��ѿ��ý

MY LIFE MY WAR

By
Bernard Hallas

Chapter 2b - May 1935, The Birth of a New Life (Cont.)

As time passed by, the various members of the squad had sorted themselves out with their obvious likes and dislikes, to choose their friends in teams for sports and recreation alike. In all we were a mixed bunch, within our own circle we could travel from the slums of Manchester and the Gorbals in Glasgow to a life of refinement as a footman, to an Earl or some other person of high rank. Then of course there were the different dialects stretching along the length and breadth of Britain, from Lands End to John o’ Groats and over the sea to Ireland.

We were indeed a mixed bunch, but we were loyal to each other within the squad. At that moment in time we never imagined that at some time in the future we would be engaged in a major war and that the friendships and ties that bound us together as Royal Marines would be put to the test, and that some of us would be remembering the last words spoken by our friends and comrades before we committed them to a watery grave in some far off ocean. But I digress, the future is a long way off and we are still struggling to make the grade here in Deal.

Our training had started off with the basics of personal hygiene; how to keep ourselves clean. We were taken to a barber’s shop in the town and taught how to shave, a visit to a dry cleaner’s to learn the rudiments of cleaning and pressing clothes; a cobbler’s for tips on keeping our boots in tip top condition and a visit to the public wash house to be shown how to wash our underclothes. Armed with a bar of soap (Sunlight), a shirt, vest, underpants,socks and a scrubbing brush, we were placed in alternate positions between very hefty ladies who explained how to treat each article and how to press them when dry. When finished we were informed by the ladies “That we would make some lucky girl a good husband.”

In our well earned time off, (we had at last passed inspection and were now considered decent enough to be seen by the public), we soon found out that we were expected to attend the local hostelry, and discovered that our main occupation was competing with the members of the senior squads for the favours of the local lasses, and there were more than a few willing to spread those favours around.

We were of course starting off with a slight advantage The local lasses were searching around for ‘fresh blood’. Two of the most attractive and obviously the most sought after were Dot and Dolly, close friends, who were both daughters of members of the local coal mining fraternity. As Deal was a very small community, there were many confrontations between fathers and would be lovers. However in the course of a few short days I was informed that the Gods had looked upon me favourably and as a result, I was privileged to be accepted as a regular date by the good looking Dot, much to the dismay of the remainder of the hopefuls.

Seventeen going on eighteen I thought I was a man of the world, but after the first night on the golf course on the outskirts of the town I realised that here was a young lady who not only had and knew every thing, but who was only too willing to teach some young Marine the joys of living. That night after my usual quota of "Bulmer’s Cider,” I had not as yet acquired a taste for beer; I made my excuses and left the pub. I had made arrangements to take Dot home.

We made our way hand in hand (a practice frowned upon in daytime by the ever present Royal Marine Police) along the perimeter of the golf course, taking the long way home, mainly I suppose to avoid any contact with the stray drunken miner on his way back to his village, but also because it was the quietest and darkest way home. Following the old stonewall, which bordered the lane, we came to a recess in the stonework and Dot stopped and sat on a conveniently placed ledge of stone. Pulling me towards her she unbuttoned my double-breasted overcoat, and putting her arms inside, she clasped them behind my back and drew me even closer, if that were possible. In that firm embrace it had to happen, we kissed and her lips were as soft as I had imagined. Her tongue flickered in and out parting my lips with long searching probes.

She knew by now that I was fully aroused and her hands left my back and moved to the front, where, without any hesitation, she undid one by one the buttons that stood between her and her ultimate objective. Her fingers were warm and gentle; I could sense her eagerness, her knees parted and her legs locked tight behind my thighs.

Somehow she had managed to re-arrange her underclothes and now there was nothing between us but my will power and that was failing me by the minute. I have to admit that I was a little nervous, and as this was my first real encounter with the opposite sex, a little clumsy.

I had no need to worry. Ever so slowly she moved in and by now I was only too willing to co-operate, at first it seemed that it was going to be difficult, if not impossible, but as Dot raised herself to a more comfortable position and moved her hips forward, everything became easy, the obstruction, if there had been one, was gone. I was now in full control (I think), and as I entered, she gave a small groan through parted lips and forced her once wide open thighs closer and closer, working with a frantic rhythm until, with a final thrust we both reached that ultimate moment and the earth seemed to explode as we climaxed simultaneously.

For a long time we stayed locked together and then as our breath returned we made ourselves presentable, and holding hands, we walked to the end of the short lane where Dot lived. A last goodnight kiss and reluctantly, I turned and walked home alone; for Dot I suppose it had been another conquest, if one could believe the stories, but that night I had my doubts. For me, had she only known it, I had lost my virginity and as I walked through the guard room gates, I imagined that every one could tell.

That night I had a very disturbed sleep, I was reliving every delicious moment of my night out with Dot and convincing myself that, God willing, there would be many more nights together, but we were both aware that in a few short months 225 squad would be departing for new pastures and another squad would take our place and I would go on my way, fully indoctrinated into the pleasures of the flesh and all the better for it.

There was one thing that I was sure of, I would always remember my very first teacher. The ensuing weeks were of course to prove just as exciting and at times very strenuous; the Royal Marines not only expected a 100% performance from every man, but also were determined to get an extra 5% over and above the prescribed maximum.

We had already been categorised as to our capability of absorbing punishment. We had been detailed off to parade in the gymnasium in plimsolls and shorts, and were paired off with whomever was standing next to you. With no preamble as to size and weight, you entered the boxing ring, were fitted with 10 oz gloves and watched by the remainder of the squads, who themselves had done it before and with the company commanders sitting in the front row, you really hammered each other for a full three minutes.

At the end of those three long minutes, bloody but unbowed, the officers had at least an inkling of the calibre of the men under their command. It was obvious that at the start of our training we would fall foul of the establishment, each in our turn would be punished and sentenced to at least one hour’s extra drill. Dressed in ‘Battle Order’ with rifle, we would be taken to the beach and drilled at the double with very few pauses.

The beach at Deal was comprised of large duck stones and our heavy studded boots sank into them and made life very unbearable. To say that it was hell was an understatement, and one and all vowed that if it were at all possible, it would never happen again, and in my case that was quite true.

We were in our tenth week of infantry drill of the very highest order. Arms drill, fixing bayonets on the march (a speciality of the Royal Marines) in those far off days, firing ceremonial volleys and countless precision movements on the march from start to finish with no verbal orders, working on the number of paces taken or on the beat of the music.

Our instructor was a perfectionist and only perfection would satisfy him. Having completed the necessary number of weeks laid down in the training manual for infantry drill and ceremonial, it was now time to leave barracks and go out into the field and be instructed in the use of weapons under live conditions.

It was now the turn of the field training instructors to take us out into the wild and teach us the real reason for wearing the Globe and Laurel: for us to go out and fight, with efficiency and to the best of our ability. It was not going to be an easy ride.

PR-BR

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.