National Service Memories of Osnabruck

recymech wrote:

No reason for posting this pic other than somebody mentioned flats at Kliene Moscow in Osnabruck, I used to live in these flats before moving to a house round the corner, this pic was taken last week when I visited Osnabruck, they are being renovated presumably prior to selling off.

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The block in the background, middle left, thats where my folks lived, small, small world........Ian.

Small world, I lived in the one with the conveyor belt contraption sticking out of the window.

I do hope the 'new owners' don't inherit the infestations of cockroaches prevelant in Doddesheide blocks of quarters/flats?

Alan

recymech

Christ, there must have been a hell of a draught, couldn't you have kept the contraption in camp?

Hahaha, I kept telling the misses that thing wouldn't fit in the kitchen but you know what women are like, jeees.

Now, see, recymech...I assumed it was something you hauled home, some 'man toy'. We all know how fascinated boys are with things like tanks and trucks and trains and bulldozers and such -- and few of us ever outgrow that!

"But, honey....this might come in useful!"

"Git that bloody thing out of my living room!"

"But...but...I LIKE it!"

"I don't care if you like it or not....go put it somewhere else if you must have it, but not in my bleedin' living room!!!"

ehehehehehe

I was taking another look at these flats, I seem to remember there being a patch of grass between my folks place and the german shops you can just see in the background, maybe it is an optical illusion, but is there a chance that another block of flats were build after they left?

It's a bit of an optical illusion Ian, there is definately a strip of grass and some garages in between the flats and the main road with the shops (Lerchenstrasse) that you can't make out from the photo.

However all the grass between the flats has been ripped up for some reason.

I remember Osnabruck from the mid-1950s. It was odd...... In spite of the bombing and land war, it didn't seem as knocked about as some of the areas back home. Though I remember in particular, that the steeple of the Dom had been put back temporarily with a steel framework in lieu of more traditional construction.

Visiting town, by trolley bus from 16 LAA Regt RA at Evesburg cost 10 pfennigs. We got 12 DM to the pound, but as NS squaddies, we could only change £1 in BAFS (Army paper money) each week. However, we did try what passed for strong ale in local pubs as an alternative to the town NAAFI club. Early days could be a trial. One lad found waiting for trolley was hopeless when, unused to continental traffic, he waited on the wrong side of the road. Another went into a bar alone, asked for " .....a pint of bitter". He got a meat pie and thought it was a trick they played on the unwary.

Squaddies weren't always welcome in local pubs. It was too soon after the war and in any case they didn't have much money, or could be trouble. My Scots mate and I tried one in the town centre. We bought a couple of glasses, Jock found a seat at a table, the implication of the flag on the Stammtisch, reserving it for locals, wasn't known. A large Kraut came over. " Hey Tommy ! Stammtisch! " he said. I smiled back meekly, Jock said " Yeah? Bollocks!"
The German was big enough to sort us both out. We found later he had some English after being a Feldwebel in a Brit POW camp. " You English !........" he began, Jock belted back
"Whose are yoo callin' ENGLISH?" and stood up. I groaned, got ready to run.

It finished quickly. Our troop sgt. had been sitting in a corner, providing comfort, beer and
Bratwurst to a lady, one who was not his wife. He rushed across. had us at attention, ridiculing us before the whole Gasthaus congregation. We left hurriedly, laughter and cheers followed us as we tried unsuccessfully to adopt a nonchalant air.

Next day our sgt. had us in. "You two owe me " he said. " That Deutsche would have sorted you out. You owe me!" He said that before. The deal was he'd let it rest if we forgot we'd seen him with Inge from the battery office. No problem !

December 1955 could be a trying period for a civilian travelling on the Autobahn. The press and radio newsflashes were more concerned with the activities of a latter day Dick Turpin than anything else. The Beast of the Autobahn, for such was how he was known, preyed on motor traffic, robbing the men and doing unspeakable things to their female companions. The Polizei issued instructions :.....,"Only stop for uniformed patrols". The Beast countered with his own order via the press...... "If you don't stop, I'll open fire".

Whilst no military traffic had been molested so far, the management at 16 LAA Regt RA in Osnabruck were aware that the Army Post Office would be distributing Christmas parcels via the daily mail run to Munster. Just in case the Beast might think it worthwhile to intercept this trade, precautions were to be taken.

NS soldiers and, particularly, RA lads whose familiarity with live small arms rounds was limited to around 40 cartridges a year on the ranges, never touched the stuff between classification shoots and, when they did, it was only under close supervision. The chance of an Army truck being stopped was minimal, but the locals would have a laugh if it did happen and the Brits were unable to defend themselves. It was decided to provide an armed guard for the vehicles on the mail run.

The new orders were clear. On each mail truck there would be a junior NCO co-driver and an OR in the back. Each would be armed with a .303 Enfield, the NCO up front would have two magazine chargers with 5 rounds in each. Rules of engagement were simple. Firing was only permitted if, and when, the vehicle was fired upon by the bandit, and other actions were taken first. In that instance, the NCO was allowed to load his own rifle with 5 rounds, then dismount to hand the remaining 5 rounds to the OR in the back, who would be then instructed to load his own rifle. A verbal warning, something like "Pack it in, mate, or we'll shoot back!"was to be shouted to their attacker. If by this time they were both still unharmed, if the attacker understood English and they were still being fired at, they could return fire.

All of this seemed perfectly reasonable to the one on high who had drafted the order with the main aim of covering his backside if things went wrong. An observation that it was damned near impossible to move a rifle about in the front of a 3-tonner was dismissed, as was a comment that only an idiot would emerge from the truck under fire, amble round the back and toss 5 rounds up over the tailgate. A request to be given a Sten gun instead and a couple of part- charged, easily loadable magazines was scorned incredulously. "Sten guns ? Sten guns! They are bloody dangerous ...... you could hurt someone with one of those!"

We'd not thought of that. How lucky we were to have someone in charge who was smarter than ourselves.

The NS squaddies in 16 LAA Regt RA at Quebec Bks. Osnabruck had their technical training at Rhyl if they were drivers or signallers, and Tonfanau for those doomed to be Ack-Ack gun numbers. I am told Rhyl was great, particularly in the summer months. Or it would have been if the recruits had had more money. Tonfanau was an Ack-Ack range, both heavy 3.7"s & light 40mm Bofors pointing out to sea over a minimal stony beach. It was a bleak spot, a hutted camp set in a hillside north of the River Dovey estuary. There was an apology for a perimeter fence, for there was nothing to see if anyone escaped, and it was unlikely anyone would ever want to break in.

Maybe because it was so remote, those trained at Tonfanau had a peculiarity in their footdrill. Whether it was intentional, or something acquired to break the monotony, or the hearts of the drill sgts.is not known but,from years back,squads of gunners from Tonfanau ceased forward motion on the march one pace before other Brit units. When the order "Halt!" was given, Tonanau lads banged their studded boots down on the next pace. The camp reverberated to the Bang-Bang-Bang halt rather than the traditional Miss-Bang Bang. It didn't come all at once. After two weeks learning the rudiments of drill at Oswestry, newcomers heard the variation, liked it and copied it. It took about a week, almost like picking up a local accent in strange parts. The management liked it too, it showed the lads were learning, becoming part of the team.

This was fine on the bleak Welsh coast, but in Osnabruck they were more traditional. When Tonfanau newboys joined with others to march from A to B it was a shambles. With one lot stopping one pace before the rest there was confusion, jostling and rude words were called out by the NCO i/c. " You Effing Mau-Mau !" was a normal ejaculation in the 1950's when the Kenya interlude was fresh in minds. So it was back to basics again. Life in a service regt. was turning out to be no different from before.

*BUMP*

Is anyone still reading this thread? I'd be interested to know if Memorial made any further progress with his search for "The Eagle".