A BIT OF A RUM DO
Maj Tom H Styles from Little Chalfont,
Bucks, referred to Winkie Fitt and the D Coy Rum in B&C 85 Dec 1995 on page N15.
That venerable wearer of the 'Butcher's Apron' medal, Yan Moosun, has provided the
full story.
Korea, the approaching winter of 1950, the 1st Battalion of the Royal Norfolk Regiment.
What a combination - the mysterious East, Sami-ch'on Valley, a UN action noble beyond
words, an honourable and illustrious Regiment, D Coy and a Company Sergeant Maj with a
vivid facial scar, the legacy of some violent and close quarter battle of WW2, a CSM with
a DCM won when another of the Regiment was awarded the Victoria Cross.
Me? A young 24 year old would-be Regular who found himself to be the Second in Command of
D Coy, and later the OC.
Now, Winkie, as we will call this CSM of the 9th of Foot, was of the school of
Raffles or Biggles. Just what would Kipling have made of him?
If you can make one heap of all your
winnings
And risk it in one turn of pitch and toss
And lose, and start at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn after they have gone
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the will which says to them, 'Hold on!'
The powers that be who lived at places that
in olden times was called Valhalla and suchlike but now had names like Div HQ, Bde HQ - or
dare I say it Bn HQ - had decreed that there would be rum. One gallon jar, soldiers for
the use of, when frozen or battle weary, or both, but the drinking had to be approved by
an officer sitting in the space heated luxury of a tent some 50 or so miles behind the
lines. No, I have to confess, Bn HQ was not as far away as that. So D Coy had its official
issue of a one gallon jar of rum, not to be used unless a Field Officer had sighted at
least one of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse. Now, I ask you, who would you put in
charge of such a treasure? Yes, Winkie. He volunteered and as we all know one
volunteer is worth ten pressed men. So to him fell the onerous task of safekeeping the
rum. It went under the CSM's bed in the Coy HQ dugout.
So, and this is where the story really begins, we have a young officer, wet behind the
ears and elsewhere, lost in Korea for he was not quite certain where he was, and a Company
Sergeant Maj with a DCM who had seen more action on Mousehold Heath than said young
officer had eaten cooked breakfasts.
The weeks went by. No soldier was frozen sufficiently, in the Staff Officer's view, to
justify even a smell of the rum. So it remained hidden from the sight of all, including
the young, green but keen officer, now Company Commander. Winkie, the custodian of the rum
said nothing. This young but dedicated officer, nails bitten to the quick, had visions the
rum had gone and a career dammed before it had even begun. Winkie had drunk it all; he
would say it had evaporated; the Colonel would say 'Rubbish' but would spell it 'Bollocks'
and the Staff Officer would summarise it as a lack of moral fibre. Oh for a posting to 3
DIV HQ!
Came the day, came the man. We received notice to be called out of the line and back into
Reserve. This was before `Tit’ Towell`s MC and Ben Chapman's DSO. Me? I
was desperate to see this gallon jar of rum. Yes, I knew that Winkie could have drunk it
all without the flicker of an eyelid. A gallon of rum to him would have been but a morsel
before the main course; a slurp before the gulp; a sip before the sozzle. What would I say
to the Colonel? Could I arrange to blow up Coy HQ? Could I fix it to be awarded a
posthumous MC? Why had I not gone into the Church instead of the army?
The day of the bug-out came and I awaited my fate. The Coy CP was vacated and the bed of
Winkie removed. Where in heaven's name was the gallon of rum? Was a future Field Marshal
dependant upon the production of 8 lousy pints of a drink that only sailors could enjoy?
Out of the gloom of the dugout appeared Winkie Fitt. Was it a halo
about his head? And with words that came from the Norfolk of old he said, 'Du yu wont to
check the rum before we move?'
And with that he produced TWO gallon bottles of rum! Yan Moosun
AND THERE'S MORE ON THE RUM ON PAGE
N14
Keep them coming in! Ed.
MORE RUM D COY?
Pages N10-11 recount the tale of Winkie Fitt
and the D Coy Rum in 'A BIT OF A RUM DO'. But there is something the writer, Yan
Moosun, does not know!
Discovering their compo rations had been liberated by another regiment, the custodian of
the D Coy rum, Winkie Fitt, 'borrowed' some
rum from them. D Coy never got their rations back but they drank more rum than anyone else
in Korea. For under the CSM's bed in the Coy HQ dugout was not one gallon jar of rum, and
not two but 6 gallons of rum plus the one gallon jar originally issued!
D COY AND THE YANKS
In Korea, Maj JAH Crampton, OC HQ Coy, had a problem with his jeep. It needed a new
engine but none were available. But my resourceful informant, Winkie Fitt,
sorted the problem and for a pint will tell you where a US jeep is buried - minus its
engine!
'Friendly fire' from US forces sadly became a well known phrase during the Gulf but D Coy
had experienced it in Korea 40 years earlier from the same chaps. One explosion from US
sources went off 35 yards away from Pl Sgt Savage of 10 Platoon. It made a crater
20' wide and 10' deep. He was already deaf and didn't hear a thing!
COL
GEORGE H WINTER SPENDS A PENNY
A correspondent, who wishes to remain anonymous, (after note Nov 01, it was Tom Styles) has provided a reminiscence of Col George H Winter
further to those mentioned in B&C No 85 Dec 1995 on pages N11, 12 and 20, B&C No
86 June 1996 on page N12 and this issue page N24.
The time, 1947; the place, No 9 PTC (Primary Training Centre), Britannia Barracks,
Norwich. The characters, Col George H Winter, OC
Depot; an unknown National Serviceman and me, a brand spanking new 2nd Lt, a Platoon
Commander in the Training Wing. My first intake were mainly from London, the East End.
They were quick witted, bright and quick on the uptake. As such they needed watching all
the time.
Saturday mornings rang to the cry, 'Stand by your beds' for it was CO's barrack rooms
inspection. Enter Col Winter followed by Company Commander, Adjutant, RSM and CSM. The
first week I did not think we did too badly, the second was much better, the third
inspection was OK but in the middle of the inspection on the fourth Saturday Col Winter
showed some surprise and left the barrack room at a rate of knots, followed by the
entourage. Nobody said anything but the CO did not inspect that platoon again during their
basic training.
I learned what the reason might have been at the platoon passing-out party during a
conversation with a cockney member of that platoon. 'Do you remember, Sir, the CO walking
out halfway through the Saturday morning inspection at the end of week four?'
I replied that I did.
'Do you know why Sir?'
After a negative response from me, he explained. 'Fred noticed that during the inspection
at the end of week three, the CO put something on one of the roof beams, while running his
hand along it looking for dust. When you lot had gone we climbed up, looked and found he
had put a penny on the beam.'
I expressed the view that it explained nothing.
'Ah, but what you don't know Sir is that when the CO went to get his penny on the Saturday
inspection at the end of week four it had gone. In its place were two halfpennies.' |
