The Regiment’s defensive positions were on part of what was known as the Kansas Line. As soon as we had moved into our base camps everyone was busy working on the Kansas Line, digging gun pits, Command Posts, OPs and the like. We soon became expert at hammering angle-irons into the ground, although only after we’d ruined a lot of sledgehammers. Corrugated iron sheets and empty ammo boxes filled with earth usually formed the riveting, the whole topped off with layers of sandbags. Very neat and professional they looked when completed. Being ordered to re-build anything that didn’t meet the standard was soul-destroying and the cause of much discontent and not a little cursing.

At one stage a group of us was sent off to dig “E” Troop OP. The Sergeant in charge was Pongo Perks, an oddball, Brummie National Serviceman given to reciting a poem called “Brighter Birmingham” unless prevailed upon to desist. Chicken featured highly in our rations in Korea, and Pongo always swapped his meat for our chicken skin. In those days chicken was a sort of luxury back home, and there was much excitement at the news that we’d be on American rations in Korea, including much chicken. After a while it became a bit monotonous for many, ‘though it never bothered me.

The rest of the party consisted of Pete Barber from Rochdale and Ben Moore from Southampton, both NS men. We lived in bivvies and Mick Leadbetter was the driver who re-supplied us every three or four days. Digging in the hard, rocky ground was hard going, and it took us about six weeks to finish the job, the last couple of feet having to be blasted out with Plastic Explosive.

One night Pongo announced that we should all go to a NAAFI/WVS Club about an hour’s walk away. I think it may have been called the “Castle Inn” or but I’m not sure. Anyway, we got there and had a few beers, as you do. After a while one of the WVS ladies got on the microphone and asked if it was anyone’s birthday that day, which happened to be 25th January, the birthday of Robert Burns. Never one to be overly shy I stuck my hand up, and over came the lady and presented me with a bottle of whisky. Pongo was a bit of a goody-goody and, horrified by my lying, declined to partake of the whisky – all the more for the rest of us!

Once back in camp after completing the OP, life settled down into the usual routine of maintenance, training, parades and Guards. BSM Buck Taylor unbelievably insisted that we bull our DMS boots and hand in our combat trousers to the Korean Dhobi Wallah to press before going on Guard Parade. That didn’t last too long before someone sneaked into the Dhobi Wallah’s quarters, pinched the charcoal iron and “disappeared” it somewhere into the surrounding shrubbery, never to be seen again (no, it wasn’t me!).

There was the Saturday Night once when all the Wos and SNCOs in the Regt had to attend a social function at the Regimental Sergeants’ Mess, “The Cannon Cockers Inn” at RHQ. For some reason 179 Bty Sgts’ Mess had to provide the bar for the occasion, I can’t think why, but no matter. The point of the story is that I was detailed by Buck the following morning to travel to RHQ in a 15-cwt truck and bring 179 Bty’s Sgts’Mess remaining bar items back to camp. All went well until, trundling back to camp in the back of the truck, my eye was caught by a bottle of Drambuie. Now, never before having tasted the liqueur, temptation got the better of me, and off came the cork. By the time the trip was over the bottle was empty. I vaguely remember staggering across the edge of the parade ground during Guard Mount, and the next thing I recall was waking up in the “cell” in the Guard Tent, literally a big cage knocked up by the LAD REME lads. After a severe ********** from Buck I went up in front of the BC and got seven days CB for my transgression. During the seven days I single-handedly constructed a Visitors’ Car Park outside the Officers’ Mess, breaking up boulders with a sledgehammer and a club hammer and bedding them into the soil to provide a hard standing. It was a swine of a job and I was glad to see the end of it.

Some time later I was travelling with a party in the back of a 15-cwt driven by a nutter by the name of Scouse Hall, heading for an evening’s relaxation at the “Castle Inn”. I remember we were travelling fairly slowly along, then someone shouted for Scouse to get a move on. The next thing was Scouse shouting “Geronimo!” as the truck swerved off the road and bounced down three levels of paddy field, turning over and over as it went. During this I recall a crushing blow to my chest, which I later found out was a loose spare wheel. After that I remember lying on my back looking at the stars while one of the lads covered me with a jacket or parka and held a lit cigarette to my lips. My next memory is waking up in a Canadian FDS hospital tent ward. I was the only casualty, with several cracked ribs, very painful but the only treatment was rest, so I stayed with the Canucks for about a week, I think. During my stay I was introduced to the game of Blackjack, feigning total ignorance and eventually taking all their money off them.

to be continued…………………