holiday camp site in Beirut in the Lebanon. Unfortunately, you cannot choose your holiday companions, and those from our unit sharing the same tent were virtually unknown to me, as of course we all had to have the rank of Sergeant. It was in the underground prisons of Beirut that Terry Waite was held captive in solitary confinement for almost four years between 1987 and 1991, as a result of involvement in the plight of hostages. The beaches were nearby to break the monotony, and an organised trip took us to view the ruins of the Temple of Jupiter at Baalbeck. Whilst in the area, I was brave enough to have my photograph taken seated on the back of a camel. On return to Camp 253, we were still awaiting news of our next move; because our time as a Demonstration Battalion had terminated, perhaps now we could all relax and resume normal life. I was soon to discover that HQ Company Sergeant Major (being a regular soldier, not conscripted) was to take his entitlement of three months leave and I would be taking over this position in his absence. With this in mind, I decided to grow my first moustache as duties would entail discipline, taking charge of drill parades etc. – the idea being that aged only twenty one, a moustache would present a more mature and positive appearance. In the meantime, I was to attend an Officers course at Natanya for two weeks in order to lecture some learned Officer gentlemen on the role of a Light Infantry Signal section. I must admit there was some serious thinking to do, as previously the majority of this work had been done on a practical basis in the open air, not in a classroom. At least time away from normal activities gave me an extra incentive and prevented me from becoming stale and restless. My off duty time was spent lazing about on the sand dunes as Natanya was a seaside resort and attracted tourists from nearby Tel Aviv. The settlement was once in the heart of the citrus growing area, but is now nicknamed the “diamond city” as diamond cutting and polishing has been extremely successful. The industry was established by Jewish refugees who moved from the Belgian town of Antwerp when their works had closed during the war because of the German occupation.

It was good to be back at Camp 253 amongst friends again, and to learn our next site was to be Megiddo, about twenty miles south east of Haifa. The area had been a major battleground in history and archaeologists had revealed cities dating back some 6000 years. According to the New Testament, the final battle between the forces of good and evil will take place at Armageddon, (Har Megiddor) to be fought before the Day of Judgment. Our site was not up on the mountain but in a low lying area known as the Plains of Esdraclon. The Arabs called it “The Gateway to Hell” referring probably to the malaria ridden swamps and marshes that made it uninhabitable for centuries. We were based on what was once a small airport and used the runways for physical training and drill parades. Unfortunately we were now in the hot summer season, and at 6am would be seen out on the runways putting in hours of exercise before temperatures became unbearable. After a midday meal, it was siesta time, a period to rest on our beds or read. Mosquito nets were always in use during this time of the day, so there was virtually no way to keep cool in the huts. At four o’ clock, we would struggle to the messrooms for Tiffin (light snack) followed by another two hours of Army work. The only relief we really had was some visit to Beisan (Beit Shan) where we were allowed to bathe in an outdoor pool. The town itself was important having been inhabited by the Romans, who built a theatre and an amphitheatre there. It is recorded that the bodies of the slain Saul and his sons were humiliatingly hung on the town walls, but we didn’t stay to find any proof.

Our peaceful existence was not to last for long, however, as news broke out that manoeuvres would soon take place in the Jordanian desert. Our previous experience in the Egyptian desert transit camp brought no relief to our feelings towards dusty roads that were merely tracks and lack of protection from the sun, for as we could visualise these would be the two main stumbling blocks. For me, matters became worse when I was detailed to act as despatch rider to help to control the convoy containing about one thousand men, equipment, stores and all the transport vehicles from our base at Megiddo to a destination probably miles from any civilisation. My motor bike experience had been practically nil since the early days at the Devils Dyke – I had visions of being left stranded at the rear of the convoy with no one to console me. In actual fact, I enjoyed the independence, as opposed to being bored sitting in the back of a truck for several hours. One of our despatch riders was not so lucky when he was involved in an accident and the petrol tank blew up; certainly had me worried for a time. We crossed the River Jordan a few miles south of the Sea of Galilee, and once in another country soon noticed a difference in the terrain. We travelled east to Mafraq and then south towards Amman, the capital city of Jordan. Somewhere in between was our camp site, very basic indeed. Water was naturally scarce and only once a week were we able to have a shower, which entailed the long journey to Mafraq and back. By the time we returned, no doubt we felt just as dusty as before we set out. We tried one solution to the problem, but even this was scuttled in a short period of time. We found a nearby stream with ample water and enjoyed the freedom of cavorting naked in its coolness. The young boys and girls from the village, however, would congregate on the bridge and watch our nude displays. One can imagine it wasn’t long before local objections were raised and our ablutions stopped forthwith. There were two items of note that helped to make our stay in the desert reasonably acceptable; a visit to the old city of Jerash was organised, where we were able to walk around and view the ancient ruins, and King Abdullah of Jordan paid us a visit, for which we had to tidy up and look spruce, if that was possible under these conditions. We later returned to our base at Megiddo alas none the worse for wear.

By September we were packing up for our next move, which would take us to Jerusalem, the last place one would have thought suitable for British soldiers considering the different religious connections with the city. The journey south was about eighty miles passing en route the town of Nablus. In biblical times, it was known as Schehem, having been populated for six thousand years. An earthquake destroyed it in 1927, so Nablus of today is a modern Arab town. The well which Jacob dug and by which Jesus is believed to have met the “Woman of Samaria” is a much visited site. Our objective in Jerusalem was the Convent of the Holy Cross, a monastery that also housed American priests and a handful of female Polish refugees. Our tents were situated in what was once an olive grove, immediately below the monastery; needless to say, the Officer’s billets, stores etc. were in the confines of the building. Perhaps we were the first troops to set up camp in this spot, as the press were particularly interested, and many photographs were taken supposedly for the local paper. Somehow I managed to obtain about a dozen of these large prints, in one of which I can be seen apparently talking with two of the female refugees. A ‘No Entry’ barrier actually separated us, and in any case, the women could not speak English, but I guess it created the right impression. I happened to be photographed because I was on duty at the time, and carrying out inspections as Acting Company Sergeant Major. The RSM who previously in January had attempted to put me on a charge was also in the same photo and smiling, so maybe he held no further grudge. Except when the King David hotel had been partially blown up, the city itself was normally quiet even though inhabited by both Jews and Arabs; in any event, we were looking forward to a peaceful couple of months. There was one occasion however while we were shopping in the centre that bullets were fired; we ran for shelter and did not stay around for long that day. Having served in Palestine for a period of almost 12 months, we were privileged to see many of the religious towns, buildings and streets associated with the Bible. This took place in our own time and at no expense, whereas visiting tourists pay a considerable sum of money for the pleasure with the hurried viewing of areas taking only a few days.

Nearly 2000 years ago, Jerusalem was almost razed to the ground and holy places desecrated due to an uprising against its rulers. Rebuilt many times due to continuous wars, the surviving walls of the main temple (known as the Wailing Wall or the Western Wall) has become the most sacred Jewish site in the world. I found it a rather moving experience to visit the wall where Jewish worshippers would be praying aloud or writing their prayers on scraps of paper and thrusting them into the wall crevices. It is a sign of devotion to kiss the stones. In the evenings, when beads of dew appear on the stones, it is said they weep for the fall of the Temple. Moslems are also found here, and they associate the Temple with the point from which Mohammed ascended to the Seventh Heaven; the Mosque of Omar was built in his memory. Another tourist attraction is the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which for most Christians is the holiest place on earth, because it was here that Jesus fulfilled the function for which he was born, i.e. to die for the sins of others. Within the Church, under the statue of the Virgin Mary can be seen an original rock marking the site of the crucifixion, known as Calvary and also Golgotha. (the place of the skull) We were given the impression that many of the sites visited in the Holy Land have been fabricated and may not in fact represent the factual historical locations where these events took place. Various bazaars and markets are part of the main streets of the old city, colourful and alive with Middle Eastern ways. Many of the stalls displayed jewellery, embroidery, antiques, sheepskin goods etc., and bargaining was a vital part of any transaction. In one of the many alleyways I bought a sheepskin coat intended for Joyce, but it never made the journey to England, as afterwards I realised it was far too cumbersome to carry such a long distance.

The route south to Bethlehem should have taken about half an hour, but could take twice as long depending on the traffic, i.e. the goats and sheep one encountered on the way. On the outskirts of the town, we passed the building marking Rachel’s tomb. She was Jacob’s wife, and mother of his favourite son Joseph, but died at this spot whilst giving birth to their second son Benjamin. Joseph, who lived in Nazareth, a town of Galilee, had to travel south to Bethlehem in Judea to be counted with his tribe for a Roman census, a distance of some 80 miles. Imagine such a journey in those days with perhaps just a donkey carrying a minimum of food and clothing, and his wife Mary pregnant, waiting to give birth to Jesus at any moment. The Church of the Nativity was built over the stable where the event took place. The holiest part of the church is the Grotto, where the fourteen pointed Star of Bethlehem is set in the floor to mark the birthplace. The town itself is hilly, quite small at the time I was there but full of life with abundant animals in the streets. You may ask what were our units actually doing whilst stationed in a Jerusalem monastery, and as far as my memory goes the simple answer is “not a lot”. I was kept busy trying to carry out the duties of the C.S.M. This involved keeping a daily track of approximately 250 men of H.Q. Company, noting those on leave, those reporting sick or on loan to other companies, and especially those who had misbehaved and had been put on fatigue duties. Discipline on this kind of site was not difficult compared to a barracks with parade grounds etc. There were always some who would not toe the line, and had to be marched before the Commanding Officer for sentencing. This part of the job always brought a few enemies as did the selection of men for guard duty, a miserable task at any time. One of the most embarrassing duties is visiting the messrooms with the Duty Officer and going from table to table asking if there are any complaints about the food – some of the replies could not be printed.

Once again we moved, this time in November to Peninsula barracks in the port of Haifa, almost a year since we vacated our last barracks in Maresfield. We now had a Bugle platoon well trained so that each morning we were roused to the playing of “Reveille”, meal times would resound to the playing of “Come to the Cookhouse Door”, “Lights Out” would echo at ten o’ clock each night and on the parade ground we marched to whatever tune took their fancy. It was no surprise that we had one particularly large turnout when we were inspected by General Venning (Colonel of our Regiment) and General Barker. (G.O.C. Palestine) The modern town had little trace of the Orient and the relationship between Arab and Jew was good. Haifa itself is described as a cake with several layers; three in fact. We were stationed in the lowest level alongside the harbour - also the situation of the industrial belt. There were several cafés in our area and we frequently visited one where we were able to enjoy a good English breakfast. Once again I found myself in trouble with the R.S.M. for eating with the other ranks, but most times able to get away with it without being seen or reported. I remember one restaurant in particular that we frequented in the evenings, when we were often serenaded at our table by a tuneful fiddler. I’m afraid they made very little money out of me as I’m a very poor drinker. Tony, on the other hand, was different and would even throw money away by buying drinks for any of the girls on duty. For this rather expensive drink, probably coloured water, the hostess would come to your table for a harmless chat; nothing more was expected.

The second level of the town was the modern commercial layer, and Haifa then being the next largest town to Jerusalem had plenty of shops, open air cafés, parks and gardens well away from the lower industrial area. By decree we were still not allowed to go out and about unless in groups of not less than six. Extremist rebels, the Irgun and Stern Group, were still intent on terrorist activities in an attempt to break the deadlock over so-called illegal immigration of Jewish refugees released from Nazi internment camps. On one occasion, while sitting in a café window seat I happened to notice a chap standing just outside who appeared to have spent at least half an hour, on and off, staring through the window at us. We left the building in trepidation and were pleasantly surprised to find he was merely a “shoe shine” man who was carrying out his trade under the window. A visit to the cinema, where three translations were thrown on the screen, would often erupt in uproar when the news items were shown. We discreetly kept quiet on these occasions. With a group of six men it was not always easy or convenient to find venues suitable for all, and very occasionally we ended up at night times in a place of ill repute. A particular one was allocated to the rank of Sergeants only, so there was no choice. Needless to say one drink was sufficient for me and would last as long as necessary, that is until other pleasures were completed. The topmost level of the town was Mount Carmel, residential with buildings from modest bungalows to millionaire’s villas. This was the most sought after area with splendid views over the port and bay, the Gallilean mountains visible in the distance. Mount Carmel itself was backed by pine forests and obviously habited by the affluent section of the community. In old Biblical times, Haifa was merely a fishing village which had associations with the prophet Elijah.

Christmas 1946 was enjoyed in true fashion, much different compared to the previous year when we had just arrived at Camp 253. Many of the men still had normal duties to perform over the holiday period, including the cookhouse staff preparing and serving the special Xmas dinner; others were unfortunate enough to find themselves detailed for guard duty. Virtually a non-drinker, I volunteered to be on duty on the 25th, but had no disorders or trouble to mar the day’s celebrations. Haifa proved one of our favourite sites, being so accessible to all areas of a modern town that had everything except perhaps beaches but in December that hardly mattered. We were able to visit Nazareth, a typical Arab community about twenty miles distant. In one respect it reminded one of Wells in Somerset, with a small water channel but in this case flowing through the middle of the shopping area. Vehicles were unable to proceed along the street and trader’s wares were displayed on either side of the water course. This was the home town of Mary and Joseph, a carpenter by trade, where Jesus grew to manhood until his baptism by John. The Church of the Annunciation was built over the cave where it is believed the Angel informed Mary of the impending birth of her son. Another church was built over the family’s modest home and carpentry workshop. Our stay in the Holy Land was soon to come to its end, but the experience of seeing so many well known places will always remain vivid in my mind.

Our three months in Haifa came to its close at the end of January; once again, all stores and equipment were packed up and loaded ready for transportation by sea, as we were posted to the island of Cyprus. We landed at Famagusta where Othello’s tower stands at the entrance to the port. It is thought Shakespeare had this in mind in his play “Othello the Moor of Venice”. On disembarking, we were carried by road to Dhakelia, north east of the port of Larnaca, to take over supervision of a camp filled with illegal Jewish refugees who had been prevented from entering Palestine. They were housed in huts inside a high barbed wire enclosure similar to a concentration camp. Naturally, they were anti any military force and would express themselves in no uncertain way, either verbally or creating continuous noises. One could sympathise with their feelings, knowing they only wanted to live in the country of their religion, especially after the way they had been treated and hounded during the war. Our signal section duties included manning the permanent camp switchboard and almost caused what could have been the first strike action known to the British Army. The problem arose over guard duty. There was a limited number of those who could operate the switchboard and this entailed frequent all night working. Their argument arose because they were being detailed for all night guard duty as well. At the end of the day, they won their appeal but made many enemies in the process. We were billeted close to the Mediterranean Sea, and once again could indulge in the advantages provided by the sea and sand.

Towards the end of February, I heard that I was entitled to a month’s leave in England; my hopes were high. By the time I returned, there would only be a further two months before I was due to be demobbed, so I was hoping a posting would be found rather than having to return to Cyprus for such a short period. The return to civvy street was based on the age of individual members and the time spent in the Services. My Age and Service Group number was 53, and therefore my demobilisation would be in June 1947, according to the tables produced. The first part of my journey was by ship to the south of France. We have all heard reports from people who often travel on the high seas that at times they have been tossed about so much they could only stand up by holding onto some part of the ship’s structure. We encountered such a situation while passing through the normally quiet Mediterranean Sea. We left Famagusta in a rather small foreign passenger vessel, and while skirting Sicily met up with some very bad weather. Shaving was impossible as I was thrown from one bulkhead to another, dinner plates would not stay on the tables and would slide from one end to the other unless held down. We were all close to being sick, which was not helped by the sight of some of the cookhouse staff dashing out to the ships rail and vomiting overboard. We were obviously glad to arrive in Toulon safe and sound, our first night being spent in a transit camp with temperatures around freezing point. Later, we found that most of Europe had one of their coldest ever winters; this was made evident as we travelled north by train to a cross channel port. The countryside was beautifully white, a real picturesque scene of winter. Most of Britain had felt the effect of this unusually cold spell, and fortunately it was all about to change by the time I arrived on the scene in mid March. My younger sister Hazel was to be married on the 15th of March to Victor Page of London. Vic had served in the Army during the war and had decided to stay in the Services. I acted as best man for the great occasion which took place locally. I’m not quite sure whether it was just coincidence that my leave fell in with their arrangements, or whether I was able to inform them in advance. Naturally, some of the leave was spent in Brighton, for I’m sure after fifteen months apart there was still plenty to talk about. It’s amazing how many letters we wrote to each other to keep in touch, probably once a week for almost eighty weeks, so maybe after all that correspondence we knew quite a lot about how we felt towards each other. It was also celebration time for Joyce and myself as we became engaged prior to my return abroad. (no chance of a posting to a unit in England)

My instructions were to report to Liverpool Docks in mid April, to join the ship that would take me to Cyprus; my short period of freedom had come to an end, but at least June was not too far distant. The weekend in question was Grand National Day in 1947, and held as always at Aintree, Liverpool. My hopes that the crowds for the race meeting on this particular important day may prevent my reaching the ship on time were not realised; trains seemed to run on time in those days whatever the circumstances. After a smooth sea journey, I arrived at Dhakelia camp heading for an unexpected confrontation with the hierarchy. The Battalion requested that I gave thought to staying on as a Regular soldier, and to this end offered me the position of HQ Company Quartermaster Sergeant. (C.Q.M.S.) This involved responsibility for stores and requisitions; quite an important task especially each time a move was made to a new camp site. Naturally I considered the option, particularly as a good pay rise would have come my way – however, there were two negative thoughts in my mind. Firstly, Army stores did not have the appeal of the signal section, the new alternative could prove very boring. More importantly, how would this affect my relationship with Joyce? Would she be prepared to live in barracks or move at a moment’s notice to any destination in the world? Without any doubt, I knew what the answer to those questions would be, and so unhesitantly I turned down their offer. My future working civilian life had already been in my mind, and in this respect I wrote to be considered as an entrant to a teacher training college. Having spent at least two years lecturing or performing in one way or another in front of people, albeit some of it was bellowing instructions on a parade ground or instilling discipline within the Company, I felt I would be suited to life in the teaching profession. Unfortunately it was not to be, as there were no immediate vacancies due to the excessive number of ex-Servicemen already having left the forces.

Crossing off the days remaining to be served in the Army would now begin in earnest. The last two months in Cyprus had to be endured, so I decided to take the opportunity to discover what the inland had to offer. For many years, the island had been inhabited in the north by the Turks, and in the south by the Greeks resulting in local skirmishes. In recent times, it has become difficult to travel from one zone to the other; in 1947, however, we were able to move around at will. In my mind I found the northern area had more to offer. The town of Kyrenia was a gem with its horseshoe-shaped harbour having a giant castle guarding its entrance; a swim in its calm waters was a treat. Nearby was the quiet village of Bellapaise, where I recall we sat around the tables in the market square with the locals, drank their strong black coffee but did not indulge in their vile smoking habit. The little village overlooked the ruined monastery built precipitously into the hillside by the French Crusaders in the thirteenth century. Further south, a majestic winding road took us to the haunting Crusader castle of St. Hilarion, perched dizzily thousands of feet above the bay of Kyrenia. Down the other side of the mountain is the capital city of Nicosia, now partitioned between the two nationalities. My pals Tony and Frank, being slightly older, had already left the Forces and as the end of June approached I was glad to follow in their footsteps; the Army in peacetime was no picnic.

Aldershot was to be my “last port of call”, the barracks where on 29th June 1947 my demobilisation was completed. 14590125 W/Sgt. Gray handed in his uniform and belongings, and came away as a civilian all bedecked in his demob suit. The testimonial on my release leave certificate was quite flattering – “Conduct Exemplary, has been Battalion Signal Sgt. For the past year at which he has been very good. A steady worker with intuition and resource, above average intelligence and absolutely trustworthy.” (Signed by Lt. Colonel Fitt, Commanding Officer 1st Bn. D.C.L.I.) Having driven a Jeep for about 100 yards on a straight flat road, I applied to the Army for a civilian driving licence; not only for a motorcycle but also a car. This was given without any questions being asked or tests taken, and was beneficial when I purchased my first car. However, it proved embarrassing on my first visit to a petrol station; I had to reverse out but didn’t know how to get into the reverse gear. The attendant who advised me must have wondered what was going on. And so it was I returned to the village of Mylor Bridge, and resumed working in the Accounts Department of the ship repair company. In retrospection I must say I have never regretted returning to this work, and continued in dealing with ships until retirement at Bristol in January 1990, that is, except for a short period of four years in the 1960s as Office Manager of the Civil Engineering Company, Coroley, being part of the same group of companies. My long experience with ships enabled me to progress from accounts and estimating to office manager, and at one time due to illness was acting company manager. It seems strange that I reported to my first Army destination at Beverley on April 15th, the date in 1953 that our son Ashley was born; also I was demobilised on June 29th, the date of the birth of our granddaughter Ruby in the year 2000. Another coincidence is that I married Joyce on the 15th May 1948, the same day that Palestine was partitioned and the State of Israel came into being.

All in all, I should feel relieved that having been on embarkation leave on two occasions, I returned each time to my unit; whereas I could have been engaged in heavy fighting on the Italian front, been sent across the Channel as reinforcements to the D-Day landings, or even ended up in the Far East. Perhaps my service time experience was never full of heroics for which I should no doubt feel thankful as I could well have been just a name on a war memorial. It was certainly interesting having been stationed on twenty four different sites in just over four years, never long enough in one particular location to be bored. At least having put my details on paper, future generations will not have to ask the usual question – “And what did you do during the war Dad, Grandad, Great Grandad etc?”