Being a Boy in JLRRA

Andy Lamb
Andy Lamb
Jul 25, 2017 · 5 min read

THE BRAMCOTE OPEN DAY 2017

Made the decision to go to the Bramcote open day. Bramcote was the barracks I spent my teenage years in as a Junior Leader in the Royal Artillery all those years ago. Those of you who have been following this blog know how this all turned out.

Anyway.

Come the appointed weekend, went to stay over with my chum, Denis Law on the Saturday afternoon. I don’t drive nowadays. I haven’t driven for 30 years. Denis offered to drive us up for a bit of a lark. It did become that, but was a mixed day. I will explain.

Item: Denis and I have just re-ignited our friendship after a 40 year interval. He was posted to Gibraltar and I went into hospital.

Item: I am not good at being a guest. All those things I had to come to terms with 40 years ago still haven’t gone away. I am still weirdly obsessive about irrelevant things. I guess I am still a bit of a mess.

Item: I haven’t been back to Bramcote since I left in October 1974.

The deal for the visit was that we would arrive for the open-day, and then meet up with other ex-Brats for a tour of the old barracks. Denis was laid-back and sanguine. I was nervous, twitchy and obsessive. As we dined (resplendently) the night before, he was content that a late departure would see us alright. I, on the other hand, was convinced that we would be stuck in traffic forever.

In the event, Denis was proven to be entirely correct. I have experienced this sort of thing all the time. It is in my nature, but it is still annoying.

We departed Swindon, for Nuneaton, at about 8.30. A two hour journey. We still arrived conspicuously early. There was no sign of any of the alleged traffic queues. Egg on my face, or what? I am gratified to report that Denis only mentioned this about five and a half million times during the course of the day.

Having arrived at Gamecock Barracks, we drove up to the uniformed kid on the gate who asked for some sort of justification. They weren’t due to open for another hour. We looked as appropriately authoritative as we could and assured him we were stallholders. I flashed my University ID card and we were in without any discussion. We parked up behind some random stall and that was it.

Ha ha ha!

We had some time to burn before we were due to rendezvous with all the other ex-Brats. We had a bit of a wander and met up with Sandy Sanders. A great bloke. Had been Stores Clerk for 39 Battery in his time. Now he was participating with the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers stall. Within the spirit of the enterprise, we bought £6 worth of tickets and failed to win a tombola prize. Honour was satisfied and it was nice to meet up with a new friend.

Decided to amble about for a bit. I had given notice on the websites that I would be wearing yellow trousers and blowing bubbles. This, as a means of being visible in the vast, non-existent throng.

Sure enough, as we idled over towards the concession stands we were approached by a lanky, moustachioed chap who gave me a hearty handshake.

“Steve Collins!” he announced.

“Andy Lamb.” I replied.

“Yes. We all know.” Strange what a pair of trousers can achieve.

A nice, little group assembled. We were quickly chatting. Several had read my blog and were pleased to finally meet me. I was equally pleased to meet them.

We were a mixed bag with only one thing in common. We were all ex-Junior Leaders.

As my blog had raised the matter of our experiences as youngsters in the army, we were soon exchanging tales. I was proud to say they weren’t all about how wonderful it had been. Quite a few felt able to express some real feelings. Good on them.

We had a while to wait before the tour. Luckily, the prosecco bar had opened.

Good.

The show started with a display of aerial acrobatics by a Spitfire and a Hurricane. Really exciting. That was followed by the Band of the Yorkshire Volunteers. A couple of motor-mouths from the local radio-station kept up a quick-fire rattle of waffle that failed to impress.

While we were waiting, I continued to blow bubbles. A steady stream of old ex-Brats arrived, attracted by the vividness of the trousers. A few old friends arrived, including my childhood matey, Keith Dobson.

When we had been kids together, Keith had been the rebel. He had been the kid who took all the risks. I admired him and was scared of him in equal measure. I was far too timid to be like him. Now, he is a comfortable family-man. He had a grand-child in tow. I was so choked up I could hardly speak.

Also met a few new friends. Facebook mate Graham Benton, who had also been a Brat at the same time as Denis Law.

For me, it was already becoming an emotional experience. I don’t know why I get so choked-up. I really don’t.

Finally, the appointed hour. We were assembled and introduced to ex-Regimental Sergeant Major Sandy Frew.

Sandy had known JLRRA from the beginning to the end. He had started as a NIG, been through junior service, mustered, risen through the ranks and returned as RSM.

He led us on a guided tour through the barracks. The old place had changed beyond measure. Many of the old buildings had gone and much of the layout had changed. It was hard to remember what had been where. When we were boys it was all about drill-and-turnout and running and fitness and sports and small-arms and inspections and block-jobs. Nowadays there seemed to be precious little of that.

Sandy took us on a tour down memory lane. He showed us the surviving places from our time.

As the tour progressed a million and one memories came flooding back. I felt the bitter-sweet taste of nostalgia flooding my senses. So much so that I could hardly bear it. I really wanted the tour to be over. The sheer pain of the memory of those days overwhelmed me.

We ended up at the Guardroom. Joe’s Hotel, as we used to call it. Keith Dobson regaled us with his experiences of being in the cells.

I stood outside, looking at the mature men we had become and all I could think of was the boys we used to be.

It was all far too much for me. A couple of us decided we had to bale out at this point.

It was the first time I had been there in 43 years. Since I left in October 1974. I’m glad I went.

I’m not going back.

Written by

Andy Lamb

As a youth Andy Lamb Served in the British Army. He is now a museum curator and studies musical instruments.

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