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Sergeant Alf Waterhouse
Enlisting and Training
On about 7th September, 1939 we were called to the colours, attending roll call for the next two days and then being sent home. On the following Sunday we were told to report for Church Service. It was 11 o’clock that the vicar in a sepulchral voice pronounced that war was declared, and we are at War with Germany. Back at the Drill Hall many were wildly excited and shouting that their dads had licked the Jerries and they would do the same.
For the next ten days we went and took roll call and then went back home. Obviously, the Officers had no idea what to do with us. Many of us feeling hardship with a man’s pay of under ten shillings, if married with wife and children, two pounds ten, without children nothing extra. It was about this time we received our battle dress. After seeing it none of us liked the slack blouse and plain straight trousers. The older T.A men were wearing a tunic with brass buttons, breeches and spurs.
I was now picked for Guard duties with two shifts during the night. When not on duty we slept on the floor of the Guard Room which was on the first floor. It was during my last midnight shift when I saw an officer coming towards me. Standing at attention he looked at me saying,
“Well”
What could I say to that? Nothing.
“Aren’t you going to challenge me ?”
To which I replied that I knew he was Mr Story. You must remember that until a few days ago I had been a business man, my own business and one staff.
“Please remember that you challenge everyone approaching with a sharp ‘Who Goes There’ and taking a most aggressive stance”
That’s all right with me, pointing my rifle at him and glaring I shouted the ‘Who Goes There’ instruction.
“No, no much too late, but remember, I’m the officer visiting rounds. Don’t you know what to do, you stupid fool”
“No Idea ?” He asked
I replied “No Idea about what ?”
Oh I suddenly remembered “Sir”
“You are supposed to call out the guard”
Putting the rifle against the wall I went to the first floor and woke up the sergeant who was the Guard Commander.
He got up shouting “Turn out the Guard”.
Lined up, Mr Story shouted “All present and correct, Any questions ?”
“No Sir”
“Very well dismiss the guard “
The order came.
“Guard to the Guard Room dismiss”
Obeying the last order I also started to go.
The sergeant shouted “Not you, wait for the change of guard. Did you leave your rifle against the wall?”
That was my first lesson in army discipline.
About a week later the Commanding Office told us that tomorrow we would march to Kirkham, a smallish town about five miles away. We would be in billets there and inform our families. We had no kit, so there was nothing to pack.
Marching away we eventually came to what was to be our home for weeks and living, if that’s the word, in terrible conditions. We were now to see Brook Mill, a three-storey old cotton factory, run down, dirty and shattering experience. From the start we built, on orders, a large fire and commenced to scrub, scrape with pieces of glass the oil sodden floors. From the fire we hoisted to the upper floors boiling water and on hands and knees tried to clean the floors, believing we would be sleeping on the wet floors.
Just after about four o’clock we started to unload a large lorry. We were told to take four pieces of ready cut timber two long pieces, two short pieces, and four pieces about six inches long. A civilian now addressed us. Make a frame of wood, nailing the feet to the frame at each corner. Then he suggested we fasten on the top chicken wire, we had our bed. After some time he again told us to go down the steps and taking a hessian bag and fill it with straw, we now also had a pillow.
Wasn’t that splendid our own comfy bed, no one had told us we would be learning to be self-reliant. Speaking for myself, I wondered if during the night I wanted to relieve myself in the total pitch dark, how would I find my way back to bed. The whole factory floor was covered by these beds, little place on either side, so a mistake could be made. Counting my steps to the far end, counting steps to the width and then the door. This worked for me splendidly, but during the nights one heard loud oaths, and temper and bad language, as someone tried to get into an occupied bed.
In the morning it seemed sun rise, a loud shouting.
“Come on get in GUN FIRE line”
We started to queue in the yard with our enamel pint pots thinking this was for early tea but we were wrong. At the far end of the yard were three water taps and in the centre of the yard were four trestle tables with each containing six enamel bowls. Getting a bowl, filling it then feeling it was dicey walking amongst others with likewise full bowls, but after having a shave and wash you could get on with your life. Long tables and forms were our dining rooms. Queue up again for two slices of bread and what your breakfast may be. Halfway through the Orderly sergeant and duty officer appeared. The sergeant shouting
“Any Complaints” The Duty Officer would then explore making sure everything was in order.
One breakfast I had a pork pie, the intestines were bad and rotten. Standing up I cried “Yes Sir”.
It had to be Mr. Story, he took a look and smelled, put it down,
“I’ve paid for a pie worse than this at The Lancashire and Yorkshire cricket match”
It was not our cooks’ faults, they had field kitchens on wheels. They may have been tricky to cook with. I bought many a potato pie for my lunch.
I was promoted to Bombardier (two stripes). For some time, I didn’t like being a NCO, the gunners beneath me had been pals, now I had to shout and browbeat them. They seemed to have a hidden smile.
Buying a second-hand motorcycle, first I’d ever had, I could be in Blackpool in half the time it took by bus, giving me more time in town on leave.
Another gunner and myself developed a nasty skin rash both on our chests. Running pink sores. No pain or trouble except this mess. We were sent to Blackpool Victoria Hospital for three weeks, then when out we got stuck with measles so we were not allowed to go into shops, cafes or pubs.
One evening when I was on duty, with no other officer than Mr Story in control. There was a clapped out public house opposite Brook Mill which was run by a landlady was not a lady. None of our Regiment would be seen in there but we had now been posted with call up reservists. They didn’t like being with Saturday evening soldiers, as we were called. Mr. Story said we would go into the pubs and seek out anyone breaking the ban through the measles. On entering the dirty pub, the landlady had a look of guilt so Mr. Story insisted in looking in her back room but no one was in there. We were just about to leave when there was an almighty crash of pans etc. We looked in the pantry and there was a reservist, obvious too old for military service, I just stopped myself laughing. He was posted a few days later.
It was now Christmas Eve the first of the war and coming down the stone steps from the first floor I slipped breaking my right ankle, I was taken by ambulance to a Manchester Military Hospital, spending the worst month of my life. The nurses were Queen Alexander Nurses carrying the rank of captain, but was this given authority to blame for their rigid unkindly attitude. Being a NCO, they made me responsible for other sick soldiers, but with no extra perks. We were allowed to sit on the chair besides the bed not to put your arm on the bed let alone have a rest but no smoking. We played housie housie, draughts and believe it or not whist.
At the end of the ward was a small veranda, we would pack in there and smoke but it was damn cold. I had just one visit by Ann, father and mother while in the hospital. It was hardly their fault as the train service was bad and expensive, with motoring petrol on ration. The days seemed endless, with no books or kind lady wheeling a trolley of goodies.
The Regiment whilst I was off sick moved to Oulton Park, which is now a super racing track. All we had was the NAAFI, the nearest pub was a great distance away. Nature did bring a pack of long horned deer, who were always about. They provided a laugh one evening as the NAAFI was under canvas and the NAAFI manager slept there on a little truckle bed. A deer wandered in and he awoke to find the animal looking at him full in the face, he screamed and the guards were called out with smiles on their faces.
We still had no guns only three sticks placed to represent the wheels and trail of a gun. We must have looked daft with a Gun Position Officer giving orders of range, distance and fire orders. Each sergeant with his gun, shouting to load and fire.
We moved to Liverpool and believe it or not we had still no guns, but we did receive some French 75 from the 1918 war, thanks to the Americans. It took us a fortnight to remove oil grease from these cannon. We were under canvas on a golf course, our guns were trained on the Liverpool docks by some comedian officer.
“You are now part of the Mersey Command ready to defend Liverpool against a German Invasion Force. We know you have no ammunition, but an enemy reconnaissance plane won’t know that”
We came across several of Army Intelligence officers making out we were dimwits. It was here that I, as Guard Commander, had just finished a 24 hour tour of duty was told that the relieving guard would just walk into the Guard Room, which was a bell-tent, and as my guard was finished, I could walk away. There was no Bombardier to take charge until later in the day and as this was entirely against King’s Regulations I had to stay on duty, but no guard or Commander of Guard should do anymore than a 24 hour duty.
I could hardly refuse, I was not experienced enough to refuse, about two hours later a Lt. Blane (incidentally a chartered accountant) came along as Duty Officer. He noticed I was unwashed, unshaven and my uniform not up to scratch. Examining my rifle, he looked at me aghast.
“Bombardier Waterhouse I put you on a charge of being a Guard Commander and you are totally unfit, dirty, unshaven and I have never seen such a dirty rifle”
He strutted off and I smiled. Later that day I was summoned to appear to the Colonel, sitting at his desk with the Adjutant and of course Lt Blane.
The charges were read out, and the Colonel was now bristling, about the situation and my disgraceful turnout. I thought he was ready to send me to the Tower. I can’t say what their faces looked like when I explained the situation. I was fully aware that some officer could face a court martial but I couldn’t take away an officer’s career. May be later in this autobiography I may refer to these instances as another rather silly instances arose not long after.
My Battery Commander, Major Gill, found me by accident I think, it could have been any NCO.
“Here we are just by luck, I want you and these two gunners to take this machine gun and follow me”
We went onto the golf course and he made us mount the machine gun on the top of a bunker pointing down the fairway. In a voice with some emotion and conspiratorial,
“It is expected that paratroopers may be dropped this night in this area. Now I want them coming towards you to see the machine, they won’t like that”
This is not my imagination but the truth and fact, I protested that I did not know anything about machine guns, or the ammunition, the reply came that there wasn’t any ammunition.
I expected some rebuke if not worse but I said “What do I do, shout ten you’re dead”. I heard nothing more about this ridiculous situation. Later we were relieved and I certainly was.
We again moved this time to Lord Derby’s parkland and it was here we were kitted out with all our webbing belt, back haversack, water bottle, side pack etc. With our gas mask and cap, we were pretty well loaded down. The orderly sergeant said I was wanted in the Battery office. This could only mean I was on the mat.
Major Gill was sitting there and smiling. “Now I want you to take a letter to Lord Derby, give it to him and come away”.
This started an interesting evening. Arriving via the long carriage way to the massive doors of the oldest living Lordship. The butler as usual was bent and old, and most suspicious of this lowly soldier.
“Give it to me and I will give it to his Lordship when convenient. He is with the family at dinner”
I told him no and would sit and wait as I was told to give it to Lord Derby. He fixed his eye on me and they seemed to go through me. I had never seen a General but I thought he couldn’t look more angry, off with his head, was in that stare. In a voice so loud and full of authority in such an old body,
“If you think I’m going to watch you for at least one hour, you are sadly mistaken. Give me the letter I don’t suppose it gives any information of an attack” and he held out his hand.
I felt compelled to do so, wasn’t it said ‘Don’t shoot the messanger’.
On my accepting his ruling, he had the message, and he changed, smiling he offered me a cold beer in the pantry. I had never seen anything like it nor since. The pantry was the size of a small ballroom with a table and about 24 chairs around it, I presumed this was the staff dining table. The room contained a massive fireplace with tall glass fronted cabinets with shelves reaching from floor to ceiling on every wall. On these were spades, forks, trowels, caskets, boxes, glass bowls , there was everything. Seeing my interest he winked.
“Very few people know of this collection please keep it that way. These ornaments etc are what his Lordship and his ancestors have been given over the centuries by the City, Borough and Rural Councils. Big business and others, his Lordship’s secretary asks me to look through catalogues and bring out the casket or whatever and place it on the long Hall Table, so a visiting set of people will see, and be pleased seeing their gift displayed.
It was at that moment that a footman came carrying a large platter which he showed to the butler, he in turn gave a grunt saying that they had not eaten or enjoyed the fish. I wished he would leave that dish as I’m always hungry. Calling to the footman to bring up a jug of ale which in minutes a brown jug appeared, placed before the butler. Speaking more deeply and secretly he told me of the treasures hidden in deep dungeons which no one would find by German invaders. Was this some joke on me I’ll never know, on leaving he asked me to come again some time, in a voice in which I knew he did not mean it.
It was on the Saturday afternoon after this meeting that I and another gunner decided we would try and get to Blackpool, thumbing the way, as we could not pay even the bus fare. Walking along the road, traffic was scarce due to petrol rationing, we heard a car coming up behind us. I looked back to see Lord Derby’s Rolls. I don’t know why but I saluted as he passed. The car piulled up and the chauffeur emerged from the splendid car asking us to follow him as Lord Derby wanted a word. Oh dear I wondered what had we done wrong.
The chauffeur open the rear door and we saw Lord Derby sitting comfortable with a bear skin rug round his legs. I could say he was beaming and asking if we wanted a lift somewhere.
Nervously I replied that we would
“Tell me why did you salute me” asked Lord Derby.
I explained we were under canvas on his land, and as our landlord we thought we should show respect.
“How far are you hoping to go?” to which I answered Blackpool.
“You had better get in, you beside me, your friend in front. It so happens I am going to Blackpool. The town is giving me the Key and Freedom of the town”
We spoke on a lot of subjects, one I remember quite well when he asked if I knew his son Lord Stanley. To which I replied that I hadn’t met him.
I thought it maybe tactless to say that Lord Stanley was Ministry for War. Arriving at the Opera House, the Councillors and others were sitting in a sort of semicircle waiting for the great man. I stepped out just as the Town Clerk started reading the introduction to the special moment of handing over the keys. His Lordship got out ignoring everyone and asking me the time we would be returning as he would take us back.
I made my own way back at around 7pm and a fat man with his wife picked me up just outside Blackpool as they were on their way back to Liverpool. My luck seemed in and nearing their home the man said he was a butcher and his wife would make me a tasty supper. I had vision of a juicy steak, but I got spam.
On the Sunday morning I was summoned to Colonel’s office, what now I thought? Sitting at his desk the adjutant standing by, he started by asking me if I had dinner with Lord Derby last night as the Lord had told the Colonel that he had picked up two of my men, one he said had two stripes and never stopped talking. The Colonel had an idea it was me so I confessed.
He turned to the adjutant. “I knew damn well it was him”.
A few days later we heard about Dunkirk and yet another move, this time to near Birkenhead. We were not allowed to travel through the tunnel but go to a road bridge. As we travelled through one of the villages we were embarrassed but could do nothing. Villagers were rushing out waving and shouting, many women crying and shouting that The Guns Had Been Saved’. Many men lifting their hats I thought how different this was from the hospital. Wearing the light blue hospital uniforms, we were not allowed in pubs and no one was interested in us. We were billeted in three large houses all with heavy gates and a guard was posted on each. We were not allowed to go out without a leave pass signed by an officer. This was a nuisance both to us and the officer and he took his bile out on us by keeping us waiting.
My friend from the call up was sub editor on a local paper, same age as myself. I never found out and he never said, but he was a woman hater, just had no time for females. This suited me nicely, being married, I had no wish to get involved in an affair. He had ambitions to be a sergeant, which surprised me as I had my two stripes but I was unhappy. As a gunner all were my friends, we could argue, complain and curse the NCOs, it is part of a soldier’s life to grumble and yet grumble more about officers. Now I had forfeited that right, he could grumble away but I had to be silent.
The most hated part of life now was guard duty, six guards including the NCO in charge had certain duties including their uniform. First the boots, it was not unusual to spend half an hour over weekends to get them just right with an old tooth brush hand and rub away using spit, hence the old saying spit and polish. You had to iron your trousers, brush your tunic, clean your shirt, although not seen, webbing, gaiters, belt, side haversack, water bottle, gas respirator all blanched fastened to chest, steel helmet and clean your rifle. The guardsmen were paraded ten minutes before marching off to the guard room and inspected by the bombardier. This was followed by an officer who then inspected, when he was satisfied it was ‘Quick March’ to the Guard Room. Into the Guard Room, orders were given, one sentry to slope arms and quick march. He would then order him in front the existing old sentry, the following,
“New guard to the old guard present arms. Old to the new guard present arms. New guard slope arms. Old guard slope arms. Dismiss”
The Commander would then go and return with a printed set of Orders of Duties to be carried out whilst on guard duty, this would be read out in its entirety. The guard room had six metal beds but none for the Guard Commander, he would have to remain fully dressed nothing taken off. He would sit on a hard wood form with no back rest. Here the Commander would have to settle for the next 24 hours not allowed to sleep, although guards unless on sentry were allowed sleep.
Tommy’s real name was Leslie Tomlinson, but always to me Tommy. Whilst we were friends we did not spend all our duty time off together. He had now made bombardier, but this did not stop him, forever moaning and groaning that with his Regiment there was no hope of real promotion, I secretly agreed. All ranks above ours were about the same age, and unlikely to be posted. My father bought a small Morris Minor for eight pounds through my business, fabric body and spare wheel fastened on the pointed tail. It was economical and a little wonder to drive with an open top of course. The hood was an ill fit, but who cared, in it I could go to Blackpool every other week end.
Tommy had a way with him I did not realise, he would groan away about everything, and if I agreed and with him, as I thought an argument was not necessary, he could somehow see I did start an argument and would very nicely see I carried on, thus making me a trouble maker, but I didn’t see it.
Just before we left Knowsley at an ungodly hour I was awakened and told that an Emergency Report now at the Guard tent. It was raining near tropical in great sheets. Even with my great coat on I was soon drenched. Duly reporting and worried what could this be as I had only two stripes. Outside the guard tent I saw ten wretched soaked gunners and what a miserable looking lot they were. Inside was Major Gill who welcomed me with the word that caused us many times dread, more than shudder ‘CROMWELL’, the password was to be used in the event a German invasion had started. I was instructed to go Northerly down the main road, stopping anyone and he emphasised to ‘Stop Anyone’. ask to see their identity card, and if not satisfied arrest and bring them to the Guard Room but you carry on. No one is now above suspicion.
We had hardly taken a step I heard the men moaning away and it was my fault. I thought, Oh dear in the Great War men went to their death in this sort of weather and my miserable lot groaning away. I lost my temper and shouted at them that in the south many men, English as well as German, were losing their lives. Women and children dive bombed so bloody well shut up. For some time they were silent and again it was starting. so again I gave them my mind to behave like British soldiers not some Irish washerwoman. All was quiet until we started to return. Now their attitude changed asking me if it time for char. I could have done with a cup myself but what chance we had as it was four o’clock on a wet morning hilly country side. I could have brained anyone, I wasn’t a magician so told them to shut up but still the insistent voices were asking for a cup of tea. We were passing a garage of sorts, just one petrol pump standing there, behind it was a double story cottage. At that moment I was thinking what could we do with England under attack, no artillery guns or ammunition, perhaps some for our rifles. In perhaps one week I would be dead and these barm pots with me. They were asking me to get tea at the cottage but I didn’t fancy knocking anyone up. Showing leadership, I knocked loudly, I heard bolts being withdrawn and an elderly man came out blinking,
“I’ve got ten of my men out here, been out all night, wet through. Any chance of any hot tea ?
The men were satisfied.
Alf with Annie
Now with three stripes, a Sergeant, Alf married Annie in 1931
In the summer of 1941 the Blackpool Regiment were training on the artillery range at Larkhill Camp near Stonehenge, on Salisbury Plain getting them ready for transport overseas. Then life for the Blackpool lads would change.
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