The Combined Cadet Force (CCF) was probably started at EBGS in the late 1940s as National Service was still in operation (that ceased in 1957 I think – I personally missed NS by 6 months!)- and was possibly in many schools to prepare young boys for life in the services, teach them discipline, tidiness and good order in everyday life.

At EBGS, it was a voluntary parade (unlike the so-called School Voluntary Fund to which we all had to contribute 2/6 annually!! Though, if our parents were poor, they could get out of this) and we were told all about CCF when we were in our second year (for me that would have been Form 3B) and then officially signed up to start in our third year. I’m sure that my CCF days were for two full years – so it would have been in Form 4 and 5.

CCF was usually on Wednesday afternoon. We were issued with a full khaki uniform, beret, brass cap badge, webbing gaiters and webbing belt with brass that had to be cleaned and we had only to provide our own boots. Mine were my Dad’s old army boots, which he had used in the garden, but I eventually had a nice shiny pair of my own, purchased at the local Army Surplus Stores in Eastbourne. Keeping the boots clean and well-shined took many hours – we tried all sorts of ways to get the toe cap like a mirror. Apart from loads of black polish (which always went everywhere) we tried “spooning” – the round back of an old spoon that had been warmed up on the gas stove.

The webbing had to be clean and smart too – we used a sort of paste (Blanco)that was applied wet – and when dry was buff-coloured and like distemper (on a wall). We later found a much better method for the gaiters and belt – it was a darker, shiny paste that was smooth and didn’t need renewing every week. The belt had a clasp and brass strips – applying Brasso was quite an art in itself – you should not get it on to the webbing – or had to start doing that all over again. So, we put cardboard underneath the brass strips to get that right. Likewise, the cap badge (I think it was a Royal Engineers badge?). The old-fashioned gaiters were short, not like the ones from WW1/2 which were longer; I think American soldiers had those. But still it was an art to get the trouser leg tucked into the gaiter and for the bottom end to look neat and tidy. Some of us invented ways to keep the trouser leg neatly above the top of the gaiter – I had two metal (lead) hoops that kept the bottom end looking neat and well fitting!

This was called our battledress, and we wore it to school every Wednesday. The problem was when we also had PE in the morning – it all had to come off (fast) and, after gym, all go back on again neat and smart, ready for the CCF inspection after lunch. Glaswegian John (Jock) Galloway – PE – was not always a happy bunny if we took our time changing into gym kit and kept him waiting. Bob Mallen was a little more tolerant, probably because he was a true Englishman and a very nice man too.

In my first year, old Major Bonfield (“Blom”) was the teacher in charge of the CCF – was he Commandant or just plain Major? Can’t recall. But dear old Blom retired, and Mr Mallion took over – a delightful teacher who got me through my German GCE! There were a couple of other teachers who dressed up for CCF – “Puthy” Lewis – and another (can’t recall name) and they were Lieutenants. We all lined up on the Parade Ground (the playground at the back) in soldierly-like lines, and then had an Inspection – to see we were properly dressed and smart and not a disgrace to the Company. Occasionally a beret would be adjusted, or the brass inspected and if it didn’t shine you would be told: “Work harder at this lad!” The Officers were thorough but lenient – after all we were only boys of 13-15 years old.

We had drill – being taught to march correctly – left, right, left, right…to left wheel …to halt (and a specific way of doing that too – command given on left foot, once with the right and then firmly with the left. To turn 360 degrees – mark T L V –march…. and to “mark time”, which could go on for ever. Just kept us fit, I guess. We all had a rifle (old 303 from WW1) and were taught how to shooooulderrrrr arms; preeeeeesent arms; and standatease! Great fun and, if you got it wrong, woe betide – you may have to do it on your own in front of the whole s quad.

The first CCF was only army (hardly combined) but an RAF section came in my last year – I stayed with the army boys though, I think the RAF guys did get up in an old Dakota when they went to summer camp. But we had tanks and armoured cars and explosions and rifle shoots (more later) at our camps. We were trained in different aspects of army life, including shooting our rifles. There was a small .22 indoor range near to the school and we often went there for target practice. I wore specs (Harry Potter style!) but still managed to get my eye on the sights and on to the bullseye – I hit a few too. We also had to shoot live rounds from our .303 rifles at the range on the Crumbles, now Sovereign Harbour. The huge range meant lying on the dirt, focussing on the target about 100 yards away, and trying for that perfect score. But those 303s gave a kick too and we had a few sore right shoulders. Those shooting then swapped over with the guys “in the butts”, whose role was to haul the large targets up and down by rope and to paste over any bullet holes – assuming that the target had been hit!

Field Days happened twice a year and we were taken by coach to a site in Ashdown Forest (near Crowborough) and given orders for the day. After some training, a mock battle! Two sections against each other. We had five rounds each for the whole day, not live of course but blanks. We had to use them sparingly. One time I took some penny bangers with me, which was to add to the explosions, but I forgot the matches, so they were real damp squibs! Another time I had to carry the huge and heavy radio set for the radio operator (a sixth former) and because I had a bad leg (pulled muscle in the groin) limped along with this guy who kept cussing me. Field Days were great fun and we all came home happy and exhausted. I can’t recall how the Officers determined who had won the battle; maybe the sides drew.
Our training also included going to a nearby farm and practising crawling on the belly, frog-like on our side, and running criss-cross at a crouch across the field (to avoid enemy bullets) and being able to answer all sorts of army- questions. I managed to pass my “Part 1” and maybe even “Part 2” – and if I had stayed on into 6th Form may have been a corporal or even a sergeant. Another training exercise was to be able to dismantle a Bren gun, clean it and then put it all back together – a timed exercise. We got really good at that but never managed to shoot either of the two ancient Bren guns we owned.

Summer Camp – ah, what memories! I went to two – the first in Norfolk at Buckenham Tofts, Thetford, and the second at an army base near Folkestone, Kent. When we arrived at Buck Tofts, we were bowled over by the size. “Welcomed” by Military Police (who had great delight in keeping an eye on us all) we were told – you’re not the only ones here, there are 4,000 boys so behave yourselves! We were put into very large ridge tents – about 8 lads in each, with a corporal or sergeant from our own CCF. Sleeping bags on “duck boards”, which were like decking only with narrow wooden slats and about half an inch gap. Kit for the week was a specially issued summer dress – lightweight, and much nicer than the heavy serge of battledress.

The ridge tents were wonderful, especially at night time. We soon found out you could have fantastic fun in the dark – running hard up one side, going over the top and sliding down the other – until the MPs saw us and put their jeep spotlights hard on; and whoever got caught was “for it”! I think our tent always managed to escape and we didn’t ever collapse a tent on the way over the top. Unless two lads tried to go at same time – and that did happen. And then what a price to pay!

The NAAFI was an eye opener. Apart from nice goodies to buy, there were “nice girls” to chat to – and lads in their early teens, though a bit shy, soon responded to the girls. They would say to us “Hey lad, after I’m finished why don’t you bring your blanket out to the field and – he, he – you know what, let’s have some fun!” I don’t think anyone actually did that – the girls were far too old for us! The catering corps made sure we had plenty to eat, and always loads of tea in our metal cups. One burly soldier told a lad who asked for “more tea please”: “no f-ing bucket, no f-ing tea”! He giggled and went and found the bucket.

The Royal Engineeers who were based at Buck Tofts really did us proud. They trained us – got us out on the shooting range with plenty of bullets, took us out for a night exercise – terrific fun in the dark – and gave us wonderful shows with real tanks and big guns, explosions and a grand finale (massive bomb blast – we all thought it was nuclear!).

One Saturday, my best pal (Andrew) and I had cream cakes in the NAAFI, and during the night were sick all over the duck boards. Next day we were both as white as ghosts (our corporal having had to clear up the tent) but it was Sunday, and all were supposed to be on Parade for the Joint Service. We managed to be ill enough to skip that though not without being sent to the Medics to get our stomachs sorted. Remedy? “Go and sit on the toilet lad…and stay there till you feel better.” Well, the hole in the wooden seat over the cess pit soon had us back out into fresh air and suddenly we felt “much better thanks” and went back to the tent. As we lay there, who should come by but Captain Mallion – with RW Shaw, the Head! He had come up for the day to see the CCF lads. He said he was sorry to see us unwell but hoped we would soon recover. As they went, we heard Captain Mallion whisper to Mr Shaw “Actually, sir, I think it was the cigarettes”. And he was right – we had both got some fags from NAAFI girls and after the cream cakes had had a few puffs. Went green and got sick. We didn’t touch ciggies again – well, not that week!

So, a few memories of CCF days. It was excellent training, helped our personal discipline, taught us how to stand upright and not slouch, got us marching – and gave us a lot of hard knocks, and a lot of fun too. We might not have had the pleasure of flying in a Dakota – but Army was the best!

Peter J Honour
1952-57