Howard Neill
04-01-2008, 08:01 AM
In 1962 I had received my call up papers for National Service which was due to commence later that year. After leaving school, I thought, “Let’s get this thing out of the way". I went to the army office which was responsible for coordinating the call ups and asked to be placed in the next possible intake. The staff there, were used to dealing with requests for deferment, were taken aback but moved my name forward to the next intake - a couple of weeks later.
Very soon a large brown envelope arrived bearing the name Neill, A.H.. There were reams of papers inside. These were military style dos and don'ts relating to my forthcoming visit to Llewellyn Barracks- The theme of the contents seemed to be primarily aimed at allaying the fears of anxious parents and had a very paternalistic tone.
The day on which I was due to leave I went to the Shamrock barber shop in Jameson Avenue. This was my favorite barber shop because they charged only two shillings and six pence (half a crown or 25c) for a haircut. I already had a very short haircut.
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Much to my parent's consternation, one of the very first things which I did on leaving St Georges was to have my hair cut into a "flat top" brush cut. I told the barber that I was leaving for Llewellyn Barracks and I wanted an army style haircut. He practically shaved the back of my neck and trimmed the already short brush cut. I asked him what the powers that be would think of the latter. He replied "No need to worry - the R.S.M. at Llewellyn" also has one.
That night there was quite a throng of relations to see me off at the station. I felt quite grown up waving out of the window with my fellow conscripts, as the train pulled slowly out of Salisbury station,
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Mom and Dad had given me a few pounds to help me on my way to the first payday. I was pleased to see a friendly face in the form of Pat Abrahams, formerly of Highlands School and St Georges. He was also going to do his national service. I joined him for a beer in the dining car. It was packed with youngsters of about the same age all enjoying a last night of freedom. The staff were looking harassed. I don't think that they enjoyed these "call up " trains.
At one stage a rather large individual joined us and asked in a most friendly fashion if I would like a fight. Whilst I was pondering this unusual, and amiable, request Pat, who was a very good boxer and appeared to know the character, replied to the effect that I didn't feel like one right at that time. After the individual had gone, Pat told me that the potential pugilist was from the same boxing club as him but didn't adhere to the spirit of the Queensbury Rules and made a habit of picking fights outside the ring.
After a while we returned to our respective compartments. It is just as well that we left when we did because we heard later that, after we had gone, my would be boxing partner and a couple of cronies had caused trouble in the dining car. There was some damage to railway property and the police had to board the train at Gatooma to sort the problem out. Apparently names were taken and a report was sent by radio to the Officer Commanding, Llewellyn Barracks. That was not a very good start to their four and a half months of national service. Meanwhile, back in our compartment, we slept the sleep of the just.
Around 6.00 am the following morning the train pulled into Heany Junction which is about fifteen miles outside Bulawayo. There was no platform and we passed our luggage down to the waiting arms of some of our party who had disembarked. A number of khaki Bedford troop carriers were parked by the track. A solitary Sergeant stood next to them.
His attire was immaculate. He wore a drab coloured cap which sat squarely on his head, with a slashed peak covering his eyes and gave the impression that he could not see directly ahead of him. The Rhodesian Staff Corps badge, consisting of a lion and tusk, glistened from the cap in the morning sun. Underneath the lion and tusk was a bow shaped scroll which simply said "Rhodesia". A canvas stable belt, in the Staff Corps colours, completed his ensemble which comprised khaki shorts, hose tops, putties and a pair of black boots which positively gleamed. A broad red sash, which was worn diagonally across his chest, indicated that he was Duty Sergeant. In his left hand he bore an instructor's cane.
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Eventually we had all disembarked and the train pulled slowly away. I detected looks of pity from some of the passengers as they passed our group. Others grinned - perhaps they had already been to Llewellyn Barracks. I noticed that some of railway employees, who lived in Rhodesia Railways houses at the junction, were peering at us out of their windows. They knew what was going to happen next.
The sergeant formed us into groups of about twenty and each group was allocated a truck. Coloureds and Indians in Rhodesia were also liable for call up. Those in our intake were assembled on the left. The sergeant then told us that, starting from the left, he would give the command and that group would embus into their allocated vehicle. That sounded reasonable enough.
He then issued the instruction to the Coloureds and Indians who quietly gathered their belongings and started ambling towards their conveyance. The, up to now, quietly spoken sergeant bawled in his best parade ground voice "As you were. When I say move, you move. This is not a holiday camp!" The now flustered looking group re-assembled with their possession® and, when the order was given, broke into a shambling run with their impedimenta. This was not good enough and the sergeant barked "Listen people, I have all the time in world and we are not leaving here until you get it right." Twice more this happened until, by the end, assorted Coloureds, Indians and suitcases were positively flying over the high tail board of the truck. I am sure that many an Indian wished he was safely back in his daddy's shop in Railway Avenue.
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The next group had seen what was required but, in spite of this, had to make a number of attempts until their speed of embarkation was up to the satisfaction of the sergeant. My group, being on the right, was the last. By the time our turn came, we must have learned from example because, by some miracle, we did not hear the dreaded words "As you were" or perhaps our persecutor realised that he didn't have "all the time in the world".
As the trucks rumbled through the gates at Llewellyn Barracks we entered another world. We were not to leave those gates for six long weeks. This was the Royal Rhodesia Regiment training depot. That was its sole reason for existence. At any given moment, up to six hundred trainees were undergoing various stages of basic training- Being the new arrivals, we were the lowest of the low. Llewellyn Barracks was originally a World War II air training base which comprised assorted hangers, administration buildings and row upon row of prefabricated corrugated iron barrack rooms which had been erected on a temporary basis for the duration of the long gone war.
We discovered that we were the 49th intake which was to be known as "A" Company — some two hundred strong. We came from all parts of the Federation, except for Nyasaland where the residents were not liable for National Service. One of our group was complaining that he had come from South Africa to work in Salisbury only a matter of months before and, in no time, he had received call up papers for involuntary army training.
We were divided into platoons and allocated barrack rooms. Ours bore the simple inscription above the door "131". This was to be my home for a while. My bed was next to the door. It consisted of a steel divan with a coir mattress. Beside it was a green steel bedside locker and a matching metal wardrobe. The person who had been allocated the bed next to me came over and introduced himself. He was Dave Lewis who was a farmer's son from the Que Que area. He had just graduated from U.C.T. with a degree in civil engineering. He and two others were in the same boat. They were none too pleased at having their career plans interrupted in this fashion. I was to get on well with Dave. He was very quietly spoken., but a physically powerful man, who did not suffer fools gladly.
We hardly had time to settle in when we were being told to form up on the road in front of the barrack rooms. From there we were marched to a large hanger where we underwent extensive medical tests. We had already undergone medical check ups at the respective reporting centres in our home towns but this was far more thorough. The army wanted to make sure that its., newly acquired., property was in good health before driving it into the ground. A number of draftees failed the medical and were sent home. I was passed category "A" which I noted from the form indicated that I was considered fit for service "anywhere in the world" - a rather daunting prospect.
We then went to Company Headquarters where we were issued with "Company kit" which comprised certain items of webbing, mess tins, etc. We were required to spread the kit out on the ground for checking. As each item was called out, we held the piece up and packed it into our large webbing packs.
Two staff sergeants were standing behind me supervising the operation. One hissed to the other out of the corner of his mouth "R.S.M,". I followed their gaze and there., striding towards us was a giant of a man. His face looked as though it had been set in granite. His turnout was immaculate. A large brass studded pace stick was clasped in his left hand as though it was a toy. A crane's feather sprouted from behind the badge on his slouch hat and added to his, already considerable stature.
We were brought to attention. The great man told the Sergeants to carry on then took to pacing the lines of new recruits. I crouched down and busied myself with the task of filling my pack. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that the R.S.M. was moving ever closer. My heart sank when the big gleaming boots did not pass but came to a halt right next to my pack, "You, what is your name?" I looked up to see the pace stick pointing directly at me. As far as I knew, this was very bad news. One of the many bits of advice which my brother had given me was not to let the staff find out your name because once they latched on to it;, they were prone to bawl at you across the parade ground. Here was, not one of the instructors, but the R.S.M. himself wanting that vital piece of information. I stammered out the name. The R.S.M. pointed at me once again with his pace stick, snarled "Good haircut", turned on his heel and strode away. Thank you Shamrock Barber Shop!
A new character then entered our lives in the form of Staff Sergeant Horley. He was to be our platoon instructor for the first phase of six weeks. He told us to gather our kit and form up on the road. We then heard the command which was to become all too familiar; "By the left double march." From School Cadets, I knew "Quick march" and "Slow march" but I had never heard the "double" which meant that you run. We were going to do a lot of this in the next six weeks. By the time we had reached our barrack room., which was some distance away, our assorted bunch in civilian attire was pretty well out of breath.
The still immaculate, and evenly breathing, sergeant Horley ran his steely blue eyes over our panting ranks and said "I can see that we are going to have to get you fit, people. Now, when I give the command break, I want to see you turn to the right, double into the barrack;, put your kit on you beds, double back and reassemble here on the road. Have you got that?" One or two nodded agreement. This did not make sergeant Horley very happy. He roared "When I ask you a question and the answer is yes you reply 'Staff'. Have you got that?" Some of us half heartedly replied "staff". That was not good enough for our sergeant. We had to practice shouting "staff" a number of times until we were finally roaring in unison at the top of our voices to the satisfaction of this new bane in our lives.
He then issued the command "break". We turned to the right and ran for the barrack room- This was certainly not good enough for staff Horley. "As you were. When I say break, I want to see a cloud of dust and, by the time the dust has settled I don't want to see any of you in sight. Have you got that?" "Staff" we roared in unison. It appeared that, although the spirit was willing the flesh was weak because we had to repeat this a number of times until he was satisfied. Later that afternoon we were dismissed for the day and told to assemble in the same place at 08h00 the next morning.
Now was a chance to meet my barrack room companions. They were a mixed bunch who had been called up at random from all walks of life. Amongst them was Geoff Griffin., a Springbok cricket player who had toured with the Springbok team to U.K. the year before. In those days Rhodesia was treated as a Province in South African sporting circles. A small group had gathered around Geoff and were asking him questions about his experiences.
With my "vast" knowledge and "love" of sports I thought that I would make a contribution to the conversation. "Who was that bowler who kept being 'no balled' for throwing" I enquired. A hush fell on the group and all heads turned to look at me. It then dawned that I was looking at the culprit. Geoff seemed to avoid after and it took a couple of weeks for him to decide that I was "O.K.".
The next morning was a Saturday and we found ourselves being kitted out at the Quartermaster's Store. We were overwhelmed at the vast array of items for which we were to be responsible. There were drill boots, weapon training boots, denim trousers and jackets, shirts, P.T. kit., khaki shorts and tunics - berets- badges., buttons- jungle hats- slouch hats, web belts and rifle slings. We were even issued with knives, forks, clasp knives, shaving kits and a sewing kit called a housewife.
On our return to the barrack room, Staff Horley dished out an initial issue of floor polish, boot polish, Blanco and Brasso. The idea was that, even if you arrived at the depot penniless and in rags, you had enough of your basic requirements to see you through to the first pay day without the excuse that you had no money to buy cleaning items.
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Being a weekend, we were left to ponder our fate until Monday morning - or so we thought. After supper we were relaxing in the barrack room when someone shouted "staff" and we stood to the ends of our beds, as we had been taught. There was staff Horley, still in his uniform and he had come to give us projects to complete over the weekend. They included shrinking our green berets into the correct shape, pressing the dimples out of our drill boots and other unusual tasks.
He was accompanied by staff sergeant le Roux who was a colour Sergeant. Staff le Roux delivered a lecture on how he was going to hound us until we were working as a team. He also said that everyone would sign up for a recognised sport. This was not good news to my ears as I had always been something of a rebel in this regard and, in fact, prided myself in my non participation. I approached him afterwards and suggested that I could work towards obtaining the Diploma of the Royal Life Saving Society. I already held all the lifesaving medals, up to and including Distinction Award, Instructor and Examiner’s certificates. The Diploma was the RLSS highest award and only two people in Rhodesia held it. I gather that staff le Roux thought that this was a terrible idea. His idea of sport was rugby, cricket or, perhaps, hockey.
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On the Sunday we were working on the allocated tasks when the ubiquitous staff Horley appeared to see how we were progressing. He then told us what uniform to wear for our first foot drill lesson the next morning at 8 am. He also showed us how to wear- it and what points regarding turnout required special attention. He pointed his instructor's cane in a sweeping gesture at our semi circle which had gathered around him. "Now you people better not let me down. I want you to be highly jacked". "Highly jacked" was an expression which was to become most familiar to us over the next many weeks. 1 think that it may have been unique to the Rhodesian Army. It essentially meant immaculate or completely flawless and woe betide anyone who was not«
The next morning found us formed up on the road at the appointed, hour. Staff Horley brought us to attention and., with Staff le Roux in attendance, proceeded to tear our efforts at being "highly jacked" to shreds. One poor unfortunate had forgotten to polish the brass pin which held his beret badge in place - another had not polished the inside of the brass slider on his webbing belt — this could only be ascertained by completely dismantling the belt. One of our number wore his lanyard on the right shoulder instead of the left. As each fault was discovered the individual would be told "You see that tree over there?", at the same time being indicated a tree some three hundred yards distant, "I want you to double around it then back to here. If I don't think you have done it fast enough, you can do it again."
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We were to discover that, besides being some form of sadists, the staff were also comedians. An individual who had not properly shaved was told to "stand closer to the razor whilst shaving". One whose name, in military style, was “Store, E” would be taunted by the staff, "What's the matter;. Story? Didn't anyone bring you tea in bed this morning?" We found some of these little pearls of wisdom amusing but any laughter would be immediately silenced.
So began a ritual which was to be repeated each day. Inspection over, we were marched to the parade ground - a massive macadamised area which had served as the air strip and apron when Llewellyn was an air force base. We were to get to know that area well for we were to spend a lot of our time there during the next six weeks. It was drill, drill and more drill and all the time, there in the distance, we could plainly see Bulawayo with its promise of the comforts of civilisation.
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Occasionally we were given a "smoke break" which meant that we were allowed to sit in the bush on the edge of the parade ground where we could rest for ten minutes and those who smoked could enjoy a cigarette. It had been previously explained that the smokers were not to walk around with the unsightly bulges of packets in their pockets. They had to keep two or three cigarettes in their field dressing pockets with an equal number of matches together with a small piece of the dark striking area which had been previously torn off the match box.
That first week- in between the inevitable drill parades, we attended a number of lectures - The Officer Commanding, Llewellyn conducted one of them. His name was Jim Veech and Mom and Dad happened to know him - Then followed the "A" Company O.C. and the R.S.M. plus a number of others. Even the Quartermaster had his say. That first week also comprised a number of inoculations for various ailments. This included the dreaded T.A.B. which rendered your arm partially immobile and was therefore administered- in two exciting installments, Saturday lunchtime so that we would be fully recovered by Monday morning.
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Wherever we went it was at the double. Even outside the mess hall, those in the queue were required to "double mark time" until they entered the mess hall. Just to make sure that this happened- a Regimental Police Lance Corporal would be on duty by the door. Each recruit had his own tin plate, knife fork and spoon. These would be taken to meals and held out at the stainless steel baine maries where the food was slopped onto the plates.
At lunch time on that first Monday a little ritual was enacted which would become a daily feature. Once the mess hall was more or less full, the Company Sergeant Major strode into the room in all his glory with his pace stick tucked menacingly under his arm. The pace stick was banged loudly three times on a convenient table. The C.S.M. bawled out "Any complaints?" and looked defiantly around the room as if to say "Don't you dare speak a word". The short silence that followed was enough for him. He then rounded on the urbane David Ha11ay who, by now, had finished his meal and was enjoying a cigarette with a tin mug of rather dubious looking tea. "You there- when you have finished your meal, you get out of here. Do you think that this is a hotel?" David fled the room before he attracted any more unwanted attention.
All this unaccustomed "doubling" was taking its toll on my feet which had begun to swell up to the point where I was having difficulty in putting on my boots. Because of this I decided that I should seek medical assistance. There was no popping in to the camp hospital at the end of the day. Those requiring the services of that august institution had to form up on "sick parade" at 8.00 am.
In order to join the sick parade one would first report this intention to the platoon sergeant. In my case this was staff Horley who appeared to harbour grave doubts as to the legitimacy of my complaint but eventually dismissed me with disparaging remarks regarding my physical prowess. I fell in at the left of the parade with the other apparent malingerers under watchful eye of a Medical Corps Sergeant who seemed to also have doubts as to the genuineness of our particular cases.
We were marched to the camp hospital where we were made to sit on long wooden benches to await our turn to be seen by the Medical Officer. When my turn came I found out that he was a kindly looking Major by the name of Davison. In spite of his benign appearance;, I did not feel it appropriate to mention his namesake, my Uncle Stan Davisson.
The doctor agreed that my feet were indeed swollen, prescribed three days light duties and ordered me to report to the Physiotherapy Department at the end of the passage. On my way, I passed a number of wards. In the Indian ward there was a patient lying on a bed with a fellow trainee who appeared to be visiting him but was in the attitude of prayer. I thought to myself "This appears to be a place to avoid at all costs!"
The physiotherapy Sister was nice enough. I later learned that she was the wife of one of the medical orderly sergeants. She ordered me to remove my boots and socks then lie face down on an examination table. She set an infra red lamp which was turned on in the vicinity of my ankles and went off to attend to other patients. The lamp became extremely hot and was causing a burning sensation on the skin of the ankles. I assumed this to be part of the treatment and, determined not to be classed as a "sissy", did not say anything. After a while I was told that I could replace my footwear and return to my platoon with a note to show to sergeant Horley.
A great part of the morning had been consumed by the time I located my platoon on the parade ground. Sergeant Horley made remarks to the effect that it was good of me to join them. He had a look at the note and said that I had the option of standing on the side of the parade ground and watching my comrades being put through their paces or I could join them. I opted for the latter.
When I removed my boots that evening I noticed that it was not surprising that the lamp had felt hot. It had created large blisters on the sides of the ankles where they were closest to the lamp. I thought nothing more of this and, the next day, not wanting to let Staff Horley downy participated with the platoon in all the normal activities. This had an unfortunate side effect. Because of all the running, which we were required to do, our woolen socks tended to ride down inside the top of our boots. This was not a great problem but, in my case, caused the top of the boots to rub against the blisters which eventually burst and the leather was rubbing against raw skin.
A few days later an infection set in. Once again I went through the humiliation of requesting to attend sick parade. when I joined the "sick, lame and lazy", as they were known on the left of the parade I found that its ranks had swollen considerably. Obviously the rigorous course was taking its toll. I had just taken my place when I spotted Staff le Roux approaching.
His face was a picture when he saw the size of the sick parade. He became most apoplectic then, when he had regained his composure, he looked earnestly at us and screamed "You'd better hope that the K*ff*rs in the R.A.R. are well because, at the rate you lot are going, they are going to have to defend your country for you!" This remark stung, because I had always been proud of the military exploits of my forebears as well as my relations. I vowed to myself never to report for sick parade again, unless I was carried there.
Back at the camp hospital I was surprised to find that my rather minor infection was causing some consternation. Not knowing the ramifications, I faithfully told Major Davison how I had come by the, now infected, blisters. He picked up his phone and, in no time, the small consulting room was crowded with the physiotherapy sister, her immediate superior and another doctor who were all examining my infected ankles. I was not too sure that I was enjoying being the centre of all this attention for what I regarded as a minor medical matter. After a while it was agreed that a board of enquiry would not be necessary in this instance.
What I did not know was that, in the past, similar incidents had been blown up out of all proportion whereby "little Johnny" had phoned his mommy and complained of the disgraceful medical attention which he had received. Mommy then contacted her local Member of Parliament who, in turn, contacted the Minister of Defence, who contacted the head of the army, who contacted the O.C. Llewellyn Barracks as to what was happening with "little Johnny". It was for the very same reason the C.S.M. would come in each lunch time and go through the motions of enquiring if there were any complaints. That effectively forestalled any complaints about the food. "Dear Mrs. Jones. We are at quite a loss to understand why your son, Johnny, should be complaining about the standard of food. Every day the Company Sergeant Major goes personally to the mess hall to check if there are any complaints......"
Major Davison prescribed some ointments and a course of penicillin injections. I was sent to another surgery for the first of the injections. A burly sergeant went through the practiced motions of preparing the shot. As he pointed the needle upwards and pushed the plunger upwards to expel any air from the rather large needle he said to me "Now, my wife tells me that you are the one who didn't say anything when the infra red lamp was too hot"........ The course of injections over, I made sure that I never fell into the clutches of the camp hospital again.
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The first of many letters arrived from home. It was wonderful to have the contact with the outside world. The army public relations machinery had been grinding away slowly during my absence. Mom felt that Jim Veech was obviously a very good O.C., as he had written, advising them of my safe arrival at Llewellyn, went on to outline the planned activities for the next couple of weeks and even gave examples of the food menus.
Our spiritual and physical well being was catered for. 9.00am each Monday was Padre’s Hour. Llewellyn did not have a resident army chaplain so various ministers of religion would make the journey out from Bulawayo and we were split into different groups. As usual I was with the Methodists, "bush" Baptists. Presbyterians etc. Our incumbent must have had a fairly mild personality because I do not remember much of what he had to say.
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Directly after Padre’s Hour we changed into P.T, kit and were put through our paces by the P.T. Instructor. He was a typical British Army P.T.I.. He felt that we dreaded his weekly hour of instruction but, if the truth be known, it was extremely mild when compared to the rough and ready physical torture dispensed by our squad instructors. During the second week the whole company went on a cross country run. I came in with the last ten percent. A few weeks later we undertook the same run and I was surprised to find that I was in the top ten percent. Either my fitness level had increased markedly or, more possibly, the remaining 80 percent had learned how to take things easy.
Our first Saturday morning inspection was looming. Staff Horley's evening visits increased as the day approached. Windows had to be polished and brass handles and floors shone. All our kit was laid out on our beds. Mess tins, mugs, etc had to be gleaming but, we were told, if there was any evidence that Brasso had been used for that purpose, the culprit would be marched straight to "the box". Going to "the box" was akin to the card in Monopoly which read "Go to jail. Move directly to jail. Do not pass 'Go'. Do not collect 200 Pounds". In this case "the box" took the form of the cells at the guard house. We were told that it was bad enough but "easy street" compared to Detention Barracks, in Brady Barracks, which were near Bulawayo.
On the Friday evening the preparations had reached fever pitch but there was still much to be done. Ten o'clock was "lights out" and woe betide any barrack room which had a light burning after that time. We had been advised by staff Horley that we were not allowed to turn the lights on until the morning but, in the same breath, he pointed out that "the morning” was any time from 1 minute after midnight- By mutual consent we opted for a 2am start.
We had been told that the success, or otherwise, of a Saturday morning inspection depended on who was the Inspecting Officer. As the moment approached staff Horley was looking noticeably anxious. This made us realise that he was only human after all and had a stake in the whole venture.
We were lined up at the end of our beds when staff Horley brought us to attention with the command "Barrack room! Barrack room - shun". Our hearts sank when in strode the R.S.M. - complete with pace stick under his arm and moustache bristling. He then proceeded to inspect the beds and occupants on the opposite side of the room.
It was akin to a tornado tearing through a wheat field. Nothing appeared to be right. One poor unfortunate was found to have Brasso on his eating utensils. "Staff Horley. Double this man to the box". "Sir", replied Staff Horley. "Prisoner. Right turn. Prisoner will break into double time - double march. Left right, left, right., left ..." as they disappeared out the door. Gulp!
The R.S.M. made good use of the time whilst staff Horley was gone. Staff le Roux had joined him with a little note book. "Staff le Roux. Take this man's name. 7 days C.B. (confined to barracks) Improperly shaven". All this time the inspecting party was moving down the row of beds until, finally, they reached the end and started inspecting our row. I could see the relief on the faces of the opposite row as they were passed by. I was the last in my row! Was the R.S.M. saving the best for last?
The R.S.M. was busy persecuting the hapless soul two beds away from me. This was right next to Dave Lewis who was probably, by now, wishing that he had stayed on at University of Cape Town for an extra year in order to complete his Master's degree. The R.S.M. was about to descend on Dave when he paused and looked at his watch. Without any further ado he said "Carry on Staff le Roux. I want to see a lot better next time" to which the now relieved looking, Staff replied "Sir". As he passed me, the R.S.M. grunted, "Good haircut".
Staff le Roux dismissed us for the weekend. The whole barrack room visibly relaxed and there were many re-enactments and anecdotes regarding the morning's proceedings. After lunch the "box" man re-appeared seemingly none the worse for wear but he did carry many a horror story regarding conditions in "the box" and how it was a place to be avoided.
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The following week we were issued with our S.L.R.s (self loading rifles). Those weapons were brand new and were the standard infantry weapon of the British and Commonwealth forces. It was essentially a copy of the FN rifle and represented a great improvement on the S.M.L.E. in so far that it had a twenty round magazine, greater "stopping power" and a higher rate of fire. Provided that it was well maintained by the user, it was extremely reliable.
However, we did not get to fire the S.L.R. for a while. It was solely used for arms drill on the parade ground. It also provided Staff Horley with an excellent new means of persecuting us. One could be made to double around either with the rifle held out parallel to the ground or directly above one's head. Weighting slightly more than the S.M.L.E., it did not take long for us to tire. How we used to look forward to P.T.I
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We moved on to the Bren light machine gun (L.M.G.) and were shown how to strip and assemble the weapon. This was most familiar territory to me. After we passed cert A part II, in School Cadets, we seemed to do nothing besides strip and assemble the Bren. After a couple of days Staff Horley had about six of us each crouch by an assembled Bren. He joined our circle and said, when I say "Go" you strip your weapon as fast as you can then stand to attention". He was kneeling next to his own Bren and I think that his intention was to humiliate us with his superior ability. On the signal we busied ourselves to the task. When I was finished., I rose to my feet and, only then, saw that Staff Horley was ahead of the rest but still on the finishing stages.
This brought the house down. The next moment we found ourselves doubling to some inevitable tree on the horizon. I don't think Staff Horley liked me much after that and I was regarded as
a "smart Alec" for a while.
The first pay day arrived. In most establishments, pay day is a joyous occasion - not so at Llewellyn. We formed a long queue which culminated at the Paymaster's Table. We had been rehearsed in the procedure but many a recruit "fluffed his lines" and was sent to the back of the queue. When my turn came.. I marched up to the table, saluted then shouted, "31631 Rifleman Neill, A.H. - Sah".
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It would appear that the paymaster was pleased with my performance because he counted out seven pounds and ten shillings (R15), less some small deductions. All this was for a fortnight's work. My performance was not complete, and this is where I saw a number of my colleagues fail the test. I scooped up the money in my left hand, took one pace backwards, saluted and shouted "Pay checked and found to be correct - Sah". The performance still was not over - for I had seen some fail at this stage. I executed a smart right turn and marched until I was out of sight behind a building where I broke into a double back to my barrack room. When moving alone around the depot you could either march or double. I found doubling to be safer because there was less chance of the, ever present. Regimental Police finding fault.
As we approached the end of our first phase we were told of a number of options which were open to us. There were armoured cars., Signals., Leader Training Unit., Regimental Police, Medical Corps., Stores and Engineers. The latter were based at King George VI Barracks in Salisbury — i.e. "home". I immediately asked Staff le Roux if I could apply to be posted to the Engineers. He replied that he would put my name up but didn't think that there was much hope of my application being granted. Dave Lewis also applied for the Engineers but Staff le Roux said that he had already put Dave's name up for the Leader Training Unit. Dave protested strenuously that he was an engineer by profession. Staff le Roux said that, in that case, he would forward Dave's application but pointed out that military and civil engineering are totally unrelated. It turned out that Staff le Roux viewed anyone who applied for a specialist function as a "skiver" (loafer), traitor and a turncoat.
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Around that time my cousin, Carol Davison, arrived at the Teachers' Training College, not far from the barracks. She was commencing a three year course which would launch her onto a long, and dedicated, career in teaching. I gave her a call but that was all we could do about getting together. I could not leave Llewellyn and she had no means of transport. The T.T.C. students were allowed to use the Llewellyn swimming pool. This was a pleasant pool with green lawns, palm trees and a surrounding brick wall to ensure privacy.
Staff le Roux liked to conduct weapon training in a bush area on the far side of the wall. I think that he preferred it there because he was less likely to be spotted by the ever vigilant R.S.M. He was giving us one of his lectures. He opened by asking what we thought the purpose of our army training was. There were various answers such as "To defend our country." and "To learn how to march". He smiled knowingly and said "You are here for one purpose and one purpose only — that is to learn how to kill the enemy." Just about at that time some soothing music was heard wafting over the wall from the pool area. Staff Le Roux leapt to his feet and peered over the wall where he saw a group of T.T.C. students with a portable radio sunbathing on the lawn. He had a portable public hailer in his hand which he poked over the top of the wall and shouted "Will those people, who think that they are on Palm Beach, turn that radio down." There was an immediate click, followed by silence.
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The tempo of training was increasing as we were approaching the time for "B" Company's passing out parade. This signalled the end of our first phase. It was spit and polish, drill practice after drill practice. In between times I was anxiously awaiting news about my application for posting to the Engineers. I told Mom and Dad about my concerns. The day before the parade, one of the clerks arrived from Company Headquarters to announce the various postings to specialist units.
He read out all the postings except for the Engineers. When we enquired, he said that the list was with the O.C. Depot, Colonel J. Veech, and it would be announced later. Time went by and he reappeared with a piece of paper from which he read out:-
"The following have been posted to Rhodesia and Nyasaland
Engineers., II Field Squadron., King George VI Barracks:
Lewis
D.L., Reynolds K.A., Landing K.B., Watts W, Curry D. Reed A.T.,
Store E, Neill A.H. ......" Phew! I just didn't hear any more after that.
We were up extra early the following morning. There were the final preparations to make for the passing out parade. Brasses had to be shone and boots received that final polish. The word was, if you let the side down, you would have to repeat the first phase, and none of us intended to do that.
The parade went off like a dream. Then came the poignant moment wh^n the whole parade presented arms as, to the tune of "Auld Lang Sign", "B" Company marched off the parade ground for the last time The Army certainly knew how to put on a show.
Dave Lewis and I had arranged to travel together in his car, We were packed and anxious to go but found that Llewellyn was harder to get out of than to get in to. We each had a form with spaces for signatures of clearance. They included Company Headquarters, the mess hall, the Quartermaster, the Paymaster, etc. We finally had them all and drove Dave's little Anglia around to the front of the barrack room in order to load up. We had just finished when Staff Horley arrived. I don't know why, but we shook his hand and thanked him for every thing. He wished us luck and said that we should get together for a beer some time. The new "B" Company was arriving the very next day and, being a first phase instructor, he would start all over again from scratch with a raw batch of recruits.
Dave and I had made sure that we were immaculately turned out in our "walking out" dress. We heard that the Regimental Police at the Guard Room were prone to sending you back if your uniform was not up to scratch. We were not prepared to let that happen. As the boom at the gate was raised, we felt a sense of elation. We were going out into the real world for the first time in six weeks..........
Very soon a large brown envelope arrived bearing the name Neill, A.H.. There were reams of papers inside. These were military style dos and don'ts relating to my forthcoming visit to Llewellyn Barracks- The theme of the contents seemed to be primarily aimed at allaying the fears of anxious parents and had a very paternalistic tone.
The day on which I was due to leave I went to the Shamrock barber shop in Jameson Avenue. This was my favorite barber shop because they charged only two shillings and six pence (half a crown or 25c) for a haircut. I already had a very short haircut.
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Much to my parent's consternation, one of the very first things which I did on leaving St Georges was to have my hair cut into a "flat top" brush cut. I told the barber that I was leaving for Llewellyn Barracks and I wanted an army style haircut. He practically shaved the back of my neck and trimmed the already short brush cut. I asked him what the powers that be would think of the latter. He replied "No need to worry - the R.S.M. at Llewellyn" also has one.
That night there was quite a throng of relations to see me off at the station. I felt quite grown up waving out of the window with my fellow conscripts, as the train pulled slowly out of Salisbury station,
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Mom and Dad had given me a few pounds to help me on my way to the first payday. I was pleased to see a friendly face in the form of Pat Abrahams, formerly of Highlands School and St Georges. He was also going to do his national service. I joined him for a beer in the dining car. It was packed with youngsters of about the same age all enjoying a last night of freedom. The staff were looking harassed. I don't think that they enjoyed these "call up " trains.
At one stage a rather large individual joined us and asked in a most friendly fashion if I would like a fight. Whilst I was pondering this unusual, and amiable, request Pat, who was a very good boxer and appeared to know the character, replied to the effect that I didn't feel like one right at that time. After the individual had gone, Pat told me that the potential pugilist was from the same boxing club as him but didn't adhere to the spirit of the Queensbury Rules and made a habit of picking fights outside the ring.
After a while we returned to our respective compartments. It is just as well that we left when we did because we heard later that, after we had gone, my would be boxing partner and a couple of cronies had caused trouble in the dining car. There was some damage to railway property and the police had to board the train at Gatooma to sort the problem out. Apparently names were taken and a report was sent by radio to the Officer Commanding, Llewellyn Barracks. That was not a very good start to their four and a half months of national service. Meanwhile, back in our compartment, we slept the sleep of the just.
Around 6.00 am the following morning the train pulled into Heany Junction which is about fifteen miles outside Bulawayo. There was no platform and we passed our luggage down to the waiting arms of some of our party who had disembarked. A number of khaki Bedford troop carriers were parked by the track. A solitary Sergeant stood next to them.
His attire was immaculate. He wore a drab coloured cap which sat squarely on his head, with a slashed peak covering his eyes and gave the impression that he could not see directly ahead of him. The Rhodesian Staff Corps badge, consisting of a lion and tusk, glistened from the cap in the morning sun. Underneath the lion and tusk was a bow shaped scroll which simply said "Rhodesia". A canvas stable belt, in the Staff Corps colours, completed his ensemble which comprised khaki shorts, hose tops, putties and a pair of black boots which positively gleamed. A broad red sash, which was worn diagonally across his chest, indicated that he was Duty Sergeant. In his left hand he bore an instructor's cane.
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Eventually we had all disembarked and the train pulled slowly away. I detected looks of pity from some of the passengers as they passed our group. Others grinned - perhaps they had already been to Llewellyn Barracks. I noticed that some of railway employees, who lived in Rhodesia Railways houses at the junction, were peering at us out of their windows. They knew what was going to happen next.
The sergeant formed us into groups of about twenty and each group was allocated a truck. Coloureds and Indians in Rhodesia were also liable for call up. Those in our intake were assembled on the left. The sergeant then told us that, starting from the left, he would give the command and that group would embus into their allocated vehicle. That sounded reasonable enough.
He then issued the instruction to the Coloureds and Indians who quietly gathered their belongings and started ambling towards their conveyance. The, up to now, quietly spoken sergeant bawled in his best parade ground voice "As you were. When I say move, you move. This is not a holiday camp!" The now flustered looking group re-assembled with their possession® and, when the order was given, broke into a shambling run with their impedimenta. This was not good enough and the sergeant barked "Listen people, I have all the time in world and we are not leaving here until you get it right." Twice more this happened until, by the end, assorted Coloureds, Indians and suitcases were positively flying over the high tail board of the truck. I am sure that many an Indian wished he was safely back in his daddy's shop in Railway Avenue.
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The next group had seen what was required but, in spite of this, had to make a number of attempts until their speed of embarkation was up to the satisfaction of the sergeant. My group, being on the right, was the last. By the time our turn came, we must have learned from example because, by some miracle, we did not hear the dreaded words "As you were" or perhaps our persecutor realised that he didn't have "all the time in the world".
As the trucks rumbled through the gates at Llewellyn Barracks we entered another world. We were not to leave those gates for six long weeks. This was the Royal Rhodesia Regiment training depot. That was its sole reason for existence. At any given moment, up to six hundred trainees were undergoing various stages of basic training- Being the new arrivals, we were the lowest of the low. Llewellyn Barracks was originally a World War II air training base which comprised assorted hangers, administration buildings and row upon row of prefabricated corrugated iron barrack rooms which had been erected on a temporary basis for the duration of the long gone war.
We discovered that we were the 49th intake which was to be known as "A" Company — some two hundred strong. We came from all parts of the Federation, except for Nyasaland where the residents were not liable for National Service. One of our group was complaining that he had come from South Africa to work in Salisbury only a matter of months before and, in no time, he had received call up papers for involuntary army training.
We were divided into platoons and allocated barrack rooms. Ours bore the simple inscription above the door "131". This was to be my home for a while. My bed was next to the door. It consisted of a steel divan with a coir mattress. Beside it was a green steel bedside locker and a matching metal wardrobe. The person who had been allocated the bed next to me came over and introduced himself. He was Dave Lewis who was a farmer's son from the Que Que area. He had just graduated from U.C.T. with a degree in civil engineering. He and two others were in the same boat. They were none too pleased at having their career plans interrupted in this fashion. I was to get on well with Dave. He was very quietly spoken., but a physically powerful man, who did not suffer fools gladly.
We hardly had time to settle in when we were being told to form up on the road in front of the barrack rooms. From there we were marched to a large hanger where we underwent extensive medical tests. We had already undergone medical check ups at the respective reporting centres in our home towns but this was far more thorough. The army wanted to make sure that its., newly acquired., property was in good health before driving it into the ground. A number of draftees failed the medical and were sent home. I was passed category "A" which I noted from the form indicated that I was considered fit for service "anywhere in the world" - a rather daunting prospect.
We then went to Company Headquarters where we were issued with "Company kit" which comprised certain items of webbing, mess tins, etc. We were required to spread the kit out on the ground for checking. As each item was called out, we held the piece up and packed it into our large webbing packs.
Two staff sergeants were standing behind me supervising the operation. One hissed to the other out of the corner of his mouth "R.S.M,". I followed their gaze and there., striding towards us was a giant of a man. His face looked as though it had been set in granite. His turnout was immaculate. A large brass studded pace stick was clasped in his left hand as though it was a toy. A crane's feather sprouted from behind the badge on his slouch hat and added to his, already considerable stature.
We were brought to attention. The great man told the Sergeants to carry on then took to pacing the lines of new recruits. I crouched down and busied myself with the task of filling my pack. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that the R.S.M. was moving ever closer. My heart sank when the big gleaming boots did not pass but came to a halt right next to my pack, "You, what is your name?" I looked up to see the pace stick pointing directly at me. As far as I knew, this was very bad news. One of the many bits of advice which my brother had given me was not to let the staff find out your name because once they latched on to it;, they were prone to bawl at you across the parade ground. Here was, not one of the instructors, but the R.S.M. himself wanting that vital piece of information. I stammered out the name. The R.S.M. pointed at me once again with his pace stick, snarled "Good haircut", turned on his heel and strode away. Thank you Shamrock Barber Shop!
A new character then entered our lives in the form of Staff Sergeant Horley. He was to be our platoon instructor for the first phase of six weeks. He told us to gather our kit and form up on the road. We then heard the command which was to become all too familiar; "By the left double march." From School Cadets, I knew "Quick march" and "Slow march" but I had never heard the "double" which meant that you run. We were going to do a lot of this in the next six weeks. By the time we had reached our barrack room., which was some distance away, our assorted bunch in civilian attire was pretty well out of breath.
The still immaculate, and evenly breathing, sergeant Horley ran his steely blue eyes over our panting ranks and said "I can see that we are going to have to get you fit, people. Now, when I give the command break, I want to see you turn to the right, double into the barrack;, put your kit on you beds, double back and reassemble here on the road. Have you got that?" One or two nodded agreement. This did not make sergeant Horley very happy. He roared "When I ask you a question and the answer is yes you reply 'Staff'. Have you got that?" Some of us half heartedly replied "staff". That was not good enough for our sergeant. We had to practice shouting "staff" a number of times until we were finally roaring in unison at the top of our voices to the satisfaction of this new bane in our lives.
He then issued the command "break". We turned to the right and ran for the barrack room- This was certainly not good enough for staff Horley. "As you were. When I say break, I want to see a cloud of dust and, by the time the dust has settled I don't want to see any of you in sight. Have you got that?" "Staff" we roared in unison. It appeared that, although the spirit was willing the flesh was weak because we had to repeat this a number of times until he was satisfied. Later that afternoon we were dismissed for the day and told to assemble in the same place at 08h00 the next morning.
Now was a chance to meet my barrack room companions. They were a mixed bunch who had been called up at random from all walks of life. Amongst them was Geoff Griffin., a Springbok cricket player who had toured with the Springbok team to U.K. the year before. In those days Rhodesia was treated as a Province in South African sporting circles. A small group had gathered around Geoff and were asking him questions about his experiences.
With my "vast" knowledge and "love" of sports I thought that I would make a contribution to the conversation. "Who was that bowler who kept being 'no balled' for throwing" I enquired. A hush fell on the group and all heads turned to look at me. It then dawned that I was looking at the culprit. Geoff seemed to avoid after and it took a couple of weeks for him to decide that I was "O.K.".
The next morning was a Saturday and we found ourselves being kitted out at the Quartermaster's Store. We were overwhelmed at the vast array of items for which we were to be responsible. There were drill boots, weapon training boots, denim trousers and jackets, shirts, P.T. kit., khaki shorts and tunics - berets- badges., buttons- jungle hats- slouch hats, web belts and rifle slings. We were even issued with knives, forks, clasp knives, shaving kits and a sewing kit called a housewife.
On our return to the barrack room, Staff Horley dished out an initial issue of floor polish, boot polish, Blanco and Brasso. The idea was that, even if you arrived at the depot penniless and in rags, you had enough of your basic requirements to see you through to the first pay day without the excuse that you had no money to buy cleaning items.
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Being a weekend, we were left to ponder our fate until Monday morning - or so we thought. After supper we were relaxing in the barrack room when someone shouted "staff" and we stood to the ends of our beds, as we had been taught. There was staff Horley, still in his uniform and he had come to give us projects to complete over the weekend. They included shrinking our green berets into the correct shape, pressing the dimples out of our drill boots and other unusual tasks.
He was accompanied by staff sergeant le Roux who was a colour Sergeant. Staff le Roux delivered a lecture on how he was going to hound us until we were working as a team. He also said that everyone would sign up for a recognised sport. This was not good news to my ears as I had always been something of a rebel in this regard and, in fact, prided myself in my non participation. I approached him afterwards and suggested that I could work towards obtaining the Diploma of the Royal Life Saving Society. I already held all the lifesaving medals, up to and including Distinction Award, Instructor and Examiner’s certificates. The Diploma was the RLSS highest award and only two people in Rhodesia held it. I gather that staff le Roux thought that this was a terrible idea. His idea of sport was rugby, cricket or, perhaps, hockey.
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On the Sunday we were working on the allocated tasks when the ubiquitous staff Horley appeared to see how we were progressing. He then told us what uniform to wear for our first foot drill lesson the next morning at 8 am. He also showed us how to wear- it and what points regarding turnout required special attention. He pointed his instructor's cane in a sweeping gesture at our semi circle which had gathered around him. "Now you people better not let me down. I want you to be highly jacked". "Highly jacked" was an expression which was to become most familiar to us over the next many weeks. 1 think that it may have been unique to the Rhodesian Army. It essentially meant immaculate or completely flawless and woe betide anyone who was not«
The next morning found us formed up on the road at the appointed, hour. Staff Horley brought us to attention and., with Staff le Roux in attendance, proceeded to tear our efforts at being "highly jacked" to shreds. One poor unfortunate had forgotten to polish the brass pin which held his beret badge in place - another had not polished the inside of the brass slider on his webbing belt — this could only be ascertained by completely dismantling the belt. One of our number wore his lanyard on the right shoulder instead of the left. As each fault was discovered the individual would be told "You see that tree over there?", at the same time being indicated a tree some three hundred yards distant, "I want you to double around it then back to here. If I don't think you have done it fast enough, you can do it again."
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We were to discover that, besides being some form of sadists, the staff were also comedians. An individual who had not properly shaved was told to "stand closer to the razor whilst shaving". One whose name, in military style, was “Store, E” would be taunted by the staff, "What's the matter;. Story? Didn't anyone bring you tea in bed this morning?" We found some of these little pearls of wisdom amusing but any laughter would be immediately silenced.
So began a ritual which was to be repeated each day. Inspection over, we were marched to the parade ground - a massive macadamised area which had served as the air strip and apron when Llewellyn was an air force base. We were to get to know that area well for we were to spend a lot of our time there during the next six weeks. It was drill, drill and more drill and all the time, there in the distance, we could plainly see Bulawayo with its promise of the comforts of civilisation.
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Occasionally we were given a "smoke break" which meant that we were allowed to sit in the bush on the edge of the parade ground where we could rest for ten minutes and those who smoked could enjoy a cigarette. It had been previously explained that the smokers were not to walk around with the unsightly bulges of packets in their pockets. They had to keep two or three cigarettes in their field dressing pockets with an equal number of matches together with a small piece of the dark striking area which had been previously torn off the match box.
That first week- in between the inevitable drill parades, we attended a number of lectures - The Officer Commanding, Llewellyn conducted one of them. His name was Jim Veech and Mom and Dad happened to know him - Then followed the "A" Company O.C. and the R.S.M. plus a number of others. Even the Quartermaster had his say. That first week also comprised a number of inoculations for various ailments. This included the dreaded T.A.B. which rendered your arm partially immobile and was therefore administered- in two exciting installments, Saturday lunchtime so that we would be fully recovered by Monday morning.
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Wherever we went it was at the double. Even outside the mess hall, those in the queue were required to "double mark time" until they entered the mess hall. Just to make sure that this happened- a Regimental Police Lance Corporal would be on duty by the door. Each recruit had his own tin plate, knife fork and spoon. These would be taken to meals and held out at the stainless steel baine maries where the food was slopped onto the plates.
At lunch time on that first Monday a little ritual was enacted which would become a daily feature. Once the mess hall was more or less full, the Company Sergeant Major strode into the room in all his glory with his pace stick tucked menacingly under his arm. The pace stick was banged loudly three times on a convenient table. The C.S.M. bawled out "Any complaints?" and looked defiantly around the room as if to say "Don't you dare speak a word". The short silence that followed was enough for him. He then rounded on the urbane David Ha11ay who, by now, had finished his meal and was enjoying a cigarette with a tin mug of rather dubious looking tea. "You there- when you have finished your meal, you get out of here. Do you think that this is a hotel?" David fled the room before he attracted any more unwanted attention.
All this unaccustomed "doubling" was taking its toll on my feet which had begun to swell up to the point where I was having difficulty in putting on my boots. Because of this I decided that I should seek medical assistance. There was no popping in to the camp hospital at the end of the day. Those requiring the services of that august institution had to form up on "sick parade" at 8.00 am.
In order to join the sick parade one would first report this intention to the platoon sergeant. In my case this was staff Horley who appeared to harbour grave doubts as to the legitimacy of my complaint but eventually dismissed me with disparaging remarks regarding my physical prowess. I fell in at the left of the parade with the other apparent malingerers under watchful eye of a Medical Corps Sergeant who seemed to also have doubts as to the genuineness of our particular cases.
We were marched to the camp hospital where we were made to sit on long wooden benches to await our turn to be seen by the Medical Officer. When my turn came I found out that he was a kindly looking Major by the name of Davison. In spite of his benign appearance;, I did not feel it appropriate to mention his namesake, my Uncle Stan Davisson.
The doctor agreed that my feet were indeed swollen, prescribed three days light duties and ordered me to report to the Physiotherapy Department at the end of the passage. On my way, I passed a number of wards. In the Indian ward there was a patient lying on a bed with a fellow trainee who appeared to be visiting him but was in the attitude of prayer. I thought to myself "This appears to be a place to avoid at all costs!"
The physiotherapy Sister was nice enough. I later learned that she was the wife of one of the medical orderly sergeants. She ordered me to remove my boots and socks then lie face down on an examination table. She set an infra red lamp which was turned on in the vicinity of my ankles and went off to attend to other patients. The lamp became extremely hot and was causing a burning sensation on the skin of the ankles. I assumed this to be part of the treatment and, determined not to be classed as a "sissy", did not say anything. After a while I was told that I could replace my footwear and return to my platoon with a note to show to sergeant Horley.
A great part of the morning had been consumed by the time I located my platoon on the parade ground. Sergeant Horley made remarks to the effect that it was good of me to join them. He had a look at the note and said that I had the option of standing on the side of the parade ground and watching my comrades being put through their paces or I could join them. I opted for the latter.
When I removed my boots that evening I noticed that it was not surprising that the lamp had felt hot. It had created large blisters on the sides of the ankles where they were closest to the lamp. I thought nothing more of this and, the next day, not wanting to let Staff Horley downy participated with the platoon in all the normal activities. This had an unfortunate side effect. Because of all the running, which we were required to do, our woolen socks tended to ride down inside the top of our boots. This was not a great problem but, in my case, caused the top of the boots to rub against the blisters which eventually burst and the leather was rubbing against raw skin.
A few days later an infection set in. Once again I went through the humiliation of requesting to attend sick parade. when I joined the "sick, lame and lazy", as they were known on the left of the parade I found that its ranks had swollen considerably. Obviously the rigorous course was taking its toll. I had just taken my place when I spotted Staff le Roux approaching.
His face was a picture when he saw the size of the sick parade. He became most apoplectic then, when he had regained his composure, he looked earnestly at us and screamed "You'd better hope that the K*ff*rs in the R.A.R. are well because, at the rate you lot are going, they are going to have to defend your country for you!" This remark stung, because I had always been proud of the military exploits of my forebears as well as my relations. I vowed to myself never to report for sick parade again, unless I was carried there.
Back at the camp hospital I was surprised to find that my rather minor infection was causing some consternation. Not knowing the ramifications, I faithfully told Major Davison how I had come by the, now infected, blisters. He picked up his phone and, in no time, the small consulting room was crowded with the physiotherapy sister, her immediate superior and another doctor who were all examining my infected ankles. I was not too sure that I was enjoying being the centre of all this attention for what I regarded as a minor medical matter. After a while it was agreed that a board of enquiry would not be necessary in this instance.
What I did not know was that, in the past, similar incidents had been blown up out of all proportion whereby "little Johnny" had phoned his mommy and complained of the disgraceful medical attention which he had received. Mommy then contacted her local Member of Parliament who, in turn, contacted the Minister of Defence, who contacted the head of the army, who contacted the O.C. Llewellyn Barracks as to what was happening with "little Johnny". It was for the very same reason the C.S.M. would come in each lunch time and go through the motions of enquiring if there were any complaints. That effectively forestalled any complaints about the food. "Dear Mrs. Jones. We are at quite a loss to understand why your son, Johnny, should be complaining about the standard of food. Every day the Company Sergeant Major goes personally to the mess hall to check if there are any complaints......"
Major Davison prescribed some ointments and a course of penicillin injections. I was sent to another surgery for the first of the injections. A burly sergeant went through the practiced motions of preparing the shot. As he pointed the needle upwards and pushed the plunger upwards to expel any air from the rather large needle he said to me "Now, my wife tells me that you are the one who didn't say anything when the infra red lamp was too hot"........ The course of injections over, I made sure that I never fell into the clutches of the camp hospital again.
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The first of many letters arrived from home. It was wonderful to have the contact with the outside world. The army public relations machinery had been grinding away slowly during my absence. Mom felt that Jim Veech was obviously a very good O.C., as he had written, advising them of my safe arrival at Llewellyn, went on to outline the planned activities for the next couple of weeks and even gave examples of the food menus.
Our spiritual and physical well being was catered for. 9.00am each Monday was Padre’s Hour. Llewellyn did not have a resident army chaplain so various ministers of religion would make the journey out from Bulawayo and we were split into different groups. As usual I was with the Methodists, "bush" Baptists. Presbyterians etc. Our incumbent must have had a fairly mild personality because I do not remember much of what he had to say.
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Directly after Padre’s Hour we changed into P.T, kit and were put through our paces by the P.T. Instructor. He was a typical British Army P.T.I.. He felt that we dreaded his weekly hour of instruction but, if the truth be known, it was extremely mild when compared to the rough and ready physical torture dispensed by our squad instructors. During the second week the whole company went on a cross country run. I came in with the last ten percent. A few weeks later we undertook the same run and I was surprised to find that I was in the top ten percent. Either my fitness level had increased markedly or, more possibly, the remaining 80 percent had learned how to take things easy.
Our first Saturday morning inspection was looming. Staff Horley's evening visits increased as the day approached. Windows had to be polished and brass handles and floors shone. All our kit was laid out on our beds. Mess tins, mugs, etc had to be gleaming but, we were told, if there was any evidence that Brasso had been used for that purpose, the culprit would be marched straight to "the box". Going to "the box" was akin to the card in Monopoly which read "Go to jail. Move directly to jail. Do not pass 'Go'. Do not collect 200 Pounds". In this case "the box" took the form of the cells at the guard house. We were told that it was bad enough but "easy street" compared to Detention Barracks, in Brady Barracks, which were near Bulawayo.
On the Friday evening the preparations had reached fever pitch but there was still much to be done. Ten o'clock was "lights out" and woe betide any barrack room which had a light burning after that time. We had been advised by staff Horley that we were not allowed to turn the lights on until the morning but, in the same breath, he pointed out that "the morning” was any time from 1 minute after midnight- By mutual consent we opted for a 2am start.
We had been told that the success, or otherwise, of a Saturday morning inspection depended on who was the Inspecting Officer. As the moment approached staff Horley was looking noticeably anxious. This made us realise that he was only human after all and had a stake in the whole venture.
We were lined up at the end of our beds when staff Horley brought us to attention with the command "Barrack room! Barrack room - shun". Our hearts sank when in strode the R.S.M. - complete with pace stick under his arm and moustache bristling. He then proceeded to inspect the beds and occupants on the opposite side of the room.
It was akin to a tornado tearing through a wheat field. Nothing appeared to be right. One poor unfortunate was found to have Brasso on his eating utensils. "Staff Horley. Double this man to the box". "Sir", replied Staff Horley. "Prisoner. Right turn. Prisoner will break into double time - double march. Left right, left, right., left ..." as they disappeared out the door. Gulp!
The R.S.M. made good use of the time whilst staff Horley was gone. Staff le Roux had joined him with a little note book. "Staff le Roux. Take this man's name. 7 days C.B. (confined to barracks) Improperly shaven". All this time the inspecting party was moving down the row of beds until, finally, they reached the end and started inspecting our row. I could see the relief on the faces of the opposite row as they were passed by. I was the last in my row! Was the R.S.M. saving the best for last?
The R.S.M. was busy persecuting the hapless soul two beds away from me. This was right next to Dave Lewis who was probably, by now, wishing that he had stayed on at University of Cape Town for an extra year in order to complete his Master's degree. The R.S.M. was about to descend on Dave when he paused and looked at his watch. Without any further ado he said "Carry on Staff le Roux. I want to see a lot better next time" to which the now relieved looking, Staff replied "Sir". As he passed me, the R.S.M. grunted, "Good haircut".
Staff le Roux dismissed us for the weekend. The whole barrack room visibly relaxed and there were many re-enactments and anecdotes regarding the morning's proceedings. After lunch the "box" man re-appeared seemingly none the worse for wear but he did carry many a horror story regarding conditions in "the box" and how it was a place to be avoided.
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The following week we were issued with our S.L.R.s (self loading rifles). Those weapons were brand new and were the standard infantry weapon of the British and Commonwealth forces. It was essentially a copy of the FN rifle and represented a great improvement on the S.M.L.E. in so far that it had a twenty round magazine, greater "stopping power" and a higher rate of fire. Provided that it was well maintained by the user, it was extremely reliable.
However, we did not get to fire the S.L.R. for a while. It was solely used for arms drill on the parade ground. It also provided Staff Horley with an excellent new means of persecuting us. One could be made to double around either with the rifle held out parallel to the ground or directly above one's head. Weighting slightly more than the S.M.L.E., it did not take long for us to tire. How we used to look forward to P.T.I
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We moved on to the Bren light machine gun (L.M.G.) and were shown how to strip and assemble the weapon. This was most familiar territory to me. After we passed cert A part II, in School Cadets, we seemed to do nothing besides strip and assemble the Bren. After a couple of days Staff Horley had about six of us each crouch by an assembled Bren. He joined our circle and said, when I say "Go" you strip your weapon as fast as you can then stand to attention". He was kneeling next to his own Bren and I think that his intention was to humiliate us with his superior ability. On the signal we busied ourselves to the task. When I was finished., I rose to my feet and, only then, saw that Staff Horley was ahead of the rest but still on the finishing stages.
This brought the house down. The next moment we found ourselves doubling to some inevitable tree on the horizon. I don't think Staff Horley liked me much after that and I was regarded as
a "smart Alec" for a while.
The first pay day arrived. In most establishments, pay day is a joyous occasion - not so at Llewellyn. We formed a long queue which culminated at the Paymaster's Table. We had been rehearsed in the procedure but many a recruit "fluffed his lines" and was sent to the back of the queue. When my turn came.. I marched up to the table, saluted then shouted, "31631 Rifleman Neill, A.H. - Sah".
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It would appear that the paymaster was pleased with my performance because he counted out seven pounds and ten shillings (R15), less some small deductions. All this was for a fortnight's work. My performance was not complete, and this is where I saw a number of my colleagues fail the test. I scooped up the money in my left hand, took one pace backwards, saluted and shouted "Pay checked and found to be correct - Sah". The performance still was not over - for I had seen some fail at this stage. I executed a smart right turn and marched until I was out of sight behind a building where I broke into a double back to my barrack room. When moving alone around the depot you could either march or double. I found doubling to be safer because there was less chance of the, ever present. Regimental Police finding fault.
As we approached the end of our first phase we were told of a number of options which were open to us. There were armoured cars., Signals., Leader Training Unit., Regimental Police, Medical Corps., Stores and Engineers. The latter were based at King George VI Barracks in Salisbury — i.e. "home". I immediately asked Staff le Roux if I could apply to be posted to the Engineers. He replied that he would put my name up but didn't think that there was much hope of my application being granted. Dave Lewis also applied for the Engineers but Staff le Roux said that he had already put Dave's name up for the Leader Training Unit. Dave protested strenuously that he was an engineer by profession. Staff le Roux said that, in that case, he would forward Dave's application but pointed out that military and civil engineering are totally unrelated. It turned out that Staff le Roux viewed anyone who applied for a specialist function as a "skiver" (loafer), traitor and a turncoat.
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Around that time my cousin, Carol Davison, arrived at the Teachers' Training College, not far from the barracks. She was commencing a three year course which would launch her onto a long, and dedicated, career in teaching. I gave her a call but that was all we could do about getting together. I could not leave Llewellyn and she had no means of transport. The T.T.C. students were allowed to use the Llewellyn swimming pool. This was a pleasant pool with green lawns, palm trees and a surrounding brick wall to ensure privacy.
Staff le Roux liked to conduct weapon training in a bush area on the far side of the wall. I think that he preferred it there because he was less likely to be spotted by the ever vigilant R.S.M. He was giving us one of his lectures. He opened by asking what we thought the purpose of our army training was. There were various answers such as "To defend our country." and "To learn how to march". He smiled knowingly and said "You are here for one purpose and one purpose only — that is to learn how to kill the enemy." Just about at that time some soothing music was heard wafting over the wall from the pool area. Staff Le Roux leapt to his feet and peered over the wall where he saw a group of T.T.C. students with a portable radio sunbathing on the lawn. He had a portable public hailer in his hand which he poked over the top of the wall and shouted "Will those people, who think that they are on Palm Beach, turn that radio down." There was an immediate click, followed by silence.
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The tempo of training was increasing as we were approaching the time for "B" Company's passing out parade. This signalled the end of our first phase. It was spit and polish, drill practice after drill practice. In between times I was anxiously awaiting news about my application for posting to the Engineers. I told Mom and Dad about my concerns. The day before the parade, one of the clerks arrived from Company Headquarters to announce the various postings to specialist units.
He read out all the postings except for the Engineers. When we enquired, he said that the list was with the O.C. Depot, Colonel J. Veech, and it would be announced later. Time went by and he reappeared with a piece of paper from which he read out:-
"The following have been posted to Rhodesia and Nyasaland
Engineers., II Field Squadron., King George VI Barracks:
Lewis
D.L., Reynolds K.A., Landing K.B., Watts W, Curry D. Reed A.T.,
Store E, Neill A.H. ......" Phew! I just didn't hear any more after that.
We were up extra early the following morning. There were the final preparations to make for the passing out parade. Brasses had to be shone and boots received that final polish. The word was, if you let the side down, you would have to repeat the first phase, and none of us intended to do that.
The parade went off like a dream. Then came the poignant moment wh^n the whole parade presented arms as, to the tune of "Auld Lang Sign", "B" Company marched off the parade ground for the last time The Army certainly knew how to put on a show.
Dave Lewis and I had arranged to travel together in his car, We were packed and anxious to go but found that Llewellyn was harder to get out of than to get in to. We each had a form with spaces for signatures of clearance. They included Company Headquarters, the mess hall, the Quartermaster, the Paymaster, etc. We finally had them all and drove Dave's little Anglia around to the front of the barrack room in order to load up. We had just finished when Staff Horley arrived. I don't know why, but we shook his hand and thanked him for every thing. He wished us luck and said that we should get together for a beer some time. The new "B" Company was arriving the very next day and, being a first phase instructor, he would start all over again from scratch with a raw batch of recruits.
Dave and I had made sure that we were immaculately turned out in our "walking out" dress. We heard that the Regimental Police at the Guard Room were prone to sending you back if your uniform was not up to scratch. We were not prepared to let that happen. As the boom at the gate was raised, we felt a sense of elation. We were going out into the real world for the first time in six weeks..........