The Great World War 1914–1945: 1. Lightning Strikes Twice

In many ways the recruit of the 1939–40 era faced less of a culture shock initiation into the disciplines of service life. Most who were conscripts, either of the May 1939 group or immediately after the outbreak of hostilities, had a much better preparation than their 1914 predecessors. Virtually all had parents or relatives who had served in that conflict. While many of this generation refused to recount tales of their time in the trenches – the memory often painful to recall – talk about service life in general was less difficult. The cinema, radio and improvement in literacy had given a much clearer picture of what to expect, as well as an indication of the true nature of Nazism and the consequences for those who failed to stand against it. Of his first impressions, an anonymous reservist wrote:

‘On 13th July, 30 men aged 20 years and of various trades and creeds, were formed into the Ramillies Platoon of the Cameronians (Scottish Rifles). Most of these men had done very little physical training or swimming, and knew nothing of guns. Formerly they lived in quiet homes, each with a room to himself or shared with a brother. Now all this is altered. “The old order changeth yielding place to new.” A fine spirit of camaraderie prevails, and we eat and sleep together, each man willing to help and share with his neighbour.

In our physical training class and at the swimming bath our bodies are being developed. When we entered this life we were given a full kit, and some time was spent in cleaning our equipment, which was inspected on 29th July. If the cauldron of war should boil over, our country wants us to be able to protect ourselves against the atrocities of modern warfare, and so we have gas lectures in order to teach us to recognise the various gases, persistent and non-persistent, and how to treat our respirators properly. However, war may never come, and what then? Are the men of Ramillies Platoon just wasting six months of their lives? Certainly not, for habits of neatness and tidiness are being sown in the minds of these 30 men of this platoon, and what gives greater happiness than a disciplined life? So ends the first fortnight in the life of the first Militiamen of Ramillies Platoon.’

This quotation is part of an article that was printed in the Regimental Journal5, and reasonably could be suspected of special pleading. However, it is unlikely that the writer would have sounded so euphoric, knowing the probability of his piece being read by his comrades, if it did not give a fair reflection of their general attitude. There were many similarities in the experiences of recruits joining the army at the beginning of both conflicts. The induction courses still operated along the same lines. Indeed, it is difficult to see where there could be much difference, as it is a basic necessity of any military arm to establish its own principles grounded on tradition, and the requirement of the acceptance and carrying out of orders.

While the expansion of the armed forces was carried out in a much more structured manner – the chaos created by the too rapid formation of Kitchener’s Army in 1914 being avoided – the absence of conscription until just before the outbreak of hostilities in 1939 resulted in a similar effect. Large groups of recruits had to be taught from scratch the rudiments of living collectively, on a long-term basis, and the peculiar disciplines of a military existence. It was acknowledged that this could not be accomplished overnight. Sensibly, it was achieved by the establishment of Infantry Training Units at Regimental Depots. These, in effect, were an extension of the Training Companies in being in 1919.

This situation was endemic to all arms of the service. Frederick Hindmarsh6, a civil servant and Royal Artillery trainee in 1940, said that his fellow recruits had a sober approach to the whole thing, although the lack of modern equipment produced an attitude of cynicism among his fellow conscripts. The standard of instruction was at times abysmal:

‘Regular rankers were promoted and flung in at the deep end. Many had had no proper education. They knew nothing of teaching methods, and often couldn’t understand the training manuals. So they learned everything by heart and repeated the words verbatim to the trainees – a question would throw them completely, and they simply repeated the last part of the lesson – relevant or not! Most conscripts were more intelligent than the instructors, and simply scoffed at the whole thing. I recall being given a talk on the Indian Mutiny in the wind and driving rain at the entrance to a shed which the noise of artificers at work made it almost impossible to hear, even if we had been interested. It was only two years into the war that things really began to improve.’

A comparison of the Infantry Training Manual issued on 10 August 1914 (‘IT 1914’) with that issued on 31 August 1937 shows some interesting variations that indicate that there was a clear acknowledgement of the need for a complete rewrite of IT 1914. The latter concluded its preface with a draconian warning on the authority of the War Office, that ‘…any enunciation by officers responsible for training of principles other than those contained in this manual, or any practice of methods not based on those principles is forbidden…’

By 1937 the approach had changed, with most rhetoric and exhortation removed. The preface to IT 1937 recognised that as a result of reorganisation, the manual reflected a period of transition:

‘The new weapons and vehicles with which the infantry is to be armed and equipped, have either not yet been issued to the troops, or have been provided on a limited scale. There has therefore been little opportunity for studying the methods of training in peace, and leading in war, that may be necessitated by reorganisation, mechanisation and re-armament…’

The object of training is baldly stated:

‘Above all he must be highly disciplined, for by discipline alone can morale be maintained; it is the bedrock of all training. It is the ingrained habit of cheerful and unquestioning obedience that controls and directs the fighting spirit and is the back-bone of a unit in a moment of crisis.’

IT 1914 provided for a course of 26 weeks, with about one-third devoted to squad and ceremonial drill, and the same for physical training. In IT 1937 there is a similar division in a more intense course of 18 weeks, about one-fifth of which, significantly, is to be devoted to educational training, a subject not part of IT 1914.

The state of training of the Territorials needed urgent attention. Charles Michie7, a junior bank official, had joined the London Scottish, a Territorial unit, as a private soldier just after his 20th birthday in 1936:

‘Training took place in the drill hall at Buckingham Gate, or at Easter and Whitsun Camps with a Highland battalion at Aldershot or at Dover Castle, or at annual camp. The weekend training taught me nothing except possibly to be a smarter soldier. Annual camp was better but our automatic weapons were mock-ups. In 1937 we did our annual march in Scotland: Tain, Dingwall, Inverness. This did help for later active service as we learned to march all day with sore feet! With the increase in size of the Territorials, I suddenly shot from private to Lance-Sergeant in a matter of months.’

At the antiquated Depot at Hamilton in Lanarkshire, it seemed that little had changed since 1914. While all entrants were kitted out with uniform and a rifle (the SMLE, but with no ammunition), there was a desperate shortage of equipment and accommodation. However, there were additional considerations to be taken into account. Bernard Kilpatrick8, a railway clerk of Motherwell, was conscripted and joined the Regiment at Hamilton Barracks in March 1940:

‘Strict blackout restrictions were in force. Once in the middle of the night there was an air-raid alarm. The drill was for us to parade on the nearby square. It was forbidden to turn on the room lights in case they shone out when we opened the door to double to the muster point. Once mustered, we then had to move, again at the double. To the racecourse, to stand about until the all clear. The result was a mad scramble in the darkness of the hut for clothing as we dashed for the door. I remember one rather disorganised Jock ending up at muster point clad in nothing but his underpants.’

Kilpatrick is clear about the lack of any proper equipment other than the rifle for training purposes:

‘A mortar platoon was formed, but there were no Universal Carriers, the prescribed basic transport for the men, weapons and ammunition. All that the platoon got to make it mobile was an issue of sit-up-and-beg bikes when the men paraded one morning. When the Platoon Sergeant gave the order “Prepare to mount”, everyone had to put his left foot on the pedal. On the command “Mount”, the Jocks did so. Some had forgotten to push their bikes forward at the same time, and promptly fell off the other side into the path of those who had. The result was a chaotic tangle of bodies and bikes all over the square. Our basic training, the NCOs and officers, I thought, were good. We all were keen enough to learn the principles of soldiering. After Dunkirk a “Duty Platoon” had to be available on constant standby in case of invasion. It had to remain fully dressed, with equipment to hand at all times. Having to sleep wearing our battledress and boots gave the feeling of being really involved in the great events taking place further south. We made route marches of up to ten miles, often being offered food by the locals – a great boost to making us feel that we were appreciated and serving a useful purpose.’

The pressure on accommodation in the barracks was such that every available space was utilised. Bob Baxter9, a clerk, reported to Hamilton in January 1940 as a conscript, having had no previous experience of army life:

‘We were billeted in the stables, and we all slept on the concrete floor on palliasses, hessian bags stuffed with straw. While the horses had been moved, the rats which often are their bedfellows remained. We had to accept at night they would crawl over our bedding, and sometimes over our faces. I had been an office clerk before call-up, and the primitive conditions were quite a shock for many of us whose life previously had been comparatively sheltered, even though we knew what to expect. We were taught the use of the Bren Gun on a wooden model. Being new to military life, we tended to accept everything we were told by the regulars as “gospel”. It was only after a few weeks service that we began to realise that some of the very junior NCOs, old sweats who had received instant promotion after the rapid expansion of the forces, perhaps were not the ideal instructors. Even the over-officious Acting Unpaid Lance-Corporal was obeyed without question, as we soon learned that rank was all-important. I joined the Motor Transport Section. This consisted of a variety of military vehicles supplemented by an assortment of commandeered civilian cars, vans and lorries. Nevertheless, the usual moans of the private soldier apart, it was a sound introduction to military discipline and army life but nothing else.’

Rifleman W. W. Gallacher10, a 1940 conscript, was astounded at the crudeness of some of the Regulars and reservists: ‘…they even used to spit in their tea to make sure no one would drink it while they queued for the next course, probably a legacy of service abroad in stations where water was in short supply.’

Thomas Laing11 was a shop assistant in Edinburgh when conscripted in 1939. When asked on enlistment if he had any preference for a particular arm of the service, he explained that he was a musician and interested in organising entertainments. The response was immediate: ‘…it’s the infantry for you!’ He was posted to a training unit of the Cameronians in a hutted camp at East Kilbride, having had no previous military experience:

‘We were all conscripts, and not allowed out of camp for the first three weeks, until we had acquired a semblance of soldierly appearance. Apart from the few malcontents which could be found in any branch of the forces, all of us realised we were there “for the duration”, so there was nothing for it but to make the best of it. Having had to wait some time between enlistment and call-up gave us some time to prepare mentally for the abrupt change in our circumstances. I was able to escape the dreaded Church Parade by being detailed as an organist, and also to organise entertainments for the unit. I cannot recall that there were any complaints about the standard of catering, but some of our billets were pretty primitive to say the least, but we all mucked in and an excellent team spirit developed. While we were prepared to accept orders from our own officers, there was always objection taken to anyone not of our Regiment trying to tell us what to do. We had a strong sense of being part of the Scottish military tradition – I think even the Englishmen who joined us felt this, and adopted the same unwillingness to be messed about, especially by anyone we didn’t respect.’

This was not always the case. The policy adopted in 1916 during the First World War of restricting the number of conscript postings to local regiments was continued – in order to avoid a particular area being severely affected in the event of that unit suffering heavy casualties. It was not a universal success. A Rifleman12, who wishes to remain anonymous, joined at Hamilton in early 1940 to be squadded with several thoroughly disaffected East Londoners bemused by their alien surroundings, and intent only on returning to London and their former way of life in the criminal society of the city’s East End:

‘On our first leave, the Barracks shut down all training, and a special train was laid on to Glasgow to catch onward connections. The train had barely left the station when the Londoners changed into civilian clothes, threw their uniforms out of the window and produced false identification cards. I never saw them again…’

Unlike 1914 there was no immediate award of commissioned rank to men thought to be of the right social standing and background. Initially officers were selected mainly from the ranks of the existing Territorial battalions of the Army. However, in the Officer Cadet Training Corps a requirement of membership was the giving of an undertaking in the event of war to join HM Forces and go forward to commissioned rank. The potentiality of immediate commissioning occurred in September 1939 to David Liddell13, a private in the only infantry battalion of The Honourable Artillery Company, a prestigious London Territorial regiment. He was a junior broker with Lloyd’s, joining his battalion when it was mobilised. The HAC, in effect, was an Officer Cadet Unit, and membership then virtually guaranteed an offer of a commission after mobilisation, the timing of the offer being dependent on length of service as a Territorial.

After a two-month crash course at Bulford in December 1939, I was awarded a commission. I was required to express a preference for a regimental posting. A friend of the family, Major Storey, MC, a Cameronian of many years standing whom I greatly respected, had urged me to apply to his regiment, and although I had no previous connection with it, I was delighted when accepted – so much so, that I was able to persuade three other friends, newly commissioned from HAC, to do so, and we all arrived at Hamilton Barracks at the turn of the year.’

The need to produce cadres of competent junior NCOs was quickly grasped.

‘Training of new recruits was a priority. Soon after my arrival, still as a 2nd Lieutenant, I was given command of a platoon created to train potential NCOs. At the conclusion of each course, my duty was to submit a report to Battalion HQ on the potential of each man. The quality of the Riflemen selected was uniformly high, and many of them joined the 12th Battalion, which was in the course of being made up to strength. I was privileged to be posted to that unit later in 1940, and was pleased to find that those men who had undergone this training were making their mark already as junior NCOs.’

Malcolm McNeil14, formerly a member of Glasgow University OTC, who joined the Cameronians as a rifleman direct from taking a law degree, said of the four-month course that was to become the norm for Infantry OCTUs throughout the war:

‘The standard of education set and the efficiency of instruction were pretty so-so. I don’t think I learned anything more than I had done at OTC, but the difference was the 24-hour seven-day-a-week exercise and practice, and making soldiering a way of life… The proper training of the Home Forces only began seriously in 1942, when the influence of Alexander, Montgomery, and the GOC Home Forces began to apply to intelligent training – the setting up of Battle Schools, and the concentration on technical skills. Until then we were at sixes and sevens, and from what I saw of it, the 51st (Highland) Division was as poorly trained as we of the 52nd (Lowland) Division when they were sent out to Africa – where they had to learn pretty PDQ…’

Edward Scott15, a Cheshire man with no Cameronian connections, had this to record:

‘On the outbreak of war in September 1939 I volunteered for service in the army and was formally enlisted. I had undertaken to enlist as a member of the Officer Cadet Reserve, which I had joined on leaving the School OTC with Certificate “A”. I was aware on enlistment that I would have to serve some six months in the ranks before being considered for a commission…’

While awaiting joining instructions he continued his legal studies. On the formation of the Local Defence Volunteers (afterwards the Home Guard) as a private, he joined the local unit. His opinion of its possible effectiveness, despite the undoubted enthusiasm of its members, most of whom were between 45 and 60 years or in reserved occupations, was somewhat circumspect:

‘We were issued with a .303 rifle and ten rounds of ammunition with which to repel the German paratroops… Eventually to my surprise I received orders to report to the Infantry Training Centre of the Cameronians (Scottish Rifles) at Hamilton Barracks. I duly reported there on 14 November 1940, and found myself as a rifleman, in hutted accommodation in the company of some 30 young men from Lanarkshire and Glasgow, little of whose conversation I would at first understand. My comrades in arms were good-hearted and loyal to the group. They seemed to have readily, if resignedly, accepted the need to serve, accepted the firm but fair discipline, and showed keenness to learn. Regimental traditions and standards were soon imposed. The training, particularly in weapons, was of a high standard.

My Company Commander was Capt G. R. S. Drought. He was killed in action in Sicily in 1943. He had been an Army Boxing Champion, and it became clear to me that if I wanted a commission I had better enter the boxing ring. I did so one bitterly cold November night, suffering from a head cold and confronted by one Corporal Telfer, who seemed much bigger than me. He struck me on the nose in the first round, and I was covered in blood, but survived to be beaten on points over the three rounds…’

This exploit had evidently impressed the Company Commander, who put Scott forward for an interview with the Commanding Officer, as a result of which he was recommended for a commission. Scott attended 168 OCTU at Droitwich, then at Morecambe.

‘At the conclusion of the four-months OCTU course, which did not impress me, cadets had the opportunity to choose three Regiments in order of preference. The time spent at Hamilton had been an excellent introduction to basic full-time soldiering, and I had no hesitation in selecting the Cameronians as my first choice, being thankful to gain acceptance.’

There was then no pre-OCTU course lasting six weeks, during which those unlikely to make the grade, for whatever reason, were weeded out. This did not become part of officer training until later in the war. Both in training and quality of instruction, in the early stages of OCTUs’ existence it seems that they left a lot to be desired. Most who had been members of their university or school Officer Training Corps or Army Cadet Force felt that they had learned little new from the course. Standards did improve later as instructor cadres began to be filled with battle-experienced officers and NCOs.

Michie, by this time commissioned (in March 1940) and, like McNeil, a subaltern in the 6th Battalion The Cameronians, was very much of the same opinion:

‘Early in 1940 I was sent on a short Junior Leader’s Course at Esdaile, Kilgraston Road, Edinburgh, where an instructor read us a book called Infantry Section Leading. This excellent publication was issued to London Scottish NCOs in the summer of 1939, and I used to study it in the London Tube on my way to work – all the instructor did was to read from it… I could have taught him!’

Both Michie and McNeil served with the Battalion during its short stay in France in 1940. Of this period, Michie recalled:

‘The platoon anti-tank weapon was the Boyes Anti-Tank Rifle, which could hardly open a tin of sardines. The rifleman in charge had more than likely come with me a week earlier as one of the 275 other ranks who joined the 6th. He had to confess that he had never fired the weapon, and in fact didn’t know how to handle it.’

MacNeil remembered:

‘I’d had very good instruction on rifle, pistol, Bren Gun, 2-inch Mortar. Tommy Guns were issued in France in June 1940 – without even an instruction book. We relied on memories of US gangster films to get it working, per Edward G. Robinson.’

While the experience of recruits in 1939 was broadly similar to that of their predecessors in 1914, their instruction was different. They were more cynical about the nation’s leaders, and less inspired by calls on their patriotism to rally them to the colours. The war was seen as a necessary evil to combat Nazi Germany’s arrogance and drive for domination, but less of a crusade than it had appeared to many of those who rushed to enlist in 1914. Once part of an army unit, they settled down in much the same way as their fathers had 25 years earlier, accepting the trials and tribulations of wartime with as good a grace as possible.

Notes on contributors

Lieutenant-Colonel Sir John Baynes Bt., Independent Military Historian, Llanfyllin, UK.

Sir John Baynes served in the British Regular Army with the Cameronians (Scottish) Rifles and the Queen’s Own Highlanders. He has written numerous military biographies and related books and is best known for his outstanding work, Morale: A Study of Men and Courage. The Second Scottish Rifles at the Battle of Neuve Chapelle (1967).

Cliff Pettit, Independent Historian and Author, Alnwick UK.

Cliff Pettit is a retired solicitor who served as an infantry platoon commander in North West Europe in the later stages of the Second World War. He has an extensive knowledge of the First and Second World War battlefields of Western Europe. He has presented, advised and assisted in television documentaries on Gallipoli, the Somme and Third Ypres.

Recommended reading

Milligan, Spike, Hitler: My Part in His Downfall (London: Michael Joseph Ltd, 1971). A humorous but nevertheless realistic account of barrack room life and the attitudes of conscript recruits.

Whiting, Charles, Poor Bloody Infantry, Chapters 1 and 2 (London: Guild Publishing, 1987)

Chapter 3

Waging the undersea war: a British perspective

Jeff Tall

‘It is essential to keep the standard high – nothing can be neglected – it is not a kindness to overlook slackness or mistakes, it is really great cruelty to do so – cruelty to wives and relatives of the man you let off and his shipmates and to yourself. There is no margin for mistakes in submarines; you are either alive or dead’1 These words, spoken by Admiral Sir Max Horton when Flag Officer Submarines in 1941 to all submarine officers and men in Malta, carry a universal truth for all mariners, not just submariners. To cover the whole breadth of wartime maritime experience in the context of Horton’s exhortation would fill several volumes; however, even the most gnarled sea-dog would probably concede that examination of the British submariner’s story during the World Wars encapsulates his experience sufficiently well to justify this chapter’s narrow focus on the craft and its inhabitants.