Ron Levett's memories of joining up and training in the Royal Armoured Corps during World War II.

At the end of an infantry training course we returned thankfully to Bovington, where a number of the troops were posted away to their units. I was given another week's leave, probably because of my age, seventeen at the time. At home I found a strange looking object in place of the kitchen table. This was a steel box with netting sides, known as a Morrison shelter.

I assume that this had been issued because of the number of flying bombs that were now being shot down in our area. I went to a dance at Selmeston village hall on the Saturday evening of my leave.

On my way home by bicycle, accompanied by two friends we stopped on the corner at Alciston because of the sound of a 'doodle bug', only to find not one but three of them flying up the Cuckmere valley as though they were in formation. The long yellow flames of their exhausts were quite spectacular.

Two wives of Canadian soldiers who were stationed locally were living in one of my mother's spare rooms and they came to a dance in Alfriston with the family. I took the opportunity to practice my dancing. The leave came all to quickly to an end and it was back to Bovington.

A mate and I took a day pass and went by train to Swanage, a small seaside town south of Wareham. We had a meal in a local fish shop and had a studio photograph taken.

On another occasion I had a pass but was on my own. I thought I would try hitchhiking. In the centre of Bovington I flagged down an American army truck, the type known to the Yanks as a 'deuce and a half', in other words a two and a half ton truck.

Its only occupant was an American sergeant, and instead of telling me where he was going, he asked me where I wanted to go. When I said 'Weymouth', he just said, 'That sounds good to me' and off we went. And I thought petrol was short!

A number of ex RAF men had been posted into the regiment. They were aircrew that had finished their tour of duty. (Approx. thirty operations over Germany) The ones in my squad were ex radio operators who could read and send Morse at a phenomenal speed.

We were lucky to have as instructors a couple of ex Post Office operators, who were also brilliant at Morse. I was given extra wireless tuition while waiting to join a draft, so the race was on to see who could attain the fastest speed at reading Morse.

I managed to reach twenty-eight words a minute but found that the difficulty was to write at this speed. Our instructors could also type and this is the way that Morse can be written at this speed. Trying to send at this speed is very difficult using an army Morse key and I only managed about eighteen words per minute.

Naturally, this being the army, our RAF men were eventually trained, not as wireless operators but as gunners. I suppose they could have been air gunners before coming to the army.

Once a month, on a Saturday morning, Commanding Officer's Parade was held. This was a very grand affair. Troops were paraded outside their hut at 8 o'clock, in best battle dress, best boots, belt and gaiters. Berets had to be brushed clean, with the bow at the back sewn down exactly one inch in length.

Blancoing freshly done and all brasses and cap badge polished. We were inspected by the troop corporal, then by the sergeant. All discrepancies were put right, and then we marched to the Squadron lines. This is the area in front of the squadron office.

A further inspection followed, carried out by the Squadron Sergeant Major. When he was satisfied with our turnout we marched as a squadron to the Regimental Parade Ground. This area was hallowed ground. Anyone found walking across it would find themselves on a charge.

When we arrived at the parade ground we were fallen out along the edge. The Regimental Sergeant Major (RSM) then called out the right markers for each squadron. These were usually senior sergeants. The RSM would position them in their correct spots, then call out the command 'Get on parade'. The whole regiment would then march out and fall in on their own marker.

When each squadron had been dressed by the right, (lined up from the right marker) the band marched on and we were ready for the Commanding Officer. He carefully inspected the whole parade and woe betides any man caught with a button undone.

During the inspection the band would play light music, but after the inspection the whole parade would march past the saluting base while the band played a march. After the parade the squadrons were marched back to their lines and dismissed. Usually that was the end of work for the day.

Ron Levett, 2001