Shalom and Sheiks: 23 - Officers
...I reported to the Welsh Guards Training Battalion at Sandown Park, and at once, we junior officers were back on the parade ground — square bashing, this time under a Regimental Sergeant-Major but with a slight difference. With Sergeant Daly it had been, "Guardsman Powell, you idle man, swing your arms up!" Now, from the Regimental Sergeant-Major, it was, "Swing your arms up, Mr Powell, Sir, please."...
John Powell becomes an officer in the Welsh Guards.
To read earlier chapters of John's buoyant autobiography please click on Shalom And Sheiks in the menu on this page.
Then the war in Europe ended and almost simultaneously our final parade arrived, the passing out parade. At times we had watched the senior companies pass out, with envy, and now it was our turn. The whole OCTU marched past with the band playing until finally came the last moving moments.
The Adjutant, by custom, rode his horse up the parade ground steps. The band struck up 'Auld Lang Syne' as Regimental Sergeant-Major Brittain gave us his last orders, and we slow marched in threes across the parade ground and then up the steps — officers! Reaching the top of the steps we halted behind the corner of a building. Handshakes, smacks on the back, exchanged congratulations, laughter, grins and also elation, mixed with relief that we had made it.
For Ian, Bill, Mick, Dicky, Michael and me, survivors of Sergeant Daly's era, it was commissions in the Welsh Guards - 'Cymru am Byth', Wales for Ever, the motto of the Welsh Guards.
With our single gold stars gleaming on our shoulders, we went on leave and enjoyed swaggering about, impressing our girlfriends and other people's girlfriends. Before reporting to the Welsh Guards Training Battalion, I made an important luncheon date with Mrs Mitchell, Pan's widowed mother, who had now lost her only child. She chose the Savoy, which worried me a little on my pay, and I took my cheque book to draw on my apology of a bank balance if necessary.
During our meal she pulled a leather case from her bag and handed it to me. Inside was Pan's Military Cross. I was unable to speak. At the end of our meal as the waiter handed me the bill, this gracious lady put her hand on mine and, with a smile, took the bill from me. As I protested, she smiled again and said, "Oh, no, this bill is for me. Why, whatever would Peter have said if I let 'Podge' pay for this lunch on a Second Lieutenant's pay? It is my pleasure. You and Peter were such good friends."
I reported to the Welsh Guards Training Battalion at Sandown Park, and at once, we junior officers were back on the parade ground — square bashing, this time under a Regimental Sergeant-Major but with a slight difference. With Sergeant Daly it had been, "Guardsman Powell, you idle man, swing your arms up!" Now, from the Regimental Sergeant-Major, it was, "Swing your arms up, Mr Powell, Sir, please." Even so, there was no mistaking the authority with which the comment was given. Woe betide any junior officer, who was stupid enough to try to 'pull rank'. He would very soon be up before the Adjutant for chastisement and punishment.
We obtained our commissions just as Germany capitulated. With the myopic outlook of youth, I was disappointed yet optimistic that I would have a good chance to lead a platoon of well-trained Guardsmen into action against the Japanese, especially as we had now joined the First Battalion, back from Europe. I was relieved to hear that we were to be sent to the Far East for action against the Japanese, and training started in a small way.
And then — they dropped 'the Bomb'.
It was with some apprehension and dismay that I now anticipated service with the Guards. I saw myself being given Public Duties in London, in red tunics and bearskins and with gawky tourists taking our photographs. That was certainly not the reason that I joined the Guards. Then the good news came; we were going to Palestine.
The troopship voyage on 'The Volendam' to the Middle East was a pleasure trip, a nice Mediterranean cruise paid for by the Government, with no fear of mines or torpedoes. There was an air of relaxation everywhere. Never to be forgotten was a picture of the ship sailing under a bright, full moon, on a placid sea, the foaming white wake stretching far out behind us. At night on the foredeck, there was spontaneous singing by the Welsh boys of folk songs, as only the Welsh can sing. Near the end of the impromptu concerts, the same tune was always sung, the whole troopship joining in,
We'll build our little nest,
Away out in the West,
And let the rest of the world go by.
Then the boys would finish with, 'All Through the Night', sung in Welsh.
We steamed on towards Haifa. A small contingent of army nurses on board had a wonderful time. Not so the second lieutenants, who were way back in the queue.
