During World War Two, the public had contributed to a war fund for people who needed help. Known as the national war fund, they held a party every Christmas for children of service members. I remember standing at the back of a hall when some loudmouthed joker started to make a great deal of noise. Then he began to call out names. One by one, kids would go up to him and be given a box. After a while, a couple of women near me said that is you, Peter, go up. I had no idea what they were talking about so I stayed put. Besides, I was not in a hurry to be introduced to the loud gentleman who looked like he might be dangerous. He must have gone on calling out names because somebody else grabbed hold of me and pushed me up. My problem was I had no idea who Peter deSmidt was. Eventually, I got a box with a torch in it.
This sort of thing was continually happening. People kept calling out Peter deSmidt. The following year, the party was a fancy dress at the drill hall. The drill hall was used for all sorts of things. A few years before it had been used to put people in who had the 'flu, which afflicted half the world's population. For the fancy dress, my mother delivered me as a snow ball, wrapped in cotton wool in 35 degree heat. I could not find my way though it to my mouth, so I could not drink a cool drink. People tried to feed me cold jelly but could not find my mouth so it would roll down my stomach and turn the cotton wool and jelly into a big sticky mess. I learned many valuable lessons that day. Some people are gentle. Some are not. My mother had annoyed me by just dropping me there and taking a long time to pick me up.
In later years, the drill hall provided another experience. I was attending army cadets every Friday, for two until five. It was part of the school curriculum. They decided to have a selection process for NCOs. The put us though a brief training course in which we had to drill sections and platoons. I thought I had revised my commands but the one command that always stymied me was when you had the whole company on parade and you had to tell them to turn right. Shortly before this test, I had been in a practice for the Queen's Birthday parade and had heard a Sergeant Major say company will advance about turn and march off in column of route. So, I came to the point in drilling the company when they were inspecting my ability. I said, "company will advance about turn". Anyway, something was wrong because the Sergeant who was testing me stopped me and said there's no such command and since I couldn't think of what the correct command would be, I froze and the company marched right off the parade square, at which point the Sergeant screamed out, about turn, and they all came back. It came as no surprise to anyone that I wasn't promoted at the age of 18.
We were in an army call up for retraining some years later and my long overdue corporal stripes emerged. I was 20. When I collected my enrolment strip, it had Corporal Armstrong written on it. I hated the army, the regimentation. On this occasion, I decided I wouldn't tell anyone about it. I decided I would keep it to myself while everyone was being organised all around me. I did not tell anyone that I had been made a corporal and I did not collect my stripes. I joined the rest of the ranks. I avoided having to tell everyone what to do and because I did not want them to pick on me. Later, when the tone of the situation had got a bit too much, I went and got my stripes. The lance corporal who had been picking on me was put into his place. Ten years later, I was promoted to Sergeant.
On one occasion, I was a duty sergeant at army HQ and some people appeared at the door and asked me to sign them in. They weren't wearing uniform so I refused to sign them in. There was quite a lot of trouble over that. Trouble came in many guises. I was not the only member of my family in the forces. My brothers David and Philip were also in the royal Rhodesian regiment. One evening, my mother called me to say David had been shot. It turned out to be that two groups had been given the same grid reference. It used to happen quite a lot.
David made a reasonable recovery after being shot in the legs. He still has big holes in his legs. He met a nurse in hospital whom he subsequently married. Some six months later, I was about to leave for work when a phone call told me that Philip had been shot dead. This was 1976. I had call up papers in the post. As you can imagine, I was tense. By now, I was in my thirties. When. I went for my call up, Glendale was six months pregnant with Robert, the youngest of the four kids. When I arrived at the barracks headquarters, I thought I would speak to someone about it. It is not fair to say that Glenda wasn't handling it well – she was coping. The upshot of it was that the Sargent major transferred me to a communications centre, which took me out of the direct line of action. I was only five miles away from home and Glenda knew I was not in the line of fire of enemy troops.
My duties now consisted of reporting to the tele-printer centre, where for up to 12 hours a day, we would redirect messages. Glenda picked me up from the ComCen at the end of the day. One evening, I was standing on the edge of the veranda when it was raining heavily, the Askari standing next to me suddenly burst into life and held a rifle to his shoulder and pointed it to the gate, screaming stop or I fire. I glanced up and saw that the car was making no effort to stop. I alerted him that it was my wife and he put his rifle down.
ComCen was hard, working through the night. We would start at 7 in the morning, work though to one o'clock in the afternoon, go home and come in on seven the same day until seven the following morning. This cycle repeated, back in at seven, so we were always tired. It made me surly.
It was an act of great significance for the army to transfer me to an inactive position, as they had been short of people for active service.
This sort of thing was continually happening. People kept calling out Peter deSmidt. The following year, the party was a fancy dress at the drill hall. The drill hall was used for all sorts of things. A few years before it had been used to put people in who had the 'flu, which afflicted half the world's population. For the fancy dress, my mother delivered me as a snow ball, wrapped in cotton wool in 35 degree heat. I could not find my way though it to my mouth, so I could not drink a cool drink. People tried to feed me cold jelly but could not find my mouth so it would roll down my stomach and turn the cotton wool and jelly into a big sticky mess. I learned many valuable lessons that day. Some people are gentle. Some are not. My mother had annoyed me by just dropping me there and taking a long time to pick me up.
In later years, the drill hall provided another experience. I was attending army cadets every Friday, for two until five. It was part of the school curriculum. They decided to have a selection process for NCOs. The put us though a brief training course in which we had to drill sections and platoons. I thought I had revised my commands but the one command that always stymied me was when you had the whole company on parade and you had to tell them to turn right. Shortly before this test, I had been in a practice for the Queen's Birthday parade and had heard a Sergeant Major say company will advance about turn and march off in column of route. So, I came to the point in drilling the company when they were inspecting my ability. I said, "company will advance about turn". Anyway, something was wrong because the Sergeant who was testing me stopped me and said there's no such command and since I couldn't think of what the correct command would be, I froze and the company marched right off the parade square, at which point the Sergeant screamed out, about turn, and they all came back. It came as no surprise to anyone that I wasn't promoted at the age of 18.
We were in an army call up for retraining some years later and my long overdue corporal stripes emerged. I was 20. When I collected my enrolment strip, it had Corporal Armstrong written on it. I hated the army, the regimentation. On this occasion, I decided I wouldn't tell anyone about it. I decided I would keep it to myself while everyone was being organised all around me. I did not tell anyone that I had been made a corporal and I did not collect my stripes. I joined the rest of the ranks. I avoided having to tell everyone what to do and because I did not want them to pick on me. Later, when the tone of the situation had got a bit too much, I went and got my stripes. The lance corporal who had been picking on me was put into his place. Ten years later, I was promoted to Sergeant.
On one occasion, I was a duty sergeant at army HQ and some people appeared at the door and asked me to sign them in. They weren't wearing uniform so I refused to sign them in. There was quite a lot of trouble over that. Trouble came in many guises. I was not the only member of my family in the forces. My brothers David and Philip were also in the royal Rhodesian regiment. One evening, my mother called me to say David had been shot. It turned out to be that two groups had been given the same grid reference. It used to happen quite a lot.
David made a reasonable recovery after being shot in the legs. He still has big holes in his legs. He met a nurse in hospital whom he subsequently married. Some six months later, I was about to leave for work when a phone call told me that Philip had been shot dead. This was 1976. I had call up papers in the post. As you can imagine, I was tense. By now, I was in my thirties. When. I went for my call up, Glendale was six months pregnant with Robert, the youngest of the four kids. When I arrived at the barracks headquarters, I thought I would speak to someone about it. It is not fair to say that Glenda wasn't handling it well – she was coping. The upshot of it was that the Sargent major transferred me to a communications centre, which took me out of the direct line of action. I was only five miles away from home and Glenda knew I was not in the line of fire of enemy troops.
My duties now consisted of reporting to the tele-printer centre, where for up to 12 hours a day, we would redirect messages. Glenda picked me up from the ComCen at the end of the day. One evening, I was standing on the edge of the veranda when it was raining heavily, the Askari standing next to me suddenly burst into life and held a rifle to his shoulder and pointed it to the gate, screaming stop or I fire. I glanced up and saw that the car was making no effort to stop. I alerted him that it was my wife and he put his rifle down.
ComCen was hard, working through the night. We would start at 7 in the morning, work though to one o'clock in the afternoon, go home and come in on seven the same day until seven the following morning. This cycle repeated, back in at seven, so we were always tired. It made me surly.
It was an act of great significance for the army to transfer me to an inactive position, as they had been short of people for active service.
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