Tank Commander - Printer PDF 14/11/2012 11:40 Page 12
Chapter One
1933: A Call to Arms ‘Somehow Will, I don’t think you’re cut out to be either a chemist or a dentist,’ said Mr Bayley who performed both functions in the little market town of Uppingham where we lived. He was looking at the wreckage of the chair. He didn’t seem to mind about the glazed ceiling I had fallen through (his dental room ceiling); it was the chair that bothered him. It was brand new, his pride and joy – adjustable head rest, touch here for up, press there for down, swivel with ease. ‘You wouldn’t think it would break so easily.’ ‘I don’t suppose you would, Will.’ He was a nice man. He paid me fourteen shillings a week and gave me a day off to study maths – private tuition for which he also paid. Mr Bayley had been understanding about the new delivery bicycle too but that was more easily mended. When I told him some time after the chair incident that I had signed on for the army, he said that it was probably a good thing. ‘No vacancies in the 11th Hussars, my lad,’ the sergeant said at the recruiting office in Stamford. ‘What about the 9th Lancers?’ ‘Fully subscribed . . .’ He thought for a minute. ‘Tell you what. Why not join the Royal Tank Corps? They need bright lads.’ I hadn’t much idea about the Tank Corps but I agreed all the same. The recruiters gave me a short test in English and maths and I signed on the dotted line, received the ‘king’s shilling’, and left with instructions to report to Bovington Camp in Dorset. When I told my parents what I had done, only my mother seemed to have doubts. My father, who was struggling to make a living out of a pub in which he had a part share, agreed with Mr Bayley – probably a good idea. The Depression was at its height and steady jobs were hard to find. 12