Enlisting and Training at HMS Royal Arthur, Skegness
I volunteered for active service shortly after my 17th birthday in April 1942. Shortly before my call up in May ‘43, I lost a very good friend of mine - Richard Curle - a Flight Lieutenant in the Royal Air Force – who had died in action on 4th March 1943; aged 28¹.
Richard and Bobbie Curle came to live opposite my parent’s home in Glynwood Gardens in Gateshead, at the beginning of the war. Bobbie, Richard’s wife, and her sister Babs were Tiller Bluebell girls, a famous troupe of chorus girls who travelled all over Europe in musical shows before the war. He was a Ministry of Works Clerk of Works and they both made me very welcome in their home and I used to visit both of their families in Newcastle. He was in a reserved occupation and could have decided not to join up at all. Nevertheless, he volunteered in 1940/41 and trained in Canada to be a pilot. He was a sergeant pilot then took a commission. He had the RAF moustache before he joined the forces and it was not long before he became an officer.
At the time I was an impressionable young lad and he was my hero in those days. When his Lancaster was lost in March 1943, I thought I was obliged to follow in his footsteps in the services, and possibly get some revenge!
I attended the enlistment office located on City Road in the Walkergate area of Newcastle in April 1942 and requested to join the RAF as aircrew. This was denied on the grounds that I was wearing spectacles (I wore glasses at the time due to a slight cast in my left eye). Spectacles in those days left a pronounced ridge across the bridge of the nose, so I took them off and massaged the area at the top of the nose to get rid of it and went back and entered the Royal Navy office. A sergeant in the Royal Marines tried to encourage me to join the “Bootnecks”, but failed.
A Navy ‘Crusher’ then interviewed me and asked what I wanted to be? Having no real idea I said anything on top, having escape in mind and eventually decided on signalman – entry to this depended upon education, psychology tests and a medical. He then said go home and don’t be in too big a hurry, as the war will last a while yet! In due course a medical was passed A1, including sight! So the RAF lost a first class bloke!!!!
At this time I was employed at Clarke Chapman’s Engineering Works in Gateshead, as a capstan lathe operator. Under this title I was greatly worried in case this would exclude me from active service, it being a reserved occupation (we made steam winches for merchant and naval ships). I put lots of effort into this job and was employed on numerous lathes and machines and various tasks; even collecting the parts I was machining from the foundry which upset the unions. I eventually ended up supplying the needs of the workers with beer, cigarettes and grub that subsequently became a full-time job with a special steel cupboard made by the toolmakers (who were the upper echelon in this factory) for my wares. Actually I was on my way to being a millionaire but the war intervened…
On the 6th May 1943 (the turning point for the Royal Navy, a known fact…) I was called up and attended HMS Royal Arthur, the navy training camp located at the former Butlins Holiday Camp in Skegness in Lincolnshire. This camp provided for 6000 personnel and was mostly training navy signalmen, telegraphists and coders.
As a matter of fact, my training was comparatively simple to me in many ways, as I had trained for two years in the Air Training Corps (ATC), joining at 16. The ATC met twice a week to do square bashing, aircraft recognition, Bryl Creaming, communications and various tasks concerning the RAF. Rifles were in short supply but marching was done with oak staves. Visits to Usworth and Acklington RAF bases with practice firing on various guns at the latter. This helped enormously in my initial training and showed a promising lad…
We were put into classes of 52, split into two groups of 26 with a Chief Yeomen in charge each group. Our class number was 276. One Chief Yeomen was called Peacock who dressed in full Pusser’s gear from the naval stores and the other dressed in full posh rig from a naval tailor with full gold badges (unfortunately his name slips me). The latter was my Chief Yeoman but both were very good with the men and changed over periodically. They communicated with each other continuously via hand semaphore that was very mysterious to us all at first.
Richard and Bobbie Curle came to live opposite my parent’s home in Glynwood Gardens in Gateshead, at the beginning of the war. Bobbie, Richard’s wife, and her sister Babs were Tiller Bluebell girls, a famous troupe of chorus girls who travelled all over Europe in musical shows before the war. He was a Ministry of Works Clerk of Works and they both made me very welcome in their home and I used to visit both of their families in Newcastle. He was in a reserved occupation and could have decided not to join up at all. Nevertheless, he volunteered in 1940/41 and trained in Canada to be a pilot. He was a sergeant pilot then took a commission. He had the RAF moustache before he joined the forces and it was not long before he became an officer.
At the time I was an impressionable young lad and he was my hero in those days. When his Lancaster was lost in March 1943, I thought I was obliged to follow in his footsteps in the services, and possibly get some revenge!
I attended the enlistment office located on City Road in the Walkergate area of Newcastle in April 1942 and requested to join the RAF as aircrew. This was denied on the grounds that I was wearing spectacles (I wore glasses at the time due to a slight cast in my left eye). Spectacles in those days left a pronounced ridge across the bridge of the nose, so I took them off and massaged the area at the top of the nose to get rid of it and went back and entered the Royal Navy office. A sergeant in the Royal Marines tried to encourage me to join the “Bootnecks”, but failed.
A Navy ‘Crusher’ then interviewed me and asked what I wanted to be? Having no real idea I said anything on top, having escape in mind and eventually decided on signalman – entry to this depended upon education, psychology tests and a medical. He then said go home and don’t be in too big a hurry, as the war will last a while yet! In due course a medical was passed A1, including sight! So the RAF lost a first class bloke!!!!
At this time I was employed at Clarke Chapman’s Engineering Works in Gateshead, as a capstan lathe operator. Under this title I was greatly worried in case this would exclude me from active service, it being a reserved occupation (we made steam winches for merchant and naval ships). I put lots of effort into this job and was employed on numerous lathes and machines and various tasks; even collecting the parts I was machining from the foundry which upset the unions. I eventually ended up supplying the needs of the workers with beer, cigarettes and grub that subsequently became a full-time job with a special steel cupboard made by the toolmakers (who were the upper echelon in this factory) for my wares. Actually I was on my way to being a millionaire but the war intervened…
On the 6th May 1943 (the turning point for the Royal Navy, a known fact…) I was called up and attended HMS Royal Arthur, the navy training camp located at the former Butlins Holiday Camp in Skegness in Lincolnshire. This camp provided for 6000 personnel and was mostly training navy signalmen, telegraphists and coders.
As a matter of fact, my training was comparatively simple to me in many ways, as I had trained for two years in the Air Training Corps (ATC), joining at 16. The ATC met twice a week to do square bashing, aircraft recognition, Bryl Creaming, communications and various tasks concerning the RAF. Rifles were in short supply but marching was done with oak staves. Visits to Usworth and Acklington RAF bases with practice firing on various guns at the latter. This helped enormously in my initial training and showed a promising lad…
We were put into classes of 52, split into two groups of 26 with a Chief Yeomen in charge each group. Our class number was 276. One Chief Yeomen was called Peacock who dressed in full Pusser’s gear from the naval stores and the other dressed in full posh rig from a naval tailor with full gold badges (unfortunately his name slips me). The latter was my Chief Yeoman but both were very good with the men and changed over periodically. They communicated with each other continuously via hand semaphore that was very mysterious to us all at first.
Actually, when first training to learn semaphore we used to do it to music – The Teddy Bears Picnic – which created a few laughs for us and the civilians outside the barbwire. Actually a children’s tune of the day was used that had perfect semaphore rhythm.
The first week was a bit rough, what with jabs and blistered feet plus the crying of the homesick at night that really astounded me, but a month soon knocked them into shape and it was an excellent crowd. We paired off during training as one writes what the other reads from the signal lamps from various places and personnel. There was also visual signalling incorporating the semaphore, also a course in telegraphy, reading by ear.
Another part was reading flags and pennants which number about fifty and the combinations therein and this required a very good memory. Every spare minute was spent sitting in the twos, fours or sixes going over them time and time again. No special attention was given to seamanship or knots. One picked this up as one goes later on in the service; although we did a bit of rowing in the whalers on the swimming pool (nice and calm…).
Sport was a big thing with football and hockey being the prominent games. In training the PTIs (physical training instructors) play a huge role in getting the fellows fit. They are into all games and sports and they love boxing and are captivated by it. They lined our group of 52 up in two lines of 26 either side of the gym. Each rank is numbered 1 to 26 and when a number is called those two blokes with the same number advance to the centre and hammer each other for two minutes. Whoever shows promise is invited (with arm up his back…) to join the boxing section. I was number 13 and checked who was my opposite number. When they called my number I shot across quickly and bopped the other 13 before he had had time to think. Actually he was fairly tall and the PTI liked my aggressive approach, so I joined the section, won my first two matches, lost the next three and gave it up (a boxing ring is a very small place when you’re getting pummeled!).
Plenty football is played and the lad I paired with – Ron Staniforth - who later played right back for England after the war. I played right half but was not much good although we played at least twice a week. Later on I took up hockey and found that it was a lot tougher than people think, but very enjoyable. Physical training was applied in a rigorous way starting at 0630 for 50 minutes with breakfast at 0730. Christ help anybody who was late and there was plenty of those, the silly buggers.
Two outstanding incidents occurred at Skegness. Firstly, Class 276 was had up for mutiny! The reason being a certain section leader (not one of ours) had had all his gear slashed to pieces with an open razor. At a previous morning parade when doubling around the mess a couple of times this section leader started shouting at us, with comments like “Straighten your backs, get your knees up!”, and "Left, right, left, right!" and so forth. Someone he shouted at decided to pay him a visit though…
Coming around for the second time we gave him some lip and bad language and he reported us. At these morning parades all ranks up to Lieutenant Commanders are present and they decided to make an example of us. All the other divisions were halted and they doubled us around the block for 40 minutes. About 18 eventually fell out to sit on the kerb but the majority kept going and everybody was brassed off. Our Yeomen were excused but our midshipman and gunnery instructor (Thacker) joined us and gave encouragement at the back of the mess block.
That night, about two in the morning, the RN Gestapo² came for us, breaking the windows and hut door in the process, we were herded out into the open. There were a few wearing pajamas but most of them were in their birthday suits or vests and although it was July the nights were fairly nippy. At four in the morning the naked personnel were allowed ten minutes to put some gear on
The first week was a bit rough, what with jabs and blistered feet plus the crying of the homesick at night that really astounded me, but a month soon knocked them into shape and it was an excellent crowd. We paired off during training as one writes what the other reads from the signal lamps from various places and personnel. There was also visual signalling incorporating the semaphore, also a course in telegraphy, reading by ear.
Another part was reading flags and pennants which number about fifty and the combinations therein and this required a very good memory. Every spare minute was spent sitting in the twos, fours or sixes going over them time and time again. No special attention was given to seamanship or knots. One picked this up as one goes later on in the service; although we did a bit of rowing in the whalers on the swimming pool (nice and calm…).
Sport was a big thing with football and hockey being the prominent games. In training the PTIs (physical training instructors) play a huge role in getting the fellows fit. They are into all games and sports and they love boxing and are captivated by it. They lined our group of 52 up in two lines of 26 either side of the gym. Each rank is numbered 1 to 26 and when a number is called those two blokes with the same number advance to the centre and hammer each other for two minutes. Whoever shows promise is invited (with arm up his back…) to join the boxing section. I was number 13 and checked who was my opposite number. When they called my number I shot across quickly and bopped the other 13 before he had had time to think. Actually he was fairly tall and the PTI liked my aggressive approach, so I joined the section, won my first two matches, lost the next three and gave it up (a boxing ring is a very small place when you’re getting pummeled!).
Plenty football is played and the lad I paired with – Ron Staniforth - who later played right back for England after the war. I played right half but was not much good although we played at least twice a week. Later on I took up hockey and found that it was a lot tougher than people think, but very enjoyable. Physical training was applied in a rigorous way starting at 0630 for 50 minutes with breakfast at 0730. Christ help anybody who was late and there was plenty of those, the silly buggers.
Two outstanding incidents occurred at Skegness. Firstly, Class 276 was had up for mutiny! The reason being a certain section leader (not one of ours) had had all his gear slashed to pieces with an open razor. At a previous morning parade when doubling around the mess a couple of times this section leader started shouting at us, with comments like “Straighten your backs, get your knees up!”, and "Left, right, left, right!" and so forth. Someone he shouted at decided to pay him a visit though…
Coming around for the second time we gave him some lip and bad language and he reported us. At these morning parades all ranks up to Lieutenant Commanders are present and they decided to make an example of us. All the other divisions were halted and they doubled us around the block for 40 minutes. About 18 eventually fell out to sit on the kerb but the majority kept going and everybody was brassed off. Our Yeomen were excused but our midshipman and gunnery instructor (Thacker) joined us and gave encouragement at the back of the mess block.
That night, about two in the morning, the RN Gestapo² came for us, breaking the windows and hut door in the process, we were herded out into the open. There were a few wearing pajamas but most of them were in their birthday suits or vests and although it was July the nights were fairly nippy. At four in the morning the naked personnel were allowed ten minutes to put some gear on
We were still there at six in the morning when the wakey, wakey call came because nobody had owned up to the razor work. The Lt Commander was present a lot of the time with the two Yeomen and Gestapo. Our midshipman who had supported us was severely reprimanded and told his career was finished. The whole affair was called off at seven that morning.
They even had the audacity to say we would be docked pay to cover the cost of the damage caused by the Gestapo to the chalets. Both Yeomen and class leaders took this problem to higher command that was eventually rescinded. What a set of bastards! The mystery open razor culprit was never caught.
Although one or two of the class were prime suspects (myself being one of them) as they had been seen in the respective chalet line. I had been visiting a class of Free Frenchmen. About 30 French blokes were training as sigs. The general feeling regarding the French at this time was extremely bitter, but I had become very friendly with a lad named Claude, a very nice fellow.
I visited their chalet quite frequently thinking I would pick up French but it was impossible as they were out to improve their English. They had a similar situation to us – 12 to a chalet and once there, the questions were ten a penny from everyone.
Some of them were struggling with language problems and I don’t think my Geordie accent helped the situation but they were very humorous types and I got on famously with three particular blokes. I tried to envisage myself in their position having to change language and learn a signal course and I put it down as an impossible situation as learning the signal course alone was proving a very difficult problem for a number of us English types.
The French matelots uniform must have been the smartest and most colourful in the world and in a squad they looked very good. I did notice that when they washed the face they invariably wash the whole head, which I considered most unusual only because we did not.
I did write to Claude for about a year after training and then it fizzled out for no particular reason. It’s a pity they were so ostracized because they made me very welcome.
The other event at Skegness was the friendship with a Wren³ on the camp called Florence (one of 300 WRENs amongst 6000 blokes). I met her in Ingoldmels, a village about three miles outside the camp during the third week and she was a nice distraction during the whole time at Royal Arthur. I revisited the area to see Florence twice after leaving the camp.
Florence was a member of a maintenance repair workshop, one of six others – it was somewhere to go for a meal and get my gear looked after – badges sewn on etc. Plus she was nice company for which I felt extremely lucky.
One of the strongest memories of Skegness was the disgusting smell of sewage that pervaded the camp. The sewage system was endeavouring to cope with possibly twice as many inhabitants as intended (for the normal holiday camp capacity) but the stench of the failing system was out of this world at the worst of times, but when an easterly wind blew, god help you!
They even had the audacity to say we would be docked pay to cover the cost of the damage caused by the Gestapo to the chalets. Both Yeomen and class leaders took this problem to higher command that was eventually rescinded. What a set of bastards! The mystery open razor culprit was never caught.
Although one or two of the class were prime suspects (myself being one of them) as they had been seen in the respective chalet line. I had been visiting a class of Free Frenchmen. About 30 French blokes were training as sigs. The general feeling regarding the French at this time was extremely bitter, but I had become very friendly with a lad named Claude, a very nice fellow.
I visited their chalet quite frequently thinking I would pick up French but it was impossible as they were out to improve their English. They had a similar situation to us – 12 to a chalet and once there, the questions were ten a penny from everyone.
Some of them were struggling with language problems and I don’t think my Geordie accent helped the situation but they were very humorous types and I got on famously with three particular blokes. I tried to envisage myself in their position having to change language and learn a signal course and I put it down as an impossible situation as learning the signal course alone was proving a very difficult problem for a number of us English types.
The French matelots uniform must have been the smartest and most colourful in the world and in a squad they looked very good. I did notice that when they washed the face they invariably wash the whole head, which I considered most unusual only because we did not.
I did write to Claude for about a year after training and then it fizzled out for no particular reason. It’s a pity they were so ostracized because they made me very welcome.
The other event at Skegness was the friendship with a Wren³ on the camp called Florence (one of 300 WRENs amongst 6000 blokes). I met her in Ingoldmels, a village about three miles outside the camp during the third week and she was a nice distraction during the whole time at Royal Arthur. I revisited the area to see Florence twice after leaving the camp.
Florence was a member of a maintenance repair workshop, one of six others – it was somewhere to go for a meal and get my gear looked after – badges sewn on etc. Plus she was nice company for which I felt extremely lucky.
One of the strongest memories of Skegness was the disgusting smell of sewage that pervaded the camp. The sewage system was endeavouring to cope with possibly twice as many inhabitants as intended (for the normal holiday camp capacity) but the stench of the failing system was out of this world at the worst of times, but when an easterly wind blew, god help you!
¹ Flight Lieutenant Richard Alexander Curle was a pilot with 100 Squadron, Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve. His was the only body found from his Lancaster Mk III – number ED 559 that disappeared whilst on a mine laying operation off the Gironde Estuary in western France. He lies buried in Le Chateau-D’Oleron Communal Cemetery, Charente-Maritime, France. Read detailed info on Richard and his crew.
² The colloquial term for the Naval Military Police.
³ Wren was the name given to the WRNS – Women’s Royal Navy Service.
² The colloquial term for the Naval Military Police.
³ Wren was the name given to the WRNS – Women’s Royal Navy Service.