In those days, all the men went for army training soon after reaching the age of 17. I was apprehensive of this, so one day at work, I phoned the army and told them to send me the call up papers to get it order and done with. I didn't want it hanging over my head. So, they sent me my papers. My boss at work was seething mad. He said you should have asked me. I was an apprentice in graphic reproduction. My boss was a nutcase anyway. He was quite an old guy. He got into a car and drove it down the road straight into a train. The train flicked the car aside and he got a broken arm, broken leg and so forth. He was quite a nice guy, in reality. He used to look after me. I can actually visualise Bert Driver now. I had to report in a few weeks.
It seemed to me that I wasn't really fit enough for the army, so I started a training regime. I started running. I was running on the spot in my bedroom, doing press-ups and the like at night. I set myself goals to improve. Two weeks later, my papers arrived with instructions for boarding a train in Salisbury station. I reported to the station nine o'clock in the evening, I found my compartment. One of my travelling companions was a young man whose name was Forster. Forster was completely inebriated when he got on the train. He was not nice company when drunk. I got no sleep the whole night and arrived in Bulawayo six o'clock the next morning worn out. Somebody ordered us off the train and we assembled as a loose group on the platform. We were told to take our luggage and put it on a truck they had bought to pick us up. It was a cold morning and the truck offered no protection from the wind.
An hour later we drove into Llewelyn barracks. We were instructed to collect our bags out the truck, to get inline, and to start to march along the road. Some of the suitcases were very heavy and the guys couldn't cope. The guy next to me was in tears and I only just coped with mine. We took them up to the quartermaster's store, which was actually an old aircraft hangar. Llewelyn barracks had been an air force training base during the second world war. Here we were lined up and made to fill in your enrolment forms. We were then issued with uniforms, according to the army's philosophy of one size fits all. There were three sets of boots, which were necessary to try on to make sure they fit. These were hockey boots, weapon training boots which were rubber soled leather boots, with leather like orange peel, then we also had stick boots, which were dress boots for parade. These had half inch soles with metal studs in them, so that someone walking down the road with them would make a hell of row. They also had half a horseshoe shape fixed to the heel.
We then were marched down to some barrack rooms, with ten beds in a row on each side with a tall boy, a tall locker, on each side. Then we had the unpleasant task of cleaning the kit. People who hadn't bothered to clean it properly had used some of the kit. Rhodesia army kit was standard British army kit, including webbing, two small packs, two kidney pouches, one big pack, all in extra durable canvass. It was required to be blankoed. This meant being covered in khaki coloured mud from tablets that came in a packet. All the webbing and packs had to be covered.
Some recruits developed a rash from the blanko. So just as we got all the kits done, the army changed their blanko to a formula that was much more greasy. We had to redo everything. Two months later, they changed the blanko again. All the brass buckles had to be polished until you could see your face in them. Then, one day, a staff corporal sat down amongst us and demanded a pair of stick boots from someone. He heated a spoon with a blow torch and applied it to the leather, which ironed out the dimples. When he'd got the dimples out, he applied a layer of polish. Then, with a piece of cotton wool, soaked in water, he wiped it over the leather, until it began to shine like patent leather. This could only be done with one form of polish, Kiwi polish. In no time, we'd emptied the shops of this form of polish. This kind of polish was very fragile, though. If you're drilling on parade, and the one bloke puts his heel on the tip of your shoe, that can be enough to put you on a charge.
It seemed to me that I wasn't really fit enough for the army, so I started a training regime. I started running. I was running on the spot in my bedroom, doing press-ups and the like at night. I set myself goals to improve. Two weeks later, my papers arrived with instructions for boarding a train in Salisbury station. I reported to the station nine o'clock in the evening, I found my compartment. One of my travelling companions was a young man whose name was Forster. Forster was completely inebriated when he got on the train. He was not nice company when drunk. I got no sleep the whole night and arrived in Bulawayo six o'clock the next morning worn out. Somebody ordered us off the train and we assembled as a loose group on the platform. We were told to take our luggage and put it on a truck they had bought to pick us up. It was a cold morning and the truck offered no protection from the wind.
An hour later we drove into Llewelyn barracks. We were instructed to collect our bags out the truck, to get inline, and to start to march along the road. Some of the suitcases were very heavy and the guys couldn't cope. The guy next to me was in tears and I only just coped with mine. We took them up to the quartermaster's store, which was actually an old aircraft hangar. Llewelyn barracks had been an air force training base during the second world war. Here we were lined up and made to fill in your enrolment forms. We were then issued with uniforms, according to the army's philosophy of one size fits all. There were three sets of boots, which were necessary to try on to make sure they fit. These were hockey boots, weapon training boots which were rubber soled leather boots, with leather like orange peel, then we also had stick boots, which were dress boots for parade. These had half inch soles with metal studs in them, so that someone walking down the road with them would make a hell of row. They also had half a horseshoe shape fixed to the heel.
We then were marched down to some barrack rooms, with ten beds in a row on each side with a tall boy, a tall locker, on each side. Then we had the unpleasant task of cleaning the kit. People who hadn't bothered to clean it properly had used some of the kit. Rhodesia army kit was standard British army kit, including webbing, two small packs, two kidney pouches, one big pack, all in extra durable canvass. It was required to be blankoed. This meant being covered in khaki coloured mud from tablets that came in a packet. All the webbing and packs had to be covered.
Some recruits developed a rash from the blanko. So just as we got all the kits done, the army changed their blanko to a formula that was much more greasy. We had to redo everything. Two months later, they changed the blanko again. All the brass buckles had to be polished until you could see your face in them. Then, one day, a staff corporal sat down amongst us and demanded a pair of stick boots from someone. He heated a spoon with a blow torch and applied it to the leather, which ironed out the dimples. When he'd got the dimples out, he applied a layer of polish. Then, with a piece of cotton wool, soaked in water, he wiped it over the leather, until it began to shine like patent leather. This could only be done with one form of polish, Kiwi polish. In no time, we'd emptied the shops of this form of polish. This kind of polish was very fragile, though. If you're drilling on parade, and the one bloke puts his heel on the tip of your shoe, that can be enough to put you on a charge.
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