Berwick's Wartime Stories
Apr. 25th, 2006 07:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seandcA few weeks ago I posted some stories written by my grandfather, Berwick Hanton for the writers group at his retirement village. I only looked at the first two volumes, since I saw that the third volume was printed a couple of years after he moved to a country town down south, so I thought there wouldn't be anything in there.
You can guess what Mum told me next, can't you?
Anyway, the entries in this volume had to do with Berwick's experiences in World War II; he had been instrumental in forming/training a cadet unit at Wesley College as a member of the old Militias, and when they were absorbed into the regular Army he was assigned to the 44th Battalion. These more memorable exchanges take place training in Western Australian country towns.
INCONGRUITY
I have named this account for reasons which I trust will be obvious.
It is 1942 and wartime. Our battalion is stationed at Mingenew in our northern Wheat Belt, and encamped on that town's former Golf Course. We have just finished dinner in the Officers' Mess in a large bell tent.
The Colonel is reading aloud a letter from the local Roads Board Secretary -- a lengthy screed, stating - in essence - that someone had stolen the Cricket Pavilion. We are somewhat stumped by this momentous news.
We of Western Australia thought in terms of the W.A.C.A. Others, we gathered as we exchanged views later, turned to memories of the Melbourne Cricket Ground, or the Sydney Ground, or the Adelaide Oval. One much-travelled warrior even had vision of cricket's Holy of Holies, the famous Lords Ground.
None, it seems, had in mind the customary Australian small country town ground, with its three - or four - sided galvanised iron shed; or, in some smaller places, three sided bough sheds, that did duty as the pavilion.
Came the Colonel's peroration:
"Gentlemen -- who - has the Mingenew - Cricket Pavilion?".
A pause --- then a young Lieutenant somewhat sheepishly says: "I have, sir".
Again came the Colonel's cold tones:
"And what, Caddy, are you doing with it?"
With a little less sheepishness and with a touch of pride, came the answer:
"Living in it, sir"
Collapse of whole Mess in helpless laughter.
COOL, CALM AND COLLECTED
It never ceases to amaze that some Senior Officers (I refer specifically to the Army, though those in the other Services may have been the same) seemed always to assert themselves in a thoroughly objectionable manner.
One of the most notorious was "Red Robbie" (Lieut-General Sir H Robinson), of whom stories were legion. Only once did I even see the man and I'm glad that I was privileged to witness the incident.
About the middle years of W.W.ll, we were training in Western Australia and the entrance to our camp was just around a bend in the access road, with the Guard hut some twenty or thirty yards away. One afternoon Red Robbie's jeep, complete with the Great Man himself, swept around the bend. The sentry on the gate was wide awake and his howl of "Turn out the Guard!" had the guard pouring out of the hut. Fortunately they were fully dressed and ready, under a very good Sergeant, and by the time the R.R. reached them they were in perfect line, rigidly at the slope.
As the jeep screeched to a stop, R.R., red-haired, red-faced, irascible, blustering, was yelling, "Well, Sergeant, what are you going to do? WHAT are you going to DO?", and giving no chance for a reply, leapt from the vehicle and strode to the unfortunate N.C.O. still shouting, "Come ON, Man! What are you going to do? You know who I am, don't you? You can see my flag flying can't you? Come on, Man, ANSWER, WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO!".
Into the sudden silence came the voice of the Sergeant in tones composed, but icy:
"When I can get a word in edgeways, Sir, I shall "Present Arms!".
R.R. fairly gibbered at this presumptuous N.C.O., had to control himself to take the salute, then jumped in his vehicle and drove away.
P.S. After `Retreat Parade' the Sergeant was invited into the Officers' Mess and, after suitable appreciation, assisted to the Sergeants' Mess to receive the plaudits of his peers.
THE CORPORAL TAKES A CHANCE
SATURDAY morning it was. I emphasis the day as this story really hinges upon it. It- was during the war years and the battalion was encamped at the little village of Dandaragan some 100-odd miles north of Perth.
On this particular Saturday morn, I happened to be at Battalion Headquarters, talking to two of the N.C.O.s, one of whom, Pitcher, was renowned for his ability to get away with preposterous things - even with the top Brass.
There were sounds of a car pulling up and in strode the CO., very brisk, very dapper, off to the city for the weekend. A "born with a silver spoon" our C.O., who always considered that circumstances should adapt themselves to his desires. "Paper come yet, Pitcher?" he demanded in his usual staccato manner. "Not yet sir", from Pitcher, very smartly, with a click of the heels. "Right! Let me have it as soon as it comes!" "Sir!" And out goes the Colonel to his Staff car. "How the hell does he expect me to have the blasted paper? The only way it can get here is through that door --- and he is sitting in front of it!".
Five minutes later the C.O. stamps in and the same sequence follows. Another five minutes --- and a repeat performance.
Still another five minutes and the C.O. stamps in:
"Dammit, Pitcher, hasn't that paper arrived yet?"
"Yes, sir. Just come, sir", and hands him a newspaper, rolled tightly with a rubber band.
"Good!" snaps the Great Man --- all but snatches the paper and stamps out.
As the roar of the staff car diminishes rapidly, we see that Pitcher is rolling on the desk almost helpless with laughter: "I took a chance", he quavered, "but God only knows what he'll say when he finds that its Wednesday's paper".
From Rowethorpe Writings 3 : a selection
Rowethorpe Retirement Village, Bentley W.A., 1996.
You can guess what Mum told me next, can't you?
Anyway, the entries in this volume had to do with Berwick's experiences in World War II; he had been instrumental in forming/training a cadet unit at Wesley College as a member of the old Militias, and when they were absorbed into the regular Army he was assigned to the 44th Battalion. These more memorable exchanges take place training in Western Australian country towns.
INCONGRUITY
I have named this account for reasons which I trust will be obvious.
It is 1942 and wartime. Our battalion is stationed at Mingenew in our northern Wheat Belt, and encamped on that town's former Golf Course. We have just finished dinner in the Officers' Mess in a large bell tent.
The Colonel is reading aloud a letter from the local Roads Board Secretary -- a lengthy screed, stating - in essence - that someone had stolen the Cricket Pavilion. We are somewhat stumped by this momentous news.
We of Western Australia thought in terms of the W.A.C.A. Others, we gathered as we exchanged views later, turned to memories of the Melbourne Cricket Ground, or the Sydney Ground, or the Adelaide Oval. One much-travelled warrior even had vision of cricket's Holy of Holies, the famous Lords Ground.
None, it seems, had in mind the customary Australian small country town ground, with its three - or four - sided galvanised iron shed; or, in some smaller places, three sided bough sheds, that did duty as the pavilion.
Came the Colonel's peroration:
"Gentlemen -- who - has the Mingenew - Cricket Pavilion?".
A pause --- then a young Lieutenant somewhat sheepishly says: "I have, sir".
Again came the Colonel's cold tones:
"And what, Caddy, are you doing with it?"
With a little less sheepishness and with a touch of pride, came the answer:
"Living in it, sir"
Collapse of whole Mess in helpless laughter.
COOL, CALM AND COLLECTED
It never ceases to amaze that some Senior Officers (I refer specifically to the Army, though those in the other Services may have been the same) seemed always to assert themselves in a thoroughly objectionable manner.
One of the most notorious was "Red Robbie" (Lieut-General Sir H Robinson), of whom stories were legion. Only once did I even see the man and I'm glad that I was privileged to witness the incident.
About the middle years of W.W.ll, we were training in Western Australia and the entrance to our camp was just around a bend in the access road, with the Guard hut some twenty or thirty yards away. One afternoon Red Robbie's jeep, complete with the Great Man himself, swept around the bend. The sentry on the gate was wide awake and his howl of "Turn out the Guard!" had the guard pouring out of the hut. Fortunately they were fully dressed and ready, under a very good Sergeant, and by the time the R.R. reached them they were in perfect line, rigidly at the slope.
As the jeep screeched to a stop, R.R., red-haired, red-faced, irascible, blustering, was yelling, "Well, Sergeant, what are you going to do? WHAT are you going to DO?", and giving no chance for a reply, leapt from the vehicle and strode to the unfortunate N.C.O. still shouting, "Come ON, Man! What are you going to do? You know who I am, don't you? You can see my flag flying can't you? Come on, Man, ANSWER, WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO!".
Into the sudden silence came the voice of the Sergeant in tones composed, but icy:
"When I can get a word in edgeways, Sir, I shall "Present Arms!".
R.R. fairly gibbered at this presumptuous N.C.O., had to control himself to take the salute, then jumped in his vehicle and drove away.
P.S. After `Retreat Parade' the Sergeant was invited into the Officers' Mess and, after suitable appreciation, assisted to the Sergeants' Mess to receive the plaudits of his peers.
THE CORPORAL TAKES A CHANCE
SATURDAY morning it was. I emphasis the day as this story really hinges upon it. It- was during the war years and the battalion was encamped at the little village of Dandaragan some 100-odd miles north of Perth.
On this particular Saturday morn, I happened to be at Battalion Headquarters, talking to two of the N.C.O.s, one of whom, Pitcher, was renowned for his ability to get away with preposterous things - even with the top Brass.
There were sounds of a car pulling up and in strode the CO., very brisk, very dapper, off to the city for the weekend. A "born with a silver spoon" our C.O., who always considered that circumstances should adapt themselves to his desires. "Paper come yet, Pitcher?" he demanded in his usual staccato manner. "Not yet sir", from Pitcher, very smartly, with a click of the heels. "Right! Let me have it as soon as it comes!" "Sir!" And out goes the Colonel to his Staff car. "How the hell does he expect me to have the blasted paper? The only way it can get here is through that door --- and he is sitting in front of it!".
Five minutes later the C.O. stamps in and the same sequence follows. Another five minutes --- and a repeat performance.
Still another five minutes and the C.O. stamps in:
"Dammit, Pitcher, hasn't that paper arrived yet?"
"Yes, sir. Just come, sir", and hands him a newspaper, rolled tightly with a rubber band.
"Good!" snaps the Great Man --- all but snatches the paper and stamps out.
As the roar of the staff car diminishes rapidly, we see that Pitcher is rolling on the desk almost helpless with laughter: "I took a chance", he quavered, "but God only knows what he'll say when he finds that its Wednesday's paper".
From Rowethorpe Writings 3 : a selection
Rowethorpe Retirement Village, Bentley W.A., 1996.
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Date: 2006-04-25 11:24 am (UTC)