Basic Training……the metamorphosis
May 16, 2010
It has been well recorded that the Rhodesian fighting man/woman were the finest counter-insurgency force in the world at the time and the training we received from day one was designed to ensure that this reputation was never sullied. It was hard and relentless, both physically and mentally. I must mention here that I have never been a small chap of politically correct weight. Those who know me will understand what I mean. I have had a lifelong battle with excess lard and this did not do me any favours during basic training. I really suffered, as did many of my fellow trainees.
However I soon discovered that I had a high level of mental stamina and an above average walking endurance with extremely heavy loads. This was to prove of great benefit to me in the future.
Walking anywhere was considered taboo during basic training and would immediately incur the wrath of our instructors, who appeared to take their greatest pleasure from grinding the less physically adept more than the rest. There were three of them in A Company……and at the time were all evil men according to me. I remember their names and faces to this day but I do not see any value to mention them here. I fully understand they had a difficult job to do but they did seem to wobble along that thin and somewhat blurry line between constructive battle competence/discipline training and sadistic bullying rather frequently. Perhaps this was all part of the grand plan to make us survivors in combat…..I don’t know….. but apparently it worked as I am still here to tell the tale so I have forgiven them a long time ago and in some ways I probably owe them my life many times over.
Basic Training doctrine in the Rhodesian Army had one purpose……to train every recruit to be an infantry fighting platform as their primary function. Even though many of us would later specialise in one of the many and diverse branches of the military machine, each and every one of us could therefore also form part of a fighting infantry section, or “stick” as we called them. With this as the objective much of our time was spent carrying out weapon drills by day and night, days and days of musketry training on the range, section battle drills, bayonet fighting, grenade throwing, map-reading, bush-craft, and a myriad of other black arts and skills that we would need to see without being seen, and kill without being killed.
So between all the boot-polishing, beret shaping, uniform starching, parade ground work, bed-packs, barrack room inspections, guard duties, PT and vehicle debussing drills we actually did some interesting stuff too.
I am not going to spend much more time on the intricacies of Rhodesian Army basic training techniques.
One thing is for sure though and that is that I was extremely happy to have had my request for transfer after Phase One Basics to the Rhodesian Corps of Engineers approved. The truth is that I did not see myself as an infantryman full-stop, and coming from an engineering background the Sappers seemed the way to go. I have never regretted it to this day and my next installment will cover the 8 or so weeks that the Rhodesian Army spent turning me into a Combat Engineer.
- Llewellyn Barracks (Alan Roberts)
Llewellyn Barracks from 14,000 ft:A) Main Entrance to Llewellyn
B) The parade ground: where many painful hours were spent
C) The sports ground: with rugby posts that we often had to run around during drill on the parade ground
D) The abandoned air strip: around which we had to run most mornings before breakfast
E) The rifle range: now abandoned….you can see the stop-butts just left of the “E”
F) Number Three Guard: where I also spent many painful hours
- Passing-Out Parade-Depot, The Rhodesia Regiment
Falling-In
February 7, 2010
6-6-1974
The evil smelling little Renault 4 taxi dropped me off at the main bus-stop next to the car-park behind the Bulawayo City Hall….our mustering point. There were a few sad-looking individuals there already, many of them saying their goodbyes to family and friends.
We were mostly eager to get on our way, away from the city. Wanted to get it all over with so we could go home again.
They had come to fetch us in that old stalwart of the Rhodesian Army vehicle fleet, Bedford RL’s…..the ones with the big bubble-like noses. There were also what seemed far too many grim-looking people in uniform shouting and ushering us onto the vehicles. The tailgates were down and we chucked our few belongings on board as ordered and clambered up into the wet cargo areas of the trucks like robots, heads banging on overhead frameworks, feet slipping on wet metal.
Two stone-faced and extremely well turned out Corporals accompanied each vehicle. For some reason they were in their drill kit, hobnail boots with gleaming toe-caps and putties. The creases on their twill shirts and shorts starched and ironed to razor like sharpness.
The rain had eased a little but the old tarpaulins that covered the back of the trucks were full of holes or in some cases ripped……this ensured most of us had a second shower, or in some cases probably the first for the day. There was no way to escape from the dripping …..it only made the mood more depressing.
As if on cue, the drivers and escort, who up to then had stood at the back of thier idling vehicles, now lifted up the heavy tailgates and slammed them shut, making sure the two locking latches were in place……not easy as most of them were bent out of shape and alignment. They then climbed into the doorless cabs, the driver double clutched and slipped the RL into first gear……and our convoy began to move off.
On the way the Corporals said very little. They too were obviously pissed off with the wet journey and were more than likely plotting their revenge against us civvies……seeming to look in my direction more than what I deemed necessary.
The trip out to Llewellyn was fairly uneventful except for the whipping one would get from the madly flapping canvas and loose ropes that were meant to hold the tarpaulins in place. The seats were hard cold steel, and my arse was soon numb and my feet went to sleep……the exhaust fumes from the Bedford 6 cylinder being sucked into the back of the vehicle by the vacuum caused by our forward movement……stinging our eyes and throats. The whirring of the wheels on the road and differential whine on an RL are somewhat hypnotic, and this having been well mixed with an overdose of carbon monoxide caused my head to start nodding like one of those dogs my mate had in the back his Cortina GT.
We tried to make small talk with one another to stay awake, fear of the unknown making it difficult to forge any kind of friendship for now. The best one could expect to get was someones name and a shivvery, cold, wet handshake.
Rhodesian Army Bedford RL
D-Day Part 2: 30 Years Later
January 31, 2010
6th June 1974.
The above date and the month (6/6) are probably quite well-known to most people, especially the sad bastards like me who read military history.
The year however will not mean too much at this time…….but read on and all will be revealed.
30 years to the day a combination of the date, month and year was extremely significant to a few hundred young men who were part of Rhodesian Army Intake 139, destined for their National Service with the Rhodesia Regiment at Llewelyn Barracks near Heaney Junction outside Bulawayo.
I was part of Intake 139, and I don’t think my fear was any different to any of those brave men who were going to land on the beaches of Normandy……..the ones with the unforgettable names….Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno, and Sword. On a different level I was just as shit scared as those brave men must have been……..and Llewelyn Barracks was also to become an unforgettable name.
There is no argument that the scale of the threat in 1944 was different, but the knowledge that certain death from an enemy bullet could be around the corner must have been very much the same.
There was the sound of a car horn from downstairs……the taxi had arrived to take me to the pick-up point. I was on my way……it was a cold and gloomy day outside. And it was raining again……”guti“…..a soft mist of refreshing happiness from the sky.
My first Cap-Badge: The Rhodesia Regiment
D-Day……Part 1
December 8, 2009
6th June 1944:
In November, 1943, Joseph Stalin, Winston Churchill and Franklin D. Roosevelt met together in Teheran, Iran, to discuss military strategy and post-war Europe. Ever since the Soviet Union had entered the war, Stalin had been demanding that the Allies open-up a second front in Europe. Churchill and Roosevelt argued that any attempt to land troops in Western Europe would result in heavy casualties. Until the Soviet’s victory at Stalingrad in January, 1943, Stalin had feared that without a second front, Germany would defeat them.
Stalin, who always favoured an offensive strategy, believed that there were political, as well as military reasons for the Allies’ failure to open up a second front in Europe. Stalin was still highly suspicious of Winston Churchill and Franklin D. Roosevelt and was worried about them signing a peace agreement with Adolf Hitler. The foreign policies of the capitalist countries since the October Revolution had convinced Stalin that their main objective was the destruction of the communist system in the Soviet Union. Stalin was fully aware that if Britain and the USA withdrew from the war, the Red Army would have great difficulty in dealing with Germany on its own.
At Teheran, Joseph Stalin reminded Churchill and Roosevelt of a previous promise of landing troops in Western Europe in 1942. Later they postponed it to the spring of 1943. Stalin complained that it was now November and there was still no sign of an allied invasion of France. After lengthy discussions it was agreed that the Allies would mount a major offensive in the spring of 1944.
General Dwight Eisenhower was put in charge of what became known as Operation Overlord. Eisenhower had the task of organizing around a million combat troops and two million men involved in providing support services.
The plan, drawn up by George Marshall, Dwight Eisenhower, Bernard Montgomery, Omar Bradley, Bertram Ramsay, Walter Bedell-Smith, Arthur Tedder and Trafford Leigh-Mallory, involved assaults on five beaches west of the Orne River near Caen (codenamed Sword, Juno, Gold, Omaha and Utah) by the British 2nd Army and the American 1st Army. Follow-up forces included the Canadian 1st Army and the American 3rd Army under Lt. General George Patton.
Juno was assigned to the Canadian Army. Canada contributed 110 ships to the invading force, 14,000 troops, including paratroopers, and 15 RCAF squadrons of fighters and fighter-bombers. It is estimated that Canada contributed about 10 percent of the D-Day invading force.
The invasion was preceded by a massive aerial bombardment of German communications. This resulted in the destruction of virtually every bridge over the Seine.
On 6th June, 1944, 2,727 ships sailed to the Normandy coast and on the first day landed 156,000 men on a front of thirty miles. It was the largest and most powerful armada that has ever sailed.
The Allied invasion was faced by 50 divisions of the German Army under General Erwin Rommel. At Omaha, steep cliffs favoured the defenders and the US Army suffered 2,500 casualties.
The Allies also sent in three airborne divisions, two American and one British, to prepare for the main assault by taking certain strategic points and by disrupting German communications. Of the 23,000 airborne troops, 15,500 were Americans and of these, 6,000 were killed or seriously wounded.
Over the next couple of days 156,215 troops were landed from sea and air in Normandy, at a cost of some 10,300 casualties.
Soldiers waiting to be parachuted in France (6th June, 1944)
And the rest is history……..listen closely to the words of “Say Goodbye To It All” by Chris de Burgh……study the photo above closely, imagine what they imagine……think their thoughts……. and it will bring a tear to your eye……if it doesn’t you are a sad, lost, and empty soul…..Fox.
On And Off The Rails (Part 4)
September 27, 2009
Location: Rhodesia Railways Mechanical Workshops, Bulawayo
Still in the Erecting Shop, 1973
I would like you to meet my Erecting Shop Journeyman.
His name was Brian Kelly and he came from Ireland. I am convinced he was an IRA hit man but this was probably my overactive imagination at work, but he did strike me as a dark horse whose passive and quite nature merely concealed his other side.
Brian was a great guy, spoke with a wonderful Irish accent (obviously) and we got on really well although I made a number of serious fuck-ups while I was with him. We will not discuss them at this time.
The ten o’clock tea-time was reserved for playing bridge in the Erecting Shop welding cubicle. We had our own little hide away where our wooden lockers were. Brian spent many frustrating months teaching me the game. He had a lot of patience with me and I think I got the hang of it in the end although I still don’t really know what “vulnerable” and “rubber”means. Anyway during tea time we used to sit around a steel table we had made and four of us would drift away into a make believe world of soft carpets, cigar smoke, and waiters dressed like penguins. We really were a quartet of grand gentlemen in our oily, sooty overalls, greasy safety boots and chipped tin mugs that burned ones lips whenever a sip of tea was taken.
Brian’s wife also made the nicest mince sandwiches which I used to readily devour, normally not having anything of my own.
One of the jobs I was taught by Brian was a boiler tube replacement. This was a bitch of a job and involved first the cutting out and then the welding back of up to 400 tubes that form the steam making heart of a steam locomotive. The idea was that once the boiler was safely on its stands, the welder, in this case me, would climb inside the firebox and cut the old tubes out using an electric arc. Quite a mission as you have to get the arc inside each tube to cut it out and the arc would flash all over the place. If you have never welded electrically you wont understand what I am talking about but try to imagine it anyway. Once they were all out the boilermakers would come and clean everything up and new tubes would be fitted which I then had to weld back in. A long and back-breaking process, done in isolation and under a strict time scale. Once all the welding was finished the boiler tubes were pumped up using water pressure so you could see any leaks in your welding. And then it was back in again to seal off any water spurts.
In have to say here that I was complimented by Jack Crilly on my ability to carry out positional welding much better than the easier and normal flat welding. This is quite strange as positional welding means upside down or vertical up/down welding and normally takes ages to master. I got it right within a year and found it quite an accomplishment. Boiler tube welding was all positional stuff and tested a welder to the limit both physically and technically.
I have never been a small lad. In fact I am what you would call over average in build…..overweight or fat actually. I was known as the little fat fucker in the workshops. Getting into the boiler was always fun and getting out even more fun as a persons body expands when hot….I jest not with you here. And it is really hot inside a boiler that is being welded. The sweat literally pisses off of you. Remember you are wearing elbow length fireproof gloves, your Jack the Ripper apron, boots, spats and your overall. Oh yes and you have a welding helmet and cap on as well. The cap was to stop any welding sparks burning the shit out of your exposed head which resulted in intense pinpoint pain, swearing, and the sickening smell of your own hair and flesh on fire.
If you do not manage to get your kit on correctly, some sparks do manage to get inside your overalls and I had one rather painful experience of a blob of molten metal coming into contact with the side of my dick….I have the scar to this day. Lucky, lucky.
Sometimes blobs of metal got inside my boots….very painful too and you just have to grin bravely, swear, jump about, and wait for the bit of metal to cool down while being in direct contact with your skin. There is no way to get your laced-up boots off.
As in the wagon shop there was also a graveyard for weary locomotives…..those fire breathing monsters that have come to the end of the line. This was also a sad place where once proud giants of the railroad found their final resting place…..out in the open and unprotected from the elements.
It was an undignified end for these truly wonderfully majestic machines, and my love of and fascination for steam locomotives remains with me to this day.
Rhodesia Railways 20th Class Garrett hauling a passenger train.....what a majestic beast! There is a more than even chance I worked on this grand old lady.
Rhodesia Railways locomotive graveyard, Bulawayo
Inside a locomotive boiler showing steam tubes
Boiler tube plate where I would cut out and weld back the tubes
Inside a boiler
On And Off The Rails (Part 3)
September 26, 2009
Towards the end of 1972 and early 1973…..still in the Rhodesia Railways Mechanical Workshops, Bulawayo
Second Mission: The Erecting Shop
I know what you are thinking. Erecting Shop. What a strange name and why would they call it that? I thought the same myself and of course this part of the workshop complex was always going to be rife for a whole lot of strange comments.
So why is it called the Erecting Shop and what debauched activities take place there? Patience dear reader…..all will soon be revealed.
Towards the end of 1972 I was told that I would be transferred away from the Wagon Shop. My destination was not made clear at that time as there was a lot of shuffling around going on. A large majority of the Journeymen and senior apprentices (3rd, 4th, and 5th years) were spending more and more time in the bush on Territorial Army (TA) call-up duty, and this was putting a severe strain on those of us who either had not yet been called up for National Service, or those that for one or other reason were unable to serve in the Rhodesian Army. I suppose that this was when I first realised that one day I would be going on call-up and others would have the pleasure of cutting up smelly meat wagons.
To be very honest I was extremely sad to be leaving Jack Crilly. He had become like a father to me and mentored me in everything I needed to know about my work and more importantly, about life itself. He treated me as his son. As an apprentice I never earned much money. In my first year I took home 77 Rhodesian Dollars per month. Out of this I had to pay for my lodging, buy clothes, and eat. I had moved into the Railway single quarters in Raylton, the railway suburb right next to the workshops and staff canteen. So I lived in the shadow of where I worked and the sulphur smell of burning coal was ever prevalent. Each month I bought my little book of meal coupons and that’s where I basically ate all my meals. Not bad food, but pretty much the same menu each day.
I got to know quite a few of the married personnel who had their houses next to the single quarters and ever so often I used to get invited round to someones house for a real supper of hot beef stews, hearty vegetables, and guavas and custard. One couple I became very attached to was Bella and Keith Harris. Keith, a giant of a man with a heart as good as gold, was a locomotive fireman…..the tough guys that shovel coal into the ever-hungry maw of a steam engines firebox. And dear Bella….what a wonderful person……she just had a way of making me realise what it must be like to have a real home. Wonderful people who never had too much of the good things in life but shared what they had.
Back to the Erecting Shop.
Erecting Shops are places where things that were previously un-erect (not flaccid as in penis, but rather dismantled) are re-erected. Normally this process involved enormous machines. In this case huge black steam locomotives. Great big Beyer-Garrett monsters that could haul thousands of tons of cargo up and down the many miles of Rhodesian rail tracks.
Beyer-Garrett 15th Class
These were massively powered beasts that prowled Rhodesia’s open spaces taking goods all over the country and over the borders as well.
Life was quite hazardous in the Erecting Shop. What you have to understand is that Rhodesia Railways locomotives could weigh between 30 and 120 tons depending on the model, and when it arrives at the workshops it is still on its bogeys, or wheel units. So it is easy to move about with little shunting engines or winches. However one of the first things that has to be is to remove the bogeys. The only way to do that is by lifting the whole locomotive into the air and pushing the bogeys away. The locomotive, suspended on huge overhead cranes was then lowered onto giant stands. It would remain there for at least 21 days, the time it took for a full strip and rebuild. Rhodesia Railways were known to be one of the most experienced organisations as far as this type of work was concerned.
I have described the removal of the bogeys as if it was a really simple activity but in fact it was an extremely precise and dangerous operation. The first thing that is done before removing the bogeys is that the sanding pipes must be cut off using oxy-acetylene cutting equipment. Sanding pipes are used to spray sand onto the rails in front of the main driving wheels of a locomotive when extra traction is needed, for example on steep inclines. This cutting of pipes was one of my jobs and again rotten meat comes into the story. You see there is a thing called a cow-catcher at the front of all locomotives and their job is to catch cows standing and minding their own business on the track…..basically a massive fast moving 100 ton meat tenderiser. The problem was that the now mushy cow normally got caught up under the locomotive after being hit and bits of pieces of processed meat and bone ended up being sprayed up the front bogey assembly that included the sanding pipes. So we are back to the 3000 degree flame burning minced up rotten beef.
Lifting a locomotive in an Erecting Shop (non-Rhodesia Railways)
A typical Erecting Shop (non-Rhodesia Railways)
Rhodesia Railways Erecting Shop where I worked as an apprentice Plater-Welder
On And Off The Rails (Part 2)
September 14, 2009
January 1972……still in the Rhodesia Railways Mechanical Workshops, Bulawayo
First Mission: Wagon Shop
The Wagon Shop was exactly what the named implied. It was where one would find all types of wagons in various stages of construction or destruction, depending on the activity taking place. Any wagon that needed repairs of any description including complete rebuilds from the frame upwards came to the Wagon Shop. Some of the ones that arrived were in advanced stages of decomposition due to either plain wear and tear, high-speed shunting operations by overzealous locomotive drivers, and in extreme cases; collisions, derailments and/or terrorist action. Clearly some of them would never hear the clickety-clack of the rails again. In most cases things could be put right with the correct application of brute force and profanity…..but there were of course the instances where they were so bent and twisted that they were scrapped for being beyond help of any kind and sent to the graveyard.
It is important to remember that at that time there were heavy sanctions imposed on Rhodesia so the scrapping of a wagon was considered a very serious decision to make. Apparently a person needed superhuman powers of perception and outstanding academic qualifications to make such decisions. This person was known as the Charge-Hand….. basically because he was in charge of all the hands that fixed the wagons and he knew what our grubby fat fingers, big heavy tools, and heating torches could and couldn’t do. I remember him quite well. A pleasant person most of the time as I recall. Unfortunately he used to lose it when under pressure and this seriously impacted on his personality. I used to watch him walking around with a piece of chalk in his hand, writing all kinds of messages for us to read on the side of the newly arrived wagons, detailing its fate……repair, strip, rebuild, cut. And when he was in a particularly foul mood, probably for not getting his leg over the night before, he even wrote the dreaded “scrap” word……gleefully grinning whilst condemning the mute subject of his frustration to the knackers yard…….a shadowy, sinister place that was always cold, damp and dripping. There seemed to be a sadness about the wagons that were laid to rest there……the wicked wind whipping and whistling through their lopsided frames.
I would like to describe two specific types of wagons that remain vivid in my memory. None of my reasons for remembering them are good.
Refrigerator Wagons:
Refrigerator wagons are used to keep meat carcasses and other perishables cold in transit. Obvious you might say. However you need to bear in mind that if the cooling unit breaks down between Wankie and Bulawayo in mid-summer, a refrigerator truck quickly becomes a microwave oven and whatever you were trying to keep cold rapidly begins to decompose into an array of unpleasant odours, strange, slippery, evil coloured liquids, and sodden cardboard boxes that fall apart when lifted, thus spilling their now vile contents all over the show.
It is important to understand at this point that when a cooling unit breaks down the whole refrigerator truck would be sent for repairs so that the entire wagon could have a quick service. I dont need to tell you where they came to…..but I will anyway…….the Wagon Shop.
If you have never had the good fortune of being the first person to open one of these wagons after it has been standing in the sun for a few days, it is going to be quite hard even for me to describe the sickening stench of rotting beef, pork, or lamb that has turned green, blue, and yellow, and has strange pus-like secretions leaking out of the various orifices that such animals have. I do not think I need to elaborate further at this stage as any normal person reading this should have gotten the idea by now.
Try to visualise the following:
Refrigerator wagon comes in for repairs……the first thing that happens is that it gets stripped down.
One of my tasks as a Plater-Welder apprentice was to cut things up with extremely high temperature flames using a combination of oxygen and acetylene gasses. I used to enjoy doing this eversomuch. The problem here was that these trucks had a double skin with insulation in the middle of the inner and outer layers. This insulation was highly inflammable……do you get the picture? A really horrible yellow smoke, that was also toxic, was produced when this insulation caught fire. Secondly, when pieces of rotten meat and old dried blood inside the wagon came into contact with a 3000 degree Celsius flame they naturally began to cook….right in front of my face……..burning rotten meat smell is very different from burning fresh meat smell. So there was none of this tummy rumbling, mouth watering Sunday afternoon barbecue/braaivleis aromas wafting about….none of that at all.
Cattle Wagons:
Cattle Wagons have the opposite job to Refrigerator Wagons. They also look different.
The main functional difference is that one type (Refrigerator) carries dead animals that sway gently on their stainless steel butcher hooks according to the camber of the tracks and appear to be taking part in some kind of synchronised swimming exercise. The other (Cattle) carries live, snorting, snotty, dribbling, very pissed-off bovines, who probably know that they are on Death Row, so also try to get their last hump in on the way. Live cattle also void their bowels and bladders in these Wagons. Which is the root cause of my bad memories of them. Basically the same reason as the Refrigerator wagons…..3000 degree flame in contact with dried or wet soggy cow-dung and urine…….you have the picture and are hopefully imagining the aroma……not like marijuana at all. I have forgotten to mention these wagons were mostly made from wood…..flame+wood=fire=burns to body parts.
There were times when I thought that being in the Wagon Shop was punishment for some long forgotten sin. I was to find out quite soon that there were far worse tasks than cutting up rotten meat, being gassed by flaming toxic insulation, and slipping on fresh, smouldering cow-dung.
And I was also to discover very quickly, the two things that scared the living daylights out of me.
Rhodesia Railways short cattle wagon
Example of a Refrigerator Truck (not Rhodesia Railways)
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