Life on the Run

by Stan Eldon

  I was off to Inkerman Barracks, Woking, in Surrey; the training centre and headquarters of the Royal Military Police; returning south, where I would be only a short journey from my then girlfriend Marion at Windsor. The course lasted thirteen weeks, and although there was strict discipline, I enjoyed it much better than Catterick; even the food was ten times better, but that was not difficult.

  The training was of a good standard and I think I actually enjoyed those three months, though not perhaps one small part of it. This was learning to ride a motorcycle which we had to do towards the end of the course. Some of our training was done close to barracks, and some on trips out further afield. On one such trip to the Guildford area, I was riding my motorcycle at the back of the column of about twenty-five. There was just an instructor behind me, and when driving in any sort of convoy, you always seem to have to drive faster at the back than the front just to keep up. I came round a bend at about 60 mph, under a railway bridge and lost it, crashing into the bridge and ending up sprawled on the road. The instructor pulled up alongside and was actually quite nice, thinking that I must have been injured, but my ill-fitting helmet and rough motorcycling gear had saved me more than the bike. I think I damaged or destroyed three Army motorcycles during my short involvement with them. Even on the day of our driving test I got things wrong. I did not crash on this occasion but got lost and missed all the spying instructors/testers; arriving at Aldershot well after everyone else. I have not attempted to ride a two-wheeled machine since then.

  If motorcycling was not my scene, one thing I did enjoy was shooting, and the trips to the range for whatever weapon we were going to use, was always something to be looked forward to. We had to be able to use any sort of shooting implement, from revolver to Bren gun, but the rifle was my favourite, even if I normally finished a session with a swollen chin from the powerful recoil of the weapon. I did get very good scores and did qualify as a marksman.

  Being on the range was not without its incidents though, and there was always someone who did not realise the dangers. We had one member of our squad who was not that bright; in fact I don’t know how he ever qualified for the Military Police. Yes, we were in the main bright young men, contrary to popular belief. On the range one day, this chap’s rifle jammed. Some of us had finished shooting and were standing up, when he stood up and turned round pointing the weapon at us and the officer in charge, still pulling the trigger and saying “My gun won’t fire.” Knowing he still had live ammunition in the chamber, we all dived to the ground in case his rifle did go off. He was suitably chastised by the NCOs and officer present, as well as the rest of us, and we were always very careful when he was around with any weapon in the future. I do not think he survived his full two years in the ‘redcaps’; he was busted back to private later in his service, and I think sent back to another unit.

  At the end of the course, there was the usual passing out parade and relatives attended. My mother and Marion were there for the big day, and afterwards there was some leave before we all got sent off to our various postings. I have always liked military music and ceremonial, and it was great to be part of this special event where the Military Police Band played the ‘Watchtower’, its signature tune, and we marched up and down in our best battledress; white belts, holsters, rifles and bayonets; with those sparkling boots, that had hard hours of little rings polished into them. Not that I was like one lad, who early in his training, got sent by the rest of us to the NAAFI to buy some packets of black, shiny ‘rings’. Of course he was sent back by the staff who were obviously used to having at least one recruit from each squad sent to them for the same purpose.

  Our squad’s specialty was slow marching, and the powers that be congratulated us and said that it was some of the best they had seen anywhere. It was good that we could do something well together, as we were a mixed bag like any squad of mainly National Servicemen.

  Then we were off on leave before being sent to our many and varied postings. These varied from Korea, Singapore, Hong Kong, Berlin, SHAPE in Paris or Brussels. My posting was not so exotic, probably because they wanted to keep me handy for the unit running team. I was going to Bulford Camp on Salisbury Plain; Provost Company 147, a small unit of about twenty-five to thirty men. The CO was a Major Goebbels (yes, I believe he was a relation) and there were two other officers, a company sergeant major, a staff sergeant, a couple of sergeants, and all the rest were lance corporals like myself.

  This turned out to be a very pleasant posting for me. Much of the time we were left to our devices, and I was able to go off over the plains and get some serious training in. I put in a lot of hard work and I have always been convinced that it was my period there that built my fitness up for the later success. I even managed to get a team together to run for the unit in the Salisbury Plain District Cross-Country Championships while I was at Bulford.

  The major had other ideas for me. He was a keen horseman and wanted to see one of his men go to the top in the Modern Pentathlon, which was dominated at the time by a Corporal Hudson in the Horse Guards. I was a marksman and a good runner, and I could just about swim, but horse riding and fencing, I had no experience of at all. The CO said he would teach me to ride and I could use his horses, and he would send me on a course to Aldershot to learn the art of fencing. I declined and he accepted my decision that I would prefer to make it in athletics, although I have often had doubts as to whether I missed a great opportunity.

  My introduction to the Inter Counties Cross-Country Race was on 15th February 1955. It was held at Childwall Park near Liverpool, and it was cold; very cold. There had been snow and the ground was frozen solid, and as a lot of it was ploughed fields, this made the surface very uneven, as well as frozen. There was even talk of the race being cancelled after we all arrived on the Saturday morning, but it did go ahead, although some of the track stars at that time, including Gordon Pirie, were not happy. The real cross-country runners triumphed, and the winner was Ken Norris in 37:34. Pirie did run in spite of his protests that it was too dangerous and finished 6th in 38:43. I had a good run considering I was only eighteen years old at the time and finished 67th in 40:26.0, which was fourteen places better than Frank Sando, who on any other day would have been challenging for the title. In those days all distance runners took part in a full cross-country season and the entry in that race was a catalogue of all the runners who were around at that time, and for some years to come.

  In these early days as a junior, I ran in the Kodak Sports at Harrow, and against Chris Chataway in a 3,000 metre race, where I finished second in 8:44. This was a good meeting that I went to a number of times, as the prizes were always some of the top products of that company, and we could always request and get what we wanted by way of a prize. I had always admired Chataway up to that point, but when I saw this scruffy runner in tatty Oxford sweater and old trousers, and even dirtier running kit when he stripped off, I vowed I would never look like that. I had heard someone say that even if you are not a champion, always try and look like one. From that race on I was fanatical about turnout. I would always wear clean kit, and I would even wash the laces in my running spikes. Frequently, and whenever possible, I would have a haircut before a big race and would only ever wear clean kit but never new kit.

  My oldest proper training diary starts with races from September 1955 while in the Army, and the actual training is logged from 1st November of that year. I had kept a brief training diary while I was at school. I was running six to twelve miles every day, and running twice on some days. I had various circuits for training worked out. There were laps of three miles where I could run one or more to make up the distance. Good times for the three mile circuits were around 15:15 and for the double lap 31:20. There was an eight mile run from Bulford to Tidworth and back and another to Amesbury. Other runs I described as uphill, covered various distances up to seven miles; these were all on Salisbury Plain.

  In September, I had run i
n the Maidenhead Road Relay and recorded 21:48 for the 4.25 miles. I was still stationed at Woking then, before moving to Bulford in October.

  After running for Guildford and Godalming AC, my second claim club near Woking, I joined Salisbury AC and started to run for them over the country. If I could get back to Windsor, I would run for my first claim club, and I did this twice in November, winning one race and getting second in another. In the December, I ran three times for Salisbury in home fixtures, winning two and getting second in the other.

  While at Bulford, I had a very convenient job as batman (unofficial) to the sergeant major. This gave me plenty of time to train as well as cleaning his kit and my own, so that I could never get into trouble on parade. I had my own room in the Sergeants’ Mess, and I was now training quite seriously and running more or less every day. Some of my runs were quite long; probably ten to twelve miles, either along the top of Salisbury Plain or on the roads to Amesbury or Tidworth.

  My training now was up to a good level, and a look at my training diary for the start of 1956 shows this. The first week in January, I totalled seventy-three miles from twelve training runs. The following week this went up to eighty-five miles in fifteen sessions, and on several days this included running three times a day. The following week it was up to ninety-one miles and sixteen training sessions, including one day when I actually ran four times. The last week in January, I seemed to have a great number of rest days, but perhaps this was to work in my favour.

  There were some good runners in the forces in those days. Derek Ibbotson, who in 1957 set world record figures for the mile, was in the RAF along with many good runners; in the Army we had Basil Heatley (silver medal winner in the Olympic Marathon 1964), Gerry North (who won the National Cross-Country title), Mick Firth and Laurie Reed (South London Harriers) and other runners who were in the top twenty distant runners in the country. Some were little known then, but became very well known later, like Mel Batty (Thurrock Harriers). Even the Navy had a couple of star runners, and one of them was a particularly good marathon runner, E. R. Pape.

  I floated between Bulford and Woking, depending on who required my running services. Generally it was summers at Inkerman and winters on Salisbury Plain. There was a small shop near the station in Salisbury, where they produced handmade shoes, and it was there that I bought my second pair of running spikes.

  Training on the plain was always fun, especially where the Royal Air Force were practising dropping bales of straw from low-flying transporter aircraft. They used me as their target but they never got too close for comfort.

  One winter there was a lot of snow and vehicles could not get out, so I was dispatched with various military papers and ran through the snow to deliver them to HQ several miles away. That was when I first found the use of woollen socks over running shoes to be very effective in giving more grip in snow and ice conditions.

  While at Bulford, I even managed to get some senior and very mature NCOs running, and we were able to enter teams in races in the Salisbury Plain district.

  I was sent back to Woking on one occasion for a signals course, which was all about radio communication and Morse code. I passed the course, which entitled me to have crossed semaphore flags on my sleeve and an extra couple of bob added to my twenty-five shillings (£1.25) per week pay. Later in my service this ‘qualification’ was to get me a couple of interesting days at the Military Staff College at Camberley, where I was one of two or three selected to act as the communication’s control, on a major military exercise.

  After the course, it was back to Bulford and life on Salisbury Plain. I think I enjoyed Bulford better than Woking, as it was a small unit and life was pretty laid-back. There was a very good corporal cook there, and the food was always good; especially on a Sunday, when we would have tinned salmon for tea, followed by tinned fruit. This was not part of the normal catering budget but he used to find a way of fiddling the system.

  Wherever I was stationed, I did manage to get home pretty frequently, although the trip to Bulford was always a bit of a bind. I used to leave the Windsor Riverside Station as late as I could on a Sunday night, normally about 10.30 p.m., after a quick kiss and cuddle on the platform, and travel to Waterloo, where I would get a train to Salisbury which used to arrive at about 1 a.m.; fortunately a truck used to meet the train to take us back to Bulford, but it did not give much time for sleep that night. The journey to and from Woking was a lot easier, and I used to be back in my room in time to listen to Radio Luxembourg and the popular hit of the day, Eddie Calvert and “Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White”.

  On another occasion, when I was going home on leave from Bulford, I went to Tisbury, my mother’s village in Wiltshire, to collect a new bicycle from her brother’s shop in the village; a present for my sister which I had to get back to Windsor. I cycled the eighty-four miles on a girl’s cycle and it was not the most comfortable ride, but I did get it home to the Royal Borough in a still new condition.

  Although I used to escape a lot of duties, I did get pulled in on a Saturday night to patrol Salisbury and keep order. A truck full of ‘Redcaps’ would descend on the city at about 7 p.m., and we would patrol in twos around the city, especially the NAAFI and bus station areas. Sometimes it was quiet but not very often.

  One of the largest units in the area was the 3rd Battalion of the Highland Light Infantry, a great bunch until drink took over and then no one or anything was safe. This also applied to their NCOs, particularly one of them, a corporal. He was a man who was as broad as he was tall, about five feet five inches, and a fearsome sight in his kilt. When he had a couple of drinks he was all for discipline and order, and if any of his ‘mob’ got out of hand, he was the first to pick them up and throw them into the back of the truck; something he could do without help. BUT if he had more than a few drinks he became very protective of his lads, and would fight with them against us ‘Redcaps’. Then it would take almost our entire squad on duty to restrain and deal with him. Fortunately more times than not he was on the side of law and order.

  One Saturday night there was a lot of fighting in the bus station, and I saw one of the Jocks kick someone in the face while he was on the ground. It made a great indentation and I rather unwisely saw red in more ways than one, and although alone I waded in to try and stop the violence. I tackled one of the offenders and threw a punch at him; I did not hit him that hard but I was wearing leather gloves and I slightly cut his face. Once his mates saw blood they were after me, about a dozen or more of them, and they surrounded me and got me up against a wall in the bus station. I thought that was it until a local civilian policeman with his Alsatian dog came to my rescue, and with some other help they got me into the police station opposite, and I stayed there for my own protection until all the HLI had left town.

  I enjoyed my time at Bulford, even these sometimes violent duties which were a contrast and break from running long distances over Salisbury Plain every afternoon, which was helping my fitness level improve rapidly.

  On one Saturday night we had no trouble in Salisbury, mainly because there was some of the thickest fog I have ever seen. We had to take our usual trip into the city in case of trouble, but it really was a real “peasouper”. It was so thick, the only way our driver could guide the truck was by me and others walking in front with torches, from the camp to the city centre. It really was impossible to go faster than walking pace, and even then vehicles were all over the place, going off the road and going in the opposite direction to what they intended. Even the HLI could not find their way into Salisbury that night, so we had a quiet night and don’t really know why we bothered to struggle into Salisbury.

  Apart from the signals course at Woking, I spent my other time there as a waiter in the Officers’ Mess. Plenty of time to train, and good food, and just like Bulford I had my own room, but it was not as pleasant for running, except that it gave me the chance to travel to some track meet
ings for my own club and for Guildford and Godalming AC that I joined second claim while at Woking.

  While at Woking, I went off to run one evening in a club match at Ealing on a very hard five laps to the mile track. After the race I had to get back to barracks, and I remember getting back to Woking and hardly able to walk. Getting from the bus to barracks was a real struggle, as I had a terrific pain in my left foot. I reported on sick parade next morning and got sent off to the Cambridge Military Hospital at Aldershot for an X-ray. They discovered a march fracture; a splintering of the bones behind the toes. The MO wanted to put it in plaster for six weeks, but I had the unit championships in only a few days plus other races, so I persuaded him just to put a pad under the damaged area and some heavy strapping. He virtually told me that it was up to me, but if I was mad enough to run he would not be responsible for what it might do. I did run two days later and won the three miles almost on one leg. The time was very slow, around seventeen minutes, but I was streets ahead of the field anyway, and won by over a lap. Because I had insisted on not being plastered, I did suffer for much longer than I should, and in fact felt pain for some years.

  Like many of the runners of my generation, I think the two years in the forces did help to shape our athletic careers. I am sure the training I was able to do in my two years in uniform, helped me prepare for my successes in the following few years. I suppose it was easy to see why the Soviet Union and other Warsaw Pact countries used the military for most of their top athletes in this pre-professional era.

  In January 1956, I finished second in the Berkshire Senior and went to the Inter Counties where I came 126th. Then came a series of good results. I won the Salisbury Plain and District Championship, which I followed up with a win for Salisbury AC, and then the Berkshire Junior Championship. I had seven races in February; it was good job it was leap year with that extra day. I won the Southern Command, and then took second place in the Army Championships behind Basil Heatley. In between, I finished third in the Southern Counties Junior and won another Army race on 29th February.