"There was no walking about in that camp. It was double-time everywhere you went. And I mean everywhere. Try taking a leak running on the spot!".
Ken who is from Dresden in Stoke-on-Trent joined the army in 1943. He left the army in 1969 when he held the rank of captain. Ken is now retired. He has 6 children and is a member of 'Sonefield Singers.'
In 1944 I was serving with the 38th Welsh Division on the Isle of Wight. In September that year the Battle of Arnhem took place. That disastrous military action resulted in the loss of many of the paratroopers serving in the first airborne division.
A call went out to all army units for volunteers to replace them. I'd only been in the army for a year and I was just a skinny 18-year old, but I volunteered. Why? Because I was stupid I suppose! I found myself posted to Harwick Hall for pre-para training. Little did I know what I'd let myself in for. There was no walking about that camp. It was double-time everywhere you went. And I mean everywhere. Try taking a leak running on the spot! Every day for 3 weeks we did endurance marches, assault courses, rope climbing. It was tough and arduous. Most of the time, we were soaked through to the skin and up to our necks in the other and those PT instructors were cruel hard-hearted monsters who pushed us to our physical limit. The weak and faint-hearted were glad to go back to their units. It could've been me--it was only my guts that kept me going. Finally the psychiatrist, who we called 'the trick cyclist' examined us to see if we were mentally up to jumping out of aeroplanes--he decided I was stupid enough to do it! Next we marched to Manchester for parachute training. Tatton Park was the dropping zone where we literally had the wind put up our skirts. We only had one parachute and it had to be packed properly by the RAF girls or else it was goodbye Mr Chips. When we'd completed the course we were presented with our wings and off we went to face the real thing. | 
