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Ah yes, the Ack Ack soldier in 1942, remembered Brian Backhouse from his teenage years. The advice he gave me all those years ago was somewhat prophetic in that following the profanities of what women were only good for he finished by telling me that some day, I would meet a woman whom I would instinctively know was my 'soul mate'.
Following two disastrous marriages I met my present wife in 1962. At our first meeting she told me that I was the man that she was going to marry. I knew instinctively that she was THE one. Bear in mind that although separated from my second wife at the time I wasn't divorced.
We lived together for ten years before marrying (that's a story in itself and I blame David Frost for that); however, almost 40 years later we are still together, still very much in love. What a soft 72 year old I am.
However, I digress. The first occasion I met the AA soldier again was in late 1948. I had joined the army in March of that year, had risen to the dizzy ranks of L/Cpl when I got my first overseas posting to East Africa.
I boarded the troopship at Liverpool, the TS Ascanius, an old black rust bucket on 14 November 1948, and we set sail at about 0130hrs on the 15th following an announcement over the ships tannoy that the Queen had given birth to a son, Charles, just before midnight.
Most of the troops (about 60) from my mess deck together with others from other decks were calling 'for hewie' in the specially constructed toilet on the deck right up in the bows.
The first few hours were pretty rough, particularly as we were shipping water over the forecastle, and as you can imagine it was a bit of a mess. The Orderly Sgt turned up at this point and said to me, 'Cpl help me to sort this lot out before there is an accident and someone goes over the side.'
Although there were some 'jury rigged' lights, visibility wasn't all that clear, and I thought there was something familiar about the OS's face but, what with one thing and another I thought no more about it.
We eventually landed in Mombassa, just before Christmas from what I remember, stinking hot, and after a lot of the usual disorganisation we were eventually bussed to Nyali Transit Camp, which was on the coast. (These days it is a well-known, expensive holiday resort, so to us lads then it was as if we had landed in luxury).
Accommodation was in 'banda' type huts, (brick walls with thatched roofs), 4 blokes to a hut. The accommodation was about 100 yards from Nyali Beach, wonderful silvery sand that, when you see it now, pictured in brochures one can only drool. It was separated by palm trees and other foliage and, as the camp was also used by service people as a rest and recuperation area for weekends and for long leaves, it was invariably busy.
Those of us who were just passing through prior to permanent posting were part of the admin side for the time we were there: guard duties, fire pickets, cookhouse duties, general fatigues, but it was all worth it for just a few hours on the beach.
After about three days I found myself as Beach Night Guard Commander for five days a week; the guard consisted of eight blokes and myself and the 'Guard Room' was a tent in the middle of the foliage, next to a path, which led into the camp.
I think that basically it was just another method of giving us something to do whilst we were there to alleviate boredom as all I had to do was to make sure that the guard had all turned up (different blokes each night), allocate the duties of standing sentry over the path, two hours on, four hours off.
The RSM had said 'no one is going to bother you lad, just make sure that all are awake when the Orderly Officer and the Orderly Sgt visit you at about 2300hrs'. I remember thinking then that I had landed on my feet and I could stay here with no problems, keep my head down until it was time to return to Blighty -- a posting one could only dream of.
First night no problems, second night the same. Orderly Officer and Orderly Sgt (different each night) come round, everybody relaxes, those not on stag go off into the briny for a cool down -- swimming out to the raft that was moored about 20 yards off shore. All in all the most cushiest duty that I had throughout my army career.
However, the third night, a very different kettle of fish. Of the eight blokes 7 were OK, the eighth seemed very quiet, moody, grunted when any of the others spoke to him, and didn't appear very sociable at all. One of those people you instinctively know is going to be trouble.
I spoke to one of the others that came from the same banda as him, and asked him if he knew what was wrong; well it appeared the lad had had a 'Dear John' letter from home that day and he had taken it badly.
About 2250hrs I checked the outside 'stag' prior to the visit of the Orderly Officer and Orderly Sgt. When I check I find that the moody one is no where to be seen, I ask his mate where the hell he is only to be told that the moody one had gone off some ten minutes previously, as he said, for a slash in the bushes.
I shout out, no answer -- shout again, no answer. Now I hit the panic button. All those ex-army bods who have done guard duty in their time will know the 'proverbial' call -- 'Stand to the Guard' -- pause -- 'Guard, turn out'.
The blokes inside the tent (Gd Room) recognise my voice, realise that it's not the OO or OS and that something must be wrong, and do a wonderful turn out in record time. I quickly explain what's happened, that we have a man missing, detail one off to stay with the sentry, who is on his own, leave two behind as back-up, take one with me one way and the other two the opposite way.
I should point out that we all had whistles with which to raise the alarm if needed and torches; these were issued each night at the start of guard duties.
No more than a few seconds have passed when there comes this piercing blast of whistles in the opposite direction to me. My companion and I race through the foliage to where these blasts are coming from to be met with the two chaps I had sent out in the opposite direction, gazing, mouths open at the moody one, sitting on the branch of a small palm tree with a rope round his neck sobbing 'doughnuts' as it were.
I ask him gently what was wrong and he tells me he wants to end it all because his fiancée had 'given him the elbow'.
Now, the position he was in, it didn't look as if he could possibly do himself any damage if he jumped but I wasn't about to take any chances. I sent one of the lads to look for the Orderly Officer or Orderly Sgt and started to talk.
For some reason my mind went back to the gun site on Bostall Heath and what the gunner had said to me. I basically repeated what had been said to me to the lad in the tree, finishing with 'and if that soldier was here now he would confirm what I have just told you'.
At this point a rather loud voice spoke behind and said (as near enough as I can remember) 'I can confirm what the Cpl has just told you, but this is a different time and a different place; get out of the bloody tree before I buy another bar of chocolate and stick it where the monkey put his nuts - MOVE IT'. The language was a little choicer but this is near enough.
To cut a long story shorter, coincidentally it was him from the Ack Ack site and he was the Orderly Sgt for that night and yes, it was him that I had seen on the boat.
After the young man had been dealt with (taken to the Medical Centre) we briefly spoke about the days of war and what we had both been up to. We agreed to meet in the Britannia Bar on Salim Road, Mombassa on the coming weekend, but unfortunately I was unexpectedly posted out the following day to a unit up country and we didn't meet up.
I understood from one of the admin staff when I returned to the camp on leave that he had been posted to Aden a couple of weeks after the incident.
Well Rob, sorry to have taken so long telling you about the Ack Ack soldier but it isn't quite the end of the story as we were to meet up once again in later years when we were both in civvy street.
But that, as they say, that is another story.
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