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Not Your Average Christmas Vigil!
by Syd Clay
(reprinted from Voice for Island Seniors, with permission)
It certainly wasn't, and it had little to do with the Christian observances celebrating the birth of Jesus
to Joseph and Mary in Bethlehem, one thousand, nine hundred and thirty nine years before. Yes, it was Christmas Eve,
1939, and it took place in the bucolic county of Shropshire in western England, right up tight against the Welsh border.
The only thing marring the gently rolling countryside was where I happened to be; namely, Royal Air Force Station
"Ternhill", with its large hangars, barrack blocks and administration buildings. Being a permanent peacetime establishment,
they were constructed of brick and stone and steel.
It was the first Christmas of World War Two and my third in the service, having joined as an apprentice at
age sixteen in January 1937. I had just celebrated my nineteenth birthday a month before and with the rank of Leading
Aircraftman I was serving with a Maintenance Unit which occupied one side of the aerodrome. On the main side where all
the amenities were housed was a training school for pilots. I was qualified to service and maintain any type of aircraft
and engine in the Air Force. Our work at the MU consisted of de-commissioning and storage of aircraft pending scrapping
of the older types being withdrawn from squadrons, receiving new ones from manufacturers and fitting them out for
squadron operations, and retrieving wreckage from crashes for salvage or repair. Very interesting work but not very
glamorous compared to active squadron life. But as the saying goes - "C'est la guerre".
Under normal circumstances, one was entitled to one week's leave at Christmas or New Year's and it was the
custom to split the personnel into two groups. Married men automatically got Christmas, then by seniority. Being single
and quite junior, I drew New Year's. Generally there was a good time to be had in camp with a lively party and a bang-up
Christmas dinner, as far as wartime rationing permitted, where the ranks were waited upon by the officers and senior
non-commissioned officers.
Upon reading Daily Routine Orders on the notice board in the barracks (compulsory - ignorance was no
excuse) my name stared out at me. I had drawn guard duty from noon to noon on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I was to
report to the Armoury at 11.30 am on Christmas Eve in full dress, complete with all webbing equipment (which included
the now mandatory gas mask) in order to be issued with the Lee-Enfield .303 rifle and ammunition, consisting of five
rounds in the magazine, but not, as would be the case on active service, with one round "up the spout" ready for firing.
On sentry duty it required a deliberate act to put a round in firing position. Also issued was the bayonet, at that time
a foot-long blade, soon replaced by a shorter, lighter, "pig-sticker". As with all pre-war ground crew, I was fully
conversant with various weaponry, small arms, rifle, light machine gun and hand grenade, as we were responsible for
aerodrome defence before the formation of the RAF Regiment. The Lee-Enfield weighed fourteen pounds and was also used on
ceremonial parades.
There were five sentry positions around the base which required three men at each on a two hour-on,
four-off cycle. I noted that the Guard Sergeant was "old so-and-so", who was a stickler for doing things by the book,
which soon became evident as he lined up the fifteen of us ready to be marched to our posts. The unpopular one was the
Main Gate where traffic was heaviest, particularly after dark when everyone entering the base had to be challenged. If
the Commanding Officer happened to be passing through in his staff car it was necessary to "Present Arms", fraught with
danger, having to make a decent job of the drill while handling the well-oiled rifle with fixed bayonet while wearing
woollen gloves! Of course, I was one of the three unfortunates who drew the Main Gate where stood the Guardhouse with
its complement of Service Police and a sentry box. Normally a guard wasn't mounted in daylight, but this was Christmas
with minimal staff on duty.
The winter of '39-'40 was a bitter one in England. In an effort to keep warm, we were permitted at our
discretion to "slope arms" and march to and fro across the road. My afternoon and evening stints went without incident.
It was so cold that very few airmen bothered to venture outside of camp in search of what entertainment the local town
offered. The midnight to 2 am shift was brutal. Frequent glances at your watch were hard to resist! At long last I heard
"Old so-and-so" approaching with my relief. With agonizing deliberation he read out the "orders" with the aid of a
shielded flashlight in the inky black-out before marching me back to the Guardhouse. But before I collapsed onto a cot
he handed me a mug containing an inch or two of a dark brown liquid.
I was so numb that I couldn't even smell it. "'Ere lad, put this down yer. Special issue!" Oh my! So
smooth! Without even removing my boots, I was asleep in no time. I didn't even know that the Air Force had Royal Navy
SRD rum, but apparently it did have some on hand for "emergencies". It turned out that the Commanding Officer really had
an eye out for his men. He had authorized the issue!
My last shift from 6 to 8 am passed in quite a warm haze but with the almost non-existent traffic nothing
untoward occurred although I did exchange Season's Greetings with any sundry body who happened by and possibly, maybe,
I did "Present Arms" to some not entitled to the honour. When the Germans invaded Poland to start the war, there were
rumours that some of their elite SS troops went ahead disguised as nuns to get behind the Polish lines. (Can't you just
picture that? A fully-armed six foot storm-trooper draped in a "habit and cowl"?) Fortunately for all concerned I saw
no nuns that morning.
I again slept from 8 am to noon to complete my tour of guard duty whereupon I arrived at the cookhouse
just in time for my Engineer Officer to serve me my Christmas dinner. Then it was back to my bunk to finish off the
thawing out of my frozen body.
Season's Greetings to All.
