First Two Days In The Army Pt. 2

This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Bill Ross of the ‘Action Desk — Sheffield’ Team on behalf of Barry Davitt, and has been added to the site with the author’s permission. Mr. Davitt fully understands the site's terms and conditions.
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Well, we were finally kitted out and now the real torture began. I was selected to go to the dentist despite my insistence that my teeth were all right. A small kindly looking youngish man stared into my mouth at my teeth. He asked me how I liked the army, but I don’t think he expected a reply because he had inserted some kind of contraption into my mouth, which kept it wide open whilst he was pointing and jabbing. He also made other remarks about me telling him when it hurt etc. Then he said he would have to drill and put fillings in some of my teeth. I wanted to tell him not to bother but he went right on. My eyes must have told him that my teeth weren’t worth bothering with. I knew I would have to face the facts. This man was not going to be put off for anything, and then he brought the drill. As he drilled, I rose in the chair, gurgling and groaning, but he got the better of me by having a man lay across the chair and another one holding my shoulders from behind.

Smiling at me from time to time, he soon finished drilling and filling and then injected me with cocaine and proceeded to pull one of my teeth. This he did before the cocaine had time to take effect. The result being that I was sent back to the barracks. Here, I was told by the sergeant to change into P.T. kit and get out on a cross-country run. I explained to him that I had just had some teeth pulled out. “GET READY AND GET OUT!!” he shouted, so I did. Clad in a sweater, P.T. shorts, socks and army boots, I set off with the rest through the town and across country. Thirty miles (or so it seemed) we ran and as I stumbled back through the barrack gates, I was pulled to one side by an officer who asked me who had hit me. I didn’t know what he was talking about and tried to tell him, but my jaw wouldn’t work. It turned out that the cocaine I had been given had started to work whilst I was running and unknown to me, my jaw had dropped. Blood poured down from my mouth and all down my sweater. The officer thought I had been beaten to make me run, but that wasn’t so. He told me I should never have gone, which put the blame right back onto me. So much for dentists and cross-country runs.

Now we were getting an idea of what our lives were to be like and it wasn’t very comforting. Next, we were told that we would have to learn how to drill and march on the Barrack Square. “This should be good,” I thought, “it’s surprising to find that there are other uses for the feet, than walking. It’s also surprising to find oneself in doubt as to which is the left and right foot.” This was where we were to learn.

So, the raggedness begins to wear off; we were learning to march in step and were overcoming the intricacies of about turn. Also, we seemed to be pleasing the sergeant by the cracks appearing in the asphalt when we stamped our feet, but he’d want holes to appear before we’d have gotten it right. I must admit, it did hurt the feet, all this stamping. So, we got over our stint on the Barrack Square, went back to the Barracks and the usual cry: “OUTSIDE IN FIVE MINUTES IN P.T. KIT.” It wasn’t another cross country run, this time it was to the gymnasium. We entered the gym to find chaps in white sweaters waiting for us. These are known in army terminology as P.T.I.s, Physical Training Instructors. Big fine men who told us straight away that they were going to make us strong like them. I had a bit of a paunch, but nothing much. One of the P.T.I.s came to me and said, “Where are you from Laddie, what work did you do?” I said, “I’m from Sheffield and was a furnace man.” “Drink much beer?” he asked. “Oh, one or two pints, you know,” I replied. “Right, we’ll knock that belly off you for a start,” he informed me.

The things we had to try to do was unbelievable, the P.T.I. took a running jump, landed hands first onto a vaulting horse and said, “Right, line up and do that!” We lined up and in turn, ran to the vaulting horse and jumped. The younger lads managed to do it quite well, but me, I was at the stage where I couldn’t jump on a bus. I had to try, but my effort should have been filmed. The jump I did had never been done before and my landing neither. I went over the horse and finished upside down on the floor, wedged in some fashion against the vaulting horse on the back of my neck.
So, this was army life, is this the beginning of the end?

PR-BR

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