Post by Matt James on Apr 16, 2009 12:50:44 GMT
When we were eighteen, we were expected to leave the messengers and become a postman; this I never fancied so I decided to join the army.
Looking back I can’t think why; I was very happy at home but wanted adventure. Steve Taylor said - why don’t we join the SAS?
I had never heard of the SAS. In those days they didn’t have the reputation they have now, as the regiment was made up of about 100 clerks, a few regulars and the TA.
The SAS has really come on since then and whenever I have mentioned to people that I once joined they would look at me as if I was giving them a load of bull thinking that I had joined some kind of special services unit but when I think back it was, indeed, a special services unit. You still had to be tough to get in – well really fit would be a better description – and at the age of eighteen I was naturally fit. We were both still at the post office and still on the motor-bikes – in those days we were civil servants – and they would let us have as much time off with pay as we needed and we were also paid by the TA. I was five feet eight and this, I got to find out, was the size they liked you to be taking into consideration parachute jumping and general nimbleness; Steve was six foot three.
The SAS, even though it was the TA, was like no other regiment – I had been in the army cadets and even the Royal Warwickshire Regt. (TA) so I knew how to march and the rest of it but what we did in the SAS was learn Morse code and lots of other things I have forgotten about now. We also did a lot of map reading using a prismatic compass but I was very familiar with that because of the cadets and this was in preparation for the selection course in Scotland.
We didn’t have to shine our boots much either, didn’t do a lot of marching, which I was good at and didn’t even have to Blanco our belts – they were black – or clean our cap badges as they were cloth and sewed to the greyish beret.
We went on weekend camps learned to rough it as the course included being left by ourselves in the wilds of Scotland. The weekend camps included visits to ranges where we would fire anything from the metric equivalent of the sten-gun through the SLR and the Bren gun; I was always quite a good shot so I enjoyed that; particularly the SLR – self loading rifle I believe and the equivalent of the Lee Enfield 303– as I liked single shots at targets as opposed to spraying bullets from a Sten.
One time we arrived at the barracks on a Friday evening and were told that we wouldn’t be departing for the weekend camp till the next morning so we could either go back home and come in early or sleep on the hard floor of the barracks – we decided to have a drink and look for a piece of waste ground to sleep.
Apart from Steve and myself there was a fella called Flash – I can’t remember his other names but that was how he introduced himself ‘call me Flash’ – and a businessman whose name I have forgotten. He decided to go back home in his Jaguar and we saw him the following day. I have often wondered why a successful businessman would want to join the TA but, after all, it was the SAS.
After our quick drink we wondered through the fog of the city and found a piece of waste ground which seemed quite remote till we woke the next morning to find a bus load of people looking at us; you see the word ‘tent’ never came into the conversation either there or when we got to Scotland; we were expected to sleep under the stars with a poncho wrapped around our sleeping bags and our heads sticking out and this, presumably, was what the people on the bus looked at as the three of us lay there asleep.
Half way through the night Steve had woken up just as some drunk was making his way across the waste ground and as Steve sat up the drunk must have thought he’d seen a ghost and rapidly sobered up enough to muster a run and a scream. I still have this image of him running with his jacket streaming out at the back and a scream so loud you’d think he’d seen the Godzilla.
Off to Scotland we went; after about a week of manoeuvres and a lot of shouting – you won’t hide anything from me, laddie, I have eyes like a shit house rat - we had to go on the last part of the selection course which meant getting into the back of a big lorry with a load of other sweaty soldiers and being dumped near the northern most part of Scotland.
The army truck drove through long lonely winding roads, miles from anywhere, which were at the base of canyons and moors. On the hillsides we could see smatterings of sheep and grass and then nothing; just big hills and the sky.
Now and then the lorry would stop and a name was called out; that soldier would have to get out after struggling with his back pack and rifle through the rest of the stinky bodies and then he was given a six figure map reference of the rendezvous – the RV – he had to report to and a time to be there and that was it.
We had travelled up from Fort George and on the way we slept – mostly on each other’s shoulders – and it was breakfast we were really after not abandonment; we had in our back packs a stove and bits of food; also we had, with us, an emergency pack as we were told that some time during the course we would be stopped by an officer and relieved of our back pack; so the emergency pack was essential.
When my turn came to get out I was given the map reference and then watched as the truck disappeared around the bend and then silence; not a sound anywhere; I looked left and right – nothing; I liked the silence; this was in Sutherland very close to Cape Wrath which is the tip top of Scotland..
I set off up a hill which seemed to go up at ninety degrees; after a hundred yards I was finished; I sat down and dived into my bag for something to eat.
In those days I wasn’t as domesticated as I am now so the first thing I found to eat was a packet of Kraft Cheese Slices - not very sensible for somebody who was going to have to rough it for five days – and then some beans. I decided on the beans and then came my first mishap – I couldn’t get the bloody stove to light and I ate the beans from the can cold. The Kraft Cheese Slices, by the way, turned out to be a gem of a purchase as they was easy to eat – not in slices as I just ploughed into them - and they were very nourishing and gave me energy together with the bars of chocolate I had with me – instant energy.
That seemed to go on for days; we would go to our RV – I was usually late – and then be given another map reference and a time and set off again. We weren’t allowed to use roads or bridges; we had to walk through streams and rivers holding our rifles high above our heads – it was great just like playing soldiers.
After a few days everybody gathered at the same final RV and we had to wait till everybody arrived; that was when they took our back-packs away – leaving us with our emergency packs - and teamed us up in pairs; I was paired with Steve.
We had twenty four hours later to get to the next RV and off we went; as soon as we marched off the heavens opened and it didn’t stop. We walked along with ponchos over us and were quite dry underneath but at some time we would have to sleep – and that didn’t look good. I kept saying ‘what's the matter with settling down under that tree – or that bush?’ But Steve didn’t think it was a good idea.
When it got dark we decided to walk close to the road and in the distance we could by its lights a vehicle approaching. We didn’t know if this was going to be a jeep or an army truck so we kept low; as it got closer we could see it was a mobile grocer’s van so we jumped out like bandits and flagged it down.
‘Do you have any milk?’
‘No’ said the driver ‘but hop in and I’ll take you to a farm.’
On the way I pretended to steal the food from the shelves and Steve started to wave his arms saying ‘put it back’ but I was only pretending.
Eventually we came to a farm and the grocer let us out at the gate. It was very dark and we could see the farm house in the distance. We opened the gate and went in. ‘Look there’ said Steve, as we walked ‘a barn!’
Up to the front door we went, each carrying a rifle and wearing a poncho; we must have looked like Clint Eastwood and his little Clyde? We knocked and the door was answered; it was a youth of about sixteen ‘yes?’ he said.
He looked at us and looked at our guns and it didn’t seem to bother him.
‘Can you sell us some milk?’
‘Milk?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, er . . . . ‘
‘And can we sleep in your barn?’ Nice one Steve.
The kid looked confused.
‘Hang on a minute’ he said.
He disappeared and then his dad came to the door ‘You want to sleep in the barn?’
‘Yes please.’
It was throwing it down and the water, after running down my neck, was now reaching my nether regions. He looked at us.
‘That’ll be okay,’ he said, wearily, and he took us to the barn.
We took our ponchos off; underneath we had, what we called, denims, which were only slightly wet but the water had run through the lace holes of our boots and there’s nothing more unpleasant than having your feet in pools of water inside your footwear.
After a little while a female voice called through the door ‘can I come in?’
‘Yes.’
A very beautiful young girl came into the barn; ‘hello’ she said.
This was the farmer’s daughter and she wanted to know if we would like to sleep in the cottage. She said nobody was using it and we would be quite welcome. Of course we jumped at the idea and she showed us where it was.
The cottage was where hired hands lived but at the time it was vacant; there was nothing in there apart from a bed and a pile of blankets – so we would be sharing the bed; then the girl came down again – ‘would you like to come up for supper?’
Would we like to come up for supper!
‘Come up to the house when you are ready’ she said and she went off.
When we got into their house we were met by the mother, the father and the son and daughter; oh the jokes about the farmer’s daughter that went through my head; when she had come to the barn I had said to Steve something like ‘what a beauty or what a cracker’ and he said ‘don’t try anything with her’ – as if I would!
We sat down to supper – bacon and eggs, sausage and tomatoes; all served with hot tea and warm bread rolls; all wonderful. We talked to them and not once did we mention that we were in the TA; they didn’t ask so we didn’t tell; we just let them think we were army regulars.
When we got back to the cottage the boy came to see us – he seemed keen on the army and he asked us for our laundry and took it away.
The next morning our clothes were delivered to us before we got out of bed and we were given boiled eggs and toast for breakfast and then we went on our way.
Later on, after we made it to our final RV, an officer came up to me and said ‘Your socks look rather dry?’
‘Yes sir’ I said ‘we took them off and hung them up to dry this morning.’
‘Well done’ he said ‘showing initiative.’
Both of us passed the selection course but the short time we served with them, to me, was never nearly as exciting as the course itself; we went on manoeuvres, played at being at war and got out before it became serious; at least I did I don’t know what Steve did as we lost touch after I got married.
Looking back I can’t think why; I was very happy at home but wanted adventure. Steve Taylor said - why don’t we join the SAS?
I had never heard of the SAS. In those days they didn’t have the reputation they have now, as the regiment was made up of about 100 clerks, a few regulars and the TA.
The SAS has really come on since then and whenever I have mentioned to people that I once joined they would look at me as if I was giving them a load of bull thinking that I had joined some kind of special services unit but when I think back it was, indeed, a special services unit. You still had to be tough to get in – well really fit would be a better description – and at the age of eighteen I was naturally fit. We were both still at the post office and still on the motor-bikes – in those days we were civil servants – and they would let us have as much time off with pay as we needed and we were also paid by the TA. I was five feet eight and this, I got to find out, was the size they liked you to be taking into consideration parachute jumping and general nimbleness; Steve was six foot three.
The SAS, even though it was the TA, was like no other regiment – I had been in the army cadets and even the Royal Warwickshire Regt. (TA) so I knew how to march and the rest of it but what we did in the SAS was learn Morse code and lots of other things I have forgotten about now. We also did a lot of map reading using a prismatic compass but I was very familiar with that because of the cadets and this was in preparation for the selection course in Scotland.
We didn’t have to shine our boots much either, didn’t do a lot of marching, which I was good at and didn’t even have to Blanco our belts – they were black – or clean our cap badges as they were cloth and sewed to the greyish beret.
We went on weekend camps learned to rough it as the course included being left by ourselves in the wilds of Scotland. The weekend camps included visits to ranges where we would fire anything from the metric equivalent of the sten-gun through the SLR and the Bren gun; I was always quite a good shot so I enjoyed that; particularly the SLR – self loading rifle I believe and the equivalent of the Lee Enfield 303– as I liked single shots at targets as opposed to spraying bullets from a Sten.
One time we arrived at the barracks on a Friday evening and were told that we wouldn’t be departing for the weekend camp till the next morning so we could either go back home and come in early or sleep on the hard floor of the barracks – we decided to have a drink and look for a piece of waste ground to sleep.
Apart from Steve and myself there was a fella called Flash – I can’t remember his other names but that was how he introduced himself ‘call me Flash’ – and a businessman whose name I have forgotten. He decided to go back home in his Jaguar and we saw him the following day. I have often wondered why a successful businessman would want to join the TA but, after all, it was the SAS.
After our quick drink we wondered through the fog of the city and found a piece of waste ground which seemed quite remote till we woke the next morning to find a bus load of people looking at us; you see the word ‘tent’ never came into the conversation either there or when we got to Scotland; we were expected to sleep under the stars with a poncho wrapped around our sleeping bags and our heads sticking out and this, presumably, was what the people on the bus looked at as the three of us lay there asleep.
Half way through the night Steve had woken up just as some drunk was making his way across the waste ground and as Steve sat up the drunk must have thought he’d seen a ghost and rapidly sobered up enough to muster a run and a scream. I still have this image of him running with his jacket streaming out at the back and a scream so loud you’d think he’d seen the Godzilla.
Off to Scotland we went; after about a week of manoeuvres and a lot of shouting – you won’t hide anything from me, laddie, I have eyes like a shit house rat - we had to go on the last part of the selection course which meant getting into the back of a big lorry with a load of other sweaty soldiers and being dumped near the northern most part of Scotland.
The army truck drove through long lonely winding roads, miles from anywhere, which were at the base of canyons and moors. On the hillsides we could see smatterings of sheep and grass and then nothing; just big hills and the sky.
Now and then the lorry would stop and a name was called out; that soldier would have to get out after struggling with his back pack and rifle through the rest of the stinky bodies and then he was given a six figure map reference of the rendezvous – the RV – he had to report to and a time to be there and that was it.
We had travelled up from Fort George and on the way we slept – mostly on each other’s shoulders – and it was breakfast we were really after not abandonment; we had in our back packs a stove and bits of food; also we had, with us, an emergency pack as we were told that some time during the course we would be stopped by an officer and relieved of our back pack; so the emergency pack was essential.
When my turn came to get out I was given the map reference and then watched as the truck disappeared around the bend and then silence; not a sound anywhere; I looked left and right – nothing; I liked the silence; this was in Sutherland very close to Cape Wrath which is the tip top of Scotland..
I set off up a hill which seemed to go up at ninety degrees; after a hundred yards I was finished; I sat down and dived into my bag for something to eat.
In those days I wasn’t as domesticated as I am now so the first thing I found to eat was a packet of Kraft Cheese Slices - not very sensible for somebody who was going to have to rough it for five days – and then some beans. I decided on the beans and then came my first mishap – I couldn’t get the bloody stove to light and I ate the beans from the can cold. The Kraft Cheese Slices, by the way, turned out to be a gem of a purchase as they was easy to eat – not in slices as I just ploughed into them - and they were very nourishing and gave me energy together with the bars of chocolate I had with me – instant energy.
That seemed to go on for days; we would go to our RV – I was usually late – and then be given another map reference and a time and set off again. We weren’t allowed to use roads or bridges; we had to walk through streams and rivers holding our rifles high above our heads – it was great just like playing soldiers.
After a few days everybody gathered at the same final RV and we had to wait till everybody arrived; that was when they took our back-packs away – leaving us with our emergency packs - and teamed us up in pairs; I was paired with Steve.
We had twenty four hours later to get to the next RV and off we went; as soon as we marched off the heavens opened and it didn’t stop. We walked along with ponchos over us and were quite dry underneath but at some time we would have to sleep – and that didn’t look good. I kept saying ‘what's the matter with settling down under that tree – or that bush?’ But Steve didn’t think it was a good idea.
When it got dark we decided to walk close to the road and in the distance we could by its lights a vehicle approaching. We didn’t know if this was going to be a jeep or an army truck so we kept low; as it got closer we could see it was a mobile grocer’s van so we jumped out like bandits and flagged it down.
‘Do you have any milk?’
‘No’ said the driver ‘but hop in and I’ll take you to a farm.’
On the way I pretended to steal the food from the shelves and Steve started to wave his arms saying ‘put it back’ but I was only pretending.
Eventually we came to a farm and the grocer let us out at the gate. It was very dark and we could see the farm house in the distance. We opened the gate and went in. ‘Look there’ said Steve, as we walked ‘a barn!’
Up to the front door we went, each carrying a rifle and wearing a poncho; we must have looked like Clint Eastwood and his little Clyde? We knocked and the door was answered; it was a youth of about sixteen ‘yes?’ he said.
He looked at us and looked at our guns and it didn’t seem to bother him.
‘Can you sell us some milk?’
‘Milk?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, er . . . . ‘
‘And can we sleep in your barn?’ Nice one Steve.
The kid looked confused.
‘Hang on a minute’ he said.
He disappeared and then his dad came to the door ‘You want to sleep in the barn?’
‘Yes please.’
It was throwing it down and the water, after running down my neck, was now reaching my nether regions. He looked at us.
‘That’ll be okay,’ he said, wearily, and he took us to the barn.
We took our ponchos off; underneath we had, what we called, denims, which were only slightly wet but the water had run through the lace holes of our boots and there’s nothing more unpleasant than having your feet in pools of water inside your footwear.
After a little while a female voice called through the door ‘can I come in?’
‘Yes.’
A very beautiful young girl came into the barn; ‘hello’ she said.
This was the farmer’s daughter and she wanted to know if we would like to sleep in the cottage. She said nobody was using it and we would be quite welcome. Of course we jumped at the idea and she showed us where it was.
The cottage was where hired hands lived but at the time it was vacant; there was nothing in there apart from a bed and a pile of blankets – so we would be sharing the bed; then the girl came down again – ‘would you like to come up for supper?’
Would we like to come up for supper!
‘Come up to the house when you are ready’ she said and she went off.
When we got into their house we were met by the mother, the father and the son and daughter; oh the jokes about the farmer’s daughter that went through my head; when she had come to the barn I had said to Steve something like ‘what a beauty or what a cracker’ and he said ‘don’t try anything with her’ – as if I would!
We sat down to supper – bacon and eggs, sausage and tomatoes; all served with hot tea and warm bread rolls; all wonderful. We talked to them and not once did we mention that we were in the TA; they didn’t ask so we didn’t tell; we just let them think we were army regulars.
When we got back to the cottage the boy came to see us – he seemed keen on the army and he asked us for our laundry and took it away.
The next morning our clothes were delivered to us before we got out of bed and we were given boiled eggs and toast for breakfast and then we went on our way.
Later on, after we made it to our final RV, an officer came up to me and said ‘Your socks look rather dry?’
‘Yes sir’ I said ‘we took them off and hung them up to dry this morning.’
‘Well done’ he said ‘showing initiative.’
Both of us passed the selection course but the short time we served with them, to me, was never nearly as exciting as the course itself; we went on manoeuvres, played at being at war and got out before it became serious; at least I did I don’t know what Steve did as we lost touch after I got married.