A sad and sorry Peter met me at Earl Shilton station. His hair had been cut very short, badly; his battle-dress irritated his skin like crazy. About a hundred new recruits were sleeping on mattresses on the floor of a church hall. Every morning at six they had to dress and square up their kit on their beds. He knew how to do this because he had been a cadet at school. Then rifles must be cleaned and oiled and placed reverently across the bed.

Breakfast followed – porridge already over-sweetened, kippers, bacon and liver or some-such and sweet tea. They were issued with a billycan each – a metal container consisting of a top and bottom clamped together for packing but taken apart it made two receptacles. One half took the porridge and the other the tea. It became obvious that the liver or whatever had to sit on top of the porridge! There was certainly no hope of eating the porridge first – everything must be collected in one go.

Finally one queued for a turn to wash up in one of two buckets of luke warm water, all that were provided. While the men ate, two orderlies swept the floor. Then there was an inspection of kit. Of course, all the newly oiled rifles were covered in dust, so their owners were put on fatigues! Peter reasonably suggested to his sergeant that it might be more sensible to clean and oil them after the room had been swept and got a hail of abuse for his pains.

He had found me a little room in a local house owned by a lady who took in washing – or perhaps rented. Now in his time off he had at least somewhere to sit (on the bed) in peace and quiet. I was the only wife who had followed her man and earned brownie points by offering to mend his sergeant’s socks. I was also able to buy him cotton vests and long johns to wear under his scratchy uniform, mend his socks too, and soothe his troubled mind. Already he hated the army as much as he had thought he would.

There was nothing in that little mining town but seven pubs and two fish and chip shops. One night when he was drinking in a pub with some of the other privates they began boasting about their conquests – how they had taken a young married woman into the allotments and fucked her... and Peter said “If you got an unexpected twenty-four hours’ leave and went home to find your wife had been carrying on with a soldier what would you do?” Their faces changed to a grim mask. “I’d slit his bloody throat,” one replied, “and hers too”. A silence followed while the others nodded agreement, but no-one seemed to see the connection.

After the initial six weeks’ training Peter was promoted to Corporal and sent to Leicester to instruct clerks and storemen in army rules and regulations. But already the stress of it all had caused him to develop gastric trouble.