Chapter 6 – Basic Training at Caterham (1932 – Nearly 17)

 

The household division had increased its Guards battalions dramatically in number as a result of the Great War and for all of those who were to carry on those proud traditions, there starting point would be in a training company at the Guards Depot. Caterham barracks in Surrey is a Victorian barracks of yellow London brick, which has discoloured over time with pollution to give that brownie yellow shade that most Victorian buildings acquire in South London and the surrounding area.

Outside the perimeter of the old Victorian camp are white weather boarded buildings running along the side of the road and into the woods. These had catered for the vast influx of recruits required for that first great conflict. Many of these buildings now mothballed.

The trip that my escort and I had, from Colchester to London and then across to Waterloo and finally down the line to Caterham had been without incident. I would go so far to call it relaxing after my last six months. My arrival at Caterham was similarly unceremonious, picked up from the railway station in a light truck we entered the barracks halting at the guardroom, where we alighted. The time was five minutes to ten on the evening; the non-commissioned officers for each company known as, “The Picket” were forming up outside, waiting for the duty officer to attend.

'Let’s get inside we don't want to get caught up in all of this.' The lance sergeant I had travelled with opened the heavy guard room door. I followed him inside. The sight that awaited me inside was not dissimilar to any guardroom I had been in, a number of non-commissioned officers, of the barrack guard chatting and smoking. Two or so recruits in close arrest, the misdemeanour’s which might land you in the regimental guardroom were varied but the result would invariably be the same, cleaning and running after the sergeants every whim; tea being the main one, cleaning his kit being the second.

At the back, two main room areas, an ante room where the tea and supper items are kept. Which, as any guardsman knows are the important items for a barrack guard and the rather superfluous rifle racks. Until the recruit is trained these act only as a ceremonial appendage, in that the barrack guard patrol in pairs, “stagging-on” for their two hour patrols and resting a broken sleep for four subsequent hours if fortunate.

The tools of their trade being, a pick-axe handle a whistle and a flash light. The tendency to shirk this responsibility is only too keen amongst the recruits, a hidden cigarette in some far corner, a sit down and when the rain and winter are at their worst to hide for five minutes and warm the sodden woollen gloves are all part of the game that each recruit plays.

The naïve are always partnered with the street wise and the skills of the latter will transpose. A game of cat and mouse ensues between the recruits and the authority of the picket officer and sergeant-of-the-guard, which patrol at regular intervals to catch out the unwary.

Behind the ante room, a large room for the guard itself, two rows of grey metal framed beds with grey heavy wool blankets covering them. Pillows turned yellow, by the number of heads placed on them over the years. The men, chatting at first and as the night moves on, the sounds emanating from them as they sleep, their scents and smells pervading your nostrils.

The red buffed linoleum floor brings each area together, a continuity and so to the long corridor and the cells and the wash-room beyond.

'Well you’re meant to go to head-quarter company for the night, but the store-man will be out on the piss, by now. You'd better stay in here, go and find an empty cell; you can leave the door open if you wish.'

I nodded as I spoke, 'Yes, sergeant' and walked down the corridor. The third cell was empty; the confined space smelt of floor wax and disinfectant. There was a barred window with frosted glass high up on the opposite wall and the only piece of furniture was a heavy wooden teak coloured varnished platform, which acted as a bed to the right of the door. Etched into it the scars and initials of many that had been incarcerated, had left their legacy on it.

I dropped my kitbag on the floor, at the foot of the wooden platform, a thin mattress was folded in half, the bedding block was placed on top preventing its springing open. I moved the bedding block and unfolded the thin mattress on the wooden block, making the bed as I would have at Colchester. Once finished, I sat down on the edge of the bed with my elbows on my knees and leant forward, slightly cradling my head in my hands, pushing my fingers into my thick blonde hair.

I gazed at the linoleum, looking at each scuff mark in the polish. I was, for a brief moment, lost in my thoughts. It was the first time in six months, when I had been alone to do as I felt. The regimented existence I had known in Colchester had gone, it had finally released its grip on me. I felt lost, like a reformed smoker, unsure of what to do after dinner now their addiction had ceased.

After a few minutes I raised my head and began to ponder, indeed, what should I do next. It was a curious feeling, I had received no order and the door to the cell was still open. I rose and went back into the guardroom, all of the commotion which had been caused by the sounding of the last post had now gone. The duty officer and the non-commissioned officers forming the picket for each company had now dispersed for the evening.

The guardroom had adopted its usual routine. One of calm, the regimental police sergeant who had brought me down from Colchester, was still in the guard-room talking to the barrack guard sergeant. He was half sat on the desk at the back of the guardroom, the barrack guard sergeant was seated, drafting some type of morning report required by the regimental sergeant major first thing in the morning. The barrack guard sergeant, looked at me as I entered, the regimental police sergeant, noticing that he had lost eye contact adjusted himself and turned.

'Oh you're still with us then?' I could see that this sergeant was now in a jovial mood and was in his domain, so humouring was the best course of action.

'Yes Sergeant.'

'Now, we don't say YES, in this regiment, you'll be taught that. If you want to say yes, just say Sergeant, got that'. My inclination was to say yes sergeant, but my experiences had made me a quick learner.

'Sergeant,' the sergeant beamed.

'By god you're a fast one'. He laughed out loud for a moment, pleased with himself.

'Now tomorrow, you'll see the sergeant major at eight in the morning, I’ll take you there. Then, you'll be sent to adjutant’s memorandum. After that you'll be sent to a training platoon.'

I responded 'Sergeant' to indicate I had understood, which also appeared to make him eminently happy.

'Now, I think there is some scoff left on the tray in the barrack-guards room. Best get some before it all goes and get to bed.' I obliged there was no reason to argue with this and I would sleep better after something to eat.