Chris Fagan
September 2006
Just after the compound was built on the airfield for the Americans to play games in, I was
detailed to take a party of men to put up the barbed wire. When I got there I noticed
that the whole perimeter was deep mud, and of course we did not have any wellies or
gloves. However the god of Sods Law smiled down when it was discovered that all the clasps
on the wire had rotted and it was totally useless.
The US Sergeant said to me "While I sort this out we will find you some shit jobs to do".
I knew perfectly well what he meant but as there were American privates there all being
careful not to get their boots or uniforms creased or dirty, I told him: 'Give me a call
when you sort it out and we will come back', and marched the detail back.
About an hour later I got a call from 3 Battery office saying I was wanted down at the
Yank headquarters. Thinking that the wire was ready I went down.
Surprise! When I got there the sergeant was stood to attention outside the commanding
officer's door, together with a guy with a white armband.
"Stand up against the wall", I was told, "and take your cap off!"
No way pal, was my reply.
Just then the door opened and some guy with a lot of stripes tried to march me in, however
I did it my way, as I would have done entering any officer's office.
This could get long so I will cut it short.
It then dawned on me that they were trying to charge ME with not complying
with an order.
I requested a witness, and got Andy Capp. RSM Caplin hated the Yanks because, whilst
in Korea and attacking a hill, the yanks they were supporting were told to retire/retreat
but they did not relay the order to the Brits and half of his squad was killed.
He went ape. Well, as ape as an RSM does in front of an officer.
Our BC got involved, and eventually to Colonel Brewster. The outcome was that I got a written
apology from some American general.
And the letter? RSM Caplin had it framed and put it behind his desk, so that every time an
American was in his office he would not be able to avoid it.
I wonder what happened to it in the end. Maybe he was buried with it.
John Walker
October 2006
Funny you should bring that up . . . .
Odd how these niggling little memories sit at the back of your mind for years and years
without a mention until somebody says something, or, as in this case, tells a story.
But something similar did happen to me . . . .
One morning, sometime in the summer of 1963 (it all fits - Bennett was my GGRS commander, and I was
in summer-order shirt sleeves, so memory intact!) WOII Bennett relayed a message that I was to
take my AVO meter and some tools to a disabled vehicle in the US compound.
Everything about this message was odd,
- nobody knew where it originated.
- nobody knew why I was being sent instead of a vehicle mechanic
- nobody knew who I should report to when I got there
- nobody knew what was wrong with the vehicle, or even what sort of vehicle it was
I should explain to anybody that wasn't with us that as a Radar Technician I did electronics.
Vehicle Mechanics did vehicles.
I knew nothing about vehicles except what might be applied through basic electricity
fundamentals, e.g. if you measure battery voltage and find it low, probably the engine
won't start.
So WOI Bob Easterbrook said to just go there and see what I could find.
It was just as Chris described; US Army privates and NCOs in immaculate uniforms lounging
around, reading magazines and brewing coffee on industrial-size percolators. I couldn't
imagine how this crowd could be expected to fight in a war. They certainly had no intention
of getting dirty or even slightly scuffed.
Like Chris, I have to cut this short. I could write pages describing the cultural shock these
guys gave me with their arrogance and superiority attitude.
A super-starched Private, lounging on a sofa (!?), waved his arm at an Austin 1-ton radio
repair truck (another shock - what were they doing with that?) and said the lights need fixing.
Wondering why they hadn't asked for a VM but trying to do whatever I could, I checked all lamps
had voltage when switched on, but one sidelight was out. I told Super-Starch I didn't have any
spare bulbs with me, and he got one out of a desk drawer. Checked it with the AVO - it was dud.
He gave me another one, also dud. Two more, not only dud but the wrong type. By this time I had
learned that he was the regular driver of this truck, but (totally) unlike the Brits he wasn't
expected to change light bulbs. I'm not sure he knew what they were.
Cut it short, lad.
I told Super-Starch he should either get the truck to the REME Workshops or get a REME VM to
come to it. He agreed, and I left after telephoning Bob Easterbrook to let him know the
situation.
I really am trying to cut this down . . . .
Actually, the US compound couldn't dial out. They only had a direct link to the 47 RA Guardroom
at the main gate, so I had to relay a message via the duty NCO. Fortunately he had completed
his infantry messaging course, and the message was relayed very accurately. Fortunately, I had
completed my messaging course in the CCF at school - we never did message relaying in REME
training.
Later that afternoon Sgt Humphrey from the Veh Wksps office (That little hut just behind the REME Wksps
guardroom where drivers checked their trucks in for service.) telephoned me at M&G Pln to say I should return
to the US compound immediately because I was wanted on a charge.
A what? I expected disciplinary charges to come my way via CSM S/Sgt Woods, not a Sgt VM or
the United Starched Cavalry.
I never went, and I never heard any more about it.