A second helping for Private Twist
FURTHeR to the stories about national Service food (Peterborough), this is a tale from my first day in the army. It was may 1950 when I was told to report to Farnborough Royal engineer Camp for national Service. on arrival we were made to form a line outside the quartermaster’s stores, before proceeding through. We were each holding a kit bag and into it were thrown items of uniform that would turn us into soldiers. Afterwards we were taken to something called a ‘spider’, which turned out to be a collection of corrugated iron huts. We were told to leave our kit bags on the bed, which displayed our name and then were walked to a large building, the mess hall. This being our first day, the marching didn’t start until very early the following morning. We formed a queue at a long hot plate where a stodge, which included some kind of meat with gravy, was dumped on our plates. I found out later that the stodge was called ‘pom’ and was made from potatoes. We were also served a sweet bread and butter pudding. Towards the end of our meal, an officer with a sergeant by his side briskly walked passed each table asking ‘any complaints?’ and not waiting for anyone to answer. They had nearly passed my table when they came to an abrupt halt, turned around and stared at me, speechless: I had asked if I could have some more. The sergeant was first to recover and got his vocal cords working, calling for the two hundred or more squaddies to be quiet. The officer said: ‘Did you ask for more?’ ‘yes, please, but only the bread and butter pudding. It was very tasty,’ I replied. ‘of course you can,’ he said. ‘go and fill your plate. Have all you want.’ I made my way to the hot plate with all eyes following me where an amazed cook filled my plate without saying a word. At this point, the sergeant announced to the still silent mess hall that in all his long years of service, this was the first time anyone had asked for more. everyone was still staring at me and my plate of bread and butter pudding. I thought ‘this is how oliver Twist must have felt’. I returned to my table to the cheers and hand-clapping of the entire building, and although somewhat embarrassed and red in the face, I still enjoyed every mouthful of my pudding.
Bill Ives, Haverhill, Suffolk.