Grandad joins up and begins Army life

As a young lad (about 14 years of age) I went to Nottingham to enlist in the Royal Navy, but the Enlisting Sergeant there, after measuring me up turned me down.  I was half an inch too short in height and he said I had flat feet.  I may have had but since then I have marched and walked a very long way and my feet have never let me down.  I also made up for my height by the time I was eighteen, for then I went again to the same public house the “Golden Ball”, but to  different recruiting sergeant and enlisted in the Army.

In those days you could join any branch of the Army providing it was open to enlistment, or, of course refuse service.  I opted to join the Leicester Regiment and was sent to Derby Barracks where I spent six days in the Reception Room there.  The sharpest thing I remember about that Reception Room was that I went dinnerless the whole six days, I was not quick enough to snaffle any when it came up.

From Derby I was sent on to the “Glen Parva Barracks” Wigston, Leicester where I was to do my six months training and where I got dinner without any scrambling.  It was, in fact, a very pleasant period of my soldiering.

Apart from having two left legs when turning and getting a chewing up from the Hon. “Tubby” Hawke for saluting him with a Coal box on my shoulder. I had a smooth time.  The “Horrible Hawke” we called that officer.

When I and the others who had enlisted about the same time as I had were considered to be able to turn right properly we were drafted to our Second Battalion then stationed in Cork, Ireland.  Here we found ourselves amongst a partially hostile population.  The Barracks there were situated at the top of St. Patrick’s Hill and to get into the town from there we had to cross St. Patrick’s bridge.  To get there was easy because we could leave the Barracks in the afternoon; getting back at night was often hard and dangerous.  On the dangerous occasions we would have to battle out way through scores of Irishmen chanting ”We are the boys of Wexford and ye English dogs defy”.  We got an answer to the getting through by going back to the Barracks in orderly gangs with belts swinging.  We used to give as good as we got.  Sometimes someone would yell “the Priest!” and the Irish army would skedaddle.