Dear LPG, 

You asked for memories of being employed from our end of the experience and I have a story that I suspect many a male pensioner will have a themed variation of somewhere in their recollection.  

I came out of school and settled into life working in a factory when my papers came.  National Service was not so much a job as something you just had to get through back in those days and, after six months of learning many varied tasks; the most important of which were how to say, ‘yes sir’, and keep out of trouble, and there was lots of it, my love affair with the army was all but over.

All those army films were not wrong, we all had to learn to shoot and crawl around on the ground, but I also learned the skill of driving and was shipped out to Korea within 5 weeks of getting through my basic training and passing my driving test.  I think that most people who learn any skill will agree you really learn after you have passed the test and you are left on your own to get on with the job, and even though we were often under fire, the one thing a driver learned was that causing damage to an army vehicle meant that your wages would be docked.  For the next couple of years, the Army often gave me the added opportunity of driving on dirt roads in the knowledge that I might drive over a mine or while guns were being fired.   

On one occasion, I was in the Malayan jungle and the second in a convoy of Jeeps driving some troops in just such conditions.   There was a backdrop of gunfire and, to make things worse, the heavens opened and demonstrated perfect monsoon conditions.    I could hardly see where I was going as the road suddenly became flooded, but I kept driving behind the Jeep in front until it suddenly stopped, and the waterlogged road meant that the wheels on mine tried to follow fashion but failed.   

Considering the weather conditions, the damage was not too bad but I knew the consequences.  A little later, when the storm and guns had died down a bit, I had to get the Jeep back to base with thoughts of how much the damage to the Jeep was going to cost me but, as luck would have it, I passed a small village garage on the way and it was open.  I stopped and, using my best command of the Malay language, offered the mechanic a fair price for the repair, but he told me that he had to get home.  Just then we heard a gun fire, and my first instinct was to get to the Jeep and get my rifle just in case, but the poor mechanic thought I was threatening him and before I knew it the Jeep was as good as new. 

I did try to explain but I don’t think the mechanic ever really understood that I grabbed the gun to protect us and not to threaten him and, even though he had the right coloured paint and did a really good job, you could kind of see a mark or two. 

In the end I drove him home and, during the next scheduled vehicle inspection, I pleaded ignorance when questioned about the mark that was left on the Jeep and I got away with that one…

IB, Catford