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Ex S/Sgt Ted Jones i/c G1098 Stores 22 Lt AD Regt WKSP REME 1963 to 1966 sent in this tale from his time with the Regiment

Saturday 8th Sept 1964, I think! At 1530 we returned home from shopping in Dusseldorf. "You're wanted in camp." Until we boarded the plane 3 days later bound for Singapore we didn't know if our backsides had been punched, bored or coutersunk (all 3 I think). We had already done some preparation so we boxed up the crates and because the banding machine we received from the RQMS was u/s we nailed the banding strips on. Have you ever tried nailing banding strip?

We reported to the MI room and had our Cholera and Yellow Fever jabs. We then collected our Olive Greens and paraded with them on. Major Cornish got the lads to swap with each other so that they looked better, I didn't tell him that we had all been issued with the same size!

We then received another message to come for our Yellow Fever jabs. “We have had them I said,” “You have had 2 Cholera they said.”

"Get the crates to HQ to get them weighed." As we loaded them onto the truck the banding strips fell off, “Bang some more nails in!” about 10% of the overall weight of the crates was due to nails! We went for our Yellow Fever jabs and received 2 of our crates back because they were over weight (those damm nails) We opened them up and took out some MUST HAVE items, nailed them back up and sent them back for weighing, this time they were OK. Later we received a Banding Machine that worked from the RQMS.

By day 3 we were getting very tired having had very little sleep, we had a message from RHQ, our jab certificates had been lost and that we would have to have them again!

We got the lads on parade and put them in the picture. Very politely I was told were I could find the monkeys nuts!! The MO was not very understanding, "Warn them that if they get Yellow Fever or Cholera it is a Court Martial offence," he said. So I warned them, but it's very difficult to be serious when they're rolling on the ground hooting with laughter!

I had served in Singapore between 1960 and 1962 so I knew it took 24 hours to get to where we were going. So as soon as ‘Chalk 1' left the ground I made my way to the back of the RAF Transport Command ‘Brittania' and got my head down. When we arrived at El Adam we were told that our plane had developed a fault so we took over ‘Chalk 2'. On arrival at GAN we were able to reboard ‘Chalk 1.'

Our "TOP SECRET" flight was met by Singapore Straits Times cameramen and our missing jab certificates!

Next morning (the 12th) we read in the paper that the ‘Crack 22nd Regiment' had arrived to defend the island. What the RAF Regiment and 12 Lt AD thought of that I never did find out. 42 Bty went to Seleta and later to Borneo and 53 Bty plus HQ Workshops went to Changi, or vice versa. We shared a hanger with the Fleet Air Arm and unpacked our crates although we couldn't get the nails out!

All too soon we received our first 'Casualties' for repair! When the backs of the "Noddies" were opened it was like Guy Fawkes Night with blue flashes all over the place. Our new OC, Major Mackinder got onto RAOC HQ to get supplies of a product called ‘Phrospro' and they were told it was urgently needed NOW. “Never heard of it” they said. I had many contacts in Singapore but none had heard of ‘Phrospro.' As a last resort I called on a TV repairman that I knew. While waiting for him to arrive I saw a Chinese telemech switch on a TV, Blue lights! I've seen that somewhere else I thought. Without switching off the set he sprayed the lot with something out of an unmarked can! The blue flashes went and the picture came on, I took 12 cans, (which was all that he had) back to the workshops.

The OC was so chuffed he arranged a demonstration, Starter motors, dynamos and other electronic bits were put in the monsoon drain over night. The next morning they squirted with the unknown stuff out of the unmarked can and yes everyone was amazed. The unknown stuff out of the unmarked can is now known as WD40!!!!

We were out there for 7 long months, on duty for 24 hours and off duty for 24 hours. Our families were in Germany and we took a cut in pay but we received no thanks. This experience is on record as exercise "Mango Pip," the other thing to go on record is that the Army had no sense of humour, even then.

My regards to Frank Gazely, Rex Franklin, Taff Evans, Blackie and last but not least Paddy Paine.

Thanks Ted

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Sir Robin Maxwell-Hislop sent in the tale below from his time with 22 Regiment.

"After commissioning at Mons Officer Cadet School in November 1950, passing out second in my intake in Heavy Anti-Aircraft Artillery, with the customary army logic, I was posted to the School of Coastal Artillery at the Citadel, Plymouth. I wrote to the 2i/c of 79 HAA Regiment RA, at High Leigh Camp, Knutsford, Cheshire (where I had soldiered before commissioning), asking him whether he could intercede with AG6 (the War Office department which controlled all Royal Artillery officers' postings): as a result, on passing out as a qualified Coastal Artillery officer, I was posted to 22 Light Anti Aircraft Regiment RA, at Menden, 1 kilometre East of Iserlohn, in Westphalia, Germany, where I arrived on December 29th 1950.

In the then 'British Zone' of occupied Germany, there were in fact districts, occupied by both Belgian and Norwegian Army units. In February 1951, five incredibly fit Norwegian Army officers arrived at our Regiment, led by a Lt Colonel, to be bought up to date in contemporary Light Anti-Aircraft practice. I was detailed to look after them.
My conventional, but unintelligent, response to finding that all the brass on their buttons and webbing was corroded quite green, was to send it to the Guard Commander, with an order that the prisoners were to occupy themselves before 0730 the next morning, in cleaning it to our accustomed standard, after which each Norwegian officer's kit was returned to his room.

Far from being pleased, the Norwegian Colonel was horrified: "Robin" he exclaimed, "this is terrible, all the brass shines, and it will give our position away to the enemy!". How right of course, he was.
After three weeks, our delightful (and terrifyingly fit) guests left us. But shortly afterwards, their Colonel invited me to come as his personal guest for a long weekend at their Leave Centre, sending his car to fetch me; after a long dark drive, I arrived at their Mess.
Next morning, we all set off skiing. Within a few minutes my deplorable inadequacy as a skier was painfully obvious and an embarrassment to my hosts. So I asked them to lend me a compass, and leave me behind to enjoy myself as best I could, on my own.
I struck off to the east, through beautiful woods; then when the sun began to decline, turned back westwards, for home.

After a few minutes, to my absolute horror, I came to a large notice which proclaimed:
'Achtung: Sie verlassen aus den Volksdemocratische Rebulik. Gefahr! Minen! (Notice: You are leaving the People's Democratic Republic. Danger! Mines!).

I had no idea that I had been anywhere near the border: my hosts had not mentioned it. Having no option but to make my way back, I followed my own ski tracks back, and in pitch dark arrived back at my, by then, very worried hosts' Mess.

Having soaked in a hot bath, and changed into Blues, I was then introduced to Norwegian drinking habits. A half litre glass was presented to me, and I was asked by the Mess Sergeant whether I wanted an "Atom Bomb" or a "Hydrogen Bomb". Modestly opting for the former, he proceeded to pour into my glass one shot from every bottle on the bottom shelf of the bar. For the honour of the Royal Artillery, I drank that, and didn't disgrace myself. Later in the evening, I learned that had I instead opted for a "Hydrogen Bomb", a shot from every bottle on the top shelf would have been added as well!

It was a memorably hospitable visit".

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The following article has been taken from the February 1976 Gunner Magazine and is reproduced here with the permission of the editor. I have no idea who ‘Pistol' was, and if someone knows, I would be grateful if they would tell me.

Some of the terminology is a little strange and again if anyone can enlighten me, I would be grateful, just don't ask how grateful….

'....in brawl ridiculus'

by Pistol

Weighed down by its bars recalling long forgotten campaigns in far-flung outposts (did anyone actually take part in the Malay Peninsular Campaign of 1964/5?), my medal fell off during the Remembrance Day parade the other day. Luckily the sort of people who attend such functions are the same sort who hand in other peoples property to police stations, but it set me thinking.

It seems a pity that you should all have to wait 30 years to thrill to my tales of courage and endurance under tropical suns. Let's have a few young soldier's stories, I thought, tales of 10 years ago when our combat suits were all green and there were 11 marks to the pound.

It put me in mind of one night as I was lying in my dugout in Borneo soon after I'd completed my 28 days to qualify for that medal. The dugouts were full of unidentifiable wild life. As I closed my eyes I heard a scratching noise from inside my pillow. Horrified I felt for my candle and matches and, by the flickering light, investigated my bed. Nothing, I blew out the candle and lay down. Scratch, scratch, it was right there inside the pillow, close to my ear. I leapt from the bed, lit the candle again and thrashed the pillow with my hands. I shook out the blanket then inspected it minutely. I tipped up the bed, emptying out the accumulated sand from the rats' efforts in the sandbag roof.

Still nothing, I inspected the floor round the bed. Nothing there, 'Ah well ' I thought 'try again'. I climbed in and carefully laid my head on the pillow. I listened. Not a sound. I closed my eyes. Scratch, scratch. 'How did I get into this frightful place?' I moaned.

Well, that was easier to answer than the noise in my pillow. Somebody had suggested that the Air Defence Battery at Kuching Airfield for a spot of light relief might like to form two 4.2in Mortar detachments. There is probably a true, much duller, story about how these came t6o the theatre but we always understood that all the Army's 4.2in Mortars had been sold with ammunition to the Turks.

Then when these two were unearthed we had to buy the ammo back. Suffice it to say that it was unreliable and the rounds used to stagger into the air shedding secondaries and then flop back to earth on unintended spots utterly exhausted by the effort. The closest landed between the legs of the tripod, another in a nearby slit trench to the dismay of the occupant and yet another, and potentially the most dangerous, went up about 200ft falling in the dannert wire defences (I think they armed under normal conditions of set back at about 70ft).

They were sent to support 2nd Green Jackets at Padwan initially for a few weeks and then moved to Nibong to support 2 Para where I believed they stayed. We flew in from Balai Ringan and looked about for a place to dig. At that stage Nibong was only cleared at one end, the Helipad end, and 102 Bty RAA, had a 105 Pack How just nearby. The only place inside the wire we could dig was next to the 105. So for the rest of the day and far into the night we dug. The next day we set about smartening up the night's work. Then the CO of 2 Para came to call.

'I don't like it' he pronounced. Neither did we but we couldn't see any alternative. Such short sightedness was soon to be shown up. He marched off among the 100ft high trees to the other end of the position. He dug his feet into the ground.

'I want the Mortars here'. We stared around, his import dawning. The maximum visibility was about 15 yards in any direction, including upwards. 'But sir, the trees....' we protested. 'Trees are purely incidental' he announced and left.

Two weeks and several chain saws later we knew he was right. We had an arc of about 30 degrees looking over the Longhouse. Don't imagine it's easy to cut down those Buttress trees. The saw never fitted between the wings so slices had to be carved off each wing in turn. Because of the unnatural angle we had to work at, the chains kept coming off and the petrol kept failing to feed into the carburettor. But by the end of the month we had 360-degree coverage. We had cleared two and a half acres of jungle and felled about 100 huge trees. They all had to be cut up and moved, as they would have afforded excellent cover for any enemy approaching the position.

The mortars were a most curious choice. They were excellent for our morale, but they had been sent up to provide close DF for the position. Unfortunately the minimum range was 650 Yards, (the furthest part of the position was 150 yards away) and the maximum barely reached the Indonesian Border. We tried an Air OP for ranging but he could only see about one in five rounds as most passed through the jungle canopy and were lost from view, we had no smoke or WP. There was nothing that one could use as a GAP. Best visibility was towards the border, a crest line of forest clad hills but it had no suitable objects. We borrowed a Nulite from the 3in Mortar Detachment and set it up as far away as possible but that was about 10 yards. Consequently as you swung the mortar across, the line dial sight/GAP shifted and a huge error was produced.

Finally we resorted to laying with a compass initially and making estimates of the switches. When we had the round right we checked the lay and recorded it. But it bore no relation to the artillery board information. For really close DF we found that we could put on a charge and a half (two secondaries) and then take up to an extra 27 turns off on the hand wheel from the minimum range position. This reduced the range to about 50 - 100 yards. But by that stage the dial sight was leaning over backwards and the barrel was vertical. Should I be telling you this?

We lived in dugouts, which opened off the main trench that ran right round the perimeter of the position. Initially I shared with the TARA and signaller, three of us crammed into our cosy home-from-home. I remember it was full of ammunition boxes, of 7.62 ball and at least 24 hand grenades, all primed.

One windy night I was wakened by the 'phut' of the trip flare going off. The trip flares were in the wire about 10 yards from where I lay. 'Help' I thought, 'they've come'. I reached out and shook LBdr ____, 'wassermatter?' he grunted. 'Come on' I said 'a trip flare's gone off'. Buckling on my webbing I pushed aside the blanket hung over the door and, doubled up, slunk out into the trench. Pulling my jungle hat low over my head, I raised my eyes over the parapet. I was blinded. Each flare had a sheet of corrugated iron behind it to shield the observer and direct the light on to the Indon hordes. Somehow this shield was missing . I groped for the A40 radio set that was strapped to my belt. 'Hullo 14 over,' I whispered (note the procedure). Not a sound ___ I scrabbled about the back of my trousers trying to identify the fault, flicking switches and so on. About this time LBdr ___ appeared at my side. 'Your radio's fallen to bits, sir!' he pointed out, helpfully. The bottom section with the battery had separated itself.

Heroically I said 'you stay hear, I'm going to the CP to find out what is going on.' I leapt out of the trench and away into the trees feeling the pointed barrels of the Indonesian Border battalion at my back. Gasping, I reached the CP. I burst in, disturbing the CPO at his Playboy, 'A trip flare's gone off in section 4's wire' I bellowed. 'Oh I know,' he replied, 'a branch fell down on it, didn't it wake you up?'.

At night the rats used to skitter along the tree trunks that supported the sandbag roof, shedding sand as they went. Sometimes there would be an alarmed squeak and a 'Thud'! One of the beasts would have lost it's footing and fallen to the floor. I never saw one but the para officer with whom I shared the dugout and who slept wrapped in a parachute woke me one night yelling and cursing. A rat had got inside the parachute with him.

But, as I said, it set me thinking. The medal we have got has six or so bars on it, all for widely for different places and types of campaigns. Before the 1914-18 war many campaigns had their own medal and many individual battles qualified for a bar on that medal. Soon we'll only have the 1962 GSM left on soldiers' chests. Couldn't we have had a separate one for Northern Ireland to distinguish us older young campaigners? And let's face it you can't compare Northern Ireland with the above. We're not just fighting wars the same way anymore, are we?

Oh yes, that scratching in my bed, it was my eyelash on the ticking of the pillow.

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I will always remember 10 September 1966, the day I arrived in Tampin. I had travelled with one lad (who went to 53 (Louisburg) Battery) from London Heathrow, and also one young officer (who also went to 53), anyway, we caught the train in Johore Bahru and shared the carraiges with some Ghurkhas and some poultry on the long haul up-country, arriving in Tampin at around 1am in the morning and the three of us stood there on this empty station, wondering what was in store for us, or if we were going to have to spend the night on this (what looked to us then) place surrounded by all this foreign jungle. When after about 20 minutes, we saw a landrover approaching along the road.

The driver jumped out and asked us if we were all for 22 Regiment and got the affirmative. He asked if anyone was an officer, and the one young chap with us replied he was a lieutenant. "Oh! No! Not another bloody sprog being sent to us” replied the driver, which I thought was a bit out of order. Right, he said to the other Gunner, you get in the front, you two get in the back (which of course included the officer).

I say, said the officer, have you not got this a bit about face driver -after all, I am the officer here! The driver, much to my alarm replied, if you don't get in the back sir, you can ..........- well walk to the Camp which is about two miles from here! The officer then demanded to know the drivers name to which he replied Gunner Craven Sir if you want to make a complaint.

The drive to the camp was quiet after this embarrassing incident. The officer in the back, who I think might have been Lieutenant Snape told me he was going to have this driver’s backside when we got in.

We went through the gates of Tampin Camp, and a man I came to know as Big Jock Major was on duty on the gate. He said through the window - the Adjutant wants to see this lot in his office once you have dropped them off at the Guardroom. The driver then took us up the road and dropped us all with our kit outside the Guardroom, and then took off without as much as a by your leave. He spoke with a Duty Sergeant who said, if you all drop your kit there the Adjutant wants to see you all. Our officer piped up with a "Yes, and I want to see him about the conduct of the driver who just picked us up from the station so please direct us to the Adjutant's Office!"

We never had far to go, and I thought to myself, oh! oh! there is going to be big trouble here. How could that driver have been so stupid as to speak to an officer like that! Needless to say, my fellow Gunner and myself were having trouble believing all this had gone on. We stood to attention outside the Adjutant's Office, I never realised that Adjutant's do not generally work at 2am in the morning. Anyway, we heard a shout of "Right you lot in here!" and our officer said "Watch this". we came to attention and wheeled in, and there sitting behind the desk with his hands behind his head, was the duty driver. We all looked at each other and burst into laughter. Good one sir said the young officer to Captain Craven, Adjutant to Lt Col Waldram.

I thought afterwards, sleeping in a NAAFI chair (it was too late to take us in so we spent the night in the NAAFI Lounge) and watching the Chit-Chats, I think I am going to like this Regiment..................

Mr Mike Hall
Secretary, 22nd Regiment Old Comrades Association
30 Pares Close
Woking
Surrey
GU21 4QN

T: +44 (0) 1483 858 794
E: info@22oca.org.uk

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