Being a Boy in JLRRA
THE ROAD TO NIGSVILLE
If you were to ask me why I so badly wanted to become a Junior Gunner in the Junior Leaders’ Regiment, Royal Artillery, I doubt if I could have given you a clear answer. It’s just that, at age 15-and-a-half, it seemed to be the most desirable thing in the world. I can’t explain it. None of my family had army connections.
Actually, if you were to challenge me, I couldn’t explain even why the Royal Artillery. What was wrong with all the other options. There were loads of them. Why not the Household Cavalry? Or, the Royal Marines? The Brigade of Guards, even the Royal Pioneer Corps. I don’t know, for me it had to be the RA.
In 1972 there were plenty of opportunities for the likes of me in Civvy Street. I could have walked into a job or an apprenticeship. My teachers at school were astonished at my ambition and told me so. They plainly thought I was making a mistake. They thought I ought to go to college.
“There will always be a place for you here if you decide to give it up,” They assured me.
When I was interviewed at the Army Careers Office, they asked why I wanted to join JLRRA. I rambled-on incoherently about tradition and adventure and all that nonsense. In retrospect, I realise I was probably no more confused than any other young kid would be in the circumstances, so no change there. The officer asked me what I liked to do. My favourite activities. I had a little think and told him that I liked to read and go for walks and enjoy conversation with my friends.
He gave me a funny look.
I now realise I should have talked about sport and competition and how it was my ambition to destroy my enemies. Sadly, in those days, I didn’t really think like that. Instead, I told him about my favourite authors and how I loved the feeling of the early morning.
For reasons I cannot now begin to understand, I was accepted to go for army selection.
I went down to the Army Selection Centre in Corsham, Wiltshire. I spent a few days down there with a group of other kids. We spent most of the time doing tests. But it was an early introduction into some aspects of army life. I had the novel experience of eating army food in a cookhouse. It was pretty good, but the tea tasted funny, like there was some chemicals in it.
It was the first time I slept in a barrack-room. On that first night, I lay awake listening to other boys boasting about their sexual experiences. I’d never had any sexual experiences worth talking about, so I kept my mouth shut and just listened. It was very interesting.
I wondered how much of it was true.
The tests were lengthy and varied. Numeracy, literacy, abstract reasoning, psychometry, engineering and other skill areas. They seemed to take almost forever.
It had been my ambition to train as a surveyor. I’m not entirely sure why. I didn’t know the first thing about surveying or sound-ranging. It just sounded like a good option. I was sure I had the necessary numeracy skills. However, I must have been seriously lacking in other areas. I was pretty handicapped when it came to things like spacial awareness and other reasoning skills.
Instead, I was nominated for a Junior Apprenticeship as a Clerk, RA, to be trained at Bramcote. This was a bit disappointing. I hadn’t really considered this. I asked the Sergeant if this was a good option. He assured me it was a great option. Probably better than any others. I believed him.
When I got home, they had sent me a brochure. It was an A4 photocopied booklet about life as a Junior Leader at Bramcote. It contained photographs of young lads queueing up in the cookhouse and doing other soldier-like things. There was a draft timetable. I didn’t know what most of the activities were. It all looked too exciting for words. I read it and re-read it every day.
On the cover there was a photo of a smart young lad in uniform next to a wimpy-looking kid with long hair. The caption read:
“From this to this in 12 weeks.”
I showed it to my sister. She said she preferred the wimpy-looking kid. I couldn’t understand that. I wanted to be just like the boy in the uniform.
They sent me to have a medical examination. The doctor did all those uncomfortable things they do in circumstances like this. I did not enjoy that at all.
On the 11th of December 1972, aged 16 years, two-and-a-half weeks, I was attested at St Albans with a couple of other lads from my school. They were going to join the Royal Anglian Regiment. Me, something much more exciting. They were going to be infantrymen. I was going to join the Royal Artillery. The Attesting Officer took my oath of allegiance, gave me a copy of the New Testament and an envelope containing £9.00. I was amazed. My family were quite poor and I had never had that amount of cash to spend before.
NEW INTAKE GUNNER
The train journey up from Watford only took an hour and a half. I arrived at Nuneaton Station at 09.53 on the morning of Monday 8th January 1973. I was met by a Sergeant in immaculate No 2 Dress uniform. He glanced at the cover of my book. It was ‘Lord of the Rings’. He asked me if it was about boxing. I was a bit surprised.
The bus took a couple of us up to Gamecock Barracks. We were the first kids to arrive. I was met by my Section Sergeant and a Junior Lance Bombardier, who would be supervising us during our basic training. They conducted me to my barrack-room.
My bed-space had already been alloted and, mattress and bedding had been set out. In addition to that, a load of other items were also laid out. Webbing, green plastic mug, knife fork and spoon set, tin of Kiwi boot polish, tin of Brasso, mess tins, the dreaded button stick and a few other items I can’t remember.

The J/LBdr took me over to the Quartermasters’ Stores where I was measured up and issued with my uniform. I carried it all back and was instructed to get changed.
I laid out my personal possessions in my locker. These consisted of:
Item: 1 x suit of civilian clothes comprising a pair of green cords, a plain grey jacket my mum had got from a jumble sale, an old school shirt, a knitted tie and a pair of plain black shoes.
Item: 1 x toothbrush.
Item: 3 x books.
Item: 1 x pot of hair gel.
That was it as far as personal possessions went. I also had some spare changes of underwear for normal use rather than the standard army issue shreddies.
My first uniform consisted of: Shirt-khaki flannel, Jersey-heavy wool, Trousers-old-battle dress, Socks-olive green, Boots-DMS.
The J/LBdr asked me how I felt. Itchy, I told him. Very eloquent.
I was still the only kid, or should I now say NIG, to have arrived. The Section Sgt stayed in the barrack room while the J/LBdr took me down to the Cookhouse for lunch. There were already hundreds of Junior Leaders there and we had to queue up for a while. It was my first experience of Bramcote food. It was okay, I guess. Better than school dinners, in any case.
When we returned to Recruits Section some other NIGs were now arriving. We all looked nervous and well-scrubbed.
In all, there were 20 of us in Wardrop Section. We came in a variety of sizes and shapes. Some of them looked like they were only 12 years old.
Almost immediately we were under orders and instructions. We were taught how to ‘Stand by our beds’. We were instructed how to arrange our kit in our lockers. The day progressed in fits and starts. Finally, we were ordered to have a wash and prepare for bed. The Duty Sergeant inspected us and then it was Lights-Out.
On that first day everything was new and seemed like a lot of fun. We hardly got any sleep that night. There was a lot more chat until the BONCO came in and told us to be quiet.
One thing that was unexpected: I was the only kid from the South East. I was born and brought up on a council estate outside Watford. All the other kids were from Yorkshire or Lancashire or Newcastle or Scotland. They were Scousers or Geordies or Jocks or something. I didn’t understand more than half of what was being said. This was all very strange and exotic.
- Next thrilling instalment: A Rude Awakening. (I think you have all got pretty good idea of how this is going to turn out.)
