www.albiestales.co.uk part one

AFTER A COUPLE OF YEARS OR SO at the Paston School Albie had never been able to live up to his parents’ expectations. The lad had shown much initial promise, but although he tried so hard during term time – gaining good marks that usually put him in the top ten – when it came to the end of term exams he always ‘fluffed’ them ending up in the low twenties. With many caustic comments written in his report book, declaring him to be a dreamer with no sign of any improvement, it seemed a stern lecture from the Headmaster was inevitable. Although there was something Albie was good at that just might stand him in good stead...

THE HEADMASTER, Lieut-Col. K N Marshall, was very keen on discipline to ensure ‘his’ boys would always obey orders without question – or that was the general idea! To this end, he had his own ‘private army’, or Combined Cadet Force as it was called, although he couldn’t take all the credit as the ‘CCF’ had been founded several years before he took over the headmastership of the Paston School.

Albie, as it turned out, was good at something it seems, for, not only was he an enthusiastic member of the Army section, but he was actually quite good at it too, almost ‘officer material’, and by June 1954 he was proudly displaying his lance-corporal’s stripes, together with a marksmanship badge for his achievements on the 25-yard indoor rifle range.

He enjoyed marching in the School Yard, that doubled as a parade ground, and especially liked the ‘slow’ march as performed on sombre ceremonial occasions. Then there was the rifle drill: ‘order arms’, ‘present arms’and finally ending with the command: ‘slope arms’, and, ‘stand easy’!

But, what Albie loved the most was the ‘field day’, usually held in July, a chance to go on manoeuvres with the entire CCF contingent.

Early one Friday morning, the bugle sounded ‘reveille’ and Albie and the rest of Army cadets quickly assembled, under the trees, on the edge of the parade ground.

THE CALL TO ARMS

“Company,” shouted Lieut. Mercer, the Officer-in-Charge, “get on.. parade!”, and the contingent marched to their designated positions on the parade ground.

“No. 1 Platoon,” shouted its NCO, “Halt – Left... turn!” The platoon, as one, turned to face the direction of the Officer-in-Charge.

Whilst the other platoons were marching into position, the sergeant in charge of No. 1 Platoon gave the order to ‘right dress’. On this command, Albie raised his right arm to touch the cadet on his right, whilst the others in his platoon followed suit. Soon, the entire company stood smartly, ‘at ease’, on the parade ground.

“Carry, on, Sar’nt Major,” said Lieut. Mercer, delegating command to the NCO.

“Company will come to attention!” bawled the Cadet Sergeant-Major on the parade ground, with little or no shade from the unforgiving summer sun. “Atten... wait for it!”

“Atten-shun,” he barked, spraying saliva in all directions.

The massed ranks of six platoons, each with thirty of the youngest flowers of the county, sprang to attention as one, like a well-oiled spring. Then followed the roll call, swiftly and efficiently taken.

“Number One, Platoon,” called the Sergeant-Major, “Any absentees?”

“All present and correct, Sir!” shouted the sergeant of No. 1 Platoon. The same procedure was followed for the remaining platoons until the roll call was completed, and, apart from the razor-sharp commands, all was deadly silent amongst the ranks.

By now the Commanding Officer, Lieut-Col. Marshall, had arrived to inspect his ‘personal army’, accompanied by his deputy, Captain Couper. Lieut. Mercer, known as ‘Joe’ to Albie and the boys, marched quickly up to the Commanding Officer and, springing smartly to attention, gave the Lieut-Colonel the official salute – long way up, short way down.

The Headmaster glanced impatiently at his watch, eager to get on with the manouvres, no doubt.

“I do hope transport will arrive soon,” he said, turning to Captain Couper, “we’ve got a battle to win, y’know!”

Captain Couper, in turn, said to Lieutenant Mercer: “Best get the men kitted up, Lieut. Give the order to issue small arms.”

The next in the chain of command did as he was instructed and passed on the order to the sergeants in charge of each platoon.

SMALL ARMS ARE DRAWN FROM THE ARMOURY

“Fall out, men,” shouted the sergeant of No. 1 Platoon, and Albie did as he was told and fell out. “Go to the Armoury and draw your rifles.”

Albie, and the rest of the ‘troops’, marched in orderly fashion towards the Armoury at the far end of the School Yard, where George Ward, the Armourer-cum-school caretaker, stood behind the counter unchaining rifles and dishing out .303 ammunition.

“Everythin’s allus chearned up ’cos o’ th’ IRA threat,” explained George.

Very versatile, was George, as well as cutting the grass on the playing field and painting the white lines during the football or cricket seasons, he also attended to other odd jobs around the school and was often seen with a shovel full of cinder-ash to conceal a hastily-regurgitated school dinner!

“Thutty rounds each,” George muttered, “no more, no less,” and continued to dole out ancient Lee-Enfield rifles, taking the firing bolts from a separate box. Anti-IRA precautions, deduced Albie.

Lieut. Mercer joined them in the Armoury and proceeded to instruct the boys in the art of camouflaging their faces. But, after all, he was their Art Master! Then he turned to Albie who, under layers of ‘war paint’ almost resembled big Chief Sitting Bull on the war path.

“Albie,” he said, “as lance-corporal of your Platoon, I want you to be in charge of the Bren gun section.”

“Great,” replied the lad, jubilant at the idea of firing the weapon. “Thanks very much, Sir!”

“Here y’are, boy” said George, handing Albie a Bren light machine-gun, a magazine and a wooden rattle, the sort used at football matches many years ago.

“Where’s me thutty rounds of ammo, George?” asked Albie.

“Yew carn’t fire that thing,” George laughed, pointing to the machine-gun. “Yew hatta to wave that there rattle around over yar hid an’ make a ‘rat-a-tat’ instead!”

Albie wasn’t best pleased – that was one order he would not be obeying!

No. 1 Platoon’s Bren gun section consisted of Lance-Corporal Albie in charge of the Bren, and Hatley and Charman, both armed with Lee-Enfield rifles, to give protective fire for the Bren position. As a result, the latter two had both been issued with thirty rounds of ammunition each.

Hatley was the first to notice the football rattle Albie was carrying.

“What on earth are you supposed to do with that?” he asked sarcastically.

“Frighten the poor sods to death, I shun’t wonder,” laughed Charman.

“Not blimmin’ likely,” grinned Albie, “hand over your ammo you two!”

Then, out of sight of the other cadets, the trio made an attempt to load the Bren’s magazine with the blank cartridges.

After an hour’s journey by Black Cat ’busses, to ‘somewhere’ in North Norfolk, the entire contingent arrived on Kelling Heath, where the platoons were divided into two groups – attackers and defenders.

THE DEFENDERS DIG IN

“Gather round, men,” ordered Lieut. Mercer, in charge of the defenders, who deftly drew a map in the sandy heathland soil. “The scenario is this,” he continued, pointing to the map, “we’re to defend this important oil installation, here, from the Viking Battalion of the Swaffham SS that, intelligence has it, has landed at Weybourne Hope.”

Then, turning to Albie and his Bren gun section, he told them: “You will be ‘the first line of defence’, so take up your positions on the left flank.”

“Bit like that there Siegfried line?” suggested Albie, and began singing “We’re gonna hang out our washin’ on the Seegfreed line...”

“No!” barked the lieutenant impatiently, “Not only will you hold the enemy, but they must be driven onto the right flank, where No. 2 Platoon has set up a ‘field of fire’!”

Then, almost as an afterthought, “There is to be no withdrawal – you will hold out to the last man and the last round of ammunition!”

With that, Albie shouldered the Bren gun and, with Hatley and Charman, set off in the direction of the ‘front line’.

“I en’t at’orl keen on being dispensable,” moaned Albie to the others, “but I reck’n the enemy hev got a surprise comin’!”

Picking a suitable spot on the left flank, amidst golden flowering gorse, they dug a shallow foxhole to conceal their position as best they could. Just big enough for the three of them to crawl into, but, with their camouflaged faces and bits of bracken sticking out of their berets, they certainly looked the part!

“Come on, you two,” said Albie, “give us a hand settin’ up this here Bren!”

Quickly the trio set up the machine gun on its bipod, and soon all to be seen was a pile of strategically-placed bracken from which protruded the ominous barrel of the Bren, accompanied by the blunt muzzles of two Lee-Enfields.

Five minutes later, over the horizon, they spotted the Viking Battalion, in open order, advancing towards their forward position.

“Wait ’til they’re in range,” whispered Albie, as Hatley and Charman eased back the bolts of their Lee-Enfields, preparing to open fire. “Let’s see the whites of their eyes first, lads!”

Silently, Albie clipped the magazine in place on top of his Bren gun and pulled back the well-oiled bolt with a satisfying clunk. Resting his right cheek on the well-polished butt of his machine gun he squinted down the sights, made a quick adjustment to the range, and then just waited.

ALBIE ‘GIVES A FIVE SECOND BURST’!

“Enemy in range, FIRE!” he shouted – and all hell was let loose, as he let rip with a ‘five second burst of automatic fire’! “Rat-at-tat-ratta--tat-ratta-tat...!”

As his section opened fire with their rifles, bits of shredded bracken flew through the air in all directions, whilst Albie, afforded the imagination of youth, advanced on the enemy ‘firing’ his machine-gun from the hip.

The enemy, not expecting a wall of fire, were thrown into confusion, broke ranks and turned onto the right flank, where the trap that had been set for them.

Soon, the sickly-sweet smell of cordite hung heavily in the air, whilst, from the right flank came the familiar sounds of volleys of rifle fire as Nos. 2 and 3 Platoons engaged the enemy. Louder explosions were heard as well, as thunderflashes were through to simulate hand grenades.

“Fall back, fall... back!” cried the enemy, “It’s a trap...”

But it was too late for them as they were trapped, caught in a near-perfect ‘pincer’ movement by the boys from 1 and 2 Platoons.

“Well done, you two,” said Albie, unclipping the magazine from his Bren, “tha’s sent ’em packing!”

However, their jubilation was rather short lived as one last suicidal attack was mounted on their position on the Heath. An attacking ‘Viking’, letting out blood-curdling screams, threw himself upon the Bren gun section with his rifle butt raised above his head, intent on doing them some mischief, in one last-ditch attempt to neutralise their position.

But Hatley and Charman had seen him coming and, as one, they raised their rifles and fired, at point-blank range. It blew the Viking’s beret clean off and left him with a terrible ringing in the ears for the rest of the day.

“Good work, men,” praised Lieut-Col. Marshall, one of the referees, whose job it was to decide who’d been killed or missing in action or who merited a medal for bravery. “You’ve certainly saved the day! Three cheers for the Paston School...”

“Hip, Hip... Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” the boys all cheered, tossing their berets high into the clear blue sky.

Afterwards, all the ‘defenders’ and ‘attackers’ settled down on Kelling Heath to enjoy a pre-packed lunch of corned beef sandwiches and meat pies – thoughtfully prepared in the school kitchen.

All except those who had used the pies as hand grenades, that is, for they were as hard as rocks!

THE EPILOGUE

MANY YEARS LATER, Albie found himself in familiar territory, once again on Kelling Heath.

“Those were good days,” he said, reminiscing to his girlfriend, “the Army Cadets and manoeuvres – here on the Heath!”

But now, sitting in the comfort of a 1960 Morris Minor, he was planning his ‘strategy’ for manoeuvres of a different kind!

NEXT: It’s almost Christmas and Albie always loved the festive season – or did he?

SOME OF ALBIE’S FAVOURITE WEBSITES A Norfolk Entertainer A Moment in Time Enjoy North Norfolk Enjoy Norwich Flint Holiday Cottages Norfolk Churches Norfolk Dialect Norfolk Village Signs Norwich City Hall and the Lions Picture Norfolk Remember Norfolk Sculthorpe Spyplanes

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