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George Spenceley relives his army training days in the 1950's and the many friends and memories he recalls
Every couple of weeks a group of soldiers were chosen for camp security duty. We had to dress in our best uniforms and be as smart as possible. We had to report to the guardroom Sergeant or Bombardier who would inspect
us and then at 19.00 hours he would present us to the duty officer.
He would be dressed in a smart dark blue uniform with highly polished Sam brown straps to inspect the guard and he'd give us a serious talk about the duties we were about to perform.
We worked on two hourly shifts and were each given a certain area to patrol, then we rested in the guard room for four hours whilst others took over. It wasn't so bad the first couple of hours because there was still activity in the camp, lads going to the NAFFI or walking from one hut to another visiting their mates.
But after midnight when all was quiet I'd find myself listening to every little sound, not out of fear but because I was expecting the Orderly Officer or Guard Commander to turn up. If they caught you unawares or daydreaming you received a good telling off.
As soon as I heard them in the distance I found it best to stay in the shadows then when they reached my position I'd step out in front of them and shout 'Halt who goes there'. If it was the officer he would grunt, 'Orderly Officer on his rounds'.
Invariably he'd tell me that I should have challenged him earlier and not waited until he got so near. I always assumed that when he said that I'd taken him by surprise and not the other way round.
We also had to undertake fire picket duty. We'd practise what to do in case there was a fire, it was fairly straight forward and just a matter of knowing where the fire hydrants where and how to use the hoses.
Another duty we performed was with the Regimental Police, we had to go with a Permanent Staff Bombardier and wander from pub to pub around the town of Rhyl making sure that none of the lads were getting into trouble on their nights out.
Most times everything was OK but occasionally we found one or two a bit worse for drink. We'd call the duty truck for the offending lad or lads and
they'd be sent back to camp.
On two occasions I did this duty and landed with a Bombardier who liked a drink. I didn't drink but he persuaded me to try a cider, but after visiting a couple of pubs and having a couple of halves in each I'd had enough, the Bombardier wasn't happy.
George Spenceley, 2002
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